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dalamjisung · 3 months ago

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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

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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.

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

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burningcheese-merchant · 24 days ago

Text

@cuppajj

You're 👀👀👀👀👀 you're what 👀👀👀👀👀

Instructions unclear, I have now created terribly drawn angst (I used that one drawing in this post as a reference for Spice in his container, I'm sorry it looks so botched, lvl 0 artist here lol)

And some written angst too, because I only really sort of know how to draw with words, not a pencil (under a cut so nobody has to bother with it if they don't want to)

"Father?"

Nothing.

"Are you awake? Can you hear me?"

Pepper Jack already knew what answer Burning Spice would give: none at all. Had eavesdropping on Celestial Cheese and the cheesebird in charge of "Energy Management" (this is what they meant by that?) not told him so ahead of time, then the sight that awaited him while he tiptoed through the halls and fluttered down the stairways would have instead. A man he'd always known to be larger than life, now a shell of his former self. Reduced to nothing but someone else's battery. Trapped behind glass, never meant to exist in the world again.

He knew all of that already. He knew in his heart that there was no point in talking to him. But he would try anyway. He had to.

"You look..." He paused. "You look thin. Thinner than... than the other you. You look weak."

The room itself felt warm and stuffy from the heat and electricity constantly pulsing through all of the machinery, and yet the glass felt startlingly cold when he placed his hand on it.

"I hate seeing you like this, Father," he said. "It isn't who you are. It's not who you're supposed to be. It... hurts. A lot."

The glass vibrated faintly; just enough for him to notice the pushback against his fingertips.

"Do they... really never let you out? Are you stuck inside of this container all the time? They never let you out to eat? Or move? Or even breathe?"

He leaned in a bit more, trying to get a closer look at Burning Spice's face. His eyes were closed, eyebrows slightly furrowed. His mouth was set in a small frown. Pepper Jack's gaze flickered downward - there was no rhythmic rise and fall of the man's chest like there should have been. The Light of Destruction - still embedded in his chest, to Pepper Jack's surprise; why wouldn't Celestial Cheese just take it while he can't fight back? - still gleamed, even submerged in that strange water and with the glass trying to hide its shine.

"I don't want you in there. I want to let you out..." His fingers curled into a fist. "I'm strong... Stronger than I look. One good knock and it'll rain glass all over the floor. It's nothing to me. But..."

He knocked on the glass once. Just the edges of his knuckles pressing against it, not even hard enough to make it rattle. Just for the sake of hearing the sound.

"But what would it do? What would happen to you? I know they're... draining you, but I don't understand how. I don't know how this container works. What if breaking it while you're still inside only hurts you more? What if it kills you?"

The thought of the glass shattering, granting Burning Spice his freedom back, only for him to slump and crumple to the floor completely lifeless made Pepper Jack's chest ache.

"I... I can't. I can't do it, Father. I'm scared of hurting you. Everyone else has hurt you enough already, haven't they? I won't make it worse if I don't have to."

He paused again. "Father... I..."

It was silent for a little while before Pepper Jack broke it with a soft sigh.

"... I know you're not really my father," he murmured, eyes downcast. "My father is... at home. Somewhere far away from here. You..." He stopped again, unsure of what to say next. "You... You're the version of him that's still a Beast. You're the one who hasn't changed."

He placed his other hand flat against the glass, feeling the faint vibrations latch onto his skin and crawl up his fingers and wrist. "Gold- Celestial Cheese told me you're a monster. That you've hurt and killed thousands. That she defeated you soundly and saved the world from your reign of terror..." He tilted his head. "Well... I guess that technically happened. But... Celestial Cheese... She scares me. She looks like my mother, but she isn't her. My mother would never act the way she does. She..." A lump rose in his throat that he quickly swallowed. "She wouldn't do any of this. She's not a conqueror, she's not a Beast. She wouldn't trap people in jars and lock the jars in a basement, taking away all of their strength until they're nothing but husks. She wouldn't even do that to her worst enemies. I don't even think she'd do it to you."

The Golden Cheese of this world wasn't always like this, was she? She was a hero like his mother - like his Golden Cheese - once. Even if only once...

"I hate to admit this, but... another reason I don't let you out is because of who you are. You're still a Beast, just like her... If I let you out, won't you just go back to hurting people again? What proof do I have that you wouldn't? If you did, would I even be able to stop you?"

Memories of his many spars with his own Burning Spice flooded his mind. Even holding back, the man was so powerful. Pepper Jack always improved, he walked away from every challenge his father gave him a better fighter than before - but he's never walked away the victor. Not yet. And he doubted that a battle against this Burning Spice would be any different.

"Whatever happens after that would be all my fault... I can't allow it. I can't let you be a monster again. I'm sorry."

Somewhere in the back of his mind and the bottom of his heart, Pepper Jack hoped Burning Spice would turn to him and say that it was alright. That he understood his decision. That he respected him. That he was proud of him.

Like his real father would.

His eyes started to blur.

"I..." Both of his hands balled into tight fists now, trembling with raw emotion. "But I still want to. I want to let you out. I know I shouldn't, but I- I don't want to see you like this. She's hurting you. You might deserve it, but- but I don't want it to happen. I want you to be free."

His lip began to quiver. "She scares me. She really does. When she smiles, her eyes don't. She's... I know she's lying. She's lying to somebody, somewhere, all the time. She treats me well, she dotes on me, she tries to act like my mother. But she's not. All she does is wear my mother's face like a mask. I don't understand who she really is, I just- I know it isn't good. She's greedy, but the wrong kind. The kind that leaves everything and everyone hollow, then scratches and howls at the empty space because even that isn't enough. It's scary.

"I just... F-Father, I-" He didn't mean to say that. He knows that's not his father, he really does. He really does... "I don't know what to do. I don't know where I am. This isn't the Golden Cheese Kingdom, not really. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be around Celestial Cheese. I don't even want to be around the cheesebirds, they- they sound like robots sometimes. Like all they know how to do is bend to Celestial Cheese's will. My mother doesn't expect that from our cheesebirds, she's kind and generous and- and she doesn't make them help her hurt other people! My- m-my mother-"

The memory of his mother - of his Golden Cheese, the only Golden Cheese that should ever have existed - made the warm tears that been threatening to spill over for ages finally do so. "I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go. Everything is all wrong here. There's something wrong with everyone, every single person I meet. I try to pretend, I try to act like I'm happy and grateful, I-I let Celestial Cheese hug me and take me places and pinch my cheeks even though I hate when she touches me! But I- I don't know if I can keep it up! I don't even know if she actually believes me!"

Never before had he ached for his mentor's guidance more than he did now. Smoked Cheese always told him he was clever and sought to make him more so. No blade could ever be sharper than one's wit, he said. He taught Pepper Jack to lie. He taught him to be crafty. To do what he had to, when he had to. He had to now, more than ever before - and he was cracking. The mask he wore in this place was ill-fitting. Every day, he felt it slip off further. His only solace was that Smoked Cheese wasn't there to tell him how disappointed he was in his failure.

"You're all I have," Pepper Jack cried. "There's nobody here for me. I'm all alone. I don't even know how I got here! I came here because- 'cause there's nowhere else for me to go! I don't have anyone to talk to! You- Y-You're in here, you're in this container, you can't lie to me or hurt me or- or do anything else! You'll sit there and listen and you won't interrupt me or talk down to me like she does!"

For a moment - just one moment - he thought he saw Burning Spice stir, just a little. It only made him cry harder.

"Please, Father!" he cried, raking his fingers over the glass - right above his chest. Right above the Light of Destruction. "Please, you have to wake up! I need help! I-I need your help! I don't know what to do, I hate it here, you're all I have, please!"

Nothing. Just like when he first called to him. Just like when he'd bothered saying anything else.

He crossed his arms and laid his head against them. "I just want to go home... I don't belong here. Please... You have to wake up. You're all I have in this horrible place. Please, Father, I need you. I-I want to hear your voice again. I want to hear you laugh at something. You're all I have anymore."

Through his tears and down through the glass, into the strange water, right at that godforsaken Soul Jam, Pepper Jack's lips curled into a small, bitter smile.

"You're all I have now... And you can't even hear me, can you?"

His only answer was the steady thrum of all the machinery.

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

I mean... Can he? Can Burning Spice hear him in there? 🤔

Lol imagine he can and he's just like "wtf is this kid on about I don't even know you Jesus fucking Christ"

#cookie run kingdom #beast ancients au #baau fanart #burning spice cookie #celestial cheese cookie #golden cheese cookie #burningcheese #goldenspice #cookie run oc #cookie run fankid #again this is their son I'm obligated to tag the ship lol #I'm sorry for that. Not trying to force the ship onto anyone at all

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keen-li · 8 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

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leavingsunsets · 7 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."

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janasrdhr · 9 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

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stars-obsession-pit · 6 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

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centipede-gutzz · 6 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

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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

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obsessedtomone · 10 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

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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

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return-to-twisted-wonderland · 1 month ago

Note

🔆anon

Fun fact, if Kit didn’t disappear, she probably would have been very close to Kalim in personality. If less extroverted.

Intentional ignorance and all.

— —

Disappearing Children: Kit

—

Vil doesn’t know if he is truly unlucky anymore. It is certainly what he thought when he first had the responsibility of a young child dumped on him, but actually spending time with Kit is not so bad.

The Kit he’s used to has always been snarky. Hiding a sharp mind and a sharp tongue under a saccharine mask. Yet, if this is not some elaborate prank, apparently Kit was the exact opposite as a child.

She is still a child with energy and impulsivity, sure, but she is just the sweetest thing. She loves to spend time quietly watching Vil, or anyone in the dorm, even if she does interrupt every now and then. She also loves having Vil style her hair, and she seems to love him doing small amounts of makeup on her so she can look exactly like him.

And she actually listens to him for once. Vil is finally free of the teaming freshman undermining his every order.

One thing does feel shocking though, is Kit admiting to her creative mind. Vil was always aware she had one. No one does as much scheming as her without one. No one gets into Pomeifore without one. But she seems to revel in doing anything creative. From simple drawing to Vil allowing her to play with some cheap makeup. It seems to be the most fun she’s had in forever.

She also mentions having a favorite movie that Vil remembers being in all too well. A simple holiday movie Vil worked in with Neige when they were kids. Her not recognizing him as the villain is another thing Vil isn’t sure if he’s lucky to have or not.

He at least wishes Rook could have seen more. But alas, Rook was the only one Vil could have sent to grab Fellow and Gidel with certainty the job would be done in a timely manner.

For as much as Vil wants to deal with a Kit that won’t try to undermine him at every opportunity, he knows it’s not only important for them to be updated on the situation, but also be involved if they can be. It does deal with her well being after all.

—

Vil: *standing at the gates to NRC wih Kit around midday*

Kit: *looking around while Vil holds her hand to make sure she doesn’t wonder off* Those place looks so pretty!

Vil: It definitely does.

Kit: Can I come here again?!

Vil: I don’t think you have to worry about that. You’ll definitely see this place again.

Fellow: *quickly walking up to the gate with Gidel and Rook with him* Kit?

Kit: *turns her head to Fellows voice and feels Vil let go of her hand* Fellow?

Fellow: Kit! *runs up to her, giving her a big hug* Are you ok? How do feel?

Kit: *trying to squirm free* I’m fine! And you look weird.

Fellow: I probably do don’t I?

Gidel: *puts a hand on top of his head before dragging outwards and over Kit’s head, comparing their heights*

Fellow: Yes, yes. You’re taller now. That’s what four years does.

Kit: Who is he?

Gidel: *looks sad*

Fellow: *pats Gidel’s head* Don’t worry, she probably won’t remember a lot of things. We can help her. *turns to Kit* This is Gidel. He’s part of our family now too.

Gidel: *nods before hugging Kit*

Kit: *happily hugs back*

Gidel: *breaks the hug and tries to give her the hammer*

Fellow: Don’t.

— —

Screw Crowley, Kit will get her family time! And I do this, so I can actually write the Fellow angst.

He’s not free from the pain.

(Practically wholly unrelated side note that for some reason this snippet made me think of. Snow White takes place in Germany, and that’s why Vil has German roots, right? So why is Rook French? Neige means snow in French too, why is he French? Is it just because of ‘romance’?)

Gidel, please do not give Kit your hammer

(one of the jokes is that Rook just likes the french culture and only knows a few words in French)

#twisted wonderland #return home au #🔆anon #kit honest #fellow honest #twst gidel #vil schoenheit #disappearing children

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inciting-chaos-series · 2 years ago

Text

The Night Shift: Chapter Three

If you'd like to be tagged when new chapters are posted let me know! -Ghostiewvlf

✦✦Update: Edited slightly :) -Ghostiewvlf

✦ The Night Shift Masterpost ✦

➢ Tag List: @valleys

➢Summary:

You work the night shift at a local dog kennel for boarding and daycare. You love the peace and quiet of the shift, but just when you get comfortable- a few break-ins happen around town, and upper management decides to place your quiet, brooding, shift lead on the schedule with you.

☽✧ Chapter Three: Musically In Tune ✧☾

-Y/N POV-

Your second class wasn't supposed to start for another fifteen minutes, but you really didn't have the energy to get out of bed. You hated that you only had one day off work, sure your job was alright, but using your other day off as the day to schedule all your classes was really not the move, because now you didn't want to attend the lectures. The text that popped up on your phone didn't help focusing much either. Why was he texting you? Did he want you to come in on your day off?

Logan 🐺:

Hows school nerd?

“Weird” You said aloud, laughing to yourself as the small adrenaline rush of having to come in dissipated.

You:

Not exactly better than work, but not worse

Logan 🐺:

I can always call you in for an ‘emergency’ haha

You:

No thanks! Lol

Next thing you knew your phone was flooding with sad cat memes about school. Your face quickly started to ache from laughing so much.

Logan 🐺:

Don’t tell the boss im memeing on company time

You:

You are my boss stupid

Logan 🐺:

Oh, yeah… guess I am ;)

It was so bizarre seeing this side of him. In just a week he had gone from this “quiet shift lead that no one really wants to talk to” to “coworker that you look forward to working with everyday” to now, acquaintances? Friends? You didn't really know. It was hard for you to draw lines between stages of friendship at work. Maybe he was just being nice to make you feel more comfortable around him?

Logan 🐺:

So… what class are you in right now?

You:

Just about to start music theory

Logan 🐺:

RIP haha

Need any help studying? I’m pretty good with music

You:

I might take you up on that actually lol

I never have time for this class so now im nearly failing

Logan 🐺:

Bring your stuff next shift and we’ll work on it :)

You:

Thank youuuu :’)

You turned the screen off on your phone and tried your best to pay attention during your lecture, but you couldn't shake the nervous energy you had built up thinking about the next shift working with him.

It didn't take long for the next workday to arrive. You had barely slept at all, staying up studying and trying to catch up in your other courses was beginning to take a toll on you. You arrived barely on time for your shift, quickly getting the usual updates from departing day staff before clocking in. You headed into the break room and set your things down before collapsing into the seat and catching your breath. You’d just barely remembered to grab your music theory notes and homework, collecting them in a rush and making you run just enough behind that you’d be late if you picked up food for the shift. At least you would be able to get some help from Logan tonight though and hopefully your next exam would go over better than the last.

The day shift quickly finished up and clocked out. Logan seemed to be running a bit late, so once everyone else had clocked out and left you began the duties of the night. You were on your second rotation of letting dogs out when you heard his car pull up, so you didn't turn to look when you heard the backdoor open and a few more dogs run out. You continued playing with one of the more shy dogs that was boarding for the night and watched to make sure everyone was getting along.

“Hey there.” You felt a warm hand on your back, a sharp contrast with the bite in the cold fall air. You tried to ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach acting up.

“Oh hey!” a slightly-too-loud laugh falling from your lips.

“I stopped at Starbucks and got us some coffee.” An uneven smile painted his face, making him look almost comical with his cold bitten nose and pale skin, along with those signature dark circles under his eyes.

“Oh wow, thank you! I was running late and wasn't able to stop for anything today.” You smiled and accepted the warm cup and took an eager sip, grateful to have some caffeine for the night.

“Oh huh, perfect timing I guess? You're welcome.” He chuckled and offered a smile just as warm as the cup in your hands. “I can order some food or snacks later too.” He took a sip of his own cup and huffed, his breath forming a small cloud in front of him due to the freezing temperature. As much as you despised the cold and how it made your already poor circulation in your hands feel like pins and needles, you did really love the aesthetics of it: the clouds of breath, the way it made faces redden, the smell that was draped across everything the night before a big thunderstorm or heavy snowfall, the oversized hoodies and layered outfits that everyone seemed buried in, big boots with chunky socks- it was all very comforting in a way, it seemed to round out the edges in a very sharp world.

The night went by much the same as it began. There was a very comforting feeling about the weather and the mood that you were both in, even the dogs seemed very subdued. Time seemed to go by a bit slower, which you happily welcomed after weeks of vigorous study.

Though time seemed to be lulling along peacefully, you got your nightly duties done in record time. You blamed the unusually well behaved dogs. It wasn't long before you were both sitting at the front desk again, joking around and playing some light music. He hesitantly showed you a few of his favorite bands. You assumed his apprehension was from fear of judgment. Lucky for him, you both enjoyed darker, more melancholy music.

You both listened to his Spotify playlist while he helped you on your coursework. You bopped along to several songs you recognized as he read through your work. BONES, Xavier Wulf, and several other artists played softly through the speakers.

“Mm, yeah not this one…” You sheepishly laughed as you clicked skip on Cholesterol, not needing to feel too melancholic tonight. He merely chuckled and nodded with firm agreement. You were surprised by his knowledge about music, he helped you get through the entirety of your homework, as well as explained a bunch of the questions you’d missed on the last exam you brought with you.

“How do you know all this? I feel like you know more than my professor honestly…” You laughed as you finished up the last question and shut your notebook. He’d managed to explain everything all in a way that was actually making sense to you. He’d even related back to songs that played out softly on the speakers and used them as examples to the concepts.

“I sincerely fucking doubt that…” He chuckled tiredly. “I just- know music I guess… I spend a lot of time with and around it, I uh- I’ve even made a couple songs myself…” You smiled as you caught the red tint on his heated cheeks.

“Wait really?” You gave him a surprised look.

“Yeah, I don’t know if they're any good, but I like making them.” He shrugged and passed you the keyboard and mouse to play music.

“Can I hear one?” You pried, making him slump into his chair further and groan softly.

“Ahh I don’t know, y/n…” He huffed and rolled his eyes playfully. “I haven't really shown anyone, but I guess if you promise to not make fun of me…” he turned slightly and narrowed his eyes at you, “...or tell anyone here- maybe I’ll bring my computer next time or something…”

“Hmm, we’ll see…” You squinted back, jokingly challenging him before laughing.

“I’ll write you up I swear to god y/n…” He joked back, laughing along with you.

“OoOkay boss man…”

➢ Links:

✦ Fics Masterlist ✦ The Night Shift Masterpost ✦ ✦ AO3 ✦ Wattpad ✦ Art ✦ ✦ Requests Masterpost & Guidelines ✦ Request Trope List ✦ 。:゜:.*∵✧∵ ☽ Submit A Request ☾∵✧∵*:.゜: 。

#The Night Shift #TNS #corpse husband #corpse husband fanfiction #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x y/n #romance #slow burn #coworkers to lovers #fanfiction #fanfic #mutual pining #fluff #angst #Ghostie Howls #J Writes

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albatmobile · 2 years ago

Text

and even when the sky falls, I’ll be there pt. 3

[1] [2] [3] next: [4] || ao3

𓅪 Rated: M | 3.1k includes: angst, fluff

𓅪 established fem!reader x jason todd, fem!reader x roy harper, eventual fem!reader x Jason Todd x roy harper

The earthquakes start that same night, taking down entire cities as unstable energy from Earth’s core is released into the mantle.

Time is never guaranteed, you know this, but you still can’t help but wish for just a bit more of it.

“Flash has been in the speed force since this morning,” Roy hesitantly tells you, not sure if you’re in a state to hear it, but the fate of the world was hanging in the balance. He needs you to come back to him. He needs you to be present.

There’s no more time for you to wallow in your zombie-like state.

Batman calls an impromptu meeting and you don Catwoman’s leather bodysuit for the last time. Roy, the kind man he is, had washed it at some point, so it’s no longer stained with your lover’s blood, though you know the fibers still carry it deep in their threads. In this way, it’s a deep-set, stubborn stain and a morbid reminder that death doesn’t leave so easily.

“You know, you wear it better than she ever did,” Roy says. You snort lightly, knowing he’s just trying to get your mind off of what happened last time you’d worn it. “Sorry,” he sighs, “I’ve, uh, never been too good at goodbyes. Not that this will be one, though!” he hastily adds at your quirked brow. “It’s been a crazy ride. No matter what happens, I’m glad we had these few weeks together.” His light green eyes twinkle, sending your stomach into a frenzy of butterflies. “It’s been… a gift.”

If there was any way to say fuck-all and stay with him in this safe haven, you’d take it in a heartbeat. Anything to stay with him for just a moment longer without the fate of the world weighing down on you like a thick smog.

“It has,” you say, taking his hands into your own. “But it’s not over yet, remember?”

That’s exactly what he’d told you during the last battle.

After all the support he’s given you, now it’s your chance to return the favor.

“Of course,” he sighs. “Even if it is us just waiting around to see if we die or not.”

You laugh lightly, “Yep. At least we’ll be the first ones to know.” He winces slightly. “I was just joking.”

“It’s the truth, though. We’re all relying on that replacement core, but what if it doesn’t draw enough energy to replace what Apokolips has already destroyed of it? What if, no matter what, we’re fucked?” He rubs at the crease in between his brows. “We can’t ignore the fact that Superman doesn’t have the composition to get anywhere close to the heat that surrounds it anyway. It’s like the more I think about this plan, the more holes I find in it. It’s essentially all relying on this damn suit.”

Whatever remains of your heart breaks. You’ve never seen Roy so disheartened.

Batman, alongside Superman, end up creating a replacement energy core using an energy-secured capsule that can hold Captain Atom. Superman is then supposed to use a specialized suit that will, hopefully, allow him to withstand the environment, as well as the radiation, surrounding the Earth’s core. Batman, however, only had time to create one suit, thus the fate of the world rests on Superman alone to get the replacement core into place.

You just hope it’ll be enough.

It’s a plan with many flaws, as Roy’s pointed out many times, which does nothing to calm your nerves. Regardless, you’re determined to remain as upbeat as you can. Even though it might be your last hour on Earth, at least you’re here with Roy.

Flash is set to return from The Speed Force, but the big leagues aren’t waiting around to see if it’s going to work. Rather, Superman and Batman are busy bustling around your new base of operations in Happy Harbor. They’re hoping to use the volcano at Mount Justice to more easily infiltrate down to the Earth’s core.

Heat-resistant drones were inserted into the volcano’s branch vents and have been digging down through lava chambers and through to the mantle. At this point, they haven’t stopped digging since they started, which was a week after you’d lost Jason. Even in this short time, the few remaining drones are nearing the outer core and are set to shut down a few miles short of breaching it.

When you actually arrive to the main scene, Captain Atom is already fully integrated into the replacement core with Batman helping Superman suit up. You watch silently as Batman points out certain switches and buttons as he straps the man of steel into, well, a prison of steel. The bulky suit seems to be the base of the suit Batman had used to fight Superman all those years ago and the irony doesn’t seem to be lost on either of them.

It’s not exactly the same, though. Batman’s been tinkering away at the suit ever since he’d finished the drones, modding it specifically for the obstacles of the mission. The most significant change is the addition of nth metal, compliments of Hawkgirl and the Thanagarians, to the already titanium exterior in hopes that it’ll be enough to withstand the extreme heat.

Then, it’s time.

Batman nods once, but Superman seems to understand the unsaid goodbye after years of knowing the man of such few words.

Now, everyone’s gathered on the platform stationed at the mouth of the volcano, but Roy tugs you away.

It’s hot as fuck up there, so you don’t complain when he leads you down to the beach below. There are a few stragglers hanging around in the vicinity of the dirty, soot-covered sand the two of you plop down in, but they’re far enough away that they can’t hear you.

“It could work,” you say, though you can hear the dregs of doubt that litter your words. “It, at least, seems more solid than what I’d originally thought coming here,” you school your voice better this time and Roy has the decency to nod, if only to quell a tiny bit of your anxiety.

The sand you’d scooped up streams through the cracks in your fingers into little piles in front of you and Roy. It reminds you of an hourglass and the heavy feeling in your stomach that follows has you stopping in your tracks. Your soot-dirtied palm stills midway from picking up another handful of sand, knowing your fate is just around the corner- that you’ll come face to face with it in mere minutes.

You are not afraid.

Scratch that-

The Earth rumbles out another, albeit marginally smaller, earthquake. Still, the quake produces enough force that Roy ends up covering over you to protect you with his body.

When the shaking finally subsides moments later, you find that Roy’s arms still remain around you. You relax into his hold but nudge his head with yours until he finally shifts back enough to come face-to-face with you.

“I…” he huffs and his eyes crinkle slightly in the process out of aggravation. “I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

“So you keep telling me,” you tease through the steady forming tears in your eyes.

He wipes your tears away before they can even spill. “Please don’t cry, gorgeous.”

“Sorry,” you apologize with a tiny laugh.

His touch on your cheeks lingers until he gently caresses your cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You nod. “I…” you trail off.

I love you.

“I know,” he insists, his eyes search yours earnestly. “I want forever with you, too.”

Your happy laughter bubbles into tears when the weight of the situation settles down on you again. Roy has a habit of taking you out of your worrying, but it doesn’t mean he can completely prevent it. At least not forever.

You can’t help it, but you break down. Roy’s right there to keep you together.

Moments pass, looking into each other’s eyes. You don’t know how long it’ll take, but you try not to think about it and fight your racing thoughts to remain in the moment.

It feels like hours and, yet nothing at all as Roy holds you close, hands sifting through your hair like it’s the only thing keeping him present. Waiting is a constant debilitating, internally wrought, sickly dread that consumes every sense with tar-like tentacles. With so much riding on this one plan, it’s hard not to let the worry consume you while the seconds heavily tick by.

Screams.

Roy releases you momentarily to search around.

The others on the beach come closer to ask if you know what the screaming’s about, but you hardly know anything that’s going on.

“Did it work?” you ask, but it seems like everyone’s just as confused as you are.

Heads turn as everyone looks around for answers but find none.

Suddenly, there’s a huge rumble that’s grand enough to send boulders tumbling down to the beach. The loudest thunder you’ve ever heard in your life crashes against your eardrums, washing directly over Roy’s rampant concerns.

“That one side of the mountain is going to cave in,” Roy repeats again, shaking you out of your stupor. He doesn’t need to say any more for you to realize what it means.

It didn’t work…

Why wasn’t it working???

Seconds tick by, then Wonder Woman drops Batman and the other League members off onto the sand while rocks on the other side continue to tumble. Everyone from retired superheroes to mutant kids who look fresh out of elementary school scatter around frantically, looking for some kind of direction, some kind of plan B, but there’s nothing of the sort.

The Amazon flies back up one last time to grab the last remaining member from the platform. Batman.

“Superman’s vital signs cut off,” Batman states gravely once his feet hit the unsteady ground.

“What are we going to do?” Wonder Woman trails off, looking around for an answer, but there’s none to find. “Is there anything we can do?” Her voice grows increasingly worried, which does nothing to quell the sinking feeling settling uncomfortably in your stomach.

The rumbling only continues to intensify.

Batman’s silence is deafening.

You’re fucked.

You’re all fucked.

After all this bullshit, after all this fucking planning and you’re still fucked.

Roy seems to understand this at the same time you do because he focuses his attention on soothing you. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m right here,” he says, looking awkwardly toward Batman for some reason, but you can’t dwell on it long. Hell, you can hardly question it when you only have mere moments left with him.

You waste no time in capturing his lips with your own before he can say some dumb shit like, ‘It’ll be okay.’

You don’t care about the stragglers on the beach, it’s your last fucking moments alive and all be damned if you aren’t going to get some sort of fucking action.

You forcibly push Roy backward, giggling when he lets out a shocked, not to mention disappointed, grunt when his ass hits the ground. He doesn’t have time to question the action before you’re climbing into his lap and guiding the rest of his body down to the dirty sand below. You take a moment to appreciate his mundane beauty that seems nearly ethereal to you in your last moments. How the black, clouded sky does nothing to dull his radiant, effervescent charm. Your fingers trickle through his soft hair as the fiery strands tangle with the ashes and scattered shells that litter the beach below.

It’s hard to close your eyes because you want to revel in Roy’s beauty forever, but, nonetheless, they slide closed as his mouth moves slowly and tenderly against yours. It’s the last thing you’ll ever do and you know it, so you breathe your remlaining life into the kiss until Roy’s responding just as desperately.

His hands shamelessly move from the small of your waist to the globes of your leather-clad ass with a guttural moan. You find yourself inadvertently bucking into him when you hear a cacophony of screaming.

“YOU HAVE TO GO BACK!” Wonder Woman’s yelling from somewhere close beside you. “GO BACK AND STOP THIS!”

You gasp, trying to pull away, but he pulls you right back in to prevent you from seeing whatever horrors are descending. Tears trail from your cheeks to splatter across his freckled ones as you force yourself to focus on his tender touch.

“GO BACK!” More desperate pleas join in.

The screams only continue to get louder and, this time, Roy finally pulls away.

A burst of red and yellow comes into focus and stops right in front of your tangled pile of limbs.

Flash.

“Uh,” he scratches at the back of his head, looking around confused, “I don’t think that worked.” He puts his hands on his hips as he faces Roy’s way again. “The world is still ending and shit, right?”

Roy nods, unable to formulate a further response.

Wonder Woman and Batman sidle up to the group. Her panic is palpable enough that Flash backs up when she reaches him. Her strong arms grip Flash by the shoulders as she hurriedly relays, “It didn’t work. None of it worked.”

Batman finally speaks up, “You need to go back and stop this all from ever happening, Barry.”

Barry?

Panic sets in as her words settle over you.

You pull away from Roy’s bruised lips realizing you aren’t ready to give this all up. You don’t want to remove what happened between the two of you from existence.

You can’t.

You refuse.

One look down at Roy proves he’s already thinking the same.

“You can’t!” you exclaim helplessly before you can even realize the words have escaped.

Both of them turn their attention to your precarious position with confusion written all over their faces.

"Aren’t you, er," Flash trails off. All the while, he looks down at the two of you, still in each other's arms, with obvious hesitation before clearing his throat and trying again, "Weren’t you with Red Hood?”

You hope the glare you give him is enough to kill. Well, maybe not actually, considering he’s essentially your last hope, but still, the sentiment remains.

What confuses you even more is Flash also looks awkwardly at Batman as he addresses your new relationship. Batman, though, seems more preoccupied with saving a group of remaining League Members from debris coming from the collapsing mountain.

“Seriously?” Roy sighs, finally releasing his hands from your ass to help you stand on the shaky ground.

“What?” He at least has the decency to look somewhat abashed.

“Barry, I’m like 50% of the reason she’s even still breathing right now. It killed me to see someone I cared about, to see her like that,” Roy says, shaking his head. “I wanted to help however I could. For Hood’s sake and hers. And y’know, maybe selfishly my own, too.” The redhead looks down in shame, but you’re right there with a comforting squeeze on his bicep.

At this Flash’s, well, Barry’s face falls.

Even Wonder Woman looks at you with that same pitying look you’ve resented all these weeks.

“Don’t worry,” Flash tries to calm the lot of you, though his confidence, or lack thereof, leaves something to be desired. “I’m going to fix this. I’m going to fix everything. I know what I need to do.”

It does just the opposite.

“You see,” you sigh, looking at Roy from the corner of your eyes, “there’s a slight problem with that.”

Wonder Woman glares at Flash, growling, “We’re running out of time. There are no more ‘slight problems,’ only the main, big one.” She motions aggressively to where Batman stands solemnly, overlooking the remnants of his failed plan.

Flash makes to run off, but you can’t let this be it.

No, you won’t allow it.

It’s a knee-jerk reaction, one you don’t even realize you’ve made until his red costume is firmly clenched in your grip.

“Wait!” you exclaim. You grab his shoulder forcefully, all while scanning around the area desperately. “Does anyone have paper?”

It’s then that you look down to find all the loose paperwork that litters the ground and waste no time gathering it up. You see The League’s crest at the top of the page and assume this will be enough to convince Jason that, yes, this is real.

You don’t have any time left to search for a pen and realize there’s only one way you’ll be able to write anything. If anything, you hope that this will further cement to Jason that it’s actually you writing this to him.

Wasting no more time, you remove Catwoman’s mask from your head. You rip one of Roy’s arrows from his quiver and cut a long, shallow line right above your eyebrow, using the excessive spillage as ink with your finger as the quill. As savage as the spot you picked sounds, it’s a lot less painful and more fruitful than cutting anywhere else. Anywhere else, per se, like your finger, wouldn’t have produced nearly enough to write what you need to say with such little time remaining.

This doesn’t stop the Flash and Roy from staring at you in absolute horror as the entire right side of your face becomes coated in a curtain of crimson.

“Babe, what the fuck?” Roy’s voice is guarded as he rips the arrow out of your hand, wincing at the blood that drips from his grip as he does.

“What?” You look up from the beginnings of your crude writing. “We’re all about to die in this timeline regardless,” you say with a shake your head like it’s the most obvious thing in this ending world. “I need myself to know that you took care of me,” you look up shyly, “that you love me.” You hold back your tears for the league member’s sake and continue writing.

When you’re done, you hand him the wet paper with your clean hand. Flash stays for a brief moment more, watching as your attention settles fully on the redheaded man next to you.

Roy wastes no time in gathering you into his arms, drawing you in for a chaste kiss with his chapped lips that causes your heart to swell at the bittersweet situation. The kiss quickly deepens into something more passionate, like he’s draining all the life he has left into it- into you.

You look around at the remaining members as they take in their final moments, then focus back on Roy. Your rock, your love.

“I should’ve done that when you first asked me last week,” he chuckles somewhat bitterly.

“Oh, you’re telling me?” you laugh with tears in your eyes as your lips meet again.

The world is ending.

The world is ending and you have Roy.

You pull away from his lips, opening your eyes just in time to see a white flash spawn across the expanse of the sky and consume it just as fast as it appeared.

It’s actually over.

A/N: I'm a loser if u wanna know my calculations for how long it took superman to reach the core check out the author notes here

next chap is the last one!! (i had to split it in two bc the next scene is so long lmao)

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#reader x jason todd x roy harper #reader x roy harper #reader x jason todd #jason todd x reader #my fic: sky falls

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