#that’d be exceedingly embarrassing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thranduilsperkybutt · 1 year ago

Text

requirements.txt=unsatisfied

Pic source: 1

Pairings: Johnny Silverhand/V!Reader; Exceedingly minor Goro Takemura/V!Reader alluded to Warnings: Endgame spoilers; Arasaka!ending; I take liberties with the ending (everyone lives AU); yearning; fighting; nsfw banter (no actual explicit behaviors); angst with a happy ending; mentions of canon-typical drug use and violence Word Count: 9,936 words Reader Gender: Female Author: Meg Summary: Johnny always wants a lot of things--- a smoke, a good fuck, for you to turn the radio to 107.3 instead of that new age crap you like. In a perfect world, he'd like to have his own body back, too, but this isn't a perfect world. This is Night City, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to forgive you for going and doing this. Turns out that being in love requires being unsatisfied. A/N: Look. I finally finished playing the game as corpo!V and I will not live with these endings, alright? I'm gonna make my own.

“Think they make shitty motels like this just for screw-ups like us?”

You make a point to continue staring at the ceiling of the ‘shitty motel’ room, deep breathing the mildew and age-old cigarettes. He isn’t wrong, but you don’t want to hear it right now. He always has a way with words. Wiping your hands down your face, you do your best to ignore him, but Johnny wasn’t the most dismissible parasite you’ve ever had.

“’Parasite’s’ talkin’ to you, fuck-up,” he flicks his cigarette butt at you in retaliation for the thoughts in your head and it glitches through your thigh with a fuzzy tickle in your neurons. “Do ya’ really think Arasaka is gonna’ just let you waltz away after grabbin’ that stuck-up bitch princess of theirs? You’re fucked.”

“Was fucked before that, Johnny--- royally, if you’ll remember,” you groan, and turn away from him. He appears on the other side of the bed, leaning over it to glare at you. “Got you to show for it, after all.”

“Why are you so chill about this? Takemura fucked you both by deciding to take a life-sized souvenir from your trip to Cherry Town---"

“Cherry Blossom Market---” he barely acknowledges your interruption; you doubt he cares about the situation past hearing himself talk either way.

“--- and you’re just gonna’ do what? Sit here like a ditched date, waitin’ by the phone for that ‘Saka scum to call?”

“Johnny,” you push yourself up into a sitting position, headache threatening a presence at the back of your skull. The edges of his shoulders have that glitchy quality you’ve come to know follows his movements at times when he crosses his arms, but his glare is clear as ever.

“What? Don’t like me callin’ him that?” he rolls his eyes as he certainly feels your annoyance spike, “Jeez, didn’t think you could ride ‘Saka’s dick any harder, but if you literally want to---”

“What crawled up your holographic ass and died tonight?” you bark back, and the glint behind his eyes tells you that this is what he wanted all along. A fight, interaction, anything other than you just melting into the stained mattress of this motel room while the fan drones overhead in excruciating monotony. Johnny’s at his worst when he’s bored or cornered, you’ve found.

“I don’t know, V, maybe the fact that while I’m livin’ in your head, I’ve gotta’ listen to all your disgusting little thoughts about that Grade-A asshole? I’ve never had a dry spell that’d make me wanna’ sleep with a corpo drone, but maybe old habits die hard for you, huh?” You try to ignore his jab at your corporate background, but you know he just can’t help himself, “At this rate, alert a joytoy pronto, because I think I’ll throw up if I gotta’ watch you eyefuck your ronin anym---"

“You’re so fucking annoying sometimes, Johnny, you know that?” you rub your temples, trying to bite back the heat in your cheeks. No telling if it was from embarrassment at his inevitable acknowledgement of your major-league crush on Goro, or an oncoming stroke. At this point you are wishing for the stroke.

“You say that, but you’re not havin’ to watch how pathetic you look waitin’ on Takemura to call. Shit, even that cop you turned down would be better than this guy.”

Rising to your knees, you point a finger directly against his chest, feeling the fuzzy presence of your fried synapses mistaking him for something real at your fingertips, “Know what? Maybe I will fuck Goro the next time I see him, just to screw with you. Maybe I’ll finally get some peace and quiet when you slink back to God-knows-where to hide in my head while I lay back and take it from the big, bad, ‘Saka scum.’”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he growls down at you, the fire in his eyes flickering from your own to your lips and back again. “If you wanted me gone, you’d’ve taken those omega blockers by now.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’d take a half-dose of pseudoendotrizine just so I could kick your ass, if it wouldn’t mean kicking mine, too.”

“Now, there’s a thought,” he reaches out, pushing you back by a phantom grip on your shoulder. Your body flings itself onto the mattress without a thought, “But I don’t need a pill to kick your ass, remember?”

“Asshole,” you grumble defeatedly, but his anger seems to dissipate, if only a little.

“Bitch,” he chuckles, and it’s a short sound of disbelief. “Don’t pout like a damn kid.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re kind of mean, Silverhand?” you look down to where he still stood beside--- no, knelt onto, now--- the bed. His lips are quirked into a slight smile, one brow raised like he doesn’t quite understand just why all your annoyance has seemed to sink away into the dingy carpet and rotting walls of this place. Maybe it’s the exhaustion settling into your bones?

Or perhaps it’s the uneasy feeling in your gut when he looks at you. Despite the mountain of resentment your soul screams that you have every right to have at him for stealing your life away from you with every waking second, you can’t seem to bring yourself to hate him.

He clicks his teeth thoughtfully, dipping his weight onto the knee he has on the bed, but it doesn’t creak under his weight or acknowledge his presence, “It may have come up, once or twice.”

He isn’t really here, the soft static framing his hard edges reminds you.

“Why, then?” Why does he keep falling into the same pattern? Why does he treat you like this? Why does he look at you like that afterwards?

You don’t ask any of those questions, but you don’t have to. He’s in your head, after all--- but you think he’d be able to figure them out even if he didn’t have a front-row seat to your every thought. You still aren’t sure how much of your consciousness he is privy to, but you know it’s enough for him to know more about you than any other person ever has.

At this point, he might know your mind better than you do.

You wish you could read his half as well.

“Maybe I just don’t like watchin’ you run head-first into what’s bound to be another shit-show’s all, choom,” he deflects, but his eyes don’t turn from your gaze. There’s something guarded in them, sure, but they soften all the same.

You sit on his bullshit explanation for a few seconds, tasting the thought on your tongue, “Is that what we are, Johnny? Chooms?” It’s an unsatisfactory descriptor, but you don’t know if there’s a word in the English language that can accurately describe what you are to each other.

“I don’t know, V. Are we?”

Before you can even think of an answer, the sound of your holo ringing breaks through your ears and Goro’s image appears in your optics.

Johnny huffs and just like that, any softness in his gaze disintegrates with a roll of his eyes, “Go on--- know you’re giddy as a schoolgirl to answer that.”

“Fuck you, Johnny,” you grumble, before picking up the line and watching him straighten up off the bed before disappearing from your gaze in a static glitch. “Goro---”

“V, meet me, quickly as you can. I’m sending the coordinates.”

---

Your fingers run over the markings of Johnny’s initials you’d just carved against the metal. It’s jagged, raw, and as good a headstone as he was ever going to get, given you’d probably never find where his body had been truly laid to rest. In a city like Night City, after so many years? He’s lucky enough that Arasaka had dumped his body at all, instead of incinerating it like most folks these days.

“There, how’s that for a marker?”

Johnny leans back from where he’d been moping and gestures to your makeshift headstone, “Say this was my real grave, what would you write? ‘Here lies Johnny Silverhand…’”

The words roll around your head in tandem with the pit of dread in your stomach. It didn’t feel right talking to him like he was dead, even though the rational part of your mind knew it was true. The real Johnny Silverhand died more than fifty years ago, and you were left talking to a ghost--- a copy that seemed close enough to the real deal, but you never would be able to know if he was a good one. More recently, though, he’s started to seem just as real as the ground you walk on and, while you know that’s something to be deeply worried about, you can’t help but have come to enjoy his company.

When he’s not being an asshole, that is.

For better or worse, he was, “The guy who saved my life.” You’d been through so much--- everything--- together. It hadn’t been intentional on his part; he’s only a piece of broken prototype tech going haywire in your head, but it was still true. He’s saved you in more ways than one, lately.

The words sink into him, dragging his shoulders down like the same ache you feel in your soul. His eyes meet yours beneath his sunglasses, holding you in a regret so deep that you think it will swallow you both with the knowledge that he’ll be the death of you.

Johnny reaches up, metal fingertips clicking on his shades in a way that’s so honest in your ears that it’s difficult to remember it’s just another one of your disconnected mind’s lies anymore, “You don’t know how much I want that to be true.” He pulls the barrier from his face to dangle between his knees as his free hand wipes at the perpetual dirt on his skin, “Listen, I realize I’ve fucked up a lot of things. Either let down or used every last person who gave me their trust--- blind, selfish bastard that I was--- but I’ve managed one thing, for now. Not to fuck this up. What we have.”

Johnny’s always wanted a lot of things--- a smoke, a good fuck, for you to turn the radio to 107.3 instead of that new age crap you like. He's rather demanding, day in, day out.

You've been privy to his every request as it flits through your shared head for long enough that he’s come to annoy you nearly as much as he's grown on you. He’s like moss overtaking a stone, so slow that you don’t realize it until he’s covered all of you. He’s changing you into something neither of you can quite recognize anymore, and as the days pass, you worry you’ll never be able to wash him away and return to the person you were before him.

Worse, you don’t know if you will want to.

“What do we have, Johnny?” you sigh, looking up at the light-polluted sky. You weren’t far enough out of town to see stars, just the dim void and flickering city lights reflected on the clouds above. Maybe if you were at camp with the Aldecados, you’d spot a star among the dusky sky. Maybe life would seem simpler, easier, “I don’t know what you want from me.” All you know for sure is that you were growing so tired of the fight. There’s this hurt in your chest; you can’t tell if it’s yours or his. Maybe it’s something you share. Maybe this is what he means.

Or something close to it, “Most of who I thought were my friends, well, it turns out they couldn’t hardly stand to be in the same room with me. But you?” You hear him pause, but you don’t dare to look at him. There’s a stammer in your chest, and you’re terrified at what it means, “You’re forced to be right fuckin’ here, twenty-four-seven, and you don’t seem to hate my living guts.”

This silence is something you can only achieve on the outskirts of the city, but you know it would be worse if you were further away. It’s almost excruciating, being alone with your thoughts--- being alone with his.

“There a point in there?” your heart aches for him, and you know he can feel it. It’s more than pity, more than friendship, but you try your hardest not to think of what it could possibly mean--- let alone, say it.

He knows, though. Of course he does. He has to.

“Just that… I think you’re my first real choom, even though you’re a real bitch sometimes.”

Your head lulls forward, and it takes all your strength to muster a glare at the pained smile dancing at his lips. There’s more to it than that, you both know it, but you’re grateful that he’s feeling somewhat merciful tonight--- it was something you didn’t know he had in him.

Maybe it’s only something he has in him when it comes to you.

“Chooms, huh?” tilting your head, you pretend to mull it over like it’s a proposition of eddies from a fixer. Playing it off with a shrug, you concede, “I could get used to being Johnny Silverhand’s choom, I guess, even though he was a total dick at first.”

“As if you didn’t deserve it,” Johnny smirks.

“Uh, remind me again, who’s been whining about missing his smokes since day one?” it’s a half-hearted blow, and his widening grin shows it. “Better yet, beggin’ me to get my rocks off?”

“My own personal hell is being stuck inside a non-smoker, and it doesn’t help that you’re practically a nun,” you toss a rock at him for that, and it goes straight through his chest like he isn’t even there. He isn’t, but he grins at you anyways, “Still… who’d’ve thought we’d make it this far?”

You sit there for a beat, feeling your own smile turn at your lips, before sighing, “You know, if you really want a marker, we could get you one at the columbarium.”

“For what, an empty box?” shaking his head, he puts his shades back on to perch atop his nose.

“Please, I have more of your stuff than even your most devoted fanboys. I don’t need it all. We could, I don’t know, ‘retire’ something of yours there. You know, as a symbol,” his gaze weighs heavy on you, and you can’t for the life of you understand what’s going through his mind. It frustrates you nearly as much as his stare seems to, and you shift your gaze back to the sky in your attempt to escape his holographic scrutiny.

“Let me guess, you’ll bring me flowers every day?” it surprises you that his tone isn’t mocking, but rather curious. “Would you visit his grave?” he seems to ask.

Trying to lighten the mood, you tease, “You know me, too busy trying not to die for all that.” You look back to him with a wink, “Plus, preem flowers are expensive these days, choom. ‘Fraid you’ll have to settle for the synth ones. Besides, you seem like a cheap date to me.”

“Bitch.”

“Just say, ‘Thank you.’”

It’s as close as either of you will come to what you really want to say.

---

From the roof of Misty’s building, it’s almost as if the troubles of the city no longer exist. You think you understand why Jackie found his choice up here. It seems as good a place as any to choose between life and death.

You would have to come to yours, too, soon. Maybe you already have, and you just don’t want to admit it.

The thought dwells in your head, and it feels like the only choice that makes sense.

“You’re not considering that. Please, tell me you’re not seriously considering going to those bastards again for help,” Johnny’s voice tears you from your dreadful stare over the neon Night City advertisements staring back at you. Promising everything from NiCola to the market version of the prototype Relic crammed in your head. “You’re trying to make sense of something that makes zero damn sense!”

You think he might wind up hating you forever, for this.

“Takemura said---” you begin, but he cuts you off as he stands from his spot on the ledge overlooking the city and takes up pacing.

“Fuck that guy!” Johnny rounds on you, fiery as ever--- but there’s something more terrible in his eyes; a grief that only comes from knowing he won’t be able to change your mind. “You’re just takin’ the easy way out! Those ‘Saka bastards won’t stay true to their word, you know. All they do is lie, and they’ll keep lying to you so long as it gets them what they want from you. You can’t really believe they’ll help you or me!”

The truth is, you’re too tired and you don’t know what’s worse: the taste of blood on your tongue, or the look of disappointment in his eyes.

You should be at least used to the blood by now.

“I’m dying, Johnny. Hanako is the only person who can maybe help us. Name someone else. Anyone! They made this tech---”

“They’re only gonna’ hurt you. We can do this a different way,” he stops pacing to stand so close that you can swear his boots touch yours. It’s as if you could feel the heat radiating off him, but that may just be the fever settling deathly into your skin, “Hell, give me the keys and I’ll get us to Mikoshi. I’ll burn this whole fuckin’ city to the ground to get you there and I’ll throw the pieces of you back together myself! I’ll gladly die trying---”

“But I don’t want you to die, either,” you fight back the tears at the thought of it, and he huffs down at you in utter exasperation, “can’t you get that?”

“Think they’ll do any better by me at Arasaka?” his chuckle is humorless, coming strained from the back of his throat. “You don’t believe that.”

“I can cut us a deal…” you look down, away from him, blinking out beyond where he stands towards the city lights. You don’t want to fight with him right now. You don’t think you can.

“With what leverage? Deals are only good so long as you have the upper hand, V,” he kneels into your eyeline, reaching out to grasp your chin in two silver fingers and turning you to face him fully. It’s gotten to the point that his hands on your skin feel akin to something real, dulled synapses firing with every spark of his hands on your skin. It’s how you know you’re close to the end. “Who is gonna’ be in your corner after they get everything they want?”

“Goro’s a man of his word.”

“You’re so fuckin’ naïve. Just as dumb as you were when you took that bullet to the brain from Dex, and I had to save your ass then, too,” Johnny growls your name like he hates you for it, but who knew how much you would come to welcome the end? Because when he frustratedly drags you forward by a harsh grip at the back of your head to eclipse his lips over yours, you can feel it. Him. In the burnt neurons of your addled mind, he is there against you--- kissing you with death on the edges of his lips, in all the heavy grief and anger that your choice has brought forth in him. It’s a terrible knowledge that pours from you into him of how much you’ve come to love him, and how desperately you know he’ll hate you for this, because maybe he’s right; maybe you really are naïve for wanting to believe in some way out of this.

He gasps against your lips like it wrecks him to the core; voice hoarse with the emotion as he curses, “Damn, you’re one stubborn bitch.”

“Inherited only your best traits, Johnny,” it’s just as dry on your tongue, and you lift your hand that has been clutching the omega blockers to your lips. You want to say it--- tell him in words how much you care for him. Instead, you murmur against his lips, “Please, don’t be mad,” and swallow the pills.

“I got a feeling you’re gonna’ regret this, choom, and I won’t be there to help you,” he leans away, and you feel the drugs start to kick in when his voice becomes more distant. “Don’t do this. Miracles like the one you’re hopin’ for don’t happen for screw-ups like us, you know.”

“Trust me.”

“I wish I didn’t trust you at all,” he sounds just as tired as you do when he says your name one last time before you blink and he’s gone. The bitter aftertaste of the pills tastes like betrayal on your tongue, and you already know Johnny will haunt you for the rest of your days.

You’re quickly reminded of why you’ve always hated taking the omega blockers.

It takes everything you have left not to sob at the feeling, like you’ve lost a limb--- gone numb and tingling painfully with the ghost of where he was. It’s as if everything is muted, including the deepest parts of yourself. You’re in a bad way, and you know you don’t have much longer now.

So, you find yourself committing to the desperate choice you’ve made, but you don’t call Hanako.

Instead, you call the only corpo you trust besides yourself, and hope it isn’t stupid to do so.

Takemura.

---

He is dressed in all white when he comes to find you at Misty’s Esoterica, looking like a harbinger of death in every sense of the word, “You… look like shit.”

“Don’t look half bad yourself, Goro,” you chuckle, but it turns into a wracking cough that leaves you with a more urgent taste of blood at your lips.

“Are you in any shape to negotiate?” he wonders, but it’s not threatening--- more of a genuine concern displayed with the arch of his brow. Johnny may disagree with you, but you still dare to think him a good man.

“Not in much shape to do anything, anymore, but I know exactly what I’m useful for. My eddies are on Hanako knowing this, too,” you lean on the arm he offers when you stumble on your way to the car. “After all, she sent you. Smart woman.”

“I would have come even had she not,” Goro confesses, pausing with his metal-laced fingertips on the back door. When you shoot him a questioning look, he offers you only a simple, “We have done much work to not see this through to the end, yes?”

“Who’d’ve thought we’d make it this far?”

Goro nods in agreement, before you’re sliding into the car behind Anders Hellman and hoping the Swede knows half of what he thinks he does about your condition, “Agreed.”

---

There’s something to be said for dying. It’s not always as bad as people make it out to be.

Some people would consider you dead. You always find yourself wondering what Johnny would think, these days.

You absentmindedly turn the Rubik’s cube in your hand with no real aim at solving it, letting your mind drift in the overly sterile room Arasaka’s finest clinicians have sequestered you to.

“Barbaric,” Goro called it once, but that didn’t stop them from putting you right back here again. The news plays softly on the screen you’ve been allowed to have after they determined it wouldn’t exacerbate your oversensitivity, but not even the privilege of phoning what few friends you have left can eat away at the boredom that’s settled into your bones in this space station. What was there to say, anyway?

Hi, it’s your favorite lab rat again! How’s it going in the real world? I’m going insane up here!

You can’t help but dwell on the thought that maybe Johnny was right about it all. Maybe it isn’t worth living if life is going to be like this.

Arasaka made no guarantees past what you had signed for on the dotted line the day Hanako had again sent Goro solely to break the news that your body was dying even after Johnny’s Relic had been extracted from your mind. It would seem the soft spot you’d held for Goro was well known by the Arasaka heiress. The woman is nothing if not strategic.

Hell, you’d gotten yourself a worse deal that day than you’d gotten for Johnny at the start of this. After all, you’d had nothing left to bargain with by then.

You were technically a construct, now. A lab experiment dreamed up by Arasaka’s best bioengineers and a team of physicians lead by Anders Hellman. Your current body was a multi-billion eurodollar joint Arasaka-Biotechnica venture that had only been put at the top of Hanako’s list when implanting her father’s construct into Yorinobu had gone awry. You’re convinced she would have been content to let you rot on a biochip in Mikoshi for the rest of your existence otherwise. After all, your contract never said when they had to provide you with a body, only that they were obligated to when the technology existed to allow it.

Turns out, rewriting someone else’s psyche does more damage to the physical body than anyone in Arasaka thought it would. You don’t know why it was such a surprise to them all when Yorinobu’s body couldn’t handle it, considering what it did to you. Maybe they just didn’t care, with how desperate they’d been to get any semblance of leadership back.

All you know is that Johnny Silverhand probably rolled over laughing in his grave, wherever it is, when Saburo Arasaka died a second, painful death.

They were using you as a top-secret prototype for Saburo 2.0, as you’ve come to call what will inevitably be the body they attempt to stick him in next. Sure, Arasaka as a company is facing charges in the New United States on Yorinobu’s death--- something about human testing that everyone knows will never stick--- but that will be swept under the rug much like any bad press Arasaka has gotten over this past year, with either cash or bullets dispensed.

“Shit,” you curse as you grow frustrated with the cube, tossing it onto the thin hospital mattress they kept on your bed. Rubbing your eyes as you try to refocus, it still feels strange to not feel the metal embedded in your skin. Worse still, you had to get used to what a fully ‘ganic body felt like again.

“You even human anymore, with all that chrome?” you can almost hear Johnny’s words to you when you got a new set of mantis blades from Vik’s clinic right before heading out for the oncoming fight at Clouds with the Tiger Claws. It was so long ago, now, but it doesn’t feel like it. That’s what Mikoshi does to a person, you figure. It’s hard to fully comprehend that so much time has passed.

Sometimes, you think you do hear him in more than just a memory. Like he’s still there, in your head. The doctors say it will pass with time, but they’ve been wrong before. Safe to say, Johnny literally changed your brain chemistry.

At least some part of you hopes they’re wrong, because you don’t know how you’ll make it in this world without him if Arasaka doesn’t stay true to their word.

It’s like you’ve lost a part of yourself, and you regret it more every day that you’re forced to live in this white box of a test tube that they’ve put you in. You should have died with him at Mikoshi. Gone out in a fiery blaze of glory and torn it all down with you, if only it would’ve made you feel a little better right before the end.

His last words to you had been as you went under the knife, right before they carefully excised him from your brain like a tumor.

“If this plan doesn’t work, Johnny--- If you wind up being right about Arasaka---” you had called to him through the code, as it weaved and curled around his form. It created and destroyed him all at the same time, but Johnny’s frown was still clear as day to you.

“I’m right about Arasaka,” he sounded nearly as exhausted as you had been on that roof the last time you’d talked. Defeated was something you’d never expected to see on him, “See? You haven’t changed at all. Still think you can outsmart the whole world, when you’re really just out of your depth.”

You didn’t want to think of this as a betrayal, but that’s what it was starting to feel like as you marinate in his sadness, “Look… I just want us to part as friends, for now. Just in case I don’t get to see you again after this, I wanted to tell you goodbye as proper friends.”

“Not sure that’s possible, anymore,” cut you to your core.

You wanted to reach for him, through the flickering code, but you didn’t dare. Heartbreak tastes a lot like blood on your tongue, even here.

“That’s what we are, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know, V. I just… don’t know.”

It was all you could remember of the interaction, though you’re certain there had to be more than that. Sometimes, when you dream instead of sleep, bits and pieces of it come back to you. That’s what you think it is, at least.

It’s far too real to be any normal nightmare.

It sounded too familiar when he said things like, “I just wish you’d stayed loyal to yourself,” or, “Those ‘Saka docs are cutting out a piece of us. Something we’ll never get back. It’ll leave a hole,” in those horrible dreams where memory emerges from the subconscious.

Perhaps this is just what you deserve. Your penance. The price you’ve got to pay for your choices, and the deal you made with the devil.

After all, nothing in Night City is ever free.

Multiple lifetimes of suffering, of being forced to go on without him? It’s almost poetic, in a Shakespearean tragedy sort of way. If this body fails, Arasaka will just test your construct in a new one until they get it right.

You’re company property and the Biotechnica cloning program is only in its infancy. Anders Hellman had told you as much himself when you’d asked.

“You’re one of the first successful cases, so far,” was, specifically, what he’d told you. It wasn’t much; Arasaka clearly wanted you in the dark.

You’d already proved too much trouble when left to your own devices, historically.

Have they brought you back before? How many bodies did you live and die in before this one? They could’ve wiped your memory of it, or maybe cut your engram into a million different pieces until something fit. You would never know the truth of what’s been done to you, most likely.

The door to your room slides open with a whirring noise, breaking you from your thoughts when the same scientist who you’ve come to understand is one of your daily handlers walks in, “It’s time for your daily tests.”

You try to not let the sarcasm drip from your tongue, but you’ve been failing at a lot of things these days.

“Always a pleasure to see you, too, Suki.”

You are dead, and this is just purgatory.

---

They eventually shipped you back to earth, “in accordance with the great progress you’ve displayed over these past few months,” as Anders had told it.

Earth was exhausting. Even though the Arasaka lab they had put you in had all the comforts of home, save for the overly-clinical aesthetics, it still took weeks for your body to become accustomed to its own weight. It was only then that you realized the space station’s simulated gravity was slightly less than that on earth, to allow for less pressure on your new joints and bones as your mind settled in. It’s perhaps why you had been able to relearn walking in the first place, because on earth you were much clumsier than you remember ever having been before.

There were bruises on your legs from the amount of times you’d tripped down or stumbled into something. You’re surprised they hadn’t yet put you in a padded room, but you must’ve been making progress, because eventually they sent a familiar face to see you again.

“おはようございます,” without translators installed into your body’s cyberware, the words that fall from Goro’s lips as he offers a slight bow take a moment for you to mentally decipher.

You don’t rightly care, because you’ve not seen a familiar face other than Anders since waking up in this body. Let alone, anything close to a friend.

He stiffens and freezes when you step forward to drag him into your arms, holding him in a tight embrace that almost has you melting against him with how much of a relief it felt to feel another person. It’s too forward, and you’d never have done it under normal circumstances---

But you’re so relieved to see him.

“You have no idea how good it is to see you,” you murmur as you release him, catching the slight tinge of a flush at his cheeks. He straightens his shirt, donned in black from head to toe. His hair isn’t pulled back, for once; it’s a little longer than when you had seen him last, “You look great, Goro.”

He seems to relax slightly at the familiar words, as if he hadn’t been quite sure what to expect of you at first. You watch as he takes you in, optics dilating as his settings switch with the distance you put between you again. It makes you slightly self-conscious under his scrutiny.

You know you look different. Sure, the core basics of yourself are the same, but you’re slimmer than you were before in this cloned body. Your cyberware is gone, as are the scars from a lifetime of mercenary work. Any tattoos you had were no longer etched into your skin, including Johnny’s. Then, there’s that new Arasaka logo brandished behind your ear that matched his own. The only good thing about your new appearance was that your hair had finally grown long enough to cover the logo when you left it down.

“You look like shit,” he cracks a smile after a second, “but it is good to see you, too.”

“What are you doing here?” you wonder as he walks further into your designated quarters, hands clasped behind his back, “Don’t tell me you get to tell a girl she’s dying twice.” He observes the room not unlike he did when he’d visited you on the space station, though seems less displeased with your living situation this time.

He doesn’t say, “barbaric,” at least.

It’s your words that earn his chastising side-eye, this time, “You should not joke. I do not want to do that again.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” the prodding does nothing to urge an explanation from him as he moves towards the desk on the other side of the room. The metal on his fingertips glints with sunlight as he moves the papers lying there--- some of the most recent status reports you’ve been given on your performance in Arasaka’s testing. A lot of it was redacted, but you were given just enough to know you weren’t dying currently.

That, they seemed to be taking as a win.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as his optics dart back and forth on the papers, reading them quickly. Surely, he’s had a briefing before he’d been sent to see you. Maybe he just doesn’t trust it was a full picture, or he wants to know what parts of it you know.

Settling into the couch, you reach for the tin of mints you’ve been hoarding recently. Popping one into your mouth, you turn it around as the fresh flavor bursts through your skin, scent sparking in your nostrils.

“Playing doctor now, Goro?” that gets him to look up from the papers to shoot you an unamused look that said just answer the question. You sigh, nail tapping the tin as you take a moment to get his answer, “Well, I’m tired and sore all the time from the physical therapy, and hypersensitive to almost fuck all. Oh, and they still won’t let me get any chrome installed--- even the minor stuff like optics.” You sigh, and the minty feeling tingles on your tongue, “Do you know how much deliberating it took for the white-coats to finally decide I was ready for an operating system update?”

“And the nightmares?” Goro turns away from the desk to instead lean on it, crossing his arms as he looks towards you. So, he had a more thorough briefing on your status than you expected.

You avert your eyes. It was bad enough having to talk to the mandated shrink about them. You really didn’t want to get into what plagued your mind with Goro.

“They’re nothing. It’s the physical symptoms that Arasaka cares about. That’s what’ll get Saburo a new body or not, right?”

He doesn’t let you off the hook that easily, “Arasaka has underestimated the impact of the mind on the body once already, at great cost. I do not think your mental state is considered ‘minor’ to your doctors and scientists, V.” After a moment’s pause, he confirms what you are thinking, “It is not considered something to be ignored by Arasaka’s board, either.”

“Is that what you’re here for?” you can’t help the irritation that seeps into your tone, “To give a first-hand report back to Hanako Arasaka and the board on my progress? Came to see the test subject for yourself instead of just reading the memo?”

“V…” his brow furrows, frown settling onto his lips as you turn your body away from him on the couch.

“Well, you’ve seen me! I trust you’ve gotten all the spicy details you need for your report on my mental status.”

“くそ,” he swears under his breath, as if exasperated with your antics. There is a stillness that comes with the silence between you after that, and you don’t dare turn to him. Instead, you focus on the tin in your hands and the mint in your mouth. Anything other than the pit in your stomach at the remembrance of the nightmares that plague you more nights than most.

There’s a shuffling of clothing and the sound of footsteps approaching as Goro comes to stand beside you, “You are… hypersensitive to words as well, it seems. Look at me, V.” You refuse to do it, and he sighs. In your peripheral, you can see him move to sit beside you on the couch, “Hanako-sama does expect me to relay your progress upon my return, but that is not the sole purpose for my visit.”

“Why’re you here, then?” it may be childish to still refuse to look at him, but you can’t bring yourself to. You feel as if nothing will be as it was before--- like even though you’ve fought terribly to return to normal, there would never be a moment when you felt like yourself again.

“You are being released.”

Your head snaps up to look at him when he says that, utter shock undoubtedly on your face. His own expression remains level, rock steady as he always seemed to be. You can see the truth of his words in his eyes; he has no reason to lie to you. You doubt Hanako would put him in a position to knowingly do so anyway.

“Released?” you breathe the word. You can’t quite believe the truth in his eyes.

“Hellman’s team has decided you have progressed as much as can be expected in a clinical setting. They think you are ready to return to a more ‘normal’ routine. I am here to tell Hanako-sama if I believe they are correct, based on what I know of you… who you were, already,” Goro holds up a hand, quelling the excitement he undoubtedly sees blossoming in your eyes. “This does not mean a return to what your routine was before. You cannot return to mercenary work.”

“So… I’m to live as a civilian, then?” you shift your whole body to face him, legs folded beneath you.

“In a sense… you will still be under Arasaka’s supervision, expected to meet every scheduled appointment and test. If you miss even one, you will be collected and returned here. There are other requirements, but I will leave those to be explained by your care team,” Goro watches as the news sinks in. He looks away, admitting, “I am maybe not the best to answer any questions you have about this.”

“Will I be staying in Tokyo?” is all you can think to ask, mind racing at the prospect of even a little freedom from this quarantine.

“At first, but I believe the goal is to reintroduce you to Night City should you continue to progress---” his words are choked off when you quickly grasp hold of his shoulders, pulling him into another hug. Just like before, he freezes, though this time he recovers enough to loosely hug you back.

“Thank you, Goro, for everything.”

---

The Corpo Plaza apartment didn’t feel like home, but it was closest to Arasaka tower and the Biotechnica building--- both of which you have to visit frequently. Well, at least it was less frequently than when you’d first been sent back to Night City, but it still wasn’t worth the constant drive from a different district.

Your fingers trace along the metal outlining your face as you glance at yourself in the mirror, having just finished a shower. The cyberware embedded in your cheeks is similar to what you had originally, though slightly different. You like it all the same, even if it had to be approved by Arasaka first. Every day you felt more like yourself, but you doubt you’ll ever be 100% you again. Too much has changed for this sense of newness to ever leave.

Even when you had reconnected with Victor, he looked at you like something uncanny. A dead woman walking. Misty could barely manage to look at you at all. Panam and the Aldecaldos had migrated; you were still waiting for her to return your call to figure out what they were up to these days. Judy was long gone, but getting out of Night City was maybe the best thing she could’ve done after everything.

Only Johnny’s old contacts seemed to remind you of who you were, and perhaps that’s because they’d never truly gotten to know you too well. Then, there was the feeling of loss that still gripped your soul. The ghost of Johnny Silverhand haunting your every thought and plaguing your dreams at night. You doubt you’ll ever be free of him. You hope he never fully fades from your psyche.

As much as it hurts, you still love him.

In hindsight, that’s probably the real reason why it would never work out between you and Goro. You’re still holding a torch for a dead man, and you’ll never be truly satisfied with anyone else.

In the end, Johnny has truly ruined you. Maybe it’s his last laugh: your complete inability to move on.

Your deal with Arasaka at the beginning had been for them to save him. To put him away into Mikoshi for the rainy day that the technology existed for a body suited for him to be a reality. The contract required them to release him into Night City after he had been deemed healthy, but you knew as well as anyone that contracts like these had loopholes even with the best lawyers pouring over them. Arasaka could truly do whatever they wanted with him once he was out of your head, other than destroying his engram.

When you had asked them the status on them holding up that end of your bargain, you had been met with cryptic answers. Hanako refused to meet with you, and you were in no shape without your combat cyberware to hunt her down yourself.

You’re terrified, honestly, at the idea of never seeing him again, nearly as much as you fear facing him.

Sighing, you step away from the mirror to move towards your bedroom while you towel-dry your hair as best you can. Tomorrow you were to report to Arasaka for your end-of-the-year testing and physical. Hellman would probably personally chastise you for the pizza you’ve ordered tonight. It was far from the approved meal plan, but it wasn’t as easy to find food that fit the diet and still tasted good outside of Japan. Finally, you understood Takemura’s issue with Night City’s synthfood.

Still, if one slice of pizza was going to kill you, you figure it’s a good enough way to go. Anything beats being an Arasaka pencil-pusher for the rest of your days.

“Night City Legend, Felled by PieZ,” the headlines would read, and it wouldn’t even mention the billions you’d cost Arasaka if you died.

Water drips down your jaw and you wipe it away with the towel before tossing it into the hamper. Scooping up an oversized sweatshirt that screamed support for the debut album of SAMURAI, it soaks up the few water droplets you’ve missed when drying and effectively covers the dog tags against your chest. Looking down at the hamper, you wish that Arasaka would sign off on you having a pet finally. Nibbles was doing fine at Victor’s, but you missed that furless cat.

The sound of your holo ringing is accompanied by Goro’s face flashing in your caller ID, and you pick up after a few moments, “Yo?”

“こんばんは,” Goro appears with his hair pulled up into a bun, and you could’ve been fooled that it was the old days if not for the few extra gray hairs he seemed to have now. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“What? You worried I’ll disappoint?” you roll your eyes at his pointed look. “You know I’m doing great now, practically would be back to my old self if they’d ever let me get my combat cyberwear.”

“And you know that Arasaka has invested too much in you for you to involve yourself in a Night City street fight. Do not think they will approve all your requests tomorrow, V, regardless of your progress,” he speaks reasonably, and maybe that’s what grinds your gears the most. You know good and well that Arasaka has everything riding on you. If you successfully keep from pushing daisies they’ll move forward with Saburo’s resurrection. Hell, maybe they already were. For their one and only living test subject, you’ve been doing relatively well, if not a little hypersensitive at times still.

“Not every fight in Night City is one you pick. What if I need to defend myself, huh?”

“Do you feel in danger? Has something happened?” Goro’s voice has an edge to it, concern, and you shake your head.

“I’m just making a point. Most folks who die in this city are just in the wrong place at the wrong time. My combat chrome would give me an edge again. Call it an investment in keeping me alive,” you snort, and Goro’s lips quirk upwards at your dry humor.

“You can plead that to the panel tomorrow after you pass all their tests. I think you should… what is the phrase? Not get your hopes up?”

“Did you call me just to bum me out, Goro?” you sigh, moving through your kitchen to rummage through your fridge and find a NiCola.

“Only to discuss reality.”

“I think you’re just scared I’ll kick your ass with all my chrome one of these days for how sassy you are,” the sarcasm drips from your tongue, and this time Takemura does sound thoroughly amused.

“I would like to watch your attempt at that, but I think you will need to remove the pizza from your diet first, V,” then, he hangs up. Never one for drawn-out goodbyes. You think you prefer it that way.

“I could’ve kicked your ass while on an only-pizza diet, once,” you grumble to the apartment around you, taking a swig of the NiCola. The ring of the doorbell breaks you from the thoughts of just how you can get back at Goro for that comment, “Speaking of pizza…”

Barefoot, you stroll towards the door, hoping the delivery guy followed your instructions to leave your food at the door. You don’t want to deal with awkward small talk with another human right now. Not bothering to check the cams to see if your instructions have been followed, you let the door slide open with a swipe of your hand against the key screen.

The door is barely halfway open when a hand catches your throat and forces you back into the apartment, a body forcing you up against the entryway wall as you choke out a startled noise under a firm grip. Terror claws at your skin as you grab at the arm attached to the hand before you manage to get a good look at him when he stills against you, breathing hard. It takes a moment for wide eyes to take in enough of his features to recognize the dark eyes staring back at you.

“J---”

“You couldn’t help yourself from being corpo scum again, could you? Selfish, that’s what this whole thing was--- what you are,” his voice--- oh, fuck, his voice, it rings in your ears in a way it never has before. Deep, familiar, and real. Strained with anger and choked with a breathless fury, but something else breaks against the fire swirling in his eyes--- some relief that settles nearly as devastatingly in your bones as his skin lays heavy and warm against yours.

You can’t believe it. You must be hallucinating. You’ve finally cracked and lost it. Something was malfunctioning in your head, certainly, because there’s no way he’s here.

Your fingertips shake as they reach out, away from the firm grip he still has on your throat, to ghost against the slope of his jaw. The scruff of a beard still remained there, but was shorter than how he had lived in your head. The scars on his face were gone, along with the tattoos on what skin of his you can see beneath the leather jacket he wears. His left hand was at your throat, and it was made of flesh and bone, not metal.

He swats at your hand when you finally touch him, a hurt in his voice that was so real that you couldn’t trick yourself into believing he was just a hallucination, “Did you ever think about what I wanted, huh, when you chose this?”

But you still can’t get past the sight of him, finally managing, “Is… it really you?”

“Fuck yes, it’s me. What’s wrong with you?”

“Johnny,” you gasp his name, nails digging into his pristine forearm, tears nearly blinding you as they well in your eyes at the overwhelming emotion that surges from your chest. You can’t hold it together, trembling against him, and only then does his grip soften at your throat.

His voice sounds devastatingly mournful as he growls in the quiet of your apartment, “You sold us both to fuckin’ Arasaka, V. Look what they did to you. You’re their property. Doesn’t it make you sick? Some things are worse than death, and I doubt ‘Saka will ever leave us to it, now.”

You hear what he’s saying. It sounds just like him, and your heart breaks at the sound. At the warmth of him, and the way his dark hair ghosts around his cheeks slightly shorter than you remember it being before. He’s really here, and he hates you.

His voice cracks, “Why are you crying?”

“I-I missed you,” you confess between the sobs, trying to swallow up the emotion. Damning yourself for not holding it together better than this at the sight of him, but it was such a shock, and only one thing could run through your mind as dreadful regret sank into your soul, “a-and now you’re going to hate me forever.”

He looks at you like he’s stunned by the words coming from your mouth, or maybe he’s shocked it’s all you’re capable of saying when you’ve betrayed him as thoroughly as he perceives.

“Shit, V,” he murmurs, reaching up to drag his thumb against your cheek and wiping away the messy tears that trailed there. He looks down at you like he’s almost annoyed at you for crying, but there’s a strange look in his eyes that you can’t fully place. “I wish it was something as easy as hating you, but I just can’t seem to catch a fuckin’ break.”

The confusion at his words nearly stuns your tears into small hiccups as you breathe, “What?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to hate you,” it sounds like dread on his tongue, like fear and grief for the situation you’ve both found yourselves in. It sounds like a confession, from his lips, “I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive you for what you’ve done to me, either. I haven’t felt right without you since I woke up in this damn useless body. Feels like I should still be in yours.”

A breathless huff escapes you, almost akin to a laugh, as you realize what he’s trying to say, “You missed me, too, huh, rockerboy?”

“You’re the only thing about this damned city I missed,” he crowds you in, pressing you fully into the wall with his own body. “Not drugs, not alcohol, not music--- I came back here for you. Bein’ clean and having to put up with those ‘Saka corpo-drones has been the worst time of my life, by the way, but I did it because they said you were alive.” He looks at you, a hint of incredulousness in his eye, when he asks, “What the hell kind of a deal did you make with them?”

You’re terrified to tell him, but you can’t lie to him. Not after everything.

“I’m the reason Saburo Arasaka will live.”

Johnny curses, fury twisting his face, but the defeat is worse, “I should hate you. Fuck, why can’t I hate you?”

“I’m sorry---”

“Don’t lie to me,” he cuts you off, biting, “you’re not sorry. You don’t care if Saburo Arasaka lives or dies so long as we get to live.”

“Fine, you’re right,” anger flares in your own gut, exhausted annoyance lacing your tone, “but is that such a crime? I want to be okay again, Johnny! I want you to be okay, too!”

“And you’ll sell our souls for it?!”

“God, you’re such a dramatic asshole!” you nearly scream, slamming your eyes shut in your distress, “Go ahead and blame me for falling in love with a dead man, too, then! I should’ve known it would kill us both, but I couldn’t stop myself from loving you, Johnny! I wouldn’t have been able to go on knowing I’d left you to die, okay? That’s why I did this! Call me a selfish bitch if you want to; maybe you’re right---”

“Yeah? Well, I guess maybe I’m to blame for falling in love with a selfish bitch,” he growls, so close that his nose touches yours, and your eyes snap open just as he leans in to crash his lips against yours. It’s not wholly unlike the last kiss you shared with him, when he was just sparks on your neurons, and yet it’s entirely different.

There’s a taste to him now, but it’s not the cigarettes you had expected, but more akin to nicotine gum. Has he stopped smoking? He smells like leather and some sort of amber-scented cologne that has you weak in the knees.

But the way he kisses you is what nearly scrambles all coherent thought. He’s so warm and firm against you, the reality of his touch, tongue, and lips against yours desecrates the memory of the slight stimulation your neurons had simulated when he’d been in your head. Johnny seems to be in no better a state at the feeling of you against him, gasping into your mouth when your hands find his hair to drag him closer, and all the while all you can think is how happy you are that he is alive here and now.

It barely feels like it should be real.

He parts from you, catching his breath and staring at you with a look that sends heat rippling down your spine, flushing your skin in its wake.

You blink at him, head lulled back, and whisper through the feeling of having him back, like some piece of your soul coming home, “Fuck, I missed you, Johnny, so much.”

“You’re probably the only one, choom.”

“That’s not true. There’s Rogue, and Kerry---”

“They got their closure when I was hitchhiking in your skull. How can I just waltz back into their lives now?”

You tilt your head at him, “It can’t be that the Johnny Silverhand who was never afraid to die, is actually scared to live?”

He scoffs, leaning away from you with a roll of his eyes, “Is that the kinda’ psychobabble your ‘Saka shrink has been feeding you?”

“Could be,” you shrug, and a glint of the light at the metal around your neck catches his eye, “don’t mean it isn’t true.”

“What’s this?” he invades your space again, dragging a fingertip to loop at the chain at your neck, leading beneath your sweatshirt, and tugging it until the necklace drags into view. Dogtags clink in his hand and his eyes snap back up to yours in shock, “These--- you still have ‘em?”

Your cheeks heat with the find, and you don’t know why it’s so embarrassing even after you’ve told him that you’re in love with him. Of course you would’ve kept his dog tags. It only makes sense, but you want to defend it. The words crawl up your throat, and it takes all you have to swallow them down.

Instead, you reach up to begin to remove them, “You should probably have them back, now.”

Johnny’s hand catches yours, stilling it, “I… don’t know if I’m ready to step back into ‘em right now. ‘Sides, maybe I like the look of ‘em on you.”

You search his gaze, but he seems sure enough about the decision, “Alright. I’ll keep them, for now.”

“Good… It suits you,” a ring of the apartment door breaks you from whatever scrutiny weighed heavy in Johnny’s eyes. “The fuck is that?”

“My pizza this time, I hope,” you huff, pushing him back just enough to escape from between him and the wall. “I don’t know if I can take two of you showing up at my door tonight.”

Johnny trails after you, watching you open the door and pluck the pizza box from the ground where the delivery guy had left it as instructed, “Good news, there’s only one Johnny Silverhand.”

Turning towards him, you smirk, “Luckily.”

“Screw you.”

“You wish.”

#johnny silverhand fanfic #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #robert john linder fanfic #cyberpunk 2077 female reader insert #female reader insert #newstuff female reader insert #author meg #fanfiction #fanfic by me #nsft #trigger warning #trigger: drugs

24 notes · View notes

chickensoup-4-mysoul · 5 months ago

Text

herculean (drrr x f!reader) - chapter 20

Chapter 20 - Ice Cold

synopsis: you run into walker on the way back from izaya's.

word count: 1,340

warnings: n/a

"never talks about the same thing twice trucks and records and paradise that frequency, she's got a frequency and I caught it flyin' over me,, frequency - sylvan esso

“Is the breakfast okay, dear?”

“Yes, sorry. I guess I’m just not very hungry.”

“That’s fine. Just take your time, okay?”

The man that was your father sat in front of you, eyes flitting between you and your plate. His gaze is affectionate, accompanied by a loving smile. It’s...comforting. This man, he loves you.

And you love him.

It’s a bit of a long walk home from Izaya’s. Relief fills your senses as familiar landmarks come into view. Only a little bit longer, now. The orange hues of the sun barely peek over tall buildings, cascading its last ounces of light. After everything that’s occurred, it felt odd to be walking around alone like this. You practically felt invincible, having dealt with the things you had.

“(Y/N)?”

The voice was too quiet to recognize, but it came from somewhere close to you. You survey your surroundings, searching for its source. As your neck cranes to check behind you, you spot a familiar face. You smile mirthfully.

“Odd seeing you on your own. What’s up?”

Walker walks up beside you, one hand tucked in his pocket while the other holds a bucket of ambiguous tools. “You’re not going to torture me, are you?” you prod, eyeing the equipment with humor. The question seemed out of nowhere to him, prompting the raise of his eyebrows. Following your gaze, he chuckles when he catches on to the joke.

“Nah, I’m just getting off work! These are my tools.” He rattled the bucket for extra effect. You forget that the man was an ice sculptor. It was such a niche, unfamiliar profession that you found oddly charming. He hadn’t talked about it very much, opting to relay his usual interests in anime and manga and the like.

“Oooo, what did you work on, today?” The two of you begin to walk together, aimlessly wandering for the sake of wandering.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Turtle doves for a wedding. If you’d ask me, I’d much rather carve something more lively—a heroine in rustic armor, or a six-winged super beast!” You huff a laugh—how in-character of him.

“I’m sure you would.” To your surprise, his face falls. It’s an exceedingly foreign sight, seeing anything but a smile on his puckish features.

“My bad, I know you’re not really into those things.” His smile is apologetic in a way that’s jarring to you. What was this about all of a sudden? Of course, you didn’t understand every reference he made, but he was usually so unabashed about it. Was it because Erika wasn’t here with him? The two of you walk in silence as you wrestle with your thoughts. Looks like there wasn’t much else for him to talk about.

“You know what I’d like to see a sculpture of?” you say finally. He turns to you, awaiting your answer. “Phyria, from Super Tragic High School Life? A little morbid, but that image of her, walking away from her own massacre, holding that axe. God, that’d be a sight.”

He stares at you for a moment, and you can practically see a buffering logo hovering above his head. In a split second, his face erupts into a smile—even in darkness, you can even make out a lively flush in his cheeks.

“Oh my god, I’d never even thought about that! That would look so awesome—I could definitely do some cool work with the torn fabric of her uniform. I just learned some really cool drip effects that would look great for blood!”

As you happily listened to him rave, you internally sighed with relief at the boost in his spirits. Not only that, but watching him made you realize something else…

Walker’s kinda cute.

You bite back a choke in your throat as you dismiss the thought. Ma’am, where did that come from? Of course, you had always acknowledged that he was a nice looking guy, but this realization held a different, embarrassing color. It’s not like you could help it, he looked so excited and you don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him. As your eyes trail his enthusiastic movements, you zero in on the redness of his hands, now free from his pockets.

“What’s going on with your hands?” Without thinking, you grab the one closest to you, bringing the palm closer to you. He goes quiet all of a sudden, but you’re too distracted to notice. They’re flushed all the way through.

“O-oh, that’s normal. From the ice.”

You hum, brushing your fingers against the soft skin. His fingers are lithe, fitting for the job, you guess. Now that you’re looking, he had some really nice hands.

“These would look super good in some rings,” you think aloud. Sandwiching his hand between two of your own, you briskly rub your hands together. You’d seen people do this in the movies, and you wonder if it worked in real life. You take the bucket from his grasp and set it on the floor beside you. Taking his other hand, you repeat the act, blowing hot air for extra effect. Walker laughs a breathless laugh.

“You sure you’re an only child? From the looks of it, you act a lot like a big sister!” For some odd reason, the comment flatters you. What would you be like as an older sibling? Would you be less lonely?

“Any better, or am I just making a fool of myself?” You look back at Walker, noting how flushed his face has gotten. “Oh, well, it must’ve done something—you’re face is all hot!”

He moves to pull his hands away and you willingly release them. To your satisfaction, they return to his sides, rather than his pockets. “Y-yeah. Thanks!”

...

“Quite frankly, Shinra, I’m impressed with you. Who’d have thought you’d waste your breath on anyone besides your darling Celty?”

“If any friend of Celty’s were to be hurt, you’d have her to deal with, not me. But I’d be there to see her suffer the burden.”

Izaya’s laugh is haughty, taunting. He was deeply enjoying this, despite how unforeseen it was. Shinra, on the other hand, was not taking much pleasure from the exchange. No, he could go the rest of his life without hearing this man’s voice—but he had to do this for Celty.

“So, what are you asking of me, then? Leave her alone? She’s a client, Shinra. If anything, she comes to me.”

“It’s never just a business transaction with you...Tell me, what do you want with her?” Another haughty, grating laugh. Shinra’s apathy is so clear—after all, it’s not Celty who’s in danger. Izaya can see right through that faulty concern, to that deep-seated curiosity. That doctor’s predisposition to dissect pieces into pieces until there’s nothing of interest left.

“She wants my services. That’s all. Even if I told you, would you tell? Run off to your darling Celty?”

Of course, Shinra thought, he wouldn’t admit it so simply—not when the biggest possible obstacle to his schemes was sitting in the next room over.

“Not Celty, no. But...maybe, Shizuo would care to know about this. They’ve gotten pretty close, y’know. Looks like the monster’s getting better at loving humans... better than even you .”

Sweet, sweet silence. For the first time since the start of the phone call, Shinra smiles.

“...you and I both know that that’s not even close.” The audible gritting of Izaya’s teeth is music to Shinra’ sears. It’s all the confirmation he needed. As usual, the informant was up to no good. He had entangled yet another unsuspecting insect into his web.

But would he do anything about it? Go to Celty, tell her of her friend’s debacle, and watch as she takes on the burden of fixing it? Was it his place?

The love of his life wanders into the living room, preparing for her ritual couch-potato time. Noting his presence, she types him a message. “Who’s that on the phone?”

Really, what could he do—except wait for the appropriate moment?

He ended the call without another word. “Telemarketer.”

#durarara x reader #durarara #drrr x reader #herculean #walker yumasaki x reader #walker yumasaki #shinra kishitani #izaya orihara

6 notes · View notes

thisisgonnafuxkinkillme · 4 years ago

Text

Save Me, Please!

A Yandere! All Might x F! Reader Fic~

Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 ...

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰:

Stalking, gaslighting, phycological manipulation, anything that has to do with the yandere trope.

Weeks later, you completely forgot about the incident. Your life had returned to its normal, average, exceedingly mundane routine.

One night, you were curled up in your apartment when you heard a stray cat pathetically crying out for help. You’re an animal lover, and hearing that pitiful cry sent you into immediate action.

You rushed outside, still in your house clothes, looking for the animal. You didn’t think to bring your phone, a jacket, or anything else, but you just had to help this creature.

The cat cried on, leading you towards it. You found yourself walking into a darkened, dingy alleyway.

The meowing stopped abruptly.

“What d’ya think you’re doing here?” a gruff, disgusting voice whispered out. He seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

“I-I’m...the cat...” you mumbled. You instinctively covered yourself, not being naked but also not being entirely decent. You were hoping to be in and out, just grabbing the kitten and bringing it to safety.

“Oh. Don’t you know better than to be wandering around outside at night, lil lady?” the man smirked, revealing yellowed, worn teeth. At that moment, the light hit him just right to reveal who he was. He was one of the local creeps, the kind you’d see begging for cash and coins on the corner, wondering why everyone passes him by until you see him up close and smell the strong scent of alcohol and cigarettes coming from him.

You said nothing, still wondering where that cat went.

“...especially out here all by yerself...” the man continued as he picked at his gums with his grime filled fingernails.

You made eye contact with him.

“It’d be such a shame if something were to happen to ya, little lady...” he drabbled on. Your hand looked for your phone in your pocket as you backed up and away from the alley.

“Now, where are ya going? I wasn’t gonna hurt ya none!” he teased, grabbing your wrist. You screamed, trying to yank away your hand.

“Ah, now ya can’t be doin’ none of that,” he grinned. Suddenly, he pointed his index and thumb at you, making a gun like motion. You froze, confused yet somehow understanding.

This was the fucker’s quirk.

His fingers around your arm became barbed wire, digging and cutting and slicing into your flesh. When you looked up from your bloodied arm, you saw that his hand had morphed into an actual pistol, and it was now pointed directly at your skull.

Tears silently streamed down your face as you looked down, now unable to fight back.

“Yes, I will be coming in tomorrow ... you won’t need to cancel the class. No, thank you.” you overheard someone on the phone. It was a male’s voice, and you prayed with all your heart that it was a hero out on patrol.

He passed the alley, not even taking a millisecond to glance in your direction. Your heart plummeted.

“...What...what do you want with me?” your voice shuddered. The man said nothing. You looked up at him.

He was staring intently at something outside of the alley, but you were so fear stricken that you couldn’t bring yourself to look at what it could be.

Without warning, you were thrown to the ground, and the man was running away. You sat up, clutching your injured arm, trying to get answers, but everything happened in a flash before your eyes.

All you saw was blood. Lots of it. Too much.

You couldn’t worry about that now, though. You had to get away.

You got up, scraping your soft, white palms, rushing out and away from that damned alley. At this point, you didn’t give a shit what happened. All you know is that you’re alive.

You scrambled up your stairs, slamming and locking your door. You pushed a chair in front of it, switched all your lights on, and slept with your biggest kitchen knife under your pillow.

The very next day, the news reporter plainly read off of her script, letting everyone know that a local homeless man was brutally murdered last night.

“We don’t have many details surrounding the motive, but we have reason to believe that this was a spontaneous spur of the moment killing,” she stated.

“Now, back to the weather today with Susan Straham!” a male voice boomed, panning over to a perky weather lady. You shut off the tv and rubbed your arm. The door was still locked and bolted shut, the chair still propped up. You shuddered at the memory.

Despite your discomfort, the day still had to go on. You left for work, listening to music as you walked.

Up ahead, you spotted a familiar figure. All Might.

He didn’t notice you at first, but when he did, he basically picked you up, hugging you.

“I told you I’d see you again!” he beamed. People stopped to stare.

You put your hands out in front of you to signal him to tone it down a notch or two. Or a hundred.

He didn’t get what you were hinting at, though, and gleefully continued to absolutely shower you in attention.

Suddenly, he stopped speaking. You tugged down on your shirt sleeve, realizing he probably noticed your battle wounds from last night.

His tone completely changed as he monotonly asked if you heard about last night’s murder.

He eyed you, now walking with you to work.

You didn’t mention what happened. It’s not like it could have been connected or anything, right? ...Right?

Finally, you arrived at work.

“I hate to say goodbye again,” he frowned. You shrugged.

“Well, it’s not like this is the last time you’ll ever see me, ya know,” you mumbled.

“What makes you so sure of that?” he asked. Your blood ran cold for a split second.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you never know what can happen. Stay safe, okay? I...don’t know what I’ll do if I never see you again,” he frowned. You were blown away by his sudden change of tone and his seriousness and said nothing.

You just waved, entering your workplace and taking the elevator up. All Might lingered there at the entrance for a few moments, watching you go higher and higher, until he left, too.

A couple days went by with nothing interesting happening. Your arm was healing up nicely, and you were starting to feel okay in your apartment again.

Today, you went to your usual coffee shop, and the barista informed you that someone had already paid for your drink in advance.

“How could they have? I’m the only one in here,” you asked. The barista shrugged, just repeating that you didn’t owe them anything.

Maybe the barista was just trying to flirt. That’d make sense.

Definitely. That has to be it.

It wasn’t until that weekend when you realized that you had been seeing All Might patrolling in your area a lot more than usual. No matter how many times he’d see you, though, he’d always have the same over-the-top reaction. It was definitely endearing, in a way, but the attention you got from others was embarrassing enough for you to shrug away from it.

You had to admit, though, feeling another human’s touch was something refreshing. For years, you’ve been locked up in your tiny one bedroom apartment by yourself, just wishing that you could find someone.

You joined a dating app not too long ago, which has been pretty hit or miss.

Maybe you would meet someone soon. Hopefully, at least.

#yandere! all might #yandere! yagi toshinori x reader #yandere! mha #yandere!#yandere! small might #all might x reader #yagi toshinori x reader #yandere #yancore #yandere fic #yandere! all might x reader #f!reader #yandere!all might

82 notes · View notes

toraashi · 4 years ago

Text

princess au ft. chuuya nakahara prt 2

Title: Untitled Princess AU prt 2

Pairing: Chuuya Nakahara x Fem!Reader

Warnings/Genre: fluff, swearing, horribly written ending and lots of cringe, nothing bad though. Um also aristocratic standards of beauty are mentioned rip

Word Count: 2,221

Author’s Note: I must’ve gotten hella tired when I originally wrote this because the ending is literally garbage but I don’t want to edit it right now, so here it is for you. Love you all thank you for joining Chuuya princess AU brainrot hours

She stumbled out of the carriage awkwardly, desperately grabbing her escort for balance.

“Oi!” Of course, the unsuspecting ginger was caught off guard as she tumbled to the ground.

“My lady!” The driver exclaimed, but was shot down by the bodyguard’s sharp glare. With a huff, she stood back up, brushing off her dress.

“I’m definitely not suited to this life. Chuuya, why do I have to go to every single damn ball my father is invited to?” The man chuckled.

“Something tells me you’ve been around the staff too much.” He held out his hand, eliciting a soft blush.

“Look, Chuu-Chuu, I can walk by myself.”

“Clearly not, and make sure you don’t call me that in front of anybody.”

“Why? Does it embarrass you? Chuu-Chuu! Chuu-Chuu-” With a low growl, he scooped the shorter being up, tossing her over his shoulder and twirling around.

“Shut up! You sound like a goddamn train!” The girl squeaked, giggling as he tickled her sides. The entire scene was entirely unprofessional and illegal, but adorable nonetheless. The duo couldn’t help themselves, for each time they approached each other, explosions equivalent to bombs exploded in their hearts.

How unsightly.

The king’s right hand flitting around with his liege's daughter.

Upon setting her down, she rested her hand on his elbow, allowing him to walk her inside.

“Erg. These pins hurt my head.” Before she could reach up to yank them out, her loyal bodyguard caught her gloved hand.

“The boss won’t be too happy if your hair’s all wild and out, you know.” Pouting, she whined,

“I know, Chuuya, but I hate it!”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got to do it. No prince is gonna want a princess who is all messy.”

“But what if I don’t want a prince?” Her murmured words were enough to cause his breath to catch in his throat. They both knew what she was implying, but it was all for naught.

“[Name]-”

“Don’t even start with me. I already know.” With a reluctant sigh, he squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“Are you walking me in?” the redhead huffed, an endearing pink stain coating his cheeks.

“No! That’d be inappropriate!” She fell silent before murmuring,

“I don’t feel comfortable walking in alone. Besides, you’re my bodyguard. It’s no secret that my father is very protective of me. How is it inappropriate?”

“Because a suitor is supposed to walk in with you!” his hissed words were strained as if he was struggling to form them.

“Introduce yourself as an executive then! I’ve never had to announce myself like this before, Chuuya. Please?” The male hesitated, falling prey to her vulnerable tone and visage. He gave in before he realized it, adjusting her precariously placed tiara and holding out his arm.

“The things I do for you…” Gingerly, the princess placed her gloved fingers on his arm.

“Like this?” With a softened gaze, he nodded, walking her up the vibrant crimson carpet. Each movement felt like he was trekking through an endless swamp of cement. Chuuya had no idea how this was going to reflect on his flawless track record, but in his heart, he knew he'd do it a thousand times over if it provided her with some semblance of comfort.

They approached the inner door, a pair of servants swinging them open at the sight of their invitation cards. The ballroom below them was exceedingly elegant, chandeliers glittering of the vast, domed ceilings, gold lining every rampart and ledge. Intricate paintings and murals were displayed above them, and the pair was awestruck at the magnificence. They tentatively walked forward, revealing the majority of the guests, who were all gazing up at the balcony expectantly. The shorter being beside him stiffened with anxiety, her delicately placed hand shaking on his arm. He strode confidently up to the announcer, speaking each word for his charge.

“Princess [Name] of Yokohama.” The weasel-faced man cast him a strange look, but turned, clearing his throat and bellowing the words.

“Her royal highness, Princess [Name] of Yokohama.” the room applauded, but Chuuya could sense the gossip formulating at the oddity before them: King Mori’s heiress attending with her simpleton bodyguard. Chuuya tensed, resisting the urge to protectively leap in front of the lovely lady.

The walk down the grand spiral staircase was worse than the walk up. All eyes were tracing every movement they made, and it was clear that the attention was searing [Name]’s nerves. After years of constantly being around her, he had learned to recognize what each finger twitch she made represented.

“Ah! My lady!” A tall blond man approached them immediately after her crystal slippers made contact with the marble floor. “You look absolutely ravishing in that gown, has anybody ever told you that?” [Name] gave a tight, polite smile.

“Lord Steinbeck. I’m sorry to say that you’re not the first. A very handsome man told me moments before we arrived.” Chuuya felt a smirk touch his lips and desperately tried to hide his oncoming smug expression.

“Really? Another suitor, perhaps? Surely you rejected him in that feather-soft tone of yours.”

“Surely.” The male drew closer, dangerously close.

“My lady, what would you do if I proposed you send your “escort” away while I take you around the palace?” Any stray eavesdroppers would surely not think much of Steinbeck’s proposition, but Chuuya knew exactly what kind of man he was and what “touring the palace” really implied, and it made his temper snap.

“Oi-”

“Well, I’d probably reject you in my fancy feather-soft tone.” Steinbeck looked sincerely shocked.

“Hm? You’d rather be constantly hounded by your father’s lackeys all night long?”

“U-uh… of course not! You know that very well, Steinbeck.” His icy blue eyes were blown with pride and mischief.

“I knew you’d relent, princess.” Chuuya felt a growl rumble in his throat, his eyes burning with rage when he lugged her away from him.

“Oi! What the hell do you think you’re doing?! You don’t get to do that.”

“Oh? And what say do you have in the matter?”

“Last I checked, it’s my duty to protect the princess, and you don’t seem to have any good intentions in mind.”

“I sense that there’s a bit more to the story,” he smirked deviously, “Isn’t there, Chuuya Nakahara? Escorting a dignified lady, not to mention a princess is a far more intimate action than a bodyguard and executive should partake in.” The man’s fingers trailed a sensuous path down her smooth skin, but she pulled away.

“I did not ask for your affection, My Lord. The affairs of my kingdom are most certainly none of your concern. Perhaps you do things differently in your department, but my staff is eternally devoted to my father and me, so this ordeal is hardly out of the ordinary. I strongly suggest you educate yourself before you make such a bold and faulty accusation.” With a fiery glare, she turned and marched off, her skirts rustling behind her. As was in her nature, she tripped over the indigo hem of them.

“Damn these skirts!” Chuuya quickly recovered from his burst of fury, rushing to her aid.

“It’s unseemly to curse in public, My Lady.” He murmured, balancing her.

“It’s also unseemly to insult my father’s prime business partner’s cousin, Chuuya.” A scoff burned his throat.

“As if I’d let him taint you like that.”

“Only him?” Her voice suddenly got timid as she swept herself into a nearby love-seat, running her delicate fingers over the gold embroidery.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” She flushed, “Eventually it’s bound to happen, you are aware, right?”

“Maybe so, but like hell I’m gonna let it be with some nauseating bastard like Steinbeck.” A small smile colored her cheeks.

“It’s unseemly to swear in public, Chuu-Chuu.”

It’s unseemly to make me fall for you this hard. He thought, turning his face to hide his minuscule flush.

Throughout the course of the ball, many a man asked for a dance, but she deftly refused all of them, lounging in silence with her red-headed companion.

“[Name], you need to accept someone.”

“You know how dreadful I am at dancing!”

“So?” She let out an exasperated groan.

“I’m not suited for these sorts of things. I’m not elegant like those duchesses and queens. Not to mention I only seem to feel comfortable around you.” Chuuya felt his heartstrings tug. “Chuuya?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you seen my father anywhere?”

“No, surprisingly. He’s likely treating Elise.”

“Then I have a proposition.” Training his eyes on her, he examined her determined expression. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

“[Name]...”

“Just somewhere quieter… please, Chuuya?” His name on her tongue was like a choir of angels to his ears, and with a relenting sigh, he caved.

They finally stopped in the vast library, books lining each wall, a cozy fireplace surrounded by expensive sofas. Normally she’d run her hands over the spines of the novels, gushing about her favorite ones with endless delight, but instead, she tugged him into an obscure corner, looping her arms around his body.

“Chuuya…”

“I knew there was more to this escapade.”

“Please. Just let me hold you. I know this is taboo, but we’ve known each other for our entire lives. I can’t ignore the feelings I’ve developed for you. I know you feel it too, so please, indulge me just this once. I love you. I love you.” Her grip around his waist tightened in sheer desperation, and the urge to kiss her was more powerful than ever. Her sweet vanilla scent pervaded his nose; her warm body was the perfect size for his arms to wind around.

“This is impossible.”

“I know, Chuuya!” Warm wet splotches seeped through his shirt, and the male lifted her tear-stained face, gazing intently into her honey-sweet optics with his fluorescent sapphire ones.

“Chuuya?” He felt frustration, despair, and endless longing contort his soul. She was so close, yet so far.

“Princess.”

“I want you to kiss me.”

“I can’t.”

“Please, Chuuya.” Her soft words seared his mind with white-hot streaks of temptation. “I don’t care about propriety anymore, please, Chuuya.” Her face grew dangerously close and he could feel her minty fresh breath waft over his face.

“[Name]...” Finally collapsing, he let his mouth capture hers, but he quickly got caught up in her and her taste. His hand flew to her waist, the texture of the gown silky beneath his fingertips. Leaning closer, she placed her hands on his firm shoulders. Suddenly, she bit down on his bottom lip, fingers sliding up his neck and into his ginger locks. Chuuya involuntarily groaned, backing her up against the wall, his kisses gradually growing rougher. Stringing through his hair, the girl in his arms knocked his hat off, letting out breathy moans. As if against his will, his mouth moved down, smooching a trail of fire down to her jaw.

“God, I love you…”

“Chuuya…” As he showered her in affection, he let his endearment for the princess pour out in waves. As wrong as he knew it was, the sensation of being kissed by someone you loved was euphoric to him. The way she whispered his name was honey to his ears.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” They split instantly, but Chuuya still rested his hand on her shoulder protectively.

“Steinbeck.”

“I suppose I was right in thinking something more than a platonic relationship was blossoming between you two. A princess and her father’s right hand, how scandalous.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” The man gave a sardonic smile.

“Wouldn’t I?” Chuuya growled, stepping forward with less than proper intentions.

“Wait!” Both men glanced at her questioningly. “Don’t endanger him, please. I’ll get my father to accept your marriage proposal.”

“No. I won’t let you wed this scoundrel.” With a melancholy smile, she whispered,

“You’re not my father, Chuuya.”

“But it’s my job to watch over your stupid ass, and I’ll kill him before I let him even touch you.”

“Chuuya-”

“All right, I accept, but any tricks and your secret romance will be mercilessly exposed.” The ginger shoved the girl behind him, fury burning in his veins.

“Over my dead body.”

“Is that so?” Chuuya seethed at his words. “If you even touch me, you’ll create an enemy out of a business partner.”

“It’s not worth it, Chuu.”

“You are worth it.” Her breath caught.

“You’d lose everything.”

“You’re everything.” A chuckle escaped her smooth lips.

“Exactly.” With an unsatisfied and murderous glare glazing his crystalline eyes, he reluctantly backed down.

“Then it’s a deal? I guess that means we’ll be seeing each other tomorrow, correct? Without your brainless bodyguard, of course.” In an impulsive burst of adrenaline, Chuuya glowed red, sending a bookshelf tumbling on top of the blond.

“Chuuya!”

“What? He valiantly saved you from the falling bookcase. Why’re you crying to me?” She was stunned, her [e/c] eyes wide and her hair falling out from its precarious updo. Her shining tiara was lopsided and she smiled. It was such a lovely smile and Chuuya could hardly believe that he was lucky enough to see it every day.

“Chuuya, I know this isn’t safe, but I want to make this work with you, will you at least try?” And with that one sentence, their lips were pressed together once more.

MASTERLIST

Request Here!

#chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #chuuya brainrot #chuuya bsd #bsd chuuya #bungou stray dogs #bsd imagines #bsd x reader #chuuya imagines #chuuya scenario #chuuya fluff #chuuya angst #chuuya au

23 notes · View notes

idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years ago

Text

Part XV - The Untimely Downfall of Strangers

I knew that the media and the fans and everyone would have questions. But for now, the only sound I could hear was her breathing and the hum of the central air in her house. And that was enough for me.

AN: Y’ALLLLL. Okay. So we’re nearing the end (for now) of this story. I’m thinking one more chapter, so for all of you out there who have been following along the whole time, just a fair warning! Also, if you like this story or like my work--please reblog. So many people have reached out telling me that they love my work but are confused as to why it’s not more popular. I don’t know why--I’m just happy to share it with you all. BUT. If you like my work and think more people should read it, please reblog. I’ll love you forever!!!

wc: 4.8k of moving forward

************

THEN - Day 629

“Slow the fuck down, Margot!” Niall shouted from behind me, his words broken up by laughter as I took a sharp left turn, nearly clipping the wall and their crew members who seemed quite annoyed by our level of energy.

I could hear his footsteps behind me, closing in as I looked over my shoulder to gauge the distance between us. I shot past Harry--who was stood in the doorway of the green room, a confused look on his face as he bit into a banana.

“Your girlfriend’s a cheeky little shit,” Niall laughed as I slowed to stop, tossing the cellphone back in Harry’s direction--who barely caught it as he fumbled with the banana.

“What’d she do?” He asked as he stood between us, his mouth full of the fruit he snacked on.

I smiled over at Niall, offering for him to explain the running and yelling and laughing as Harry stepped aside to let us back into the green room. I bent over to gather my hair over my head, twisting a hair tie around it as Niall let out a loud laugh.

“She claims she’s tryna set me up with her friend but she’d sending an embarrassing photo to people I don’t even know,” he pretended to be more upset than he was, the smile visible on his face as he stared at Harry--as if he would do something.

“You’re being a big baby,” I told him, my eyes wide. “You’d like Cara, she’s great. We could all go on a double date and ride off into the sunset and buy houses right next door to each other.”

Niall rolled his eyes at this, grabbing his phone back from Harry as he walked to sit on the couch. He muttered a few things under his breath as he pulled up the text messages I’d sent. It was too late.

“Oh Jesus,” he said--mostly to himself--as Harry slipped an arm around my shoulders.

“I was gonna go workout for a bit--want to come?”

“Eh,” I shrugged my shoulders--weighing the options in my head. Visiting the boys on the road was the closest I got to a vacation in the summers. Instead of running around on stage and being exceedingly busy, I got to screw around during the days and watch the shows at night. “I’ll pass.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “Love you, don’t kill each other,” he brought his eyes from me over to Niall, waiting for some sort of reply.

“Go fuck yerselves,” Niall said absently, not even looking up from his phone as I let out a laugh.

NOW - Day 1810

I climbed out of the car behind Harry--thankful for the fact that there were only a few photographers who’d been clued into his location. He waited for me, his arm lurching forward to find mine as I reached for the door to shut it, a swift diversion to the fact that he was trying to hold my hand.

People were saying all sorts of things about us--which wasn’t necessarily new--but I also knew that me and Harry being back together was causing much more anger than ever before. There were plenty of photos of me coming in and out of his London home--a place that had once felt cozy and safe--but now my social media accounts were filled with messages from people who accused me of breaking his heart on purpose.

So I deleted the messages and pretended that being in London didn’t feel strange and scary, especially because my return to LA was slowly approaching.

“Morning,” Harry shook the hand of a woman who waited by the door with a headset. She smiled at both of us, muttering something into the microphone that sat near her cheek as the door was shut behind us with an echoing thud.

His tour was set to start in a few weeks and rehearsals were amping up, just like the nerves in my stomach. Tour was such a symbolic thing for us: it meant distance, press, lots of fans and questions and attention. Harry’s promo tour was difficult enough, but knowing he’d now be playing show after show to crowds of 20,000 people felt like our relationship--in its entirety--was being put on stage for people to judge and question.

Was I allowed to visit? What would people think if I did--or worse, if I didn’t?

Harry’s hand was now around mine, leading me back into the rehearsal space as he greeted the people that stood by. He’d been waiting for quite some time to introduce me to the band that’d be traveling with him--people he’d grown to love and respect over the process of making and releasing the album.

He seemed to lead me around the room, letting me shake hands with people I’d never met and some I’d known for years. I couldn’t help but wonder what they thought--were they as curious as the people with cameras outside the building? Were they as hesitant as I was to believe that things were back to normal?

It felt more confirmed now. Neither of us had addressed it in public--aside from the vague comments that we were enjoying spending time together. Claire reassured me that I didn’t have to say anything I didn’t want to--but Harry seemed more eager to just be honest.

Which felt strange, in some ways. He wasn’t ever much of a public person--he valued his privacy and respected that of others, but when it came to this, he had a strong desire to label it for the media and the fans.

He said it created a better boundary. He said, in a meeting made up of me and Claire and Nick and Jeffrey and his head of PR, Janie, that labeling me as his girlfriend allowed for more control over the things that people said. If everyone just knew we were together, he insisted, we could ask for their respect and make it clear that we weren’t interested in any hateful messages.

Sounded good in theory--but I didn’t know if it’d work.

We’d been so careful--minimal touching in public, spending time with additional friends was a bonus to make it seem like maybe we were just friends.

I knew he was getting sick of it. We’d managed the media and the public for three years--we could do it again.

Which is why, later than night in his London living room with a blanket over my lap and a movie on TV, I scrolled through my instagram feed and slowed when I saw a photo that I knew was us.

Earlier today, at his rehearsal--his arms were around my shoulders as he pressed a kiss to my lips. I was laughing and smiling up at him. I’d given him shit about one of the lyrics during a break. Mitch and Sarah had heard and apparently appreciated my bluntness. It was a fine moment, a quick one in reality.

But now, seeing it captured in a grainy cell phone photo with terrible lighting, it felt like it could have spanned three hours.

Harry--who’d been attentive to the movie until I became engulfed in my phone--used his foot to nudge my leg. “What’re you looking at?” He popped a handful of popcorn into his mouth. I reached forward to steal the bowl back from him, replacing it on his lap with my cellphone, the photo open on the screen.

He looked offended at first when he no longer had immediate access to the popcorn--but his face shifted when he saw the photo and picked up my phone to get a better look.

Now it was my turn to munch on a handful of the snack, my eyes patiently on his face as I tried to read his emotions.

This was the first real proof.

“Are you upset?” His voice was quiet as he returned my curious stare.

I shrugged my shoulders and let out a breath of air. “I mean--it’s not like they didn’t know already, I guess. It’s gonna lead to a lot of nasty messages on my end.”

“Still?”

“Yes, still,” I snapped a bit, licking at my lips as I tried to regain composure. “They haven’t stopped. There are plenty that are nice but of course those don’t stick out in my mind as much.”

He seemed to deflate a bit--I knew he always hated it. He hated the way people would treat me and he hated the fact that some people still refused to respect our relationship. “I’m sorry they’re like that.”

I shrugged. I appreciated his words but they didn’t change anything. I’d tried to ignore it. I had tried back then to ignore it and pretend it wasn’t there and I tried to not worry about when we were apart for weeks and weeks on end.

I pushed the worries out of my mind when I felt like I couldn’t sleep at night because I wondered what he was doing. And now he was here. He was sat across from me on the couch and he offered a small smile as he closed the distance between us, putting the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table as he pulled me into his side.

“I love you,” he said, his voice somewhat muffled as he spoke into my hair. “Nothing’s going to change that and they’re not going to change it and I don’t care what people know or think. I’m just glad to have you back.”

THEN - Day 853

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but the silence wasn’t it. The kitchen was quiet except for the beeping of my parents’ alarm system that seemed to threaten my mere existence. The house was dark and cool and I wondered what everyone else was doing.

But I knew the answer. My mom and Pete were still at the award show. Ben was probably at Sara’s and Maya was at a friend’s for a sleepover. Sinead was in the car that was now backing out of my driveway, ready to drop her off at home so she could take off her shoes and her dress and go back to normal.

Harry was somewhere on the other side of the world for rehearsals. He was likely fast asleep due to the time difference between wherever he was and LA. My ears had the ringing noise inside them that came in quiet moments like these. I think it was all the screaming and loud music I’d heard for so long.

For four hours I’d been in this heavy dress--my hair pulled back from my face with hidden bobby pins. I could feel the makeup caked onto my cheeks that hid the circles under my eyes and the breakout on my chin. It was the makeup that reflected the flashing of the cameras on the red carpet.

I didn’t even know why I’d went. It wasn’t my field. My mom and Pete were excited for a night out and Nick had assured me that it’d be good for me to make an appearance after the holidays.

The refrigerator seemed to hum beside me--my mom’s handwriting on the white board read a note to Maya.

May-text me when you leave and let me know when to pick you up in the morning. I love you. Mom.

I wondered--for the millionth time in my life--what it would be like if I wasn’t me. Would my mom leave me a note like that on our families’ tiny white board that clung to the fridge? Would I be at college or at a sleepover instead of in the middle of the dark kitchen with a buzzing in my ears from all of the silence?

I felt tears well in my eyes--my legs felt tired and before I knew it, I was slumped against the cabinets as my dress crumpled on the ground beneath me. Bonnie would be pissed.

I think people thought I liked alone time. I mean, sometimes I did--but only if there was someone on the other side of the door or if Sinead was just running out to grab me a coffee.

But quiet like this--home alone, with everyone else living their lives and enjoying the things that my job brought to us--only seemed to bring an aching to my chest that seemed to grow with the passing days.

It was 2015 now. The holidays came and went and I was gearing up for a busier year than before. Harry was talking about the future and I was still stuck on trying to control the present.

If I thought he’d answer the phone, I would have called him. Instead--I went over to the liquor cabinet where Pete kept a full bottle of gin.

And that’s the last thing I remember.

NOW - Day 1718

I was sat across from Nick, Sinead and Claire--a long conference table made of oak in the building on Selma Ave where Nick’s office was. Kayley--a head from my label--was sat beside from me. Her long blonde hair seemed to cascade down her shoulders, and I wondered, for a second, if she thought I was crazy.

Nick wasn’t thrilled about it--but it felt like Nick was rarely thrilled with anything I did. He wanted me to be successful and be happy and he also wanted me to fulfill my contractual obligations and he wanted me to stay sane. I think sometimes, especially in moments like this, he felt in the middle.

“So it would just drop? Just an immediate release with no promo?”

I nodded and watched as Kayley leaned back in her chair and let out a sigh--she definitely thought I was crazy.

“I know that’s pretty out there and not how we’ve ever done things, but--doing a big promo tour doesn’t feel right,” I said honestly. “This is about the music I made and the story I’m telling and it’s not about the build up.”

I didn’t realize how nervous I was until I rubbed my hands on my high-wasited jeans--the fabric dark in spots from the sweat on my palms.

“No, I--I hear what you’re saying. I just think it’s risky. I mean--you have a fanbase. No question about that,” Kayley looked from me to Nick and then back to me.

Nick shifted uncomfortably and I could tell he was getting antsy. I’d dropped the idea on him only a day and a half before this meeting. I’d been working with Nathan on finalizing a few songs. Masters were sent off and returned, Nathan and I were dreaming up a tracklist. Within a few days we were left with a final product and I had no idea what our plan was.

So I drove to Nick’s house and brought take out for him and his wife. I figured the least I could do was butter him up before dropping the big news: the album would be released on all streaming platforms with a limited number of CDs in a week and a half.

No promo. No press. Minimal interviews.

He’d stared at me in his living room like I’d truly lost my shit--ironic, seeing as I was more stable than ever before. Now, Kayley did the same.

“It is risky,” Nick said, a shrug of his shoulders as he turned to face me in his chair. “I think it’s a bold move but I think--” he let out a sigh and laughed a little. “You’re breaking all of the rules lately, so I say fuck it. If this is what you want, let’s do it. Let’s do it big and we’ll see what happens.”

I turned to Kayley, a small smile on my face as she bit at her lip. I first met Kayley when I was 15. She was new to the record label and had shorter hair than she did now. She worked with a man named Keith--someone who’d been integral to my signing and the release of my debut album.

Kayley believed in me and wanted me to be myself. In a strange world of contracts and copyrights, Kayley seemed to be on my side.

She tried to fight the smile on her face as I looked at her expectantly, a pleading grin as I rubbed my hands together. “It fits the theme, Kayley!” I reminded her. “I disappeared in the middle of the night and no one knew where to--and here I am, back in the middle of the night and no one knew it was coming.”

Sinead let out a laugh, leaning forward on the conference table as she spoke. “I wouldn’t necessarily say all of that to Harry.” Nick rolled his eyes, Claire stifled a laugh and Kayley let out an amused sigh.

“I agree with Nick that it’s risky--I don’t know if anyone’s ever just done that before,” she looked around the table of us, silently asking for a correction if she was wrong. When no one spoke, she cleared her throat. “It’ll be a big deal because of what’s been going on. You going away, coming back, One Direction breaking up, Harry’s album. It’s sure to draw attention because of you, but also because of your history.”

Kayley was right. She was thinking logically and like a businesswoman and I understood that. But I wished--momentarily--that telling my story wasn’t a business move. I wished it was a right of passage or a heartfelt move--not a strategic plan in the game of chess that seemed to be my life.

“But it’s 2017 and things are changing if there’s anyone who can handle that, it’s you.”

THEN - Day 1052

The shouting of my name was now muffled by the car door as soon as I pulled it shut. They weren’t banging on it this time--I’d take that as a win. The cameras still flashed outside as I pulled the seat belt around my waist, his words echoing in my mind as the engine started.

He didn’t want to leave--I get that. His friends were inside, the music was good, the drinks were free. But my chest ached for the quiet of his bedroom and the feeling of his hand on my back, drawing small circles like he used to when there weren’t oceans between us.

“Can you turn the radio on?” I asked the driver--my voice fragile and weak as he made eye contact with me in the rearview mirror. He nodded simply, pressing a few buttons as tears welled in my eyes.

That was a trick I’d learned early on. The more famous I got, the less privacy I had--in cars, dressing rooms, bathrooms, or even just in the hallway of venues. Tonight, it was the top forty that would drown out my sadness.

I looked out the window and blinked a few times, water wetting my cheeks as the men with their cameras faded in the distance.

I felt like no one knew my secret. And if Harry did--he didn’t really care.

Niall and Louis were inside as well--both offering concerned looks when I left and remarking that they’d see me in the next few days. Harry, who offered nothing but a cold shoulder as I walked out, didn’t seem to care that I was falling apart in front of his eyes.

I mean--what would happen if I told him the truth? What would he say if I told him I wasn’t okay? What would anyone say? The sad truth was that my life and the lives of those around me depended on me being fine.

How are you, Margot? I’m fine. I’m great. My album went platinum, my tour is sold out, and my family is healthy and my boyfriend’s also extremely successful? How was I supposed to tell them that on top of that, I cried every day, I didn’t even enjoy performing anymore, and writing songs felt like I was pulling teeth?

And the worst part of all was that I couldn’t tell him. I’m sure if he heard me say that he’d say it wasn’t true. He’d say I could tell him anything and that I could trust him and that he loved me. But I didn’t know if he could handle it.

How could the innocent boy with a heart of pure gold accept the fact that I was miserable? What if this was just how I was now? What if this is what this life shaped me into?

What I’d come to realize over the last few weeks was something simple. I had two choices: keep secrets just to keep him around, or be honest and lose it all.

NOW - Day 1820

Margot stood at the stove, her hair was up in a bun on top of her head as I reached for silverware in the drawer. I’d been gone for a few days, but three days off meant a quick stop in LA to pick up where we left off. That’s what Hilary was calling it in therapy.

She’d called me the other day to let me know that the album was finished. And rather than saving it for the Winter or Spring and give it a fair amount of promo--she wanted to put it out, now.

Margot had always been impatient--that was no surprise. But as the stir fry she cooked on the stove seemed to sizzle, she turned around to look at me.

“How are you feeling about it?”

“About your album?” I asked hesitantly, setting the forks on the light blue placements she kept on the island.

A nod as she kept her eyes on mine.

I let out a sigh--fighting the urge to appease her and trying to balance my honesty. “I’m excited for you to release it because you’ve worked hard and it’s going to be an amazing album.”

She nodded again, somehow knowing that I wasn’t finished.

“But I’m scared of what people will think and say and how it will affect us.”

She sighed at this--it wasn’t news to her. I may not have said it so bluntly before, but she knew just as well as I did that her album would get people talking and stir things up and whether or not we liked it, it put us in a fishbowl--again.

She turned back to the stove and I couldn’t tell how she felt. I wondered, for a second, if the anxiety in my chest was anything like how she felt when my album came out. I figured it was, to an extent. The only difference was that I knew she was making it and I knew how she felt and I had her in my life again.

When she heard mine, she had no clue it was coming, no idea where we stood, and no idea how I felt. So, in that department, I guess I had it pretty good.

“It comes out Friday at midnight. We haven’t announced it anywhere. There’ve been some photos of me leaving Nathan’s studio so I think people suspect something but they have no clue.”

She didn’t like my silence. She turned around with knotted brows and a look on her fact that told me she was annoyed. “What?” I said quickly.

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what you want from me. I feel like every time I bring it up you get all weird and nervous.”

“I am nervous,” I told her, my voice more exasperated than before. She pushed at the food in the frying pan and then turned it off, placing it on a back burner.

“I’m nervous too! This is huge, Harry. I haven’t put out music in years and people don’t exactly love me right now.”

I couldn’t help but make a face at that. It felt like people always loved her. She was Margot Jones. She was a household name at age 15 and the world watched her grow up. How could people not love her?

“I know this whole thing has been hard for you, but it’s been hard for me, too.”

For whatever reason, that set me off. The way she likened her experience to mine felt invalidating and wrong and so off-base. “You left me, if you’ve forgotten. You left and walked out as if it didn’t mean anything to you.”

She let her hands slap against her thighs in distress. “I can’t keep fucking defending myself, Harry! I’m sorry, okay? I fucked up. But I need you to believe me when I say I won’t do that again.”

I shook my head--her words weren’t enough and they didn’t stop the sadness from bubbling inside of me. Things felt good and more normal than before. I felt more connected to her and more aware of how she felt--but how was I supposed to trust anyone? How was I supposed to believe people when they said they’d never leave?

“I tried that. I believed the band when we all promised to ride the wave until it crashed. But Zayn left. Zayn up and walked out and quit like he had no strings attached.”

Silence as she leaned against the counter. I watched her chest deflate as she waited for me to say more.

“And then you did the same. So forgive me. Forgive me for questioning people’s promises and wondering if they meant anything they said.”

Another California sunset outside the window as she let out a sigh. “You’ve made mistakes too, Harry. I’ve said from the start that I’m not going to sugar coat things. I wrote these songs in the over the last few years and they were where I was at. If you don’t like being painted as the bad guy then you should have thought about that before you did it to me.”

“I don’t know what to say to that. I didn’t mean to make you look bad. I was just telling my truth.”

“And you get your truth Harry. I hurt you and I left and I fucked up. But you didn’t call and you didn’t ask enough questions and there are a thousand things we could both do differently if we could go back. But we can’t.”

I softened at her words--she had a point. My truth was my truth. But she had hers, and it wasn’t any less valuable or important. As the thought crossed my mind, I understood what Hilary wanted for us.

She always said this thing about fighting being better than nothing. At least we were communicating.

So sure--I was nervous about her album because it basically put mine on trial. It told her story and in some places that matched mine and in others it didn’t. But I guess that’s the beautiful thing about love, right? It looks different depending on the light you put it in.

They were older songs, meaning the words weren’t a description of her current feelings. I had figured that--I mean, she said most of the songs were old and about our downfall. But that didn’t stop the thoughts in my head of how embarrassing it would be to have people hear it.

“I just don’t want people to think that this is still how you feel.”

She shook her head, emotion on her face as she shifted on her feet. “It’s not how I feel. It’s how I felt. Past tense.”

NOW - Day 1826

Margot wore a blue dress. Her hair was curled and her lips were painted a bright shade of red. It was the good lipstick--the one that didn’t get on mine when we kissed. I had Bonnie to thank for that.

Her whole family was there and people from the label were there and Niall came into town for it. There was food and drinks and Pete shook my hand as if he knew that his step-daughter put me through the ringer.

She made a speech and she thanked everyone for standing by her. She thanked Nick for letting her break the rules and she thanked Sinead for always reminding her of what the rules were in the first place. She didn’t address me in front of everyone--Claire had warned that it might not be the smartest.

So when we sat in the car at the end of the night, Margot checked her phone to see just how unexpected it was. She’d removed her shoes and she had her feet in my lap. “It’s trending--my social is too busy to even really look at.” She clicked it shut and closed her eyes for a second. “Nick will tell me all the numbers in the morning.”

I smiled a bit at her--that was a change of tune. Old Margot would have demanded the numbers immediately. She would stay up and wait for them to come in. She’d pace the living room at the end of the week to find out how the release would be qualified.

We climbed up the stairs in her quiet house and climbed into bed. She thanked me for loving her and standing by her and I thanked her for giving us a second chance. She fell asleep quickly, and I knew that the morning wouldn’t be as quiet and peaceful as it was right now.

46 notes · View notes

bride-and-bride · 6 years ago

Text

Memory

Wrote that fanfic, just as I threatened! It’s about time passing and the Crystal Exarch, and the impressions people leave on you, and some other miscellaneous musings.

Uhhhhhh it’s straight up about Defiant Bride as the Warrior of Light, and contains major MSQ spoilers up tooooooo... about 80? Early 80!

He hadn't realized he'd forgotten her face until someone asked what she looked like. The weight of it hit G'raha Tia in a rush; the guilt, the embarrassment, the disbelief... he was the only one alive who'd seen her face in person, and he couldn't even remember it.

He tried to explain it in his head... she had just been one of many, back then, after Operation Archon. A Warrior of Light, not The. One of many with Hydaelyn's blessing and ties to the Scions. There'd been at least two dozen who'd come along when it came time to explore the tower; people of all races and skills, each blessed with the power to try and fight where normal people couldn't. It was reasonable, he was pretty sure, to forget one face in all that.

It wasn't. It didn't feel right, and he didn't feel better for reasoning it all out. Even if there'd been others, hadn't he spoken the most with her? Challenged her, worked with her? He should be able to close her eyes and see her clear as day, like no time had passed at all.

Or maybe it was the tower? Perhaps his rest had messed with his memories, robbed him of this vital thing, and it wasn't G'raha's fault. Maybe that's just how it was, travelling suspended through time. No one was around to tell him otherwise, so he clung to the idea like a drowning man would to a raft.

It made it strange, then, to piece it together as if he was the same as the others, as if he'd only read about her deeds, heard the stories passed on through the generations as a way to keep the nights a little brighter. Here was a mention of her butting horn to horn with a dragon, and a little piece filled in... Yes, just one horn, the other a stump. Rare in au-ra. Her face wasn't symmetrical. There was mention of the sight of her facing down the Empire's Prince Zenos, the gap in height, and there'd be a trickle... she wasn't tall, looked unassuming, even had a small stance, right up until she drew steel and became a solid guardian to match any other.

It was those moments that he treasured, that calmed him when he faced his plans ahead. He could remember something of her that books couldn't... he had some tiny piece of the Warrior of Light that'd been lost to time.

He didn't really know why that felt important to him, but as he drew up plans with the Ironworks, as they took step after step to the end... it felt important. It felt vital.

It still felt important when he realized when he'd arrived and began to come to terms with the time stretched before him. There were plans to make, yes, but now there was no one but him who knew her at all. He had to remember, or no one would.

---

G'raha privately felt like it was forgetting that had caused the mistake. He didn't have the right image (maybe he never had it), and so when he tried to call to the Warrior, he instead pulled...

...not the warrior of light.

That, he was pretty certain on, fuzzy recollection or not. She'd been significantly less hyuran, for one thing, and definitely not pale.

Not that he wanted to admit the potential source of his failing to Thancred, even after the weeks passed and he came around to something like understanding. It was easier if the man wasn’t completely sure of how he was doing things, if there was some vagueness... he seemed the type to dig into things if given the chance, and he was hardly prepared to explain.

It gave him a unique opportunity, though. For the first time in a hundred years... he could speak to someone from his own world. From his own time, technically, though he knew Thancred came from several years after he'd sealed himself away. Being a man from the First gave him natural cover to ask about the Source and all it's people, and just hearing familiar names and places gave him a comfort he’d been denied for decades.

Thancred didn't mind telling him about Ul'dah and the Scions and Ishgard and Ala Mhigo, and G'raha still felt a little shock of excitement when he'd relayed the information. Yes, he'd known all of it, but there was something so different about hearing it from someone who's been there rather than relayed as history! Thancred was, of course, exceedingly sparse on details on what he'd actually been doing... so sparse that G'raha could only immediately hope he could get the man to do the same in the first, to equal effect.

He never had the chance to ask about the Warrior of Light. Thancred seemed particularly careful with details about the Scions, and her most of all, and when at last he departed the Crystarium, he took any secrets with him.

---

The next two had had many, many more secrets between them. Only one was willing to share any.

Y'shtola saw only in aether, he'd come to learn, and quietly he feared she'd seen something in him that had made her so prickly, so guarded around him. Every time they spoke he had this sense that she was prodding him, dipping in and around his words, seeking to pull out every bit of meaning from even that which went unsaid. It was a bit unsettling, like she was trying to read his mind.

Or perhaps she was just like that? That wasn’t much better... he never quite knew how to handle such direct people, and there’d been a touch of relief when she had worked out what she wanted to do on her own and seen herself out.

Urianger was easier, comparatively. He knew scholars... He was one, even if Rammbroes had to chastise him a bit more than the other Students of Baldesion. The man was a direct disciple of Louisoix and they'd spoken before, long in the past. He had a twisty, secretive personality... and after a bit of conversation, proved to be remarkably fast on the uptake. He'd guessed at a lot more than G'raha had been trying to reveal, and in time it had become clear that they'd do better working side by side than trying to hide things.

He still couldn't quite get himself to ask about the Warrior of Light. Urianger and Y'shtola both were perceptive people, and he didn't want to know what meaning they might glean from untimely curiosity.

---

His third and fourth mistakes he regretted so keenly it made him ache. Alphinaud and Alisaie, the Leveilleur twins, older than he'd last seen them and yet still so young. He felt like they shouldn't have to be part of this fight, like it was wrong of him to snatch mere teenagers to the first.

Of course, he knew exactly what kind of battles they'd been fighting in the Source, and they hadn't deserved to be there, either. And of course, he also knew what they'd accomplished and that if they hadn't been there, things would've gone far worse all around. It didn't entirely soothe his mind.

Nor did the enthusiasm the pair showed in working in the First. Oh, yes, Alisaie had been ready to cut him to ribbons on arrival, and Alphinaud had had dozens of pointed questions and looked so worried he felt extremely bad, but once things had been sorted... Particularly once the twins were together again, and had spoken to Urianger, they were ready to fight at his side. They shouldn’t really have had to fight.

They were talkative.

They admired the Warrior of Light, and he'd realized the first time Alphinaud had brought her up that they saw her the same way G’raha did. They spoke of her with plain admiration, a person they looked up to but a person. She wasn't just a symbol of hope or light, she was their friend. Their partner. (They missed her. They were so worried about her. They hoped she was well, but had to trust she was...)

The desire he'd felt when he scoured the pages of 'Heavensward' finally had a chance at satisfaction, in the tales they shared with him. It was if he had a woodcut, a stark, rough black outline, and he'd added his own details, but here... these two could start adding color.

The warrior of light was a Paladin without peer, winner of some grand tournament in Ul'dah that Alisaie had been extremely disappointed to miss. It was rare, you see, that she could see the woman fight seriously off the battlefield; she was nervous in spars, always afraid of hurting someone more than she planned to

The warrior of light got along with Moogles, Alphinaud had relayed with no small amount of awe, even the ones high in the mountains who faffed about all day making nuisances of themselves. She'd taken to a job as an assistant post moogle, for some reason, and assisted the fuzzy things in restoring some stonework in the Churning Mists that Alphinaud was dying to visit in person.

The warrior of light was kind, they said, in every story and anecdote and tale they shared to keep themselves going. She was strong. She was resilient, and kept going when others could no longer. She was brave, no matter the odds. She would keep going, even without the scions at her side, and she could be trusted to stand tall until the end.

She was Defiant, they said. And G'raha Tia listened, and he pressed his hands against the gates and silently begged them to part and allow him to save her.

---

Three thoughts had run through G'raha's head as he exited the Crystarium, almost certain that his mistake in aim had dropped her no farther than Lakeland.

The first was professional. It was time to be the Crystal Exarch, and to be him so much that she would have no way of guessing that they'd met before, even in passing. He needed her to be on his side, and to understand, and to trust the Crystal Exarch even from their first meeting.

The second was gleeful. A hundred long years and more in slumber in the spires of the crystal tower... years and years and decades and decades of planning and painful decisions and research and mishaps all to save the First. And the Source, and the Warrior, though he couldn't help but think of those as the secondary goals, now. He'd lived here too long and seen too much to not dream of the darkness alongside his people.

The third was a nagging terror, that while he'd gotten it right the last four times... this time he might've fucked it up and dragged the Warrior of Light to the first without any clothing.

He saw Lyna speaking to someone by the gates, refusing them entry, and he felt it before he saw.

She stepped aside, and the Warrior of Light looked up at him.

For a moment his mind went blank. All the planning, the years of preparation all fleeing him for the breadth of a heartbeat.

She was so much smaller than he remembered. Lyna towered over a lot of folks, where as G'raha was usually the toweree, yet he still managed to claim a few inches on her. And she was... Soft, his brain provided, after searching though and discarding a variety of adjectives. He didn't think she was muscular but neither had he recalled her being quite so... rounded.

She met his gaze, and her eyes were mismatched, and he remembered something long forgotten, some centuries old memory nudged free.

"W-we're kind of opposites, have you n-noticed?" She'd asked, as they waited for news on some surveying, sitting side by side on a relatively safe patch of crystal in Mor Dhona. He'd been confused in the moment, but she'd gestured to her eyes and then his own, smiling. "Nearly t-the same color, your right and mine."

And she'd been right. At the time, his Allagan blood still slept, and he'd never noticed they each had a blue eye until she'd pointed it out. There'd been some feeling he'd had, realizing someone had paid that much attention to him... enough to notice something so small.

It came flooding back. She didn't talk much when she was down to business, and people thought her calm and stoic, but it was because of her stutter. She favored a longsword that seemed too big for her, because she'd grown up among Hellsguard and never quite adjusted to having things the right size for her. She didn’t understand magitek in the slightest and her expression was polite and glazed when Cid tried to explain anything. She hid her smile with one hand when she laughed, most of the time, and fiddled with her armor when she was tense, and took her tea so hot that it burned everyone else's mouths.

Defiant Bride, the Warrior of Light.

There was no hint of recognition in her eyes, but he'd been preparing for that for over a hundred years. It was, in fact, what he wanted. It only barely stung.

#ffxiv fanfic #5.0 spoilers #shb spoilers #lil sister defiant #Crystal Exarch #do i need a tag for WoL au? I'm fine I think

21 notes · View notes

wri0thesley · 6 years ago

Text

Being the Adult (Narancia)

You’re happy with Narancia. Really, you are - you just wish he’d take things a little more seriously.

almost angst turning into definite fluff! sfw, fem pronouns (but i think its just one instance of the word ‘girlfriend’)! this was a commissioned work!

Sometimes you do feel like you have to play the role of the adult. You don’t really mind; honestly, knowing what you do about Narancia’s past and everything that’s lead up to this moment, you’re glad that he feels like there’s still some good and light left in the world. In so many other people, the way he’s been treated would lead to apathy. In Narancia, it’s lead to seeing everything around him through a sunny glow, a grin on his face, making the most of every moment he has. You suppose the business with Diavolo (insofar as you know about it) had also taught him to grab life with both hands, and you’re glad about that--

But sometimes, it just gets to you a little bit having to be the responsible one.

Sometimes you find yourself talking down to him, and you hate it. He’s probably seen more of the world than you; hell, you didn’t help defeat the mob boss of the most powerful mafia in Italy - and yet, you just can’t stop yourself. He pauses whilst you’re walking to point at someone’s dog across the street, already taking off to give it pats and call it a good boy. He grins and bounces around whilst he talks, hands moving as quickly as his brain, his train of thought jerking to a stop and resuming again until you’re not entirely sure what your conversation was about to begin with. And you find yourself, every so often, holding your hands up and telling him to slow down and let you think.

Or you find yourself calling across a busy street to tell him to be careful. Or grabbing ahold of him before he walks into a lamppost, telling him to calm down, rolling your eyes if he suggests doing something like catching a superhero movie at the cinema or playing video games.

And every time, you see his face fall just a little, and you feel like your heart is cracking into two pieces. You don’t mean to be so boring! You don’t mean to try and stifle him! You want to have fun too!

But you try and reassure yourself that one of you two has to be an adult, one of you two has to think things through, consider the consequences. If it has to be you, you guess you’ll have to accept your new role.

It doesn’t seem to work at all when it comes to making Narancia calm down. If anything, you trying to be the one taking control and acting like an adult makes it worse. It’s almost as if Narancia’s trying to prove something to both himself and you; trying to joke around, get people to laugh with him, get people to look at him in wonder about how cool he is and how much they’d like to be like him.

When you go to dinner with all of Passione’s inner sanctum, it’s always Narancia who tries to make the waiter laugh (no matter how improbably fancy the venue, and with Giorno at the helm, the restaurants are often improbably fancy). It’s always Narancia who makes a joke that just falls a little flat; a little too blue, or a little too rude, or just so off the mark that Abbacchio rolls his eyes and breathes a sharp sigh and calls the waiter over to bring him an extra glass of wine. It’s always Narancia who runs his mouth; who blurts out something that is clearly not intended for a public place. It’s always Narancia who’s toeing the line.

Even when you’re alone--

Even when you’re alone, you’ve noticed that Narancia can get a little bit over-excited. That his touches on your waist and his kiss are fumbled a little, that he presses a little bit too much without understanding what he’s doing, that he’s overcompensating with big talk and attempts to make bigger physical overtures to you; once he’d bit down so hard on your lower lip you’d started bleeding. Once he’d given you a nosebleed because as he’d launched himself at you to kiss you, his forehead had collided with your nose. More than a few times, there’s been an awkward scuffle as you two try and get in a comfortable position for cuddling and you’ve been bruised by elbows and knees that never seem to stay where Narancia puts them to begin with.

It’s the elbows and knees that do it for you, in the end. Narancia’s knee connecting with your midsection as you crawl across the bed to try and rest your head on your boyfriend’s shoulder and he rolls in an attempt to get into the position he thinks is optimal for snuggles; in his wriggling, he hits you hard on the stomach and you roll away with a soft ‘oof’, pain blossoming from where the two of you had collided.

It had already been a stressful day. Narancia and you had gone out for lunch with Mista, who is not a calming influence at the best of times - your food had been a little cold, and you’d mentioned it to Narancia, and he’d made a huge deal out of it when the server had returned for the bill. It’s not something you’d cared about that much, and you’re sure that Narancia had felt like he was doing you a favour, trying to be the big man or whatever - but it had just made you feel embarrassed and awkward. Narancia probably wanted to be a knight in shining armour. But that’s not what you want from him! You just want him to be himself.

“For God’s sake,” you find yourself snapping, the words coming out before your brain has time to think about how your boyfriend might react to them. “Can’t you just think about what you’re doing for once in your life?”

Narancia stares at you for a moment as the words sink in, before his face twists into distress and he replies to you, sounding a little breathless;

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“It’s not that and you know it!” The words are spilling out of you after being held back all day. You know this is not a smart move. You know, for all he tries to bluster, Narancia is actually kind of sensitive; but you’ve spent the past months of your relationship trying not to let your frustrations show because you can’t believe how lucky you are that Narancia even wants you back. Months worth of vitriol comes out of you now. “It’s everything! You’re always trying to prove something, a-and I don’t know who you’re trying to prove it to! but it’s damn well not working on me!”

Narancia’s eyebrows draw in, full mouth twisting into a pout.

“Maybe if you took me seriously I wouldn’t have to try and prove anything to you!” He replies, his own voice rising in pitch and volume too. You’re used to his particular rises in volume being to do with excitement rather than anger, and you’re actually kind of scared to find out how hard Narancia sounds when he’s not being good-natured. You know Narancia is dangerous; you know Aerosmith isn’t a purely defensive stand. But Narancia has always been nothing but kind to you. Hearing this side of him is a little bit harrowing, honestly. Your fingers twist and untwist on the covers of the bed, the place where his knee had collided with you seeming to pulse in time with the beat of your heart.

“I do take you seriously,” you say, a little softer than before. Is that really what he thinks? “But you act like a kid all of the time--”

“You don’t,” he replies, forcefully, and when you look up to meet his eyes. Ordinarily, they’re a bright shade of violet; almost laughing, happy, eyes that make you feel lifted just to see them. Today, though, their colour has been muddied somewhat, and you know why; because they’re practically swimming in tears. Narancia’s always seemed so tough. He’s been through so much, and you don’t know how much of it he cried for, but plenty of it seems tear-worthy; that he’s crying now, because of you . . . It makes your stomach twist in discomfort and makes you feel like the worst girlfriend in the whole world. “You don’t take me seriously. Nobody takes me seriously, and I’m kinda used to that, but when it’s you doing it--”

“All of us take you seriously,” you say, trying to placate him and rid him of the tears that are threatening to roll down his cheeks. Oh, you don’t know what you’ll do if he cries-- “I take you seriously, and you know Buccellati does, and Giorno takes everything everyone says seriously--”

This time, Narancia’s voice is a little bitter.

“Of course you’d mention them,” he says, and you don’t miss the scorn lacing his words. You know he’d never be scornful of Buccellati, or Giorno - so does that mean, then, that the scorn is directed at you?

“I--I don’t know what you mean,” you tell him, face creasing into concern, and Narancia lets out a huff and rolls his eyes. In a different time and place, the huff and the way his mouth turns into a pout would be cute, but it’s hard to find anything cute right now.

“You know,” he says, “I mean. I know. It’s obvious you’d rather be with one of them than me. And I get it, I guess. I just--”

“Narancia,” you say, and you lean over. Your hand comes to rest on his, and you look into his eyes with a look on your face that you hope he sees as earnestness. You need him to believe you. “There is literally nobody I would rather be with than you.” He looks at you, lip trembling, and you get the impression that he doesn’t really believe you. That’s fine, though. You’ll convince him if you have to.

You take his hand into your lap, and try and think about what you’re saying.

“I guess I get a little bit worried about you,” you admit. “I don’t like feeling like I’m ruining your fun, y’know? Sometimes I feel like I have to be the adult. But I promise I’m not looking at Bruno or Giorno or any of your friends like that! That’d be a shitty move by me, right?”

“I’d get it,” he mumbles, a little shamefacedly. “They’re all suave and handsome and good and shit, and I’m just Narancia. Y’know. Lovable comic relief. Not to be taken seriously. Cute and not handsome.”

“Whilst I do think you’re very cute,” you say, a smile beginning to tug at your lips now that Narancia has stopped looking like he’s in immediate danger of sobbing. “I think you’re exceedingly handsome too. I mean, Bruno and Giorno are good-looking, I suppose - but they’re not you.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice comes out as a grumble that’s so soft you barely hear it.

“I jus’ want you to think I’m cool too.”

You squeeze his hand again, and he meets your eyes looking a little bit more hopeful than before. The hope in his eyes makes your heart and your stomach do a little somersault; this is the Narancia you fell so hopefully in love with from across the crowded halls in meetings with the Don of Passione. This is the Narancia that you watched from afar and wished would notice you. The Narancia that you’d felt so special when he’d smiled at you and known your name and asked you if you wanted to maybe get gelato together (he’d forgotten his wallet and you’d paid, laughing)--

“I think you’re cool already,” you tell him earnestly. “I think you’re just about the coolest guy I know without having to try. But when you do try . . .” Your face screws up, nose wrinkling. “I think when people try and be cool it’s probably the least cool thing they can do.”

Narancia looks a little shamefaced. Someone who cares as much about their coolness as he does knows what you just said to be an irrefutable truth, you think - you give him an encouraging smile anyway.

“I just want you to think I’m the coolest,” he repeats. “I’m tryin’ my best here!” He’s getting a little agitated, knee bouncing up and down; mindful of what happened last time Narancia’s knees got out of control, you shift a little closer to him so you’re almost touching. You try and imbue every ounce of feeling you have for him into your next words; try to channel how much you love him, how glad he’s made you in the past few months, how much you want to spend the rest of your life with him by your side;

“You don’t need to try.”

“But if you leave me because I fuck up--”

“I’m not leaving. I promise.” You’re struck suddenly by the thought of the boy who took advantage of Narancia’s nature; the one who convinced him to dye his hair and sent him to juvenile detention in his place, and your heart aches. You and all of the rest of Passione are not going to leave Narancia, of course - but Fugo had come so close, and Narancia didn’t grow up with too many figures whom he could trust, and of course he’s afraid that you’re going to up and abandon him. “I know that things are hard. For you. For everyone. But I’m here for good.”

“I’m just tryin’--”

“Narancia,” you say, and the stern tone in your voice finally makes him seem to take notice. His shoulders square, his mouth twisting, as he looks you full-on. “I promise, you don’t need to try. You can let go of the walls around me a bit. You can just be you.”

“What if . . . What if the you that you think I am isn’t the you that I am?” He replies back with, a challenge in his tone. “What if it’s the wall or whatever that you like and not the me?”

“You just like being contrary,” you tell him, with narrowed eyes, and you win a bark of laughter. Narancia’s lips when he laugh look so inviting. You want to lean into him, to kiss him until neither of you remember your own names-- no, concentrate. Narancia’s fragile, for all of his thunder. You need to pick up his pieces again first. “I fell in love with you. Not the wall. And I know it’s you and not the wall because I can tell when you’re putting it up.”

Narancia sighs.

“Is at least a real good-looking wall?” He asks, and it’s your turn to laugh. His face turns serious even as you stifle the giggles. “Are you really in love with me?”

Fuck, was that the first time you’ve said it out loud?

You’d hoped that your admission of love to Narancia would be somewhere a little nicer. Somewhere a little more romantic. Your six month anniversary is coming up, and Giorno’s got enough connections to get you tickets for a concert Narancia would like and a reservation at a restaurant you’ll like and entrance into an exclusive club where you know Narancia will have an amazing time dancing. You’d planned to do something special for it! You wanted Narancia to remember it!

But it looks like you’ve already put your foot in it, so you may as well accept it. You breathe out, slow and steady, and make sure that you’re looking Narancia square on into his - handsome, beautiful, real fucking cute - face.

“Yes.” You say. “I love you, Narancia Ghirga. Probably more than I should. You’re kind of annoying, sometimes? But mainly you just make me happy and feel like I could do anything I wanted to do. And . . . And I want to spend as much time with you as I can, and I don’t want you to be mad at me, and I really really don’t want you to cry. Ever.”

Narancia blinks at you for a few moments, clearly taking some time to process this new announcement. It’s clearly not something he minds, though - as he stops, his face splits into a grin, and you could cry with relief. You don’t know what you’d have done if he’d stumbled over his words and said you were really great and all, but that’s just not where he imagined you two going and it was just fun and was never meant to be serious or anything--

“Aww, amore!” He says, and he opens his arm wide. “Come here! Let’s cuddle! I love you too!”

This time, he waits for you to crawl over the bed, and you thankfully manage to avoid any of the Narancia’s knees related pitfalls that had befallen you earlier. You’re still a little slow as you rest your head on his chest (just to make sure, of course), but when you do, his arm goes easily around you. His movements are slower, and less frenetic, and although it’s not the Narancia you’re used to, it’s a good Narancia that makes you feel soft and warm and wanted.

“I’m glad,” you say, and then you wrinkle your nose as you settle closer to his heart. You can hear his heartbeat thrumming rhythmically in your ear, the noise soothing and making you feel closer to him than ever. “I wanted to tell you somewhere special. I wanted to make it feel like it was important.”

Narancia’s hand comes down, resting lightly on the top of your head before he begins to pull strands of your hair out as he strokes them. You’ve always loved having people play with your hair, and you relax into the touch - you’d always suspected, from the small but perfectly formed inner workings of Aerosmith, that Narancia had a side that was a little more concerned with details. Your suspicions are proved correct by the gentle way he handles you as you lay there in his embrace.

“Amore,” he murmurs, beginning to sound a little bit sleepy, “anywhere I’m with you is the most important place in the world.” He stifles a yawn at the end of the sentence, and you can’t resist the chance to tease him a little bit. This will be the true test of whether you’ve upset him beyond compare; Narancia is always up for a good laugh.

“That was real cheesy,” you tell him, “put the wall back up.”

The words hang in the balance for a brief period of time, and you think you’ve fucked up - and then, the sound of Narancia’s laugh fills the air, and you relax once more.

“Get used to it!” He tells you. “This is the real me! Cheesier than Mista at his worst! I’m gonna - uh - I’m gonna fuckin’ serenade you! Gonna buy you a hundred red roses and fill the entire fuckin’ house with them-- gonna . . . gonna . . .” He yawns, again, and the arm around you tightens. “Gonna fall asleep cuddlin’ you. Real romantic, huh?”

“Real romantic,” you affirm, settling into him. Narancia is warm, despite the bare arms, and his bed is really very comfortable. He’s a little bashful when he speaks next, though.

“Jus’ . . . jus’ don’t go spreadin’ around how romantic I am to everyone, huh? It can be our little secret.”

“Okay,” you reply to him. You’ll happily keep his secret, if it means you’re the only one who gets to share this soft, warm, cuddle tousled Narancia with the messy hair and the dusting of a blush on his cheeks.

Sometimes, being the adult means getting to be a little selfish.

#narancia ghirga #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #writing #sfw #fem pronouns #neutral reader

132 notes · View notes

twistedrunes · 7 years ago

Text

Changing Fortunes

Hello, anon and friends,

Here’s a little drabble based on the following request. It is set in a fictional first meeting between Tommy and Alfie in Alfie’s office. I hope you all enjoy it.

Also available on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15300672

Warnings: Some serious innuendo and flirtatious touching. Swearing. Impure thoughts of a sexual nature. The use of the slur Gypsy as per the context of the show.

Disclaimer - I am an avowed sceptic. I know NOTHING about palm reading or tea leaf reading, I did some light googling and made shit up. So please don’t come at me regarding these aspects of my story.

“So Thomas, my sources tell me you’re a Gypsy?” Alfie says fingers scratching in his beard as he watches Tommy over the top of his glasses. He had been distracted for most of the meeting with the man seated opposite. Quickly realising that the rumours of both his shrewdness and stunning beauty were true. How the fuck God had created a man quite so stunning was nearly beyond him. But those fucking eyes were what did him in. Normally Alfie could control just about any encounter by having the unnerving ability to hold peoples eye far longer than most people were comfortable with. But damn him if Tommy’s eyes weren’t like falling into fucking pools, dragging you under, causing his mind to wander, forcing him to have to look away every few moments to regain focus.

“Yes, I am,” Tommy replies holding Alfie’s eye before he rubs a cigarette across his bottom lip. Clamping it between them, Tommy’s eyes drop briefly as he brings the flame of his lighter to its tip, grateful for the excuse to look away, he had found it difficult to take his eyes off Alfie. Something about the bearishness of the man making him exceedingly attractive. Oh, and the hands, why did he have to talk with those bloody hands. Large and strong they were bejewelled as if just asking for attention, Tommy’d had more than one impure thought during the meeting about those hands. If only Solomons would just keep them in one place so he could avoid looking at them. But no he had to wave them around in Tommy’s face, taunting him. Tommy inhales deeply drawing the smoke down into his lungs. “Do you have a problem doing business with Gypsy’s Mr Solomons’?” He asks, face disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

“Not at all. Being as I’m from a similarly marginalised group. ” Alfie says taking a sip of his tea. He leans his elbows on the desk before continuing, gesticulating as he speaks “No, it’s just I was wondering if you any insights into our business which may be pertinent.”

“Are you asking if I read fortunes?” Tommy says a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe you aren’t as clever as they say. Perhaps you’re just better informed.” Alfie muses, bringing his hands together on the desktop entwining his fingers, rings clinking slightly as they come together.

Tommy can’t help but notice, yet again, the size and strength which are very apparent in Alfie’s forearms and hands. Thinking briefly how easily just one hand would fit around a man’s throat. Or how snuggly it would wrap around his cock. “Perhaps,” Tommy replies, with a small nod and raised eyebrow, before exhaling a cloud of smoke again obscuring Alfie’s view of his face.

“So how do you do it? Crystal ball, palm reading, tea leaves?” Alfie asks, waving his hands expansively.

“Well, I left my crystal ball at home.” Tommy quips, “But I suppose I should check your fortune before we proceed further. Make sure you’re not cursed.” Tommy crushes out his cigarette as he stands, slipping off his jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair.

“Cursed you say?” Alfie says nodding, taking in the fine and obviously expensive shirt Tommy was wearing. Noticing how it was taught over his shoulders and biceps. “Fucking right, that’s a distinct possibility, especially considering the men I tend to get involved with.”

“Which is your dominant hand?” Tommy asks sitting again, pulling the chair up hard against the desk.

“Yeah, that’d be both of ‘em innit,” Alfie says, a smirk turning the corner of his mouth as he balls his fists and turns them so Tommy could see the crowns on the backs of both hands.

Tommy’s tongue darts between his lips, his eyes flaring slightly. “Which do you hold your weapon with?” He clarifies.

“This one, mostly,” Alfie says lowering his right hand onto the desktop, palm side up.

Tommy reaches across the table and slides his hand under Alfie’s. His fingers travelling over the veins standing in relief on the back of Alfie’s hand. Tommy lifts Alfie’s hand from the table and places his other hand on the palm. Alfie shivers with the coolness of Tommy’s hands. Tommy’s eyes flutter slightly with the warmth emanating from Alfie’s. He smooths his top hand over Alfie’s palm, it’s rough under the smoothness of his own, he continues over the long slender fingers. He turns Alfie’s palm towards the light, ducking his head to examine the lines. “Hmm,” Tommy says thoughtfully.

“Don’t go getting all mystical on me Thomas, just tell me what you see,” Alfie says, feeling irrationally tense.

“Shush,” Tommy says running his hand over Alfie’s again soothingly. “You must have a calm mind for an accurate reading.” Alfie takes a deep breath letting it out slowly. Tommy looks up at him pouting slightly. Alfie stifles a sigh in his throat and takes another deep breath.

Tommy runs his middle finger along the line a wrapping around the ball of Alfie’s thumb, his finger coming to rest lightly below Alfie’s thumb on the pulse point of his wrist. Alfie finds his lips somehow impossibly dry. Forcing his tongue between them for relief, he draws his lower lip between his teeth chewing on it slightly. “You’re life line,” Tommy explains. “Long and strong, people can depend on you.” Tommy traces the line again, pausing this time near the middle of the palm. “Hmm, there are some breaks here, early on. Tragedies which changed the course of your life, normally the loss of a parent or sibling.” Tommy comments with an affected air of detachment. He doesn’t look up, feeling the tension in Alfie’s forearm.

Tension caused by surprise on Alfie’s part, followed by a wave of emotion. The fingers of Tommy’s bottom hand rub Alfie’s wrist soothingly. The finger on Alfie’s palm following along the curve of the life line, as if smoothing out the variations. Alfie is grateful to Tommy for his averted gaze. He is, however, surprised at how quickly the anger passes. Normally, thinking of his mother is enough to drive him into a rage lasting days. But he finds himself to be more an observer of the emotion. As if the rage is merely a cloud in the sky passing above him. Passing too quickly and too far away to have any impact on him. He wonders briefly how much that has to do with the cool palm on the back of his hand.

“Head line.” Tommy says his finger returning to the top of the heart line, this time following a different path, across Alfie’s palm. “Interesting, curved and split. A creative thinker who can see multiple points of view. A very handy attribute in business, don’t you think Alfie.” Tommy says looking up at Alfie again, his eyes veiled by his lashes.

Momentarily distracted, by the thought of looking down on those lashes while his cock was in Tommy’s mouth, Alfie says nothing before quickly regaining himself. “Yeah, very fuckin' useful that is.” He agrees.

As he speaks Tommy notices Alfie’s beard hides very full, very soft looking lips. He wonders how they would feel against his own before he clears his throat. He traces his finger along Alfie’s middle finger, then along the line to the side of Alfie’s palm. Tommy’s tongue darts between his lips before he speaks. “The heart line.” He looks up again as he traces Alfie’s finger and the line again “Long and curved, you’re driven by passion and desire and you don’t care who knows.”

Alfie’s cock twitches as he meets Tommy’s gaze, turning his hand so his palm is pressed to Tommy’s, his fingers wrapping loosely around Tommy’s wrist. “And what does that mean sweetie?” His voice so low it’s virtually indistinguishable from a moan.

Tommy blinks slowly, reaching calmly for a cigarette with his free hand, saying nothing until it is lit and he has taken a long drag into his lungs. “Well, I’d say that’s bad for business.” He blows the smoke towards the ceiling in a thin stream. Pulling his hand from Alfie’s grasp he stands.

Alfie’s heart sinks, thinking he has misread the situation. He pulls his hand back across the desk, fingers working his beard, mind racing. Wondering briefly if he should just shoot Tommy to save the embarrassment, realising quickly he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to shoot him in the face.

While he thinks Tommy has rounded the desk and is leaning against the edge facing Alfie. He takes another drag before ducking his head down and speaking quietly in Alfie’s ear “But good for passion.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Alfie growls with a shake of his head. He watches in mild disbelief as Tommy pops himself up on the desktop and reaches across Alfie to pick up his teacup. Alfie’s eyes roam over Tommy’s body near enough reclined in front of him, achingly close. His eyes pausing over the taut material over Tommy’s thighs and crotch. Caution, brought about by the glimpse of Tommy's holster, forces his hands to the arms of his chair, gripping them tightly.

Tommy holds Alfie’s cup and saucer in one hand. “Shall I read your leaves? They’re better for the more immediate future” He says reaching down and unhooking Alfie’s fingers from the arm of the chair. He pushes the cup into Alfie’s hand. “Swirl the tea three times and then set the cup upside down in the saucer.

With a bemused smile and pounding heart Alfie does as instructed, his now empty hand resting on the table top, the side touching the side of Tommy’s thigh lightly. He watches Tommy as he turns the cup over allowing it to drain before turning it looking at the inside of the cup, he marvels at the sharpness of his jaw and cheekbones. He finds himself smiling at the small smile forming at the corners of Tommy’s mouth. “The cup reveals good fortune for you. A new venture will bring you success and fortune.”

“Good,” Alfie says.

“Hmm, and it seems that someone who you considered an enemy may, in fact, be the opposite. It’s always difficult to read the reverse of a symbol.” Tommy mutters as if speaking to himself “Well, either way, they are an ally or perhaps a lover, as I say it’s hard to read. Maybe it’s too early to tell.” Tommy concludes allowing his words to hang between them. Alfie says nothing, for once at a loss for words, blood pounding in his ears as he waits for Tommy to continue. “Ah!” Tommy exclaims “And here you’ll be taking an unexpected journey,” He slides off the table and comes to stand next to Alfie. Tommy leans his hip against Alfie’s upper arm, holding the cup for Alfie to see. “Looks like a meal, see the bowl,” He points to a blob of leaves vaguely resembling a half circle before pointing to two thin, parallel lines “and this signifies a road.” He slides his hand over Alfie’s shoulders, they are every bit as toned and hard as he had hoped.

“Hmm,” Alfie says regaining some of his usual confidence and looking up at Tommy. “A journey for a meal ey?”

“Looks like it.” Tommy says with certainty putting the cup back on the table and turning to face Alfie again. “Well, I’d best be off, more meetings today.” He says pushing off the table and walking away. Stopping only to lift his jacket off the back of the chair and slide it on. Alfie watches the play of Tommy’s muscles under the expensive fabric. Tommy pauses by the door pulling on his overcoat and putting on his cap. “So tonight at seven?” He asks over his shoulder, his hand on the door.

“Right, yeah,” Alfie says leaning forward with his elbows on his desk, fingers roaming through his beard, before tugging the small tuft of hair under his lip. “Think you’d best bring that crystal ball of yours Thomas.”

“Hmm?” Tommy responds eyebrow arched slightly.

“Yeah, get you to look into it with those pretty eyes of yours ey? See what comes up.”

_________________________

Did you like this? Hate this? Have an idea you want me to do? Send me an ask! Interested in my other work? Find them on my MASTERLIST

Want to be tagged? GO HERE

#tommy x alfie #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinder fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #twistedrunes imagine #Tommy Shelby imagine #alfie solomons imagine #alfie x tommy

198 notes · View notes

kiruuuuu · 7 years ago

Text

Echo Chamber Pt 1

The beginning of the Lesion/Echo verse: Lesion convinces Echo to go on a date with him and it’s nothing like he expected. (Rating G, all fluff ♥, ~1.7k words)

“A what now?”, Echo asks, incredulous, clutching Yokai for emotional support in case he didn’t mishear. The whole situation is embarrassing enough already, what with the fact he’s got a pretty good idea of what the man in front of him looks like without his clothes now and it’s the kind of thing he could’ve done without knowing, thank you very much.

Lesion’s smile is unwavering, bright and entirely too genuine for someone who caught someone supposedly spying on him only an hour ago – the old man really is shameless after all, too relaxed and having no trouble upholding eye contact where Echo flounders. “A date”, he repeats patiently, “you know? A rendezvous? That seems like adequate compensation to me.”

“You’re kidding, right?” It’s not the worst thing Lesion could demand – after all, he holds a considerable amount of power over him since if word gets out that Echo uses his trusty drone to peep on his fellow operators, it’d be a serious blow to his already shaky reputation of which he’s sure Lesion is aware. However, the thought of going on a date with him is exceedingly weird, especially since they’ve barely interacted in the past. It’s not that Echo dislikes the jovial SDU operator, not at all, he’s always been entertaining even when his sadistic side shows during missions, it’s just… dating him seems absurd.

“Of course I’m kidding.” Lesion grins at him and he almost rolls his eyes – he should’ve expected it, Lesion frequently hangs around with the SAS guys as well as Bandit, so jokes of this nature are far from uncommon. “So, where would you like to go?”

Wait a second. “What do you mean?”

“For our date. Any preferences?”

“But you said -”

“Do you always argue this much when someone offers to take you anywhere you want and pay for everything?”

The bastard is still smiling and Echo can feel himself becoming flustered because it dawns on him the old man is serious after all. “No, but I’m not -”

“Where did you take Ying when you were dating, hm?”

It’s the first time either of the two acknowledges Echo’s romantic entanglement with Lesion’s colleague to each other and it couldn’t have happened at a more inopportune time because Echo can’t help but think Now I’ve seen both of them come and almost drops Yokai on his own foot. “I don’t know, restaurants? To the movies? We went to the zoo once. Oh, and there was this special event where -”

“A theme park? That sounds like a wonderful idea actually, it’s been ages since I’ve been to one. We’re both off duty the day after tomorrow, do you have anything planned for that day yet?”

He does, as a matter of fact. He’s been planning to stay home all day and play video games, order food and take his mind off the job, it’s supposed to be one of those days that restore his energy, let him recharge, clear his head. Visiting a theme park with Lesion of all people sounds exactly like the sort of stress he doesn’t need – even if he has to admit he enjoys roller coasters immensely. It’s off-season, too, no school holidays, it’d be during the week so there would be next to no lines… The more he thinks about it –

“Great. I’ll pick you up in the morning, alright?”

Echo is starting to wonder whether Lesion can read minds. “I didn’t know there were any theme parks nearby”, he voices his next thought out loud and Lesion’s smile grows.

“There aren’t. It’s going to be a day trip.” And with these words and a fucking wink, he leaves. He just. He just walks away without giving Echo the chance to protest or ask what just happened because they went from Did you enjoy the show to Let’s go on a day-long date so fast his head is spinning.

He notices his jaw has dropped at Lesion’s audacity, so he quickly closes his mouth before he ends up yelling something embarrassing into the hallway and turns around to go back to his room and return Yokai to its rightful place.

Come to think of it, he has no idea how it ended up in Lesion’s room in the first place. He certainly didn’t put it there himself.

~*~

Somehow, despite really knowing better, a part of Echo didn’t believe Lesion would actually go through with it. Yet he got up early, showered, had a meagre breakfast in his underwear in front of his computer screen and caught himself pondering his outfit choices as if this was an actual date and he was trying to impress someone. He wasn’t. Still, he’s going out in public so he might as well look his best, right? He brushes his teeth, tames his hair, hums to himself and catches himself pacing restlessly when he’s ready. As if he’s looking forward to this. He isn’t.

Lesion’s car is exactly like he imagined it: tiny, cluttered and old. Echo has to fold himself in half to get in and adjust the seat so his knees don’t come up to his chest but once he’s done all that, it’s kind of cosy. “I bought some food for the drive and coffee if you haven’t had any yet”, Lesion greets him, annoyingly awake and chirpy, let alone suspiciously nice. He’s still insisting that Echo doesn’t spend a penny and when he points out that this was supposed to be a “punishment” of some kind, Lesion just waves his objection aside with a: “Don’t be ridiculous.”

The car ride turns out surprisingly pleasant, even if Lesion is a terrible singer which does nothing to deter him from doing it regardless. As soon as Echo notices that the ancient car radio doesn’t even have the local channels programmed in, he does Lesion the favour while grumbling about old people and technology, somehow amusing Lesion to no end. For most of the drive, Echo plays around on his phone while they chat about everything and nothing like terrible English food, how lucky they are people in the UK drive on the correct side of the road, bits and pieces of their past. Echo is relieved to notice Lesion doesn’t mind his occasionally harsh words even if he happens to disagree – he’s patient, something Echo wouldn’t have expected of him. When they’re nearly there, he’s stir crazy enough to join in as Lesion offers his rendition of Britney Spears and so they arrive giddy and comfortably at ease with each other.

As the day progresses, Echo gets more and more confused.

The theme park is worth its money and chock full of rides that make his adrenaline spike and a childish laugh bubble out of him that he hasn’t heard in a long time, the thrill elating and devoid of the tension, the alertness Echo has become so accustomed to, the dread that accompanies him on missions and that he forces down, channels into cockiness. His joy feels pure and innocent and he genuinely can’t remember when he last allowed himself to not worry about time, not think about all the other things he could be doing, ignore the nagging voice inside that constantly reminds him not to waste the day. But this is not the confusing part.

Lesion is. He continues to baffle him with his generosity, attentiveness and charisma. Echo learns not to point out anything food related anymore because before the words have left his mouth, Lesion has bought it for him and already asks if he wants more despite him not even having tried it yet. Apart from that, he indulges Echo’s every whim, never once complains about going on the same ride five times in a row, makes ridiculous comments about how likely they are to die on each one, even pointing at the children’s rides and listing possible ways to perish with a grave face (“pissing your pants in public – that’d be societal death, almost worse than the real thing”) until Echo almost cries laughing.

He doesn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t this. It’s almost like spending a day with an old friend, re-discovering mutual interests and enjoying each other’s company, only they’ve never been friends and he’s certain Lesion has some kind of ulterior motive, judging by the way he keeps watching him out of the corner of his eye. Whether he wants to fuck with Echo or something else entirely is not completely clear.

On the way back, Echo dozes off to Lesion humming along to Taylor Swift and is woken up by a gentle touch on his shoulder, a thumb rubbing over the exposed skin on his neck, then knuckles brush his cheek, ticklish, and when fingertips start carding through his hair, he stirs and makes the hand withdraw, stretches and yawns before blinking at Lesion who somehow always regards him with this one specific expression: an open smile, a curious look, almost expectant. Echo realises this was the first time Lesion has touched him deliberately and he doesn’t know how he should feel about the fact he doesn’t mind it.

Still. The confusion stays with him. “What… exactly was this?”, he asks, hesitating, averting his gaze again.

“A good time, I’d hope”, is the cheery reply.

“No, I mean”, Echo starts again and has the feeling Lesion knows exactly what he means. “I don’t get it. This was what you wanted?” Ultimately, what he wants to know is whether their “deal” is concluded.

“Yes”, Lesion says simply. There is more to it. There has to be more. “If you like, we can conclude this date with a kiss?” And before Echo can protest, he leans over a little and offers his cheek.

Well. It’s so little to ask that Echo would feel bad if he refused, so he complies, leans in and – and then there’s movement and Lesion is too fast, plants a kiss right on Echo’s lips and he actually jumps. This wasn’t -

“You drool when you sleep”, Lesion tells him, his smile now of a decidedly smug quality, “it’s cute.”

“Okay. I’m out. Bye.” Echo unfolds himself out of the car as fast as possible and can somehow hear Lesion’s chuckling follow him all the way to his apartment door that he unlocks with burning cheeks.

#rainbow six siege #lesion #echo #lesion/echo #fanfic #echo chamber #please imagine lesion in those shorts on a rollercoaster #poor echo all ???

64 notes · View notes

ryusxnka · 7 years ago

Text

W hite’s day; a human’s obtuse concept of a gaiety event that occurs singularly once in every year. -- It pertained the idealization that men ought to present women gifts as a token of equivalency for an alike festival that transpired precisely a month ago. Therefore, If it weren't for the actuality that Hinamori had proffered him hand-made chocolates for valentine’s day, he wouldn't have fretted with any of this foolishness at all. ---- He deemed it entirely frivolous. A misapplication of time and financial spendings. But in spite of his own sentimental negations affixed to this day, none of that, truly, mattered in the end if he was capable of influencing an authentic smile to explicitly ornament ‘pon the brunette’s beautiful mien. -- She merited the entire world and the interminable quantity of happiness it shadows ‘neath its hardships. Albeit it aches him, his heart, that he could not confer her with such. So he hopes -- exceedingly. -- that the material commodities currently attending the expanse of his right palm and his left appendage were enough to appease her. She was an individual donned in clothe of simplicity. This he knows. And yet evermore feels inept in everything that he effects when it came to her.

Atop her tabletop, he sets down a satisfactory-sized teddy bear. It’s colors reflected that of his own individualistic aesthetic. Its padded body was as snow-white as the tinge of his unkempt locks and it had an intricate heart sewed on the mid-point of its chest as blue as the frigid element that torments him. Fortuitously for the captain, the lieutenants were in the midst of their periodic conferences at the current. An exceptional opportunity to come and distribute these into Hinamori’s personal quarters. -- Tangent to the bear’s position is a Lollipop located. It retained two flavors he’s privately arranged to embed onto its collectivity on a day he spent at a candy manufacturing business in the world of the living.The rows of blue, whilst the hues were deliberately dissimilar, withheld the flavoring of watermelon. -- A fruit that held myriad of childhood memories. ----------- And the rows of pastel rose had the flavoring of peaches, the significance behind her very name. Juvenile as these gifts may represent, inside, there were deeper meanings... meanings he knows she’ll come to understand. Once he’s content with the placement of the items, he straightens his composure and heads for the entrance door. There was no need to leave a note. That’d only bring him embarrassment. He glances over his shoulder, jawline brushing aloft rough materials, for mere seconds ‘fore he strides forward.

HAPPY WHITE’S DAY, HINAMORI ...

@hanayomemomo

#;Drabble #hanayomemomo #I tried to do a thing #n it kinda failed #but i hope you like it either way #and if you want to reply to this #Then go right ahead B>

8 notes · View notes

noprodigalson · 7 years ago

Text

@greatwrath

“Oh, this bodes well.” Azrael drawled, bracing herself against the back of a nearby pew.

For a second there, Azrael became momentarily concerned that the disembodied choir music was her original voice, which usually emitted from her vessel at a low frequency far beyond what the human ear could detect, though she had been known to slip once or twice under duress. Fortunately, her concerns were put to rest when she realized she was making an entirely different noise than the one currently echoing through the church. Thank the Lord, that would’ve been another embarrassing symptom of old age.

“What horrible thing is going to happen today, I wonder.” Azrael breathed, silver eyes darting from the altar over to Dean.

looking down towards the apse of the church, the empty building giving off a faint echo of voices that dean wasn’t quite able to place. there’s a glance given to the person he was traveling with- but person would be the wrong word to describe them, wouldn’t it ? in a situations like this though, dean figured they were going to be exceedingly helpful. he breaks eye contact with the other, looking back over to the apse to see if he could spot anything that’d help tell him just what the hell was going on. he gives a small, nonchalant, shrug, feeling the weight of the shotgun against his shoulder, lips pursing slightly in contemplation. “ what, they’re not friends of yours ? ”

#verse ;| main |#;| ain't no fortunate queue |#greatwrath

1 note · View note

haiyuta · 7 years ago

Text

Bookshelves

Group: Monsta x

Request: Hello! How are you doing? Well, may I request a Kihyun fluff scenario? Maybe he and the reader are really into books and always go to the same library, but are too shy to approach each other... Until one day, he sees her trying to understand a Math exercise and he helps her.... I don't know hahaha something like that, I just wanted to read a cute Kihyun scenario

(Possible admin Kei wrote this) PPS Admin search is still on.

The soft rustlings of pages flipping every few minutes were the only noises emitting in the quiet building. It was a sanctuary for many, the silence bringing a feeling of serenity. You pushed your hair out of your face; the locks had been blocking your vision. You loved to read, it was one of your favorite things to do. There was a sense of nostalgia whenever you turned to the next page. Something about reading enthralled you to no end. It brought comfort whenever it was needed. You went to the library probably more than other place.

You were friendly with the sweet librarian and had learned the faces of the regulars well. But there was one regular who visited almost as much as you did. He was a handsome guy, one who seemed to shine brighter than everyone else. He had warm chestnut eyes and a kind smile. He usually had his thick hair pulled forward, the ends dancing around his eyes like grass under the sun. Sometimes he’d have round spectacles perched on his nose which made him look softer in a way. You had developed a crush on him without ever speaking to him. The only reason you knew his name was because you had heard the librarian call him by his name.

Kihyun.

It sounded so smooth and rolled of your tongue like silk. It would be embarrassing to admit that you’ve said his name to yourself more than a few times.

You were broken out of your thoughts by the sound of the library door closing, the thud echoing lightly throughout the silent room. Your head instinctively swiveled towards the resonance and saw Kihyun quietly entering, his black backpack strapped securely on his slim shoulders. Your eyes followed him as he walked closer; his chocolate eyes scanning the crowded shelves as he strolled passed them. His eyes soon met yours, causing you to abruptly look away, turning back to the math homework you were assigned.

Unbeknownst to you, Kihyun had also formed a crush on you. Every time he’d walk through the library doors, he’d see you sitting in the same seat at the same table. Something drew him to you, like a moth to a flame. Unfortunately for him, he too was too timid to sit near you, let alone have a conversation with you. So instead, he’d admire you from afar, usually peeking in between the books that sat lazily on the shelves.

Currently, you were struggling with a difficult math problem. The topic itself was challenging to comprehend and the problems you’d been delegated were only stressing you out. You stared blankly at the complex differential calculus problem, unable to remember where to start. You kept erasing the mistakes, getting exceedingly more frustrated with each failure.

From between two books, Kihyun observed your frustration clearly. He bit his lip and pondered whether or not to ask what was the matter. After seeing you put your head down in defeat, his mind had been made up. Unconfidently, he strode over and gently tapped you on your shoulder. You lifted your head and your eyes bulged slightly. He faintly cleared his throat, his cheeks dusted in a very light pink.

“Um…hello.”

“Hi…” You whispered in response, unsure if you were dreaming.

“D-Do you need help?”

“Actually, yeah. Do you know how to do this?” You gestured towards your open math textbook.

He gazed at the book before nodding. “I know how to do this. Do you want me to show you how?”

“Yeah, that’d be awesome.”

He planted himself in the chair next to you and scooted closer. He was close enough to where you could smell his cologne. You bit your lip as your cheeks flushed with a bright red.

He spent the next thirty minutes explaining in detail how to solve the problems and even checked over your completed work to make sure it was correct. When he nodded his head in approval, you grinned widely, feeling accomplished. You gratefully thanked him to which he replied that it wasn’t a big deal. After a few moments, you both realized how close together you were which led to heat rising in both yours and Kihyun’s soft cheeks. He quickly scooted away and laughed nervously.

“If you ever need help with your work again, feel free to ask me. I’m always open. I-I men…that came out wrong …”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how awkward he sounded. “Thanks again. I’ll be sure to take you up on your offer.”

He smiled sheepishly before getting up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll see you around.” He bid his goodbye and sauntered to the door. You watched him leave, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Please give us more difficult problems tomorrow.” You thought to yourself, hoping to receive his help again.

#kpop #kpop scenarios #monsta x #monsta x scenarios #kpop fluff #monsta x fluff

25 notes · View notes

mittensmorgul · 8 years ago

Text

7.16: A pair of cursed ballet shoes speaks to Dean. He wants to wear the shoes. But for the folks who put them on, the performance they’re forced into kills them...

OUT WITH THE OLD-- BY REVISITING THE OLD AND DOING SOMETHING BETTER WITH IT.

We’ve torn this episode up and down for the performing Dean of it.

Sam’s not sleeping anymore, and he’s lost control over his hallucinations.

Dean pries the ballet shoes off a little girl, and suddenly they’re following him around, tempting him...

Meanwhile the leviathans are buying up every lot in town, which led directly to the owner of Out With The Old to sell off everything in the shop, including the cursed items his mother had locked in a safe in curse boxes...

SAM: Hey! Hey, hey, hey! SAM pulls the shoes away from DEAN and puts them in the box. SAM: Geez! You okay there, Baryshnikov? DEAN: Yeah. Yeah, I'm "pas de done."

(he really did see Black Swan)

Sam goes to fetch the cursed gramophone, and Dean goes to find a cursed porn magazine, while wondering how old porn kills you... he shouldn’t have asked...

DEAN (on phone) Hey. Got the porn. Just in time, too. SAM (on phone) What was he doing? DEAN (on phone) Uh, like you said, you don't want to know. Where you at?

So Scott had been pushing for his mom to sell the store for years, to retire and enjoy the money, and she’d resisted until the leviathan real estate agents somehow talked her into it, after which she died the next day in a car accident.

SCOTT: Car crash. You know, I keep thinking, if I hadn't pushed her, then... DEAN: Hey, a little tip. Uh, feeling guilty ain't gonna bring 'em back. Best you can do is live your life the way that you think would make her proud. Or at least not embarrass the crap out of her.

Then we discover JUST HOW the Leviathans were convincing people to sell-- they were killing them, then impersonating them long enough to sign the documents, then staging their deaths as accidents.

Which makes it ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL that Sam and Dean had come to town to investigate the weird spate of cursed object related deaths, and just ~stumbled across~ this leviathan real estate scheme after WEEKS AND WEEKS of getting nowhere and spinning their wheels trying to figure out what they were doing in that field, and what their bigger plans might be.

Meanwhile, some weird instinct won’t stop niggling at Dean, and he can’t believe that it was just a coincidence...

DEAN (on phone) No, listen to this. The lady spends 40 years trying to keep that place, right? Then one day she wakes up and sells. Next day, drives her car off a cliff. SAM (on phone, yawning): So, uh... What, you think somebody cut her brakes or something? DEAN (on phone): No, I think the world is full of hilarious coincidences. Oh, and there's this new company – never even tasted real estate just gobbled up a huge chunk of Main Street. Now, I could be off the deep end here, but doesn't that seem weird to you?

AND THEN SAM EXPERIENCES ANOTHER HILARIOUS COINCIDENCE. After falling asleep at the wheel and nearly getting smashed by a semi. He’s getting in line at the Mojo Java coffee stand where George the Leviathan Realtor recognizes him.

In a scene moments after Dean turns Frank’s own banter back on him (my silence is your cue, Frank):

FRANK (on phone) Oh, touché. So, you were trying to access the Geothrive internal site, and the reason why you couldn't is 'cause, if you dig down deep, it's all Dick. DEAN (on phone) Yeah, well, that'd be helpful if you didn't say that about everything.

George helps Sam and Dean take out his boss, and gives them a bit more information than they’d had before, about what the leviathans are doing-- building research facilities to cure cancer. Which seems exceedingly strange, that monsters would want to help people... (they just want make a healthier herd of livestock for their own dining pleasure *shudders*) (echoes of Dean’s “soylent green is people” from 12.18)

After they take care of the Leviathan, they drive to check in with Frank, and find his trailer trashed and blood spattered everywhere. Apparently the leviathan had caught up with him. If FRANK’S paranoid concealment methods hadn’t been enough to keep him safe, then what hope do Sam and Dean have?

*all set to Bad Moon Rising*

Especially with Sam going officially off his nut, suffering from Hallucifer-induced sleep deprivation powerful enough to actually kill him if he doesn’t get himself sorted out soon.

#spn 7.16 #s12 meta rewatch #performing dean #sam vs reality #lies and damn lies #face your past head-on and FIND ANOTHER WAY a BETTER WAY

21 notes · View notes

grubhivemind · 8 years ago

Text

-- decastichAmazifier [DA] began pestering aurulentHuntsman [AH] --

DA: sup working man

DA: there he is, standing post proudly with his boot on a stump, tiddies out, hair billowing

DA: unless i caught you during the lunch break and you're slurpin noodles while reading this

DA: no less attractive but entirely different situations though one is decidedly saucier... damn we just found the peak of potential sexiness

DA: good work team

AH: KAVI! ~}==>

AH: What a pleasant surprise! Indeed, you have caught me during a moment of respite, so your timing is QUITE fortuitous ~}==>

AH: I could definitely eat though, now that you mention it... ~}==>

DA: the hunger is real and altogether mutual, but let's work on food first

DA: guess which handsome guy is having his handsome boyfriend drop by lunch?

DA: Avalon is a lot of ground to cover and while i'd hate to dump a tracking chip on you i can't help to realize how convenient it'd make dropping in

AH: How inventive! We could exchange tracking chips if you'd like! HAHA ~}==>

AH: I'm sure that would be unnecessary, however... I am always at your beck and call, of course ~}==>

AH: For now, you can find me at home ~}==>

DA: there he goes feeding into my bad habits with grace and flourish while also being a sweet fuckin dork, expertly disarmed.. damn

DA: you can't tell but i'm clenching my fist like a prepubescent anteater... or aardvark ...... the fuck?

DA: i'm gonna google it on my way over

DA: see you in 10 babe

-- decastichAmazifier [DA] ceased pestering aurulentHuntsman [AH] --

KAVI: =It's a home he's well familiar with so don't mind him swoocing on in there... unless it's into one of Auryhn's mechanical servants then really don't mind and please look away from that fumble. He's having a better hair day but with changing from the hot to the cold his curls are all tight and extra sproingy=

AURYHN: -please, he has security cameras everywhere... he sees all. but he will not crush kavi's pride by drawing attention to his blunders. instead he trots out into the hall to greet him with a swoosh of his coat.- There you are! ~}==>

KAVI: =HE WILL HACK YOU.... but not this time because all the toys are away. The coat and scarf are already coming off, Auryhn gets a big smile and a cold kiss on the cheek= it's me, your dream come reality

KAVI: even more so since i got nibbles, hope you're in the mood for Earth-style Mediterranean

KAVI: i'm expanding my menu.. trying anyway

AURYHN: It sounds DELECTABLE ~}==>

AURYHN: You know I'm always willing to try something different ~}==> -winks and places a palm to kavi's back, leading him towards one of his many drawing rooms in the wing that's still private to him, as opposed to being repurposed for his CREW. it's much more casual here than eating in the dining area. he'd rather kavi feel cozy and at home.-

KAVI: =Here's the scoop though, he does feel at home here and most certainly with Auryhn in general. It's kinda scary, very exciting, and exceedingly frightening. Being in love is great but it doesn't really come hard for people like him which sprouds a wariness that he can't shake but, conflictingly, not give a shit to shake.=

KAVI: nuts, and here i was plotting all kinds of ways to convince you there goes the pre-lunch seduction

KAVI: which is probably in the best interest of all parties, hummus goes on pita, it's basically law and i'd hate the local authority to catch wind to my wrongdoings =he'd HATE it, it'd be so awful.... but once in the dining area he lays out the food fresh from his sylladex thus fresh from the kitchen=

KAVI: =A hearty salad with things like chic peas and purple lettuce, falafels and thinly sliced meats and not to mention the hummus and some cucumber sauce he tried to make. Also because presentation is everything he has it looking fancy for his spoiled prince=

AURYHN: -yes, these are two men who truly value presentation. auryhn is eyeing the display with much interest, on the edge of his seat and gathering up his meal.- This is fantastic! And you prepared it all yourself? ~}==>

AURYHN: -he's such a carnivore, despite half his family being vegetarian, and chomps right into the falafel without a moment's hesitation. it's only kavi around, there's no need to be COMPLETELY refined.-

KAVI: mmhmmmmm, right down to the pita =chinhands while Auryhn tears into his food. Kavi's always been more of a nibbler so that's what he's doing=

KAVI: nothin but the best for you, sugarcube =and he intends to make it the best... having practiced these recipes for around a week Figaro's had more than his fair share of lettuce and other greens other turtles can only dream of= gotta make sure my man's well-fed

AURYHN: -looks up from his food with big smiles and shiny eyes. so much adoration. kavi spoils him... and he does like to be spoiled, even if he's sometimes a little too prideful to admit. after dabbing at his face with his napkin -- because he's no HEATHEN -- he leans in to give kavi a kiss on the side of his head.-

AURYHN: It's delicious, Kavi. Thank you ~}==>

AURYHN: I must return the favor next time... ~}==> -it's been a while since he's done any cooking. it's a shame.-

KAVI: =grins and never ceases the chinhand= anytime babe, i look forward to that

KAVI: maybe sometime we can cook together, that'd be bitchin =He misses that cooking and also Auryhn in general. All this hero-ing makes him nervous but he doesn't mention it..... much=

AURYHN: -he seems EXTRA excited about that idea.- Egads, that's genius! Why haven't be thought of that before? ~}==> -he's so pleased, he smooches on kavi again... and nuzzles him... he might be a little starved for affection.-

KAVI: we were too busy one-upping each other into oblivion on the smooth factor =smiles at the nuzzles, good excellent. Crosses his legs and leans on Auryhn. Up on him actually for a kiss=

KAVI: we can make time for it and other shit, multi-tasking if need be

AURYHN: If anyone has the drive and the capability to achieve that kind of multitasking, it would be us! ~}==>

AURYHN: However, I'd rather not divide up any of my attention when I have time alone with you ~}==> -don't mind him as he abandons his food to touch at kavi's cheek, brush a thumb at his springy curls.-

KAVI: =Turns into that hand and lightly kisses Auryhn's palm, his hair is soft and if it's pulled it'll bounce right back up. Speaking of let's get up he settles in Auryhn's lap, scooting him out from the table a little=

KAVI: oh you wouldn't be dividing any attention, not from me .... really

KAVI: hypothetical question: could we or could we not squeeze in a quickie while making a robust stew?

AURYHN: -grinning at this kavi he has bundled up in his lap, resting his hands on his sides... only to short circuit a little at the question.- AH... ~}==>

AURYHN: THAT SEEMS LIKE IT COULD GET....... Messy ~}==> -wheeze-

KAVI: =shrugs cooly and plays with Auryhn's ponytail, putting it over a strong shoulder then moves to play with his ear= maybe but that's always, if the mess in the kitchen is a big deal there's an easy fix

KAVI: =Let's it hang in the air for a minute= i mean. i could just turn around

AURYHN: -oh deer, he's quite blue in the face now, his ear twitching under kavi's delicate touch.- That would be... much more convenient ~}==> AURYHN: -hands smooth down his thighs, palming at them with a sudden eagerness.-

Mishroom-04/20/2017

KAVI: =All according to keikaku= KAVI: see, that's what i'm sayin we can be mad efficient =Leans down to kiss Auryhn's collarbone then tips his head up, nosing under his jaw. He can't not grin at that cool blush= we could do a practice run just to be sure if you're still worried though... unless you gotta get back =Which yeah the way Kavi drags his fingers and speaks soft and low under Auryhn's ear that's basically a thing he's gunning to not happen. He will play dirty=

AURYHN: -honestly, he doesn't need much convincing when it comes to any form of attention -- but especially so in this case. he's already long gone and the sweet touches might as well be torture. he grips at kavi tighter.- Well... Haha... Surely if there was any immedi8 threat to 8e concerned with, I'd know... ~}==>

AURYHN: But who's to stop me from neighing-- STAYING ~}==> -all the heat rushes to his face for his excited slip ups. how embarrassing.-

KAVI: =Neighing... Kavi grins and even though that tighter grip makes his insides roll in excitement he also just-- now directly in Auryhn's ear= (hey how you doin big man lemme knicker in ya ear, you can pun all night baby. wordplay is my second favorite) = snickers and nips at that lobe, dangerous flat teeth watch out.=

AURYHN: -flat as they are, the way they scrape is an entirely different kind of deadly. between that and the whispers (FILLY as they are) he's shuddering all the way down to his toes, his blunders all but forgotten.- I wouldn't call it... especially clever wordplay... But a slip of the tongue ~}==>

AURYHN: You've got me rather twisted up... ~}==> -reciprocates with sweet kisses to kavi's neck, his hands grasping with more confidence, up under his shirt at the warm skin of his sides.-

KAVI: =A grin spreads over his face feeling Auryhn shudder, good. Excellent.= i'll give you a slip of the tongue, also it's cute

KAVI: my only thing is be prepared for me to prod you the next century if you're about to bust a trollnut and a pun comes out, i'm just saying it's out of my hands and gives me life while also destroying me

KAVI: =Mutters through the neck kisses and flexes for the wandering hands and undoes his ponytail gently. Combing fingers through Auryhn's hair to fan it out= before the mocking starts i can help you unwind though.... we.... do have a perfectly good table right here and technically i didn't put out dessert so that can be fixed =presses a kiss to Auryhn's cheek, it's him. He is the dessert. It's a careful, gentle set-up to being boned on furniture. Smooth=

AURYHN: -oh yes, VERY subtle... but auryhn didn't need much coaxing. after moving aside the food on the table, his hands secure under kavi's ass, lifting him with ease and a rumbly purr, silky smooth and contrasting his chastising words.-

AURYHN: Must you be so crude? I've herdly been given the chance to romance you ~}==> -with that, he plops kavi onto the table, crushing him under more kisses.-

AURYHN: Or would you prefer to skip that part? ~}==>

AURYHN: Whatever you desire, your wish is my command...~}==>

KAVI: =The second this dumb chair is out of the way his legs secure themselves around Auryhn's waist. Then snickers against his lips, pausing from slipping up Auryhn's shirt= whoa time out, are you sure? you bathe in pure romance babe, Mr. Flowers-for-no-reason =Bye shirt, folds it and puts it under his head. His now=

KAVI: oh, rare flowers from the top of mountains not one a wholeassed bouquet nbd KAVI: but i mean.... if it's player's choice then i'm ready for more unbridled spoilage from my super sweet boyfriend =cops cop tiddies=

AURYHN: -these unbridled stallion tiddies FLEX under kavi's hands.- In that case... ~}==>

AURYHN: -kisses down his neck to his collar tenderly, shifting over him to start pulling his shirt up as well, exposing more skin to cover in more cool, gentle smooches.- Please allow me to worship every inch of you ~}==>

KAVI: =NICE. These are the goods and Kavi's cat is showing because he's kneading them, poses gently as his shirt is pulled up :sparkle: But also.... :eyes: hot diggity=

KAVI: when you ask that nicely how could i say no?

#aurulenthuntsman #decastichAmazifier #in which kavi and auryhn are frisky

0 notes