#taking a break from drawing angst so i can get energy to draw more angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dalamjisung · 1 month ago

Text

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 5: His very own lighthouse

genre: honestly who even knows at this point - angst, fluff, comfort, EVERYTHINGGGGG

word count: 5961

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: things are happening too fast– it's been nine days of this madness and, once again, everything just seems to continue to spiral. but sometimes, in the midst of all the darkness, you find some light, and that is enough to make you keep going.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

author's note: sorry for the delay on the update, but it's finally here! I'm excited to see this story evolving! what are you excited about with this chapter? Let me know in the comments! <3 if you want to join the taglist for this series, please let me know in the comments!

“Knock, knock.”

The hospital smells of rubbing alcohol and plastic and it’s all a really weird experience. On one hand, you have kids books, three or four that you managed to get from the store before Spencer got you out of there. On the other, you have flowers with a card signed by both you and the boy genius that couldn’t come with. Very last minute, Spencer had gotten a call from Agent Hotchner and he had to go to the office, but he had been kind enough to drop you off to see Officer Kaper. s

“Miss Y/L/N!” He smiles from where he’s laying in bed, daughter tucked under one arm and wife by the other. “Sweetie, this is the nice book lady I told you about,” The baby girl eyes you up with that shy nature you love some much in kids. It’s a quiet kind of judgement that you fly by with a smile, slowly approaching and turning the books towards her.

“The book lady brought more books!” You whisper, trying to keep the energy in the room positive, but not too excited. Spencer had said this was a minimal injury case– apparently Officer Kaper was at home when the break-in happened and he kept his wife and daughter safe, but had gotten injured while doing so. Stabbed, to be more precise. And although you can’t see the stitches, you can see the large bandage around his torso. Gulping, you look away, finding that his wife’s sweet smile melts your heart. “Hello. It’s really nice to meet you, I’m Y/N… and I’m… I’m really sorry.”

“Oh, no,” His wife smiled, shaking her head before coming to you and grabbing the flowers so delicately. “You have nothing to apologise for, this is not your fault.” She takes the books too, smiling at the silly little drawings in the cover before giving it to her husband.

You’re not really sure what to do in there, with this family that looks oh so happy despite the circumstances. Have you ever been that happy just to be around someone?

Yes.

“Y/N, let’s go! We’re going to be late!”

There is a tired drag of your feet underneath you, but you still smile, giggling at the dramatic reaction when he sees you in your dress. “Oh stop it,” You mumble, applying a final layer of lipstick before turning to him and saying, “I’m ready.”

“And I’m the luckiest man alive,” He mumbled, kissing your forehead sweetly before opening the door to go call the elevator. That is the kind of man he is– someone who likes to be prepared for everything, who predicts what will come his way and plan accordingly to be two steps ahead. At first, it’s impressive, seeing how ready he is to deal with whatever life throws his way. It makes you puff your chest proudly and say ‘that is my man.’ But then it feels a little bothersome, really, not being able to have a thought to yourself without his curious hands prying it open and public. You can’t have anything just yours, because Josh wants everything to be his, and suddenly’y he is not your man, but you are his woman. And that doesn’t sit right with you.

For now, though, when everything is great and amazing, anything he does has you smiling; even if your feet hurt in the too tall heels, even if your can’t breathe right in the too tight dress– you smile. Because Josh likes you smiling and you love Josh when he likes you. “And I’m the luckiest woman in the universe.”

“The entire universe?” He mumbles, smiling and pecking your lips with a calculated kiss that doesn’t blur your makeup.

“The entire universe.”

“That’s a big, big universe you’re talking about…”

Later on, you’d find out that even though yes, the universe is big and so much of it still goes undiscovered, sharing it with him makes you feel very, very small.

“How is Officer Kaper doing?” Spencer asks once you step into the car. You look at him with an empty look in your face that makes him sigh. You’ve been like this since the news broke last night, alienated from your own self, and he hates it– he hates seeing the light in your eyes dim and the way your lips struggle to stretch into a smile. “Y/N?”

“Sorry,” You mumble, shaking your head to try and get your jumbled thoughts in order. “He’s uh, he’s okay. The nurse said he got lucky, which I don’t really see how, I mean, he was– he uh, got stabbed. With a knife. So not really lucky of him, in my books.”

“But he’s okay,” Spencer repeats, reaching out to lace his fingers with yours, and you’ve never held onto something so tightly like you did then to his hand. “Y/N, he’s okay. In the mean time, I’ll be in charge of your protection. The higher ups have deemed this an active case now that someone’s got injured and–“

“Wait, what?” Your head snaps to look at him, eyes wide. “Was it not an active case before?!”

“Not officially,” Not even his soft voice can make you feel better. “It was for me and my team but… not for Strauss. That’s our section chief, she’s… complicated. Bureaucratic.”

“And there is nothing in the fucking FBI bureaucracy about considering a case of an innocent civilian being stalked by a serial killer active?” Scoffing, you pull your hand away from his as if his touch burned your skin, suddenly too aware of your situation. “What? Are they waiting for me to die or something? For her to finally get me? What the fuck, Spencer, why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” He says quietly, eyes glancing at you for a fraction of a second before moving back to the traffic ahead. “And I still don’t. It’s going to be okay, I pro–“

“Don’t,” You say through gritted teeth, head swimming in the growing amount of information you are struggling to process. “I know you mean well, but please don’t promise me anything, because I… Spencer, right now, you’re the only person I trust, and if you promise me something you can’t keep, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

The craziness of it all doesn’t escape you. When you were a kid, dreaming of fantastical adventures, this surely wasn’t what you had in mind. Spencer, as cordial and gentlemanly as he is, is not the perfect prince you hoped for and you, all tears and judgments, are far from being a princess. This is real life; it’s raw, and burning, and stretching, and painful, but it’s yours and you are determined to make something out of it. And whatever it is that you are making, this can’t be it. You refuse to let this be the one big event that forever determines the rest of your life.

Takes you a little while to notice that you’re not quite going to his apartment, and your heart flutters. The thought of those beloved green walls used to make you smile. It was a glimpse inside the world of Spencer Reid, your favourite customer– of his plants, his books, his odd addiction to the colour purple showing in the smallest of details, in the pillows, the blankets, the place mats left and forgotten on his counter. The excitement is still there, though, and you will do virtually anything to keep it alive, but… but just like his walls, that spark of giddiness inside of you whenever you enter the place now is smaller. Faded. Muted. You feel guilty, admitting that yourself, and that guilt morphs into something akin to embarrassment. Sitting next to you is a man who is doing everything and anything to try and keep you safe, and yet, you just can’t find it in yourself to be as positive as he seems to be. Hope might be the last one to die, but eventually, it dies. You wonder if yours was just never there to begin with.

“Where are we going?” You ask, looking at him for a brief second. There is a lot going on right now, specially between you two, and even looking at him is hard. Whenever you do, eyes lingering on his sharp jaw or his messy hair, you remember yesterday. You remember his hands holding you close, and his breath hitting the back of your neck. You remember how you felt, all warm and tingly everywhere, and you remember how you imagine he felt by the way his heartbeat drummed against your back. But yesterday is not good only. Yesterday is not just emotions and ease and comfort, because yesterday was also day eight of this nightmare. Day eight that marked the beginning of a new week in this torturous purgatory, baiting you with the happiness you could have but seemingly never would. “Spence?”

He exhales, letting something heavy within himself go, when you call for him. “We’re going to the BAU. Hotch asked me to bring you in so we can ask you some questions, if you feel up for it.”

You don’t feel up for it, but you will not tell him that. Not when it finally feels like people are finally starting to take this seriously. “Yeah. Yeah, okay,” You gulp, nodding and already digging in your bag for your ID. At this point, you know the drill, thanking the front desk man twenty minutes later when he gives you your visitor’s pass.

“Y/N!”

It amazes you, really, that in the midst of all of this, you still manage to make a friend. Penelope is an obvious choice, though you wouldn’t even say you had much of a choice anyways. At first you thought she had gotten your phone from Spencer, wanting to provide you with some encouraging words and a shoulder to cry on. But after learning more about her job, you know for a fact that she probably pulled your number from whatever database she could. The whole thing starts after that day in her office, with you sending her a quick apology for the entire thing– you crossed the line asking to see Cat Adam’s photo and Spencer took it even further by screaming at her. Just as you thought, Penelope is quick to forgive and forget, and since then, most of your conversation consists of memes and borderline sexualised comments about Agent Derek Morgan. You even get some pictures, though you are too scared to open them fully. From the small preview you can see on your phone, these photos are not meant for your eyes, and even know, when Agent Morgan smiles at you and Spencer walking in, you can’t help but blush.

“Are you okay?” Penelope asks, brows wiggling with knowledge that Spencer would, hopefully, never get. You don’t imagine he would be all to pleased with you seeing pictures of his co-worker shirtless, though you are still too scared and careful to admit to yourself the reason why he wouldn’t be all that happy about it. The higher the climb, the harder the fall, and you’ve fallen enough for Spencer. “You’re all red in the face and looking a little bit spooked there, Y/N. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’re embarrassed. But my oh my, what would you have to be embarrassed about?”

Staring at her with your mouth hanging open, you blush even further, chortling out something akin to laughter mixed with an indignant squeak. “Penelope!” Your whisper-scream is not as subtle as you think it is, and both men look at you with curiosity all over their faces.

“Do you girls want to share with the class?” Derek asks, stepping closer to you which makes you step closer to Spencer. It’s a weird chain reaction that leaves everyone but Penelope confused, and you want to kill her and thank her at the same time. It seems that she is the only one trying to bring some normalcy back to your life.

“Not particularly, no,” Penelope takes the lead and you’re happy to let her, purposefully ignoring Spencer’s squinted eyes on you. You know that look– you know many of his looks, actually, but that specific look is his thinking look. The one he got whenever you tell him something about celebrity drama or fan-fiction writers. Whenever Spencer has that look, you usually smile wide, knowing that it’s his own way to tell you he’s paying attention to you. Right now, however, you want him to look away and pretend you don’t exist. “Though I’m easily convinced, my hot, cho–“

“Nope,” You intervene, hands shooting to cover your ears. “Stop! Don’t you dare!”

“Aha! I knew it!” She laughed, and while you walk inside the bullpen that is now, unfortunately, familiar enough, you two bicker like children.

“What’s going on?” The way your head snaps to the women sitting by a desk is enough of a tell for Spencer to know you are about to freak out.

“Guys…” He tried to stop them, and you have so much faith in him that he will that your eyes sparkle for a second. It pains him to see that light within you turn off when the women clearly ignore him.

“Emily, JJ,” Penelope giggled, rushing to their side, phone in hand. “I sent this to Y/N and–“

“Oh wow,” Emily laughs, shaking her head and looking at you with pure and raw sympathy. “You have now been through the initiation, you’re officially one of us. Congrats, Y/N!”

“Yeah, Penelope sent me those pictures on my second days as a liaison,” JJ winced, laughing nonetheless. “I will admit it made my first week very awkward.”

“What initiation?” Derek is Spencer’s opposite. Penelope has told you about them before, about their friendship, about how Derek, despite the teasing and the overbearing duty to protect his friend, was always there for little boy genius. While Spencer is silent thinking and careful calculations, Derek is quick action and instant reaction. It’s a sight to behold, those two together, and you smile when Spencer nods vigorously.

“Yeah, what initiation?” He is looking at you because he knows you’re the one most likely to crack.

But this time, you hold your ground, shaking your head and pursing your lips. “I–“

“Miss Y/L/N.” The mood shifts instantly, and you even feel a little bit bad for the two man walking towards where everyone has suddenly gone still.

“Agent Hotchner, hello,” You mumble, smiling as best as you can under his gaze.

But then something happens.

Something changes.

And his eyes soften. “Thank you for coming. I am sorry that it took this long for the higher ups to clear us for a full investigation of your case, but now we have proof that Cat has a partner and they they are escalating.”

“Escalating?” Little by little you learn about their vocabulary. It’s not something that any book you’ve read has touched on and it feels eerily realistic to be saying those words yourself, like you have been transported inside a book you’ve never even wanted to read.

“It means they are evolving their methodology of… attack,” Emily words gently, trying to explain it as softly as she could, but not even the sweetest of voices or kindest of gestures could take away the fright of this entire thing. “They are getting bolder, and so they might try something that, otherwise, they wouldn’t.”

“O-Okay,” You whisper, frowning in thought. “But, and sorry if this is a stupid question, but what is making them bolder? It can’t just be out of nowhere, right?”

“Spoken like a true profiler,” JJ smiled with a pat to your shoulder. “Behaviour changes this drastic usually have triggers, and something triggered this. We don’t know who this partner is, but they were bold enough to try and break into a police officer’s house. This means they are reckless. Impulsive.”

“What if it was pre-planned?” You ask, missing how Spencer looks at you with a huge smile. Having you interested in his job is better than having you hate his job, and he would take this over the other any day. “The attack.”

“We can assume it wasn’t, since Officer Kaper showed up halfway through the break-in,” Derek concluded. “Meaning the attacker didn’t account for him coming home.”

“But you said Cat Adams is calculated,” You turn to Spencer with wide eyes– things are starting to click in your brain and you need him to know you’re not just putting all the weight on his shoulders, you need him to know that you’re trying too. “You said she plays mind games.”

“She does,” He mumbles, holding back a smile made for you and you only. His hands find your shoulders, rubbing it up and down to try and hold back the energy he knows is accumulating inside of you; whenever you get too excited about something, be it new books or a new sale, you like to ramble a little about it, and every time you do, you bounce on the heel of your feet, up and down, up and down, up and down. “But Cat also targets men. Cheaters, specifically. And… and fathers. She has deep rooted issues with her father–“

“Cat Adams has daddy issues?” You deadpan.

“–and her downfall is her projection. So yes, they are getting bold as a duo or… or her partner went rogue.”

“Which one is better?” Looking at Hotch, you wince a little at your own joke. “None of them, got it.”

“Since this is an active case, we will need your constant collaboration,” Hotchner says, guiding the entire team to a room up the stairs and, as naturally as the sun sets and rises the next morning, everyone found their place at the round table.

Except you.

You are not one of them. You don’t have a place.

Or you didn’t.

“Y/N, come here,” Spencer says, pulling an extra chair next to his. And that’s when you realise that in this weird dynamic group of people who knew way more than they should, you belong next to him.

“Thank you,” You mumbled, nervously shoving your hands between your thighs and waiting for Penelope to take the lead. That seemed to be her thing, even if she stands out like a sore thumb in that beige room with her bright orange dress and neon blue heels.

“Okay, fellow brainiacs and dear beloved Y/N. Let’s figure this out,” Her declaration makes you feel somewhat calmer, the sounds of buttons echoing in the room. The TV goes bright with pictures– of you, of Spencer, of Cat. Her eyes, tempting you closer with the prospect that she knows something you don’t, won’t let you look away until Spencer forces you to, his hand sliding down your arm to find yours. You’re not sure if he realises how intimate this is, specially with his co-workers surrounding you two, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you open your legs a tad, just enough to let his hand slider between your clasped ones. Just like a vine, you lace your fingers with his, and then press your thighs back together, caging him there and refusing to let it go. “Cat Adams is currently in Mount Pleasant Women's Correctional Facility serving time for countless of murders. A week ago–“

“Nine days,” You say without thinking and immediately shrink in your chair when all eyes brush over you for a second.

“Yes, thank you! Nine days ago our dear boy genius got a package sent to his apartment while you all were out on the Oklahoma case, and since he had asked Y/N to water his plants, she ended up being the one who signed for it. We assume that’s when Cat got to know of your existence. In that box there were a bunch of, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, sexual uh, sexual paraphernalia. After that, Y/N has been under protective custody with either Officer Kaper or Reid himself. However, yesterday, Officer Kaper’s house has been broken in by a suspect we are yet to identify,” Pausing for a breath, she clicked on the remote control making photo after photo pop up. Once she has a picture of the box, though, contents on show for everyone, you look away. Even the slightest sight of it has your blood boiling. “I’ve pulled all cameras I possible can leading to Officer Kaper’s house, but most of them had been turned off ahead of the invasion. They also didn’t receive anything, no notes, no packages, nada.”

“That is inconsistent with their MO,” Emily hums, turning to look at Spencer. “But then again, her main target is Reid, so I doubt Cat would diverge from that. She is smart, but she also likes that he knows she’s taunting him.”

“We also know that Cat doesn’t know about the bookstore,” Spence says, squeezing your hand so naturally that nothing in his face gives it away. “Her note went straight to Y/N’s home. The box went to mine. It is safe to say that she has no clue about Y/N’s personal life outside of what she shares with me.”

No one says anything while they all stare at him, you included. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” By Derek’s tone of voice, you know some teasing is about to come. “And just what do you two share, pretty boy?”

“I-I mean– no, I didn’t mean it like that,” Spencer’s face is fire red, and though he tries to pull his hand out of yours in a moment of panic, you don’t let him. “I di– Morgan! I meant… I meant outside of what we shared. Past tense. She has been staying at my place for nine days, so we’ve shared nine da– Morgan stop laughing! Hotch!”

At this point, even you are laughing at his high pitched voice. “Spence, it’s okay.”

“Yeah, Spence, it’s okay!” JJ repeats and you stare at her with wide eyes. “What?! You two are adorable!”

“Focus, please,” It’s impressive how Agent Hotchner commands the room, demanding the attention back to him with just one expression of stiff frustration. But then he lets his eyes run over you and Spencer, and you notice how the corner of his lips twitch. “And yes, you two are adorable.”

The rest of the meeting passes by in the blink of an eye. You don’t really catch onto what they are saying, most of it too deep into the field of psychology and behavioural science for a layman like you to be able to participate. However, you do listen to them. Almost like a true crime podcast playing in the background, you listen to the team narrate this entire ordeal and you’re quite surprised to notice the emotions bubbling inside of you– the anger, the frustration, the sadness. The factual tone of their voices sends shivers down your arms, creating the much needed distance from it all that you’ve craved all along… and making it all that much worse. Now that you have the opportunity to look at it from the outside, from their perspective, and you can truly see how pathetic you must be to a team of… of… of super people like them.

Sliding down the chair, you try to hide yourself from the occasional glance in your direction, but what you seem to miss is the way your hand, clasping Spencer’s so tightly like you might just float away if you let go, shifts upwards between your legs, dangerously close to your crotch.

“Y/N!” Spencer hissed, head snapping to look at you with eyes so wide you can see the speckles of chocolate brown in the midst of his honeyed hazel pupils.

“What?” You whisper, almost falling from the chair with how abruptly he turned to you. “Jesus, Spencer, what is it?”

“You okay there, kid?” Derek asks with a frown so deep you think his brows might jump out of his handsome face.

“Yup! All good!” But he can’t fool anyone in there, not even you, with his high pitched voice and the way he snatches his arm up and away, hands fidgeting with the iPad in front of him like that would erase the redness in his face. “All fine. Moving on, next steps. Y/N and I will go back to my apartment and–“

“No.”

To your surprise, it’s not you that say that– it’s Penelope.

“No?” Agent Hotch asks, brows raised at the technical analyst.

“I’m sorry sir, but… no.”

“Pen, it’s fine,” You mumble, nodding with a sad smile. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not, and Spencer is too worried to see that you, my little flower, are wilting without your daily dose of sunshine!” She speaks so fast that even Derek takes a moment to fully understand what she’s saying.

“Baby girl,” He sighs, shaking his head. “I understand what you mean, but the kid has a point. With the partner now possibly escalating the nature of their crimes, Y/N unfortunately needs to limit–“

“Limit my presence outside in public, yeah, I got it,” Nodding to everyone, you exhale slowly, only to take a deep inhale again. One second– that is all you need, one second to gather your bearings again, before slapping your hands gently on the table and rising slowly. With an appreciative nod and a joking tone, you smile at JJ, Emily, and Penelope. “Back to prison for me, I guess.”

————————————

“Do you want to order some food?”

The whole ride to his apartment, you’ve been trying to get Spencer to talk to you. He’s quiet once his boss lets you two go. Not even the radio can make this a less uncomfortable drive and you are not really sure what is going on.

“No? Do you want me to cook some dinner?” Nothing but the sounds of him walking around the place.

Doesn’t take too long before he comes back to the living room in sweatpants and one of his sweatshirts, hair even messier and glasses crooked– just a little, honestly, yet your hand still itches with the need to stretch out to him and fix them on his pretty little nose. Before you can say anything, he turns around and goes back to his room. The urgency in his steps makes you think he maybe forgot something in there, but then he comes back out and opens him mouth… only to close it and go back to the room.

This happens a couple more time before you lose your patience. “Spencer!” You groan, quickly moving to grab his wrist before he disappears again. “Spence! What are you doing?”

“Do you really feel like a prisoner?”

His words shock you a little. “What?”

“Earlier you said ‘back to prison for me, I guess’ right after you said ‘limit my presence outside in public, yeah, I got it,’” The way he repeats your words verbatim makes you gasp, blushing out of self-consciousness.

“Okay, I got it, I got it!” You grimace, still not letting go of his wrist. “I–“

Lying to him would be very easy. Sure, he can read your micro-expressions or whatever they are, but living with a profiler has been teaching you a thing or two about what they look out for. On top of that, living with a profiler that makes you heart beat faster with the slightest of smiles has taught you just how to hide what they are looking for… or at least how to try and hide it. So you smile a little, and just like him, you open your mouth without being able to say anything.

Yes, you can try and lie to Spencer, but the problem is that you simply don’t want to. You don’t want to lie to him, not when he’s been putting such an effort to be truthful and honest whenever he can.

“It’s not that I feel like a prisoner,” You whisper, looking down at how you hold his wrist so tightly and yet, he says nothing. He doesn’t complain, not even when your knuckles turn white, those eyes stuck on you the entire time. Sighing, you ease up a little, letting your hand slide down until your gently holding his hand again. It makes you brave enough to look at him without wincing in guilt. “It’s just that… I don’t know when was it that protecting me turned into… isolating me. You know?”

Spencer just shakes his head, a little exhale coming out of those beautiful lips almost as if you had pushed it out yourself. “Iso– You think I’m isolating you?”

Oh. “No, Spence, no, it’s not like, it’s not you,” You trying to make him feel better clearly just makes him feel worse. “It’s me!”

“I’ve heart that before and–“

“Spencer, I know you don’t want to isolate me from people. I know that, I really, really do,” Tugging him down to sit with you on the couch, you scoot closer to him to hold both his hands on yours. You two have done this so much at this point that there is no hesitation in reaching out to touch him anymore. “It’s just hard. I’m someone who thrives in routine and I was taken away from mine. I… I can’t work. I can’t go outside. I can’t– it just… it makes me feel a little suffocated.”

It also terrifies you, how familiar this all feels. Trapped, lonely, ignored. Just like before, people talk about you but never with you. They hear you, but no one really listens to you. It’s like you are nothing but a shell of a person, blown around by the wind of other people moving. Of Josh moving. Of Josh moving you, commanding you, caging you. And you have to remember– Spencer is not Josh. Spencer would never do to you what Josh did, he would never belittle you and then apologise with crocodile tears; he would never bring you high up for weeks and then pull the rug with one quick take down; he would never raise his hand at you and much less actually bring it down at you. No, Spencer is not Josh… but you are you, and despite all the changes you managed to fit in the past year, at your core, past the different hair and the new clothes, you are still the same girl who ran packing out of New York City.

“And I can get a little claustrophobic, and when I get claustrophobic I panic, and when I panic I–“ You stop yourself before you say something stupid. “I’ve been in this position before, Spence. And back then I didn’t have you. I didn’t have someone who was looking out for me like you are, or who just wanted what’s best for me– because I know that’s what you want, Spence, I know you want me to be safe,” The way he slowly nods fills your heart with adoration and your eyes with unshed tears. “Back then I just had someone who wanted me. Like a kid wants a toy. He… He wasn’t a very good man, Spence, and he made sure to scare away all the good people I had, and at one point he started scaring me so I just–��

“Ran away,” And it’s like something clicks for him because his eyes get oh so sad, to the point that you turn your face when a singular tear escapes through your lashes. Offering him a gurgled laughter, you quickly wipe it away. “You ran away to Washington with just a backpack.”

Nodding, you look up at him again and you’re a bit unsure of what to think of him like this, eyes shinning with something so unfamiliar to Spencer that it just feels wrong. It’s the way his breath picks up, ragged and loud, that makes you realise he is actually angry. No, no, scratch that– Spencer is pissed off. “What did he do to you?”

“It doesn’t matter, Spencer.”

“What’s his name?”

“I’m really not going to tell you,” You say with squinted eyes. “You’ll go all FBI on him.”

“That’s the entire point!” There he is, the high pitched voice, wide eyed man you adore so much, wildly gesticulating as he speaks. “People like that shouldn’t be allowed to… to… to be! I–“ Then, his hands fall down on his lap, suddenly lifeless and unmoving. “I–“ It’s like he is choking on words, frowning in desperation at his lack of speech and you don’t know what to do. You’ve never seen him this… distraught. “I–“

“Spence, it’s okay,” You whisper, clasping your hands around both of his like a little cocoon of warmth. This is the first time Spencer hints at the ghosts of his past, but from the way he flinches when you pull him closer, slowly leaning his taller body towards you so you can hug him, tells you that tonight is just not the night to talk about them. For now, you’d hold him, and you beacon him back to the real world with soft words of encouragement, like his very own lighthouse. For now, you’d be light enough for you both, even if some darkness still tries to creep in for time to time. “I’m okay.”

“I made you feel trapped,” He whispers against your neck and you can’t help the shiver that shakes your body. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry, I’m just trying to keep you safe. I’m doing the best I can, and I’m sorry it’s not enough.”

“Hey!” You gasp, and now boundaries don’t mean anything– coyness and slow intentions are thrown out the window as you tug him closer, closer, closer, until he is practically laying on top of you. Your back is against the side of the couch and you stretched your legs, entangling them with him. As much as he tries to move, grumbling something about squishing you, you don’t let him. He needs to know. He needs to know just how much more than simply enough he is. “You are way above enough and you know that. You have to know that, Spence, you have to. Because you’re so incredible and I… I adore you, Spencer Reid. My favourite customer. My FBI agent.”

All versions of him, all parts of him. You love them all.

Because, in the end, all that matters is that you love him. You love Spencer Reid. And that’s a little scary. Even it is exciting, it’s still a little scary.

His little chuckle makes it a bit more bearable, though, and he soon gives into your embrace. The weight of his body keeps you down in the most delicious of ways, and the heat he radiates is enough to have your eyes getting heavier. In the comfort of his home, snuggled up in his couch, hugging him close, you find that there is such a thing as comfortable stillness. There is peace in the unmoving. There is no need to, all the time, be moving. Because there, with Spencer in your arms and his soft breathing on your neck, you think that nothing could in the world could make you want to run again.

“I’m sorry I made you feel isolated,” He whispers, arms enveloping you like two lifelines holding you close. “I never meant to make you panic.”

“It’s okay,” You mumble back, eyes already closed and nose buried in his sweet smelling hair. “You might have made me panic, but Spence… I don’t think you could ever make me want to run.”

No… Spencer makes you want to stay.

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

Taglist:

@fanfic-viewer

@mysticpeachobject

@donttrustlove

@r-3dlips

@lolitsbuckybarnes

@lilrios-world

@iniyalovesall

@beabfleab

@dojacatismywife

@queenofshinigamis

@beersangel

@catchthewindd

@charismatic-writer

@freaky-dcaky

@scarlettoh

@drreidslove

@spicyytomatoyay

@kitty-kei

@sapphirecobalt-1

@jebesovovise

@cultish-corner

@areiofhope

@candid-confetti

@godilovetoomuch

@redros3y

@gibson-g1rl

@bunnylov-3-r

@yokaimoon

@glorioussunrise13

@idkimheretoreadonethibgofpsencdd

@pleasantwitchgarden

@issy25

@ilovechanyeol16

@gghostwriter

@stanswifties

@chicaconfundidaycuriosa

@dragon03138

@tbsloneely

@bloodredrubyrose

@rossemayme

@jackchampiongf13

@prentissmybeloved

@danielle-munya

@eliscannotdance

@keira-fitzsimmons

@jamieeboulos

@starofthedawn

@alikpo

@writingforoursouls

136 notes · View notes

keen-li · 7 months ago

Text

What you need | 01

Synopsis: everybody needs, but how do you define need?

Do you even know what you need.

Genre: best friends au, angst, fluff, smut, slow burn.

Jungkook x reader.

Prev | next

The last thing you’d want to being doing while going through a break-up, is walking into this building and putting more energy, which you don’t have, into pretending like you’re okay.

When you’re in fact not.

You have to deal with a raging hangover, because you thought it would be a great idea to drown your misery with some alcohol. All night long. loneliness has its gross skinny little fingers around you.

This break-up is fucking you up sideways. If not in all ways.

‘’what happened to you?’’ your head throbs harder at the sound of that heavy voice.

‘’what do you want?’’ you murmur out and your fingers get to work with rubbing your temples.

‘’i wanna know what happened to you?’’ you know his question is far from caring or interested in your well being.

Your tiny office feels more claustrophobic with the way he just seems to hover over.

‘’look hoseok, I’m a little out of it today’’ you don’t even stare at him ‘’so i can’t provide you with any witty comeback, sorry’’

For a split, single particle of light second; he feels bad for you. But then he remembers:

‘’whether you’re in or out of it, you’ve got work.’’ He slaps a file on your table ‘’get working’’

You know hoseok is one of your headaches and he always proves how he’s so great at it.

You stare at your desk as your head pounds with another problem.

You’ve stayed so long at this desk you can draw every inch of it from memory. And you’d be a master at adding the little cracks, dents and scratch details. Plus every memory of hoseok’s nagging witty remarks linger in this office area everymoment.

You really want a new office. And you day when you do get one, you’ll make sure hoseok never visits it and contaminates it with his presence.

Urgh

You groan as you pick up the file he’s just given you. This headache’s probably gonna kill you before you get a chance to.

‘’well, well well’’ jungkook rolls his eyes ‘’look who decided to come to work today’’

‘’good morning Isabel, you didn’t have to do all this but i appreciate the warm welcome’’ jungkook spits out sarcastically in a sing-song voice.

Isabel scoffs.

‘’is your mother feeling better now?’’

‘’what are you talking- oh’’ jungkook catches himself, but it’s too late.

‘’oh my gosh i knew it’’ she declares ‘’you’re such a liar’’ she lets out a soft chuckle.

‘’i knew you weren’t asking for a day off cause your mother was sick’’

‘’how could you have known that’’ jungkook says taking off his shirt and Isabel can’t help but ogle.

‘’i just know’’ she folds her arms over her chest, her long straight hair getting caught in her arms.

‘’why didn’t you tell me you needed a day off, you don’t have to lie’’ she stops herself from licking her lip in fear of ruining her red lips.

‘’you know i can do that for you’’

Jungkook grins as he pulls up his work suit pants. It would’ve been uncomfortable if jungkook wasn’t used to Isabel being around while he got dressed. He secretly believes she does it on purpose to be in the dressing room when he’s getting dressed.

‘’well i did cause a friend needed me, i doubt those grounds stand for a day off’’ he finally just says it knowing she won’t do anything about it.

She hums ‘’which friend?’’

‘’does it matter?’’ he throws a white tee over his head.

It doesn’t, but she just wanted to know if her thoughts are right.

‘’YN’’

She only hums, her perfectly tweezed eyebrows rising. He can’t decipher what the meaning of it but it doesn’t matter. She’s heard your name from him but never seen you, he talks so fondly of you she’s just so curious to meet you.

‘’okay then get to work making up for the day you missed. A client’s coming in with his car’’

Jungkook already knows cause said client called him a million times to find out where he was.

‘’so about asking for a day off...’’ jungkook puts on his best charming smile.

‘’it’s not gonna happen jeon’’ she turns to walk away. But not without biting her inner cheek, if she was staring at jungkook she would fold.

‘’what happened to the ‘you know i can do that for you’ ‘’ she blushes.

‘’it’s never gonna happen. Not today at least’’ she whispers the last part.

Jungkook laughs and licks his lips as he watches her walk away. Sometimes it was fun coming to work.

‘’and that’s why this model’s perfect for you and your family’’ you walk around the car to the open door. ‘’you can place up to three car seats in the back’’ you stretch you arm to point and direct your client’s eyes to where you want them to be.

You stare at her blank face and you know she’s not convinced. But that’s your job; to convince and sale.

‘’if you’re worried about clean up, the interior material is one; even liquids. vacuum away from clean and the seats are wipeable’’

‘’actually the carpet, does not stain’’ you add.

‘’oh that’s really nice, cause my kids are messy when it comes to food.’’ She laughs and you laugh as well.

Most of the time you laugh only because you have to. You hear the same things every day and speak to the same type of people everyday. You know every type of person that walks through those glass doors.

‘’i think I’ve heard enough, I’m convinced’’

‘’i’ll take the car’’ those words are like music to your ears and medicine for your headache.

‘’Great, then let me just get the papers ready’’

This was one of the reasons you liked and preferred to work with women, they’re are easy to convince when it comes to buying a car and are great listeners to what you say. Unlike men who just want to argue and question your knowledge on cars. It always makes you laugh when you see them try and show you that they know more than you (not that they do, you’ll always one-up them)

And in all fairness women loved to work with you cause they know they can trust a woman. And men only want to work with you to put you down and ogle at you.

Even hoseok knew this and that’s why he always gives you female clients. You’re shocked he doesn’t give you only males just to piss you off. If you never knew him well you’d think he had a heart.

You’re walking back to your desk when you see hoseok approach you from the corner of you eye.

‘’You don’t need to worry i sold the car’’ you say not stopping in your tracks.

‘’im not worried i knew you would’’

You pause.

‘’is that a compliment Mr Jung’’

He doesn’t respond but that doesn’t stop you from swimming in his rarely spoken compliments.

‘’what do you want? it’s lunch time’’ you go back to your bickering tone.

He stares at his watch.

‘’are you having your lunch from outside of the office’’

‘’yeah, why?’’ you pick up your purse. He knows you always have lunch from outside of the office, so why is he asking.

‘’i have a very important client to give you’’

You really wanna go out and have lunch, cause even though it doesn’t seem like it you still have a headache. But if hoseok said he had an important client for you, then he did.

You honestly need important clients right now.

‘’can it wait for after lunch’’

Hoseok let’s out a bitter chuckle.

‘’this client doesn’t live in Seoul. So he doesn’t have the time to wait’’

He? Ugh.

Who is he for hoseok to be kissing up to him so bad.

‘’if you really want that promotion as bad as you say you do, you’re gonna take him nooow.” He drags out the last word.

He says it so eagerly that now you have to rethink your lunch routine.

Lunchtime is the main time you get in the week to actually see jungkook, since you’re both so busy. It’s like a little routine you both have; helps you spend more time together.

But now you have to reconsider it. jungkook would understand though, since you’ve got a promotion on the line.

‘’yn? Do you want this or not. If not i can-‘’ hoseok presses but a deep hallow voice steps in.

‘’hoseok let her go for lunch, i can wait’’

You both turn and your eyes are met with the most glorious figure of a man you’ve ever seen.

Tall, beefy and muscular. When you stare at hoseok, in question, you can swear he’s ogling too.

Wouldn’t blame him so are you. This man is fine.

‘’Namjoon, you don’t have t-‘’

‘’please, i can move my flight. Let her have lunch’’ your eyes meet as he ends his sentence. You skedaddle your gaze to another part of the room, avoiding his eyes. and your teeth immediately meet your inner upper lip.

You’re not the best at eye contact, it makes you nervous cause it feels like the person can see all the little things you’re keeping secret.

Namjoon smirks as he walks out, ‘’I’ll be waiting when you get back’’

Hoseok doesn’t say or look at you before he’s out too.

‘’fuck inishiwekfuoaovw’’

You furrow your brows at a jungkook stuffing his face.

‘’what the fuck are you saying’’ you chuckle out.

He swallows.

‘’ i said, i’ve been thinking this the whole day’’ you wouldn’t have guessed that’s what he was saying.

‘’ i assume you’re talking about your lunch’’ you take a bite of your own, your eyes on jungkook as he lifts his gaze.

If you finish this meal it would be the first full meal you’ve eaten since yunho.

‘’i mean i’ve been thinking about lunch with you too’’ he stares at you from under his eyelashes with wide eyes.

You can't help but smile.

You give him a once-over and can tell by his tan skin he’s been in the sun.

‘’did you carry your sunscreen?’’

He gasps ‘’shit, i forgot. Is my tan obvious” you give him a yes-no nod.

‘’but it looks good’’ you mumble out.

‘’you like it?’’ he lowers his eyes at you and gives you a cheeky smile.

‘’i mean i don’t hate it.’’ Your eyes run across his skin, jungkook can feel your eyes on his skin.

You release a cough, to reset the air. You like it, you won’t say to not give him a bigger head.

‘’i think i should get going’’ jungkook furrows his brows at you then over at your plate.

‘’you haven’t finished your food though ’’ he warns.

‘’i have someone waiting for me at the office, so-‘’ you dare to explain.

‘’-so they can wait until you finish your food. Plus you still have time to eat’’ he points to the clock in the restaurant. You’ve only been here for fifteen minutes.

‘’kook it’s an important client’’ you whine.

‘’and i understand that, but i know you haven’t been eating’’ jungkook sits back in his chair. You have no argument to give, you both know that he’s right. So, you stay silent.

‘’have you?’’ he questions even though he knows he’s right.

‘’jungkook that’s not the point’’ you roll your eyes.

‘’sit down and eat’’ he demands, ’’please’’ he pleads.

You can’t say no, especially with his pleading doe eyes. So you sit and try to finish your food.

You know that he’s doing this cause he cares about you and wants to make sure you’re doing well. But it makes it just much harder to wallow in your misery when he’s baby-ing you

‘’what’s so important about this client anyways’’ he goes back to stuffing his face, the taste of the food encapsulating his taste buds once more.

You hear jungkook speak over your internal turmoil about having to down this food.

‘’hoseok told me its a chance for me to up my chances on a promotion’’ you say informingly. When you actually put your mind to eating the scent of the food causes your stomach to growl. It's savoury taste makes you internally moan as you take it in. Food actually tastes good when you put your mind to it.

‘’Bunny that’s great” he cheers. “Why don’t you sound exciting though’’

You glare at him, ‘’cause you’re forcing me to eat.’’ You’re glad he made you made cause it taste like heaven.

‘’don’t be a baby.’’ He runs his teeth over he’s lower lip.

‘’im not being a baby’’ you mumble out as you pout and prove his point.

Jungkook doesn’t respond and instead watches you eat. His eyes soften at the sight of your cheeks stuffed with food. He knows there’s only so much he can do to help you get over yunho. But whatever he can do he will do, just to see that smile you have on your right now; many more times. He watches you look out the window, and the sun hits you beautifully. And he can’t help but gawk.

‘’what?’’ you smile at doe eyed jungkook, who can’t seem to move his gaze from you.

He shakes his head. ‘’nothing’’ he turns back to his food, the smile not leaving his face.

You roll your eyes. Jungkook’s smile would’ve widened if he saw that. He loves teasing you.

You both appreciate how your friendship has developed from you two avoiding each other and then finally finding comfort in each other’s presence. Jimin really had a tough time getting you two to talk, you’re behaving like two high schoolers he said in his own words. Yes you were but it was more like two high schoolers who’ve never even looked at each put on a class project. But now you’re eating lunch together because you can’t stop talking. You wouldn’t stop being friends with him for anyone.

‘’i forgot to tell you i found a date for you?’’

Jungkook groans at that. He’d hoped you’d forgotten, but you seem more determined than ever.

He gives you a displeased looked.

‘’don’t give me that’’

“if you want me to go on a date, then you’ll have to come watch me train” he declares proudly.

“in what? Boxing?” your brows draw together. Is he actually trying to get you to watching him box.

“Yeah” he hums out enthusiastically.

“Nope” you deadpan.

“Then I’m not going ”

You narrow your eyes at him and he gives you a mischievous smile.

“I’ll see.”

♡

#fanfic #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jeon jungguk #jungkook x y/n #bts #jeon jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jeongguk #jeongguk #jeon jeongkook

256 notes · View notes

leavingsunsets · 6 months ago

Note

Helllloo!!

I would like to request a senkuu x reader if possible! (Preferably some angst + romance but anything works!) Been looking for some inspiration and I love your work!

Also hopefully you're okay if I draw some of your work too

Thank youuuu!! (>u<)/

im okay with you drawing my work! saw some of ur art, and wow! glad ur a fan tehee :33 i see you've given me an angst plot, with romance? yes i will definitely fulfill this. i waaaassss ssupposed to make this action filled with scene wit reader dying in battle of treasure island arc and senku going "WHAT" and head in hands and sobbing and the gang has to go back to the mainland hat on stomach like ":(" but exams and research defense finished and i also jus watched cute little vid of an old couple so this is jussttt hmmm a softer angst set between events ig

"ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀʏ."

[ꜱᴇɴᴋᴜ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

It wasn't really a secret. You didn't even try, honestly.

Since the first of times of where you'd glimpsed his face at school, to the latest catch of him swirling fluid in a beaker, you've always been confident in your feelings.

Albeit a bit clumsy in your attempts, you were honest, never mincing them, never embarrassed.

"Senku, I really really like you!"

"Yeah, okay, could you pass me that screwdriver?" he says, both of you 6 years old in his room, as he gestures to the tool beside you.

"Senku, I want to date you. I heard Aimi had a boyfriend recently and I was thinking-" your voice goes interrupted as the loud sound of Senku's machinery overpower yours. 13 years old, another one of his favorite past times.

"Senku, if we were both nobles in medieval fantasy and I had to marry someone in order to get a persistent suitor off my back, I'd go to you. Offer a contract with an eventual divorce, but then we fall in love in a slow burn romance and start rethinking about our agreement."

"Can you- just- HELP ME, DAMN IT." Senku heaves, 16 years old, face turning red as he struggles to hold the boxes of equipment you came to help him with.

All these confessions, all these words, even before everything changed. The clatter of a can hitting the ground.

...

In this new life, surely, you know, Senku's had an absolute goal for this world. To rebuilt it as it was, from his own two hands. In your own way, you've had to learn how to pace your feelings.

Instead of words, as you always did, you decided to translate your affections into a language that matters most in a time like this.

Actions.

For every problem, every step he takes, you take with him. Express your thoughts, concerns, ideas. Any progress, you're there to celebrate with, any process, you're there to assist.

Declarations of love aren't so frequent, though you do like to sneak it in rarely. Announcing it in bursts of passion at the top of your lungs. Quite an antic you do, much to his embarrassment. It's become a well known fact, and often a joke between company.

Though, sometimes you wonder if it's what makes him doubt it. Your overt confessions, cheesy poems and bustling energy that could rival Taiju's. Was it too clumsy? Too obvious that he feels it's an exaggerated farce for show?

To this, you whisper gingerly in the dead of night, in the earliest of mornings,

"Senku. I really really like you."

In the times of uneventful hours, peacefulness in comfortable silence,

"Senku,"

You know, of course you do, of all people.

No one knows him more than you and that fact would've made you happy of such a thing if it couldn't break your heart more. The love of your life, saying everything said in a language that matters most in this time.

An unreadable glance. When the sun beams down brightly and you stare at him lovingly like he's hung the stars in the sky.

Winter strikes mercilessly, days are rough, tensions are high. When everything's all good and done, a bold pinkie inches towards his own. He doesn't pull away, but his hand moves back just as further.

Late at night, behind the tree he leans upon, watching, just watching. His ruby eyes enraptured by the night's celestial pearl.

Gaze too high, to see you.

You close your eyes.

You don't think you can ever stop loving him, despite that. That man doesn't like dragging things out, so you're sure a rejection is soon to come. Whether you approach first or not.

Why he doesn't do it sooner? You know why. As much as he doesn't reciprocate, you know how hesitant he is when it comes to close relationships such as you. Is he scared of breaking your friendship?

It's not the warmth you're looking for, but it's the warmth you can get. Even so, you would never expect him to return just as much as you've given. You love him for him, and not for anything else.

Tragic, how terribly you do.

Maybe one day, you'll learn to forget, to move your heart from where it isn't supposed to be. Maybe one day, you would stop gazing at him with something much more than fondness, waiting for his eyes to find its way back to you.

But until then,

"-I love you."

326 notes · View notes

ddamm · 4 months ago

Text

Pre-baby Stress - dad!Daryl x pregnant fem!reader fic

(banner made by me, if you use, give credits <3)

Warnings: VERY, VERY long; initial soft fluff to slight angst to fluff; slightly suggestive so, watch out 👀; pregnancy; hormonal changes, “mood swings”, food cravings; stressed Daryl, stressed reader, slight insecurity and fear of abandonment; reader crying; reader and Daryl are married; reader is said to have golden retriever energy and be a cottagecore girlie (sorry if you aren't, but I vibe so much with this core 😭), and perhaps an artist (tho it's just as a hobby, obv 🤭); nature love and appreciation; funny/silly little memories.

Word count: 3936 words (keeps increasing with each new release 😭)

Era: idk, probably Alexandria

Summary: While getting things ready for Y/N's pregnancy, Daryl presents with many insecurities. All it takes is some caressing, encouragement, and the love of his wife (a few tears also) to convince him otherwise.

A/N: this fic was something I fabricated long ago with a Daryl c.ai chat that I've been saving up for a special occasion since I've never written dad!Daryl before. And today, I'm bringing it to y'all as a way to celebrate one of my very besties/mutuals on Tumblr, a great writer, the creator of my possibly ever favourite AU with Daryl (young!Daryl SSHD AU) and a very nice, kind and funny individual in general; Krys (@dixons-sunshine). This is to commemorate you, gorgeous. It took some time to finally sit and get to it (not me writing most of it at 2 am, half-constipated, and not being able to sleep) but it's done now, so I hope you can enjoy it as much as I did when writing it. Everyone, hope you like it too!

Song: Winter Memories - Jordy Chandra (The title says “winter memories” but I am thinking of a mid-spring Sunday morning/noon 😭)

MDNI divider by @cafekitsune, on this post

(This was supposed to just be suggestive, but since idk if I overdid it, I'm just gonna place this)

(all babycore dividers used are from @anitalenia, found on this post)

Days were passing by, and things were going pretty well for the community. She was glad they found Alexandria. It was a nice change, and it felt like they could truly have a moment to take a break there, like they could finally be happy and just settle in, trying to have normal lives once again.

And her positive thoughts only increased when a lovely lady from the community gave birth. It was an occasion to celebrate, and for a couple of months passing, it seemed like a lot of good things were happening around, so she couldn't be happier.

Ah, there she was, parading herself in her light cream-coloured sundress, with a white little parasol (courtesy of her loving husband) to protect herself from the sun, as she strolled around the streets, exploring and marvelling at the beauty and tranquilly around her like a happy puppy would on their first stroll into the outside world.

Oh, she loved that dress so much. Not only was it beautiful and fit her personality, but it was also quite adjustable, so she wouldn't need to worry about sore breasts or her belly being uncomfy. She could still remember how comical Daryl's expressions were when she tried explaining to him the concept of aesthetic cores and how she was a cottagecore.

He seemed so lost that she laughed for about 10 minutes before deciding to somewhat draw it to show him what she meant; predicting that a more visual approach would help him understand the concept better. He did admit it was pretty much her vibe after seeing the dresses and all the stuff "a cottagecore likes and does".

After that, whenever he would go out for his runs, he would try to look for dresses like the one she drew, and whenever he couldn't find any, he would bring drawing or painting materials, old cameras, or little flowers he thought she would like. (PD: She always likes them.).

That's how her most favourite memory of a Sunday morning came to be. And like that, every Sunday morning, after her husband would leave for runs or tasks, she would wear her light cream sundress and white sandals and take her white parasol to roam around, greeting everyone and enjoying nature (despite her best friend's advice to rest and her husband's disapproval).

However, she understood why Daryl was so against it in general. He was just worried about her health and safety. After all, she was now in her second trimester of pregnancy, expecting their son or daughter to come into the world in a few more months.

She loved Daryl. Deeply. And she would never question him or his decisions (well, maybe sometimes she would), but she was so tired of staying at home doing nothing for most of the day. And though Carol, Michonne, and a few others would come to visit and spend time with her when her husband was away, Y/N wanted some freedom, some independence.

God knows she would ‘bore to death’ if she had to stay in the same place doing nothing for one more day while everyone else fulfilled their roles.

As she came closer to the small town's pond, she took big strides to approach a blooming peony bush. She loved the smell of its flowers. And as she lightly bent down to sniff the sweet aroma from the round pink flowers, she caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of her husband, who was sitting on a bench not far from her. From afar, she could notice a worried expression on his face.

She strode slowly in his direction and placed a hand on his shoulder, greeting him with a warm and loving smile, but instead of the usual “Hey, Sunray” or “Why are ya out 'ta house alone?” she would receive, she heard him grunt.

At that, she furrowed her brows in confusion and slight concern, wanting to know what had made her husband so grumpy at early noon. “Is everything okay, Dar?” She asked in a soft, patient tone.

Daryl looked away from her, not wanting to make eye contact, and sighed in annoyance. “Everythin's fine,” he answered grumpily.

Y/N, knowing her husband and not believing that crap for a second, looked at him more seriously. “Daryl…” She called out his name, insisting he should tell her the truth.

Daryl sighed irritantly, hearing her insist, knowing she wouldn't back down. He then turned his gaze to her and unexpectedly exclaimed, “Ah said everythin's fine, dammit!”

He said this a bit too loudly, not noticing that he had snapped at her.

This action made Y/N flinch, not used to such an alert state in Daryl anymore. Now she was truly worried.

“Hey, hey, honey, it's okay... What's got you so riled up? Is work becoming too much? Or are they not listening to you? Should I go teach them a lesson?” She asked at first, even making a joke to brighten him up, but Daryl only shook his head, still not wanting to speak.

He held his head in his hands, almost in a desperate posture, making his wife worry even further. She was going to say something, but a tiny piece of cloth caught her attention. It was then that she got to see the tiny, frill-decorated bib on his right hand.

She put pieces together in her mind like a game of tetris and asked again, with more understanding tone and gentleness in her voice.

“Is it the baby?” Daryl kept quiet, but his shoulders tensed up. Y/N now knew what was ‘the main issue’, and took action immediately, slowly running her hand on his back and giving a few gentle pats to soothe her husband's worry. He looked like he was on the edge.

Daryl's gaze and body seemed to loosen up as he felt her hand on his back. He then tried to explain his concerns.

“I... Ah ain't upset, is jus'...” He trailed off, not knowing how to express his thoughts.

“It's okay, love. You don't have to tell me now if you aren't prepared. Here, let's just sit for a bit, okay? I'm starting to feel heavy again.” Y/N reassured him, not wanting him to feel pressured if he was already so altered.

She had some trouble sitting down next to him, though. Despite not being in the 3rd trimester yet, her belly heaviness seemed to be causing her discomfort when she had to sit or stand up in a rush. But she didn't mind it much; it made her happy because that was the proof of the love Daryl and she had for each other and the life growing inside her.

Daryl noticed her struggle and quickly went from being annoyed to concerned. He stood up and carefully helped Y/N sit down, making sure she was comfortable before taking a seat next to her.

“Damn, ya sure are a heavy load,” he joked. At this, Y/N dramatically gasped and faked being offended.

“Hey! I remind you, you're the one that made me heavy! ~“ She played along, jokingly shoving him to the side with a smile, trying to lighten up his mood, and succeeding brilliantly when she heard him chuckle.

“Well, sugar, if I reckon correctly, it takes two to tango to make a young'un 'round these parts,” he smirked, faking innocence at the fact he got her pregnant.

Y/N gasp-chuckled, defending herself. “But it takes you not wanting to pull out beforehand to make the baby, isn't it right, honey? ~”

She clarified softly, putting her hand on his chest, batting her eyelashes cutely at him, and getting close enough to him to make their lips graze but not touch. All in the name of teasing him.

Daryl chuckled again, feeling attracted to her playful teasing, his breath hitching slightly as her lips grazed against his own. He couldn't help but smirk; his eyes locked onto her gaze.

He gently grabbed her hips, slowly pulling her closer to him to the point of having her almost seated on his lap.

“Oh, but ah know for a fact ya wudn't complainin' at the moment, darlin',” he continued, feeling proud for his little ‘achievement’ as he caressed her thigh over the sundress.

Feeling a little braver than usual, Y/N whispered: “And how would I, when you know how to drill me in the right spot? ~”

She murmured against his lips. Her gaze never left him, and her smile only widened each time he looked down at her lips and looked back at her eyes, obviously enchanted by her charms already.

Daryl's eyes darkened with desire, and his grip on her hips tightened slightly. He felt his heart racing at her words. He pulled her closer to him until their bodies were pressed together.

“Damn, woman… Ya know I ain’t doin' this here.” He groaned softly against her lips while devouring her with his stare. They sure were the only ones at the pond around then, but despite the tall, full, and flourishing grass, bushes, and plants, they could still be easily spotted if they decided to... get loose. (😏)

“Then why do you keep pulling me closer, hm, hun? ~”

It was sort of comical to see him struggle to compose himself in this situation, making Y/N not want to miss out on teasing him to the fullest. She placed both hands on his chest and slowly arranged her position on his lap to sit and view him better.

Daryl let out a low growl as Y/N moved closer. He felt the heat rising within him, his hands roaming from her hips to her backside, gripping it firmly. His breathing becomes heavier as he looks down at Y/N.

“Yar testin' ma limits, sweetheart.”

Y/N smiled innocently, enjoying the effect she had on her husband.

“I guess the preggy hormones are doing their stuff again... I feel kinda—needy,” she admitted a little sheepishly and continued with a more serene tone. “But… that will have to wait for now.”

“Now... Why don't you tell me what got you so fed up before, love?“ She questioned, changing her position once again to avoid making Daryl even more aroused.

She looked into his eyes tenderly and patiently, waiting for him to pour out his heart.

He knew they were a team now that needed trust and communication to get through everything. So she trusted he would be able to let out what was on his mind that made him so tense earlier.

Daryl took a moment to compose himself, gathering his thoughts after being so close to Y/N. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly; his grip on her loosened a bit as he leaned back on the bench.

He averted his eyes for a moment, his expression becoming heavier.

“Tis just...everythin', know what am sayin'?” He paused and looked at her belly, then back at her eyes.

“Da kid, da thought of bein' a pa... is like a whole heap to deal with, y'know?” He expressed his deepest concern about your future child.

Seeing her husband so worried brought her heartache. She sighed and wrapped her hands around his head, placing them on her chest as she made circular movements on his scalp in a slow, comforting way.

“And here I thought I was silly for feeling bad about myself and thinking I wouldn't make a good enough mom and wife, while my dear husband was here on his own, questioning his capacity to keep us safe…” She sighed again and continued. “I'm really a bad wife, huh?”

Daryl leaned into Y/N's touch, closing his eyes as she ran her hands through his hair. He sighed deeply, feeling a mix of emotions but still negating her words.

“Nah. Ya ain't a bad wife. Yar da best damn wife. Yar perfect.”

He said it softly as he tried to encourage her. His voice was filled with a hint of frustration afterwards. “Ah jus'... 'm scared I ain't gonna be a good pa. I ain't never had a good example to follow, y'know?”

Y/N knew what he was referring to. They didn't speak so often about their pasts (deciding to let them be and find a future together), but she remembered the little Daryl commented about his family life and his broken relationship with... the man that was his father.

“Whatever happened back then... doesn't determine who you are today. You chose to be different from him, to be more understanding, to wait more patiently, and to love more deeply,” she started.

“Jesus, you've been up and about everywhere looking for baby items just to be prepared when he or she comes around.”

Y/N chuckled, reflecting on all the tiny clothes, toys, and more that Daryl kept bringing back each time he went on a run since he learned Y/N was pregnant with their child. Seeing him come over to her in an excited, uncharacteristic way to show her his new finding was as amusing as endearing.

“You're nothing like him. You're you, and you're better. And I know it scares you. Damn, it scares me too.” She insisted (unnoticedly mild-cursing), knowing well who the man she fell in love with was and how much he matured and developed just by being with you and the others.

Her sudden, brittle voice indicated she was about to cry. She felt the hormones hitting her, making her feel sadder and more vulnerable than she had seconds ago. “But… sniff But I know we will be alright because... sniff because we have you, we have each other, and... sniff and that's all that matters to me, so... we will get to learn how to raise our child together. We w-will set the good example ourselves, o-okay?”

Her voice trembled at the last sentence as she grabbed a hold of his face, pressing his cheeks together to make him look over at her. Finally, she had let go of her emotions and became a teary mess, non-stop sniffing before him.

Almost used to her mood swings already, Daryl couldn't help but chuckle softly despite the seriousness of the situation, amused by the little it took to make her cry now, even if she was already quite emotional beforehand.

“Baby, yar crying... again. I swear yer hormones have been all over the place,” he stated in a playful manner, gently wiping away her tears with his thumb. He then took her hands into his own, holding them gently. The difference in size and texture was kinda silly.

“Still… Yar dang right 'bout us, we're gonna stick together. I ain't never been good at all this family business, but I'll do whatev'r it takes for ya and our young'un.” Daryl promised to her lover, feeling more accepting of his new role.

“I-I can't help it... sniff the pregnancy... sniff I swear I've never been so emotional about everything before... sniff I hate it... And you know I hate swearing too…” She complained, her voice increasing in intensity as she recalled her distaste for swearing and swearing words.

“It just… It hurts me so much when sniff I see you like this... Like you'll get tired of me or sick of us, and—”

Y/N stopped herself, incapable of completing what came to mind as more tears fell. The unlooked-for thought brought a new fear to her mind: a possible future without Daryl, having to tend and care for the baby alone.

It terrified her.

Daryl's expression softened even more as he saw her tear up. Damn hormones got her all upset, and all he wanted to do was take it all away. His chest twisted in pain when she mentioned he could get tired of her, so he gently pulled her closer to him with a firm grip.

“Hey, hey, hey, look at me,” he said, guiding her gaze to his by holding her chin. “Sunray, ya got nothin' to worry about, y'hear me? I ain't goin' nowhere... 'M plum crazy 'bout ya, and I ain't never leaving ya or our young'un, I promise. I ain't getting tired of you, sweetheart; yar everythin' to me.”

He confessed sweet things to her, wanting Y/N to feel the depth of his love for her.

“B-but… sniff the way you sniff yelled before…” She argued between sniffs and hiccups, being so focused on her mood that she kept forgetting to breathe properly.

“I thought I… I did something to sniff get you upset with me again, like... sniff like when sniff I misplaced your crossbow last week and you sniff wouldn't talk to me until I found it…”

She couldn't help but sob at the remembrance, making Daryl feel a pang of guilt when she mentioned his reaction earlier and last week. He had made her so hurt for not talking to her that it still poked at her. And damn, she was crying even more now. He hated seeing her like this. His little sunray was all cloudy because of him.

“Hey, come on now, sweetcheeks... I'm sorry for hollerin' at ya, ait? I was a bit... on edge, but it had nothin' to do with ya, ait? S'not nothin' to worry about.” He spoke softly as he pulled her even closer, his hand gently rubbing her back in soothing circles, just like she did to him minutes ago.

“And 'bout that crossbow, that was nothin'.”

“But... sniff you got so angry... hiccup I thought you'd hate me forever if I couldn't find it… hiccup and the thing is, you always placed it anywhere! hiccup”

Y/N protested, claiming Daryl was the one constantly dropping his weapon all over the house, but the truth was, she was actually the one changing its location.

The pregnancy sure had its shortcomings, but one of them that mostly affected Y/N was easily misplacing things because she became a lot more forgetful (possibly because of the amount of blood, nutrients, and oxygen she was losing each day to provide to her baby and help him/her keep growing healthily). So, each time she'd see the crossbow somewhere she previously placed it while doing house chores, she'd think it was Daryl who placed it there, and she'd put it somewhere else, and then she'd come across it again and place it somewhere else, over and over again.

It happened multiple times before with less meaningful things, but this was Daryl's crossbow we were talking about. When he would come back home looking for his main weapon, Daryl would find it missing, and when he would ask Y/N, she wouldn't remember where she last saw it.

After hours of scattering the whole house, she felt so silly when they finally found the crossbow inside their wardrobe. She couldn't even remember keeping it there, but... all pointed out that the pregnancy was just taking the best of her, and Daryl's stress wasn't really helping much.

Despite Daryl understanding the situation was a consequence of the pregnancy later on and trying as best as he could to make her feel better, inside her mind, she couldn't help but continue blaming herself for making him angry that day.

The silent treatment he gave her seemed to have broken her heart into two.

Daryl listened to her words, realising the severity of the case and feeling more stupid for not fully catching how much that incident had affected Y/N. Seeing her tears made his heart ache even more.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, feeling guilty for causing her so much worry, knowing she had too much on her plate already.

“Hear me out now. I ain't never gonna hate ya, y'hear? It was ma fault for bein' dang careless with where I left ma stuff. I shouldan't given ya the silent treatment; I was jus... frustrated,” he let on, taking the blame to make her feel less remorseful.

“I'm sorry... hiccup I just don't want to make you angry again…” She hiccuped once more, feeling her eyes water up for the nth time.

Daryl gently cupped her face, his calloused thumbs wiping away the tears. “Ya ain't got nothin' to apologise for, sweetheart. Believe me, I'm the one who should be apologisin' to ya.”

Daryl sighed.

“ 'm sorry for giving' ya the silent treatment. I was bein' a damn fool. Ya didn't do nothin' wrong, ait? I'll never be angry with ya for real. I swear,” he admitted.

“Really?…” she asked with a trembling voice and big puppy eyes. He looked into her hazel eyes, his gaze loving.

“Really. I promise.”

He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face; his touch was tender.

“Yar carryin' our baby, remember? Tha's the most important thang rite now. Ain't nothin' else matters more than ya and our young'un. I ain't gonna waste time bein' mad over stupid shit like lost crossbows when I gotta take care of ya,” he professed, making a second vow to himself to keep you and his future child safe.

Y/N sniffed her feelings for the last time and tried to collect herself.

“Alright…”

She placed her chin over his head and hugged his neck softly, allowing him to place his head over the beginning of her belly, giving him access to listen to the baby's little movements and her heartbeats.

“I love you, Daryl... I love you so much, I don't know what I would do without you.” She still felt somewhat emotional as she said this, but she gave it her all to avoid crying again.

Daryl wrapped his arms around Y/N while placing his head gently over her belly. He listens intently to her heartbeats, the sound of them comforting him. He momentarily turned his head to place a gentle kiss on her belly, his lips lingering for a moment as he treasured this moment.

“I love ya too, baby. Y'all and this little 'un got me wrapped around yer dang fingers. Don't know what I'd do without y'all...” He hugged her tightly, not wanting to let her go.

He caressed her cheek with his hand, his fingers lightly tracing the contour of her jawline.

He then gently rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling as they shared this intimate moment as they looked forward to whatever the future had in store for them because, if anything was sure, it was that they would do anything to stay together in love.

EXTRA:

They stayed on the pond for a while longer until Y/N said:

“I wanna have strawberries and cheese,” and Daryl looked at her like she had gone crazy.

“Berries 'n cheese? You serious?” he questioned. “It tastes good…” she whispered, defending herself.

Daryl shook his head, still not finding sense in those strange pregnancy food cravings, but he still wouldn't deny any of her cravings. If his queen wanted to eat strawberries and cheese, the man would get them for her.

“If tha' what ya want,” he answered, shrugging, making Y/N hug him, glad that he agreed on getting the'snack’ for her.

“I love you, Daryl.” “Love ya too, sweetcheeks.”

A/N: OH MY GOOD GOD, FINALLY. THIS WAS THE LONGEST I'VE EVER WRITTEN. Editing this was such a pain... But was worth it! Also, I may be planning a few more stuff for this cottagecore reader... as well as other projects of course. I think I'm gonna be super occupied now because I've got work, but I'm also planning a travel (and I wanna participate in two Daryl-related writing challenges...).

May God help me because I don't think I can help myself on this 😭 but anws, this was super endearing to write. It went through very little changes since the draft, compared to other stuff I wrote, and I did a collage image banner for it, inspired by @dixons-sunshine whenever she works on her stuff. Yeah, as you can see, all this post is focused on you hahaha, hope you had the greatest day today and I love ya lots. May God keep you for even longer and give you many more reasons to rejoice, celebrate and thank Him IJN 🥰

Now, imma retire now bc I stayed up almost all night trying to edit this... and I got work early in the morning... (seriously, this was like 12 pages on Word... 💀) See ya all around!

Thanks and God bless!~

𓆩 ♱ 𓆪

support divider from @cafekitsune, on this post

123 notes · View notes

janasrdhr · 8 months ago

Text

Stay - Simon “Ghost” Riley

──────────────────────

Warning(s): Major Character Death, Explicit Language, Angst

──────────────────────

Ghost signals to proceed towards the fourth floor of the building, indicating it as the final hurdle to overcome.

An eerie silence envelops the surroundings.

Suddenly, Ghost forcefully pulls you downward with a shout, sending waves of pain coursing through your body.

In the midst of chaos, an explosion shatters the floor beneath you.

You find yourself wounded, partially trapped under concrete, as Ghost's voice reaches you amidst the wreckage.

“You stay with me. Don’t you die on me. That’s an order.”

You whimper, your body wracked with excruciating pain, swallowing hard as your eyes glaze over.

Ghost's arms wrap around your body tightly. His touch firm, reassuring. His eyes are locked into yours. He needs to see you holding onto him. To see your eyes and make sure that you're still there. That you're not gone.

He looks at your chest. His hand presses up against it. He needs to see your chest rise and fall beneath the rubble.

“Stay with me. Stay. Please.”

Your hand darts up, seizing his own in a desperate grasp, fingers trembling to match the tremors of his own chest. “I-it hurts,” you stammer, the pain coursing through you like molten lava, threatening to consume you whole.

You're losing strength. He can see your free hand struggling to grip his hand as tightly as it was.

He's silent for a moment, then a short, quick command to no one in particular.

“I need morphine now.”

The rubble starts moving slightly, and you know that Ghost can't move you just yet.

But he's not leaving your side.

“You stay with me dove, yeah?”

“It hurts so much. F-fuck...I can't-” you heave, drawing in air as though each labored breath were a lifeline.

“I need you to do somethin' for me, dove.”

Ghost's voice is firm. Almost an order. But his grip on you is gentle, as if he doesn't want to hurt you more than you are already hurting.

“You're goin' to take slow, deep breaths. And you're goin' to keep lookin' at me. Only me.”

You nod pitifully, your concussed head barely able to comply, your consciousness teetering on the brink.

“Good girl.”

The rubble continues to shift. As the debris slowly gets removed from your body. The morphine slowly enters your system. Pain alleviating, as the world starts to spin.

“I need you to stay awake for me, love?”

Ghost's voice is reassuring, comforting, warm. Even with the mask covering his mouth, his eyes are intent - waiting. Waiting to see if you're still there.

“Stay with me.”

Your eyes begin to roll back, struggling as if trying to stitch themselves shut.

“Dove.”

Ghost's tone is urgent now. As if he's going to shake you into staying awake. Into living.

“I need you to look at me. Look at me.”

His grip presses into your hand. Trying to find some semblance of life in you. It must kill him to see you like this. See you suffer.

“Look at me, pretty.”

Your eyes snap open, fueled by the dwindling remnants of your energy, slowly succumbing to the pull of slumber; despite the plea in his usual taut voice.

“That's it,” Ghost whispers, his voice filled with relief.

“Don't you dare close your eyes. Keep lookin' at me. Keep lookin'.”

There's still rubble pinning you to the ground. The EVAC team trying their hardest to free you - and keep you alive.

“Don't you close your eyes again. Ya hear me?”

“...s-so tired...” You stutter, your voice faltering, as weariness grips you like a heavy cloak.

His voice, normally resonant and commanding, now carries a plea, a desolate edge honed by urgency. Each word is measured, and delivered with a staggering resolve. A raw vulnerability that struggles to break free from its jagged, rusty confines, something only you seem to have the key to. It echoes the weight of unspoken fears and the fervent hope of finding salvation amid turmoil.

God, does he push on. For you.

Anything for you.

“Keep lookin'.”

You're slipping away. His grip on you grows tighter as he pleads.

“Don't you go on me. Ya hear that? Don't you go on me.”

It would tear his heart out to lose you. He knows that. He knows just as well as you do.

But you have to stay. You have to stay.

“Ghost,” you stammer, your words catching in your throat like a fish struggling against a hook, “I d-don't think I can...”

“You have to. You get me?”

He's so desperate. So desperate. He can't lose you. Not here. Not now where you lie in a pile of rubble. Where everything is chaos.

There's noise around you, the rubble being lifted, the sound of feet and voices.

Your hand, barely clinging to him, tightens ever so slightly, a silent plea for reassurance.

“I-If I don't make it...you'll miss me, r-right?”

“Don't you dare talk like that, dove.”

Ghost's voice cracks. His grip has tightened to the point that it's painful.

“You're makin' it out of here, and I'm not leavin' until you do.”

His eyes narrow.

“You're not goin' anywhere.”

A solitary tear escapes, tracing a silent path down the contours of your weary face. “I...I'll miss you,” you confess, your voice trembling with emotion, each word a delicate thread in the tapestry of your heartache. “So much...”

“You're not dyin', damn it.”

Ghost hisses the words. The frustration is evident in his voice. The fear and dread, the knowledge of just how close you're to the end of the line.

Ghost can't even begin to describe the emotions he's feeling. The guilt over bringing you to this. The anger over someone else doing this to you.

A strained whimper manages to escape your parched throat. “I-...I had everything planned, y-y'know?” you confess, your voice strained, carrying the weight of stolen expectations. “E-Everything.”

“Shut it.”

It's quiet this time. As if Ghost is trying to deny the truth in those words. As if he can push it back and make it not real.

“Shut up... you're not thinkin' like that. Don't you dare.”

A pause as a tear falls from his eye. A low, grunted curse as his lips tighten under the balaclava.

Your words emerge in fragments, like fragile petals torn from a wilting flower, each syllable a struggle against unspoken desires.

“I...I wanted,” you begin, your breaths strained as if wrestling with unseen burdens. “I wanted to marry you.” you manage to confess amidst the tumult of your emotions, the words hanging in the air like delicate threads on the verge of snapping.

“And...and children...” you choke back tears, the image of a future slipping through your trembling grasp. “I imagined...a home,” you continue, your voice a whispered plea, “filled with love.” But even as you struggle to speak, the words falter, slipping away like sand through your fingers.

“I...I can't hold on,” you admit, weak gasps punctuating the realization of time slipping inexorably away. Tears stream down your cheeks, each drop a testament to the depth of your longing.

“I wanted...so much.” your voice trails off, fading into the silence battered breaths.

“Stop.”

Ghost tries. He tries to block it. The truth. The reality.

You're lying here, barely hanging on. The life within your body slipping away.

“Don't say that. It's...”

There's a pause as he swallows hard.

“It's not slippin' away.”

Another beat as his grasp on you loosens slightly. The fear, the anger, the panic, the pain, the guilt. It's all in his voice. His voice cracking. Breaking.

“A d-destination wedding,” you manage, a dry chuckle escaping your lips, as if dust had settled upon your laughter.

“Italy....Tuscany.” Your voice wavers, painting a picture of distant shores and moonlit sands. “On the beach, m-maybe? Barefoot, under the nighttime sky. Just us and the stars,” Your thoughts drift away by the current of your yearning.

“White roses...everywhere,” you continue, the image forming in your mind's eye like a fragile constellation.

“I love white roses...” you trail off, lost in the reverie of what could have been.

Ghost listens to your dreams. Your thoughts of a future together. A life together.

A faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. His eyes narrow more as it's barely noticeable, only if you really look at his face.

“Italy.” Ghost repeats, his voice stronger now. “White roses.”

A pause as he swallows hard. A deep sigh to collect himself.

“What else?”

“It s-should be intimate,” you falter, your voice wavering with sincerity, "just family and friends with us.” You pause, gathering your thoughts before continuing with a soft giggle, “I've always imagined Captain Price officiating, maybe even walking me down the aisle too...”

“Price?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. The faintest of smirks pull at the corner of his mouth for a moment.

“No chance in hell is Price going to be our priest.”

It doesn't last long. That faint flicker of joy. Because it's drowned out by everything else.

“Why not?” you pout, suppressing the pain coursing through you as you raise your gaze to meet his.

“Because, believe it or not, Price still has a level of professionalism to him. He's not going to be marrying off some of his best soldiers in the middle of a war.”

Ghost tries to smile. Tries to find some humor in this situation.

“Besides, he wouldn't know how to officiate a proper wedding ceremony. He'd just ramble on about how the relationship is a battle.”

You laugh softly, a melody to him. “I also w-wanted to retire from the military,” you confess, your words weaving a tapestry of aspirations. “Opening a bakery or a floral shop... or maybe both,” you muse, letting the possibilities dance.

“A bakery... a floral shop.”

Ghost's voice is soft, almost a whisper as he speaks.

“I'd buy an entire bakery from you just to try some of whatever you'd make.” he chuckles lightly. A breath as he swallows hard.

“And a floral shop,” His grip tightens ever so slightly on your hand.

“I'd buy that, too. I'd bring you flowers every day. All sorts. Roses. Sunflowers. Lilies. Hydrangeas...”

You shake your head, a wince flickering across your features like a shadow passing over the sun. Almost instantly, you feel the sting of ripped arteries creeping in. “Just white roses,” you murmur.

“...white roses,” Ghost repeats quietly, his grip on you softening.

“I'd bring you white roses, dove.”

Another pause. The silence is deafening.

“White roses. The brightest, most beautiful ones out there.”

Just for you.

You gaze upwards, absorbing the expanse of the skies above, as if embracing the vastness of the unknown that lies ahead. “I'll have to get used to this,” you whisper, the realization settling in like a gentle breeze on a summer day.

“Two kids,” you continue, your voice progressively dimming, “a boy and a girl. Spend everyday t-taking care of 'em, watching 'em grow” With a tremble in your voice, you add, “I'll send you off to work each day, stealing a kiss from you b-before you go.”

“Two kids, I can agree to that. A boy and a girl, definitely. You'll spoil them horribly though.” he teases gently, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

A long pause. The sounds of the world around them finally register. The sounds of the medics working to free you.

“W-wouldn't,” you muse, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “our daughter become a daddy's girl?”

“Our daughter...she'll definitely be a daddy's girl. But our son...” Ghost's voice softens. “...our son would be a mommy's boy. For sure.”

He'd be just as protective of his mother as she is of him."

“What would you name her?” you inquire.

Ghost hesitates for a moment. As if he's trying to pick the perfect name.

“Beth.”

He pauses again.

“She'd be a lovely little girl. She'll have her mother's smile. Her mother's laugh. Her mother's heart.”

“And what name would you give our son, my love?” Simon asked.

You ponder, feeble eyes fluttering.

“Tommy.”

“Tommy,” Ghost repeats. The ghost of a smile is just barely visible under the mask.

Another beat as he holds you tightly. As if by holding you, he can make things right again.

“...yeah. Tommy's a good name.”

You find yourself whimpering more frequently now, each sound a plaintive note in the symphony of your agony as the pain sets in again. “I...I don't wanna die,” you murmur, your words a fragile plea.

“You're not going to die. You're not going to die”

But Ghost doesn't seem entirely convinced with his own words.

The medics are still working furiously to free you.

But the fear and anxiety inside of him is clear. He's afraid that he's losing you. That the wounds you've suffered are irreversible.

He tries to block it. To be strong for you. But he can't deny that feeling inside of him. The dread.

“I don't wanna leave, Ghost,” you sob, the words choked with emotion, longing to remain by his side.

“I know...I know.” He whispers, his words soft.

“I don't want you to go, either.”

Oh, how he didn't.

The medic finally manages to remove a large piece of rubble that was weighing you down.

“Stay with me. Focus on me,” he tells you softly, gently squeezing your hands.

“Look into my eyes.”

You let out a piercing scream as the oppressive weight is finally lifted from you.

Ghost's grasp on you tightens. He holds you tighter, squeezing your hands even harder as if somehow, he can spare your pain.

“Keep lookin' at me, dove,” he whispers.

“Le' me see those pretty eyes.”

You sob uncontrollably, each breath a struggle as if your lungs were drowning in white-hot pain. “Don't leave me,” you plead, your voice a trembling whisper. “s-so scared..."

“I'm not leavin' you.”

His voice cracks. His grip tightens even further so as to try and relieve your own pain.

“I am not leavin' you.”

Another beat as Ghost forces himself to continue. To look at you. To stare into your eyes as if he could somehow spare you from this.

“Just keep holdin' me and everythin' will be okay.”

He tries to soothe your pain, rubbing your shoulders with one hand and squeezing you tightly with the other.

“Yeah? Everythin' will be okay.”

You nod, your grasp on him tightening every so often.

“He should have your eyes,” you murmur, a sentiment blooming between you once more.

“He'd be as strong as you, as brave as you, as protective as you...as s-safe as you are.”

“He would.”

Ghost tries to smile. To imagine the son that he'd have.

“He'd be as stubborn as me, too.”

You break into a soft smile, “You'd be a g-good father, Simon,” you murmur, your words carrying certainty.

The smile falters. The realization hitting him again.

Ghost's grip on you tightens further. This is the only thing he can do to prevent himself from breaking down.

“Yeah," he murmurs. “I-...I'd be a good father. Yeah.”

Two heartbeats.

One irregular, the other irregular too.

“....A-And our daughter?”

“Our daughter.”

Ghost's voice cracks.

“She'd be so beautiful. The light of my life.”

Another heartbeat as a tear rolls down his cheeks.

“Like her mother.”

Your hold on him slackens, as your exhausted eyelids surrender to an eternal slumber. Yet, even in your final moments, a serene smile graces your lips, an enduring emblem of peace. As you draw your last breath, you depart adorned with that same tranquil expression, leaving behind a poignant echo of your essence.

“Like you.”

A pained whimper escapes Ghost. Soon, a sob.

“She'll definitely be like you.”

Another beat before he whispers again.

“But you should live to see her. You should live to see our son...”

Your vision blurs, colours fading into shades of grey as the world around you dims. Sounds muffle and distance themselves, like echoes fading into the night. Surrendering to the engulfing pain, you muster the last of your strength to whisper a fragile declaration: “I love you.”

Another beat before a soft cry hitches in his throat.

Another whisper.

“Don't leave...”

Ghost's grip on you tightens. He whispers one more time.

“Stay...”

Your chest stagnates, trapped in a moment of suspended animation, as if time has folded in on itself. The vibrant hues drain from your once radiant skin, leaving it as pale and lifeless as cold wax. Your body begins to chill, a stark reminder of the journey ahead. Muscles slacken, limbs surrendering to a weighty lethargy. The rhythmic ebb and flow of your chest's rise and fall fades into a profound silence. Consciousness slips away like a whisper on the wind, leaving behind naught but a hollow, silent void.

Ghost squeezes you tighter. Trying to fight the inevitable.

But he can feel it.

He's losing you.

Slowly, your grip goes slack. The rise and fall of your chest stops. Your once warm body growing cold.

The medics are still working, trying to remove the rubble that remains.

All Ghost can do is hold you. Hold you in his arms.

All he can hear is the silence. The void.

“Stay...”

──────────────────────

masterlist - cod masterlist

180 notes · View notes

factual-fantasy · 1 year ago

Text

24 asks!! :0000🌟🎭🌟

I HAVE!!! :DDDD

Kinger and Caine are my favorite characters! I've seen a lot of theories and fanart and I've already started making my own AU and angst and everything but I cant DRAW any of that yet because I'm REALLY BUSY with an OVERDUE PROJECT AAAAA

(In recent development, Asgore is unable to heal Spamton because he is a darkener :((( )

I think it might have been addressed at one point yeah :0 Maybe something was wrong with Seam and Asgore reached out to help. In which Seam was terrified and Jevil jumped in to protect him. Asgore could see the trauma and tension in the both of them so he carefully backed off.

Later he could hear from Seam about their pasts and why they were afraid of him. Asgore would then try to take steps to.. not..? Be scary to them?? <:D

Spade king could have talked in a very gravely and booming voice. So Asgore is sure to always talk softly and clearly. He is careful to not make any sudden movements around Seam and Jevil. If he's reaching for something near Seam/Jevil he will gently announce what he's doing and make sure they understand before he does it.

Asgore with his hands in his lap: "Seam, I want to grab that bag.."

Seam: *turns "huh?"

Asgore, hands still in his lap: "That bag beside you, I'd like to grab it."

Seam: "oh, okay,"

Asgore then gently reaches for the bag, making sure that Seam can see his hand coming.

Little things like that would really ease Seam and Jevils nerves. And its what made Asgore so trustworthy to them. The fact that he cared so much about their comfort and went above and beyond to make sure they felt safe around him.

Not really a parental figure. He sees Seam as his equal in every way. So like.. he sees him as his brother of the same age.?

@beryl-shade

Oh he didn't lock Seam up in a cell. He just put shackles around his wrists and neck :00

The thing about Jevil is that the bigger the group got, the worse his habits became. And the harder it became to break those habits.. Jevil was the one who collected these people, so they are his responsibility. Giving up his food not just for Seam, but for everyone. Staying awake to keep the fire large and roaring to keep the group warm.

The others try to help him.. but they would have a hard time getting Jevil to listen to them. Telling him he needs to eat, sleep or just relax. He probably wouldn't listen because he's a bit stubborn and is probably riddled with anxiety 24/7.

Although when Asgore came around things got a lot easier.

Asgore is very powerful and has proved his trustworthiness multiple times to Seam and Jevil. So although the royal vibe is off putting.. Jevil trusts him to watch the fire at night and protect the group. Seam has been able to reason with Jevil about the food part a little too.

Jevil: "You need this food more than me. You gotta keep your strength up until we can find someone to break these chains!"

Seam: "Jevil, you consume energy to make those mirrors to other worlds. How are you supposed to keep looking for someone to break my chains, if you're collapsed on the ground, too weak to make another mirror?"

Jevil: "......."

Jevil: *takes ONE bite out of sandwich

I was thinking around 10 years or so..? Maybe more? Haven't really decided :0 And he was able to escape by making a mirror and stepping through it. That mirror basically poked a hole in the walls of the AU and he was able to step out of the AU. Effectively stepping out of his cell and breaking free :}

Also thank you!! :DD

@gracebeth3604

I've completely ignored comments like this recently because I don't wanna deal with all the drama that will surly follow. But you were really polite and very thorough with your evidence.. sooo I guess I might as well answer it now,

I am aware that people use they/them for Seam. But -> my version <- of Seam goes by he/him.

I don't reeallly have a Splatoon AU..? And I haven't played Splatoon in a while- although I do still like it and have made some Splatoon ocs!

These drawings are pretty old. I've been meaning to come back and re-draw them haha <XD

Yeah its okay to tag like that. Like "seam and jevil" or "mario and luigi". That's just tagging them as being in the same post, no big deal 👍

Also no, no art of any kind. If you truly wanna show that you appreciate my work then leave comments. Maybe reblog once in a while or send me an ask. The comments don't have to be anything complex. You could leave a "Looks great!" comment on 50 posts of mine in a row and I will see what you're doing and appreciate it endlessly.

@genericcereal-wastaken

(I most likely will lol XD) Also thank you! I'm glad you love it! :DD

@elegysonnet

Honestly I can see Seam wanting nothing wrapped around/touching his wrists for a while.. even though they need it. But he could accept cold rags being dabbed on the wounds to ease the stinging.

As for what he'd eat? Dude- anything XDD Probably a burger to start. He'd just take a big fat bite and cry about how good it tastes 😭

And yeah! Now that he has his full range of movement he has his cat like flexibility back :}}

When it comes to Seam using his magic? Its hard for a while...

He hasn't used it consistently in so long.. he would be rusty, and probably anxious to use it again. It would take a lot of sparing and gentle guidance from Jevil and probably Asgore to get his grove back.

It would also take time for him to physically heal. Having his body's energy constantly drained has really effected his ability to control his magic. He would need a few weeks of good sleep and hearty meals before he could get his groove back. But he'll get there. With the group/Jevils support, he would eventually be back to the way he was. Equally matched with Jevil. :}

@clevermakercupcake

Thank you!! :}}} 🌻🌻

I don't remember that, did he do that?? Kwazii whyyy that's nasty XDDD

@cupcake-kingdom

Seam is frightened and confused but appreciates the message! XD

Joy. There's just joy and relief everywhere.

There has been a constant anxiety over this group- not just Jevil, that Seam would suddenly collapse and die. Finally succumbing to the chains draining properties.

Now that the chains are off? Seam will heal. He will eat and stay full. He will absorb those calories and turn it into energy. And he will keep that energy. When he sleeps he will wake up feeling rested. He will heal, he will live.

For Seam, it was almost too good to be true. It just, it blew his mind. He was free. He was really free. No more pain, no more aches. No more hunger. His freedom truly starts here. The relief he felt can't be described. He cried, hard. But he also laughed, and for the first time in years, he smiled.

And Jevil? He couldn't speak. He just cried and cried and cried.. He couldn't let go of Seam. He couldn't stop looking at his wrists. Exanimating them over and over again. As if he couldn't truly believe it. All the anxiety, all the worry, all the sleepless nights. They were all over. Seam was gonna live, he didn't have to worry anymore. He couldn't let go of Seam, he couldn't stop shaking, he couldn't stop crying. He couldn't stop smiling.

They will likely leave some kind of permanent scar on Seam yes.. but his floofy orange fur hides the scars around his neck. And the scars on his wrists will be somewhat covered up by his fur. So thankfully they wont really be noticeable. <:)

@nunyabusiness459

Heck yeah. After they cry their souls out together they go and crash for like 6 hours or something XDD

(Also funny username, made me laugh! XD)

WAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! And heck yeah!! Feel free to send me your AU stuff when you're done/ready! I'd love to see it! :}}

@ocinstituterep I imagine he's just reeeeally quiet about sneaking out. My Kwazii doesn't sneak out though he knows better XD

Thank you so much! Also Spongebob has angst??? :00000

Things are mostly better!

Little Red got her knees fixed, Escorts broken down a few times but he's currently in working order! Suburban is stiillll a work in progress... undrivable at the moment- :x

Greenie now takes all 4 limbs to start, Brown is out of the garage and U.M is out of the trailer! Pretty good stuff :}}

(If any of that made sense to you I applaud you for your dedication to my Transformer ocs <XDD)

@skywillow28022

She does exist, although I didn't have any real plans for her.. maybe she was just a gal that the bros knew in passing back on Earth.?

@beryl-shade

I feel like none of them would willing visit that old stage.. expect for maybe Foxy. I feel like Foxy would be a very emotional and tender hearted character. I can see him not wanting to "leave them behind" in a way. He would come back now and then and talk to the stage as if they were standing on it and could hear him. The staff think that Foxy's programming just hasn't properly registered that Chica and Freddy are gone. And in a way.. they're right..

Foxy cant let go of their memory. And despite how much it would ache seeing that empty stage, I can see him coming back to it anyway..

This also means that part of the reason why Bonnie and Foxy clash so much now is that Bonnie is trying to snuff out any memories and feelings of the past. Meanwhile Foxy is wallowing in those memories and refuses to let go.

If any of the four of them had to preform on that stage once again? Oh man. That would hurt. It would kill Foxy to stand in the place of his late friends. He would feel guilty, ashamed.. Monty and Roxy also couldn't handle it. They would be crushed. Monty would likely get emotional and angry. Roxy would want to run and hide her face. Maybe the three of them would find a way to fake a malfunction so they could just get off the stage..

But Bonnie? Man. Maybe he's so overwhelmed that he just goes on autopilot and finishes the performance. Only to have a complete mental breakdown in his room later.. being so close to the memory of Chica and Freddy.. its crippling to him.

@skatermusic

Daww, thank you :}}}

#my response #undertale #deltarune #fnaf security breach #my ocs #splatoon ocs #the amazing digital circus

334 notes · View notes

stars-obsession-pit · 5 months ago

Text

Since my brain has continued to rotate my alternate take on kryptonite being made of ectoplasm (here) I’ve decided to give the idea a name:

Souls of Kryptonite AU

I still don’t have any big or solid plans with it or whatever but. Yeah.

Anyway, I started thinking a bit about some worldbuilding possibilities around the thing. Nothing is too concrete but I wanted to write them out:

So, firstly:

Krypton’s destruction in some way involved ectoplasmic contamination of the planet (to justify why its bits got weird)

But then I had two ideas on how to take it:

1. Kryptonite flat-out is ectoplasm

When Krypton exploded, the energy output of the blast caused the souls of the dying Kryptonians to crystalize

Thus Kryptonite technically isn’t the shards of the planet - it’s the shards of the people

Because the souls crystalized in this way, they never fully formed ghosts. Instead, they’re just trapped in essentially the moment of their death

Kryptonite can hurt ghosts to touch because of the emotions contained within leaking through

I don’t have any fancy explanation for the Kryptonian power sapping part. Maybe the nature of it being their souls cause some sort of magic effect? Or maybe it’s literally just still radioactive in whatever special way. There are options.

Using it as a power source may or may not harm the souls - I’d think it probably would, but depending on how the energy effects work it might be arguable that the souls wouldn’t take much damage

Probably would require fancy ghost magic or ecto-technology to free the souls

You might be able to get a power boost by eating it but you really shouldn’t because that’d be like, soul cannibalism.

2. Kryptonite interacts with ectoplasm

Kryptonite is less “solidified ectoplasm” and more of a sponge that draws in ectoplasm from around it

Thus when any ghosts formed during the planet’s destruction, they were immediately pulled into it and trapped

And if any other ghost touches it later, it will start to drain or even capture them too

The ectoplasm stored in Kryptonite gradually leaks out as a different form of radiation - this is what allows it to interfere with Kryptonian powers

Generally, the more charged with ectoplasm a piece is, the stronger the radiation it releases is (this just feels like a logical rule)

The souls/cores/whatever-you-want-to-call-it of the trapped ghosts aren’t deconstructed (maybe because the ectoplasmic makeup of that part is different enough to hold it together)

Though maybe using it as an active power source could gradually damage them, to add extra angst to the usage of it in tech

However, any new ectoplasm the ghost forms while trying to heal gets torn away and spread throughout the rock

Thus keeping the ghosts stuck in a barely-formed state (essentially trapping them in the moment of their death)

Also this continuous drawing on the trapped ghosts’ ectoplasm allows for the Kryptonite to remain powered indefinitely

Kryptonite can’t hold an infinite amount of ectoplasm at once - it eventually becomes saturated and stops taking in any more (beyond replenishing what is loses to radiation)

At that point, it’s harmless for ghosts to touch (and can even give them a power boost if they consume it)

Yep i’m keeping the possibility of eating the rocks. Just make sure it’s filled with only non-sentient ambient ectoplasm and not souls and you’re good to dig in!

That saturated state could be used as a way to free the ghosts - continuously flood the Kryptonite with enough ectoplasm to keep it saturated, and the ghost will be able to reform without being drawn back in

Carefully breaking the stone might also work, but I’d probably add some sort of complication with that - maybe in regards to the stored ectoplasm being released suddenly or it potentially damaging the souls within

I feel like the latter option allows for some interesting concepts, but it’s a bit less faithful to the original “kryptonite is ectoplasm” idea

#souls of kryptonite au #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny phantom x dc crossover #kryptonite is ectoplasm #dp x dc worldbuilding

115 notes · View notes

centipede-gutzz · 5 months ago

Text

♾️ SATORU GOJO PLATONIC HEADCANONS

A/N: need to be friends with someone like gojo in my life. apologies if i wrote him wrong in any way, he has so many layers so i did my best to give him justice.

WARNINGS: canon character death (geto), l-bombs (in a platonic way), not really a warning but satosugu is also mentioned a few times

TYPE: headcanons, gn reader, platonic, fluff/angst

It's a hot day, and Nanami wants nothing but a cold drink.

Haibara asked to get something for him as well, so he HAS to be here anyway (dismissing the small smile he gave him as he walked off to the vending machine).

He steps in front of the machine, scanning his options between the canned liquid goods. Choosing a refreshing water to combat his thirst and training fatigue, he reaches in his pocket for the money. Instead of money, his hand grabs a piece of paper.

Nanami makes a noise of confusion as he takes out the paper from his pocket, staring at the scribbled letters that read "To: Nanami <3" on the front. He unfolds it, thinking it must be something that he forgot to throw out.

He's met with a rather...crude drawing and a tiny "penis" hastily scribbled beneath it, clearly explaining what the hell was on the paper. Before he could even process what he was looking at, he hears giggling from down the hall. You and Gojo are peeking from the corner, watching everything unfold.

Both of you run away cackling as Nanami crumbles up the paper and tosses it into the trash, an angry scowl plastered on his face as he chases you both out of the building.

The drinks are completely forgotten that day.

☆- god you both are big fucking goofballs together. matching energy constantly and it makes everyone else miserable when they become targets of you and gojo's mishaps and chaos.

☆- at first, you guys were at odds with each other. gojo and geto were at the same state but you as well ? damn none of these first years are getting along with each other (besides shoko, she's the only one you tolerated at the time).

☆- once the tension ended between both pairs, you and gojo started hanging out more often.

☆- he has another person who he can latch onto and bother without much trouble and you have someone who can tolerate your silliness. it's a win-win.

☆- gojo won't say anything about it too often, but he really appreciates you being his friend because you enjoy him as a person and not for his immense strength. the most you'll do is compliment his powers and just move on casually like it's nothing new. it definitely means a lot more to him that he lets on.

☆- if you ever buy him souvenirs from missions, he will absolutely INSIST that he get something for you as well (possibly something more expensive too).

☆- as soon as gojo comes back from missions with geto, he's almost immediately by your side to tell you everything that happened.

☆- poor nanami is often the target for you two. you're the one who would apologize afterwards while gojo is not as sorry.

☆- after the events with toji, you were really worried about him. seeing him bloodied and scarred was not the sight you would usually see from your friend.

☆- he only went over the details once and never again, clearly not wanting to reimagine what he and geto had to experience. you give him a comfort hug and say that you'll be there to talk if either of them want to.

☆- the hangouts became less and less frequent for the two of you and everyone else due to gojo's growth as a sorcerer and busy schedule. as soon as he thinks he has time for a break, he has to leave for a mission.

☆- you always say that you don't mind, but he never stops apologizing.

☆- you never expected the news of what geto has done. shoko filled in the rest after her encounter with him, leaving you in shock and disarray of what happened.

☆- it wasn't a secret how close he and gojo were, even more than you two ever were. you didn't know whether it was something you should talk to him about or give him some space.

☆- you ended up letting him process everything first, sitting next to him in silence for some company.

☆- he confesses about his feelings for geto to you one day. you would've poked fun at him and said how obvious it was, but you keep quiet. you only listen to whatever he vents out.

☆- even after gojo starts acting like his normal self once more, you're never able to shake off your worry for him.

☆- he tells you about megumi and you feel REALLY bad for the kid and how he was going to end up. either sold off to the zenin clan or constantly being worked to death and losing comrades in a world that he may never escape from.

☆- never has the thought of you becoming a teen parent ever crossed your mind, but here you are. megumi and tsumiki mean the world to both of you and you constantly like to dote on them. tsumiki is open with her appreciation, yet megumi is still quiet (he expresses it in his own way and is more nicer to you than gojo).

☆- it's definitely a way to help keep your minds off of everything, you think to yourself as you help gojo raise the two siblings.

☆- no matter how many years pass, you know that gojo is still thinking about everything. the constant smiles and laughter you both continue to share is still genuine, but the pain is haunting him.

☆- it takes you a bit to get used to gojo's bandages once he switches out the glasses. his youth is gone and has been for a while, forcefully taken away from him.

☆- if gojo ever happened to visit geto in secret, whether it be an accident or a way to chase after those fleeting moments they couldn't catch back then, you keep quiet about it. it's probably not the healthiest thing for gojo but god, with how much he's been pushed and how his growth has doubled, you can't help but think that maybe it's what he needs right now.

☆- both of you were quick to defend yuta once he came into the picture. you felt bad for the kid, and for gojo with how hard he's been trying to save yuta's youth from being ruined like his was.

☆- it's not uncommon for you to see gojo in action, but you can't help feeling proud and watching him in awe as he fought the battles in the night parade of a hundred demons. you were dealing with your own opponents, occasionally glancing at gojo to keep an eye on him and his wellbeing. you knew he would be fine on his own, but you were ready to assist him the moment it seemed necessary.

☆- you were there for him again after geto's death. he comes back to you with an empty look in those blue eyes of his. you don't bother asking if he needed help to retrieve his body, knowing what gojo's choice was.

☆- for the first time in a while, he gives you a tight hug and cries. it's rare for you to see him like this, but it hurts to see him like this everytime. you can only whisper words of comfort and pet his hair as he sobs into your shoulder, clearly struck with grief over the loss of his one and only.

☆- those moments were kept between the both of you. he knew it was ok for him to express those emotions, yet he can't help but recoil everytime he looks back at those moments of how weak he felt. you assure him that it's natural to feel that way.

☆- gojo really appreciates you as a friend, and constantly reminds you after everything. you were always there for him, and he was always there for you. it still hurts knowing what gojo and the others had to endure after all these years.

☆- the two of you continue to stick next to each other, swearing to protect and teach the youth of the future generation of jujutsu sorcerers. there are constant jokes between each other of killing the executives (neither of you are entirely joking).

☆- you promise that you'll be there to support him, and gojo promises the same thing with a wide grin on his face. he gives you a harsh slap on the back and quickly scitters away from your payback.

☆- both of you are equally intolerable, jokes and pranks from the old days still prevalent even now.

☆- "i love you," he says one day while you two were watching over his newest student. yuji is sleeping on the couch, cursed corpse in hand as a movie plays in the background. you immediately smile to yourself and give an airy laugh, reaching up to ruffle his hair. it's nothing new, you both constantly express your friendly affections towards each other. yet you can't help but have a stupid grin on your face everytime.

☆- "love ya too, you loser," you respond. gojo smiles and rests his arm on your head with a dreamy sigh. you immediately regret your response as you poke him in the sides, his laughter ringing out into the room.

#📃 headcanons #💥 not a request #⭐️ platonic #☀️ fluff #🌧 angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x gn reader #jjk x reader #jjk x gn reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x gn reader #satosugu #just a tiny bit

82 notes · View notes

desswright29 · 1 year ago

Text

Come Find Me

Word Count: 4,3k

Contains: ANGST!, Fluff, Cheating, Mind control, Sexual Content (18+), Heartbreak

A/n: Sorry this took so long. I had a lot going on. Whew! But here we are and I hope you guys enjoy the ANGST!

I've seen this place before

A color blinded senseless sight to see

And when it rains, only rains on me

Memories. These memories where the fuck were they coming from? They swirl around her head like a tornado. Constantly causing her variance. The memories all with Rianna, felt so existent, so tangible. It wasn’t a daydream. They were memories, they were there right in her head. But she didn’t remember making them. It was driving her towards insanity. She was always inside her head trying to figure it out and lately she’d seemed aloof. Unaware of things going on around her. What is wrong with me. Something isnt right.

“Shuri!” Shuri jumped at the sound of her name being yelled suddenly snapping back to reality. Where she sat on her thrown, surrounded by the elders and Dora Milaje.

“Are you here with us your highness or is there something more important than the topic we’re discussing?” Shuri looked around the throne room as everyone stared into her. Okoye, Ayo, and Aneeka with concern etched in their faces.

She cleared her throat, tugging on the jacket of her suit. “I-I apologize. I am not feeling well today. The safety of our country is always a priority for me. The barriers are consistently checked and reinforced. There is no threat to Wakanda’s safety at the moment. Now if you don’t mind I would like to wrap this up. Thank you all for your dedication. This meeting is adjourned.” Shuri stands and everyone follows with a salute. Shuri returns the gesture as she strolls out of the throne room. Okoye, Ayo, and Aneeka close behind.

“Ikumkazi wam? Is everything ok. You’ve been a bit out of sorts lately.” Aneeka spoke up. This had not been an isolated event. Shuri zoning out had become a consistent thing and it was raising concern. “Uh. Yea of course I’m fine. Just a bit tired lately.” Shuri deflected.

“Well maybe you and you’re wife should slow down with all of your congicals. That would probably save the majority of both of your energy.” Okoye added with a sly smile, eyebrow raised high. Shuri can’t help but smile at the mention of your name. She let’s out a sarcastic “Ah ha. Actually, that might be exactly what I need” She smirked. “I should probably go get fed. That’ll boost my energy. I have to get all of my nourishment.” She winked. And Okoye scrunched her face in disgust. “That is disgusting Shuri! Keep your nuptials to yourself!” It was pointless Shuri was already bouncing down the hall happily, in the direction of her wife.

So what can I say but I'm hoping

The hour will still turn to golden

We will see the sun as it's supposed to be

Shining straight through to you and me

You pace outside of the bathroom door wringing your hands together nervously. Tolu sat on the bench infront of your and Shuri’s bed quietly watching you drive yourself into a nervous break down. “Ok Y/n.” Tolu stands and walks over to you grabbing your hand in hers. “You’re making me dizzy. You have to stop. Come on take a deep breath with me.” You stop staring into Tolu’s eyes, taking a deep shakey breath along with her. “One more” You both repeat. “Okay girl! It’s time. I’m right here with you. Do you want me to check it or would you like to do the honors.”

“Can you do it? I don’t think I can. I’m a wreck right now.” Tolu smiles and walks into the bathroom. Your mind races as you sit on the bed. Heart racing and palms sweaty fidgeting with your fingers. Tolu emerged from the bathroom and your eyes immediately draw to the white stick in her hand. Leaning against the frame of the door she gives you an almost unreadable expression until she couldn’t control the twitch in her lips. “Congratulations Umama. You’re having a babyyyy!!” Tears welled in her eyes a broad smile covering her face. Your eyes grew wide. Your hands mindlessly landing on your tummy, a choked gasp releasing itself from your chest. You stand, hurriedly brushing past Tolu heading to the bathroom counter, staring down at the other two test, both reading pregnant as plain as day. Turning back around to your friend tears quickly began to flow down your face. She rushes to you holding you in her arms. “It’s happening y/n! It’s real girl.”

Leading you over to the bed, sitting holding eachother as you cry tears of joy. “Lu, I can’t believe it worked! I-I really have a peice of Shuri growing inside of me! And we’re both women! How could I not be in love with this woman she’s fucking brilliant!” You pull away as both of you fall into laughter. Tolu giving a playful roll of her eyes. “She’s alright I guess.” You giggle knowing neither Tolu nor Shuri would ever give eachother that much credit. “We’re going to be mommies Lu! Oh Bast! What if we’re terrible parents!” Tolu scoffs.

“Ah ah! Stop there and be realistic. There are no two people on the planet more qualified than the two of you to be parents. You both have been through hell and fought for this moment. You’re deserving of this and you’re going to enjoy it! No negativity. This is a happy time.” You sniff and nod in agreement. “I love you, girl. You’re the best friend a girl could have.”

“I love your crazy ass too” You both laugh embracing eachother once again. Pulling away you wipe the stray tears from your face. “Now I just have to figure out a special way to tell her!” You clap happily, excited for this new begining. As if on cue, you both hear the front door of the house open and close and turn to eachother in a panic. “Oh shit! She’s home. She can’t know yet!” You yell in a whisper. Both of you hop from the bed and rush into the bathroom to get the pregnancy tests. Trying to move around eachother getting flustered and whispering in hushed panicked tones “I have to throw them away.”

“No! She’ll see them in the trash!”

“I’ll wrap them up. Duh!” You grab the tissue and began wrapping the test. “Still you can’t put them in the trash! Give them to me I’ll put them in my purse. Hurry up!” Running back into the room you both plop on the bed Tolu snatching her purse off the night stand and stuffing the test in her purse just in time for Shuri to walk in the room, with you and Lu putting on your best normal poses. She walked through the door to see you with Tolu and her face scrunched in faux disgust. She smacked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “Ew. I knew I smelled you. I thought Y/n was making oxtail.” She said entering the room, shutting the door behind her. Tolu looked over at her mirroring her expression, unamused.

“Funny. Since those Panther senses pick up my scent so well. Why didn’t they pick up on those pits you musty bit-“ You pop her arm before she could get it out.

“Don’t start that shit. Be nice today.” Shuri turns her lip up at Tolu as she walks over to peck you on the lips and Lu rolls her eyes.

“She started with me first, but Aaaanyway, I was just getting ready to head out.” She stands clutching her purse as though she held the worlds most precious jewels.

“Best news I’ve got all day.” Shuri smirked at her. “Shuri you can kiss my ass and meow at the hole.” Shuri wrapped an arm around her stomach and brought her hand to her mouth pretending she would vomit. “Yeaaaa get that hairball outta there feline. I’m sure it’s building up from all the pussy you eat around here.” Shuri smiles and licks her lips as she nods. “True, True” Tolu’s face distorted into an amused grimace. “Ugh!”

“Now how the hell did I catch a stray in the middle of y’all beef. I stay waxed.” You butt in.

“It gets a lil fuzzy sometimes babe but I like it! Adds a little texture.” Your mouth drops open and your face contorts as all of you burst into laughter. Tolu wraps an arm around Shuri’s torso in a hug and Shuri kisses the top of her head. “I’m headed out weirdos. Love you guys.”

“Love you too.” You both call after her as she heads out.

“The two of you are going to be the death of me.” Shuri chuckles slightly as her arms wrap around your waist. You look up into those beautiful dark eyes and you see sadness lingering in the depths. “Baby what’s wrong?” The concern in your voice apparent as you place a hand on her face. “You’ve seemed a tad off lately is my love overwhelmed?” You began placing soft kisses on the line of her chiseled jaw. “Not entirely. I’m happy sweet girl. The happiest I’ve been in a long time. I just .. something feels off. I haven’t felt completely like myself. I don’t know. Maybe, I’m just a little stressed.”

“What’s going on? What’s got you stressed? Riri isn’t giving you any issues is she because she’s over due being sent home really.” Shuri smirks. “Anything to bring up getting rid of her before time huh love. She’s due home in a couple of days babe. You don’t stress yourself about that. She’s been straight as an arrow these last few weeks. We’re good mfazi. And I don’t need you stressing out my little seeds.” She bent down speaking to your belly. “Isn’t that right.” She placed a kiss to your tummy and stood back to her full height. “I’m not stressing over that bitch. I just don’t want her here anymore. I don’t care how unproblematic she’s being, I know she wants you.”

“Ok sthandwa, that maybe so. But I want you. Only you. So none of that matters.” She tilts your head upwards with her pointer finger. And you melt into her touch.

“You’re right. And we were talking about what was bothering you any way.”

“It doesn’t matter baby, I’m here now.” She kisses your neck. “And I know exactly how you can make me feel much much better.” She gave a bite and suck right underneath your jaw. “Mm. Oh really?” You felt her nod against your neck as she place her hands on your im waist slowly backing you up against a wall. “Mhmm”

“You don’t get enough of me daddy?” You giggle seductively. Pulling back, her eyes lower following every curve of your body. She bends and takes hold of the back of your knees lifting you and pressing you into the wall. “Never” You responded with a hum wrapping your legs around her waist. “You know I love you more than anything right. I promise you I’ll forever give you my all. I’m not perfect but I’ll do my best at it for you. Promise me you won’t ever give up on me my love. That we’ll always be this way no matter what.” Your hands massage the nape of her neck as you bring your foreheads together. “I promise sthandwa.”

I don't understand why you blame me

Just take me as I am, it's the same me

We should be together

So tell me where you go when you know better

“I PrOmiSe SthAnDwA! Oh please! Let’s cut this shit short. Stark activate the atoms send Shuri to the lab.”

Riri demanded annoyed by your and Shuri’s interaction. “Sure thing kiddo”. Turning off her beads She stood from her bed making her way to make her way to the empty lab. It had been closed for the day to give the lab staff a much needed break. And Riri was going to use that to her advantage. The memories weren’t working. Allowing her to remember their rendezvous hadn’t been enough to make her fall in love with Riri without the use of the atoms. She treated those memories like annoying nats floating around her head. And as soon as Riri would deactivate the atoms she went crawling right back to her precious little wife. Obviously the basis of her experiment worked flawlessly. Her time with Shuri with the atoms had been delicious. Sensual and erotic. But she needed Shuri to love her. She couldn’t possibly control her mind forever without causing damage which is the only reason she didn’t keep the atoms activated at all times. Time was limited. Now was the time to tip the scales in her favor..

Shortly after entering the lab Riri felt strong arms circle her waist, a firm body pressing up against her back as a nose tickled her cheek. “Hello my love.” Riri smiled biting her lip and turning around in Shuri’s arms where she belonged. “Baby!” Her arms circled Shuri’s neck as she brought her down into a kiss. “I was missing you and these lips.” Shuri whispered against her mouth. “Never as much as I’ve missed you.” Shuri shook her head. “I beg to differ.”

“Oh really? Why don’t you show me joy much you’ve missed me then Panther.” A smirk rose on Shuri’s face as she lowered herself back onto Riri’s lips kissing her hungrily, while walking her backwards into one of the lab tables. Her hands went under Ri’s shirt carressing the soft skin of her abdomen sending shivers down her spine.

“I love the way you touch me Shuri.” Ri whispers as her eyes closed savoring the feeling. “Not as much as I love touching you.” All of a sudden Ri was being lifted onto the lab table. She slid the jacket of Shuri’s suit from her shoulders revealing her bra. Tugging on the center of the bra she released one of Shuri’s breast instantly attaching herself to her nipple. Shuri threw her head back in ecstasy reaching to remove Riri’s shirt. Riri unattached herself from Shuri for a second to allow her to remove her shirt as she unhooked Shuri’s bra. Shuri began unbuttoning Ri’s pants as she lifted allowing Shuri to remove her panties along with her bottoms as Ri reciprocated. They were both now completely naked as Shuri straddled Riri’s thigh. Riri moved closer to the edge of the table lining her core up to Shuri’s thigh and they both began to move against one another. Shuri’s arms were on either side of Ri keeping them both balanced as she panted in Riri’s ear while they both used eachothers thighs to get off.

“Sss mmm, Ri you feel so good against me.” Shuri moaned her breath tickling Riri’s neck. Riri’s hips bucked harder against Shuri her arms wrapped tightly around Shuri’s neck as she cried out. “Yes! T-Tell me h-how gooood I make you feel. Oh God!”

“S-so good! S-so f-fucking good!” Riri’s eyes fluttered open briefly, before snapping back open to see a blurry figure standing at the entrance of the lab. With a few blinks clearing the tears from her eyes, the figure took form into you. Ooohh this was deliciously perfect!! Riri almost came from sheer excitement! She took the moment to unwrap her right arm from around Shuri’s neck placing her hand at Shuri’s entrance. She slowly added her ring and pointer fingers inside of her while pressing her palm into her sensitive bud as Shuri rocked harder onto her. “Oh fuck Ri! Just like that! I’m gonna cum!”

“Yea baby cum for me. I’m gonna cum with you! Say my name when you cum for me. Let everybody know who’s pussy this is.” Ri panted into Shuri’s neck as both of their bodies began to shake both on the edge of their release. Knowing that you were watching as Shuri’s body quaked against hers, and that soon she would have Shuri to herself made Riri’s orgasam come quick and heavy along with Shuri. Her Juices pouring over her hand onto her thigh. Ri opened her eyes looking over Shuri’s shoulder as they both caught their breath, fully prepared for conflict. But you were gone. What the fuck! Had she imagined it all.

I love holding you, touching you

'Cause you help me deal with the pains

So how could you turn into

The demons you

Once said that you'd keep away?

“AAAARRRGGH!!” You scream as you remove the large wedding photo from the entrance of your home smashing it into the ground. You walked through your home destroying any semblance of your relationship with Shuri. Tears streaming down your face. Releasing agonizing screams. You’d trusted her. Fell for her lies. She was one hell of an actress. Making you believe she really loved you and the whole time she was fucking that BITCH! So that’s why she wouldn’t send her home! You start to feel faint from the stress. Heading to the nearest wall you balance yourself. Remembering your baby you wrap an arm around your tummy placing your back against the wall sliding to the floor.

“Why Shuri? Whyyyyyy?” The last why escaping your throat in a shaky whimper. You look around at the damage you’d caused. It reinforced the pain you felt inside. And for the first time ever you no longer wanted to be there.

“You hungry baby. We should probably get some food after that workout.” Shuri looked at Riri in all her naked glory still sitting on the lab table watching Shuri get dressed. She contemplated deactivating the atoms and sending Shuri back to you to be sure she wasn’t loosing her mind. “You ok Ri baby?” Concern etched itself in Shuri’s face as she walked over to her placing her hands on her naked thighs. Riri placed both hands on Shuri’s cheeks looking her in the eyes.

“I’m so in love with you Shuri and I’ll do anything for you. You’re the best thing to ever happened to me.” Her eyes began to mist and Shuri captured her lips.

“Heyyy, Hey beautiful don’t cry. I hate to see you cry.” Her voice soft and comforting. Riri smiled. “They’re happy tears. Because I have a feeling that after today no one will be in our way.”

“No one could ever be in our way. Because I love you.” Ri planted another kiss on Shuri before standing and gathering her clothes to put them back on. Once her clothes were back on she walked over and embraced Shuri.

“Soon that will be true.” She let go and with the press of a button Shuri was back to normal.

“Ms. Williams, why are you still in the lab. Go explore. Or get some rest. Relax for once. I’m going to spend some time with my wife.”

“I was just running in to grab something. I’m headed out now. I hope you and y/n have a wonderful day. I’ll see you later.” With that she walks out of the lab.

I'm in my feelings, I'm tired, I'm bleeding

I'm nothing, I'm choking without you

I become weak from the mountains

I'll scream 'til the morning wraps me back around you

Where the colors of your mind will turn around

And so will you too

Oh, no, no, no, don't let it go

Shuri walked out out of the lab. Heading home with a bounce in her step ready to curl up and relax with her wife. Once she reached the Queens wing her heart dropped as she noticed the commotion. Dora and staff scurried in and out of her home. Her face scrunched in confusion as she watched them remove things from inside. Your things.

“You can just take that one down to my car.” Tolu walked out giving directions, when she spoted Shuri looking lost.

“What’s going on Lu? Why are y/n’s things being taken.” Tolu walks up with one arm held out as Shuri proceeds forward “Shuri. I think it’s best you stay out here until she leaves.” Tolu placed a had in the center of Shuri’s chest attempting to push her backwards.

“Leave? Leave where? Wh-what game are you two playing? Stop.” Shuri’s heart began to race.

“This is not a game Shuri. She’s not talking. I don’t know what you did. But you fucked up.” Shuri looked past Tolu towards the entrance to her home. Quickly she side stepped Tolu and made her way towards the door.

“STOP! EVERYONE STOP! Put her things down now!” Everyone stopped looking at eachother confused on what to do. Stepping inside the first thing Shuri noticed was the wedding photo in peices on the floor. Her breathing became short and choppy as she looked around her living room. What the fuck was going on? Where were you? She hastily ran into the bedroom just in time to see you walking out of your closet with the last of your bags.

“Baby what’s going on? What’s happening?” You only stare at her for a second face blank, grief hidden behind your eyes. Diverting your eyes you continue on your way. She steps infront of you grabbing at your bags. “NO! No y/n. Talk to me. W-What did I do?” She stuttered as her eyes began to water. Your eyes settled every where but on her as your lip began to tremble. Shuri’s movements followed the direction of your eyes as she tried getting you to look at her. “Y/n please.” She whispered. Stepping away you head towards the bathroom to grab a few things you’d missed. Shuri fell to her knees crawling after you. “B-baby, talk to me. I can fix it. Whatever it is I can fix it.” She sat on her knees in the doorway of the bathroom. Watching you pack up things. She was confused. Her mind reeling searching for the answer. The memories they were there but there’s no way she did that. No way she would ever betray your trust in that way again.

It’s wasn’t me. It’s wasn’t me baby. Stay help me!

Shuri could hear herself screaming almost as though she was separate from herself. She shook her head. She started to get frantic as you stepped right past her walking out of the bathroom. She crawled after you again the tears flowing as she tried to catch her breath. Everywhere you went she was right behind you begging for understanding.

“Please baby please just talk to me. I don’t understand! I’m begging you p-please d-don’t leave me! Everything was just fine! What could I have done!” She hiccuped through her tears. Finally you finished packing and headed towards your bags. Shuri got there before you, knocking over the bags and trying to get them open to take out your belongings. “Stop Shuri.” She starts to open the bag and you grab the handle pulling at the bag. Shuri held tight making the bag rip open clothes flying everywhere as you stumbled backwards. “Fuck Shuri Stop it!! I’m leaving with or without this shit!” You try walking out but Shuri once again was on your trail. She crawled infront of you, wrapping her arms around your lower torso as she buried her face in your stomach.

I’m lost sthandwa. Please don’t leave me here.

“What did I do baby?! What did I do? Please I-I can’t lose you. I’ll fix it umfazi wam. I’ll fix it. I need you! Don’t do this!” Your body trembled with sobs that you held inside as the dame broke. You hit a button on your beads.

“Okoye, I need your assistance in leaving. She’s not letting me go.” You choked out. Shuri’s arms tightened around you. “Y/n what is going on?” In seconds Okoye was at the door. “Shuri. I think it’s best you let her go. Just come with me ok.” She walked over squatting next to her.

“Just talk to me pleaaasssee.” Her jaw trembled as she sobbed into your stomach your shirt soaked in tears. She began to wheeze from lack of air. Her breaths shakey. Okoye and Aneka grabbed hold of Shuri’s arms trying to release you from her grip. “You have to let her go. You’re hurting her Shuri.” Her grip loosened instantly. “I don’t want to hurt you baby. Just-Just let me fix it.” Okoye lifted Shuri to her feet. “Come on Shuri. Give her time.”

“No no no! Just tell me what to do! I’ll do it!” Shuri was inconsolable as they carried her out of the house. “Let me go! I just want to know what I did! I just need to know how to fix it.” She began to sound as though she was choking sobs and breaths getting stuck inside her chest. Okoye pressed Shuri against the wall right outside of the door of her home. Grabbing her jaw and squeezing to open her airways she coached Shuri through her cries. “Breathe Shuri! You have to breathe!” Shuri let out a cough an agonizing cry not far behind. Okoye wrapped her in a hug gently placing her head onto her shoulder. Her body became weak with sobs as Okoye held her weight. Tolu walked over placing a comforting hand onto Shuri’s arm. Aneeka standing guard infront of them. “What did I do?” she continued to repeat.

Finally you were able to walk out. You look in Shuri’s direction. Had you not witnessed what you did in that lab. The sight would’ve torn you to pieces. Her pressed into a wall to keep her stable with Okoye cradling her head like a baby’s. But all you could feel was hatred. Anger. Removing your Kimoyo beads and rings you drop them to the floor with a clang and walked away. Shuri released a grunt that sounded as though she’d been punched in the gut at the sound.

You were gone and she didn’t know why.

Please come find me.

Up on the mountain

Searched through the valley

You hear me calling

Won't you come find me?

Please don't forsake me

All of a sudden

My heart is breaking

I feel it coming

Taglist: @imjusthere2readbruv,@bubbleblowinggirl, @euph0ricx0,@bellaallebbella1, @minionslikeppl, @melanated-queen, @letitiasnyash, @tishlvr, @writtenbymarie, @doramilaj233, @lichuchin, @6-noir, @jackdrawsjunk, @Ippriceisright

#Spotify #letitiawright #letitia wright #shuri fanfiction #shuri black panther #shuri angst #shuri fic #shuri imagine #shuri x reader #shuri udaku #shuri smut #princess shuri

180 notes · View notes

obsessedtomone · 9 months ago

Text

Unravel Yourself Before Me ⛓️ Chapter 11 - History Lesson▸Shigaraki x femReader

Chapter Summary:

◤You couldn’t help but notice the silence between his replies getting longer and longer, with each time you reached out for him.

“Yeah,” he finally replied with a rough childish voice, offering you a tired but reassuring smile as he willed his drowsiness away. He was barely able to keep his eyes open anymore, getting harder and harder to stay awake for more than mere moments.

And he was becoming so, so cold.◢ Setting: University AU - No quirks (unless degenerate personalities count) Tags: Slow burn, Eventual Smut, Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation, Mentally Ill Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to ??? Warning: Dead Dove – Do Not Eat | Mind the tags TW: Implied Su/Self H, Dubcon, Past Child Abuse, Bullying, Reader has a super shitty past like actually, Shigaraki Tomura is his own warning.

AO3 Crosspost | Chain Divider by firefly-graphics

Chapters: One • Two • Three • Four • Five • Six • Seven • Eight • Nine • Ten(ko) • Eleven • Twelve

Chapter 11 - History Lesson

It’s cold, and dark.

Why is it so cold?

You stood up on shaky legs.

“***, are you awake yet?” Your voice was small and unsure, pointed at your older brother who sat beside you.

There was a pause.

You couldn’t help but notice the silence between his replies getting longer and longer, with each time you reached out for him.

And he was becoming so, so cold.

“‘m hungry!” you stated plainly with a furrowed brow, looking down at your cold bare feet that were turning into the colors of your fingerpainted drawings, then back to your brother.

You weren’t old enough to be able to tell the passage of time very well yet, but it felt like an eternity had passed since you’ve last had something to munch on.

“Did you take a look in the fridge? Checked the drawers too?” His frail voice cracked when he spoke. Your brows pinch down even further and he can tell you’re seconds away from blowing up.

“I’m not an idiot! ‘Course I did!” you exclaimed, stomping your foot against the old, creaky floorboard.

He chuckled at that. “Can you check again? For me?”

His little body shivered against the cold, rusty metal and he felt like he’s losing strength again, together with his consciousness. That probably marked the third time today, a bone-deep chill settling in his weak body.

It worried him because he felt it coming. And that meant you’d be left all alone. He couldn’t bear to leave you alone. Your brother prayed and prayed for Mother to come back home. To come back before the forever sleep can take you away too.

“What’s wrong?” You unfortunately noticed his slight shift in demeanor, his faltering smile and your eyes immediately teared up as you were now kneeling before your brother.

Once again, for probably the millionth time, you tried your best to pull against the metal chains, a grunt escaping you.

They rattled and they rattled, but it was no use. You were too weak. You were just a child.

Several tools—random things you found around the house—were scattered on the floor, uselessly occupying the space around you after you had tried—and ultimately failed—to cut and break the cruel metal chains. Scissors, knives, anything sharp or heavy, but as your brother predicted every time, it would be to no avail.

You were just a child.

“Stop it,” he warned you again. “You’ll waste all of your energy. Don’t be stupid, you have to save it up until Mother comes back.”

Your brother was aware he was quickly burning through his own, but he had to calm you down fast, before you had another meltdown. He didn’t want to let you go down with him.

It was already too late though, he smiled inwardly. You already set off.

“I hate this, I hate this, I HATE THIS!” You were screaming at the top of your little lungs and rattled the chains further, pulling at them with all your might, wishing they would disintegrate from your touch or that somehow they’d magically disappear like you’ve seen things do in magic shows.

When Mother allowed you to watch TV.

You used your foot against the radiator for leverage, your tears welling up again, threatening to spill at your pathetic effort.

The chain bit into his skin and he winced. You didn’t want to hurt him, so you cease your violent tantrum immediately, your small figure crumpling to the ground and your little hands helplessly clutching at your brother’s shirt.

It was no use, he could barely even feel his arms and legs anymore. His hands were cold and blue. You wouldn’t be able to save him and there was no way he’d be lucky enough for medical intervention. Your Mother wouldn’t think of it in time in the state she’ll arrive home, and you were too young to know what that even meant.

“Hey, hey. Shh. It’s okay. Mother will be home soon. Bet she’ll bring us those yummy sandwiches you like,” he cood, wishing he could hold you back. To pet your head one more time.

It was too late for reassurance, you were breaking down and sobbing. You wanted to play ball with him. You wanted to go outside and collect snails after the rain.

You wanted to hammer nails into the eyes of your Mother’s boyfriend for doing this to you.

“We’ll—” His head dropped again. Why was it so damn hard to stay awake for you? He wasn’t allowed to fall asleep again, he knows he can’t. You needed him right now.

Your eyes lifted up to his, full of hurt but patiently waiting for him to speak.

“B-Bet we’ll even get to make an omelet today,” your brother finally coughed out.

And they finally lit up for him.

“Om-let?!” You smiled, wide and childish. The goofy smile he should’ve cherished more often.

“Y-Yeah. We’ll sneak out and then go play with the neighbors again after our parents fall asleep,” he said weakly.

You sniffled, having somewhat calmed down at the sound of your brother’s voice, wiping your snotty nose on his shirt and then locking him into a tight embrace. It was hard to hug him with all the stupid chains in the way.

Your Mother has often left the two of you on your own before, but she's never taken this long to get back. Has it been four days already? It was getting hard to count when he was unconscious more often than he was not.

Your brother felt cold at the touch and you saw how he leaned into your embrace.

“So be a good girl and go look for food again, okay?” he mumbled.

Closing his eyes, he was thinking about how lucky he was to have met you despite the circumstances, and how sad he was for bringing you down with him because of his stupid piece-of-shit excuse of a dad.

“Okay…” you finally agreed, reluctant to leave him alone like this. You got up, wobbling on your feet again until you put a hand on the rusty radiator and stabilized yourself. “I’m so freaking dizzy.”

He huffed a quiet giggle and a ‘be careful, don’t fall’ before passing out again, making you scoff. You were a big girl now, of course you wouldn’t fall!

You carefully made your way back into the kitchen while your legs threatened to give in. Over time, the hunger in your belly was reduced to a dull manageable ache, but the dizziness still got in the way of you being able to coordinate your movements.

Opening cabinets, you dreamed of finding delicious candy, the ones that felt funny in your mouth. Or some of the chocolate spread. Mother would sometimes buy the expensive jars, usually after a big fight at home.

You hated when your family fought. You liked watching ‘Ghibi’ movies with your brother and your Mother instead. On Sundays, when your mom’s stupid boyfriend would be asleep for a very long time.

Your favorite character was Chihiro.

You often dreamt you were Chihiro, taking your big brother and Mother far away. You always wished his dad would turn into one of the pigs and then of course, you’d never bring him back to the real world.

But that would make Mother sad. You hated when she was sad. She didn’t hug you and she would leave home for a very long time when she was. Leave you both. Alone with him.

And you really, really, really HATED him!

In the far end corner of the top shelf, you spotted some packaging that you haven’t seen before. It was bread.

Bingo!

You had used the bar stool to get on the counters, your tiny legs unable to reach up otherwise. The problem was that you also possessed tiny arms, meaning you couldn’t really reach the bread in the back on your own.

Looking around, you quickly find a ladle and use it to get to the bread. Your brain fills up with imagery of your proud brother making you giddy and you couldn’t freaking wait to show him what you found. The ladle finally catches despite your shaky grip, and you pull the bread bag towards you. It slides and falls off the shelf.

‘Five seconds rule!’ you chanted in your head, as you hurried to get off the counter without breaking your little bones.

The bag was already sitting open when you found it, with most of the bread either dry or moldy, but you didn’t care, grabbing whatever was left and stuffing it into your mouth. You were starving.

It took you a while, but you eventually remembered that your brother had an empty tummy too, so you quickly paced towards the living room, tripping and falling face first onto the ground.

“Ouch,” you grunted, rubbing your forehead.

The room was now spinning and it was annoying the heck out of you.

Getting back up, you collected the lost slices and closed the distance between you and your sleeping brother.

“Hey, ***!” You grinned. “Look! Look! I found something!” you say triumphantly, expecting him to open his eyes and smile at you like he always did, giggling in anticipation and ignoring the splitting headache. “Wake up, or I’ll freaking eat it ALL by myself!”

He didn’t open his eyes.

Usually, he’d always wake up when you called for him. Even during his really long naps.

You placed the bag down and shook him.

“***?”

You shook him again.

“It’s the stupid, patchy, green bread!” you exclaimed, placing your hands on his incredibly cold face. “The yucky one! The one that you said will give us superpowers if we eat it! Don’t you want to eat it too?!” you huff annoyedly, pinching one of his cheeks hard. “Wake. UP! I swear, I’ll eat it all by myself! I’ll fly away without you!”

He wouldn't wake up, no matter how many times you called for him.

You eventually gathered more blankets to warm him up.

You sat down and placed your head against his shoulder hoping he’d wake soon.

You kept a few slices just for him. He’d be so proud.

You waited patiently.

You waited.

But he didn’t wake up again.

─────────

The bed creaks and you sit up in a panic.

Gasping for air, you look around the room, trying to figure out where you are.

You’re home. You’re fine. You’re safe.

Amidst your panic attack, you reach for your anti-anxiety pills, taking three whole pills all at once and you slump to the ground, pulling your knees to your chest and trying to even your breaths out.

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

It barely does anything to help your racing heart, but you held onto this routine for as long as you can remember. It’s been a while since you had a nightmare about your childhood, but you’ve always had a feeling that they’d never really go away. You’ll never really be able to piece everything back together.

You’ll never be normal.

Seconds, minutes, hours pass, with you cradling yourself until you eventually calm down enough to get up, grab your phone, play your favourite suicidal playlist and get to work.

It’s Saturday and it’s time to get ready for the party.

The doorbell to your apartment rings and you open it dressed in nothing but a wrapped towel around your body.

Taylor whistles making you roll your eyes.

“God, babe, what if I was your neighbor?”

“Quiet. I’ve caught you answering the door for the delivery boy in less,” you hiss back at them and walk away from the doorway.

“Yeah, but I’m always down for a piece of ass. Are you?” they counter and you could just tell without looking that they probably wiggled their eyebrows at you when they said that.

“Fuck off. Did you bring the stuff?”

They nod, placing a whole ass bottle of expensive—probably swiped from one of their richer ‘friends’—tequila on your counter.

“Please, who do you take me for?” Taylor flicks their wrist dismissively.

It’s tradition to do a few shots before the party. It helps you take the edge off, but that’s not what you meant.

“No, you dumb bitch. The make-up, the piercings, etcetera.” You grab their bag before they can even answer and begin your own treasure search.

“Girl, chill your fucking tits. Everything’s here.” They snatch it from you and start lining up the items, “–minus maybe that one cute choker you wanted to wear, sorry!” Your friend winces, glancing at you.

You just huff and pick what you need, making your way to the bathroom where the full-length mirror is standing.

“Don’t gotta be a bitch about it, y’know?” they shout after you. “Could always buy your own shiiiit, miss honors student!”

But you’re not listening to their jabs anymore, laser focused on your mental task list before you two run out of time for the evening.

─────────

Despite Taylor’s greatest efforts to get you to move a single fucking inch from the entrance of the front yard, your feet are deeply rooted into the ground, right outside the loud booming house party.

Scratch that. It’s not a house party, it’s a mansion party. You’ve never been to a fucking mansion party, and this one straight-up looks like a movie set. Apparently the host invited a good chunk of the rich kids from your college, which in turns means you’re literally only able to get in because of fucking Taylor. Elitist fucking assholes.

You made it this far, you think to yourself, but somehow the idea of big crowds made up entirely of snobby idiots and skin to skin contact is heavily turning you off right now.

Taking another deep breath, you say ‘fuck it’ and begin what feels like a long trek to the doorstep.

“Das my giiirl!” Taylor beams as they walk past you, dragging you with them, the both of you making your way inside.

“Who’s party is this anyway?”

“You’re asking me this now?” they tease, texting what you think is their friends group, letting them know that you’ve arrived. “It’s Keigo’s, dummy.”

“What?!” you yell while they ring the doorbell. You should have fucking asked earlier, but how could Taylor do this to you?! “No fucking way you brought me to his house, dude. You fucking know I can’t stand—”

“Yes, yes, I knoooow! But we’re already here, look!”

Some dude opens the door, grinning widely when his eyes land on Taylor. He greets them with a hug. Then he sees you, and his smile falls into a more forced one, nodding for both of you to go inside. You roll your eyes as you walk past him, a wave of overwhelming sensations hitting you.

It’s loud, warm and stuffy. There’s way too many people and the hot air smells like weed, sex and sweat. Your foot immediately steps against something sticky, making you grimace. The music completely replaces your heartbeat and you are unable to tell if you’re even breathing anymore.

In short: you wanna go home.

“It’s ‘kay babe, don’t take it to heart. He wishes I’d tap that ass, but even I have standards,” they say close to your ear, thinking you’re still worried about the looks you got earlier. ”And you look gorgeous as fuuuck! Don’t overthink it, okay?”

A smile begins to form on your lips, but the two of you are interrupted by a shrill voice that cuts through the loudness of the bass.

“Oh myyy gooood—!” You see someone frantically waving your friend over. “Tay, baaaaaaaaaabe!”

The person dashes into your friend and tackles them into a hug. You then see the rest of their friend group quickly circling around Taylor drawn like moths to a flame. They’re slowly closing you out until suddenly—you’re all alone.

It doesn’t really bother you, though. Your friend used to try and get you to mingle with the group, but eventually gave up by the third attempt, realizing you weren’t joking about not being interested in getting to know anyone. Taylor doesn’t mention it, but you’ve heard their fake-ass friends call you a stuck-up bitch and teacher’s pet whenever your friend was away.

It’s okay, it is what you wanted to happen after all, so you make your way to the free drinks and pour yourself a big cup of craft beer. You don’t want to get very drunk tonight, that’s why you start with something easy.

Now to find a relatively quiet place and play your stupid little phone games until it’s time to haul your idiot friend back home.

Honestly, you wonder why you ever agree to join your best friend on these little overstimulating adventures, because by the end of the night you might have spent a total of twenty minutes with each other, voice straining and shouting over loud music, eventually ending up having to deal with their drunk antics all the way home.

You wonder, but then the answer comes easy. It’s because they told you they feel good when you’re around, that they feel safe. So you keep saying yes.

Well, occasionally.

What you couldn’t believe however, is that you stupidly find yourself at a party hosted by none other than the golden-haired fuckboy you despised almost as much as some other rich asshole you had the pleasure of knowing.

*Only, the reason for your resentment is different this time around, while the nature of it isn’t. You might start really hating on the upper-class, and not in a quirky activist eat-the-rich way, but in the ‘all one percenters are disguised psychopaths’ kinda way.

Keigo has been your direct academic rival for the honorary student spot at your university for a while now, and the only reason you didn’t lose your scholarship to him, his rich family and his mountain of expensive tutors was sheer dumb luck.

It wasn’t for a lack of him trying, but despite the many generous donations the Takami family kept making, the faculty ended up ruling in your favor.

You were part of a special orphanage program, one where unfortunate kids with promising achievements were plucked from various high schools all over the country and given the opportunity to fight for a free scholarship at various universities, yours being part of that program.

In other words, a huge marketing ploy—and if they all operated the way NexTech does, it was a free money sink hole from the government.

The catch was that it wasn’t ever guaranteed you’d be able to reach their expectations, to win the scholarship, and that other students—such as Keigo and his bullshit rich family—could try to play dirty and snatch the scholarships awards for extra decoration on their perfect little resumes, if the faculty decided to let it happen. The program wasn’t closely regulated by the state, and it just so happens that the poor, poor students that were picked and paid for, failed miserably and lost their chances!

Oh, how could we have ever expected that!

You’re one of the two orphan kids at your college who actually managed to meet the program’s ridiculously high academic quota, to finally get your student loans paid for, but ended up becoming a dumb little poster girl in the process.

Over the years, you’d occasionally end up getting dragged into marketing campaigns and competitions to advertise—to lie—about the wonderful program that allowed you to be where you are today. Give the youth of tomorrow a promising speech about your tragic upbringing and how lucky you were for them to take you in, to allow you to become who you are now. That’s how you lured clueless, hopeful future students into years of endless debt. It’s a predatory system, one you didn’t want to lose to even if it meant selling your fucking soul in the process.

Being marginally useful to the university is what tipped the scholarship in your favor.

You worked pretty hard to remain useful to them, no matter how many times assholes like Keigo tried to fuck you over, and now here you stood, at his stupid fucking birthday party, pissed off that you didn’t turn around at the door and left the moment you’d found out.

By the time you finished that long train of thought, your ‘beer’ was empty.

You swirl the can in your hand, pondering what to do next and deciding you want something fruity this time. When you look around, you spot a fancy bar across the room, glowing lights under the rim and a hyperactive (probably overpaid) bartender animatedly conversing with everyone.

It’s a short trip and when you arrive, you get in line and order a drink.

While you wait, you notice how it is that people find this kind of thing fun. Everyone seems to be having the time of their lives, drunk or really fucking high, while you’re here, sulking in the fucking corners and praying you wouldn’t meet anyone who’d recognize you. The thought of coming face to face with some creep who saw your nudes makes you anxious.

You’re about to wish that was the case though, because you spot a group of obnoxious popular girls making their way to the bar.

If only the bartender hurried the fuck up and cut the drink decoration short, maybe skip the cute assorted straw and little umbrella this time, but it’s already too late when the clique of your nightmares is already queueing in line. You turn around, face away from them and pray to fucking god that they’re too busy or intoxicated to notice you standing there.

But why would anything ever go in your favor?

“Oh. My. God. You guys.” You hear one of them say—Uraraka, you think. How could you ever forget her annoying fucking voice. “It’s her!” she whisper-squeals to her friend, a mischievous grin plastered on her stupid fucking face. “We all went to high school together!” Uraraka-bitch adds, talking to some deep purple spiky hair dude and smacking his arm.

Maybe it’s because you got to know him earlier this week, but the purple spiky haired dude looks exactly like a… budget watered down version of Taylor’s fucktoy. Dabi. You blink lazily, mentally patting yourself on the back for the funny comparison, but are quickly forced back to reality by the grating sound of loud, condescending laughter.

“So?” he replies in an even, disinterested voice.

You check your phone and consider texting your friend before leaving, but hearing them talk shit about you, loud enough for half the party to hear, is beginning to awaken some really petty streak inside you.

“So, she was such a creepy psycho! Always wore the same shitty clothes and would constantly pick fights with us, it was scaryyy! I can’t believe she’s not in prison yet. Didn’t she get charged for something last time?!” They all giggle.

“Hey, slut! I know you can hear us. Quit eavesdropping and fuck off!” Toru shouts at you, prompting another wave of annoying giggles.

“Gosh, she always made passes at my ex when we were dating in highschool! She wouldn’t leave him alooooone! Little fucking attention whore,” Mina spits at you pointedly.

It’s hard for you to believe they still acted like this as adults.

The ‘ex’ was another asshole who’s never heard of a ‘no’ in his entire life and wouldn’t stop fucking harassing you ever since you entered sophomore year. You rejected him multiple times but somehow he still found a way to humiliate you, like the time he made you fall on the floor and then told everyone you wanted to blow him in front of the class. Then, one of these vapid bitches caught him groping your tits one day, and it was only bruises, blood and broken bones for the rest of your miserable highschool experience after that.

It seems they’re still stuck in highschool, but you’re now well in your twenties and while you might have grown out of fighting with idiots, you are three tequila shots and half a fruity vodka drink too deep to let this slide.

You roll your eyes, smile as if unbothered and look at the purple copycat from wish dead in the eyes. Mina is clutching his arm a little tighter when you do, because call it old habits but it means you aren’t about to keep taking it lying down.

“Hey, MCR-wannabe.” You point at him. “Yeah. You.” He frowns and you see the beginning of a swear forming on his lips, but before he can speak, you readily cut him off. “Be careful when you dick them down, okay? They like to take secret cock pics and post them online to rate them. Should check your girlfriend’s phone just to be sure.” He snaps his eyes to Mina, who first looks at her partner appalled, and then glares at you.

“And who’d fucking believe you, whore?” she spits, earning her a bunch of ‘yeah’s’.

You shrug.

“Show him your camera roll and we’ll talk.”

“Wanna have a go then, bitch?” Toru steps forward, puffing her chest.

You bark a laugh, reminiscing of all the times they threw your PE clothes in the dumpster, held you down so them and their guys could beat the shit out of you, splashed buckets of dirty mop water on your head, destroyed your belongings that you couldn’t afford to replace—all while the teachers turned a blind eye and pretended it was none of their business.

“What are you, twelve? Did you forget I broke two of your fucking fingers, or do you need me to jog your memory?” You snort, one hand swirling the liquid in your glass, feeling the adrenaline pumping hard through your veins.

Around second year, you’d grown tired of being their victim.

It wasn't like you couldn’t fight. There were plenty of… situations to learn from, growing up. The issue was that they always came in groups, holding you down, sometimes putting bags over your head to catch you off guard and fuck you up until you couldn’t breathe or walk anymore.

Once you finally gave up on your silly dreams of a normal life and your fear of landing in juvie again, you finally figured out a solution that didn’t involve killing yourself or killing them all.

One by one, you started picking them off, every single time you caught them by themselves, and fortunately for you, the teachers turned a blind eye and pretended it was none of their business. Every single time you found any of these assholes defenseless, you’d jump them and then you’d beat each other up until either of you was lying on the floor half unconscious.

At first they’d just pay you double, finding more assholes to join in and beat you up. Showing you they had each other—that you had no one. But they didn’t seem so confident anymore whenever they saw your deranged smile, right before they’d leave you in a puddle of your own tears, snot and blood. Because as long as they’d let you live, you’d always find ways to get to them over and over again, until they eventually became too paranoid to walk anywhere by themselves.

You glare at the girls in front of you and you’re convinced they remember too.

The time you were sent to the ER along with some bitch friend of theirs. She told her brother and his friends to do some nasty shit to you and you almost ended up breaking both of her legs for it.

When you came to, you were staring at a discolored hospital ceiling, feeling absolutely fucking pathetic at what you’ve become. If no one intervened that time, you probably would’ve killed her and left her lying on the pavement, spending the rest of your fucking life in correctional institutions. You know that, yet you can’t feel guilty.

That’s how you spent your entire senior year. As the weird psychotic orphan girl everyone avoided. It was a peaceful time after, except for the two cases of assault charges you caught, threatening to put you in juvie again and get you kicked out of the scholarship program you’d just enrolled in at the time.

They got dropped because you had heaps of proof. Pictures, videos, recordings, medical records, all showing that the assault went both ways, forcing the teachers to actually testify. That didn’t save you from a year of endless hours of community service, though.

“Like you could,” the bitch growls at you.

“Wanna fuck around and find out?”

A few people noticed the tension around the bar, creating a small commotion.

Uraraka is the first to try and diffuse the situation, now more concerned for her drunk friends getting hurt than wishing for your death. She grabs Toru by her arm and when she looks at her, Uraraka shakes her head.

“That’s what I thought.” You roll your eyes, turning on your heel and barely resisting the childish urge to splash your remaining colorful drink all over her stupid fucking face.

“Fucking bitch!” is the last thing you hear as you walk away from the bar with a really sour taste in your mouth.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x y/n #emotional hurt/comfort #shigaraki tomura #unhealthy relationships #dead dove do not eat #trigger warnings #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki fanfiction #shigaraki x you #tenko shimura #tomura shigaraki #college au #reader is female

31 notes · View notes

liknws · 1 year ago

Text

[ 001 ] Brand Spankin' New.

⎯⎯ PAIRING: lee minho x reader/oc ⎯⎯ TAGS: enemies with serious tension, childhood friends to enemies, revenge eras, college au, angst, bad humor bc i'm not as funny as i think i am, misunderstandings, unrequited feelings ⎯⎯ RATING: 18+, mature ⎯⎯ WARNINGS: drug use (weed), excessive cursing, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of sex and sexual themes (non explicit) ⎯⎯ WORD COUNT: 4k (4.972)

⎯⎯ SUMMARY: karma (kar·ma) defined as "(in hinduism and buddhism) the sum of a person's actions in this and previous states of existence, viewed as deciding their fate in future existences". you've always been a big believer in karma and the universe, knowing that eventually all energy is returned. so when your life is ruined by someone you used to call your best friend, you wonder why karma is taking it's sweet time in retaliating against him. what hurts more is your university won't punish something based on hearsay and so it's up to you to find the proof that lee minho is an evil mastermind and get his ass removed from school for good.

[ masterlist ]

“Did you guys see her newest tweet?” There’s a voice off to the right but you’re not paying much attention. The smoke curls around you in a comforting way that has you leaning back on the beanbag and letting out a content groan. You know exactly what they’re talking about, you’re the one who posted the tweet after all. Not that they know that, no one knows that. Not even your best friends, the people that you’ve shared every embarrassing detail of your life with.

“How do you know the account is a woman?” One of those aforementioned best friends speaking up. Mae, the calm to your storm, the one you find yourself relying on more and more these last few weeks. She never left your side, even supported your idea to take that much needed leave of absence from school after he ruined your life.

But the new year is here, the fall semester officially starts in one week and it’s the first day of rush. The weather is cooling off from the blistering summer, the leaves are changing, and you decided to take their lead and change with them. No more wallowing, no more hiding in your apartment while everyone else has a life without you. Your break is done, you kept up your end of the deal with the dean to take your finals when it came time. You passed, thankfully, and that meant you could start your third year of university with a clean slate.

The discussion draws you back in, hearing the argument about who the mysterious twitter account holder could be. The voice, belonging to the boy Mae had invited, continues. “The way they hate him, it has to be an ex.” You want to snort but instead you just shift in the beanbag, wondering if you laid here long enough if it would just swallow you slowly like quicksand. “You had to admit, he’s dated some questionable people in the past. I wouldn’t put it past a few of them to do this.”

You remain silent, best to not say anything in case you come off a little too smug or a little too prideful of that last tweet. Really you’re not the one coming up with most of the tweets, people are sending so many messages to the anonymous twitter account that you’re having a hard time working through them all. Some are good ones, things you schedule to post through the day. Some messages, you can attest, are from some of his more unstable exes. Those you just delete when you get them, deciding not to entertain the possible storm that could create.

“Who’s dated questionable people?” A new voice, one familiar that raises the imaginary hackles on your back. Really if you were a cat you’d be puffed up and hissing at the newcomer, claws swiping at him to leave.

“Your best friend.” The words taste like venom dripping from your tongue as you open your eyes, settling them on Jisung with a sneer. He at least has the decency to shrink away from your glare. He looks startled, as if he wasn’t expecting you to be there at all. Maybe he’s terrified because of the vitriolic tone you used in addressing him. You don’t care, you don’t want him in your safe circle, sucking up the smoke that’s keeping you calm.

“You’re- I-” He stammers, rubbing the back of his neck while looking away from you. “I didn’t know you were going- that you’re here.” So he didn’t expect you to return after his mentioned best friend had broken you so deeply, left you with scars that lingered and barely healed. Some days they were fresh wounds, some days they were scabs that you couldn’t stop picking at. Today it’s a bright pink scar, tender and the slightest brush makes you wince in pain.

“Look like you’ve seen a ghost, Han Jisung.” You level him with your gaze again, watching with a satisfied smirk as he shrinks further away from you. You say his name like a curse, as if it’s the most horrific sounds your lips have shaped.

“Stop.” The singular word draws your look from Jisung to your best friend, catching her eyes and you calm down a little. She presses a hand to your thigh, fingers gripping into your thigh in warning. “Hi, Jisung. Are the other’s here?” She glances around, looking past him in search of those other six familiar faces. You wonder the same thing but she’s always been the softer of you two, the quiet breeze compared to your tempest winds.

“Yeah, yeah. They’re, um, around.” He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here. The others in the circle, the few people you were just talking to and passing the blunt around with have gone silent as they watched the exchange. They all know why you glare at the chipmunk cheeked boy, why you spit venom at him every time you open your mouth. It’s the worst kept secret on campus, how Lee Minho had all but sold out your body as a prank. You don’t like thinking about it but it’s hard not to be reminded when strangers stare at you in pity, or you’re reminded when his friends are around.

“Tell them I say hi,” you say to him, shifting to sit up a little in the beanbag. He takes a step back like he expects you to pounce on him, teeth bared and claws extended. Instead you just smile at him, tight lipped before reaching for the joint that’s passed your way. You turn attention back to your circle of people, clear that your words were meant as dismal. You almost feel bad for the dejected look in Jisung’s face as he walks away.

“Hey.” Mae’s grip on your thigh tightens just slightly, a gesture to grab your attention. She’s looking at you with too inquisitive eyes. “Do you want to go home?” Truthfully, yes, you do; leaving now means that he wins again and you refuse to give that satisfaction. No doubt Jisung has already run back to his group to tell them he saw you. Your suspicions are confirmed when two familiar faces poke around the corner. It reminds you of a cartoon, just the sight of two heads extended past the wall, one on top of the other.

When they spot you, the shorter of the two bolts out from behind the cover of the wall and all but runs to you. Your name is slurred a bit in greeting, his lanky arms wrapping around you before you can protest. You have just enough forethought to pass the joint to Mae before he’s on you.The awkwardness of the beanbag you’ve chosen for the night means he either can crouch to greet you but it wouldn’t be Felix if he did things the normal way. Instead he lays on top of you, face buried into your neck as he hugs you tightly. He might be Minho’s friend but he’s been your sunshine since you met last year.

So you allow his crushing hug. “Nice to see you too, Lix.” You’d hug him back if you could but he’s got your arms in the vice grip he’s calling a hug and they’re trapped at your sides. You resign to your fate, even letting out a soft laugh as he clings to you. You catch a little of what he’s mumbling into your neck, though you do catch how happy he is to see you and that he missed you while you were gone.

The second of the two walks over with his hands shoved into his pockets. You can tell by the way he’s holding back a smile he’s just as happy to see you but his affection is far less physical than Felix. You catch his eyes, giving the best wave you can while still trapped under your sunshine “Hyunjin, hey.” As much as you had wanted to hate them for their association with Minho, it was impossible and you were quick to forgive them for their unfortunate choice in friends. They at least respected you enough not to mention him around you and effectively let you carve out a small part of the dance department that wasn’t tainted by him.

“Ji said he saw you so Felix had to come find you.” Hyunjin offers as a greeting and explanation, reaching down to grab his best friend by the collar of his leather jacket and hoist him off you. “Are you coming back?” He’s never been one to beat around the bush with you, something you respect. “We’ve missed you around the department.”

You feel a warmth in your chest that’s been gone since you left last year. While the leave of absence had given you time to heal, it had also left an emptiness in you that you know was because you were missing such a huge piece of yourself. Dance had always been your safe place, always been your home whenever you needed it. The idea of leaving your apartment had put such a crippling fear into you that you thought you would never be able to return. It had taken months of hard work but you felt okay enough to return, to fall back into the warmth of a dance studio again.

“Mhm,” you offer as confirmation, nodding as well. Their smiles are infectious, eyes crinkling and lifting a dark cloud you hadn’t realized was lingering. In the most dignified way that you could, you stood from the beanbag. “I’ll see you guys later, I need some air.” You looked to Mae who rose with you but gestured at her to stay, you really only intended to slip out the front door for a quick breath of fresh air before coming back.

You part from the circle, patting both Hyunjin and Felix on the arm as you pass, before walking out the front door. It’s a lot more quiet outside on the front lawn. The party wasn’t a rager by any means, more of a too large gathering with slightly loud music and drinks to share. Tame in comparison to some parties you knew would be going on across campus. You had purposely avoided Greek Row, knowing those parties would be exactly that. You hadn’t counted that the people you were also looking to avoid wouldn’t be throwing their own party on the Row.

A handful of people are mingling outside, not one person paying attention to you as you take a seat on the steps. The concrete is chilly underneath you, coupled with the cooler night air and it sends a shiver through your body. The calm out here has done exactly what you wanted, cooled down your temper and brought your beating anxiety to a manageable level. Seeing Jisung had done more than you wanted to openly admit to yourself, knowing that behind the producer lurks the reason for your anxiety. You needed to flee before you caught eyes with the rest of the group.

You’re unsure how long you’ve been sitting out here, you’re only vaguely aware of people coming and going from their own breaks of the party. The cold metal of the railing pressed into your forehead is comfortable, eyes closing a bit as you relax into the iron banister. The music from the house raises in volume and then quiets again, your assumption being that when someone opens the door and closes it again. You assume you haven’t been out here long because Mae has not come to find you but you wonder if that’s wrong too as a jacket settles over your shoulders.

The smell is familiar and warm, woodsy and deep and full of memories that you can’t seem to bring to the surface no matter how hard you try. You know the smell, you can’t figure out why you do, but it brings a sort of comfort nonetheless that has you pulling the jacket tighter around your shoulders and burying your nose into the collar. The music is loud and then muffled once again and you’re left alone outside with your new jacket and your fuzzy thoughts.

Only when your mouth feels a little too dry and your ass has gone numb from sitting on the cold steps, you finally wander back into the party. Mae’s moved from the spot you left her in and you’ve got enough sense to text her to check on her. A quick exchange, making sure she’s okay. Confirmation from your roommate tells you that she’s alright and you don’t need to wait for her if you want to go home. A simple thumbs up emoji on the message and a thanks for the jacket are sent before closing your phone. You don’t see her confused reply, asking what jacket since she didn’t give you anything.

A red cup pulled from the stack and run under the tap for a drink of water is your destination. The slightly earthy taste from the water is a comfort, reminding you of warm weather back home and spending sweltering days in ponds and lakes to cool off.

Your arms slide through the sleeves of the jacket, settling into the warmth of its soft fabric. The sleeves extend just a little past your fingers, you realize. Mae must have grabbed it from her date, you think, raising the cuff to your nose to practically nuzzle into the hem. It’s a soft jacket and you don’t want to give it back and you wonder if you can convince her to let you keep it as a roommate tax for letting her invite a date to what was meant to be a girl’s night out. Not that you can really blame her, you guess. You’ve spent nearly every waking minute together and most nights cuddled in her bed instead of your own. The nights are the worst, that’s when the anxiety and the fears settle in like they’re meant to call your chest home.

Without your roommate to wait on, you don’t see the point in staying at the party much longer. The place is still as lively as it was before but your social battery is nearing zero quickly and the call of your bed is strong. You won’t admit that the sight of that group has ruined your night, the good mood you were clinging to so desperately has gone with it. Your phone is back in your hand, a quick text to the house chat to let them know you’re headed home and don’t worry about being quiet when they all arrive at their own times.

Lucy is the first to reply, sending a simple blue heart emoji. It makes you smile and you’re shoving your phone back into your pocket while using your other hand to pat down for the key to your apartment.

“Giving yourself a feel because no one else will?”

The voice makes your blood boil immediately, smiling slipping from your face as you turn to look at Minho. He leans against the island counter in the middle of the kitchen. Silently cursing your luck, you just roll your eyes and go to walk away but a tug on the hood of your jacket halts your steps. An extremely undignified sound escapes at the yank of the hood and you’re flailing backwards for a second until a hand presses to the middle of your back to halt your fall.

“Falling for me?” He grins at you when you turn to face him.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you snap at him while shoving his hand off you roughly. You should have guessed Minho would show up once Jisung had spotted you, you should have made your escape then and never come back into the house. Now you’re living with the consequence of your decision to stay instead of just running then, all because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that even the idea of him sends you in the opposite direction.

His hands come up and make a gesture intended to placate the anger thrown his way. “Sorry.” Somehow you doubt his apology given that it’s coupled with that stupid, ugly smirk of his. “Heard you were back.” There’s a slightly awkward pause when you choose not to reply, arms crossing over your chest. A facial expression meant to tell him to go on or shut up settles over your face. “Can’t wait to see your introduction performance this year. Break a leg.” You choose to believe he’s mocking you, in no way do you trust his words to be sincere at all. It’s Lee Minho, he doesn’t know how to be sincere.

Eyes narrow as your stare levels on him, mouth opening to say something nasty in retort. The words die in your throat when a gentle hand clamps over your lips and pulls you backwards by your wrist. You watch as Minho is swallowed by the crowd as you’re dragged out of the kitchen and back into the cool air. Outside smells fresh and you wonder if there might be a storm tonight. Part of you hopes there might be, as a way to wash away everything tonight.

“Go home.” The words are barked at you. Oh right, someone dragged you here. Yanking your arm from their grip, rounding to look at them with the insult that was primed for Minho now ready to be flung toward your captor. His glare makes you stop, shrinking back just a little before remembering you’re not afraid of Christopher Bahng.

“I don’t remember you being in charge of my life.” Shoulders square, taking a step to stand toe to toe with him. Damn, did he get wider? You don’t remember him being quite so filled out. “And the bastard approached me first.” You note how his jaw twitches as he clenches his teeth when you argue with him, when you step closer and won’t back down from him. There’s that stupid voice in the back of your head to swing, that you could take him easily.

“Be the bigger person and go home, Cherry.” His voice is much softer but the look on his face doesn’t change. Your lips purse however at the nickname, sucking on your teeth in annoyance of his casual use of that name. He was the one who came up with it after all, him and Minho had adopted that name for you when you were much younger. A way to tease you for always wanting cherry flavored everything- popsicles to hard candies and everything in between. The name tugs at your heart just a little. Traitorous organ.

“Why do I have to be the bigger person?” Your refusal to back down doesn’t seem to bring a surprise, in fact he seems to have expected it. Once again he grabs you with that large hand, wrapping around your bicep and dragging you away from the house into the street.

“Still live at the same place? I’ll walk you home.”

“I don’t need a fucking escort, Chris.” You shrug his hold off. “Touch me again and I’ll break your hand. Make it hard to perform your live introduction piece with a shattered hand I bet.” There was once a time these threats would never have passed your lips in his direction, never at him. Only ever in his defense, only ever to protect those you cared about. Once upon a time, in a galaxy far far away. Some bullshit like that.

“I’ll make sure Mae gets home safe but you need to go, okay? Just- please.” He almost seems.. desperate? You two are standing in the dark of the street, the street lights too spaced out to illuminate your faces. You can only assume his tone, unable to see the look on his face. If it was light you would see that his eyes are soft, pleading with you to just once listen to him. To take his warning and to go home.

“Awa’ an bile yer heid,” you mutter as you turn away from him and start walking to the bus in order to get back to your apartment. His concern leaves you lost for words, lost for a better retort so you just drop the first dismal you can come up with.

“Speak fucking English!” Chan shouts after you, laughing a bit. You don’t risk looking back, knowing you’d find him watching you with that smile. That smile and those stupidly adorable dimples of his. You raise a hand, sending him a single finger salute without looking back at him. Now that you’re truly alone out here, it feels colder as you walk to the bus stop. Pulling the jacket tighter around your middle, pulling the sleeves down further to hide your fingers from the chilled wind.

Just as you near the bus stop the first raindrop of the autumn season hits your cheek.

・❥・

The morning is crisp after last night’s storm but the clouds have parted for the time. By the time you’re holding your second cup of coffee that morning, your other roommates have joined you out on the back patio in varying degrees of wakefulness. Lucy grumbles something and pulls the mug from your hands, much to your protest, and curls back in her lawnchair with your stolen mug.

“You came home early last night.” She breaks the settled silence, looking over at you.

“Aye, I was wanting to go to bed so my best friend could steal my coffee in the morning.” You’re attempting to reach for your coffee but she bounds out of the chair far faster than someone half awake should be able to. “Chris basically kicked me out.”

“Wait, kicked you out? I thought you weren’t going to Greek parties?” Elsie turns from where she was smoking and smushes the half smoked cigarette under her boot. “You know, to avoid him and his satanic best friend.”

“We didn’t go to the Row.” Mae comes to defense quickly, poking her head up from your lap, eyes opening for the first time since settling in on top of you. “They were there, not our fault. Jisung saw us first and then ran away to spread the news as quickly as he could.”

“That tiny chipmunk bastard can’t keep a single thing to himself, can he?” Elsie rolls her eyes, dropping into Lucy’s now abandoned chair. “Has to play Minho’s ever loyal bitch- ow.” Lucy’s fist remains on top of Elsie’s head where she’d knocked her knuckles into her sister’s head in warning. “Sorry. Loyal pet- fucking ow.” Elsie reaches up to swat at the other’s hand.

“Basically Minho was being Minho, trying to start something and Chris came to the rescue as always. He dragged me out of the house and told me to go home. Basically ordered me, the fucking bastard.”

“I love when you get angry and your accent is so thick I can barely understand you. Really love the mental workout this morning.” Mae loves to tease the three of you for your accents, according to her they make you almost unable to be understood when speaking English around the house. She often jokes that learning to speak Scots is now her third language.

“Lap privileges revoked.” You shift so her head is no longer in your lap, using the opportunity to stand as well. “I need to head to the studio anyway, finish working on this routine for the introductory performance next week.”

“Lu already packed you lunch. It’s in the fridge and your favorite water bottle is in the freezer to take with you too.” Elsie is quick to inform you with a grin. Lucy beams from where she’s sitting, eyes still closed as she drinks (your) her coffee.

“I’ll come with I need to finish mine,” Mae says between struggling yawns before heading to your shared room to get ready. When you tell her you’ll meet her outside she sends you a thumbs up over her head in acknowledgement.

・❥・

“So whose jacket did you take home last night? I’ve never seen that one.” That same jacket that is thrown over one of the chairs in the corner with your bag. Your head lifts to follow her accusatory finger before dropping back down, the dull thud of your head hitting hardwood sounding a lot louder in the empty studio space than reality.

“I thought you gave it to me last night. When I went out to get air.”

“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’ on the word. “Did you just steal a jacket?”

“Yah! I don’t just steal things. It was given to me, thank you very much.”

A contemplative hum through closed lips but she doesn’t say anything more. You can almost see the cogs turning in her mind and you want to ask what she’s thinking but the subject is changed quickly.

“How are you feeling about the dance?” She watches you in the ceiling to floor mirrors before turning to actually face you. Your head rolls to the side, looking at her now instead of staring up at the ceiling.

“Nervous. Director Yun gave me some really great advice and feedback after looking at my taped final. I don’t know, I’m really outside of my comfort zone here- but that’s the whole point right? I’m not here to perfect what I already know, I want to learn where I’m weak. How else can I be a big time choreographer if all I can do is a pirouette and a chassé.”

“You’re not doing ballet this year?” A new voice chimes into the conversation and you swear your eyes might just roll hard enough to fall out of your head. It would be far more preferable than this conversation. “So the old dog does know more than one trick.”

“We’re the same fucking age, Minho.” You're propped up on your elbows now, eyes narrowed as he stands in the doorway. He’s not alone of course, you note. He’s never alone. You wonder if he’s still holding the fear of being alone, that at the end of everything he’ll just be as lonely as he was before.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“And I’m not going to.” Moving to sit up, you reach for the discarded canvas pirouette slips. “Leave so I can practice.”

“No.” You don’t even need to look at him to know that stupid smirk is there.

“No? The fuck do you mean no?” He ignores your question and walks in, Chan following behind. You watch the both of them with hands on hips before glancing back at Mae. The confusion and fury is written all over your face but the two newcomers are either choosing to ignore it or just don’t see it. You’d bet your life savings that it’s the former.

“You’re not the only person needing to practice for the introduction performance.” As if that is meant to explain why he’s trying to kick you out of the room you’ve been using. His dance bag drops on top of yours. “I’ll help you and then you can leave so I can use the room.”

“I don’t need your help.” You hate how it comes out more like a question. Stomping over, you grab his bag and shove it back at him. “The fuck do you have in there? Bricks? The fuck it’s so heavy for.” You attempt to shove him and his bag out the door but the canvas on your feet means you just end up sliding a little. Real dignified.

“You said you weren’t doing ballet this year for your dance. Seriously, let me help.” Wow, he almost sounds genuine. Which only makes you far more suspicious. Eyes narrow as he watches you, standing in silence that’s too heavy and too tense. The other two in the room don’t say anything, afraid of leaving with bite marks should they get between the two fighting cats.

“Fine,” you snap, dropping his bag and watching with pride as he fumbles it a little as he wasn’t really holding it. You toss a look to Mae that says more than you could voice right now. Surprisingly she’s already grabbed a couple chairs off the stack, presumably with Chan’s help, and sitting shoulder to shoulder with him. A cheerful thumbs up from her settles the butterflies you didn’t notice had taken up residence in your gut.

Minho is at your side in a beat, his stuff placed back on top of yours. A very are-you-for-real? look in his direction that he just gives you a smile, bunny teeth and all. Mae’s been in charge of the music and you give her a look through the mirror to start it again. On the count you step out into your first move and get lost again in the feeling of your body moving to the music. All you see is yourself in the mirror, critical of every single twitch of muscle and wrinkle of skin. You catch Minho’s eyes in the mirror and you can’t look away.

The intensity in his eyes is captivating, watching every small step and maneuver you put your body through. You’ve seen that look on his face before, years ago, when he would watch you practice your ballet routines or when he was helping with taekwondo. It’s somehow comforting to see him tracking your hands, your feet, watching how you throw your body through the air as if you’re made of a feather instead of a human body.

You can’t take your eyes off him watching you. His eyes meet yours in the mirror. All you can see is him. All he can pay attention to is you.

What you two don’t see is Chan and Mae shaking hands over a friendly bet and sharing knowing smiles.

taglist! comment or fill out the form to be added!

@pearbunny, @smhlino, @5stxrstay, @borahae-reads, @bettybeako, @ana-marais98, @katsukis1wife, @kpopsstuffs, @chaotic-world-of-the-j, @pinkskzs, @ylixbok, @eternitywaveshello

#minho x y/n #minho x reader #lee minho x reader #minho x you #lee minho x y/n #lee minho x you #lee know angst #lee know x y/n #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee know x reader #lee know x oc #skz x reader #skz x y/n #skz x you #* karma.

85 notes · View notes

shuhwaa · 2 years ago

Text

Chaewon | Study Breaks

Le Sserafim Chaewon x gn!reader words: ~1k genre: domestic fluff, a hint of angst if you squint warnings: suggestive

Desc.: With your girlfriend Chaewon drowning in coursework, it's been days since you've spent a proper amount of time together. As she's hesitant to abandon studying even for a short while, you convince her to let you help her relieve some stress.

"Baby...? Are you done yet?" you ask, trying not to sound too whiny but failing, as you peek into the room. Seeing your girlfriend Chaewon still sitting at her desk, you assume the answer would be no.

"In a bit!" she replies with a bit of a delay, as she's still fully focused on the notes in front of her.

"You've been saying that for hours..." you mumble, feeling a little bitter. You're aware that her coursework is important to her and that it takes priority over anything else, but you can't say you aren't at least a tiny bit jealous that she's spending all day working on college related things and barely paying you any attention lately. Even though you practically live at her place now, seeing how you spend most of your time there.

"Sure," she absentmindedly mutters an answer without even looking up at you once. That's when you've had enough, and with a small whine you decide to take matters into your own hands.

"Apologize!" you say as you approach her from behind, and now she lifts her head, staring at you with both eyebrows raised in surprise. You don't fail to notice the bags under her eyes, or the way her whole complexion tells you that she's very much out of energy.

"What...?" she gasps in surprise as you crouch down next to her, so you're on eye level. You frown and you talk through a pout,

"I've been waiting all day to get some of your attention, but you've been too busy studying!" you explain, and you can see Chaewon becoming increasingly irritated. "I get that your coursework is important, but are you really okay with ignoring me all day for it?" She's gaping at you now, mouth opening and closing as she finds herself at a loss for words. Your girlfriend looks away and takes a deep breath, before finally speaking up.

"Well, put yourself in my shoes then! I still have loads of work to do and an important exam next week! I don't have any time to lose!" You can tell she's upset, and it wasn't your intention to make her angry when she’s already very obviously stressed. So instead of risking a fight and talking back at her, you find yourself merely staring at her rosy lips.

"...what?" Chaewon asks, seeming confused again.

"Just... I thought you could use a little break." You see her shoulders relax as the frown gradually disappears off her face and she seems to understand. Speaking more quietly, you add, "And also, the last time you kissed me was five days ago. I can't go much longer without..." As if realizing that you are indeed right, she gasps, throwing a hand over her mouth.

"Oh my... I didn't notice how quick time passed..." she says, regret audible in her voice. "I'm so sorry, baby..."

"Well... you can make up for it now?" you suggest. As a part of you is still fearing she would reject you, Chaewon is already leaning in. Pressing her lips against yours, you can feel clearly now how much you missed this feeling - and how much you're missing her, even though she's right next to you.

"Baby..." you mumble against her lips, "take a little break with me, hm?" Breaking the kiss, Chaewon looks around the room nervously. You know she's about to explain how she has no time to lose, and how she still has so much left to study. However, not giving her a chance to talk, you draw closer and kiss her again. You're a bit surprised when she simply lets you, following your rhythm and moving her lips at the pace you set. You find her hands, intertwining your fingers with hers as you slowly get up, and when you separate for air, you pull her up off the chair. Wrapping your arms around her slender body, she's pressed up against you now, face flushed. Shooting her a victorious grin, you reconnect your lips and lead her into an open-mouthed kiss. She doesn't resist when you slowly start walking across the room, and once your calves hit the edge of her bed, you sit down, breaking the kiss as a result.

"Come here," you whisper, shooting your girlfriend an expectant gaze as you pat your lap once, and after a bit of hesitation, she crawls on top of you. Her hands find the back of your neck, fingertips dancing over the skin until she has your face cupped in her palms. Meanwhile, you loosely place your hands on her waist, bringing her in closer, and when you see her biting her lower lip in expectation, your heart begins to race.

"Fine," she mouths. "You win." Her breath tickles your skin as she draws near, and next thing you know she's straddling you as she shares a slow but passionate kiss with you. You end up lying on your back eventually, your girlfriend on top of you as her lips refuse to leave yours. Her hands are starting to roam your body, but not much later you take a hold of them and flip your positions around. Loosely pinning her to the sheets, you sit up to get a closer look at her face, her cheeks dusted in pink.

"Chae," you call out to her. "I'll help you release all of your stress, love. So you can focus on studying again. Okay?" She can't do anything but nod, her blush growing darker by a shade as her breath quickens, and she’s expectantly looking up at you.

"Okay," she mutters eventually, and you shoot her a smile before lowering yourself to kiss her again. Your lips travel to her neck eventually, exploring every inch of her skin along the way as if it was the first time.

"I've missed you, baby," you whisper in between nipping at her skin and relishing in the tiny whines she lets you hear.

"Me too," she responds, shyly adding, "Don't stop."

"I won't," you assure her. "Not until we've gotten rid of all your pent up stress. Promise."

#le sserafim fluff #le sserafim x reader #chaewon x reader #chaewon fluff #le sserafim drabbles #le sserafim scenarios #le sserafim imagines #chaewon drabbles #lesserafim drabbles #lesserafim fluff #girl group x reader #fluff

289 notes · View notes

handwrittenhello · 2 years ago

Text

might've been a nightmare

“Ugh, you and your contracts,” Jaskier complained. “Surely an hour or two won’t hurt?” “And when someone dies because of that hour’s delay,” Geralt said placidly, “will you be the one to tell the family? Or shall I?” Jaskier grimaced. “Yes, alright, I get it. A witcher’s work never rests, et cetera et cetera.” “Hmm.” “Don’t you ever want it, though?” Jaskier asked, plucking at his sweat-soaked shirt. “You know, a life lived without a little selfishness here and then is hardly a life worth living at all.” Geralt snorted. “They teach you that at Oxenfurt? Or does it come from being a noble by birth?” “Neither. It comes from the heart, my dear friend, a heart that has lived a long and experienced life.” “Jaskier, you’re twenty-three.”

Geralt takes on a contract that will force him to answer one question: will he choose the fate of one, or the fate of many?

Rating: M Word Count: 9134 Tags: Horror, Suspense, Case Fic, Monster of the Week, Angst, Injury, Developing Relationship, Mystery, set nebulously s1, POV Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Humor, Banter, Soft Geralt of Rivia, (believe it or not despite those first few tags there ARE soft moments in this), Protective Geralt of Rivia, Self-Sacrifice, Jaskier Whump, Hurt Jaskier

read below, or here on ao3!

It was a swelteringly hot day. The height of summer in Velen was rarely pleasant, but a heat wave had been gripping the area for a few days now. Geralt subtly adjusted his armor in an attempt to allow a breeze to cool the sweat collecting on his back, but the air was deader than a necrophage’s dinner.

Any sane person would have long since abandoned their work in favor of taking a dip in a nearby pond, or napping under some shady trees. Geralt could afford no such luxury—there was always work to be done, and quickly in the summer, lest rotting corpses draw even more monsters to fight.

Jaskier, plodding along beside Roach, wiped sweat off his brow with a deep sigh. “Melitele’s heaving bosom, I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he groused. “What do you say to a break? Let the sun use up the worst of its ire while we regain some energy? Perhaps cool off in a nice stream?” he finished hopefully. His cheeks and tips of his ears were pink with the beginnings of a sunburn.

“There’s a contract waiting in Mulbrydale,” Geralt reminded him. “We can’t delay.”

“Ugh, you and your contracts,” Jaskier complained. “Surely an hour or two won’t hurt?”

“And when someone dies because of that hour’s delay,” Geralt said placidly, “will you be the one to tell the family? Or shall I?”

Jaskier grimaced. “Yes, alright, I get it. A witcher’s work never rests, et cetera et cetera.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t you ever want it, though?” Jaskier asked, plucking at his sweat-soaked shirt. “You know, a life lived without a little selfishness here and then is hardly a life worth living at all.”

Geralt snorted. “They teach you that at Oxenfurt? Or does it come from being a noble by birth?”

“Neither. It comes from the heart, my dear friend, a heart that has lived a long and experienced life.”

“Jaskier, you’re twenty-three.”

“So that’s twenty-three more years of experience enjoying life than you!” Jaskier paused to drain his waterskin, wrinkling his nose at the tepidity. “Blech. Anyway.”

“Anyway.”

“I’ll get you to be more selfish yet.” Jaskier wagged his finger at Geralt threateningly. “We’ll start small, and then before you know it you’ll have dropped the witchers-don’t-deserve-good-things act. Who knows, you might even dare to enjoy yourself now and then!”

Geralt only rewarded this with another hmm and handed Jaskier his own waterskin. Jaskier accepted, drinking deeply and wiping his mouth on his sleeve after.

“It’s a good thing I’m here to take care of you,” he finished, recapping the skin and handing it back to Geralt.

By the time they reached Mulbrydale, the sun had finally hidden itself behind the treetops, golden where it filtered through the leaves. Outside the town gates, a man hung lanterns to guide travelers in the coming darkness. “Ho, travelers!” he shouted when he saw them, raising a hand.

“Good evening, my good gentleman!” Jaskier cried back, as easy as breathing. Geralt would never know how he was able to flit among strangers so easily, how he fit in anywhere he went.

“Not as good as that, I’m afraid,” the man replied, drawing the gates open for them. “Best ye get a room at the inn and settle in quick, you hear?”

“What’s wrong?” Geralt rumbled, swinging his leg over Roach’s saddle and dismounting. He was quick to grab his swords as well, his palms itching in anticipation.

The man shook his head. “Couldn’t rightly put a name to it. People’re anxious, on edge. Won’t take too kindly to strangers making waves.”

Jaskier slung his lute case over to the side so the man could see it. “Ah, but do they know that the White Wolf has come to slay their beast? And that his loyal barker will regale them with the tale all night long should they wish? Come now, surely a little entertainment wouldn’t go amiss.”

The man shook his head. “I doubt you’d get more than sour looks out of this crowd, but on your own head be it.” He stepped aside to let them pass into town, and latched the gates closed after them.

Despite the early hour, not many people were out in the streets. There were no shrieks of children’s laughter, no wives gossiping over their washing, no farmers hauling home the day’s harvest.

“Lively place,” Jaskier muttered, kicking at a rock and sending it skidding down the dirt road. “What, did they all die of heatstroke today?”

Geralt didn’t answer. Jaskier was right—a town like this, though small, should have shown some signs of life. Spirits were usually high around midsummer—there ought to be festival preparations, or traders passing through, or even hog-wrestling competitions planned. Anything besides… this.

A dog came sniffing around the corner, nose pressed to the ground, ears back. When it saw them, walking along in its direction, it raised its head and growled, baring its teeth.

“Whoa there,” Jaskier laughed, throwing his hands up palms-forward. “What a good boy guarding his home,” he cooed. “We’re just passing by, don’t worry.”

The dog didn’t look convinced. It remained tense in its posture, hackles raised as they walked by—giving it a wide berth—and Geralt prepared to cast Axii should it attack.

It made no move towards them, and they were allowed to pass without incident.

“I’m normally good with animals,” Jaskier commented as they continued towards the inn, the Cock and Crow. It was lit brightly from within, the dull roar of overlapping voices drifting over on the wind—finally, a sign of life. “Maybe the poor thing’s been mistreated. That must be it.”

“I’ve seen you nearly get a hand taken off by the Baron of Vergen’s prized poodle,” Geralt remarked dryly. “You don’t remember?”

Jaskier flapped a hand. “Again, an anomaly. That thing was a vicious beast, Geralt, out for blood. Besides, you’re one to talk, Mr. Cats Hate Me.”

“It’s the mutations,” Geralt replied wearily, as he did every time the topic cropped up in conversation. “They can sense it.”

“They can sense you’re a sourpuss, you mean,” Jaskier teased. “You and that big scary face of yours.”

Geralt glowered.

“Ooh, yeah, that one.”

Geralt glowered harder.

Jaskier cackled and ran ahead, bursting into the inn with a flourish. Geralt followed at a more sedate pace, taking Roach to the stables, and arriving just in time to see Jaskier shaking hands with the innkeeper. She tilted her head and Jaskier took the stage, launching into one of his newer songs almost immediately.

A few heads turned to look at the source of noise, but by and large the patrons largely ignored him. Jaskier, never one to let a tough crowd bother him, pressed on.

Geralt turned to the innkeep. “Two rooms, please.” With the pay from the contract coming, they could afford it.

She clicked her tongue. “I’m afraid we only have the one. Two beds, though, if you like.”

“Fine.” He counted out the requisite coin onto the rough wood of the countertop. “And two meals, please, and a pitcher of ale.”

She took the payment, biting on a coin to ensure it was real—which stung a little, as it always did, these reminders of their distrust in him—but accepted it without complaint, handing over a brass key hung on a leather cord.

“First room on the left up the stairs,” she directed him, “and Magda will have your meals in just a tick. Magda!” she shouted, and a young woman poked her head out from the back room. “Two meals, quick as you please.”

“Got it, Sal,” Magda replied, wiping her hands on her apron. Geralt sat at the bar to wait.

Jaskier had since transitioned to some of his older work, likely in hopes of winning the crowd over with tried-and-true hits, but still didn’t seem to be making much progress. His lute case, propped open on the floor in front of him, had naught but a few coppers in it. Geralt would describe the overall mood of the crowd as annoyed at best.

Underneath the din of Jaskier’s playing, Geralt caught a few murmurs with his superior hearing—fucking twit, awful noise, can’t he just fuck off. He frowned. Jaskier hadn’t met with a crowd this bad in years, not since gaining popularity by Geralt’s side.

Sal placed two plates in front of him, interrupting his thoughts. “Here you are,” she said, following it with a large pitcher of ale. “Bring the plates back to the kitchen when you’re done, Magda’s off for the night.”

Geralt nodded his thanks, digging into his food while it was still hot. It was alright—chicken with rosemary and garlic, spices he rarely found while foraging, but overcooked and dry. The potatoes were too salty for his taste, and the carrots not cooked enough.

But any food that he didn’t have to prepare himself was a luxury, so he ate it without complaint and until there was hardly a morsel left on his plate.

He restrained himself from sucking the marrow out of the chicken bones, too, aware that anyone who saw would be rightly disgusted. He was content, anyway, since food hadn’t been too hard to come by lately, not with the land so glutted in summer.

He nursed his ale while Jaskier sang, in a rare good mood for once, contrary to the atmosphere of the other patrons. He wouldn’t say he was disappointed, exactly, when Jaskier packed up early and joined him at the bar, but he supposed he could’ve borne a few more verses without complaint.

“Don’t know what has gotten into everyone,” Jaskier muttered under his breath, sliding onto a stool, just loud enough that only Geralt could hear him. “Is it me? Have I got something on my face?” He looked at Geralt so earnestly, painfully young in that moment.

“Spinach in your teeth,” Geralt said, instead of voicing any of that. Jaskier of course had no such thing—they hadn’t even eaten any spinach in the last few days—but Jaskier still spent an embarrassing amount of time fretting and trying to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the inn’s spoons.

Geralt left him to his meal and went to go brush down Roach. He really ought to have done it earlier, but the extra half hour or so of waiting wouldn’t kill her.

The process was soothing, almost as good as meditation at centering himself and winding down for the day. He left her with plenty of feed and fresh water and went back into the inn.

To his surprise, he was greeted with dark looks from a few of the patrons, though none dared to make a move against him. Unsettled, Geralt retreated quickly to their room, where he found Jaskier already unpacking.

“Geralt, have you seen my quill?” Jaskier asked him, without turning around. “I swear I left it in the same pocket as my notebook, but…” he trailed off, digging around in his pack.

“No. Keep track of your own shit, bard,” Geralt grunted, sitting down on the furthest bed and pulling off his boots. His socks reeked after a day sweating in the sun, so he quickly shoved them in his pack and pulled on a new pair. What he wouldn’t give for a wash, but it was too late for that, probably. He’d have one tomorrow, after completing the promised contract, anyway.

Jaskier puttered about for a good bit more, still looking for his quill, before Geralt sighed and relented to helping him. He wasn’t tired yet, anyway, and didn’t feel like uselessly sharpening his swords or sorting his already-sorted elixirs.

The sneaky quill was hiding exactly where Geralt suspected it would be, in Jaskier’s own pack, though of course he only found it after Geralt had emptied his entire pack too.

Jaskier smiled sheepishly and accepted it, rolling it between his fingers, and set immediately to scribbling in his notebook. He hadn’t even sat down properly, perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed with one leg half underneath him, boots shedding dirt and dust onto the blankets. Geralt sighed.

The scratching of Jaskier’s quill was almost soothing, Geralt long since used to the sound of it in the background. He doused one candle, leaving the other for Jaskier to see by, and undressed and climbed into bed. A full night’s sleep was invaluable when preparing for a hunt, and Geralt was eager to take advantage of it.

With the light of the rising moon filtering in between the shutters, and Jaskier’s breathless humming serenading him, Geralt dropped off to sleep.

The call of roosters at dawn roused him, his eyes opening easily and smoothly as if he’d simply been waiting to wake up. Jaskier, of course, slept right through it, as he was able to sleep through most anything, snoring away despite how he insisted I don’t snore, Geralt!

Geralt sighed and dressed, pulling his hair back into a tie to keep it out of his face. He really ought to have brushed it, to get some of the dirt and oils out and lessen the chances of a snarling tangle later, but couldn’t find the effort. Jaskier seemed to have made it his personal mission to take care of Geralt’s hair, anyway, and Geralt expected a thorough washing and maybe even a lecture later, regardless of if he brushed it or not.

He splashed cool water on his face from the basin against the wall, not bothering to pat it dry with a towel. He enjoyed the way it evaporated on his skin in the humid morning air. That done, he wandered downstairs to the kitchens, where Magda was stirring a large pot of oats over the hearth. “Morning, sir witcher,” she greeted him, wiping her brow dry with a cloth. “Breakfast’ll be ready in a few minutes, if you’d like.”

“Thanks,” Geralt said, stopping in the doorway. “Anything I can help with?”

“Mm, I’m almost done, but if you fancy any nuts or berries with it, there’s some in the cellar.” She nodded her head towards a trapdoor set into the floor.

Geralt climbed down into the cellar’s cool dryness, a welcome respite from the heat of the kitchen. The cellar was truly full to bursting, the village apparently having had a prosperous season so far, but it didn’t take too long to locate a jar of preserved peaches, Jaskier’s favorite, and a sack of walnuts. Prizes in hand, he returned to Magda, who was ladling a few spoonfuls of oatmeal each into bowls.

She added the fruit and nuts and handed two bowls to Geralt, who handed over a few coins in return. When Geralt opened the door to their room, Jaskier finally roused, though that was probably more the fault of the oats’ cinnamony aroma than anything else. “Mmph, is that breakfast I smell?” Jaskier mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

Geralt handed him his bowl, sitting down on his own bed to eat. The food was good, and filling. Jaskier yawned his way through his own bowl, still waking up, but by the time Geralt was done, he had revived a little. “What were you doing up so late?” Geralt asked neutrally. It was no business of his when Jaskier went to sleep, but normally the bard was more conscious of the time when he knew he would be coming along on a contract the next day.

“It wasn’t that late,” Jaskier protested. “Just didn’t sleep well, I suppose. We can’t all wake up at the crack of dawn looking fresh as a daisy, Geralt.”

Geralt, who had notably never resembled a daisy in his life, gave Jaskier a flat look. Jaskier grinned.

“Be ready to leave in ten minutes,” Geralt ordered, snatching up Jaskier’s empty bowl. Jaskier got ready for the day—spending twice as much time doing his hair than anything else—while Geralt checked over his swords and elixirs.

When Jaskier finally declared himself fit for company—as if the workers at the quarry would care if his doublet were green or red—they set out on foot, leaving Roach behind for the day. Geralt was loath to work her harder than he had to in the summer heat.

The quarry was only a few miles from Mulbrydale, anyway, and it gave Geralt a chance to stretch his legs and warm up for the fight.

Jaskier walked beside him, composing some silly ode about the day—Geralt didn’t see any mares two abreast in the golden fields or orchards dripping with the ambrosia of summer, but they made it into his song anyway.

“Hoping to impress the miners?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier fiddled with the tuning pegs of his lute. “Maybe. They can’t be a worse crowd than last night,” he scoffed. “Besides, I find that the common folk appreciate songs that reflect the world they live in. It’s about finding beauty in one’s surroundings. I had a professor once who swore…”

Jaskier launched into a story, something about pastorals and creative license and natural rhyme schemes. Geralt let the words wash over him and trekked on.

The sun had fully risen by the time the tall spiked fence surrounding the quarry came into view. “That’s suitably menacing,” Jaskier commented. “Do you think it’s to keep something out, or to keep something in?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Wild dogs roam these parts,” Geralt answered.

Jaskier scowled. “Oh, you’re no fun.”

“It’s not my job to entertain.” Geralt threw a pointed look at Jaskier. “Now come on.” He pushed open the gates, creaking on their hinges.

The quarry was a hive of activity, concentric rings of stone jutting down into the earth at lower and lower heights. Ladders and platforms adorned the quarry at odd intervals, with workers scurrying up and down and to and fro. It was a hive of activity, buoyed by the sounds of picks striking stone and echoing calls shouted among the miners.

Their arrival drew the attention of a grey-haired man stationed in a tall watchtower off of the main path. “Witcher!” he called, descending the ladder. “Thank the gods you’re here. I’m Eryk, the foreman of this quarry, and I’m mighty glad to have ye here.”

“You have a contract for me?” Geralt asked.

“Yessir. Come on, I’ll show ye.” Eryk gestured for them to follow. He led them down the spiraling path, descending deeper and deeper into the quarry, climbing up and down ladders with ease that belied his age.

As they passed, miners would stop their work and openly stare. Geralt, long since used to it, ignored it, though their gazes burned on the back of his neck.

“We’ve been hearin’ noises, you see,” Eryk said, hardly out of breath. “Always at night, after work ends for the day. We think they’re comin’ from the old shaft at the bottom of the pit.”

“Delightful,” Jaskier muttered. Geralt fought a small smile.

“Can you describe them?”

“It’s a howling of sorts, though I’ve lived in this area me whole life, and t’ain’t no dogs nor wolves sound like that.”

“Hmm. Seen any tracks, any evidence of a beast nearby? Maybe fur or droppings?”

Eryk shook his head. “Nothing, though I reckon ye’ve better eyes than us.”

“I’ll take a look,” Geralt promised.

They were almost to the bottom, now, the walls of the quarry towering high above them. Down here, the echoes of pickaxes and shovels were amplified, ringing in Geralt’s ears like an avalanche. Dust covered everything in a thin layer, raining down softly like snow.

“And to think I’d just washed my hair,” Jaskier mourned, ruffling it and undoing all the effort he’d put in that morning styling it. A small cloud of dust rained to the ground. “Just watch, soon I’ll—”

He cut off as a bit of the rock shelf fell away beneath him, sending him scrambling to the side in a bid to escape a nasty fall over the edge. Geralt wasn’t quick enough to catch him before his foot landed wrong, sliding on a piece of shale and wrenching his ankle the wrong direction. “Gah! Fuck!” Jaskier yelled, pinwheeling his arms to stay upright.

Geralt lurched forward, snagging him around the waist and setting him down on more solid ground. “Fuck,” Jaskier cursed again, leaning forward to pull off his boot. “That hurt,” he groused, poking at his ankle, which was already starting to swell up.

Geralt crouched down next to him and grabbed his ankle, pulling off his sock as he did.

“Stop, that hurts,” Jaskier complained, ineffectually batting Geralt’s prodding hands away. Geralt felt no bones out of place, no grinding of cartilage or sharp fragments.

“Just a sprain,” he said, setting Jaskier’s foot back down. “We’ll wrap it, though there’s no snow or ice nearby to slow the swelling.”

“Nonsense, I’m fine,” Jaskier protested, struggling to pull his sock and boot back on. He levered himself up to standing despite Geralt’s attempts to keep him seated, bracing himself on the witcher’s broad shoulder.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled.

“It’s fine!” Jaskier insisted, waving both him and Eryk off, who had noticed the commotion and doubled back.

“I swear, this place must be cursed,” he said, shaking his head. “First Davy almost took an arm off. Then it was Niklas, with that concussion, and now this.”

Geralt frowned. “Cursed?” Could that explain the strange howls at night? “Have you noticed any magical effects?” His medallion wasn’t humming, but there could be any number of reasons for that…

“Ach, ‘twas only an expression. Truly, I think some beastie must haunt our mine. The rest is just plain bad luck.”

“Lady Luck can be a cruel mistress indeed,” Jaskier chimed in, limping forward. Geralt fought off a headache at the sight. “I’ve always been clumsy, though, my good friend here can attest to that—”

“Will you stop moving?” Geralt growled, catching Jaskier by the shoulder. “You have a sprained ankle. You need to sit or it’ll get worse.”

“And I told you I’m fine,” Jaskier snapped, whirling on Geralt. “Just because I’m human doesn’t mean I’m a fragile doll, Master Witcher.” The vitriol in Jaskier’s words surprised Geralt. He pushed past Eryk and stomped off down the slope.

Geralt followed, and they soon arrived at the bottom of the pit. There was a small camp of sorts, with tents pitched in the middle surrounding a firepit, ringed by barrels and crates of supplies. Geralt counted seven smaller tents, and one bigger, sturdier structure behind the ring, tucked underneath some scaffolding. The ground was cracked and dry, though were it to rain, the dirt would quickly turn to sticky, sucking mud. There were planks of wood laid across the ground to walk on, uneven and rough.

Set against the nearest quarry face was the shaft Eryk had mentioned. It was barred with two doors made of wooden planks nailed sloppily together, which creaked on their hinges as Eryk unlocked and swung them open.

Inside was a typical mineshaft, dark, damp, and smelling slightly of burnt rock dust. But underneath, there was definitely the undercurrent of something rotting. Necrophages, definitely.

“I’m going in. Lock the doors behind me. They’ll be agitated, and you don’t want one getting out,” Geralt instructed, pulling a vial of Cat from his bag. He downed it in one, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline through his veins as his vision sharpened and the shadows brightened. “Stay here.”

“Geralt—” Jaskier began, as if to follow Geralt.

“No,” Geralt growled. “It’ll be too dark to see anything, and you won’t get very far on that ankle. Stay. Here.”

Without waiting for an answer, he strode forth into the mineshaft, drawing his silver sword. The doors creaked shut behind him, plunging the mine into shadow.

Geralt kept his senses primed as he ventured forth, listening for any scrape of claws on stone or any scent of rotten meat. The tunnel split into two paths ahead; following his gut, Geralt took the left, which showed more condensation on the walls and sloped slightly downward.

The ground was worn smooth underneath his boots by years of miners treading over it, but when he concentrated, Geralt could pick out thin notches scored into the stone. Four deep furrows and a fifth shallow one set apart—the typical pattern of an alghoul’s claws.

And caught in patches here and there on the walls, little tufts of fur—dark, fully mature. Fuck. Alghouls were even more dangerous than garden-variety ghouls, their venom more potent and able to pierce a Quen shield easily with the ridge of spines on their backs.

Geralt dug in his pack for another vial, pulling out necrophage oil. He dripped it along his blade, coating the metal to weaken and poison the beasts. As prepared as he could be, Geralt crept forward down the tunnel.

As he rounded a final corner, he heard it: the rumbling growls of a sleeping alghoul. Its nest was up ahead. Geralt didn’t dare hope for an easy fight, but perhaps he could gain the advantage of surprise.

The alghoul didn’t rouse at his cautious approach—a good sign. It had gotten complacent down here, untouched by predators. Geralt raised his sword to strike.

Then—behind him. A slight shuffling, a small scrape of claws on stone was all the warning Geralt got as a second alghoul launched itself at him, a screaming growl tearing its way out of its maw.

Geralt swung his sword up just in time to deflect vicious claws slashing at his throat. He threw out an Aard with his dominant hand, knocking it backwards into the wall, stunning it just long enough for Geralt to whirl around again.

The other alghoul had been woken by the commotion, and attacked him with no less ferocity. One alghoul was difficult enough, but fending off two would be a challenge Geralt hadn’t had in a long while.

The fight was a blur. Geralt fell into rote patterns of slashing, blocking, dodging. What made it more difficult was fighting in such a confined space—there was scarcely ten feet of space between the walls of the tunnel, and the rocky ceiling wasn’t much taller than him. He had to be conscious of every single move, every foot he placed and every attack he made.

One lucky strike caught the female of the pair in the throat. Hot, sticky ichor burst forth from the wound, staining the ground and walls black. It shrieked and gurgled in pain, lashing out with the rage of a wild animal, but its strength rapidly failed.

The second one, enraged by the death of the first, redoubled its attacks. Geralt cast Quen right before its spines caught him in the face. His shield exploded and he got away with only a small nick over his eyebrow, and it gave him the opening to thrust his sword out and up into its soft belly, rending it open from groin to skull.

Its steaming innards billowed out, the stench of death rapidly filling the cavern. Geralt caught his breath, wiping sweat off his brow—the fight had been long, and even deep in here the heat of summer still penetrated.

He cut off the front claws of the two beasts as proof of his kill, then set about destroying their nest. A gruesome sight greeted him: a pile of bones, some animal, some human, most with bits of flesh still hanging off of them. It reeked like all necrophage dens did, and Geralt held his breath as he kicked away bones and set everything aflame with Igni.

His work done, Geralt hiked out of the mineshaft, his eyes slowly adjusting to the searing light of outside. Cat wore off shortly before he exited, a rare blessing not to have to fight off a headache as he talked to the contract giver.

Eryk and Jaskier were still waiting outside when he pushed the doors open, and had been joined by a small group of miners. All were sitting on assorted crates and boxes, dragged over to form a half-circle.

Jaskier, ever the entertainer, was in the middle of a story, complete with wild gestures and probably more than a few tall tales. As soon as Geralt approached, though, he paused, greeting him with a joyous “Geralt!”

“You shouldn’t be standing on that ankle,” Geralt huffed, throwing the alghoul claws at Eryk’s feet. “I killed the beasts. Two alghouls made a nest in the western tunnel. Shouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

“Ye killed ‘em already, Master Witcher? My, ye work fast!” Eryk crowed, picking up the claws with interest and examining them. “Vicious beasties, they had to be, with knives like these!”

Either Eryk was genuinely impressed, which was exceedingly rare, or he was trying to stiff Geralt on payment and hoped that compliments would ease the sting. “We didn’t agree on a price beforehand.”

Eryk dropped the claws. “No. I didn’t think ye’d kill ‘em so fast, to be honest. What’s the going rate?”

Geralt hummed, tilting his head. “Normally I’d charge one-fifty for necrophages.”

“But?” Eryk prompted, savvy to the kind of hard bargain men on the Continent drove.

“But alghouls are much more dangerous, especially in pairs.” Geralt paused. “Three hundred.”

“I don’t have that kind of coin, Master Witcher, not with business so slow. Two hundred.”

“Two fifty,” Geralt acquiesced, which was what he’d been hoping for anyway.

“Deal.” They shook on it, Eryk grimacing slightly as some ichor rubbed off on him. He wiped his hand on his pants. “Thing is, though…”

Geralt sighed. “You don’t have the coin.” Of course.

“But I will!” Eryk promised. “There’s a shipment pickup tomorrow morning, a big order from Novigrad. Come by tomorrow and I’ll have yer coin for ye.”

As if Geralt had any other choice. And he’d so been looking forward to a hot bath paid for with his newfound wealth. “Fine,” he growled. “Tomorrow morning.” He turned to Jaskier. “Come on, bard.”

Jaskier limped his way over to Geralt. There was no way he could walk all the way back to the inn like that, and Geralt had little stamina left to carry him. Not to mention the indignity of it all, which Jaskier would surely protest.

An idea struck Geralt. “May he borrow a horse for the way back? He can’t walk on that.” Plus it would be insurance, an incentive to pay Geralt what he was owed the next day.

“Geralt, I’m fine—” interrupted Jaskier. Geralt ignored him.

Eryk frowned. “I’ve got but an old nag, not fit for much carryin’.”

“It’s not far. A few miles.”

“Fine, fine, but I’m not payin’ for ye to stable her.” He led Geralt and Jaskier to the side of the large cabin, where four horses were stabled. He had her saddled up quickly, and Geralt helped Jaskier into the saddle despite his protests. Once settled, he did look happier to be off his ankle. Geralt resolutely didn’t say I told you so.

Geralt led her up and out of the quarry while Jaskier rode, throwing goodbyes out to the miners. He’d made fast friends, it seemed.

It was late afternoon, nearly evening, by the time they arrived back at the inn, both their stomachs rumbling. In the excitement they’d both forgotten to eat lunch. When they got close to the inn, Jaskier dismounted, despite Geralt’s attempts to keep him on the horse. “I’ll see about a meal,” he said, shooing Geralt off to the stables.

Geralt hurriedly got the old nag settled and followed Jaskier into the Cock and Crow.

And just in time, because Jaskier, always pushing himself too far, reached his limit as he started up the stairs. “Shit,” he cursed as his leg buckled beneath him. Geralt caught him underneath the armpits and swung him up into a carry, ignoring his wriggling. “I can walk,” he said mulishly, just for appearance’s sake, because he very clearly could not.

“You shouldn’t,” Geralt returned bluntly, pushing open the door to their room and setting him on his bed.

He knelt and pulled off Jaskier’s boot, ignoring the way he pouted. It was a good thing Geralt had brought his pack with him; he reached in and pulled out some old but clean bandages.

“Aren’t you always telling me to be more careful with myself?” Geralt lectured as he wrapped Jaskier’s ankle. Jaskier crossed his arms with a huff.

“That’s different. You hunt monsters; I apparently have trouble even walking right.”

“It’s not,” Geralt argued. “A sprained ankle isn’t nothing, especially if you don’t treat it properly.” Surely Jaskier knew the dangers—permanent damage, or worse. And for a bard that made his living by walking around the Continent after Geralt… “What’s this about?”

Jaskier sighed and hung his head, caught out. “I didn’t want to be left behind,” he admitted. “I desperately need new material, especially if I’m to please such a fickle crowd as the one here.”

“Material for your songs? That’s why you’re being so stubborn?” Geralt could hardly believe it. He knew Jaskier went above and beyond for his craft, but this…

The thing was, Geralt was realizing, was that Jaskier wanted. He wanted to the point of idiocy sometimes, beyond all logic. He would injure himself further in a heartbeat, just to follow Geralt into dark places.

Selfish.

Geralt held his tongue and began wrapping Jaskier’s ankle, firm but gentle with his movements, despite how he wanted to shake some sense into the bard. Jaskier, in a rare show of wisdom, kept quiet, even when Geralt accidentally pulled too hard and jarred his ankle. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“’S okay,” Jaskier replied. “Thanks.”

“Keep your weight off it,” Geralt instructed, standing and brushing off his knees. “It’s the wrong season for ice or snow to bring the swelling down, but I may have enough herbs for a salve.”

“You don’t have to do that, it doesn’t hurt,” Jaskier said quickly.

Geralt gave him a flat look.

“Alright, it doesn’t hurt much,” he amended. “Besides, you need those for your potions and whatnot.”

Geralt ignored him—he was doing a lot of that lately, he realized—and rifled through his pack until he found the herbs he needed. Jaskier scribbled in his notebook as Geralt ground them up into a paste, tasting it himself afterwards to be sure he’d gotten the proportions correct. Then he scooped it up into a small tin he’d recently emptied out, screwing the lid on and tossing it into Jaskier’s lap after.

The bard fumbled to catch it, almost upturning his inkpot onto the bedcovers in the process. With a yelp he barely managed to catch both, throwing a look at Geralt that suggested he was unamused. Geralt grinned back.

He left Jaskier to his songwriting while he went downstairs to talk to Sal. She was running plates out to the patrons, looking thoroughly harried in the rush of the dinner hour. Geralt had wanted a bath, but decided to risk her ire by interrupting just then, and instead sat down at the bar to order a flagon of ale.

He let the scents of the kitchen and the noise of the crowd wash over him, sipping calmly at his ale almost as if in meditation. Normally a crowd like this would welcome Jaskier’s playing—Geralt wondered if he would risk facing them again tonight.

Likely not without new material, Geralt concluded, and ordered another ale.

In the corner, two men suddenly leapt to their feet. “You cheatin’ bastard!” yelled one, face red with rage, almost the same shade as his hair. “I want my money back!”

“Cheating? You’re the one that cheated, you lying fuck!” Saying so, he pulled his fist back and slugged the redheaded man in the nose. Geralt grimaced, his advanced hearing picking up the sound of cartilage breaking under the blow. Blood spurted forth.

Geralt made as if to get up, but was beaten by a broad-shouldered farmer intervening in the fight. “Stop it, you two! Brendan!” he hollered, catching another swing that was aimed for the redhead’s face. “What would your da say?”

Brendan shrugged the farmer off. “He wouldn’t say shit, because you”—he pointed an accusing finger at the redhead—“got him killed!” He lunged forward again, was only barely pulled back this time.

“That weren’t me, it were an accident!” the redhead protested, muffled through his hand covering his nose and mouth. “He just fell—”

“He worked at that quarry for fifteen years,” Brendan snarled. “He knew the paths like the back of his hand! He could climb them in his sleep!”

The quarry again. Eryk had mentioned accidents earlier, and Jaskier spraining his ankle… Geralt’s blood ran cold. Was it possible there was something more going on than just the alghoul infestation?

It was too late to return to the quarry, the sun already setting. When he went back tomorrow morning to return the nag and collect his payment, he would inquire further into these accidents, see if there actually was a curse laid on the place.

For now, he went back upstairs to join Jaskier for dinner, turning the day’s events over and over in his mind. Jaskier plucked away at his lute, shaping a new melody, bouncing lyrics off of Geralt, who honestly couldn’t tell the difference between most of the choices Jaskier offered. He lay on his bed and pretended to sleep.

Jaskier shook his head in response to Geralt’s grunts and scribbled notes in his notebook, before finally declaring his masterpiece complete.

“I couldn’t find very good rhymes for alghouls, so I don’t want to hear any criticism about my wordplay,” Jaskier warned, strumming the opening chords on his lute.

The song was catchy, Geralt had to admit. Even though he hadn’t seen the fight in the tunnel, Jaskier painted an exciting picture of Geralt slaying the ‘dual alghouls’, resulting in his glorious victory after only six verses.

“Bit too long,” Geralt offered when Jaskier was done.

“How would you know,” Jaskier grouched, cracking his fingers. “Thought you didn’t like music. Or my music, at least.”

“You said it, not me.”

“Bastard!” Jaskier yelped, throwing a pillow at Geralt’s head. “Take it back.”

“No,” Geralt grinned, easily dodging the pillow and the second one that followed.

“Take it back! Tell me my songs are the loveliest you’ve ever heard!” Jaskier insisted, clambering on top of Geralt and pinning him down by the shoulders.

Geralt deftly rolled them over, switching their positions so that Jaskier was beneath him and he had the advantage. “What are you gonna do now?”

“This,” Jaskier cried, craning his neck to lick Geralt’s hand.

Geralt didn’t react. He’d seen much, much worse. “Oh no,” he replied, deadpan. “Saliva. Disgusting. Whatever will I do.”

Jaskier slumped. “You could at least pretend I have some power over you. I deserve to win sometimes.”

“I’ll let you win when you earn it,” Geralt suggested, letting Jaskier up. “That’s better than a hollow victory.”

Jaskier snatched his pillows up off the ground, dusting them off imperiously. “Just wait, Geralt of Rivia. You won’t even see it coming,” he threatened.

“I live in fear every day of when it will happen.”

“Good,” Jaskier replied, then yawned. “I’m going to bed. Songwriting takes it right out of me.”

Geralt wished him a good night, not quite ready to go to bed himself just yet. He meditated to the sounds of Jaskier changing out of his doublet and trousers into sleep clothes and bedding down for the night, softening into his quiet snores.

Without meaning to, Geralt was soon lulled to sleep himself, still thinking about the quarry and its mishaps.

Jaskier claimed to be feeling much better in the morning, especially after applying some of Geralt’s salve and rewrapping his ankle.

Geralt wasn’t able to convince him to stay at the inn, despite his best efforts, and so Jaskier rode Roach back to the quarry while Geralt led the old nag. The heat had broken somewhat, and it was a pleasant morning for a walk.

Before they even reached the quarry, however, they were met with a man coming the opposite direction. When he saw them he stopped and waited for them to catch up. As they drew closer Geralt realized it was one of the men from the mines, a younger one—Tomas, he remembered.

“Good thing you’re here, witcher. I was sent to find you,” Tomas said, motioning for them to continue back to the quarry with him.

Somehow Geralt knew this was about more than simply his pay. “What happened?” he growled, spurring Roach into a faster walk.

“Ronan went missing last night. All his things are still here, but there’s no sign of him.”

“You checked inside the mine?”

The miner shook his head. “Folk’re too scared. There’s talk—accusations that you missed one yesterday.”

“I didn’t,” Geralt said stubbornly. He was sure of it, and even if he had, the nest was still destroyed. “Sure he didn’t just run off?”

“Ronan wouldn’t. He’s kept this job for ten years, almost. Longer ‘n I’ve been around, for sure. I can’t see why he’d give it up, especially without telling anyone.”

Ever eager to save Geralt’s reputation where he could, Jaskier leapt in. “I’m sure there’s an explanation for all of it! And I know Geralt. He won’t stop until he gets to the bottom of it. Like a dog with a bone, that one. Or more of a wolf, really,” he cracked, winking. “In fact, you can tell your foreman that we won’t be accepting any form of payment until this is solved.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned, as neutrally as he dared.

“Yes?” Jaskier blinked innocently at him.

Geralt sighed. “Take Roach and go back to the inn.” When Jaskier looked as if he were going to argue, Geralt cut him off. “I don’t want her anywhere near this.” Or you, he didn’t add, because Jaskier would get into a snit about Geralt patronizing him. “You want to help? This will help.”

Jaskier huffed, but dismounted and swapped horses with Geralt. “This won’t work every time, I hope you know,” he warned, slinging his lute onto his back. “I’m only agreeing to this because I’ve already gotten a song out of it.”

“Duly noted.” Geralt slapped Roach’s hind flank, sending her back down the road the way they’d come. He hoped the pit in his stomach that formed at seeing them go meant nothing.

He turned to the miner. “Show me where Ronan was last seen.”

Ronan bunked with his mining partner of six years, Marik, underneath a sturdy tarp against the western wall of the quarry. The men’s belongings were scattered in the manner of one without a permanent home but with too many possessions to keep tidy.

Tools in need of repair rested atop a barrel littered with candle stubs that sat between the two paillasses. Marik, it seemed, had a habit of whittling, judging by the small wood shavings that littered the corners and the row of small figurines that were displayed proudly on a small table to the side. Ronan’s side of the tent looked as if he’d just stepped out for a moment—blankets crumpled, a pair of dirty boots slumped beside the entrance.

“Marik would have seen him last,” Tomas volunteered. “I think he’s working on the south wall today—I can get him, if you like.”

“Please,” Geralt requested. There were very few clues here as to where Ronan could have gone. For all intents and purposes, it looked like he’d simply stepped out to piss in the middle of the night and never come back.

Tomas ran off. Geralt examined the dirt in front of the tent, keen witcher eyes searching for tracks that might tell him where the occupants had gone—but the quarry was a well-trafficked area, and the soil was too sandy and fine to hold tracks for long.

Tomas returned shortly with a red-haired man behind him, wiping sweat off his brow as he ducked under the tarp. “Master Witcher,” Marik greeted, dropping his pickaxe with a dull thud. “You can find Ronan, then? Or avenge the beastie what killed him?”

“I’ll try,” Geralt promised. “Tell me what happened last night.”

“Not much other’n usual, honestly. Went to bed ‘round when the moon was high, both of us. I dunno what time it were when I heard him get up, but it were late, I know that. Not a hint of light in the sky. I thought he were takin’ care of business, y’know, and tried to fall back asleep. But then I heard a scream—and it were no fox, no matter what they say. I know foxes, and it were no fox.”

Geralt frowned. Was it foolish to hope that he’d simply been dreaming? Or that Ronan had misstepped in the dark, twisted his ankle, and was waiting to be found somewhere unharmed?

“Did you see anything? Go looking for Ronan?”

Marik hung his head, skin coloring pink. “No,” he admitted, “too scared, I was. Thought it might come and get me if I moved.”

“It’s alright,” Geralt said awkwardly. “Can’t blame you.”

“I should’ve,” Marik moaned, and to Geralt’s horror, started to weep. Tomas pulled him close, guiding his head onto his shoulder. “I should’ve gone after him. He were my partner,” Marik sobbed.

Geralt gave them privacy and exited the tent, heading towards the tunnels. He cursed himself for not preparing more potions—he hadn’t expected another fight so soon, but any witcher worth his medallion should have been more prepared. He would have to make do with his swords.

Inside the mine there was no evidence of recent alghoul activity. No fresh claw marks, no pungent scent of rot, no picked-clean bones. The nest still lay destroyed, nothing more than burnt ashes. He nosed around the site for a few more minutes before giving up. Whatever had taken Ronan wasn’t around right now.

He hiked back out into sunlight, where he found Eryk waiting for him. The foreman wore a grimace and held a pouch in his hands, bulging with coin. Geralt’s eyes narrowed.

“Witcher,” he greeted wearily. “More ghouls, then?” He shifted on his feet, coin purse clinking.

“Don’t see any necrophage activity. Nest’s still destroyed.”

“I can’t rightly pay two hundred and fifty crowns for a job not done.”

“Nor would I ask you to. How about half now—I need to restock on potion ingredients, pay for another night at the inn for me and my companion. I’ll see the job done, find whatever took Ronan, I swear by my guild.”

“You’re an honorable man, witcher. Here.” He measured out half the promised pay for Geralt, pocketing the other half. “Will ye stay tonight? We could use a watchman. And maybe yer eyes would catch things in the dark we can’t see.”

“Let me go back to town and prepare. I’ll be back by sundown,” Geralt agreed. He had already been planning to keep watch overnight, hoping his presence would prevent another man vanishing.

“Aye,” Eryk said, and left. His head was bowed, heavy with the weight of the situation. Geralt wished he could do more.

After leaving the quarry, he headed back to town, to the marketplace. He bought some more common herbs and ingredients there, counting out a good amount of Eryk’s coin. It was enough to make several elixirs, as long as he supplemented it with a few things from his own stores.

As he left the market, a sweet smell caught his nose, and he followed it to a squat building with a sign labeled BERELDA’S BREADS. A bakery.

Geralt hesitated, weighing the coin purse in his hand for a moment. “You know, a life lived without a little selfishness here and then is hardly a life worth living at all.” Jaskier’s words echoed in his head.

He ended up buying two sweet rolls, and a pouch of a half-dozen balls of fried dough when Berelda offered them at a discount, given it was so late in the day. “I’ll only throw them out tomorrow, better you have them,” she reasoned. He popped one in his mouth on his way back to the inn, savoring the way the sugar melted on his tongue and flooded his mouth with sweetness.

He wasn’t sure what had him in such a good mood—perhaps the fine weather, and the promise of a good mystery to mull over? Either way, it was dashed as soon as he got back to their shared room. He’d been—anticipating Jaskier’s reaction, almost eager to face both his endless questions about what he’d missed and his joy at being gifted a treat. And maybe a little bit of vindication, too, see, bard, I do know how to enjoy myself.

But when he pushed open the door and saw only Jaskier’s unmoving form tucked into bed, his stomach sank to the floor. No overexcited reaction to be found here.

Moreover, it was still light out—barely suppertime, by his reckoning. And the bard wasn’t usually one for naps.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, walking over to the bed and gently shaking his shoulder. His body jostled limply with the movement. Was he—? No, he was still breathing, just deeply asleep. Geralt checked, just to make sure. “Jaskier,” he called again, a little bit louder, and this time Jaskier groaned and buried his head into his pillow.

“What?” he asked, muffled by cloth.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“No,” he answered, and Geralt’s heart skipped a beat. “I was just woken rather rudely. What time ‘s it?” Oh. Just dramatic, as always.

“A couple hours to sundown. Why were you napping?”

“Dunno, I was just tired,” Jaskier answered irritably, finally rolling over and rubbing at his eyes. He looked decidedly rumpled, with sheet prints all up and down his face and neck and his hair rather unflatteringly sticking out on one side. And his eyes had dark circles under them, when Geralt looked. “Will you let me sleep in peace now?”

“Have you eaten?” Geralt persisted. He suddenly felt foolish—he wasn’t some stupid idiot courting a lover, bringing home sweets in hopes of wooing his beloved. Witchers didn’t do things like that. “I bought bread,” he said lamely.

Jaskier didn’t answer, and instead threw an arm over his face. Fine. If he wanted to go without eating, Geralt would let him wake in the middle of the night starving. He was grown and could make his own decisions. Even if those decisions pointed to something more worrying than simply a cranky companion.

“I’m going back to the quarry tonight,” Geralt informed him, sitting down at the table with his potion ingredients. Silence followed. “You shouldn’t come.”

Still no answer. Either he was already asleep again, or he was ignoring Geralt. Whatever. Geralt set to brewing a few doses of Swallow, a healthy amount of Cat, and while those were simmering, he distilled some blade oils.

He fell into a light meditation until sundown, when he would return to the quarry. But when he opened his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of Jaskier, out of bed now, standing in front of the window looking out.

“Stop walking on that ankle,” Geralt growled, fed up with the bard’s behavior.

He expected a reply of but the setting sun is so beautiful, such an alluring sight for a poet such as myself! or something equally inane, but Jaskier didn’t reply.

“The silent treatment? Really?” Geralt asked, standing up with the intent to make Jaskier sit down. But when he got closer, he realized that the bard wasn’t truly awake, his eyes half-lidded and unseeing. He swayed gently where he stood, uncaring of his swollen ankle or the cool breeze that skimmed along his collarbone and ruffled his hair.

Jaskier didn’t nap, nor did he sleepwalk, not in the five years Geralt had traveled with him. Something was very wrong. Geralt seized him by the shoulders. “Jaskier, wake up!” he almost shouted. Urgency curdled deep in his stomach.

Jaskier blinked slowly, once, twice, and then his eyes began to gain a little more life. “Hmm? Geralt?” he asked, coming fully awake. “Oh, fuck,” he cursed, and stumbled into Geralt, his ankle making its displeasure known.

Geralt caught him beneath the elbows, supporting his weight with ease. “Sit down,” he ordered, lowering Jaskier back onto the bed and kneeling in front of him.

“Was I… asleep?” Jaskier asked, having to clear his throat a couple times to get the grogginess out of his voice.

“You tell me,” Geralt replied, lifting Jaskier’s foot to check on his ankle. The bandage was loose, a swollen swath of black and blue peeking up around the edges. “Unless you thought this”—he held up Jaskier’s foot higher so he could see—“was a good idea?”

He winced. “Ow. No, I was dreaming…” he trailed off. His eyes were distant, unseeing. He sucked in a sudden breath as Geralt pressed too hard on a tender spot.

“Have you been applying your salve?”

“This morning, yes. Probably could do with another application.” He reached over to the table by the bedside, grabbing the tin of salve. He held still as Geralt unwound the bandage and spread some of the thick grease over the swollen area, finishing by redoing the bandage tightly. “Thank you. I honestly don’t know what came over me.”

“Dreaming of running from jealous spouses?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier huffed out a small laugh. “No, I don’t remember. It was dark, I think? It’s sort of fuzzy. I don’t really remember.”

Geralt wished he hadn’t promised to spend the night watching over the quarry. Someone should be here at the inn to make sure Jaskier didn’t go diving headfirst through any open windows while asleep.

“You know, I might go play. I’m feeling much better after that nap,” Jaskier proclaimed, as if he could read Geralt’s mind. “Oh, don’t give me that look. No dancing on tabletops for me. I’ll stay put in my seat, don’t worry.”

Geralt still doubted Jaskier’s ability to give a lowkey performance, but it wasn’t as if he could forbid the bard from playing. “Alright. I’m headed back to the quarry to keep watch overnight.”

“I hope that includes a significant increase in pay due to overtime. Oh, who am I kidding, you probably offered to do it for free. I know how you get with contracts like these.”

Geralt sighed. “I’ll be back in the morning. Lock the door and window tonight in case you get up again.”

“Yes, mother,” Jaskier sighed. “Now help me up?”

***

link to chapter 2 will be added here soon!

#the witcher #geraskier #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my fic

91 notes · View notes