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baku-bowl · 3 years ago

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broke 1,000 followers (the fuck? I don't even make content people), so decided to write up a list of some (but not all, I'll make other lists later) of my favorite Bakugou-centric fic recs. my tastes run towards hurt/comfort, as you'll probably figure from the list. if there are some Baku-centric fics that you've enjoyed that aren't on here, please add them - this is definitely not a complete list of the ones I've read and love, but I'm always up for some recs. <3

fair warning, most of these are wips.

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Social Media 101 by WindsChild8178

Part 1: Survival Guide to Fucking Up

[Solely Bakugou’s point of view]

Katsuki Bakugou doesn’t have a gentle bone in his body. He’s aggressive in everything he does and does everything with 100% of his heart in it. After the Sport’s Festival, Katsuki starts to get harassed by strangers for his unheroic demeanor. It starts with letters but it doesn’t end there. The moment Katsuki realizes the harassment has entered dangerous territory and he needs to tell someone, it’s already too late.

Part 2: Post Traumatic Life Disorder

[Point of View opens up to Bakugou, teachers and classmates]

When the Dorms are finally built, everyone is settling in well, but things become tense as people begin to realize something isn’t right with the recently rescued Bakugou.

[Cannon compliant right up to after the License Exam]

hands down my favorite fic in the fandom right now. it’s the one that converted me into a Bakugou lover. if you have any fondness for Bakugou as a character then it’s likely you’ve read this one already, but if not, I can’t recommend it enough. incredibly depressing, but with the hope that comfort is coming soon in the next few chapters.

The Kids Will Be Alright, Eventually by NotWithThatAttitude

Bakugou is spiraling in the aftermath of Kamino and his friends are starting to notice. He's stubborn, aggressively independent, and less than willing to dig into his past, but after a breakdown that ends with a painful secret revealed, he starts to get help.

Whether he likes it or not.

Meanwhile, a new kind of villain threatens an uneasy peace following the loss of Allmight. Whispers build as a new narrative slowly takes shape:

Hero society needs to change.

Feat. Therapy, Dadzawa, best boy Kirishima, dysfunctional families, healing, growing up, and the mortifying ordeal of being known

guys.. the medical accuracy of this fic is just... *chef’s kiss*

I rarely see mental health genuinely handled well in fics, but this one goes above and beyond. kudos to the author for doing such excellent research into psychology, and making the application of it in here not-boring. also, while this one does have abusive!Mitsuki, it’s done in a way that feels realistic, and how I usually will see it occur in real life, rather than just for the hurt/comfort feels.

fair warning, the fic can be incredibly triggering (themes of severe depression, PTSD, panic attacks, rape survival, abuse survival, suicidal ideation/attempted suicide, among other things), so be safe and heed the tw’s if you decide to read. legitimately one of my Top Favorite fics in this fandom.

Lock and Key by autochorystalize

Bakugou made a choked, gravelly noise before croaking out a low, “You can’t be serious.” His fingers ached to blow up everything in the room.

“I’m sorry, young man, but you can’t change reality! This sometimes happens.” Recovery Girl clicked through his file, adding a new symbol in a previously empty slot.

- - -

A pair of eyes discreetly locked on to an explosive blond plowing his way forward, parting people in his path. He recognized the kid, of course. Anyone in the underbelly of society would recognize him, after the publicity of both UA’s Sports Festival and the events leading up to All Might’s fall. The uniform he was wearing cast away any doubts about the young man’s identity.

It was a bit of a surprise that the little firecracker presented as an omega.

- - - - - - - - -

Or: there are certain types of evil that seemed too distant, archaic violations and perversions that would never actually threaten bright-eyed heroes-in-training in the clean, modern world...but sometimes those evils aren't as distant as one might think.

remember when I said that I love a/b/o fics that are full of plot and world-building and gender-induced tension? that’s this one. the OC’s are fabulous and you love to hate ‘em. also, it’s the fic that made me fall head-over-heels for the TodoBaku dynamic, so it’s got a special place in my cold, dead heart.

be warned, there are rather explicit non-con scenes between an adult (OC) and a minor (Bakugou) in this one, but the author warns for them in advance, and you could likely skip those parts without missing too much if you need to.

Never and Always, Eventually by Wawa_Boonliang

"Katsuki can remember the exact moment that he and Deku…that he and Midoriya Izuku became friends. He can also remember the moment he and Izuku became fierce rivals, a time when they were almost enemies.

However, what he remembers most clearly about their relationship is the moment that they moved passed rivals and became something more close than mere friends. Something more like brotherhood, something forged in fire and secured in the middle of a battlefield or in the midst of natural disaster where the number of the dead was climbing ever higher. And then it was torn from him."

Katsuki is given a second chance. A chance to save everyone. A chance to change everything.

But should he?

y’all. I’m a slutty, slutty whore for time travel fics. a time travel fic with autistic!coded Bakugou? it was love at first read.

Lessons Learned by Sif (Rosae)

Rather than the police station, Katsuki's friends bring him to a hospital after rescuing him from the villains. His wounds were minor, but it didn't make having them treated any less important. As it would so happen, Best Jeanist was also brought to this hospital after the attack.

Sometimes, small choices have a big impact on how a story plays out.

classic Bakugou hurt/comfort. this fic opened me up to the potential that could be a genuinely good Best Jeanist & Katsuki mentor-mentee relationship, and I kind of dig it and search ravenously for it in other fics now. I’m also a huge fan of the behind-the-scences Pro Hero Chat group.

Slope by sunfleurmoon

“I’m not a hero. Or a good person,” Katsuki says, giving Aizawa a pointed look, “So leave me alone. I don’t care about the League or UA, or you—” The two years he’s been away have been fine, more than fine, fucking fantastic actually if you ignore the bi-monthly near-death experiences. He doesn’t need this place. He doesn’t miss this place.

And yet, longing, a childish desire to tear up, or maybe blow something to bits, they all twist in his chest like a band of traitors regardless. “—I just want to go home.”

Or: the one where Katsuki and Izuku fail the first term exam, Aizawa discovers their pasts, and Katsuki is booted from UA. Featuring questionable descriptions of villain organizations, a slightly illegal moving shop, and your favorite emotionally constipated badass in distress with a newly discovered penchant for collecting strays.

paaaaaaiiiiiiiin. the hurt is ALIVE in this one. lots of tortured, angsty exploding child goodness. the OC’s are excellently crafted, and the Bakugou & Eri relationship? beautiful. definitely deserves a read.

Ground Zero by WindsChild8178

In the wake of Kamino, Katsuki is tested more than anyone could imagine. Bound by a villain’s quirk to keep his silence or die, he lives each day knowing it might very well be his last. He continues to work towards becoming a hero, keeping his secret from his classmates and teachers, focusing on making it through each day and trying not to allow the panic or depression to get the best of him. When the villain finally corners him with demands in exchange for his life, there is really only one answer Katsuki Bakugou can give.

honestly don't know which I want updated more - social media 101 or ground zero. this author's fics are amazing, and I really wasn't expecting the twist in this one. can't wait for windschild to come back to this fic some day.

The Defect by LadyGreenFrisbee

"Why do you want to win the Sports Festival so badly?"

Because I want to see if the defect could usurp the masterpiece.

(In which Endeavor holds a terrible secret and Bakugo has to suffer since childhood for it.)

a great concept, and I adore the shouto and Katsuki sibling interaction here. hoping the author will come back to this one some day.

A Name That You'll Remember by Heronfem

Kirishima Eijirou is a Hero. Bakugou Katsuki... is not. Trapped in his toxic workplace and increasingly desperate to get out, Red Riot's days are only brightened by a new villain known as Caution, who's not exactly villainous and keeps accidentally doing good deeds. But when a real villain appears, a threat from the past that demands that Red Riot make the ultimate sacrifice to keep the public safe, Bakugou is forced into saving the day... and eventually, Red Riot himself.

sob story good guy villains are my weakness, this fic is a gem, and I'd kill for the sequel.

Our Hero by AnonymousTwit

He felt everything jerk to the side and throw his balance off before he saw anything, dust clouding his vision and irritating his lungs as the earth itself opened up to swallow them whole. For a single moment, in a millisecond's time, his wild eyes locked with Raccoon Eyes', hers alight with fear and adrenaline-fueled desperation. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that it was the first time she'd looked at him with something other than long-deserved hatred in days.

And then he was free falling.

After a particularly nasty encounter between childhood friends, the class learns about Bakugou and Midoriya's dark history and practically ostracizes Bakugou while trying to defend Midoriya. An earthquake during an outing has all sides regretting their decisions.

just fucking tear apart my self-sacrificing faves in every way imaginable while their loved ones watch on in terror. 💖🥰💖 this one is heavy on the Bakusquad and Class-1A feels, and VERY heavy on the Mina & Bakugou relationship (platonic).

Running back the tape, watching it replay by Faralyne

For someone ripped from their time, ripped from the few but strong relationships built by time and personal development, by self-reflection and swallowed pride, ripped from the one thing that made him feel worthwhile and needed and put-together, and forced to forge everything over again—Katsuki thinks he is handling it pretty fucking well.

A villain’s quirk sends a 29-year-old Bakugou back in time to his middle school days.

am I a sucker for time travel? yes. am I a sucker for vigilante!bakugou? also yes. am I a sucker for this fic? literally refreshing the page in wait for an update as we speak.

Liability by sandelf

After All-Might dies rescuing Bakugou from the League, Bakugou is determined to prove it wasn't for nothing.

But the world is against him, his grief is overwhelming, and his stability is splitting at the edges.

very self-indulgent bakugou angst. tw for harassment, severe depression, and suicidality.

Special Mentions:

How To Win The Sport Festival: A Step By Step Guide by mhwright

Short re-imagining of the Sports Festival Arc if Shinso had planned a little better and worked a little harder to win the Sports Festival and if the match-ups had been slightly different. Self-indulgent fic of watching him succeed.

this is completely Shinsou-centric, not Bakugou-centric, but I love and adore it and am dying for a sequel. Shinsou is Best Boy here and you'll be rooting for him the whole time.

#fic rec #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #seriously though if you have a rec for me please always assume i will be unbearably grateful for it #and hit me up with it in the comments or through messaging #thanks for the follows y'all!

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kodzumie-archived · 4 years ago

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hi! sorry, i think my request was too specific so lemme rephrase: poly! nagito x reader x kokichi, with a loving and considerate reader -💙

❝SWEETHEART’S CONVEYANCE❞

Synopsis; What are the the antongnistic duo like in a polyamorous relationship with a loving partner?

Featuring; Kokichi Oma x GN! Reader x Nagito Komaeda

Warning(s); Polyamorous, romantic relationship, self-degradation (Nagito), and suppression of vulnerability (Kokichi).

Kodzumie’s Note; Ahh, the original request wasn’t too specific, don’t worry, dear! But thank you for being so considerate! And also, thank you for being my first polyamory request! This request makes me so happy, I felt obligated to do it as soon as possible, hehe. And of course you can be our beloved 💙 anon! I’m so happy to have you with us! <3

➤ KOKICHI OMA & NAGITO KOMAEDA

⤷ Contrary to bystander belief, this relationship would be as boisterous as it is philanthropic; built upon a foundation of veiled compassion.

⤷ Whilst your boyfriends contradict traditional conveyance of affection, there’s no doubt they truly do appreciate you. But neither could compare to the benevolence you’ve granted the duo.

⤷ Albeit in rather old-school conveyance, you persistently seek forms of portrayal for your affections. Whether it be the occasional handwritten notes left beside the plates of breakfast you’d left behind for the two, each expressing your fondness and wishing them a wonderful rest of their day.

⤷ Or even the splurge of gifts for the two, purchasing trinkets you believe they’d enjoy. And, for every dollar spent, it’ll all be worth the million-dollar gleam that brushes upon their eyes.

⤷ Nagito infatuated with the idea that someone would dare spend money on scum like him, much less buy him something they insisted he’d be interested in. It’s a foreign sense, an exotic appreciation in which you’d taken the time out of your schedule to even think of him.

⤷ And as he’s about to spout his gratitude and disbelief upon such devotion to trash such as himself, he’s cut off by the infamous trickster himself.

⤷ “Save that crap. What about me? Where’s my gift? Huh, huh?” Kokichi’s petite stature leaning to the right as he attempts to catch a glimpse of what you could possibly have in store for him.

⤷ Paying no heed to the interruption of his valuation, Nagito smiles fondly as he eyes the amethyst-haired male eagerly bounces on the balls of his heels, awaiting his gift, though impatiently.

⤷ One would assume you’d get fed up at his persistent antics but, in all honesty, it was one of the many things you―along with Nagito―had appreciated.

⤷ Even amidst moments in which the air is stilled, tension doused in the form of metaphoric clouds above your heads, he’s bustling with a rowdiness that shows no hintings of dissipation.

⤷ And as you reveal the gadget hidden behind your back, presenting it to your practically vibrating-in-anticipation boyfriend, you swore not even the stars could capture the illumination of glee that brushed upon his lilac eyes. His hands reaching forward with such fervor that he was seemingly a blur within that very moment.

⤷ “You didn’t!” He professed in disbelief, lips split into a grand smirk as he eyes the gift you’d presented him; a water gun.

⤷ Albeit an inkling of concern swirled within your gut upon his sinister cackle as he testingly aims at Nagito, in which the taller male’s eyes widen in surprise as he raises his hands in surrender―his own gift within his left hand.

⤷ Upon Nagito’s reaction, Kokichi’s cackles morphed into wicked chuckles as he feigns to reload his water gun with imaginative ammo.

⤷ “That’s right, put ‘em up.” He jests. All the while, you rolled your eyes with an amused visage of your own at the sight of your shorter boyfriend’s antics.

⤷ A Pavlovian reaction from the younger male, eagerly jumping the gun—quite literally—and pestering Nagito to engage in his games, claiming he’d be the perfect companion. (Though, by this, it usually meant the perfect individual to carry him piggyback due to his tall stature.)

⤷ Nonetheless, the sight of your boyfriends joining forces against you with the gift you’d bought is undeniably one you cherish. Even as you sprint full speed through the household, dodging the blasts of water aimed towards you.

⤷ Despite Nagito’s persistent insistence that you’d be better suited to entertain Kokichi than a mere nobody like him, the aforementioned amethyst-haired male that assures him he’s the only one capable.

⤷ It isn’t the common occurrence to be of witness to Kokichi’s considerate moments; withdrawing himself from his playful nature to build another’s esteem.

⤷ And thus, it’s even more satisfying to bask in Nagito’s united laughter with Kokichi’s manic cackles as you narrowly avoid a blast of water. The former carrying the ladder on his back—rather easily due to how light Kokichi is—and dashing after you.

⤷ It’s a laugh so carefree—so riddled in unhindered joy—you almost couldn’t believe this was the same, unabashed laugh of your self-degrading boyfriend.

⤷ Not even Kokichi was immune to the flurry of butterflies within the encompass of your stomachs as he, too, smiled giddily upon the melodic laughter, a roseate decorating his pallid cheeks in momentary euphoria.

⤷ In the beginnings of your gifts, Nagito struggled immensly to accept them. Even as he blushed a hue so fiercely—face burning with awe as sweat began to dampen his rosette skin—he insisted he couldn’t accept any gift from someone of your ethereality.

⤷ He swore up and down that he was already taking far too much of you and Kokichi by intruding on the relationship, much less, garner your affections.

⤷ Though, with time, he steadily learned to see past the hindrance of his self-loathing, it was still rather difficult to bear witness to the one who’d claimed both of your hearts to avoid your conveyances due to their poor views of themself.

⤷ Much to your delight, he’s now discovering value within himself as he peers through the lens of you and Kokichi’s combined love. It’s a gradual process but one that you’re more than willing to wait for to see the treasure of Nagito truly loving—if not love—than tolerating himself.

⤷ With every conveyance of your affections, you hope that your love can be transferred to the two, and assist them in melting through the walls of their hindrances; their shields in which they’d desperately hid their vulnerabilities from the world.

⤷ Whether it be through the gifts in which your taller boyfriend would insist that he was undeserving of and promise to return the favor with a gift of his own whilst the shorter would use your gifts against you, similarly to the water gun incident, comically; love letters; domestic care; reassuring consolation; service.

⤷ Anything that could possibly provide insight of the affectiom you’d withheld for the two, you’d committed to with a fiery passion. Not a trace of hesitancy or delay.

⤷ Typically, within the day-to-day, you and Nagito would withhold a majority of the materate responsibilities. Though Nagito eagerly offers to take the workload upon himself entirely, there’s no denying the softening of his eyes as you reject his offer and, rather, offer to take the workload off of him.

⤷ He appreciates your insistence, especially the way you’d put his wellbeing within the realm of priority. A hierarchy he’d never considered himself within, so to think that you could do so much as care for his state is more than he could ever ask for.

⤷ Truth be told, one of Nagito’s favorite domestic activities to complete alongisde you is laundry. The intimacy of being able to sit alongside you and fold the articles of clothing whilst chatting, blissfully distracted, is serene.

⤷ More so, the lighthearted, momentary comedic relief of revealing that your underwear was within his clutches is always a treat. Especially when you’d rapidly swipe the garment with the inklings of embarrassment within your grin.

⤷ Though he does have quite a habit of sniffing the fresh clothing. The extent to which he does so is—by bystander perspective—questionable, but he promises that he merely adores the cleanliness of the warm clothing. (And that even after the garments trip through the washing machine, there still is the lingering of both his lovers’ scents.)

⤷ Kokichi has offered to help at times—though usually with an intentional entirely other than to actually do laundry. The petite, amethyst-haired trickster sedentary between you and Nagito as he sloppily folds the clothes.

⤷ It’s blatant that his mind is elsewhere as he appears less than pleased whilst assisting. Even offering to “spice things up” and tosses a pair of socks at you and Nagito with a wicked giggle.

⤷ Sometimes he’ll even steal some of your—you and Nagito’s—clothes and wear them while working, claiming they make his Ultimate Supreme Leader senses at top-notch. To which Nagito agrees with, mindlessly, as he mumbles something about wanting to appease the wishes of a leader.

⤷ But, of all the domestic activities Kokichi has taken part in—not much but still—he claims that cooking together has to be his favorite.

⤷ Not only because he adores being the taste-tester—of course, as the Ultimate Supreme Leader, he must test it first to assure that it’s adequate for his beloveds—but because he’s enamored with the teamwork; the collaboration.

⤷ Not within a lifetime will Kokichi ever explicitly confess such, but he admires the notion of teamwork. To make a collaborative effort and genuinely place dependence upon one another to reach an end goal... he finds the idea to be so far from the encompass of his will that he adores the conception of it.

⤷ He, himself, struggles with depending on others. Opting for completing everything on his own and taking charge in the form of claiming stake upon the workload.

⤷ So being able to ask of you to grab something and to be able to complete the order asked of him—he’s usually the mixer—it’s euphoric for him. And, along with this, he truly does enjoy cooking.

⤷ Though his skills are rather questionable due to only being able to properly create a selective variety of dishes. But when he does succeed, it’s an absolute delight to be able to taste it. Nagito sometimes claims the dishes to be something akin to that of an Ultimate Chef.

⤷ A love delievered through the swan-sunken eyes of sensuality, fingers brushed upon one another as you go about your daily lives, is a love in which your two lovers value above all. To be cared for even when there are other priorities, it’s empowering.

⤷ However, amidst the serenity of the closest of affections, nothing can counter their equally preferred time of day; the nighttime cuddles.

⤷ Laying atop the mattress that could just about fit the three of you, entangled limbs drawing each of you closer as the warmth of the blanket barely rivals that of your bodies. Each of your breaths rhythmic of one another.

⤷ Kokichi’s form—by his drowsy request—between your bodies as he rests his back against Nagito’s chest, gazing up at you with a rare yet genuine grin riddled with the inklings of slumber.

⤷ The aforementioned male coiling his arms around the waist of your boyfriend, too, has his arm extenting outwards towards you, pulling you into the spooning as well. Much to Kokichi’s delight, the ladder instantaneously latching his legs around your hips, pulling you into his arms.

⤷ Yet the most blissful of these moments in which true adorations lie is the most miniscule of all. It’s so peaceful; such tranquility to be within each other’s arms as each of you is gradually lulled to sleep.

⤷ And yet, it’s as uneventful as it is impactful. Perhaps it was the nights in which each of your boyfriends felt sleep come easier? Perhaps it was the warmth of your collective bodies that brought upon the savory bliss?

⤷ Or perhaps it was the way that as each of them gazed upon—meeting your eyes with each of their infatuated own—there was a fire alit. One in which, after the periods in which you’ve all spent together; learned together; changed together, had never seemed to fade.

⤷ Not even as they, too, know they’re pushing your limits, irritating you to no bounds. Not even as they find their moment sin which they’re far too sluggish to be of decent assistance. Not even during the meltdowns in which they’d shut you out of their heart and recline to their suppressive defense.

⤷ There was never a moment in which the flames of had dwindled; an eternal ember of compassion. Not even throughout the sabotage of their demeanor. And not even as you flutter your eyes shut, enveloping slumber within your embrace.

⤷ The searing of love within your eyes had never faltered and that, on its own, is enough to reign over each of their hearts—assuring them that they, truly, are lovable without condition—and lull them to sleep as well.

#sdr2 x reader #dr2 x reader #ndrv3 x reader #drv3 x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #kokichi x reader #kokichi oma x reader #kokichi ouma x reader #danganronpa x reader #nagito hcs #nagito imagines #kokichi headcanons #danganronpa hcs #danganronpa scenarios

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excelsi-or · 4 years ago

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your type (pt. 6)

Hiiii friends, it’s only been like two weeks! Pretty good in terms of posting for me lol. I don’t know what it is about this story in particular, but I feel so self-conscious about posting new parts. But I’m also not someone who likes to leave things half finished.

I hope you’re all doing well :)

BIPOC recs: I actually have a few! Two books: Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 - Cho Namjoo (basically follows a woman’s life in South Korea and all the micro-oppressive things that women face in their personal and career lives); Winners Take All - Anand Giridharadas (a non-fiction about how billionaires create such a disproportionate world for us all; I love listening to Anand’s talks about this subject. I find it fascinating). Music: Cross Country - Breland (excellent country song); Boyz II Men - Kirby (I love this woman’s energy)

w.c. 2.6k

pairing: jihoon x OC/reader

pt. 1; pt. 2; pt. 3; pt. 4; pt. 5

The summer semester has her in the research lab 8 hours a day. Luckily, Jihoon is also on campus for just as long. His professor got him a gig working on music for a few groups in various companies. It helps get his foot in the door, and while the deadlines are tight, he genuinely enjoys working.

They take their lunch breaks together, wandering the green or just wandering hallways if it’s too warm outside. But since he doesn’t have other classes, Jihoon’s been chatting with a few girls he’s met.

And he’s told her all about them, so she isn’t blindsided if someone else decides to share it with her.

“How was your date last night?” she asks at lunch.

Jihoon shrugs. The girl had come over since Seungcheol was at Jihyo’s. “She was whatever.”

She lifts an eyebrow, eating the sandwich that Seungkwan made for her lunch. She’s now taken to spending the night at Seungkwan and Hansol’s when Seungcheol visits.

Jihoon sighs. “Jiwoo was uninteresting.” When she has no response to this, he pouts. “She didn’t really have any opinions on anything, so we couldn’t find anything to talk about.”

“But you didn’t just go for dinner.”

“She was fine in bed.” Jihoon shrugs. “Didn’t really tell me what she liked, so hard to say how she felt about it.”

“Ahh.”

“What does that mean?”

She pops the rest of her sandwich in her mouth. “I don’t really know how to continue from that.”

Jihoon snorts. “Well, you’re the one who asked.”

She thinks for a minute. “Are you just saying she was uninteresting?” She kicks him lightly under the table. “Did you listen to her?”

“Of course I did!” Jihoon sips his coffee. “You said that I need to look at people more,” he makes a point of staring at her, “and to be aware of my body language because it comes off as standoffish.”

“And still?”

“All she talked about was her dog. I love talking about people��s dogs, but not for two hours.”

“Dinner was two hours?”

Jihoon shakes his head in frustration. “The kitchen kept getting the order wrong. Anyway, enough about my failed date, how’s your research going?” He pushes a napkin towards her.

She pulls out the pencil she was using to hold her hair up. Her hair cascades around her and she begins sketching out her reaction. While Jihoon hasn’t quite learned all the chemistry terminology, he recognizes various things, specifically the compounds she’s working on. She’d taught him some basics about catalytic testing, using drawings to help him follow along.

Multiple times she’s insisted that her research is really boring, especially for people who aren’t in science. But Jihoon likes listening to her talk, and her research lets her dominate the conversation. He asks questions and clarification, and she’s always great at simplifying things.

Jihoon has learned that her amazing attention to detail translates well to analyzing his songs. And she’s always very honest about the parts she likes and doesn’t like.

“I have some finished works I want your opinion on.” They start to clean up their table.

She glances up at him. “You don’t have a date tonight?”

Jihoon waits for her to fall into step with him. “I do, but I also have deadlines. So, if you’re not tired later, meet me in the studio?”

She waves goodbye to him. “I’ll let you know where I’m at.” She waits for him to exit the building before going to put her earphones in. As she’s heading to the stairs, she sees Seulgi heading towards her. They cross paths in the chemistry labs, but have never been on real speaking terms.

She smiles at Seulgi, about to go around her like normal, when the woman asks, “Are you and Jihoon dating?”

Despite her earphones in, she does hear the question. She turns. “Uhm, no.” She pauses and Seulgi says nothing. “Why?”

“I just…” Seulgi gives her a once over. “You seem too nice to be dating Jihoon.”

She’s taken aback by that observation. While Jihoon has given off the hot-cold vibe, player energy, and a slight lack of communication skills, she can’t say Jihoon’s ever warranted a comment like that. “We’re just…” She tries to come up with a word. “We’re just friends.”

“You’re smart.” Seulgi seems to mull something over. “But smart girls like you have fallen for his charm.”

“Like… you?”

“Once, but I’m not talking about me here. I’m talking about my friend.”

This piques her interest more than she wishes it did. Jihyo has warned her against listening to all these testimonials of women dating Jihoon.

“Maybe you just need to give the man a solid chance. If you’re gonna spend all your time with him anyway.”

Against Jihyo’s advice, she asks, “What happened to your friend?”

“Jihoon broke her heart. He doted on her and from the sounds of it, worshipped her, but then all of a sudden, he went cold. Stopped answering messages, stopped picking up the phone, avoiding her in the hallways. Then he said—”

“‘I’m ignoring you now, please leave me alone?’”

Seulgi tips her head. “Have you talked to Wendy?”

She runs her tongue along her bottom teeth. “No. I haven’t.”

“So how did you—?”

“I met another girl he’s dated. And… he’s a creature of habit, so… figured he’d say something similar.”

Seulgi hums. “Well, Wendy refuses to see any other man now. But she’s fine, mostly. We just can’t mention Jihoon around her. So, just…”

“Be careful?”

Seulgi chuckles. “So you’ve heard the warnings before?”

“A couple times.” Under her breath, she mutters, “Maybe I should heed them more.” She gives Seulgi a friendly nudge as she walks away. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Is everything okay?”

Jihoon received her text around 4:30, saying that she wasn’t feeling well and would go straight home after she was done in lab.

“Yeah, I’m just… I think I’m getting sick.”

She had seemed fine when he saw her.

“Okay, I’ll walk you home then.”

There’s a long pause. “I actually caught up with Taehyung, Jungkook’s boyfriend? He said he would walk me home.”

Jihoon turns in his chair at this odd development. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll… see you tomorrow then.”

“Bye.” Almost like an afterthought, she adds, “Sorry.”

Jihoon turns back to stare at the pieces of work he has open in the task bar that he wanted to show her. Instead, he closes them and goes back to work.

Time passes without him realizing. Before he knows it, it’s time for him to meet up with Ara. He glances at the clock, thinking.

Jihoon (19:14)

Meet me at the gym?

Jihoon (19:14)

Hey, don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight. Caught a cold.

Soonyoung (19:15)

Sure. See you in 10.

Mingyu (19:15)

I’m in.

Ara (19:15)

If I didn’t know better, I’d assume you have another woman in mind.

But okay.

Get well soon, babe.

True to their word, Mingyu and Soonyoung meet him at the gym near their homes. Soonyoung leads the way inside and they go stretch while Jihoon disappears to change.

When he reemerges, Mingyu asks him what’s wrong.

“She cancelled on me.”

“Who?” Soonyoung is stretching on his right.

Jihoon crosses his right arm across his body, feels the stretch in his upper delt and across his arm. He updates them on what’s happened in the last 7 hours, from lunch, to her saying she’s sick, to Ara.

Mingyu frowns. “I didn’t realize you two were still going on dates. I thought you’d already gotten to the… dating part of dating.”

“Wait,” Soonyoung seems to realize something, “are you seeing other women right now? We cannot win this bet unless you commit!”

Mingyu observes Jihoon in the mirror. He has a dazed look in his eye, as if he’s thinking hard about something. “You actually like her.” He turns to Jihoon. “You’re genuinely upset that she didn’t come to the studio.”

Jihoon wasn’t really frowning before, but he is now. “No. I’m not.”

“Wonwoo hyung said that he thought you were seeing other women again.” Mingyu turns back to the mirror. “I said that couldn’t be possible, because you don’t like to lose.”

“Can we just work out?” His tone is harsh, but his friends hear a small plea in there too. They exchange looks over Jihoon’s head and shrug.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Soonyoung nudges him towards the free weights.

It isn’t until after their gym session on their way home that Soonyoung and Mingyu begin grilling him.

“Are you seeing other women right now?” Mingyu asks.

“Well…” Jihoon adjusts his bag on his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Soonyoung and Mingyu’s jaws drop.

“Dude. The bet.” Soonyoung gives him a push. “What if she finds out?”

Jihoon watches his feet move beneath him. “She already knows.”

“She knows? And she still goes out with you?” Mingyu demands. “Are you guys just friends?”

Soonyoung groans in frustration. “Seriously, Jihoon, bets are serious business. We went all in on this bet. You can’t just let Seokmin win a bet like this.”

“What happened, hyung?”

The question seems to release something in Jihoon. He throws his hands up in frustration. “I don’t know. I really don’t. She just… holds herself at a distance from me. I can’t seem to…” He makes grabbing motions in the air. “Get anything out of her.” He shakes his head. “Maybe we should just give up here. I don’t know if I can win this bet.”

“Yah!” Soonyoung throws an arm around his shoulders. He squeezes his arm. “I am not losing to Seokmin and Seungkwan on a bet that I know that we can win. You are the best at this.”

“She’s just as good at keeping me at a distance. And apparently she’s also had men castrated before.”

Mingyu and Soonyoung blink in surprise at the sudden information.

“Okay, well, we’re not going to let that happen to you,” Mingyu states.

Soonyoung agrees. “But you’re going to have to start pulling out al your moves. You—”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Listen to me. I have been at this since February. The girl won’t even let me kiss her.”

Mingyu scoffs. “You haven’t even kissed her yet? You guys are just friends.”

Soonyoung holds a hand up in Mingyu’s face. “You are not being encouraging.” He readjusts his grip around Jihoon. “Look. We’ll help you then. Lee Jihoon doesn’t tap out like this.”

“You said she canceled on you.” Mingyu tips his chin in Jihoon’s direction. “Why?”

“She said she was sick and found someone else to walk her home.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen. He releases his grip on Jihoon to get a better look at his face. “That’s it?”

Jihoon scowls. “Did I not tell you that I haven’t even kissed her yet? I eat lunch with her every day and then I walk her home.”

“Are we in the 1700s? What the fuck?” Mingyu demands.

“I can’t work out what makes her tick. She tells me stuff about herself, but nothing I can use. All I’ve learned is that she’s one of the smartest people I know, reads a lot, paints, and can give me actual feedback on my music.”

“Oh, come on, that can’t be all you’ve learned.”

Jihoon sighs, racking his brain for more information. There are obviously little things he’s noticed, like that she drinks a shit ton of water; that when she thinks something’s amusing, she lets out a little breath of laughter; or that she presses down on her fingers with her thumbs when she’s nervous. But he can’t share these things. They aren’t useful.

“I’ve learned she hasn’t really dated anyone since Byunggu. That she doesn’t even count that guy as a boyfriend so Jungkook is the last man she dated.”

“Byunggu… why do I know that name?” Soonyoung looks to Mingyu.

“Because he’s the guy who’s either been threatened, murdered or castrated,” Jihoon grumbles.

Soonyoung waves him off. “No.” He reaches behind Jihoon to hit Mingyu’s arm. “Isn’t he that guy who debuted last year?”

Mingyu’s brow furrows.

“He stopped coming to parties because he was filming some show or something, remember?” He pushes Mingyu, as if that will jog his memory. “He was one of your girls’ friends. Remember? She wouldn’t stop talking about him? That’s why you dumped her?”

“Oh! Yeah!” Mingyu pulls his phone out and looks something up. When he turns the phone to Jihoon, Jihoon squints at an article about this man who is currently doing small roles in various dramas. He doesn’t recognize the face. But until this point, he’d never seen any photos of this elusive ex. A debut would explain why he disappeared into thin air.

“What am I supposed to do with this information?” Jihoon pushes the phone away. “She clams up as soon as he comes up.”

“Okay, okay. Forget trying to replicate the men of the past.” Soonyoung says. “Just… be you.”

Jihoon stares at him in disbelief. “She doesn’t like me.”

“She must, because she’s spent a lot of time with you, hyung.” Mingyu sips from his water bottle. “Noona only gives certain people her time, if you haven’t noticed. Her girls, Hansol, Seungkwan, Wonwoo hyung these days.” He shrugs. “If you’re spending so much time with her, she likes you at least a little bit.”

Jihoon bites his tongue, annoyed that they’re right. “I’m only going to give this another month. If I can’t get this girl into my bed, then there’s no way she’s going to say ‘I love you’ first.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?” Jihyo asks.

The two roommates are having a night in, watching a movie but talking the entire time with take out on the table.

She came home looking preoccupied, so Jihyo forced her to put on her pajamas, pick what sort of take out they would eat, and to bundle up on the couch. Then she forced her roommate to tell her what was wrong.

“I don’t know. Do you think it’s a sign that two different women have told me I should be careful?” She pouts. “I don’t want to feel like I need to tread carefully.”

“I don’t know what Jihoon was like with those other girls, but he likes you. I know what a guy looks like when all he wants is to get you into his bed. That look on Jihoon’s face when he sees you is pure adoration.”

She carefully breaks apart a cookie before popping a piece into her mouth. “If anything, Jihoon’s just a friend.”

“A friend who adores you. Who you also seem to like.” Jihyo nudges her with the back of her hand. “You can’t go around thinking every boy is going to hurt you like Byunggu.”

“I don’t think that. Why would I think that if I don’t even give them a chance to try?”

Jihyo snorts, both amused and frustrated. “Jihoon is putting in the effort with you. You didn’t even give him your number for like a month and a half. And he still made it work.”

“I did that to keep him away from me.” She rolls her eyes, a slight smile on her face. “So, thanks for helping him out with that.”

“You still hang out with him.”

“You know, he’s seeing other girls now.”

Jihyo pauses. “Really?”

“He tells me about them. He had a date yesterday. He has one tonight.” She shakes her head. “I think it’s just better for me if we stay friends.” She notices Jihyo on her phone. “What are you doing now?”

“Asking Cheollie if Jihoon’s home.” Jihyo turns her phone her way, grinning. Seungcheol had sent a picture of Jihoon next to him on the couch. The two seem to be playing video games. “Give the man a chance. You don’t know what kind of boyfriend he can be if you don’t.”

#woozi #woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #Lee Jihoon #lee jihoon scenarios #Seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt

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magnoliasinbloom · 4 years ago

Text

Lie To Me - 17

AO3 :: Previously

“You must stay close, Fraser.” John Grey’s tone is stern, clipped and anxious.

“I didna intend to let her out of my sight.” Jamie breaks away from the phone for a moment to shove his head through a shirt neckline, and checks his mobile for the hundredth time.

It has been a tense two weeks, while the SCD gets their paperwork and warrants in order. There cannot be any mistakes, or the MacKenzies and their company will get away scot-free, no pun intended. Jamie had returned to the office with little fanfare, but was well aware that he was being watched again. His decision to send Claire away had been a good one.

There had been certain buzz about the upcoming event, but Jamie hadn’t received an invitation himself—for obvious reasons, he thought. He had appraised Murtagh of the fundraiser so he could contact Grey, but no one knew anything; purposefully orchestrated, but no specific details beyond that. Wheedling Louise to add his name to the list to no avail, he’d had to come up with an alternative plan to be close to Claire and protect her as he’d promised.

Grey prattles on in Jamie’s ear, and he looks at the screen once more. No new messages from Claire; the last had been an hour ago, a racy selfie of Claire in her barely-there underwear as she dressed for the fundraiser. Suddenly, a certain word brings him crashing back to Earth.

“What? Ye can’t!”

“Of course I can’t, Fraser,” Grey says irritably. “I only said I wished I could arm you. But you’re a civilian, so that’s a no-go. I’ll have a detail there to help out.”

“I wouldna ken what to do with a gun even if ye did.” Jamie swallows hard, fear in his throat. “Ye dinna think it will come to that?”

“I’m hoping it won’t be. Keep your eyes open and stay alert, Fraser. If you see anything untoward, anything suspicious, call Murtagh.” It would be a very public takedown, and Jamie is equally excited and apprehensive. The videos SCD had discovered apparently show Bonnet’s face clearly, exculpating Jamie from Alexander McGregor’s death.

With a final warning to be careful, Grey ends the call. Almost immediately after, Jamie’s phone beeps with a new text. It’s Claire, in a beautiful yellow gown, blowing a kiss to the camera. Jamie’s confidence is renewed and his spirits lift, to see his Sassenach so beautiful, so brave, so irrevocably his.

X-x-X

The venue is sumptuously decorated, as befits Glasgow’s Gallery of Modern Art. Claire grips her coat as she hands her invitation to the guard at the door and is admitted. Geillis walks beside her, already looking for the servers with drink trays.

“Here ye go, get ye properly soused.” G hands her a flute of champagne. Claire sips slowly, looking around for a tall head of red hair. It’s not noticeable, and she doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that her Viking Scot is well-concealed; she desperately wishes Jamie could be at her side. Claire watches as her co-workers mingle and laugh, eating and drinking. She chats with a few of her colleagues, and while talking to Joe Abernathy, she spots a bright mop of curls skulking behind a set of cubicles acting as the servers’ station. Excusing herself to the loos, she sidles close to the station and faces the room, grabbing another glass flute as she senses Jamie at her back.

“Mo nighean donn, ye look beautiful,” he breathes on her neck, leaning in as close as he dares. He has spent his time hiding out behind the flimsy cubicle walls. Blending in with the servers, he’d made his way through the back-entrance gangway, pretending to be working with them tonight. No one had batted an eye or asked him anything. Donning a white jacket a bit too tight across the shoulders and at least three inches too small at the wrists, he pretended to sort through the champagne glasses and handed full trays out for servers to parade around the museum.

A sudden commotion near the entrance has her craning her neck to see Colum MacKenzie arrive maneuvering in an electric wheelchair, followed closely by Dougal. Claire sees Tom Christie, the hospital director, rush over to greet and flatter them. She can feel Jamie tense behind her.

“Claire, the MacKenzie…”

“I see them, Jamie. Don’t worry.” His hand slips into hers for a moment, warm and strong. She doesn’t dare turn to look at him. His mere presence at her back bolsters her courage, as she downs the rest of the champagne and prepares to walk back into the fray, with Jamie’s parting words in her ears and heart:

Ye need not be scairt, so long as I’m wi’ ye.

They resonate in her mind, steadying her. Claire finds Geillis and they nurse another glass of champagne. Geillis senses her nerves and Claire steers her far away from the gaggle of chiefs and important hospital administrators fawning over the fundraiser sponsors.

“Hey, there you are, ladies!” Joe saunters up to them, clinking glasses together. “What do you think of all this? Pretty swanky, huh?”

“Only the best for Queen Elizabeth’s,” Claire smiles, smoothing a hand down her dress. Her heels are starting to pinch her feet, and she fidgets, wishing she could be in her pajamas cuddled up to her big red Scot. She folds her coat and lays it on the table along with her gold clutch; no chairs have been provided, apparently to force people to stand around and mingle.

“Gowan wanted to see you, Geillis. He wants the donors from Nexus—you know, the hospital beds—to meet you. Can I steal her away from you a bit, Beauchamp?” Joe smiles easily and guides G with a hand at the small of her back. She looks back helplessly at Claire as she’s swallowed up by the crowd.

Claire is trying to find a glimpse of Jamie again at the servers’ station when she feels a strong, callused hand grasp her arm at the elbow. She tenses, fear skittering up her spine—this hand is unfamiliar, rough, and definitely not Jamie’s. She whirls to find Dougal’s grizzled face leering at her, teeth bared into a grin that resembles a snarl.

“Miss Beauchamp—we meet at last.”

Claire tries to wrench free, but that only makes Dougal tighten his grip. She wants to scream, but her throat is dry and she finds they are surrounded by two burly men who block the rest of the attendees from seeing what is going on.

“Let me go.” Her voice aims for strength but there is a tremor of fear.

“I dinna think so, sassenach.” The word takes on its intended meaning, an insult, a slur of sorts. Dougal begins walking her away from the table. “Jamie will heed us, one way or another.”

“Jamie is a good man,” Claire hisses, “not that you know anything about that.” She tries to cast about for Jamie, but they’re heading in the opposite direction from the servers’ station; Dougal yanks her arm again to make her keep up, causing her to stumble. Too late, she realizes she left her clutch—and her mobile—on the table.

“He overplayed his hand. Do ye think we dinna ken about his relationship wi’ ye, what he’s been tryin’ to do these past few months? He broke faith wi’ us, and his wife. Our contract, we willna honor it either.”

“Honor? What do you know about the word?” Claire spits out with as much venom as she can muster

“Honor or no, I ken I always win, lass.” With that, Dougal releases her, but Claire feels another hand descend, this time on her shoulder, gripping, and a small but insistent push at her back. She’s never felt anything like it, but immediately realizes what it is: a gun. Quietly, she is steered away from the crowd, into the exhibits. After hours, there is only emergency lighting barely bright enough to see.

The last thing she hears from Dougal before being swallowed up by the dark is, “I’ll wait in the car.”

X-x-X

Jamie can’t find Claire. He’d spotted her bright gold purse laying on the table where he last saw Claire, and he rips it open; her mobile is in it, and his wame sinks. He has no way of contacting her now, and he fears the worst.

He spots Geillis flirting with an older man, tipping her head back and shaking out her long red hair.

He hurries to her and with a curt, “Excuse us,” takes Geillis’s arm and leads her off to a corner away from the noise.

“What is it, Jamie?”

“Have ye seen Claire? I left for a minute to go to the loo and now she’s gone.”

“I saw her the last time ye did. Do ye think she might have left?”

Jamie’s heart pounds double-time. “Not on her own. I specifically told her not to, not tonight.” He holds up the purse. “She wouldna have left this behind.”

Geillis pales. “I can head home, see if she’s there anyway, or wait for her.”

“Yes, please, do that.” Jamie pulls out his phone, and dials Murtagh. “Uncle?”

“Lad, ye ken ‘tis not safe for ye to—”

“Claire’s gone. They’ve taken Claire.” He knows this with a certainty that shocks him. A series of expletives on the other end before he continues. “Call Grey, tell him to move in now. We canna afford to wait.” Jamie ends the call; he’s on the move now, headed towards the main entrance so he can call a car.

Briefly, he glimpses a broad muscular man in the distance. There is a large black sedan blocking one of the nearby side streets. There is a sense of déjà-vu when he hears a muffled yell, and then he’s racing towards the sound, racing towards his life.

#outlander #outlander au #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #ltm17 #stuff's going down #i'm back at work tomorrow and in total denial #may the odds be ever in my favor :/

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midas-or-khaos · 4 years ago

Text

Wrong place, Wrong time. Part 1

God of war x borrower oc story

“-And remember, DON’T touch anything! Reavers aren’t exactly a clean bunch,” a gurgling followed. “Ugh, really bad at keeping anything clean in fact.” The poor man really could be a worry wart at times (and a clean freak as always).

“Sindri, I’ll be fine. I promise! Cross my heart and everything. The whetstone will probably be kept somewhere safe if it’s precious enough to be stolen, so it’ll hopefully be clean when I find it.”

“Oh. Well, I hadn’t thought of that. Just...stay safe ok? And don’t get caught!”

“I won’t, I never do. See you soon!”

Reluctantly the dwarf answered,“See you soon jojo.” But the poor dwarf’s knee couldn’t stop shaking, thinking about worst case scenarios. Jojo knew he’d just have to prove poor Sindri wrong once again. Maybe one of these days he’d actually learn there was no use worrying himself into a frenzy. Taking off, the 5 inch figure wasn’t stopped as he scurried along natural ledges in walls, and began his descent into the heart of the earth.

Jojo didn’t see what all the worry was for. One of the few perks of being a borrower was often big folk like Reavers or monsters were always too busy looking ahead for bean sized people, that they never looked far enough down to see him. He knew the dwarf didn’t like asking him for help, even though the boy often came to Sindri’s shop outside ‘Fafnir’s storeroom’ (or whatever he called it) asking for challenges and new borrowing spots.

Most borrowers would call it suicide to be talking to beans and other big folk, ESPECIALLY with all the new monsters that have started popping up recently. Hel walkers they’re called apparently. But Jojo wasn’t most. He’d sought out his favourite Dwarf and brother when his parents died drowning in the lake of nine when the waters suddenly flooded, leaving their 8 year old son to fend for himself. Not immediately, obviously. No, at that point he was still a weedy little scaredy cat himself, not able to be even in the same area when footstep started to shake the earth. It could only last so long though. He hadn’t been old enough to be taken out borrowing before being left alone, and supplies ran low quickly. So, spurt of the desperate, when he saw the two set up shop outside his home in the foothills, the child decided to stride right out into the open and ask for food.

4 years later and he still never regretted that decision. Still scrawny, “the side effect of being young” said Brok, but definitely more confident. Brok taught him a lot of that confidence (and a whole lot of swear words too, despite Sindri’s attempts to undo his brother’s work) and Sindri taught him kindness and generosity. The generosity was only spent on the brothers, because who else was he going to see? No borrower would trust another that hung around beans, and Sindri wouldn’t let him be found by anyone if he had anything to say about it, but kindness he tried to show all IF he could without getting sliced in half.

Gathering focus for the change in environment, the world became darker. White, natural light was flittering out, slowly being replaced by the ethereal glow of blue crystals bouncing off liquid smooth stone corridors leading into a fatal drop. An underground ravine. Nothing had shown its face yet, though the odd grunt of some undead beastie would make itself known now and then. Being so small meant there was no need to cross the water below, or find ways to get the chain ropes down so as to climb across. All he had to do was stick close to the roof where stalactites could be leapt between till he reached some valley in the wall to rest. Nothing too hard. Looking for the fist place to jump, a low hanging spine was just a couple of feet away (to Jojo); taking a leap of faith, the boy managed to snag the tail end. Right, next one. Leaping like a lemur the drop was easily avoided, and soon something came into view. Sunlight yellow was beginning to mix with the unnatural blue, and Jojo knew there was an opening into the outside world around the corner. Good, finally he would be able to see, though he would be easier to spot in the illumination of day.

Sindri

How had Brok convinced him to let Jojo go treasure hunting alone? So many traps, monsters, ancients even! “He’ll be fine” said Brok when the two had discussed it together during one of their rare ‘chats for important matters’. So nonchalantly Brok threw out, “Kid’s never been seen before, he ain’t gonna be now!” We’ll that was just testing fate wasn’t it! The rhythmic thumping of hammer to metal was doing nothing to take his mind off the matter, and a few too many near misses to his thumb told Sindri he wasn’t going to get any real work done at this rate. Perhaps he should have a break and go visit Ivaldi’s workshop?

“Hey Sindri!”

“Agh!!!!” Both hammer and work went flying overhead, just missing the flat of his skull. The lithe boy in question at least had the gall to go red, abashed as he walked over to the Dwarf’s workbench, scratching at the buzzed fuzz across the side his head.

“Sorry.”

“Well you should be! That could’ve hurt you OR me, and all the infections that could get in-”

“Boy, be careful.”

The source of the voice sat further back up the slate corridor, hidden in shadow, hawkish gold glowed beneath a heavy brow.

“Sorry father.” Atreus called back to the hidden figure.

With meaningful strides, the figure came into the light of day, bleach white skin, jet black beard and a crimson tattoo striped across an eye setting the figure apart as none other than his worst fear. Kratos. Why? Why were these two here?

“What brings you two to my place of work to scare me?”

Leaning on the edge of his (freshly cleaned) work bench, the spritely youth explained with excitement, “We’re gonna get that whetstone you wanted!”

Shit! He’d mentioned that to them, hadn’t he? Why had they come to fulfill that promise now, when they seemed so disinterest in before?

“O-o-ooooohhhhh yeahhhhhhh, THAT whetstone. Well...”

Atreus leaned in with a head tilt and a brow lifted, “...well? What’s wrong, did you find it already?”

“No-“

“-No? Then what’s the problem?”

“Speak clearly, we have come for the promise of improvements.” Straight to the point, both father and son were on edge now.

Damn it, he was digging a hole for himself again. Stupid mouth. Obviously, if the two of them went in those mines, there was a chance his kid would get spotted and wearing that rat skin outfit, either of the pair could mistake Jojo for an actual rat and hit him with something. Oooooo, that’s horrifying, don’t think about that! Ughhhh don’t vomit! Don’t-...But On the other hand, there was a chance that the father/son duo could clear the way and make it safer for his boy to get back. And more searching eyes makes for less work. Sindri would just have to encourage them not to be too... liberal with their killing.

“Yes the offer is still there, but you must heed this warning.”

“You mentioned no warning before, why?” The irritation lacing the bestial man’s tone didn’t keep itself hidden, growls billowing out that barrel chest. The dwarf didn’t shirk away like a turtle. Not at all.

“O-oh-well-I didn’t know before. Bbbbut I got new information...from Brok. He said not tooooooo... kill the ratssssss?”

The growls took a higher pitch.

“Errrrr, ok? Are the rats protected are something?” Quizzed Atreus, bringing the blacksmith off the subject of the terrifying god before him. A perfect excuse.

“YES! Yes, sorry, the rats are the protected subjects of Freya. Wouldn’t want to upset her right?!”

“Oh! Well, she never mentioned that when we met her.” These two met FREYA! Of course they had, who was he kidding, they’d met everyone and probably started a fight with them too.

“Must’ve slipped her mind, now hurry up! Don’t want any drauger or wolves to get their disgusting hands all over it! Otherwise it’ll be so dirty even I won’t be able to clean it!”

The excuse was enough. The two turned (but not before the kid’s enthusiastic good bye) and disappeared below the cramped passage into the inky black mines, their footsteps echoing out.

“Please let this be the right idea.” Huffed out Sindri with stale, held breath, shaking his head at his own recklessness.

Jojo

Making the last of his descent down the sheer cliff walls, vibrant green broke the dead stone and made life at the edge of the darkness. The sweet ache from overworked tendons and muscles began the slow process of slipping away, fresh air and bird song rejuvenating the boy’s ambition to find his prize, a grin pulling at bubbly cheeks. He was halfway now! Strolling through the ivy, form barely making a rustle, sunlight illuminated the boy’s way through the thickets. Brok mentioned that before he reached the main chamber where the actual traps and treasure was kept, there was a ‘small’ field for him to cross with bits of precious metals along the way. Jojo knew he’d need to make height soon in order to know where he was going, but this time it’d have to be calculated; all black stood out in all this greenery. Now where to go? Rocks. He could use the rocks as an outpost to look out: dark coloured, easy to climb and easy to blend into. Just a matter of reaching it. Strolling through the ivy, the speckled light beaming on the crumbled earth was just enough to guide the way forward, boots barely making a sound.

Squawk

Stopping dead, a cold trail prickled along his back. The boy made the slowest tilt back possible to peak throught the canopy, trying to avoid detection. Too late, looking with a ghostly green eye, a monsterous raven was stalking with keen interest, perched almost serenely upon it’s watch point. Ravens weren’t notorious borrower hunters, seeing people like him often as a chore to catch and consume. But rats...rats were their favourite.

And he was dressed as one.

Atreus

“Father, what do you think had Sindri so shook?”

“Anything, boy. The dwarf has a talent for fear.” No denying that, agreed the doe eyed boy. Sindri did fear just about everything.

Crouching did nothing for the chalk giant, disgruntled grunts sounding out amongst the overhead drips of droplets every time his bald head scraped the sandpaper rough ceiling. It’s one of the few examples in life that made Atreus happy to be short. Yowls were coming from further into the mineshaft, but drauger were a minor setback, easily dispatched.

“Be on your guard boy, we are nearing danger.”

Jojo

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-“ How could one bird be more persistent then all the drauger in the world?

SSSSSQQQQUUUUUAAAAAARRRRRRRKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!

Too close! Every attack was only wearing the borrower down more; the saving grace from this endless stream of dive bombs was that in the bird’s haste, it made enough flapping to give its location away at all times, making it easier to dodge. But now Jojo was lost, lost and close to just falling down if his quaking limbs were anything to go by.

Atreus

“Well that was easy.”

A sagely look was drawn toward Atreus, not angry, but not impressed, “Easy because there are two of us, boy, but don’t let your guard down because you perceive an enemy as ‘easy’.”

Always one to lecture. “Yes sir.”

The cave entrance as coming into sight, stoic father and brash son walking side by side. With electrical arrows at the ready and frosty axe drawn the odd pair walked into daylight, sun illuminating the thick blood staining their skin and wares. Both were ready for any kind of battle ahead, be it fierce or simple.

Well, except for the kind of battle that they stumbled onto.

“Father? What’s wrong with that bird?” Quizzed Atreus, looking up, but Kratos was busy scanning the wooded field

“It hunts for prey boy, pay it no mind.” No beating around the bush.

“But it looks like one of Odin’s crows.”

The barely there expression of strained, chalk temples and widening, heavy set eyes might as well have been a scream.“Shoot it down.”

This rarity was not lost on the boy, heart pounding in response. If his ever-stoic dad was frightened, this was more of a danger than he had anticipated. Wasting no time, Atreus locked on as the bird went for another dive, and let loose a wizzing arrow. It fired true puncturing the breast and punching through to the other side with a resounding crack of the rib cage. The creature never hit its mark, breaking apart in a surprising burst of green flame, but never actually setting anything on fire. The witchcraft of Odin was strange indeed.

The boy couldn’t feel pleasure out of his elegant kill, still too shaken by what he’d seen. Atreus knew better than to ask his father what was wrong, the man would switch on him like a rabid dog driven mad by rabies if any fear was ever acknowledged.

“We go on, boy.”

Kratos took the lead, heading further uphill into the tree trunk horizon, sun spilling over the crest and illuminating some of the lower valley where the boy stood. Atreus made no move to follow. If he was to get answers, it would have to be now whilst his father charged on unaware. Tip toeing over to where the bird would have fallen, eyes trained on his father, the archer found his arrow wedged fast into the soft earth with wandering hands. Turning his gaze for just a moment to inspect his find, there were signs of burns, suggesting that the animal must’ve been made of pure magic; probably a spy of some kind if Odin had anything to do with it, the man was notoriously suspicious and crafty (even all seeing as his mother had mentioned) so would want to know at all times what was going on in midguard. Hold on... pulling the tip of the spear out, a rat skin sat pierced at the end. Weird thing was though, it was clean, even looking tanned on the inside like some kind of weird miniature hooded tunic! This wasn’t an animal the crow had caught and killed, but clearly was worn by the thing that the bird was after on the ground. Wait... Sindri mentioned not killing any rats, but this one was allowed to die and be made into clothes, meaning Freya wasn’t protecting the rats at all. Sindri was lying, he was protecting whoever wore this tunic-

“BOY! COME!”

Oops. He’d zoned out too long.

“Father, I think Sindri was lying!”

Footstep were coming down behind him in a charge. Curiosity wouldn’t let him leave, but flight was making his feet flitter and shake, ready to take off from the raging bull behind him.

“Did I just not tell you to follow?! The dwarf is of no concern-“ Fighting curiosity won over.

“DAD! Just. Look.”

Turning back and presenting the tunic to the man who’d finally reached him, the golden hue burned brightly with hatful embers down at the find. Just as quickly the gaze focused back on the child. He neither cared nor understood.

“It’s a tunic, made from the skin of a rat. Sindri said the rats here were under the protection of Freya, but if that were true, this one wouldn’t be dead and Odin’s ravens wouldn’t dare go after it. Sindri’s hiding something.”

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painandpleasure86 · 5 years ago

Text

Burned all my energy (BreakyWeek2k19)

Author’s note: Hi ppl! This was for Day 4, but this last Thursday and Friday were so frenetic... I couldn’t post this before! Probably I’ll post for the last day... Thank u @runningfortocome for hosting this special week for this underrated ship and for supported me last Tues for the hateful anons.

Prompt for Day 4 that I choosed: “Back Chat/arguments in the studio”

Warnings: Angst and fluff.

Word count: +2.0k

Tag list: @warriorteam1924 @runningfortocome

They love to each other. So much. But also argue a lot. Both have a big pride about their own opinion and that didn't helped at all. Not only in the studio, but also in the intimacy. At least in the last one scenario was always a lot easier to fix the things. Nothing like a special meal or something sexual couldn’t fix.

Record an album always was a challenge for the group. The four of them have different points of view about what to do. But the two of them were usually the worst. Fred always mediating, Roger always mocking to the couple.

Around 1979, John showed to the group Another one bites the dust. He recorded bass, guitar, synths and claps as a demo. Meanwhile the group was listening it in the studio, Bri and Roger started to feel in disconform, mainly Roger.

In a whisper, Roger told to Brian “please, if you want to say your disagree, be careful... despite that it’s so funny mocking him, i’m quite tired of both of you arguing”. Brian nodded.

Once the demo ended, Bri said to John with a kind smile "Nice song really, but..."

The youngest one started to feel the anger. Still in his chair, turned to them and he watched right to the hazel eyes of his man. Said sighing “ah shit here we go again ... always but. Nothing that I make likes you!”

Fred, half turned to Brian and John. Trying to calming the atmosphere, said with a cheeky face “You mean musically darling no?”, while winked and made some sexual gestures with his hands.

Brian watched at him pretty disgusting.

"That stuff it's irrelevant here" he said.

"It is Bri. Thanks to the gods that you're happy at bed, hehe." His blonde friend winked an eye. "If not, more hysteria. And the three of you are drama queens. Despite that's quite funny, sometimes it's tiring to see the three of you always discussing" throw Roger.

Bri, pretty done, almost screamed "oh okay, look at you, calling to us drama queens when you made a number for your song of the car some years ago!”

Roger started to be really irritated.

"That's your only argument! Change your cassette Bri!" yelled the blondie.

Fred stand up of his chair and puts between Bri and Rog, separating them with his hands. John just was covering his face trying to not say nothing. "That childish fight again…" he thought.

"Guys, quiet." said so calm.

They still watched to the another pretty upset.

"Relax, guys." continued the singer.

Looking at Roger, he said "the four we're hysterical queens in a some way… But just a real one, ha!" Roger smiled.

Fred turned his face now to Bri.

"Now you can continue with your opinion about John's song."

Bri started to talk, but Fred interrupted him.

"First, something more Bri". His hands leaved the chest of his friends and walked near John to grab his shoulders, which was on one side watching all the scene. He ducked his head in direction of the face of the bassist.

"And you, darling… don't interrupt to Brian and start to argue again. Let the man speak".

Deaks looked at his friend and sighed deeply.

"Okay, Fred."

Looking at his lover "I'll not yell this time, love." He stand up of his chair. Fred was behind John now. The bassist walked to his man and hugged him with his left arm. Watching to that hazel eyes and caressing the cheeks of the guitarist, continued speaking. "Go ahead." And he kissed him in the cheek.

Brian watched at the bassist and smiled, slightly blushed.

The environment it's relaxed again.

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A couple of months later, The Game album was released. Another One Bites the Dust it's the most selled single. Bri and Roger should to recognize the ability of John there. And that was right heeding to Michael Jackson that suggested to release that song as a single.

That album gave them tours for common lands to them like Japan, and visit for the very first time places like South America; where the band had an excellent and very warm reception from the fans. Where Another one bites the dust sounded in the discos and a lot of people enjoyed that funky vibe in the dance floor.

Even that song won the prize as Best Pop Single. Deaky and Rog were there to receive the prize. John, very happy. But Roger, pretty deceptioned "we are a rock band and we won a prize for best pop single? For God's sake…" he thoughts while they’re receiving the prize.

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Flash recording. Releasing. And now another recording, the album that would be named Hot Space. Now have even more argues and problems, the sound of this album its pretty away of the rockish sound of the band. The experiment with AOBTD was successful, so, the funky and the (slowly dying) disco music took over the album concept. Even of that way, Brian and Roger could insert rockish songs or at least with powerful guitar riffs. Deaky and Fred must accepted that after a lot of argues, for maintain the good environment in the studio. Specifically, Deaky didn't wanted to have problems with his lover. They have already problems pretending being straights, until decide get out of the closet. He often just sighed deeply, pretending that everything's okay. But his patience was reaching it limit.

One night he couldn’t sleep. Changed a lot of time his position in bed. Deep breath didn't worked in him. He have a lot of angry inside. He needed to vent thru a song.

He get up of the bed so quickly and was to the studio where he write his songs. In that studio he haves books that covered almost an entire wall, having infront a comfy couch. Next, the window and in front the desk. To the right side of the window, lied his Fender Precision Bass 1968, a keyboard and an acoustic guitar.

In the studio, he grabbed paper, pen and sat in front of the desk to start to write. Isn't that often that him haves a suddenly inspo to write a full song. But that night was one of the examples. Back Chat born. Reading the paper, he though “I love you… but i’m tired of you complaining about my things and talk behind my back, my dear”.

Trying to not make a lot of noise, he grabbed his bass that are there. He connected to an amp and started to play a bassline. Meanwhile, he thought “I’ll be so funky, more than another one bites the dust… and you will not have your solo. If i can’t modify your arrangements, you will can’t modify this. Eat from your own medicine. I’m so patient, i’m so kind with you, but i’m also done.”

Next day at the studio, he came with that paper in one of his pockets. They entered like any day, but he have a little surprise…

Fred asked finally to him “well darling, do you have something to the new album?"

He extended the sheet to the singer. He has read. The face of Fred was a mix between laugh and confusion.

"My dear, who made you that damage?" finally said watching at the greenish eyes of his friend, curious.

He crossed his arms and "posed". That pose. That face. That smile.

"Don't matters" he said with a ironic voice, and his eyes focused in his lover. Bri watched at him so confused.

Roger, watching the scene and drinking a coffee, said "ha! Couple issues. That's fun guys… I love the drama between you! Thanks to God that I always haves some popcorn! That's better that any soup opera…

Despite the joke, the tension came back once again to the studio. And that just was the beginning. Because after that, Deaky specified that he will play also the guitar, keyboards and even a drum machine.

Bri and Roger started to be very upset.

"Deaky, man, I love you… but trying to replace me? I'm the drummer! Despite all, I must to play that part!" said the blonde.

Bri, of course, reacted even worst. "Really… REALLY? What the actual fuck? Plus… YOU DON'T WANT A GUITAR SOLO? AND YOU WANT TO RECORD ALMOST ALL? Seriously, this isn't the way to speak about our problems!

Deaky watching to his face and yelling, said: "I'm so done of that attitude of you and more when we try to experiment new things… Always guitar riffs it's boring! Not always we should sound like rock music! Really… my patience it's done for today. Don't speak to me, even you Fred. I just want to be alone!!!"

He grab his things and started to leave the recording studio.

"You should to be alone for being so mean with me!" said Bri almost crying.

John sighed and turned back.

"Look Brian… we're a couple no? Learn to accept your part of the responsibility. I have patience, but isn't endless." he said in a serious tone.

He watched to Roger and Freddie.

"Guys, for today I don't want to work. I'll go to drink something perhaps. Don't try to catch me, please."

He sighed. "Sorry Fred."

And leaved the studio slamming the door.

The three of them tried to back to work. Brian couldn't really. He was crying and drinking a lot of beer. After some hours, he fell asleep in a couch, so drunk, so sad.

Similar scene was John. After a lot of drinks in a near bar and avoiding the occasionals fans trying to get an autograph, came back to the home where the four habits when they're recording an album.

Barely could close the door. His head hurts. His throat wanted to vomit. Walked as he could to the bathroom and threw in the toilet.

When he ended, he just wanted to go to bed.

Opened the door of the room… him was already in bed. And he almost started to cry, but he hadn't energies at all. Just gone to sleep, trying to not wake up to him.

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

Next morning, first in wake up was the guitarist. And he saw to the another one sleeping so deeply, snoring. He kissed him in the forehead and whispered "I still love you, funky man". And leaved the bed and the room. Moments later, John woke up and he find himself alone, with a hard hungover. He rubbed his eyes and said “ugh why I need to get out of this bed, i’m feeling so terrible”.

He took a bath. After choose his outift for that day and dressing, go to the kitchen to have some breakfast. He found the another three having a nice chat while they were taking their breakfast, until he entered to the kitchen to prepare some tea.

The three watched at him in silence preparing everything to his breakfast. When put the kettle to boil some water, he turned to his bandmates and ask “Who’s died that you’re in silence?”

“Are you better, darling?” Finally Fred says to Deacon.

He sighs deeply. “Yes and not. From the anger from yesterday… fine. But i’m still having a hungover and i’m hungry.” he says, touching his forehead and after his tummy.

Silence again.

Roger, after sipping of his cup of tea, look at John and says to his friend “c’mon mate”

He was confused. “What?”

Brian without rise his sight and moving the little spoon inside the cup of tea, said “an apologize, perhaps.” He sighed deeply and rise his head. Turns around still sat in his chair in Johns direction. “ Sorry for being rude with you yesterday.” added the guitarist.

He watched at him with tears in his eyes. The bassist ran to hug him so tightly.

“no, I’m the one that should apologize”. He caressed the curly hair with his left hand. Being near of the right ear of the guitarist, whispered “you will can have your damn solo if you want. You always get your way, haha”. Watched right to the face of his man, both hands holding that smiling face. He’s smiling too. “I love you”. “Me too my grumpy bassist”, added the elder one. And both kissed softly.

Roger and Fred watched the scene so happy to see that two happy again, until Roger watched to the cooker.

“Fred…? I should say it?” asked sipping his tea, quite cold.

Freddie watched to Roger and shaked his head. “Let them be happy for a moment” and giggled a little.

The water from the kettle was boiling intensely since a couple of minutes...

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If you liked this fic, reblogs are highly appreciated! -Lily

#breakyweek2k19 #back chat #queen fic #john deacon #brian may #queen fluff #queen angst #breaky #maycon #queen ships #queen 80s #aobtd #hot space #queen imagines #painandpleasure86 writes #painandpleasure86 fics

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kimjongdaely · 6 years ago

Text

Tempo [Alluring]

Mafia!AU

Pairing: Kai x Reader

Warning: violence

Summary: You are enamored by the bar pianist. When he asks you for a favor one day, you couldn’t say no.

The bar is loud as always.

Smoke hazes the room, making it hard to see well. But that’s the purpose of coming here; to laugh and chat with people you will never recognize, never again see.

It’s a world filled with mystery.

“So you’re a regular here?”

You glance at the man you sit with, a stranger that you met only a few minutes ago. You smile. “Yes, I am. You’re not?”

“No,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s my first time. I’ve hear a bunch of good things about it, so I came to see.”

“Ah,” you nod. “Yes, it is quite amazing. You’ll see soon. Afterwards, you can’t help but come back.”

“Really?” He seems amused, not really believing your words. “I’m excited to see then.”

The bar begins to quiet down, and you can feel the tingle of excitement roll down your spine. You turn in your chair to face the stage, lit by a spotlight. An antique-looking piano is placed on it, and you hear the tell-tale footsteps of the man you always come here for.

Kai.

He smiles at the audience, taking a bow before he sits down at the piano, his hands moving to their rightful position over the keys.

You watch as he inhales, exhales, the tips of his fingers caressing the smooth surface of the keys for a second before he begins, weaving a melody of pure elegance and beauty like magic.

The sounds that he makes echoes through the bar, not a sound heard anymore as everyone turns to watch, enamored by his music.

The first time you came here, you were rightfully infatuated with him. The music he plays draws people in, willingly or unwillingly, like moths to a flame.

You close your eyes, letting his music wash over you and lay you bare before him. For him, you would willingly do anything, you think.

A dangerous thought, but true nonetheless.

As the notes begin to slow and soften into a pianissimo, you open your eyes again. You trail your gaze at his handsome face, seeing the concentration and enjoyment.

The song ends, and a reverberating applause roars.

Kai stands, takes another bow, and exits the stage. He always plays only a single song, yet most people stay just for him. He’s simply that good.

The night comes to a close and you rise to leave. You bid the stranger goodbye, seeing how his reaction is a little slower than normal. It seems he has become infatuated with Kai too.

After his performance, you have no need to stay anymore. The sea of faceless people around you does little to persuade you to stay.

You shiver as you exit into the cool night, and you breath in the crisp air, cleansing your lungs from the smoke.

“Hi.”

You jump, surprised at the voice. You turn, breath hitching in your throat when you see who it is. It’s Kai in the flesh, dark eyes trained on you as he leans casually against the wall of the bar. He smiles, the sight making your knees buckle.

You clear your throat, trying to gather yourself. “Hi.”

“You’re always here, aren’t you?” He tilts his head slightly, teasingly. “I recognize you.”

Your heart hammers as you try to hold in your excitement. He recognizes you! How amazing is that? “Yes. I really like your piano playing.”

He smiles wider, almost shyly. Cute. “Thank you.”

You search for words to say, having so much you want to tell him about your love for his playing, but no words come out. Kai looks at you, eyes boring into your soul.

He clears his throat, “Actually, I have a favor to ask. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh,” you blink, surprised. “What is it?”

“That man you were talking to earlier.” He starts, “do you know him?”

“No.” You furrow your brows, wondering why he cares. “I just met him at the bar.”

“Oh, I see.” He rubs his neck. “He’s…well. Something happened before and now he hates me. I think he might be a little…” He gestures towards his head. Mental. “I was afraid he was going to do something.”

“That’s terrible!” You cry out, unable to believe that the man who seemed so friendly was that type of person. “What’re you going to do then?”

Kai shrugs. “I don’t really have a lot of options. I can’t just quit my job here. Now that he’s found me…”

“I could help you persuade him!” You volunteer, though you’re quite scared yourself. “Surely if I spoke to him calmly, he would leave you alone.”

“No,” Kai shakes his head, looking pale. “That’s too dangerous! I couldn’t possibly ask that from you. We only just met.”

But I’ve been in love with you for a while now. “But I want to help you.”

Kai thinks about it for a moment, finally letting out a sigh. “Alright…but please, be careful.”

“Are you really sure about this?” Kai asks for the millionth time, glancing at the crowd of people. “He might hurt you.”

“Don’t worry.” You assure him, flashing him a smile. “I doubt he’d do something like that in this crowd.”

Kai still looks very skeptical, but doesn’t stop you. You spot the same man in the crowd and wave. It seems that he’s also seen you. “Okay, I’m gonna go now.”

Kai holds your wrist, eyes searching yours. “Be careful. Please.”

You nod, making your way through the crowd to the man. He looks displeased, almost angry. “Hi—”

“You know him?” He seethes out, eyes narrowing at you. “How do you know him?”

“Um, we just met.” You swallow thickly, seeing the pure hatred in the man’s eyes. “I just really like his piano playing.” You allow yourself to pause, wondering how you should ease into the topic. “You…don’t like him?”

“Of course not.” The man growls out. “A man like that…he’s a criminal! You should stay away from him.”

Criminal? You laugh. “What? Of course he’s not! He’s just a pianist. I think you might have a misunderstanding of him.”

The man looks at you oddly, suddenly seeming very calm. “Heed my warning. Stay away from that man if you want to live.” Without another word, he disappears into the crowd.

Dejected, you go backstage to meet up with Kai.

“How did it go?” He asks, gesturing for you to sit down next to him.

You shake your head. “He wouldn’t listen to me. He said you were a…criminal?”

Kai lets out a sigh. “Oh man, he’s really gone crazy, hasn’t he? I guess it’s my fault.”

“Why does he hate you so much? What did you do?” You urge, but Kai just shakes his head.

“It’s nothing to concern you. It was a long time ago. I just…I just wish he would leave me alone now, that’s all.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, letting out a pout. “I couldn’t help.”

Kai laughs, patting your head gently. “No worries. Oh,” he suddenly exclaims at an idea, “why don’t you go tell him to meet me backstage after hours? I think this is a good opportunity to talk things out and iron out any misunderstandings.”

“What?” You furrow your brows at the thought. “But that’s dangerous! He could attack you, you know?”

Kai lets out a thin smile. “Well, I know some self-defense. It should be fine.”

He doesn’t look fine in the least though. You can’t help but worry, even as you relay the message to the stranger. He looks surprised, and awfully suspicious about it, but he accepts and thanks you.

“Stay away from him.” He says again, this time softer. “I don’t want anymore people getting hurt.”

You really can’t judge a book by its cover, you think as you look at him. He truly believes that Kai is bad. It’s really a bummer that he’s crazy.

You stay behind even after the bar closes. You told the manager of the bar that you were Kai’s friend, and he told you to wait for him. It didn’t take too long to convince them, especially since you’re a regular.

You couldn’t help yourself from staying; you were too worried. You didn’t want to watch the news the next day and find Kai dead. You’re not sure how much help you can be, but at least you’d be there to call the police if things got out of hand.

You sneak backstage, where Kai would be meeting the man. You try to stay hidden in the dark, waiting and watching.

Soon, the man comes into view. He knocks on the door that leads to the staff room, and Kai answers.

“I heard you wanted to ‘talk.’” The man spits out, full of venom. “I don’t think that’s necessary, though.”

Kai lets out a sigh. “Really now, following me all the way here? Isn’t that too much?”

“They all said EXO was gone.” The man says with a bitter laugh. “They said, “their base blew up. They must be dead.” I might’ve believed that too. I wanted to believe it. The world would be a better place without you filthy rats. But,” the man snickers, “thank goodness the arsonist came to us and told us everything.”

What? Your heart is pounding. What are they talking about?

“Ah, the girl.” Kai laughs. “She should’ve known better than to turn on us.”

The man takes something out. Your blood runs cold.

A gun.

“Alright, Kai.” The man hisses. “I’m taking you back with me, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“So it shall.”

There’s a scream.

In your horror, you realize it was yours.

Your heart pounds in your ears, hammering against your ribcage. You feel something cold and iron against your temple, strong hands gripping your arm to keep you still.

“K-Kai?” You whisper, voice and body trembling.

“Sorry,” he answers, but not a sliver of guilt is heard. “You shouldn’t have stayed.”

“What are you doing?” The man yells, pointing the gun at him, but if he fires now, everyone knows it’ll hit you. “Let that girl go!”

“Sorry, I can’t do that.” Kai answers. “Not until you let me leave. You really think you can catch us? We’re already ten steps ahead of the police. You can’t even touch us.”

The man forces out a laugh. “Tough words for a guy who’s cornered right now.”

“Hm,” Kai hums lightly, tone filled with mirth. “I wonder which of us is cornered right now?”

The sound of a gunshot echoes. You whimper, squeezing your eyes tight out of instinct. The man roars in pain, falling to his knees as he clutches his arm, the one that was holding the gun. Now, his gun lays useless on the floor.

Kai fires again, this time right into the man’s head. He sputters once before he goes limp, blood oozing out.

“Alright, this little bar has served its purpose.” Kai says into his earpiece—you didn’t even know he was wearing one until now. He lets go of you and your knees buckle, making you fall onto the floor. You want to run, but your body is frozen. You can only stare at him in horror. “I’ll get rid of him and then we’ll move. They won’t find us.” A pause as he listens to the person on the other side. “You’ve located the new supplier? Great. I’ll be there soon.”

He turns towards you, and you flinch under his cold, emotionless gaze. You cry out pathetically, “P-Please don’t kill me…”

“Sorry.” He whispers again before you feel a jab of pain against your nape, and everything goes black.

Previous Chapter│Next Chapter

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A/N: Whoo! I’m excited to be continuing (and finally finishing) this series! Please continue to give it lots of love~

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ertrunkenerwassergeist · 6 years ago

Text

Born Into the Wilds - Around the Fire

Since I can use my fingers normally again, have the new chapter! AO3 link here.

Where Nyx' friends are pltting little shits (he loves them anyway), a story is told and a secret is revealed that isn't really a secret anymore. Featuring: Crowe's hidden dream, Luche sulking in the backround, respectTM for the story tellers and some very strong alcohol.

Hadnissa words:

bamohna (dative singular of bamohn): hot spice native to Galahd, tastes a bit like curry kreitschi: very thin skewered meat mostly done with bamohn and chili, Galahd native dish galahkari (nomiative plural of galahkar): person of Galahdian origin/Galahdian sinehär: the Elder gisdrauht: story teller/keeper of history thuirs (genitive singular of thuir): Father fumir: Galahdian national drink, fermented garula milk with spices (exact recipes vary from region to region)

Nyx’ side pulled in a mildly painful way with each too sudden movement of his torso, as Libertus and Crowe herded him along, cheerfully chatting all the way. They walked through the streets of Little Galahd, air filled with lively chattering in a mix of accented Lucian and Hadnissa, and heavy with the smell of exhaust fumes, grilled meat and spicy bamohna.

It gave him that feeling of not-quite-home he had become familiar with.

“Seriously, guys, what’s this about? I’m out of that white prison for like half a second and then I get abducted by you two,” he complained, totally exasperated with his best female friend and his hunting brother.

“We’re going to see an expert,” asserted Crowe in a stern voice for the third time before she went back to bickering with Libertus about the ancestors knew what.

Well, that wasn’t at all unhelpful.

He huffed in exasperation and glared at the tattoo-shop on the side of the street between a butcher’s shop and one concentrating on traditional leatherworks that had opened not too long ago. The owner was one of those assholes who thought he could profit off of a foreign culture only to be surprised that no one would give him the time of day. They only stopped to get a kreitschi each for dinner from one of the street vendors with tattoos not unlike Nyx’ on his fingers.

Nyx relished in the sharp bite of the bamohn and sweet chili after two days of tasteless hospital mush. How the Lucians could eat their food tasting like nothing he would never know. Maybe that’s why they were always such dickheads.

He got herded up a flight of rickety metal stairs and when he saw the house they were heading towards, he abruptly stopped walking. Or he would have, if Libertus hadn’t walked into him. He coughed on the piece of meat he’d choked on. Tears sprang into his eyes as the hot spices went down the wrong pipe. All the spirits, was that painful.

“Man, Nyx your face!” laughed Libertus. “You alright?”

Nyx shot him a dark look after he got his breathing back under control. His throat still burned something fierce but that he could do nothing about right now.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he said.

Crowe heaved an exasperated sigh, hands on her hips, like his sister used to do when she was losing her patience with him. The thought made his heart twinge painfully and he unconsciously tugged at the mourning braid, he carefully maintained, even after all these years.

“Seriously, Nyx. Weren’t you listening? I told you a million times by now we would go see an expert for this!” she said.

“I didn’t think you meant that kind of expert!”

She shot him an are-you-dumb look, he didn’t bother dignify with an answer. It was kind of true he supposed. He should’ve known what they meant when they had picked him up at the hospital with shit-eating grins on their faces and a manic glint in Crowe’s eyes. She’d always had a talent and interest for magic.

“Up, up, you hero. We don’t want to be late,” grinned Libertus and proceeded to push him up the rest of the stairs until they reached the old concrete building with the surprisingly large inner courtyard where the stories were told once every five days and during every celebration.

Here the elders lived with the best things they could be afforded. Since governmental support amounted to basically nothing the Galahkari had started to pool resources, not only for the elders but also for the orphans and those who couldn’t earn money themselves. It worked, if only barely.

Pelna was waiting for them at the entrance of the courtyard with Luce standing next to him, his face a grimace of I-don’t-want-to-be-here. Tredd, Axis, Sonitus and a few other Glaives, most of them had been on his last assignment, loitered not too far away. Already Nyx could hear the telltale sounds of even more people behind the entrance. He would like to go home now, please. He had no desire for people to ogle him like he was some kind of attraction.

Before he could think of an effective escape plan however, Pelna saw them, grinned and waved like the cheeky bastard he was. “Damn. Didn’t think you would actually manage it,” he said.

“Did you doubt my power of persuasion?” asked Crowe with a playfully pointed look.

“Of course not,” laughed Pelna.

Nyx just rolled his eyes and wondered how these were his best friends. “Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbled and trudged past Luche who looked at him with a carefully blank face, into the courtyard.

“Oh come on, hero. You don’t need to act like you’re going towards your execution,” called Libertus and hurried after him, followed by the others.

The courtyard was already full of people standing in clusters, talking animatedly and clothed in colourful garments one didn’t normally see in drab and proper Insomnia. At the centre stood a barrel in which a fire burned merrily. The air smelled of smoke and old history.

He breathed in deep, soaked the atmosphere up like a drowning person needed air. Maybe, just maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. Why hadn’t he come more often to gatherings like these? A spike of homesickness made him want to grimace. Ah, that’s why.

The voices floating around him hushed as Istoria Patientia stepped up to the fire. She was an old woman, closer to ninety than eighty, shrunken and marked by the war like so many of them were, but her eyes were sharp and clear. Her long white hair was twisted into a myriad of braids, the most prominent designating her as a sinehär gisdrauht. One of the five that still lived.

There were no seats or any other accommodation as the people stepped closer to the fire, Nyx included. When a gisdrauht wanted to tell a story you listened. They never did so without reason, there was always something to learn.

Istoria’s gaze swept over the crowd and hung a few seconds too long on Nyx for his liking. He felt the fine hairs on his neck stand on end and that animal-deep jungle-instinct spark again in anticipation. Whatever happened this evening would be important, he could feel it. She dipped her head into a slight nod and watched the crowds a few seconds longer before she took a deep breath and started to recite in that hypnotic rhythm all stories were told in.

Her voice was scratchy with age but loud and clear and carried well through the confines of the courtyard where no Lucian eye could see them.

Come, come closer to the fire and let me tell you a story. Listen well, for this is a story told to me by my father and mother who were told by their father and mother back until the first people stepped into the arms of Galahd and the world was younger.

The day the last of the white coeurls, great guardians of Galahd, left his pack was one of joy and great sorrow. He roamed through the deep shadows driven by something he could not name. Dreams had plagued him, dreams of blood and pain and a knife forged by green mists, keeping him awake and restless.

Dreams are dreams his pack told him but he thought differently and so he went out more and more often for longer and longer amounts of time, always searching for anything that could help. After a new bout of restless nights he searched again, high and low for many circles of the sun and moon and yet didn’t find anything. Only trees and more shadows where secrets lay he couldn’t even begin to decipher.

But finally, many days after leaving, he came upon a hill where an old hollow tree stood, guarded by crows and Naga’s kin. He knew who lived here. The ever-young, she, who danced with the storms. The witch the humans called wise.

The last white coeurl came near and the crows laughed. He swiped his sharp claws at them but they only ruffled their feathers and laughed louder. It followed him over the threshold of the hollow tree.

“You’re finally here. Come in, the knife is finished,” said the Wise Witch.

She stepped up to him, her long black hair braided in the ways of the oldest traditions. In her hand she carried a knife he knew well, for it was the blade he saw in his dreams full of blood and pain. He hissed at her in warning, but she did not hesitate as she laid the knife down in front of him.

It was a short one edged blade with a hook at the backside and a sturdy grip made out of pale wood. Dark green runes adorned it, pulsing in time to the white coeurl’s heartbeat.

“Soon, there will come a day where you will need this. Take it. The payment will be the pains you will feel for the rest of your life should you decide to use it,” the Wise Witch said and went back to her glasses full of herbs and magic as if the last white coeurl was nothing but air to her and maybe he was, for she was as old as the lands themselves.

He stood there, bristling, but he knew what happened to those who didn’t heed the Wise Witches words. So he took the knife and turned to the way back home, the crows’ laughter echoing in his ears. It took him many days until he stepped back onto the cliff that was his pack’s home.

The smell of blood and death greeted him and his trot became a run. What he found was a woman with braids in her hair and who spoke the tongue of beasts burying the last of his pack.

Thus the last of the white coeurls, great guardians of Galahd, met Adrastea, she who speaks the tongue of beasts. His blood yet lives to continue the task he inherited from his pack and has been passed down until this day.

Nyx stood there rooted to his spot next to Libertus, staring at the fire. He watched it flicker and dance as Istoria told a story he had first heard at his thuirs knee when he was too little to remember it. The words were the same but something was different.

A coeurl ran through the flames as the last words were spoken and silence settled upon the gathering. People blinked as if woken from a spell and a low murmuring started as children asked questions and parents answered.

The prickling sensation on the base of his neck made it clear that there were people watching him. He suppressed a shudder. “Well, that wasn’t helpful at all,” he muttered.

Crowe dug her elbow into his uninjured side. “Shut it. You know the sinehär gisdrauhti never tell-”

“Never tell a story without reason. Yes, I know.”

She shot him a dark look, causing him to sigh and duck his head.

“You know, you would’ve been a great gisdrauht if your thuirs family had allowed you to take their name,” he said as way of an apology.

Her sharp gaze softened to something young and vulnerable, a slight smile curling at her lips. It lasted for only the fraction of a second before the sarcastic woman was back again.

“The very best,” chimed Libertus and got a thump on the upper arm for his trouble. He made a face and cursed.

“Nyx of Clan Ulric,” said Istoria causing all five to stop and look at her. She stood hunched over on her cane a smile on her wizened face. “Come to the fire. There we may talk.”

He nodded and with a muttered “Of course, sinehär” followed the old woman, after a few quick goodbyes, back to the barrel. His friends weren’t following, not having been invited and everybody still remaining kept a respectful distance.

For a while Istoria just looked at him, her brown eyes took on an eerie orange sheen in the fire light. Then she tapped an earthen pot that was half buried in hot coals at the base of the barrel and pulled out two earthen cups from her many layers of colourful patched skirts and said: “Be a dear, Nyx of Clan Ulric, and pour us a cup each. All that story telling makes me thirsty in my old age.”

Obediently Nyx bent down and picked up the pot that looked like a mix between a carafe and a Lucian teapot with a wavy pattern that reminded him of the sea, by the handle formed to look like a sea serpent. It was nicely lacquered in turquoise and shades deep sea blue. He filled the identical cups that matched the pot and set it back down.

The smell alone told him at once what it was. Fumir. Istoria gave him a cup and he took a careful sip after she did and nearly choked. Very strong and very spicy fumir. It burnt all the way down and settled like a warm ball of sunshine in his stomach. Thank the ancestors he had eaten something before coming here.

Istoria shot him a mischievous grin like she knew exactly what he was thinking, and then she grew serious again. “Did you know that until the days of Adrastea no Ulric has ever had blue eyes? Grey certainly, sometimes green and even Solheimr golden, but never blue.”

Nyx felt his eyebrows climb to his hairline. He had an inkling of where this was going and he wasn’t sure he liked it, but he kept his mouth shut. Not only was she the oldest member of their community still alive and a gisdrauht, but also because he knew she wouldn’t hesitate to whop him with her cane if he did and he really didn’t need that with so many people still around as potential witnesses.

“Blue came after and with it a spark, so to speak. What I’m about to tell you, Nyx of Clan Ulric, has been a secret of your Clan for as long as its members have had blue eyes. Your father entrusted me with it before his untimely death to tell you, should the time ever come, since he knew he wouldn’t live long enough for him to do it himself.”

That caused Nyx to stand up straight, eyes wide and mouth open. That was… of course it had to have been a Clan secret he had no clue about. His father had died of Creeping Vine’s disease when he had been five and Selena two and his father’s older brother had died just a year before and none of his children had taken his Clan Name. Two of his cousins were still alive and in Insomnia, even, but refused to talk to him since he had joined the Kingsglaive, despite the debt they owed the King.

“I thought I would have to ask Libertus for help,” he burst out before his brain could catch up and promptly drank another gulp of the warm and too strong fumir to keep him from humiliating himself any further. Ahtrii, he wished he was anywhere but here.

“A viable option, but unnecessary,” the old woman chuckled. “Even if it would have been interesting to see young Libertus of Clan Ostium try to find and convince a snake. They can be very unhelpful if they want to be. Especially here on the mainland.”

Nyx grinned at the mental image. That would have made a suitably embarrassing tale for Libertus’ wedding should he ever decide to marry someone.

“Now, according to Ilias, the Clan of Ulric belongs to those with a close connection to an animal, but that was already obvious. When he came to me a large part of his veins had already turned green and his hands shook so bad he couldn’t hold a cup anymore without spilling half of it. He looked me into the eyes and said: ‘Contrary to popular believe the Ulrics don’t change into coeurls, we never have. What we do have is the ability to copy what makes a coeurl a coeurl and use it ourselves. We can see like them, hear like them, even move like them, but we’re still human and that’s the important difference.’ I have heard many a tale of you doing exactly that but now you have come into a degree of power not seen in your Clan for many generations. The Lady of Beasts has blessed you.”

With a startling clarity he remembered what had happened during his First Hunt, when he had been all of nine years old. There, in the clearing full of flowers, he had met her. The Great Coeurl. She had treated him like an unruly cup of her pack. At least that made some amount of sense now.

“I… thank you for telling me, sinehär,” he managed to say, his mind strangely fuzzy. Damn, that drink was way too strong to be just a regular cup of fumir. No wonder Istoria kept living on and on if she used this to shock her heart back into pace again. He felt old, gnarly fingers taking the near empty cup from him, and blinked down at his empty hand.

“Go back to your hunting party, Nyx of Clan Ulric and, for once, let them take care of you. Sleep, eat and then you can keep running off into your adventures again,” said Istoria with an air of exasperated tenderness as she gently tapped his leg with her cane to make him turn around.

Nyx really, really wanted to protest, but he knew if he opened his mouth now, nothing coherent would come out. So he did the sensible thing and did as told.

“And tell my grandson I would like to see him for dinner tomorrow evening,” Istoria called after him.

His friends took one look at him before herding him out of the courtyard and towards his apartment building. He didn’t look that bad, did he? Somehow he managed to mumble the invitation to Luche, or at last he thought he did, if he remembered his friend’s grimace right. After that it was all a blur of different colours, shapes and sounds until he felt himself being wrapped into a blanket, then he was out like a light.

#ffxv #born into the wilds verse #nyx ulric #blue mage!nyx #the spirit writes #my fics #galahdian culture #galahdian religion #story telling #bit of backround on crowe #I love that sarcastic woman #luche is sulking in the backround #you do not disrespect the elders #that is a very bad ideaTM #every Galahdian knows that #yes even Nyx #glaives being supportive by being there #it kind of goes over Nyx' head

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hisgirlwonder · 6 years ago

Text

House of Wolves – Part Two

Length: 3.3K words Warning: A little bit of smut (masturbation) Synopsis: You’ve been offered an apprenticeship at Kineros Robotics and you couldn’t say no; you’ve been dreaming about working in the field for as long as you can remember. Will it be everything you’ve been building up in your mind, or will it all come crashing down around you? Notes: For those of you who come across this - this is a continuation in a series (and you can find the first part here) inspired by a few things outside of the AHS realm! I’m actually really enjoying writing this with the differences in interactions (especially with Michael/Venable) and I hope you enjoy reading it ♥

(PS. ** is a change in who is speaking/who it’s focused on)

With your first day done and dusted, you were left with two thoughts on your mind: “Is Michael giving me special treatment or does he treat everyone this way?” and “Does Venable get any worse?” One of these you’d find out the answer to... very soon.

“I was definitely right in picking you, you know? You’re just such a good student, and person; a real asset to my company,” Michael gushes. You didn’t realise offering to carry the files in while he unlocked the door to his office was going to invoke such a reaction. Little did you know that he meant every word he said; everyone else seemed to want something from him but not you, you were different.

A shade of rose develops across your soft cheeks from the praise that was befalling on your ears. He wasn’t wrong at all – you wanted to be the perfect student, aiming to surpass every idea about who he thought you were prior to you starting.

You’re nibbling the inside of your lip as a distraction; trying not to talk because you know you’ll sound ridiculous and stumble over every single word that tries to come out of your mouth. Instead, you smile sweetly in the hopes he can feel your acceptance. Michael does but also senses your growing bashfulness and decides to change the topic, asking if you want to have breakfast with him.

“Tell me about home life, Y/N. What’s it like?” Michael queries, sipping away at his coffee.

Just as you’re about to answer, the waitress arrives with the plates of food. Michael thanks her and mentions how good it looks; she’s smiling and you can both feel and see her mentally undressing him with her beady eyes.

“Ah, you wanted to know about my home life, yes?” you start talking, making sure the waitress heard he was interested in you and not her when she’s walking off, “It’s just me and my mother. My father is… absent.”

You both pick up your cutlery almost as if you were in sync and you’re wanting to make a comment about how you probably were since your meals were identical but you didn’t want to make anything weird. Michaels fork stabs into his bacon and his knife saws away at the meat, “Any siblings?”

You shake your head as you’re swallowing a mouthful of juice, quenching your thirst, before you place the glass back down on the table. Michael takes a liberty and begins complimenting you again.

Please don’t blush. Please don’t blush. Please don’t blush.

“That’s rather admirable and I know exactly how you feel. I didn’t really have any siblings and I feel like having some sort of company would have been nice growing up.”

You sigh heavily, understanding what he was saying all too well, “Exactly. I’d just get so lonely and wish I could share things with someone. You’re hit with such an empty feeling in your heart as a child when the other kids are talking about their brothers and sisters.”

Michael’s chewing, pointing the fork in his hand at you almost as if he’s saying that’s exactly it and nods. He swallows his mouthful then adds, “Precisely. People wonder why we aren’t so good at opening up when they know our past. At least you get me, Y/N.”

There it is. The familiar warmth hitting your face. You’re blushing again – at the back of your mind you’re wondering how often this is going to happen. You had no idea how to deal with such niceness. I mean, sure, your mother was nice to you but she was your mother.

You and Michael continue your meal, chatting and getting to know each other. By the time you’re finished it seems he has learned a lot about you. Unfortunately, you not so much about him; almost as if he’s hiding behind a shell but you were determined to break it. You comment on how good the food is; Michael laughs and warns you’ll get over it. “There’s only so many times you can handle the smell of hot food in the morning.”

“I think you need to taste my mother’s pancakes and then you’ll rethink what you’re saying.”

You could have died, then and there, after you realised you told your boss he should have your mother cook for him.

“So, Y/N,” he begins as you’re travelling back to the office, “I just thought I might let you know now I’ve given you the access over my emails instead of Venable.”

Why would he give me that instead of her? She’s been here longer than I have.

“Sir, if you d-”

“Michael, please.” He interrupts you, correcting your politeness.

“Sorry. Michael, are you sure?”

Arriving at the office, you stand outside as he’s reaching in his pocket for keys, informing you, “I’ve seen enough already to know that you are leaps and bounds ahead of Venable in almost every way. She only has a one up on you because of her age,” then hits you with a cheeky wink.

You sit down at the table, Michael tells you he won’t be a moment and asks if you want a drink of water. You’re confused as you’re thinking that it should be your job, offering to help. He doesn’t respond until coming back from the cooler, placing the glasses on the coasters. “Don’t be silly. You’re not her. I hired you for you, not for your ability to complete menial tasks.”

You smile, “I know, I just want to help. I really like making things easier.”

“You’re already making it easier by being here.”

There’s a knock on the open door. It’s Venable.

“Oh, I see you two are busy. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” she comments when she sees the two of you sitting so close; her tone is smug, leaving you feeling greasy and your skin crawling. Michael smiles forcefully but it’s obvious he’s annoyed with her because Venable is the last person he wants to deal with.

“Well, you are. But this is perfect because I wanted to talk to you when you came in.” He turns to you, “Y/N, do you mind waiting outside for five or ten minutes while the two of us have a quick meeting. I promise it won’t take long.”

You nod, “Oh, of course I can, Michael. I’ll sit outside and wait until you’re free.”

“I thought I warned you yesterday about coddling this girl? Telling her she’s making it easier by being here isn’t exactly listening to me.” Venable complains; sounding concerned but really the only concern inside that prudish, self-righteous mind of hers was herself.

“Wilhemina, it seems you’re forgetting who is the boss and you should probably remember that before you come in here accusing me of things. I wanted to tell you that you’ll no longer be helping Y/N because I have other plans for her.”

Venable stands in front of him, hand on hip and pointing out into the hallway where you sat on a couch, “Yeah, like grooming her so you can screw her?”

Michael’s face drops down into his hands, refusing to even look at her. He didn’t think she could get any worse but he was proven wrong. He sighs, “Get the fuck out of my office, will you?”

Venable is scowling and grumbling at Michael, huffing as if she were a child, “Look, I just wanted to talk to you about the emails. I can’t get into them.”

Michael growls, “I’m aware. I’ve revoked your access and if you require a further explanation as to why then you’re stupider than you look. Go and do what’s left of your job before I hire a monkey to replace you and take the rest of it.”

Anger is brewing in the pit of her stomach and Venable storms out of the room, heeding the advice and avoiding making things worse.

Venable is overcome with rage which leads to her covering her face and she screams into her hands.

“Um, Miss Venable, I don’t mean to bother you but are you okay?”

The sound of concern in your voice causes her temper to recede and her own tone changes, becoming unnervingly calm, however, you’re all too aware she’s still seething internally from jealousy when she says the next sentence, “Ah hello, Langdon’s pet. How are you enjoying the warmth of cosying up to the boss?” Every single word is laced with condescension.

You try to tell her that you’re only trying to help and she spits a slimy Oh and I bet you certainly are back in your face before briskly taking off down the hallway. Gobsmacked, you pick yourself up off the piece of furniture you’re sitting on and walk back into the office.

“Wow. Am I wrong to assume there’s always drama with her?”

He gestures for you to sit down, and adds, “You definitely are not because there always is. I’m awfully sorry she’s treating you this way. Please, won’t you sit for me? I need your help.”

You do as he asks and he admits the help he needs in the form of you being his stylist - he can’t decide which shirt to wear to dinner tonight and gets the feeling you have a good eye for fashion.

I should have realised when he wanted help with everything, he meant it.

He explains, “There are a few older women I have to take out for dinner and win over. I figure if I wear a shirt that brings out my eye-”

You interject the admission he just made, “I really don’t mean to be rude at all but seriously? You’re worried about that? I can safely say the last thing they’ll be thinking about is your eyes, Michael. Do you own a mirror?”

He glosses over the compliment, trying not to pay attention to it, heading over to a door at the left of his desk; he pulls out two shirts on hangers - one is wine coloured, the other eggplant coloured. He holds them against himself, alternating between the two. “Which one?”

“I honestly think both are lovely but,” you point to the red, “I’ve always been a fan of deep red.”

“This one it is," he holds up the one you’ve chosen proudly. He hangs the shirts away, and then the two of you get back to actual work.

“I was thinking about this long and hard last night,” you clear your throat, trying to hide the fact you’re getting flustered, “I wanted us to play a little game. What we’re going to do is that I’ll ask you a few questions and you can answer them as briefly or in depth as you want, sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Y/N smiles, excited to play your game.

“Alright, let’s begin. If you were making you’re a robot of yourself, what would be three good things, traits or otherwise, you would instil into it?”

Her sight is fixed on the ceiling, fingers loosely rubbing her chin, trying to create the perfect answer for you. Her eyes drop back down to look into yours. She goes on to tell you that her kindness, ability to cook, and love of nature and art would be her top three things. She explains that if she had her own robot of herself as a companion, she’d want someone that could understand her and vice versa – almost like an identical sibling so she wouldn’t feel so alone. They’d be able to cook, and paint, and see the world together.

You linger far too long on the she’s so virtuous thought and it turns into arousal; you’d never met anyone like her. So good, so pure. Your member begins to swell in delight, like a child with a new toy, but that’s short-lived when a message from Venable pops up on your screen, killing it instantly.

Are you going to let her out of your sight for a minute so she can meet Dumb and Dumber?

“Y/N, would you like to meet two of the other employees here? I feel like it would be interesting for you considering they specialise in what you have come here to learn.”

She’s excited, almost jumping out of her seat to say yes. The elation in her voice and overall mood is almost too much for your brain to handle; you’re digging your fingernails in to your palms underneath your desk to try and lure out another feeling.

Upon stepping into that room, you regress into a child inside a candy store; all the machinery, all the computers, all the odds and ends that go into developing their robots excite you. You run over to one of the tables to see a prototype they’re working on.

There’s someone headed in your direction and he certainly is something else, to say the least. “You must be Y/N. My name’s Jeff. I work here,” he points over to the computer in the corner of the room where a dark-haired man is sat, presumably typing up code. “This is Mutt.”

“It’s really nice to meet the two of you. Thank you so much for taking time out of your busy schedules to spend time with me,” you coo in adoration.

Jeff grins, the side of his mouth cocking upwards cheekily, “As if either of us had anything better to do. You’re beautiful and polite? Wow, how are we going to get any work done? Michael mentioned something about you with us for a few hours so I guess it’s just my luck.” He looks towards Michael, winking, “We’ll take really good care of her,”

Michael watches as Jeff hooks his arm around your lower back, “Come with me and I’ll show you some of the things we’ve been working on.” He’s screaming inside but remains calm and yells out, “Come back to my office around lunch time and we can talk over some food.”

Your exit of the lab was swift, getting out of there as fast as you can before you broke anything. Luckily the door only opens by a motion sensor otherwise you imagine with your own pent up jealousy that the glass would get smashed. You head over to the vending machine to grab a beverage and lean against it; your forehead resting on your forearm that’s propped up on the machine.

Who the fuck does Jeff think he is, touching her like that?

You smack the side of a clenched fist into the surface repeatedly, overflowing with envy. You wouldn’t admit it but you didn’t want anyone else touching her. Venable slinks out of nowhere, seemingly to torment you for earlier, “Getting worked up already, huh? It’s only the second day, lover boy.”

“Shut your mouth unless you’d like me to shut it for you,” you spit, “You have no idea what the fuck you’re on about.” You dive down into the bucket of the machine to pick out the bottle and disappear into your office, locking the door behind you.

Venable is smirking from behind the glass with her eyes locked on you, pleased with the outcome of her efforts. She knows she’s managed to get under your skin as you did with her. Your eyes narrow in a hateful stare and you close the blinds so she’s unable to see then walk over to your desk and plant yourself on the chair, trying to calm the discomfort bellowing inside you.

Double-clicking the wireless mouse to wake your laptop up, the screen is lit up and you enter your credentials to log on. You navigate through a plethora of folders, until you find one you’ve hidden called “Plans” (you weren’t very creative when you made it) and open it up - it’s full of documents such as photos and videos all relative to Y/N. You knew this was highly unprofessional but the curiosity was going to either get the better of you or kill you; at this point you didn’t care which one it was.

Your eyes are glued to the pixels on the screen as you open up the folder with her photos in it. Thought after thought bouncing around in that head of yours.

How can Venable even be mean to this face? God, what a bitch.

Then you decide to re-watch the application video she submitted to you. Your hand diving into the draw to your right to retrieve a pair of headphones. You untangle the cord, push the end of them into the headphone jack, then pop the buds into your ear and press play.

Look at her gorgeous hair covers her neck, those beautiful hands gesturing as she talks, her big, E/C eyes sparkling…

The length between your legs, once semi-flaccid, now grew harder and harder by the second. Her wholesome, sweet nature bore holes into the façade you’d been trying to maintain until you’re no longer able to take it any longer. Your hands, two of your many limbs tense with frustration, scramble for your belt to undo it and you unzip your pants. Remembering Y/N makes an awful lot of cute noises you turn the volume up and take yourself out of your pants. You’re leaking with pre-cum already, lusting after the one thing in the world that you probably shouldn’t be.

Wrapping a hungry hand at the base of your shaft, you begin to loosely run the length slowly, up and down, making sure you feel every single sensation. As you get more into the video, vision still fixed on her, you pick up your pace. You felt dizzy from arousal, all of the blood rushing between your legs, filling out your erection.

Your urges play you like you’re a puppet and they cause you to act out like a naughty child. Michael Langdon, the man with the power, longing for the one thing he cannot have. Your movements grow faster, your icy blue eyes melting to mere puddles under flames of want and become hidden behind your lids as you head into a downward spiral.

What began as thoughts through the strength of your power transpired into a lucid dream that encapsulated you as if it were reality – hot, invisible breath flowed out through her nostrils and hit below your bellybutton, dancing around the trail of hair.

It feels so real as you imagine looking down in the space between your legs, and there she was - the one you’d been thirsting for from the moment you laid eyes on her entire being. She’s staring you down and your mind is replaying over and over again every innocent word she’s said; every vowel and consonant now tainted by your filthy mind.

She lets the spit pool inside her mouth and then drip from her lips, not breaking eye contact, coating your length in the viscous fluid. You grab again at your throbbing cock, now solid as the chair you were sitting on, and she’s enveloping your balls inside her mouth. You pick up the strokes, and so does the tongue she’s lapping against your body with, until a wave of ecstasy hits and you climax into your hand. Your moans fill the office but you couldn’t care less.

As you stand up from your seat to head to the bathroom, dick in hand, a familiar voice yells out to you. Your heart begins to beat frantically when you realise who it is.

“Um, sir, I’m really sorry. I tried to open the door but it appears to be locked. I apologise for my lateness if you still want to go and get lunch. We got carried away.”

You’d usually correct her politeness but right now you just wanted to hide the fact you’d fucked yourself, visualising her like you were a teenager again, and now needed to clean the dirty mess you’d made. Clearing your throat, you shout out, “Yeah, I didn’t want to be disrupted. Give me five minutes and I’ll meet you down at the café Y/N, okay?”

Taglist: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sensitivethot @sammythankyou @sevenwondr @langdonsdemon @1-800-imagines

#writing #fanfic #american horror story #ahs #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon #michael x reader #american horror story fanfic #ahs fanfic #michael langdon fanfic #american horror story smut #ahs smut #michael langdon smut #just adding my own kink in there u know u know

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okaywhateverokayyes · 6 years ago

Text

To Always Forgive Me

Prompt: Isobel asks Alex to stop Michael from doing something rash, because of course he is. (Post 1x04); includes flashbacks in Alex’s POV

Alex rubs behind Toby’s ears, an easy smile settles on his face as the dog kneels bemusedly beside him, laying against his thigh as he ran his hand down his back. He leans over to press his lips against the paw resting on the sole of his shoe, gentle as he sets his foot down.

A jeep pulls into his driveway, a familiar army surplus. Isobel is swift as she slams the door, striding in his direction, offering a smile as an afterthought rather than out of convention.

“You need to stop Michael.”

Alex blinks.

Alex stands up hastily, his knee buckling from under him as a result of his swiftness. He winces as he shoves his crane into the soot, gawkily kneeling on one foot whilst he rests his elbow on the other.

Isobel was at his side, gripping him as she bolsters his weight as he moves to the timber porch post and rests against them. He was haggard as he caught his breath.

“Thanks.” He says, responsively.

She flicks her wrist, off-handedly. Isobel fixates on him, naturally, yet it does nothing but make Alex answer her glance with an apologetic smile.

“Is he leaving town?” He inquires.

Isobel shakes her head, pursing her lips as if what he had said was preferable to what Michael was about to do. “Something stupider. Unnecessary. Dangerous.” She adds, drawing her brows inward. “So, stop him.”

Alex’s apologetic smile fades into a slightly uncertain one.

“What do you think I can-?”

Isobel adopts a slightly altered pose, crossing her arms briskly across her chest. “Alex.” She says, impatiently, “We don’t have time to go back and forth.”

“Isobel, you and I both know that when he sets his mind onto something, he’s going to go through with it.” He snaps, wanting to add ‘Whether we like it or not’ but settles against it.

Isobel considers this. “You and I both know that’s not true,” she says with a familiarity that precluded Alex, “Please, do me this favor.”

If he was being honest, he didn’t need to be impelled. The thought of Michael having done something out of sheer indignation was emblematic of Guerin.

Alex accedes deferentially.

He ends up at Crashdown café, Isobel paying for his roast beef sandwich as consolation- as if he needed any; just to consume time, as needed, she ordered a fudge-blast off, orbit rings and a shower malt. When the order came in, Isobel had taken a bite of each, a cursory sip and dunked the ring into hot fudge.

Alex begrudgingly takes a bite of his sandwich. It tasted insipid. Or, maybe the flavor was unable to be savored by his parched mouth and numb tongue. His thoughts wavered nervously, fingers trembling as he pressed them in between his legs. His chest throbbed.

Shit. The idea that Guerin was about to do something shortsighted, inflamed him. Because, shit. Why did he decide it upon himself to be crucified and vilified?

No, he decides, Guerin probably thought it over a thousand-and-one timesbefore considering doing anything that put himself, Isobel or Max at risk. He was just that thorough with his decisions. When the past itches to resurface, Alex clears his throat.

Isobel scrunches up her nose, batting away at the waitress-Madeline- who appears by their table to refill their water. Alex offers an apologetic smile in return as she stilts on her heel to turn, rattled.

The thudof a glass slamming against the table has Alex whisk his head in that direction. “Are you-“

“There’s not enough acetone in this god forsaken world for my headache,” she rubs at her temple. “Never enough.” She’s gruff as she scoops a spoon of the malt, only to pause momentarily when her eyes catch onto something-not her particular choice of word which has Alex drawing his brows inwards-but someone.

Isobel waves her hand distinctly, flicking her wrist as to get their attention.

“You shouldn’t have. An exodus bash, for me?” Guerin’s voice cuts through the unspoken uneasiness stretching between the table separating the two. Isobel hisses condemningly, eyes wavering from Michael to where Alex crouched, urgent.

Michael stills, abruptly. Alex doesn’t have to look up to see the grin falling off of his face. Two clenched fists are jabbed to his sides as he adjusts his tone, his attention elsewhere. “What did you do, Izzy?” It’s sharp, furious, on the verge of sounding irritated.

He feels secluded, unwelcome.

Alex bristles where he sat.

“I’ll leave you to it.” There’s a warning intonation. Isobel mouths ‘thank you’ in Alex’s direction, gripping Michael’s shoulder as she makes a beeline towards the crowded entrance.

Michael doesn’t move. There’s tenseness that settles in his posture. “Whatever she said to make you come here, forget it. She won’t hold it against you.” He says, his voice low and rough with restlessness.

Alex thumbs at the ham sticking out, biting his lip. His mouth begins to prickle with microscopic thorns that has him reaching for the glass of water. He takes a quiet sip, gulping, only to have the thistles penetrate outwards, his nerves ignited to the point where he jabs his curled hand into his thigh.

Cool hands are pressed against his. Alex flickers his eyes open, which he hadn’t noticed he had shut close. He watches as Michael sits across him. His gaze moves to their bridged hands near the empty glass. Ostensibly, he feels the air leave out the room yet he lets out a freeing exhale he doesn’t realize he’s holding in, until Michael pulls back.

“Sorry.” He whispers, face clipped as he settles into the booth, leans against the side towards the wall, a habit by now.

They hold each other’s gaze. Alex struggles to think of how to initiate, opens his mouth but clamps it back down. It’s almost unsettling how even after all this time, the thought of dissuading Guerin seemed not only impossible, but unwarranted. Unwelcoming.

The uncertainty of where Alex stood in their friendshiphad him reminiscing of his second tour. When he woke up, both panicked and dopey with painkillers, a terrible combination that lead to him flailing sideways off the hospital bed, unable to speak with his numb, heavy tongue. It took a solid ten minutes for the medics to convince him that he wasn’t dead, that he was on bay, that he was alive.

Just his leg, they heed to mention. The loss of his limb had him at first, dazed becausesurely, this must be a dream. When he first reached to ram his bruised fingers into the sheet of where his shin would have been, only to press into the mattress, he bit down on his tongue to repress the sob clamped in his throat.

Dead, he surely must be dead.

Everything afterwards was a blur. Sensibly present, inherently absent. Removed. Uninhabited. Gone. Two tours later, he wasn’t convinced that the torture he had slighted in the abyss of his mind had ever left.

He was sure he was a word away from disintegrating.

“Don’t go.” Alex blurts forcefully, takes a deep breath and says, a little shakily, “Just, don’t go anywhere.” His lower lip trembles. He quickly bites it harshly.

Utter confusion met his comment. “What?”

“Idon’t want you to go,” he repeats, emphasizing the distinctive ‘I’ to make it evident that this was him, out of his own volition, saying it.

Michael reacts as if he is slapped. Because, ten years ago, he was the one to say that to Alex. It occurs to Alex that the tables have turned, the words are incendiary and suggestive of the manner in which they had fallen on deaf ears, his ears, back then.

“That’s not fair.” He grunts, drawing a sharp breath in. “Fuck you.”

Cold fear seizes Alex. He knows he’s being hypocritical. He knows that he has lost his agency, his right to ask Michael of something. It dawns upon him that it’s the only way he knows how to make him reconsider.

He bites the proverbial bullet as he recounts what needs to be said, “I felt too much pride back then to listen to you,” he answers a question that’s not asked but heavily weighing on the both of them, “I didn’t know-didn’t think that I could do what I wanted back then.”

Guerin is rigid, immobile, eyes glazed as he glares right into him. He says nothing, in return. It dawns upon Alex that the memories were all-too-clear and the numerous questions, all-left-unanswered.

“I didn’t tell you what happened that night because I didn’t want to hurt you anymore than I already had.”

Prom. He shows up empty-handed because he cancels last minute. Can’t go through with it. Hates how self-righteous his father feels as he takes a picture, that Alex was doing the right thing, by bringing someone, a girl,to the dance. He spurns when his father engages in a jovial chit-chat with her, as if she’s his saving grace. As if she’s fixing something, him, that needed to be fixed.

Alex lets her know in the parking lot of the school that he’s tired, not really interestedand tells her that he’s sorrybefore he asks her to get out, rigidly.

He hopes Michael does the same. Anger looms within him when he notices the blonde beside Guerin the entire night. She’s laughing at something he says, links their elbows together. Michael’s grinning ear to ear. It impales Alex. He leaves abruptly before the second song even plays. Doesn’t even realize that he has over 11 missed calls, from himthat night, until the day after, when he’s at the army reserve handing in his filled-out application.

He doesn’t check his voice-mail, not when he’s having his premature sendoff-get-together with his brothers and others, in the military personnel, people he wouldn’t have even known if it weren’t for his dad. Not when he received his order to mobilize at an operating base in Herat. Not when he takes the day off to say his goodbyes, to everyone but him. Not when he removes the sim from his phone and slips it behind the casing of a photo-frame.

He says things out of anger when Michael slips in through his window the day before he’s set to leave. Everything, forgotten, mostly burnt from his mind so he doesn’t have over 800 words that if unveiled, would have disintegrated him on the spot.

A pang goes through Alex. He knows that Michael hasn’t forgotten a single thing. It’s the way in which he grits down on his jaw, the jowls of his chin protruding out from under his skin. Michael stabs his fingers into the soles of his palms, his flesh turning white in the surrounding area. His face is void of any color. The blood rushes out and seeps under the fabric of his jacket.

The thing about Michael was, he never forgets. Even if he wanted to, it was impossible for him to. His worst burden, Alex notes. He has probably etched the words into the matrix of his bones, scorching it into his mind only to replay it repeatedly, distastefully-

Alex had the luxury of drawing a blank. It took years of practice but he was adept at it.

“I’m sorry, Michael.” He starts with, feeling immediately overcome by how long it’s taken him to even say it, “I’m sorry for everything.” Hopes it’s inherent that everything meant absolutely every. Single. Thing.

Michael is bitter as he scoffs, emotion making his voice tight. “You can’t do this.” He’s mostly speaking to himself. He rubs at his face as he laments into the palms of his hand. There’s defeat wearing thin on his shoulders; As if he’s imagined this exact conversation countless times but never concocted an outcome that would be sufficive enough to mitigate years of absolute agony he endured.

“You can’t do this,” he’s breathless as he repeats. He looks disoriented, reaches for the other glass of water and quaffs it down in futility. It doesn’t help. Alex reaches instinctively towards Michael, recognizes the conflict, far-too familiar with it himself-but stills when Michael gets on his feet abruptly.

The sound cuts through raucous room, everyone’s head whipped in the direction of the thud.

“I need air,” Michael is tight with fury and hurt; wistful eyes meet his, albeit for a second, before Guerin strides out the dinner, his torment puncturing into every stomp he made.

Alex tosses his head back, lips pressed in a thin, exasperated line; Alex owed Michael a lot. He owed Michael so much more than a mere apology. He owed him his time, his space and him.

Alex felt the familiar light-headedness, knows what’s to come. The detachment, the inhibition, the folds enclosing the locked void in his mind, threatening to unfold.

He reaches into his pocket, throws two bills of twenty, somehow makes it into his truck, drives out of town, into his driveway, into his room. He goes to close the blinds, removes the comforter off of his bed and kicks off his shoes.

Toby is scratching on the door to his room. He’s locked out. The scratching is incessant but not painful to Alex’s heightened hearing. He settles furthest away from the window, curls up on the wood floor with a blanket and his elbow, to support his head.

He has his phone beside him, has it on silent but watches the screen keenly. His eyes are heavy, lids looming lower. Alex presses his nose to the floor, breathes in the musk and concentrates on the splinters in the footboard slat.

It’s only when Isobel sends him a wordy ‘thank you, thank you, thank you…’ message does Alex succumb to his exhaustion.

#Alex's POV #rose well new mexico #Alex manes #Michael guerin #malex #fic #angst #post-canon #Isobel evans #pent up frustration #flashbacks #forgiveness

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the-angry-pixie · 7 years ago

Text

Ok but what if... Mike was really homophobic...

Bear with me, I’m going somewhere with this I swear. And the way is BYELER.

Major Warning - this fic explores and deals with homophobia, abusive behaviour, self-destructive/self-hate behaviour, bullying, hate speech/slurs and dub-con. Let me be explicit, MIKE displays all of these tendencies in this fic. Please do not read if you don’t think this will be your cup of tea. Please keep yourself safe and heed the warnings.

ETA BECAUSE PEOPLE STILL DON’T SEEM TO BE GETTING IT: Mike in this story is very OOC. Like it says right there in the title - this is a WHAT IF story. I don’t actually think Mike’s character is like this. Oy vey.

This started as a story prompt for other writers. Then it became like a HC post, and now its like a weirdly formatted 6000 word wholeass story under the cut. I didn’t mean for it to get so long....

- ok so its like an AU where the upsidedown and Eleven didn’t happen

- what if Mike broke from the group when they entered high school

- like what if instead of puberty hitting him in all the wrong ways, it instead hit him in all the right ways. maybe those long limbs earned him a spot on the basketball team and he becomes a bit of a jerkish popular jock

- further to that, what if... what if he joined in on the bullying of Will in a BIG way

- Will was being teased for being a “fairy” before any of that upsidedown business happened. That’s a canonical fact.

- Of course Will is devastated the first time Mike calls him a “fag” and stands by as two other jocks push him to the ground and throw his bag in the garbage

- Of course he doesn’t know what to do when he sees Mike among the group of individuals hightailing it away from his locker, spray-paint can in hand, as Will approaches and beholds the slurs and horrible drawings graffiti-ed across his own and the neighbouring lockers

- he can take the other guys being jerks but Mike, who he has practically known all his life... he doesn’t know how to respond to that, he doesn’t know how to fight back against that.

- Its not even like he ever even told Mike the truth about his sexuality. Will was careful to hide his feelings. There’s no way he could know... so why does Mike always act like this is personal? Like Will is personally offending him just by existing?

- it goes on for years. Will getting by as best he can with the constant bullying and the help of Dustin and Lucas who remain by his side, even after he tells them the truth, that all the rumours are true, that he is what they say he is.

- it all comes to a head one night. Will walking through town after seeing a movie with the guys. He thinks he will go visit his Mom at work and bum a ride home hopefully. He see’s the group of jocks hanging out in the street, Mike among them, arm around some anonymous girl. They look rowdy, they look drunk. Will is nervous and crosses the road ducking into an alley to take an alternative route. He doesn’t know that Mike saw him.

- He thinks he’s home free when he emerges from the mouth of another alley, but Mike is waiting for him, leaning against the wall in the shadows. He pushes him back into the alley with a “where do you think you’re going Byers?”

- Will is somewhat relieved to see Mike is alone, maybe he can be talked out of whatever he has planned. And so he isn’t ready for the first shove that smacks him back against the brick wall.

- “I asked you a question Byers! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?!” and Will can see fire blooming in Mike’s eyes as he tries to sidestep him but only gets shoved back against the wall again, this time banging his head so hard that black splotches swim in front of his eyes

- And suddenly all of Mike’s 6′3 frame is pinning Will against the wall and he can smell the alcohol on his breath

- “Please Mike...”

- “Shut up faggot! Is that what you’re doing back here. Meeting one of your faggoty friends? Sucking his cock like the fucking disgusting queer you are?”

- The terror is building inside Will. He never thought he would ever feel this way around Mike but here they are and he feels like his lungs might be collapsing

- “Mike...”

- “You think you’re better than me don’t you. That you’re above it all. The way you walk around that school. Looking the way you do. But you’re wrong. I know what you are. You’re nothing. I am better than you, in every fucking way. I am.”

- “Mike please...”

- But there are fingers clutched around his jaw and Will’s eyes are wide open as there are suddenly lips mashed against his. A tongue violently invading his mouth and teeth clacking painfully against his own.

- The kiss is brutal and furious and tastes of cheap booze. Nothing gentle or affectionate about it. But for a moment Will forgets every horrible thing that has ever happened to him at the hands of the boy in front of him because...

... because he doesn’t think he has ever heard anything as... as sad as the anguished groan that almost sounds like it is being ripped from Mike’s throat.

- Will remains perfectly still, neither participating in the kiss or pulling away from it. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. Mike’s grip is just so desperate.

- Slowly the taller boy pulls away. His eyes are bright and wild as he steps back panting heavily.

- Will can’t move, can barely think, his head is throbbing and he needs time to process what just happened. Mike’s voice is low and threatening and slashes through the silence.

- “If you tell anyone, I’ll fucking kill you.” And with his sleeve rubbing harshly against his mouth, he runs away.

- So now Will knows Mike’s secret. And everything makes a little more sense, but not a lot.

- And he could have left it at that. Gone on as usual and never acknowledged what had happened in that alleyway ever again.

- But Will cant. This is Mike... and no matter what he’s become... to Will he is still that boy that was his best friend for years. Who he used to patch up whenever he would do something reckless like ride his bike with no hands or climb a tree that was way too flimsy to hold his weight. The boy who had cried and admitted to him that he sometimes felt so lonely when he went home from sleepovers it was like his insides were clenching in on themselves... trying to turn him inside-out, or maybe make him disappear altogether. The one who never made fun of him for being afraid of the dark and sometimes even held his hand as they fell asleep beside each other...

... the one he had been well on his way to falling in love with before Mike had... become what he’d become.

- So he pursues it. He approaches the bear completely ready to poke. But Mike doubles down on either pretending he doesn’t exist, or throwing insults at him like he is being paid for it. Will can’t seem to get a moment alone with him.

- and so Will bites the bullet and sneaks into Mike’s room to wait for him to get home from practice one night. It’s no trouble, they used to climb through each others windows all the time before...

- at first Mike does not react well. He rages, he threatens, he denies. But he doesn’t lay a hand on Will. And that is his trump card. As long as Mike doesn’t physically hurt him, he can take the verbal beating. He knows Mike is confused. And he knows how scary that can be.

- and so he accepts Mike’s weak-at-best excuses. That he was drunk and didn’t know what he was doing. That he was horny because Sally Davidson had cock-blocked him earlier that night. That Will was so goddamn girly looking that anyone could get switched around on a dark night. Will sits on Mike’s bed and nods with a wry eyebrow raised that he knows Mike sees and then.... he leaves. He makes sure to make eye contact with Mike before ducking out the window though. Tells him if he ever needs to talk, he’ll be there.

- things don’t necessarily improve for Will after that... but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t notice that Mike is no longer an active participant in his bullying. Maybe its just a coincidence that Mike just happens to never be around. Will chooses to believe it isn’t. But he has to test the theory. He has to push a little harder.

- So he takes another chance and climbs through Mike’s window a second time about a week later. He doesn’t allow Mike enough time to cuss him out this time. Just sits on the edge of his bed and starts chatting away as if they are good friends. As if nothing’s changed. He asks him about Holly. He asks him about Nancy. His parents. He asks how practice went. Has Mike thought about college yet. Etc etc.

- To his utter surprise, Mike stares at him for a long time, sighs, collapses into his desk chair, spins around a bit staring at the ceiling and... begins to talk

- He finds out that Holly is an insufferable terror that Mike hates to love. That Nancy stopped checking in after awhile and barely ever comes home for holidays. He finds out that Mike still hates Ted’s fucking guts and also hates that he wants to impress him so much. He finds out that Karen drinks too much and that Mike keeps a stash of confiscated bottles under his bed that he has no guilt about dipping into on nights where he feels like it. He doesn’t learn anything about basketball practice because “what the fuck would you know about sport faggot?” And he learns nothing about college because apparently Mike doesn’t like to think about the future too much because “whats the point...?”

- Will leaves again the way he came. There are no pleasantries, no “we should do this again”. Just an instinctual knowing that Will has to keep pushing whatever this is. Because there is something desperately wrong with Mike. He can feel it.

- but he doesn’t know what he can do. He talks about it vaguely with Dustin and Lucas, carefully leaving Mike’s name out of it. It is Dustin that first floats the word “depression” into the conversation. And it fits. And it scares Will.

- Will hasn’t had cause to observe Mike closely for a long time. But he observes him that week. Observes how he almost seems glassy-eyed and not present when he sits at lunch with his friends. How a frown creases between his eyebrows when Sally leans over to kiss him that disappears before she leans back and has a chance to see it. That the only time he seems genuinely happy is when he is on the court and he is concentrating so devastatingly hard on bringing his team success.

- And if Will’s heart just happens to flutter a bit with the new intimate knowledge of just how sharp Mike’s cheekbones have become, or the cute way he wipes sweat from his brow, or how his lips go cherry red after he’s been chewing on them... well that’s another thing entirely and not what matters right now.

- Will was just considering whether he should visit Mike’s windowsill a third time when a mysterious note appears in his locker. “Come help me with my science homework nerd. Wednesday night. I’ll leave the window open. - M” and Will’s heart just might do a little dance.

- It quickly becomes apparent that Mike does not need any help with his science homework. He knows most of the answers when Will tries to quiz him. Maybe Will shouldn’t be surprised. Mike had always been smart, no matter what sort of meatheaded company he keeps these days. But then if he didn’t need help, then why was Will here?

- He keeps the charade going though because he can’t deny, Mike being nice to him is a bit of an addictive activity. And he is being nice, all condescending comments about nerdism aside. He hasn’t called him faggot once tonight. Thats progress!

- He even asked about Will’s mom as he was leaving that night. And so, with one leg hanging out the window, bewildered expression on his face, Will tells him that Joyce is well. That she smokes too much and worries about Jonathan at college, and puts too much effort into yelling at Lonnie on the phone to pay child support, and wishes Will and the boys would hold their D&D campaigns at their house instead of Lucas’s because she doesn’t like Will biking home late at night

- Is it just Will’s imagination or does Mike’s face almost look wistful as he talks on? Mike blinks it away pretty quickly though as he scoffs and turns away from the window. “whatever, later nerd”. And that’s that.

- Life goes on. Mike still pretty much ignores him at school. But Will will take that over the bullying any day.

- The second time things come to a head is again late at night with Mike drunk, and Will completely sober. He’s just finished a campaign, but chosen to not sleepover at Lucas’ like Dustin. And so he’s walking his bike in the dark, enjoying the crisp evening and the view of Ursa Major. Must be close to 1am when a car screeches past him.

- Curious, he pauses at the end of a cul-de-sac. Of Mike’s cul-de-sac he notes with interest. He watches as the car pulls up outside Mike’s neighbour’s house. Watches as a figure stumbles out of the car. Notes a few laughs and cheers emerging from inside the car and then watches in horror as the car pulls away and drives off.

- He knows instinctually that the figure is Mike, and he can gather that he must be drunk by the slumped way he is down on one knee, hands to the grass and appears to just be staring at the ground breathing.

- What kind of fucked up friends just leave like that?! Not even helping him inside?! Not even making sure they are in front of the right fucking house!!

- Will is full of indignant anger! And it is this anger that drives him to march over and bend down and ask if Mike is okay.

- “Where the fuck did you come from??”

- “Doesn’t matter, can you walk? C’mon big guy, lets walk.”

- Will is so fucking grateful the door to the basement is unlocked. The state that Mike’s in, he’s fairly sure they couldn’t have handled a quiet entrance through the front door, and definitely not sneaking through Mike’s second story bedroom window.

- He does not expect the rush of nostalgia that momentarily overtakes him as soon as he lays Mike down on the same old couch that was there when he was 10 fucking years old.

- Rinses out a cup at the same old laundry tub and fills it with water for Mike. Walks past the same old shelves laden with familiar board games - though they appear to be collecting dust... its all a bit discombobulating

- There are a few differences of course. Will can see the old playing table and chairs stacked into a corner. The comics that used to stand proudly on the shelves by the board games have disappeared. Probably in storage or maybe even given away...

- He looks to the boy in front of him as he puts the cup on the coffee table. Probably the most changed thing of all in this dusty old basement.

- “Do you still write Mike?”

- “Huh?” Mike’s head doesn’t even lift from where it is leaning against the back of the couch. Will stands awkwardly off to the side. Not sure if he should sit or not. He feels like he’s invading.

- “Like short stories. You used to write these really neat short stories. Do you still do that?”

- He watches as Mike’s brow furrows in concentration. After a short silence Mike utters vehemently “Course not. Writing’s for faeries”.

- Of course it is. Will thinks sourly. Why do I even fucking bother? He feels angry and tired and suddenly a great yearning to be home. To be away from here.

- He starts to shuffle towards the door, not really looking forward to the cold ride home, but he feels like he’s done all he needs to do here. Time to go--

- “At least, that’s what Ted always says...”

- Will pauses at the doorway and looks back. Mike’s head has popped up over the back of the couch. His eyes look wide and stricken, like he’s shocked to see Will leaving.

- “Ted’s an asshole” Will murmurs.

- Mike chews on his lip for a few moments. “I know. I hate him. But... he doesn’t like me either so I guess fairs fair.” Mike turns and sits properly on the couch. With only the view of the back of his head, Will hears him mutter. “It’s funny, I always thought parents were meant to at least like their children but I guess mine are the exception...”

- He sounds more sober. And Will considers keeping on walking but... the way Mike is sitting... he looks so small, so lonely and so... haunted. Will carefully approaches and sits at the very opposite end of the couch.

- “I’m sure Karen likes you...” he tries to reassure but Mike is already shaking his head.

- “Karen is in no state to like anyone. She checked out on emotions a long time ago... I guess she passed that along to me right? Not just the drinking habits. How twee.”

- “Mike...” Will doesn’t really know what to say.

- “Nancy definitely doesn’t like me... doesn’t talk to me anymore. She says I’ve changed. Says who I’ve become is ugly or rotten or... something like that so... that’s another person to add to the party.” At this Mike pauses to stare at his clasped hands before letting out a barking laugh that has Will worrying about him waking the people upstairs. “Fuck man!” Mike exclaims. “I’m pretty sure even my friends don’t even like me all that much! So there we have it! Nobody likes Michael Andrew Wheeler! Game, set, match!”

- “I like you...” Will whispers and the words are out before Will even realises he’s the one talking.

- He watches as Mike’s head whips around to stare at him intensely. Feels caught by the dark gaze. Mike is moving closer to him, sliding along the couch until he is directly next to Will. Making Will feel pinned like a small struggling animal inside a trap.

- “Do you really?” Mike’s voice is deep and serious.

- All Will can manage is a slow nod.

- Mike bites his lip releasing it into a small predatory smile.

- “Good. Prove it.”

- And they are kissing. Will kind of knew it was coming this time. Doesn’t mean he is prepared for the harsh way Mike grips at his face and then his neck, moving eventually down to his shoulders jerking him forward. His sharp breaths that Mike seems to swallow as his mouth seals itself against Will’s. This isn’t the first time Will has french kissed, but this time there is nothing caressing or gentle about what Mike’s tongue is doing in his mouth. Will isn’t sure if he likes it. Kissing shouldn’t feel like a fight should it? he thinks dazedly.

- He tries to retreat from the kiss, to pull it back just a little. Make it something not so... not so aggressive. But Mike just grips at his shoulders all the more desperately.

- A throaty moan, a mirror to the one Mike uttered in the alleyway that night. The one that almost sounds like its laced with pain. And suddenly Will’s hand is being grabbed and unceremoniously thrust against the front of Mike’s jeans where he can feel the hard line of his erection.

- Whatever trance Will had been operating under breaks at that. He wrenches himself backwards, feels the hot lines of broken skin where Mike’s fingernails drag against his hand that he pulls away.

- Will tries to sound firm even though he currently feels like he might shatter if pushed too hard. “You can’t keep doing this to me Mike. I-Its not appropriate and its not... nice!”

- Mike looks... Mike looks upset... then he looks annoyed, then he looks thunderous.

- “Fine. Fuck off then faggot.”

- “Mike...” Will could feel tears gathering in his eyes.

- “No really. Fuck off. I thought all of you queers were meant to be begging to get something in your mouth. I must have the most prudish fag in town right in front of me here.”

- “Stop it. You don’t mean that. Any of it.” Will hated the quaver in his voice. The trembling in his shoulders.

- Mike looked murderous as his face twisted into a sneer.

- “Oh boo hoo. Did you think I actually gave a shit about you faggot? I was just trying to get my dick wet. A mouth’s a mouth after all. Sally doesn’t let me do anal with her. Thought I might get to finally give it a go if I got you drooling enough for it...”

- Will was feeling so much. Why was Mike being like this?! Lately he had been so... and Will had thought that maybe he was...

- Then again, why was he surprised?? Wasn’t this consistent with the behaviour he had experienced for the last 4 or so years? Wasn’t this par for the course?

- “You’re a coward” Will finally managed to get out past his swollen tongue. He was sobbing openly now, he felt like the insides of his lungs were burning. “You’re just a scared little boy who doesn’t like himself and so you take it out on others. Take it out on me! Fuck you Michael Wheeler. I hope you die!”

- He was up and moving before he even recognised his legs were working. If Mike said anything after that, he did not hear it. It was like there was wind whistling in his ears and he could not grab his bike fast enough, could not pedal hard enough. He just needed to escape. Escape the words and the taunts and just... all of it.

- Escape Mike...

- Will spends the rest of the weekend in a strange funk. He replays the events over and over. Mike’s face swims in front of his eyes. Angry, sad, lascivious, lonely, desperate.... Will feels sick to his stomach. He shouldn’t have said what he said to Mike. No matter how horrible he was being, Will should have kept his cool. He knew how unstable the teen was and yet he still pushed him. He just had to push him.

- Will knew no matter what, he had to talk to Mike on Monday. He would do it in front of all of his jock friends if he had to. He would take the abuse and the bruises. He just had to tell Mike that he didn’t mean it, that he still cared.

- But... he couldn’t find him... he didn’t appear to be in any of his usual spots or in fact anywhere inside Hawkins High that bright sunny Monday. It made Will’s teeth itch and his stomach tumble with anxiety. First period, second period, all the way through to lunch.

- Will gathers a tray of food but doesn’t think he can eat. He’s staring solemnly at his tater tots when he feels his friends slide into the table across from him.

- “Will, did you hear about Mike Wheeler?”

- “What?” Will’s head snaps up, his eyes wide. “What about him?!”

- Lucas looks to Dustin who looks equally as surprised at Will’s reaction.

- “Dude’s in hospital...” Dustin says carefully.

- “WHAT?! HOW? WHAT HAPPENED?!”

- “Dude whats wrong? Why do you care so much?!”

- Will feels like he is going to throw up. “Tell me Dustin!”

- “I don’t know all the details. Apparently he fell and cracked his head open or something.”

- “Yeah I could hear the ambulance sirens from my place on Sunday morning” Lucas added. “Apparently it was some sort of bathroom freak accident. But like, not in the shower, he had his clothes on and everything. But apparently there was blood everywhere.”

- “Oh God...” Will’s head is buried in his hands. His worst fears coming to fruition right in front of him. “Oh God he did it he tried to do it. And its my fault.” Because he knows. He knows it wasn’t an accident. Mike tried to hurt himself and it was all Will’s fault because he practically told him he wished he were dead.

- And then Will is sure he’s going to throw up and so he flees the cafeteria, much to the astonishment of his friends. He empties the contents of his stomach into the nearest toilet with just a moment to spare. And even after there is nothing left to come up he still retches. Over and over again. It feels like punishment. Except its not enough. He hears the door open behind him but he just doesn’t care.

- “Will what is going on? What’s gotten into you” Will feels a soothing hand against his hair.

- “You mean what has gotten out of him?”

- “Shut up Dustin.”

- Will rolls over and looks up blearily at his two friends squished into the stall with him. “Is he okay?” he asks his voice trembling, dreading the answer.

- Dustin looks worried again. “I-I don’t know. Nobody does. But if something really bad had happened we’d hear about it right?”

- “Something really bad HAS happened. And its my fault. I need to go, I need to see him.”

- “Wait Will. Hold up. You’re not making any sense. Since when do you give a shit about Wheeler?! He’s one of the assholes that makes your life hell!” Lovely Lucas. Beautiful, sensible Lucas. He just doesn’t understand. Will needs to leave right now.

- “I-I can’t tell you. Its private. But I need to go see him. I think he tried to do something to himself and I think its because of something I did.”

- “What the fuck? What are you talking about?!”

- But its actually Dustin who shushes Lucas, pushes past him to help Will will up. He gives Will a long probing look and then rubs his shoulders a few times. “You’ll explain to us later right?”

- Will nods enthusiastically. “Cover for me?”

- Dustin smiles. “’Course bud.”

- And Will is flying. Well really, he wished he could fly. He pumps his legs as fast as they can go but it feels like he is riding through quicksand. So slow, what if its too late? What if Mike slips away from him?? He arrives at the hospital and in a daze demands the room number for Mike’s room. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so curt and rude in his life. But there is just no time.

- Until he’s in the doorway and he see’s the figure in the bed and BLESSED HALLELUJAH the figure turns to look at him with wide, surprised eyes. If Will’s cheeks weren’t already flushed from exertion he knows he would be blushing right now. But its almost like he doesn’t care.

- He rushes the bed. Thankfully there are no parents present but he thinks he would have done this even if they were.

- He pulls the boy on the bed into a hug. Clings to him. Lets desperate little cries creep out of his throat as he starts up a mantra of “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.”

- He feels some fingers come up and kind of pat at the back of his head. “Where the fuck did you come from?” They are the same words Mike said two nights ago, but the tone is so different, so gentle.

- “School?” Will answers lamely as he leans back into a standing position.

- Mike chuckles slightly. His eyes wandering to the corner of the room.

- “I heard about your accident. W-what... what happened?”

- Mike shrugged, still staring at the edge of the room. “Head trauma. I fell and my head hit the edge of the bathtub. It was stupid.”

- “Bullshit.”

- “What?”

- “I call bullshit. Tell me what really happened Mike.”

- Mike met his gaze and his face kind of looked like he had sucked on a lemon. “I’m telling the truth goddammit! That’s what happened!! Besides what difference does it make?! Does it really matter if I tell you that after you left I got stuck into a bottle of vodka? Or that I got it into my head to take a bunch of my mother’s sleeping pills? Or that I’m now on suicide watch and they won’t let me go home? No! It makes fuck-all difference! Its not like you care you fucking son of a bitch!”

- “Don’t be thick Mike. Of course I care. What do you think I’m doing here?!”

- It’s at this point that Karen Wheeler comes wandering through the room door, styrofoam coffee in hand and Mike just rounds on her. She looks stunned when she see’s Will standing beside her son’s bed. But Mike is having none of it.

- “Get the fuck out Karen! Out! Byers and I are having a conversation!”

- Karen’s mouth falls open at her son’s violent outburst but she retreats without saying a word.

- Mike watches her go then turns his icy gaze on Will. “Right. Like I was gonna say, I know exactly why you are here. It’s guilt. Guilt for what you... what you said right before you left. Don’t try and dress it up as anything else. You just feel like maybe I did it because of what you said.”

- “Well... did you?” Its probably the least tactful thing to say but Will is feeling a bit too raw from, well, from everything.

- Mike fiddles with the bandage on his head, avoiding eyecontact. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was thinking about killing myself way before your candyass came along.”

- “But why?! How-- how could you?”

- “Because I hate my life alright?! You have no idea what it is like to be me. I’m not a good person. I bring exactly nothing positive to this world. It’s like Nancy says, I’m rotten. Good for nothing. And apparently a faggot on top of it all!”

- Mike’s last sentence hangs in the air, sharp like a knife. Filling the room with a heavy tension. The unspoken truth that felt like it had been standing in the corner of the room of every single interaction that Mike and Will had had in the last month or so. Will had known this very thing for so long but to hear Mike speak it... to see from the look of miserable horror on his face how it was slowly tearing him apart. It broke Will’s heart.

- Slowly, carefully, like dealing with a spooked animal, Will sat in the chair beside the bed. “It’s called being gay Mike. And it’s not a bad thing.”

- “It’s-- it’s disgusting...” but even Mike sounded half-hearted and defeated, the words rasping out as though on autopilot.

- “Well. I’m gay. Do you think I’m disgusting?” Will regretted the question as soon as he said it. He knew the answer. Had had it spat at him on many occasions by this very person. Maybe it would feel different this time though, now that the real truth was out in the open for once. He braced himself for the hurt.

- “No...”

- Will eyes raised to find dark brown ones fixed upon his face.

“I-I don’t think you’re disgusting... I never did... I think you’re--”

- But he never got to finish that sentence. From outside the room both boys heard the hooting and hollering that could only be achieved by adolescent boys. Many adolescent boys.

- “WHEELER!

- “WE’RE COMING FOR YOU WHEELER!”

- “WHERE YOU AT YOU PUSSY?!”

- Will recognised the voices of some of the notable figures of the Hawkins High Senior Basketball team. They sounded close.

- He suddenly felt a bruising grip on his forearm where it was lying on the mattress. Stunned, he turned to see Mike staring at him, fear in his eyes.

- “Hide!” he hissed. “They can’t see you here. Quick, the bathroom.”

- Will is about to protest. Is getting ready to argue but Mike grips him harder, almost looking like he is about to cry. “Please Will.”

- Its probably the first time Mike has said his name in... well... years. And so Will quickly darts into the adjoining bathroom, glad for his forethought to grab his backpack too. It’s gotta only be seconds later, just as he is sliding the lock home that he hears the obnoxiously loud entrance of what must be about six people.

- “WHEELER!!”

- “HOW YOU DOING YA FAG!”

- “YOU LOOK LIKE SHIT!”

- “HEY THANKS FOR GIVING US AN EXCUSE TO CUT CLASS!”

- The comments are a-plenty. Will cringes as he takes a seat on the closed toilet seat lid. He almost feels ill when he hears Mike’s voice, so unlike the soft tone of just moments before, greeting his “friends”.

- The back and forth is not particularly interesting. Will quickly grows bored of it. Mike spews his story of slipping over in the bathroom again. One of the anonymous jocks accuses him of trying to suck his own dick and that’s how he fell. Another one asked what pain meds he’s on and whether he could score him some. And yet another truly romantic soul asks if it’s okay for him to claim Sally if Mike dies because apparently that “pussy is tight as shit”.

- Will rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. He didn’t know how Mike could do this day in and day out. The Mike who guffawed along with those brainless wonders and slapped their hands in highfives and told them to “fuck off from my girl, that’s my piece of ass”... was so, so different from the Mike that sometimes would come out around Will. The Mike that reminded him achingly of the little nerd kid with the gap where his two front teeth should be and the lego Millennium Falcon figure that he had painstakingly put together all by himself. How... how was Mike not exhausted from the whole thing?? Having to act like that every, single day.

- Will can almost begin to understand how Mike’s path could have led him to where he was now. Will might not have an easy life, but at least he had people who truly loved and understood him. Who did Mike have...?

- Not one of his so-called friends have even asked how he’s feeling, whether he’s doing better. The closest they have gotten is asking him if he will be at practice this week, to which Mike answers “No. Doc says I have to take a break from basketball for awhile...” The responses range from “Fuck that!” to “You’re gonna get as soft as that Byers queer.”

- It makes Will mad. Not the comment about him. Just the fact that he’s the one hiding in he bathroom when its so glaringly evident that these boys don’t give a shit about Mike. He’s the one Mike doesn’t want to be seen with, like he’s some sort of disease. It’s not fucking fair!

- Eventually, Mike’s company leaves. Will hears Karen come back in for a moment and Mike sends her away again. Then he hears him call “You can come out now.”

- Will enters the room. He’s still feeling weird. He looks at the boy in front of him who is staring stubbornly back at him. Daring him to judge. I hate this boy, but I also kind of love him. But maybe that’s not the best thing for me... Will thinks forlornly.

- “You have shit friends.”

- “I know.”

- “They’re not real friends.”

- “I know.”

- You should not hang out with them anymore.”

- “I...”

- “You could come sit with me Lucas and Dusty again?”

- “Will...”

- “Just think about it. And you should... you should start writing again. Maybe keep a journal or something. Something to get all of those thoughts out of your head. I dunno...”

- “My therapist said the same thing.”

- “Hmm.”

- “Yeah...”

- Silence befalls them. Will sways in place, not really knowing what to do but feeling like he should do something.

- “You’re going to be okay you know.” he offers quietly, trying to sound confident in his words.

- “Sure.” Mike doesn’t seem convinced as he stares down at his blanketed lap, suddenly finding his fingers very interesting.

- “You are. Things are shitty right now. But...” Will inhales deeply, thrusting himself out into the open one last time. Giving the stupid boy in front of him a clear target to shoot him down once again. “... you have me alright? I’m here for you... if you want.”

- “Okay.” Mike doesn’t look up. But its something at least.

- “Okay... I’m gonna go...”

- “Okay...”

- Will gives an awkward wave, a hug seems a bit too much right now, and exits the hospital room. The interaction leaves an odd taste in his mouth, but deep down he knows he can only do so much. It’s up to Mike now. No more pushing.

- Mike is out of school for the rest of the week. Not that Will is looking out for him or anything. He doesn’t go back and visit him again, is not even sure if he’s been discharged from hospital or not. These days he’s living on faith a lot. Lucas and Dustin grill his ass and he tries to be honest with them. He doesn’t out Mike, but tells them pretty much everything else. They’re his best friends after all. They sit there with stunned expressions as the whole story unfolds.

- But that’s nothing compared to the looks on their faces on the following Monday when a nervous voice speaks from behind Will’s slumped form at the lunch table.

- “Can I sit here?”

- Will turns and is met with dark brown, hopeful eyes.

A.N. Ba-BAM! I have no idea what the fuck this was. And I am sorry for the weird formatting. Oh and the angst. Very sorry about that. But it would make my day if you would let me know what you thought! Thank you. Hope you enjoyed. :)

#mike wheeler #will byers #stranger things #pixie writes #homophobic!Mike AU #kind of byeler #cause its about the two boys #but also kinda not because theres no romance #i dont know how to tag that

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another-quirkless-wannabe · 5 years ago

Text

CHAPTER 1//Let The Games Begin

Summary:

Atlas Shaye is an American exchange student joining Izuku and the others for their third and final year at UA.

She struggles to let go of her past, causing her to push away her classmates, isolating herself while battling depression and self harm. One day, her biggest fear comes true and she attempts suicide. During recovery, she realizes she must trust her newfound friends with her darkest secret in order to heal.

Things are finally looking up back at UA, that is, until a villain attack on the school. Working as a team, the students of class 3-A win the fight, but at a cost.

Unbeknownst to the heroes, the villains have a new interest in Atlas and her dangerous abilities. It's not long before the they are enacting a new plan, one that will change her life forever.

Can the people she loves rescue her before it's too late?

Or will she succumb to the darkness inside?

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

TRIGGER WARNING:

Scenes/mentions of rape, self harm, suicide, mental illness, torture, and graphic violence.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

-ATLAS-

I take a shaky breath, staring up at the towering door in front of me. It's light grey with giant red letters that read 3-A.

I should go in. I should introduce myself to my new classmates. I should be excited to be enrolled in the best hero course in the world. I should be thrilled that I am the only foreign exchange student they allowed in.

But I'm not.

Instead, the icy fingers of anticipation have wrapped themselves around my stomach and are squeezing tight. I'm not worried about not being able to keep up with the heroes in training that are all waiting behind the door. I know I can hold my own against even Midoriya, Todoroki, or Bakugou. After watching them for the last two years in the sports festival and news footage of fights they have been involved in, I have all the proof I need that I could take them on. No, I'm not concerned about losing to any of them. I'm worried about hurting or killing them. I'm worried about controlling my quirk. I'm worried about having a repeat of two years ago.

I have to remind myself that I'm not here to make friends.

I'm the only exchange student that made it into the program. I have been training at the top American hero school, but nothing holds a candle to UA, so I jumped at the opportunity to complete my final year here. Besides, a fresh start where no one knows me, or what I did, is exactly what I've been craving.

I take a breath and steel myself. I grab the handle and slide the door open.

Shota Aizawa is standing at the front of the class. He is wearing his usual black shirt and pants, complete with his black and silver belt. His capture weapon and goggles are resting around his neck. He looks at me when I step into the room. Everything goes silent and I can sense twenty pairs of eyes staring at me, sizing me up. I'm sure they've all been informed of my arrival. It's uncommon for UA to accept any new student for the third year, especially an exchange student.

"Class, this is our new student." Mr. Aizawa drones. His tone is bored, but his eyes are locked onto me, not missing a thing. I guess they told him about the instability of my quirk. But in my defense, I've learned to control it now. My last major incident was two years ago. I turn my attention to the group of students before me. "Go ahead and introduce yourself." My teacher orders.

"My name is Atlas Shaye. You can call me Atlas. I'm an exchange student from America. My quirk is energy manipulation." I don't hesitate. I sweep my eyes over each of them, making eye contact with everyone individually. When I say the last sentence, I activate my quirk for only a second, allowing my usually grey eyes to flash blue at them. I try to make my face menacing. I see some of their eyes widen.

"Miss Shaye, your seat is the empty desk between Todoroki and Tokoyami. Please make your way there now. I was just going over the syllabus." Mr. Aizawa instructs. I obey, quickly sitting in the uncomfortable chair and turning my attention to the tall, dark haired man. "This year will be different than years previous. You will be broken up into groups and will be patrolling each week, making good use of your provisional hero licenses. Also, your training will be more intense than in years previous." His dark eyes land on me as he says his next sentences. "You will face the hardest challenges yet this year. Be prepared for a fight." I smirk, locking eyes with the man at the head of the class. If he's trying to scare me, it won't work. I'm ready for whatever the people around me can throw my way. They won't stand a chance. "You are all dismissed. You have lunch, then training with All Might and myself after. If you need me, I'll be taking a nap." He slings his yellow sleeping bag over his shoulder and walks out of the door, closing it behind him.

I sense all twenty pairs of eyes lock onto me again.

"Can I help you?" I stand, glancing around the room at my competition.

"Hi, I'm Midoriya!" I immediately find the boy. Of course I recognize his messy green hair and his freckles. Izuku is as friendly as I expected him to be. But I can't let them in close. The events of two years ago are still fresh in my mind. I have to keep these people at bay for their own safety.

"I don't recall asking for your name." I say, coldly. He stops in his tracks. I feel the tension around me build. I turn to address all of the others. "Let me make myself very clear: I am not here to make friends. There is nothing that any of you could offer me that I'm interested in. Save yourselves the trouble and leave me alone." I shoulder my backpack and push past the students gathered around me.

I stalk into the hallway, leaving my stunned peers behind me. I feel a heavy weight settle on my chest and my eyes start to burn, tears pricking at the corners. I roughly wipe them away.

The truth is that I want nothing more than to be friends with the students here. They're all amazing and talented heroes in training, but I would never forgive myself if I hurt any of them. I will not let them close enough to be caught in the crossfire should I lose control again.

I make my way to the cafeteria, where I sit alone at a table. My new classmates all give me a wide berth, avoiding me after my speech earlier. I feel relieved that they're heeding my advice.

×××

Lunch goes by quickly, and soon, it's time for training. I reach the classroom and take my seat before anyone else. I'm relaxed, waiting for the others to file back in. I notice that Tokoyami takes the long way back to his desk so he doesn't have to walk by me. That's fine by me. No one makes eye contact as they file in. Maybe my coldness towards Midoriya was all it took for them to know I mean business.

Everyone is seated and chatting among themselves when All Might bursts through the door. He's in his muscle form, grinning like he always does.

After his battle with All for One two years ago, everyone thought he was done being a hero. Then, his close friend David, who is the head scientist at I-Island, managed to create an implant that retained the power All Might had before the fight. It allows him to still work as a pro hero for limited amounts of time each day.

"You all look eager to train! Grab your outfits and change. Meet me at training center alpha." His deep voice booms. Everyone stands and makes their way to the wall where twenty one compartments have pushed out. All the cases are numbered. I grab mine, #21, and head to the locker rooms.

While the others are changing out in the open, I make my way to a stall. I am not ashamed of my body, but the scars lining my left arm are very obvious. Not to mention the fresh deep cuts that are only a few days old. I don't need everyone here knowing that I battle with self-harm and depression.

I step into the costume I brought from home, a paneled black bodysuit made of thick bullet resistant material. It comes with a utility belt where I keep my throwing blades that I use on occasion. It's long sleeved, but I never overheat while wearing it thanks to the high tech temperature regulating lining on the inside. The neck line stops halfway up my neck, and tucked inside is a face mask I can pull up over my mouth and nose in case of a gas attack. I complete my look with combat boots that come to rest midway up my shin.

I leave the stall and find that the others are still changing, chatting happily with each other. Conversation ceases when they see me. I walk straight past them without a second glance and head out to where some of the guys are already milling around. I hang off to the right side, keeping to myself as the rest of the class joins us. All Might and Mr. Aizawa appear before us, scanning over our small group.

"I see that you are all here, good." All Might booms, his arms outstretched to our group. "Today's training is nothing like we've done before. You will be each going alone, playing the hero. We will allow you to pick a group of at least three of your peers that you want to face off against as your villains." He booms. An excited buzz spreads over the mass of students. I find myself smiling.

"There's a catch." Mr. Aizawa's voice is quiet, but it silences everyone almost immediately. "When you are playing the hero, you will be fitted with a quirk suppression collar. It is on a timer set for ten minutes. When the match starts, you will be left without your quirk until the timer goes off. This is to simulate the situation where you are outnumbered in a fight, but have used up all your power, or have had your quirk erased. Once the timer goes off, your quirk will be returned to you. If you are still standing by that point, then you will be allowed to finish the fight with your quirk. All Might and I will be watching each match. They will end when either the hero or the villains have been defeated, or fifteen minutes pass." He pulls eye drops out of one of his pockets as he finishes and applies them to each eye.

"Aoyama is up first. Do you know who you want to face?" All Might beams. The flamboyant blonde boy smiles, fluffing his sparkling purple cape.

"I want to face Mineta, Shouji, and Asui." He chirps as Mr. Aizawa fits the suppression collar around his neck.

"I told you," The frog girl grumbles, "To call me Tsu."

"Make your way to the city center. That's where you'll be fighting." Mr. Aizawa sounds bored again. As a group, we start towards a towering force field spanning five city blocks from one end to the other. The first group heads through the opening of the force field, while the rest of us head to a nearby building to watch the match in a room with a large screen along one wall. All the camera bots in the training center are broadcasting every possible angle and insure that we won't miss a thing.

"Alright, Aoyama. The timer starts now. You may begin!" All Might speaks into a a microphone that transmits into the arena.

We watch in varying degrees of interest as the battle begins.

Aoyama is at a severe disadvantage against his opponents. Shouji makes the first move, quickly rushing the caped boy, who is running for the nearby building. It appears that he's going to make it, when Tsu drops in his path, blocking the entrance to the building. Aoyama turns to run out of the way of the two heroes, but finds that he can't move, thanks to one of Mineta's sticky balls holding his foot in place. We watch the trapped hero struggle to no avail. Shouji attaches the handcuffs given to him by Mr. Aizawa to each of Aoyama's wrists. All Might calls the match.

A low rumble spreads through the room, the students realizing that this will not be an easy win. Aoyama didn't even last the first 10 minutes.

I can't help the smile that plays on my lips. I know I can win this even without my quirk. I feel someone staring at me and look up to find Mr. Aizawa's dark eyes studying me intensely. I drop my head, ignoring his sharp gaze.

The matches carry on like that for a while-most of the heroes don't make it until the timer goes off to get their quirks back. Some of the students, like Midoriya and Bakugou, actually win their fights. It's interesting to see where my peers' weaknesses lie. I take mental notes after each fight.

Then, it's my turn.

All eyes are on me as I size up the class. Every single student is still conscious and able to fight. I smile darkly. They are going to hate me after this. I can't wait.

"Tell me, young Atlas, have you picked your opponents?" All Might asks. Mr. Aizawa is watching me warily.

"I have, Sir." I announce. Some of the students share apprehensive glances between them. Others glare at me, almost like they're daring me to say their names.

"I think we all are looking forward to hearing your choices." He beams. I sweep my eyes over the group. I smile again.

"I have decided," I pause for effect and watch my classmates squirm. "that I want to fight every remaining student."

Silence spreads over the room. All Might is the first to recover.

"You want to fight...everyone? All twenty students? Are you sure about that?" His deep tone is surprised. I nod my head. Apprehension spreads through the room.

"Yes, I'm sure." I don't break eye contact with the giant man. His smile returns and his laugh booms through the small space.

"Very well, then. You will be fighting against all twenty of your peers." He declares. I nod again. The students I'll be facing don't waste any time and have formed a large huddle, obviously planning for the upcoming match.

Mr. Aizawa walks up behind me, suppression collar in hand. He stands behind me, fitting the device around my neck. He connects it at the base of my neck and sets the timer. His hand brushes my skin as he does so and a chill runs down my spine, though I'm not sure if it's from the collar or his touch.

"I'll be on the field for this match. Just in case." He informs me lowly. I can't decide if it's for the safety of my classmates or my own. I just nod, my mind rapidly forming a plan.

I look to the group still in a huddle before me.

"Well, are we going to fight or what?" I ask impatiently. They shift back into upright positions and stare at me. Midoriya steps forward.

"You're on."

I grin. Let the games begin.

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