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intheturning · 9 months

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The heart opens

I have been meditating through the heart. For the most part this has felt like a familiar meditation. Familiar experiences, the quieting of the mind, the creation of a distance between the floating of random thoughts and my awareness of the thoughts. I witness. The heart meditation leads more quickly to states of bliss, of being lit from the inside with love, like a strong sun, quickened by the Ram Dass mantra, ‘I am loving awareness, I am loving awareness, I am loving awareness’. I have increased the frequency of practice and the length of the meditation. This time something different happens. After maybe half an hour, Unexpectedly, I find myself moving through the flat in Anderson place in Cardiff where my Nana used to live. My father’s mother. We would visit every Saturday until I was thirteen when my life as I knew it began to dissolve. I have memories of the place, largely held at arm’s length, as though seen through glass, but now I am stood there, looking. I am seeing detail from the reservoir of my recollection that I had forgotten.

I move through each room. There is no one else here. I am visiting the space alone, although it is furnished as it used to be. Through the black slat wooden gate to the shared yard where ball games were not allowed, and forbidden rat infested bin shelter. Up the stairs. Black rail, concrete steps inlaid with strips of grip. Every word and footstep echoing my infant feet and voice. Heavy door with a weighted closing mechanism. Utilitarian door of council flat with small reinforced glass pain. Through the dark entrance hall, coat rail ahead. Turn left. Either side are bathroom left and bedroom right. I go straight on to the living room. Three chairs and a sofa. To the left a rocking chair, sturdy with a sliding mechanism rather than rails. Hung above, a bamboo and plastic back scratcher and shoe horn with its tiny hand pointing downwards. Wooden armchairs with thick flat wooden arms and upholstered thick, flat cushions of foliate design. Between them, a display cabinet of things beyond touch. The contents of which I can’t see, apart from a couple of glass clowns, both intriguing and repulsive to my young eyes. To the right of the second armchair, a folded table perhaps, with a clock on it that my father would wind with a key that was hung near the back scratcher in a tiny key house.

There is a table with legs carved in spirals where we eat against the right hand wall which is all windows. Reinforced frosted safety glass at the bottom, clear at the top. I am standing against them as a child trying to look down to see the root of the wall below. On international days I would open the window to hear the anthem ring across the city, half a mile away. When we eat, the meal is always the same. We have salad for lunch. In the evening we have soup. Nana is delighted that she mixes up different tins together to get hybrid flavours. The top of her soup is white with salt. The TV is the sound of Saturday in the seventies and 80’s. In the daytime, grandstand racing, wrestling, five nations. Later the drone of the scores from each of the leagues, and filling out the football pools. In the evening it’s basil brush and Larry Grayson and the ghoul Savile fixes it. I lie on the sofa, feel the large cushions with small vibrant pink roses fall on me. There is a mirror above. On the floor is a round rug, concentric blue yellow circles which I had forgotten, but can see now.

I get up and walk to the kitchen, sink ahead. The taste of Cardiff tap water which is harder than in the valleys. He’s a real Taff isn’t he, my aunts and uncles would say. To be from Cardiff, for them at least, meant they were a cut above. Cooker is to the left, where Nana would butter toast on both sides and put it back under the grill. I likes lots of butter. I likes lots of salt. Window above the sink looking out onto the railway lines. I would watch the train come from the west, from Swansea and beyond, in the lounge window, and run to the kitchen to see it carry on to Newport. Nana’s retelling, retelling of the trains that span the whole length of the views, were the first sign that all was not well. Pantry to the far right. Tall cupboard, where Nana kept her boiler stick, long running source of humorous threat. I’ll get you with my boiler stick. She would delight in us as children. The bathroom is imperial leather. She would put a chair upside down on the toilet in case anyone tried to get in through the tiny window. Across the hall is her bedroom. She didn’t like us going in there. When I did it smelled of makeup, and faint whiffs of perfume. Even more faint memories of city lights at night through the bedroom window. A phone. We didn’t have one at home until I was a teenager, so winding the dial was gleeful. A teasmade. Big mirror on the wardrobe, where I would try to outrun my reflection.

I understand that this is a lesson. A reconnection to something that I had denied. I am overwhelmed by a feeling of love that I recognised at that time. Not just love, but of belonging, although I never felt I belonged here as I did at my other grandparents home. It is belonging to an extended family, before the whole became fractured. It is part of myself that I have shut away because the loss of it hurts. My heart is open where I had closed it.

My father left home and moved back in to Anderson place. Visits stopped then. Nana’s health began to decline at the same time of my parents’ divorce. I heard that she was answering the door in rages, no longer recognising him. I saw her briefly at events. A birthday party, 89 perhaps, like the year. Hospital visit. My father would take me to the hospital that she stayed in when her brain was destroyed by dementia. It was somewhere in Ely. I went a few times as a passenger in the yellow Austin Maxi but couldn’t find it today if I tried. Two fat friendly King Charles spaniels roamed free in the grounds and would greet us on arrival. There is a large hall, with people like shadows roaming, smells of cooking and disinfectant. Light from skylights above. Colourless, white and grey. Nana sits. Her eyes are just holes. She looks at me but there is no answer to my gaze. Whatever moved there before has been incinerated and I see only ashes and char.

When the heart opens, it opens in all directions.

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keilemlucent · 4 years

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lavender latte x (no longer canon)

NOTE: Chapters X and XI are not longer considered canon in Lavender Latte.

...

(M (for now!)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

|| series masterlist ||

word count: ~4.4k

beta’ed: @hawnks (thank u!!! 💗)

the softness after the storm

warnings: reference to the panic attacks/dissociation of the last few chapters, fragile reader, mostly fluff. so much fluff. nesting too.

...

hello <3 ll is alive and well to the point where... i made another mega chapter that i had to split, so here’s the first chunk! just lots of softness, hurt/comfort and fluff. both of u need it. we all need it right now. find some comfort if u can loves 💗

(psst-- thank you all for sticking around for this series, i adore you all with my whole heart!!!!!!)

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After all of the noise and pain of the morning, Keigo and you stayed twisted in each other for a long time.

You both needed it, the softness and heat of the other.

You clung onto him, taking in big gulps of his smell and presence as he tethered you to earth purely by breathing and living.

You were precious to Keigo, more than anything.

As tender as the time together was, he couldn’t forget that what preceded it was not only traumatic but induced by trauma.

It worried him, to his core.

That protective flare quieted, somewhat, but never truly went away. Keeping you in his arms, whispering new ‘I love you’s and being able to comfort you certainly helped, but he knew he’d need to examine that part of himself more thoroughly.

It was new, strong, and ran deep.

His mental musings dissolved when you trembled particularly hard in his arms, his gut twisting.

He placed a few slow, kind kisses where he could reach, rubbing his fingers into the tension in the fat above your hips, “You’re okay, (Y/N), we’re safe.”

“A-are you sure?” You asked softly, again, trying to tug Keigo closer.

He nodded, nuzzling into your hair, “I promise.”

It worried him, how much reassurance you were asking for. He gave it freely, of course, as it was not only the truth, but feeling some of the tension drain from your body with his words felt good.

He knew you just needed to feel grounded.

“I love you,” You barely looked up at him, eyes shining.

His heart ached as he gently pulled you closer, pressing his lips to yours.

It wasn’t a chaste kiss, something deeper, like those you had been sharing all day as you both unwound.

You grabbed at his face, stuttering breaths into his mouth as he gathered you up by your waist.

“I love you too, dove. So much,” Keigo spoke between kisses, hands dipping just below your waistband, only to massage at any tension he could find. “I’ve gotcha’.”

You stifle something like a sob, cuddling back into him, your light trembling somewhat dulled.

It felt good to say ‘love you’s to Keigo.

But, physically?

You felt like shit

Your hand and leg ached. The adrenaline lingered in your system, making your body shake out of your control and sleep impossible to reach, as exhausted as you were. That wasn’t even to mention the headache you had from crying for so long and the lack of food and caffeine in your body.

Keigo smoothed a hand over your back, setting it at the base of your skull, “How are you feeling?”

“Gross,” You mumbled, keeping your eyes shut and mentally blessing the darkness Keigo provided. “Sort of awful.”

“I can imagine,” Keigo squeezed your sides. “Do you want some water?”

“S-sure.”

Keigo immediately helped you sit up against your headboard, a fresh bottle of water pressed into your hand. You appreciated that it wasn’t glass, just an old plastic one you’d had hidden away in a cupboard.

You sipped greedily, the water feeling far too cold in your stomach. You frowned.

“I think I need to eat, even if I don’t feel like I need to,” You said quietly, folding your hands in your lap.

“Would you like me to help with that?” Keigo asked softly.

You nodded.

Keigo hummed again, something low and sweet that made your eyes go half-lidded as you leaned against him.

“How about this?” He tapped the top of the water bottle. “I’m still stuck in my hero uniform, so I can run home and grab a change of clothes, sleepover stuff, some food, and whatever else you need and then we camp out for the rest of the day?”

The thought of being able to nest with Keigo for the rest of the day was heavenly.

“You want to stay the night?” You asked, confirming, flickering your gaze up nervously.

Despite the dulling of it all, it was obvious you were still frayed.

It broke Keigo’s heart.

“Of course,” Keigo beamed you the best smile he could, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ll hold you all night, keep you safe, dove, the whole bit.”

You didn’t reply, not verbally. All you could do was sag in his arms, nodding and pressing small kisses to his covered collar bones.

“Can you stay a little longer now?” You sniffled, curling around him. “Just a little.”

His chest ached with how fragile you sounded.

“However long you need, dove, promise,” Keigo pulled you close, into his lap and wrapped what he could of his wings and feathers around your shoulders.

...

Keigo departed an hour or so later, sometime near noon. He helped you into the living room, draping a blanket over your shoulders and putting the plushie into your arms.

He knelt in front of you, squeezing your hands, “I won’t be long, promise.”

You bit your lip, nodding.

“Can I ask something?”

“Anything, dove.”

“Can I have one of your feathers, while you’re gone?”

Keigo’s heart panged so hard in his chest, it felt like a bell toll vibrating to the tips of his fingers.

A few of his plumes fell into and around your lap, softened and rippling.

“Of course, dove, bare minimum,” He pressed a few kisses to your knuckles. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

You were already sinking into the cushions of the couch, eyes tired and wide, “Thank you, Keigo. I love you.

“I love you too, angel.”

He kissed your forehead before taking off from your balcony.

...

You were so tired.

Quickly, you fell onto the couch, eyes half-lidded, but your body was still too restless for sleep.

You felt like human vibration, sticky and wrong. As much as the anxiety of the earlier day had died down, you still shook with the physical and mental aftershocks of it all.

It made you that much more thankful that Keigo was staying.

You were self-aware enough to be coming to terms with that you needed a fucking therapist.

Not that that was a bad thing, but you felt a little dumb for not thinking about it sooner. As soothing as Keigo’s kindness was, you knew it wasn’t a cure. All the aches ran too deeply and personally for that.

The thought was shoved off, the lingers of the trauma-spiral making your brain spin again.

You winced, curling around the plushie and Keigo’s lingering feathers.

Still raw.

You shuddered, cursing that you still hadn’t stopped shaking, hadn’t stopped flinching—

It’s not that easy, you reminded yourself.

You made a mental note to thank Keigo profusely for dealing with you in such a fragile state.

Keigo had flown back to his penthouse, shucking off his uniform in favor of a pair of joggers and a loose, cropped sweater. His wings stretched up and out from the specially-made slits, still sparse from the day prior. Notably, taking a day off was probably a good thing for himself. He could still feel the aches of his own exhaustion, worse than its normal perpetual throb, from his recent healing.

As he gathered his things around the penthouse, he was acutely aware of you and your physical state from the feathers he left behind. Considering he was practically on the other side of the city, the sensations were fairly dull, but undeniably there.

The flutter of your heart and the shaking of your body were unmistakable and unavoidable.

Keigo remained on edge, jaw set. There was a constant flood of newly unsuppressed feelings around you that he genuinely didn’t know what to fucking do with.

Mainly, the big, lurking need to protect you.

It wasn’t like his instinct to fix up the world and save civilians with a smile on his face. All of that was different, ultimately rooted in his primary goal of allowing himself rest—

No, around you, it was the deep, carnal need to keep you safe.

Hence why the shuddering of your limbs against the faraway feathers was so hard to ignore.

Despite how much Keigo wanted to call you, check-in despite the fact he’d been gone for maybe twenty, he took a moment to collect himself.

Carefully, Keigo took some pointed breaths, wings and shoulders sagging.

He could only do so much.

He knew enough about hurt and pain to understand that he couldn’t stitch you up, no, that was a terrible idea. Sometimes you just had to hurt before you could feel better.

Keigo made a mental point to stay with you through it all, to try and support and comfort you where he could, like he had been.

It satisfied enough of that instinct that he could’ve purred.

He grabbed his phone, sending off a text before flying from his balcony once more.

[birdboy <3]: hey angel ;^) i’m gonna pick u up some surprises

[birdboy <3]: good stuff

[birdboy <3]: i’ll be back very soon

[birdboy <3]: love u!! <3!!

You smiled at the texts, taking a shaking breath and burrowing deeper. You sent off your own I love you, antsy with your lack of him. Ultimately, you wanted Keigo to be back soon, but being alone for a little while was probably good.

It allowed you some precious moments of self-soothing.

You were fine, you reminded yourself. Nothing in your apartment was harmful. You were safe, despite the adrenaline and remnants of fear.

Now was the time for rest.

You pushed off the couch, grabbing your crutches and started to make a plan.

It wasn’t a difficult one, mainly scrutinizing the layout of your bedroom in conjunction to the size of your TV.

Making your way to the kitchen was difficult, some fear still boiling in you as you approached.

You sighed in relief when you noticed the spotless sink and counters.

Keigo must’ve cleaned up.

You reminded yourself aloud to thank him later.

Shuffling to a nook in the counter, you grabbed a small metal tin, two mugs, and two tea strainers. The tea blend you’d grabbed was one you’d been reaching for often enough that you’d started to just keep it at an arm's reach.

You popped the lid, sucking down the floral fragrance with a sigh.

Shaky as you were, you could do this much.

You gave yourself a little smile and got to work.

Keigo was busy as well, dashing around town to gather what he could.

He didn’t tend to... shop. Most of those needs were met with delivery services and online ordering as it tended to be so much easier than being the number two pro hero out in public and trying to be ‘casual’ with two massive pairs of red wings.

It was slightly better, consider how they were still plucked from the day prior.

He flew from store to store, trying his best to be quick at dodging his fans, repeating that he was having a ‘self-care day’ in the wake of getting so beat up.

It wasn’t really a lie.

His final stop, feathers towing a few bags behind him, was picking up one of your comfort foods, a smile growing on his face.

Keigo knew that all he was doing wouldn’t make you feel better in the way that a few fragments of him wanted it to. Part of him wanted to save you—

But that’s not how people work.

And he knew that.

Instead, he’d just be there.

That felt far better than agonizing about wounds too deep for even you, their bearer, to fully perceive.

Keigo shook his head as he neared your apartment once more, your sounds and movements becoming stronger against the feathers he’d left behind.

You jumped at the clear ‘thump’ echoing from your balcony, but were quickly soothed as the door slid open, revealing a soft-smiling Keigo.

He was on you in an instant.

Carefully, notably.

He was falling onto the couch next to you, a bundle of feathers resituating themselves to his wings as he tugged you into his arms.

Keigo winded his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as he could manage while peppering little kisses on your cheeks.

As saturated and sticky as your mind was, his firm touch and the feather-light brushing of his lips made your body thrum in a pleasant way. His contact was soothing the fresh burns and you let it.

“I missed you.”

It was a mutual sentiment.

He squeezed you, tight, a broad wing wrapping around you both.

“What did you end up doing?” You asked, voice soft and filled with a lingering weakness.

Keigo directed you with a glance to the several bags stacked by the door.

“I used a bit of my hero’s paycheck to treat you, a little extra comfort,” Keigo hummed, nosing into your hair.

“You didn’t have to—”

Keigo quieted you with a quick kiss, a hand dipping under your shirt to smooth up your spine.

“Hush, let me spoil you,” His lips quirked up as he spoke. “You deserve it, you know. Not to mention, I’m more than able to.”

He wasn’t wrong.

You’d subconsciously shoved down the thought, avoiding ogling at Keigo’s obvious wealth. He had to be loaded, money wouldn’t be an issue.

You thought for a moment, turning over the idea as your anxiety stirred, the ambient quaking of your body picking up.

“Today has sucked.”

Part of you felt guilt, overwhelmingly.

Keigo had done so much for you already, physically and emotionally.

It was a short-lived feeling as you met his gaze.

It made you feel so damn precious.

You’d seen Keigo smile for photos and on billboards, but it was nothing like the ones he gave you. His expression was all that warmth and honey that you loved about him, delivered through the melted-cores of his eyes.

And it clicked.

You said nothing, knowing that the conversation and implication of it all made your heart swell so much, it ached.

“Okay, just this once, okay? And you gotta let me treat you to some tea,” You managed a little smile, something small and sacred that made Keigo’s heart swell.

Keigo followed you into the kitchen, shuffling to meet your slow pace. Each of your movements was clearly labored, but you didn’t seem as perturbed as he would've thought.

You hit a button on the electric kettle, fiddling with the stem of the pre-prepared mugs. They already had small, metal balls made of mesh, filled with what leaves and flowers. Set nearby was a carton of oat milk and a jar of honey with a homemade label.

Keigo blinked.

“Did... you put this all together while I was gone?”

“I did,” You nodded easily, eyes drifting to the bubbling of the kettle. “It’s the least I could do, you know?”

Keigo’s gut went into knots, a mix of things that were hard to parse through. Mostly, it was that chest tightening mix of worry and syrupy adoration that he wanted to drown in.

Carefully, yet firmly as he could, he tugged your close by the waist, burying his nose in your hair, “You’re too good.”

“Says you,” You reminded him. “You’re the one who’s been doing the heavy lifting today, birdboy.”

Keigo gently scoffed against your crown, “‘Heavy lifting’? Bare minimum, as far as I know. I like being here and helping you, you know.”

You paused.

“You... do?”

Your words were punctuated by the click of the kettle turning off, the bubble of boiling water slowly dying off.

“Of course,” Keigo replied after a moment of quiet, keeping himself soft. “Is that a... bad thing?”

You reminded yourself that he was new to all of this

“N-no, not at all,” You pressed into him, tighter, closer, ignoring the idle kettle in favor of giving Keigo some much-needed comfort. “It feels nice.”

Some of the tension drained from Keigo as his wings shifted behind him.

“Good,” He dropped yet another kiss into your hair. “It... feels nice. Knowing you’re safe.”

“S-Same,” You stuttered, frowning into Keigo’s chest. “Are you alright, Keigo?”

Your words startled him into silence for a moment.

“I’m not bad if that’s what you’re asking— “

“Deflecting again, are we?”

You managed him a cheeky smile, pulling back to nudge your nose into the stubble at his chin.

“I’m... really grateful you were here today, and are gonna be here,” You squeezed him tighter, hands resting at the base of his wings. “But, you’ve had a pretty tough last twenty-four hours too, you know?”

You weren’t wrong.

“It’s a part of the job, I’ll be alright,” Keigo tried to shush you, but you weren’t having any of it.

You cupped his cheeks in your palms, giving him a little frown, “Keigo, I love you.”

The new words got his heart stuttering in his chest.

“I’m kind of fucked up right now, but I’m still here, okay? For whatever you need.” You reminded him, gracing him with a chaste kiss as punctuation.

Part of Keigo wanted to tug you closer, slip his hands under your shirt and express how much he loved you, but he knew better.

There needed to be a moment of reprieve.

“Thank you, dove,” Keigo wasn’t sure how to fully accept your kindness, but with the smell of earthy flowers wafting and your small smile shining all for him, he was excited to try.

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The rest of the day was a testament to softness.

Keigo had some avian instincts, sure, but the Commission taught him long ago how to suppress the more bothersome traits. One that he had never been able to shake too well was the need to stay bundled up and warm—

Nesting, as it was labeled.

And you were all for it.

Keigo adjusted the TV on top of your cleared-off desk, tilting it so it was perfectly viewable from the bed.

You were half-on your knees, booted foot extended while digging through the bags of softness Keigo had brought.

“These are so fucking good, Keigo!” You held one of the fluffy blankets to your chest before unfurling it. “Absolutely wonderful choices, I have to admit.”

“Happy to please, angel. I grabbed the comfiest ones I could find,” Keigo chuckled, mostly to himself.

He wasn’t the most adept at finding comfort, but he knew a fair amount about surrounding yourself with softness (something he’d been indulging more thoroughly in his private time, after meeting you, of course.)

Something stirred in his chest as he watched you prop up pillows and arrange blankets over your mattress. With it up against the wall, you were able to create a little... nest of sorts.

Keigo’s’ dick twitched.

Calm down, it’s only a little bit cute—

You clamored to the edge of your bed, outstretching a hand with a warm smile, “Come on, tailfeathers, I need your body heat.”

“That all?” Keigo’s chest filled with molten heat as he let you tug him down into the softness you’d made. “Just need me for warmth?”

You hummed, pulling at his forearm to topple him over your lap, “Nah, plenty more. Want me to tell you about it?”

His dick twitched again.

Keigo mused on it, only for a moment.

“As much as I’d love to hear your reasons,” Keigo braced his arms on either side of your head, ducking to whisper in your ear. “I think you need to rest, hm?”

It was your bloodshot eyes, shaking hands, and tired smile that gave you away. Though it was obvious you were in better spirits, exhausted radiated off of you, even if you managed to banter.

You didn’t put up any fight, only nuzzling into his cheek and trailing your lips near his own, “Maybe you’re right.”

“Just ‘maybe’?” Keigo teased, bearing more of his body weight down onto you.

You didn’t reply verbally, just tugged him down by the waistband of his joggers.

“It’s okay,” Keigo said softly, maybe the softest he’d ever spoken, “we’ll just rest.”

“Can you put on something for background noise?”

“Of course, dove,” Keigo smothered you with kisses, littering your forehead and nose with affections wherever he could reach.

As you situated yourself, Keigo now the one repositioning the fluffing and blankets around your bed, his mind wandered.

The amount of vulnerability he showed you was scary, it had been since the beginning. All those subtle glances and remarks that went from weightless flirting to all-out love were new and terrifying.

Yet, Keigo craved it to the point of aching.

As you sipped your tea, nestled between his legs with your back against his chest, that ambient pain was dulled.

Keigo rested his head against your shoulder, nosing below your ear, “How are you feeling?”

“Sleepy, now, less shaky,” You replied following a heavy, audible gulp.

It was true, your body had mostly stilled its ambient trembling.

He couldn’t imagine how tired you were.

He also was having trouble acknowledging how tired he was.

Keigo reached to take a sip of his own tea, the smoothness of the honey, oat milk and lavender washing down the back of his throat. The softness of the drink itself was pushing him closer to acknowledging his own exhaustion.

(That was, of course, part of the reason you prepared such a tea, but you kept yourself smitten with your solely known knowledge.)

“Can we try napping again?” You asked, pulling him from your thoughts. The heat of your pressed back into him as you nuzzled the side of his face.

“Of course.”

And so, you nested.

The mugs were set aside, the steam tapering off but still filling the room with aromatics. The lights twinkled dimly, the curtains drawn to keep the afternoon light extinguished. The TV glowed in the corner, moved from your living room to on top of your desk, something ambient and meaningless running to fill the quiet air.

And you held Keigo with all you had.

It took a bit of maneuvering, pillows and plushies being pushed and shoved. Maybe, on a different day, you would’ve been a little self-conscious about all of the softness you were shamelessly surrounding yourself with.

But, that day? You couldn’t care.

As the shakes subsided, your body craved only rest. Keigo offered it up without and second thought, and you drank it in, him in, greedily.

You faced each other, held in the arms of the other, Keigo’s feathers having spread themselves across the ‘nest’ and floor to allow him to accommodate the space a bit better.

Your face was buried in his chest, your hands already snaked under his cropped crew neck and resting below his wings. Every so often, your touch would brush close enough to the base to make him shudder.

You loved how it felt, how he felt next to you.

That was the only real thought you could conjure up in the perfect mess of blankets and softness.

Sleep took you easily after that.

Keigo managed to stay awake a bit longer, thoughts restless but slowing.

He felt a new sort of sated, now that he was curled up with you.

The two of you had cuddled plenty in weeks prior, but nothing that was quite this cozy. With his feathers scattered about the room and nest, blankets pulled up to your chin, for the first time in a long while, he felt truly at peace.

Mostly.

As tired as he was, his mind wandered as he idly stroked along the bare skin of your neck and collar.

He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about your state just hours ago, eyes uncomfortably full, yet vacant in the same moment.

Keigo knew how you felt.

He knew how these sorts of things worked. The way the mind functioned in vulnerable states (and how to exploit them) was something branded into his mind. In the silence of his penthouse, Keigo was smart enough to put together that this was the reason he’d been able to be there for you in the way that he had been.

It was disturbing, thinking about the origin of his ability to comfort you. His roots being in his need to manipulate rather than comfort.

Part of him felt sick with the thought, feathers ruffling and puffing up around the room.

The things he’d been taught and the way they’d been etched into the marble tablet of psyche weren’t good. Even if he valued the skills he’d gained, he had garnered enough agency at some point to put together how the corruption of the Commission infected him.

The thought made him feel dirty, which was why he pushed it back and away so often.

But, now, thinking about the way you shuddered and wailed in his arms, he couldn’t avoid it, an odd poison spreading through his chest.

“Hey,” Your voice slurred with sleep as your hands twitched at his sides. “You’re thinkin’ too hard.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Your heart, silly,” The sound of it was loud in your ears, the thrum far too quick to be calm. “Sounds fast.”

“Caught me,” Keigo gave a weak laugh, smothered into your hair with kisses. “I’m alright. Get some sleep, I’ll be right here.”

“Nuh-uh,” You forced yourself to full wakefulness with a few unpleasant blinks.

You cupped his jaw and searched his face.

...

Keigo was far too good at hiding how he felt.

From his painfully cleansed expression, it was hard to tell what exactly he was really feeling, only that he wasn’t expressing whatever it was.

“Keigo,” You breathed his name. “You deserve to rest. All you gotta do is be here, right now, okay?

Your tired mind was one of its most honest iterations.

Weren’t you right?

“I’m here, always, Keigo.”

“I know,” Keigo sighed with relief, softening against you.

There was so much he couldn’t tell you, especially not yet. Too much knotted up and tied with himself that was too fragile, secret, or buried to be even acknowledged by himself, let alone you.

Not to mention, the Commission and the public had no idea you were a part of his life, and you intended to keep it that way, at least for a while.

Keigo opened his mouth to let loose one last quip, but quickly silenced himself.

You’d already fallen back asleep, maybe even more relaxed, clinging to him with everything you had.

He had always believed he would never let sentiment get his way.

Even the word ‘sentiment’ felt dirty rolling around in his mind.

You weren’t just ‘sentiment’, you were love.

And he loves you.

Keigo drifted off with his warmth and comfort knotted up with your own, relaxing, truly for the first time in a long time.

+++++

💗ko-fi 💗

++++

taglist:

taglist (please send me an ask if you’d like to be added!): @thepandapopo @hawksexual @sinclairsamess @darcia22 @inhalingsoysauce @yee-fxcking-haw @aproperthottie @seasalttrioforever @mia--merc @call-me-rhee @peach-buns-unicorns @amethyst-rose-17 @mega-bastard @an-untamed-rose @ravioliplease @keigosangel @gobestupidsomewhereelse @themusingsofmany @mariiloei @hecatve @assassinslittlesister @thepuckishrogue

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #salem writes #hawks #takami keigo #my hero academia #mha x reader #hawks imagines #hawks x you #hawks reader insert #lavender latte

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everybodyscupoftea · 4 years

Text

anyone can cook

rafe cameron x reader

words: 3729

warnings: usual cursing, mentions of drugs

synopsis: college au, four times you cook for rafe and one time he cooks for you

Growing up, your mom taught you the importance of food. For most of your childhood, you loved cooking with her. Learning family recipes, and spending time in the kitchen with her instead of doing homework was thrilling to you. As you aged, you started to resent it, feeling like your mother was perpetuating the harmful stereotype that women are meant to be in the kitchen.

And then you left school early and came home to see the shit your dad was putting your mom through and was forced to immediately take that hard pill to swallow. Perspective was a bitch. Your mom didn’t cook to please your dad, she cooked to keep him happy enough for you to be fooled. It was heartbreaking.

You decided then that you’d not take any time cooking with your mom for granted. She loved you and she wanted you to be happier than her. For her, you could certainly fucking try. It was all going great until the storm that knocked out power, rendered the kitchen useless, and drove your dad’s patience level to its breaking point.

He’d never been that angry before, at least not in front of you. You weren’t sure what to do as he lashed out at your mom and then you, without warning and in the end, without apology. Normally if you were upset, your mom would make cookies with you, letting you use cookie cutters and dirty unnecessary dishes. That time though, you had to figure it out alone.

When you got to college, your parents helped pay rent for your first apartment. It had a good kitchen with lots of room, and your mom bought you a ton of kitchen tools, pots and pans, and other cooking necessities as a graduation gift. Her and your dad helped you move in, and that night, with shaky hands, she held your face in her hands. Tears in her eyes she whispered, “Promise me you won’t stop cooking.”

You couldn’t stop your own tears as you gulped and nodded a little frantically, “Of course not, Mama.”

Rafe lived a very different life. His real mother wasn’t in the picture and his step mother didn’t really want kids, so his experience with cooking was very limited compared to yours. Coincidentally that’s how the two of you met, outside your apartment building at 11:48 p.m. while the fire department sorted out the disaster that was his dinner attempt.

You knew it was his fault because he was very carefully trying to make himself look small. The only reason you knew what had gone wrong was you overheard the fireman talking to the landlord saying it was just a small kitchen fire in 227 and wouldn’t be too much to fix.

It was really out of character, but you walked over to where he was sitting on the curb and sat down next to him, “227?”

His head turned toward you sharply, “Figured me out, huh?”

“You were trying a little too hard to look inconspicuous.”

He shrugged, “Didn’t want a bunch of angry neighbors.”

Which you understood, so you nudged his shoulder with yours, “Well, I’m not angry and I know, but I’m not so sure I’d risk it with her,” you pointed at a lady who seemed to be ranting into the phone.

The boy followed your point and winced, “Yeah maybe not. Cooking clearly isn’t for me.”

“What were you making?”

“Kraft mac and cheese.”

You let out a loud laugh, assuming it was a joke. But then he didn’t meet your eyes or laugh along and you quickly stopped laughing, “Wait actually?”

With a shrug, he answered, “No one really taught me how to cook.”

And here you had a choice. Years and years of stored up cooking knowledge, endless recipes memorized, and a fantastic kitchen begging to be used by more than one person made the choice obvious.

“Well then take this as my standing dinner invitation whenever you want. I’ll give you my number and you can let me know when you’re hungry.”

“So, you’re gonna what, teach me how to cook.”

“Well, we can start small. I’ll cook for you first.”

One:

The first time Rafe texted you was on a night you actually had a fridge full of leftovers, but the boy who lived alone with sad eyes deserved better than leftovers. Rafe knocked on the door a few minutes later and he was dressed similarly to the first time you’d seen him, in sweats and a hoodie, and his hands were folded nervously in front of him.

You let him in, and he followed you to the kitchen, “So what’s on the menu for tonight?” he asked.

“Chicken pot pie,” you told him over your shoulder. You’d turned the oven on to preheat and had the potatoes and carrots chopped already. He stood behind you, peering over your shoulder.

Before you could continue, he cut in, “Is there something I can do?”

You thought for a minute, “You can control the music. My phone is synced up to the bluetooth speaker and I have Spotify pulled up, so have at it.”

Rafe nodded and sat down as you put the veggies into a pot and added water to start boiling them. You quickly went into your cooking zone as Rafe sat quietly queuing up songs. They were from your chill playlist and you appreciated that he was sticking to your playlists, humming along every so often.

By the time you pulled the chicken and veggie mixture from the heat, Rafe was leaning forward in his seat, and he looked excited to see what you’d do next. Reaching down, you pulled out a glass pie tin and looked over at him, “After I press the crust down, will you help me pour the mixture in?”

Rafe nodded eagerly and you made quick work of the pie crust, motioning him to come around the counter. He looked hesitant for the first time since you’d started cooking, and you tried to smile reassuringly. Returning the smile, he moved closer, “What do you want me to do.”

You held out the potholders, “If you pour, I’ll scoop.”

He picked the pot up and slowly poured the mixture into the tin and you quickly scooped the stuff that didn’t pour. Rafe set the pot down and you held the second crust out to him to press on top. He mimicked your actions from earlier carefully, and you couldn’t help but smile. You showed him how to press the edges down with a fork and he did so, slowly. Covering the edges, you let Rafe put it in the oven and then led him to the living room to start a movie while the two of you waited for it to finish.

The pot pie was a family recipe, and when Rafe tried it, the look on his face made it worth him seeing the secret ingredients your mom added to jazz it up. It felt good seeing someone enjoying your cooking again.

Two:

You weren’t entirely sure the relationship Rafe had with his family, but on fried catfish night, Rafe showed up at your doorstep unexpectedly. Fortunately, you had a few extra, so you invited him in for dinner. It wasn’t exactly what he was gunning for when he showed up, but he’d never say no to your cooking.

While you battered and seasoned the fish, he vented about his dad.

“I just don’t understand how a 4.0 isn’t fucking good enough. He’ll never give me any credit as long as Sarah does well in school and plays volleyball, I just want to be good enough.”

His words pulled at your heartstrings, and you found yourself tearing up on his behalf. You paused the music that had been softly playing in the background, “Fuck your dad, you deserve better.”

Rafe laughed drily, “I’ve done some dumb shit, this is my karma. I just don’t like it.”

“I fail to see any mistakes bad enough to warrant a parent totally disregarding their child like that. Did you kill someone or something?”

He shook his head, chuckling, “No, I didn’t kill anyone. But I had a drug problem in high school. I’m clean now, but it was me attempting to get my dad’s attention and it all spiraled out of control. Clearly it didn��t work out the way I wanted it to because my dad just kicked me out.”

You were horrified, “He kicked you out?!”

“Yeah, I went from couch to couch for a while until checking myself into rehab so I could get clean. I was tired of being dependent on something and really I wanted to prove my dad wrong.”

“God, Rafe, I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged and you started heating the oil up to start frying. There was an extended pause before he softly continued, “He didn’t let me move back in, even when I showed up clean. News of everything had gotten around town and he didn’t want me to further disgrace the family name.”

Brushing a tear off your cheek, you caught his eye, “Karma will come for your dad someday. You deserve only good things, Rafe.”

With a faint smile, he tapped his fingers on the cabinet, almost nervously, “Maybe one day I’ll be able to see it that way, but for now, I just don’t.”

“I’ll keep telling you until you believe it,” you promised fiercely. And you really meant it.

You finished frying the fish, silence between the two of you. It was no longer heavy and it wasn’t as awkward as the first time, you were proud of the progress. Rafe grabbed plates from the cabinet and at your instruction, the coleslaw you had already made and stored in the fridge.

Courtesy kicked in, and you let Rafe make his plate first. You figured he deserved to feel first choice for once. He almost looked like he wanted to argue, but you weren’t about to back down, so he filled his plate and sat back at the bar, patiently waiting for you to sit down before eating.

You fixed your plate and sat down next to him before squeezing his shoulder, “Thanks for keeping me company tonight.”

Rafe laughed, “Thanks for letting me rant.”

“Anytime.”

Three:

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath and your laptop confirmed what you feared, your last bio exam had gone very poorly. It was just one test, but you weren’t used to seeing such a low grade, and you had to try really hard not to cry. Everything in you wanted to go lay down for days and forget about the rest of your classes, but the logical part of your brain texted Rafe to invite him for dinner.

He showed up not even five minutes later, and you decided breakfast sounded like the most comforting thing. You didn’t want to come across as too needy, so you didn’t mention the bad grade and tried to cover how you were actually feeling.

Unfortunately, the music you had playing gave it away. Rafe took one look at your face and the slight slump in your shoulders, and immediately wrapped you into a hug. You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the tears, and he held you tighter.

“What happened, bud?”

“It’s nothing,” you tried to deflect, “fucked up on a bio test. We still have a few more, but it’s not a great start.”

“Which bio?”

“Molecular.”

Rafe thought for a few seconds, “I know a guy who has taken that, want me to see if I can get his notes?”

“That would be great actually.”

He smiled, “Good, now why don’t we get some happier music and get to cooking.”

And you could do that. Rafe changed to a playlist he’d made and sent to you a few weeks ago called Good Vibes for Cooking Nights and you couldn’t argue, they were good songs. A Wallows song started playing and you fell into a rhythm of pouring batter and flipping pancakes, feeling immensely better than when Rafe had first showed up.

You were thankful for him, this boy who had totally changed your life in the four months he’d known you. Four months of baring your hearts to each other in your own little ways. Rafe showing up to your apartment looking casual, not at all how he looked normally during the day. You letting him control the music and watch you cook, something so personal and special to you. It was new for the both of you.

Rafe heated up syrup while you quickly buttered the pancakes and washed some fruit for toppings. For the first time, you made your plate and sat down first. Rafe sat down next to you a few minutes later, plate heaped high with pancakes and raspberries.

After a few minutes of eating, the music being the only noise in the kitchen, Rafe turned to you, “You’re so intelligent and I don’t want you to let this one test discourage you. I know you’ll bounce back.”

“I studied so hard,” you told him, almost whispering, “I knew this was going to be hard, but I have no prior experience to fall back on, and it’s killing me.”

“But you’ll learn. Now you know how exams are structured, and you can adjust your studying habits. Next test will go great, I promise.”

You couldn’t stop it, it had been building between the two of you for months, and in your extra emotional state, you acted more rashly than normal. Setting your fork down, you turned to him and grabbed the front of his shirt. Rafe was startled, but turned to face you, not prepared for you to kiss him.

He froze and you almost regretted it, loosening your grip on his shirt, about to pull away embarrassed when he started kissing you back. Rafe tasted like syrup and raspberries, an addicting combination. Unfortunately, you eventually had to pull away to breathe, and Rafe pressed a soft kiss to your forehead while you caught your breath.

He picked his fork back up and smiled widely at you, “So that was nice.”

You blushed, “Yeah, um, sorry.”

“I’m not,” he stole a strawberry off your plate, “I didn’t want to make a move and make you uncomfortable if I was reading this whole thing wrong.”

“You, um, you weren’t reading it wrong.”

“I see that.”

Your blush deepened as he smiled wider at you. You shrugged, “So, what now?”

“Well, hopefully, now you’ll let me take you out and see where we go from there.”

“I’d like that.”

Four:

You weren’t sure if it was an out of sight, out of mind situation, but your parents planned a couple’s trip for Christmas, and you weren’t invited. Which would make this the first time in your entire life you wouldn’t spend Christmas with your family. You had mixed feelings. On one hand, you were hurt at the blatant disregard of you and your feelings, but on the other hand it gave you the chance to spend your first holiday alone with Rafe.

The two of you were eating hummus and doing homework when you decided to bring it up. He was on the floor, and you were on the couch, so you nudged his shoulder with your foot to get his attention, “How do you feel about spending Christmas together?”

He looked back at you with a wide smile, “I feel like it would be the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

You grabbed a blank sheet of paper and handed it down to him, “Write down specific foods you want.”

“What do you normally eat on Christmas?” he asked, not taking the paper.

With a shrug, you pulled the paper back, “I don’t know, we normally do gumbo and cornbread and German chocolate cake.”

Rafe grabbed your ankle, shaking your leg a few times, “Let’s do that.”

“You don’t want to add anything?” you asked, hesitant.

He bit the inside of his cheek, clearly thinking, “Maybe we could do a baked mac and cheese. We had those a lot growing up before Mom left.”

“Find me the recipe and I’ll make it for you, bub.”

With a wide smile, Rafe grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, “You’re the best.”

When Christmas finally rolled around, you woke up early to start cooking. Your mom suggested a Dutch oven, something you didn’t already own, and to buy file powder instead of trying the cornstarch method. She also told you to make the cake a day earlier so you wouldn’t have to worry about it with the rest of the food.

You worked with Christmas music playing softly in the background, focusing on making sure the flour and oil combination didn’t burn before adding the veggies. The recipe wasn’t hard, but it did require a lot of stirring and paying attention and exact timing.

By the time it was ready to start simmering for about 30 minutes, you had started boiling the pasta for the mac and cheese. That recipe was simple, and you’d been playing with the cheese topping in your own time to make the flavor blend better with the gumbo, and you were pretty sure you’d figured it out.

With practiced ease, you finished it and poured it over the pasta before setting it to bake. By then, it was time to finish the gumbo, make the cornbread, and get dressed.

Rafe showed up just as you finished getting dressed and the cornbread timer was going off. He had a key and let himself in, and you knew he could handle taking the cornbread out.

“Babe, I’m here,” he called out as he shut the timer off.

“Coming,” you yelled back, smoothing your sweater down.

By the time you finally made it to the kitchen Rafe had set all of the food on the counter and he was leaned next to it in his own sweater and jeans. He held his arms out for a hug, and you walked into them happily.

“Merry Christmas, babe,” he told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You hummed and reached up to kiss him.

“Merry Christmas,” you told him, pulling away.

“Food looks good,” he complimented, reaching for the bowls and plates he’d gotten out.

You looked over the spread and smiled proudly, “It does, doesn’t it?”

“You want to eat on the couch and watch the Jim Carrey Grinch?”

Nodding enthusiastically, you grabbed a plate, “Fuck yes.”

The two of you settled on the couch, a gingerbread scented candle burning in the background. Rafe started the movie and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, plate in his lap. You leaned into him and let out a long breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding in. This Christmas, while out of the ordinary, was your favorite one yet.

+ One:

You got home after work, exhausted. Your apartment was dark and cold and it made you want to curl up into a ball and cry. Work had been so time consuming over the past month you’d barely seen Rafe and you missed him. But if you got the promotion your boss had been hinting at, you’d get more manageable hours and higher pay, so you were grinding it out until then.

Dropping your bag by the door, you kicked off your shoes before slowly walking to the couch. Before you could sit down, there was a knock at the door. You considered ignoring it, but it persisted, so you walked slowly back to answer.

Rafe was standing there, giant grin on his face, with a steaming pot of something which explained why he didn’t use his key. It was very surreal and you blinked a few times in confusion before letting him in. He walked past you to the kitchen and set the dish down before digging through your drawer for the matches to light your favorite candle on the counter.

“Go get changed,” he urged, “I’ll get plates set up.”

Your phone rang as you were changing into shorts and you grabbed it out of the discarded pants pocket. When you saw your boss’s name, your heart rate doubled and you answered shakily. The phone call was brief, and the gist was that you’d gotten the promotion and the next day off.

Energy immediately filled your body and you ran to the kitchen where Rafe was scooping out what looked like mac and cheese onto plates.

“Rafe!”

He looked up, startled, “What’s up?”

“I got it!”

“The promotion?” he asked, eagerly.

You nodded, beaming, and jumped into his arms when he opened them. Rafe spun you around a few times and kissed you hard. Slowly setting you back down to your feet, he deepened the kiss, your hands winding into his hair.

Rafe pulled away first, pressing soft kisses to both of your cheeks and your forehead before standing up fully. You let go of his hair and took the hand he offered to you. Leading you to the couch, he sat down and motioned for you to do the same.

“Is this mac and cheese?” you asked, poking at the food with the fork he’d brought you.

“It is. I went on snapchat earlier and realized that it’s an anniversary of sorts. I wanted to make you dinner for once since I know you’ve had a long week.”

“Anniversary?”

A faint blush rose on his cheeks and he cleared his throat, “Um, yeah, a year since we met.”

You laughed loudly, “When you set your fucking kitchen on fire making mac and cheese?”

“A year ago, today. And with your cooking help, I can now make mac and cheese without setting the kitchen on fire.”

Poking at it again, you looked up at him, almost fearing the answer, “This isn’t Kraft right?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed, “I called your mom to get her recipe.”

Biting your lip to hold back the onslaught of emotions, you took in a shaky breath, “Right. Okay. Um, I love you, Bub. And this is genuinely the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

Rafe kissed your temple before lifting your chin to make you look him in the eye, “I love you too, and as crazy as it sounds, I’m glad I set my kitchen on fire.”

#rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks fic #obx #outer banks #college rafe

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fandom-necromancer · 4 years

Text

Coffee, crushes and complications

This was prompted by a lovely anon! I hope you like it, I sure did!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: pre-Reed900 [Prequel] [Part2] [Part3] [Part4]

‘Reed? In my office!‘ Gavin couldn’t think of what he had done wrong, but considering how many times he had heard this sentence before, the anxiety settled in immediately. Still, he stood up, downed the last sip of coffee and walked over to his boss’ office. ‘Yes? What’s wrong?’, he asked, sitting down in the chair in front of the table. ‘What’s wrong?’ The man in front of him laughed heartily and Gavin nervously laughed, too. God, had he phcked up that badly with his last job? ‘Reed, nothing’s wrong, quite the opposite! How you handled this rich asshole was… I would say impressive, but that doesn’t do the thing justice. God, how they could ever throw you out of the police force, I can’t understand. You didn’t let him off the hook until he answered your questions and gave him nothing to work with! That is investigative journalism at it’s finest and damnit, Reed, no one else deserves it more!’ ‘What?’, Gavin asked relieved, but also proud. ‘A raise! I would promote you, but I need you where you are now. I hope you understand that?’ ‘Hey, sure. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than in the field.’ ‘Alright. Then I’ll just sign the papers and send them to you. Really, Reed, you out-did yourself with this one!’

When Gavin came home that day, the first thing he did was jump and cheer in triumph, then pick up his unsuspecting cat and hurl her around. ‘Oh, Bready, today is the day!’ He kissed her on her shoulder, before she finally decided she had enough with an angry growl. Immediately Gavin let her fall to the ground and hurried to the kitchen, grabbing the phone along the way. The number he searched for was only two clicks away and he let it ring while pouring out some kibble for Bready and heating up yesterday’s leftovers. ‘Hey, Eli!’, he excitedly called into the phone. ‘How are you? You won’t believe what happened today!’ He let his brother guess a few times until the microwave pinged and he let himself and his food fall on the couch. ‘Urgh, Eli you are boring and have too much creativity at your hands. No, I got a raise! Honestly, getting fired might have been the best thing to ever happen to me. I get raises for being a nosy asshole! My new boss phcking loves me and my colleagues actually seem to like me. Oh, I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. We need to celebrate that! When are you free?’

He took a breath and began eating while listening to his brother complain about new work politics. Gavin actually felt with him for once. His view on androids had changed quite a bit. He got to know quite a few androids during his work and the day one of his colleagues had come in in tears saying they would have to resign because of some anti-android assholes, Gavin had changed. It had only been a few months since he started his new life, but for the first time he felt like he had his life under control. And like he enjoyed it. Being fired from the only job he thought to be ever good in had been hard. But after being stuck in that low for weeks he had realised that if he wanted to be happy, he had to work for it. And he did. And it had become better. Seeking professional help, reconciling with his brother and finally finding a new job he actually liked had been the end of a long journey that was far from over. But he was happy. And he was confident it would go up only from now on.

Their conversation dropped into casual talk, a few jokes and teasing. It was already late when Gavin decided to end it for today. He was tired and he wanted to at least watch another episode of this new show he enjoyed so much. ‘Okay, so when do you actually have time? Tomorrow? Nah, can’t do, I’m meeting Tina at this new coffee shop. Maybe on the weekend? Yes? Oh, that would be awesome. Okay, bye! Love you too!’

He smiled as he wanted to stand up to bring the phone back, but Bready had already made herself at home in his lap, so he just laid it to the side and switched on the TV.

‘Hey Tina!’, Gavin greeted the woman already standing in line. She turned around and her face lit up. Shortly after, Gavin was encased in strong arms and had to chuckle. ‘Hey, hey, let me down, alright?’ ‘God, I haven’t seen you in ages!’ ‘You saw me last month’, Gavin reminded her. ‘I see you dipshit every week on TV! That’s not the same. I miss you.’ ‘Wait you watch it?’ ‘Of course I watch it!’, Tina said and punched his shoulder. ‘What do you think of me? Also, it’s funny seeing you be a dick to people that obviously hide one or two bodies under a rug somewhere.’ Gavin shrugged. ‘Well, whatever floats your boat.’ ‘It’s good to see you like it’, Tina then said seriously. ‘I worried about you after you left.’ ‘I know’, Gavin groaned. ‘But I’m fine, okay? Really, I feel better than ever. Now shut your mouth for a while, I have to think what I want to order for a moment…’

They got their coffee and tea as well as two slices of cake soon enough and sat down in a corner of the room. ‘So, how’s work on your end?’, Gavin asked. ‘Hmm, nothing interesting at the moment. We had a suspected serial killer last week, but it turned out the cases weren’t connected after all and thankfully nothing more than the two murders happened before we got them. Otherwise… Nah, nothing interesting you want to talk about.’ So only stuff regarding the new guy. Gavin had said upfront he didn’t want to know anything about the person that had replaced him. It wouldn’t be any use after all. Tina thankfully respected his decision.

‘I did get to know someone’, she then smirked as silence threatened to stretch. ‘A beautiful, funny android lady. She also likes cats!’ ‘Oh that’s cool, tell me more!’, Gavin demanded and smiled, listening to Tina ramble on, cake and tea completely forgotten. Gavin had been determined to listen intently to her, but his attention was drawn from her as someone entered the coffee shop. Someone very familiar. ‘You got to be kidding me’, he hissed, and Tina caught on to him, turning around. There at the counter stood Hank and Connor, looking at the board. Wait. Was that another Connor? ‘Hey, T, who’s the other Connor?’, he whispered. ‘Can’t tell you without breaking a promise’, she admitted, ducking her head. ‘No phcking way a damn Connor replaced me!’

Maybe he had been louder than expected, maybe Connor just had picked up his name, but the RK800 turned around to him, eyes going wide and tapping Hank on the shoulder pointing over. Hank looked in his direction and apparently wanted to bolt immediately, but the friendly barista behind the counter had already placed their drinks on it. In that moment, the other Connor following them had spotted him too. The next thing he did was march over with large steps.

‘Oh hell no, I’m not doing this! I-‘ ‘Hello. My name is Richard. I’m sorry to have replaced you.’ ‘Oh, get phcked!’ Gavin was not having it. He had wanted to drink his coffee and talk to his best friend. He had no interest in talking to this machine. ‘I have waited very long for this moment, my colleagues having tried their best to make this meeting impossible. So, no, I won’t “get phcked”. Not before I you didn’t accept my apology.’ ‘Yeah, whatever. It’s fine. I was an asshole. Deserved getting fired. Now shoo!’ ‘I still don’t deserve getting a job when a human needs them to survive. It wasn’t fair. I heard you… did not fare well after being fired.’ Gavin took a deep breath, before standing up, the sound of the chair scratching on the ground like a precursor of a fight. ‘Listen here, Richard’, he said, pointing his finger at his chest. ‘My personal history doesn’t concern you in the slightest, okay? It’s true, I wasn’t stable in my old job. I was easily angered, I overworked myself on a regular basis without even realising it in the end. I had no friends. I am depressed. My life was one giant, gaping shithole. When I was fired it was for a good reason, but it send me spiralling even deeper down. But you know what? One day I hit rock bottom and knew it couldn’t get any worse than this, might as well try to make it better. And I worked hard for it. I worked my ass off trying to rebuild bridges I’ve burned and seek help. Get over my own walls and live. Be happy. Find a job. And you know what, you goddamn tin-can? I did it. I am a different man and I am happy. So don’t-‘ He took another breath to steady himself. ‘Don’t you dare giving me pity. I am no sorry broken soul you can comfort so you feel better! So you have completed your good deed a day! I am fine. I am better than fine. So thanks, but no thanks. Don’t need it. Phck off.’

That actually worked. The android blinked at him, obviously processing, before apologising and heading over to where Connor and Hank had sat down. Gavin got back on his seat, too and took a large gulp of his coffee. As he sat the mug down, he stared into a grinning face. ‘What?’ ‘So aggressive’, Tina laughed. ‘Dude, the guy just wanted to be nice.’ ‘Oh, did he?’, Gavin grumbled and tried to get an inconspicuous look at the android. Of course, he had chosen the same moment Richard had looked over at him, so he quickly turned back around. ‘Yes’, Tina chuckled. ‘You don’t know how annoying he can be. Replacing you being unfair is the one topic he can’t shut up about.’ ‘Perfect’, Gavin sighed, but couldn’t keep his thoughts in check. Had this android really tried to advocate for someone he didn’t even know? ‘Yeah, always said how after going through your open cases and notes, he couldn’t believe someone fired you. He thinks you are some kind of genius I think.’ ‘Oh, wow, an android has a work-crush on me’, Gavin over-exaggerated and rolled his eyes. ‘Hey, you wouldn’t be that far from the truth there’, Tina shrugged. ‘”Gavin Reed would not have” is like every second sentence of his. It’s cute actually. And ever since you put him in his place just now, he is staring at you, that fancy mood-light turning yellow.’ ‘It’s what-‘ Gavin turned around, cursing when he stared in his eyes again: ‘Shit! What’s his problem? Anyways, you wanted to tell me more about Steph. Please. I beg you. Ramble about your soon to be girlfriend, I want to think about anything but this android.’

Richard on the other hand knew exactly what his problem was. He had exactly 335 software instabilities and errors to keep track of while he couldn’t keep his eyes off this human. He had known the man to be remarkable. But after that reaction? Oh, he definitely had to get to know him better. So, long after the human had left the shop and even after he had driven home, Richard was still planning how to see the man again. Maybe Tina had been right. Maybe he truly had a crush.

[>next part]

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #Gavin Reed #Tina Chen #RK900 #Okay but honestly investigative journalist!Gavin would be something I would love to read more about #but I'd guess AO3 doesn't have anything on that #let's see #Also soft!Nines hell yes

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thirtysomethingloser92 · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3

Summary: After being removed from his own time, Agent Daniel Sousa finds himself in 2020 lost, alone and vulnerable. You, an Avenger, find yourself face to face with Director Coulson and Agent May begging you to help another man out of time. This time however, instead of a super soldier, you meet an average man haunted by war and a time he once knew. Pairings: Daniel Sousa x Reader.

“I think he’s spiralling. He’s been obsessively reading those files you gave him; he barely eats, I usually have to force him out of his room to interact with me. I gave him a book on world history but apart from that he knows the basics, but he doesn’t really want to throw himself into it.” You told Phil as you slowly walked up the stairs to your apartment building, “We’re having a few hiccups, but nothing I can’t handle,” You slightly grimaced at the memory of Daniel placing a tin can in the microwave, “Just like teaching a baby,” You thought about it for a moment, “A baby who can use a gun and possibly beat the ever living hell out of me. Anyway, how are you going about this bracelet removal thing?” “I currently have the absolute best I have to offer working on it for you. She says she should have something to try within the week,” A pause, “Are you sure you wanna go down this path? If Ross finds out what’s happening, there’s only so much I can do to keep you out of the Raft. And that’s if he’s feeling nice,” You paused out the front of your apartment door, silence falling between the pair of you for a moment, “I can’t help Daniel the same way I helped Steve if I don’t have it off. And I’m scared that he’ll be swallowed by this darkness if I don’t help him, he’s not a super soldier, he’s not enhanced in any way. He’s just a normal guy who was struggling with the aftermath of the war and now pulled out of time. I’m not scared of the Raft Phil. And I’m absolutely not scared of General Ross,” “I’ll see what I can do,”. You gave him a soft thanks as you placed your phone back into your pocket, giving a small smile to Audrey who walked past you clutching the gem necklace that hung around her neck tightly in her hand. She paused for a moment, “How’s having a new roommate?” “He’s very quiet,” You laughed as you shifted your bags from one hand to another. Audrey shrugged her shoulders, “He’ll come around. New York is a big change if you’re not used to it,” You laughed, “Anyway I should get going. I need to pick up some flowers on the way to see my grandparent’s graves,” “Awh,” You gave her a sad smile, “What type?” “Lilies, my grandma loved lilies. Granddad not so much, but he’d fill the house with them to make her happy,” You grinned, “They’re my favourite as well. He sounds wonderful,” “He was. He was my best friend,”. Audrey gave a small wave to you as she made her way down the path you had just come from. You watched as the brunette walked away before turning back to the door and pushing it open. You could smell the familiar aroma of coffee mixed in with your floral air freshener. You walked into the kitchen, dumping the bags on the counter and pulling out several packets of meat, sauces and pastas, “I’ve decided,” You began as Daniel walked into the kitchen to see what you were doing, “To cook tonight. Phil introduced me to this amazing pasta recipe back when I first started with the Avengers Initiative. And I figured since I haven’t really had the chance to introduce you to my cooking since arriving, now would be a great opportunity. Whatdya say?” You gave him a large grin as you held up the mince packet and the large jar of sauce Daniel gave a soft smile and shook his head, “I’ve love too, but uh,” He pointed back to his bedroom, “I have some things I need to finish first,” “I swear I’m not an awful cook,” You bargained, placing the items down on the bench and leaning forward, “In fact I used to regularly be the chef at the compound. Along with Wanda of course,” “Wanda?” “Maximoff. She’s another enhanced. I hope you both get to meet one day,” You smiled gently at him as he came and sat down at the breakfast bench, leaving his walking stick hanging off the bench by it’s handles. “Okay. I’ll give your cooking a try. On the condition that I cook tomorrow night,” A larger smile crossed your face. This was good. This was him coming out of his shell, a sense of normalcy, “I supervise,” “You supervise,” You couldn’t help the smile that grew across your face as a smile crossed his own. You could still see the haunted look in his deep brown eyes as he smiled back, but you couldn’t help but to count this as a victory. Here he was, with you, away from his bedroom and his case files, a cup of coffee in his hands that he made himself; and you figured that perhaps you didn’t need your bracelet to know what was happening with Daniel Sousa, maybe all you needed was to use your brain.

You couldn't help but to play with the silver glistening bracelet, even though it was an item that took away your identity, something that you should hate more than anything on this planet, but you loved the way it shone in the sun. You loved how sometimes, when the light from the streetlights hit the right angle, it could illuminate in the night. Like a glowing beacon in a storm.

The night air was cool around your body, the silky pyjamas Tony had brought you a year earlier for your birthday didn't do much to keep out the bitter chill that the Winter nights were bringing in. Your fingers traced the silver band, small dents from the many times you had tried to remove it littered the polished surface. A small yawn escaped your lips as your arm fell limply by your side and you resumed staring up at the darkened ceiling. Sleep wasn't coming easy for you; the worry you held for Daniel was almost suffocating.

With Steve, he would at the very least sit with you on the couch while blankly watching whatever show was on the television. But with Daniel he would hole himself away where you couldn’t see his emotions. You knew that he was trying so hard to be strong, but even the strongest rocks crumble.

You knew he was in his room, because you could hear him occasionally shuffling around. A part of you wanted to go into him, to sit with him so you could reassure him that he had someone to talk too; however you knew that this was something that he had to experience for himself, something he had to deal with by himself.

There was no going back to the past for him, there was only moving forward, and if this was the way he could do that, then you would support him every step of the way.

With a groan, you pushed your blankets back and moved out of your large bed, wrapping your dressing gown around your body and making your way into the kitchen. You didn't put the kettle on like you normally would have, instead you reached into the pantry and pulled out a small pocket of chocolate biscuits before climbing on to the bench, the packet of open biscuits sitting beside you as you watched the shining lights of the New York skyline from your window.

And that was how Daniel found you moments later when he limped out and looked at you in shock, as if he hadn't been expecting anyone else to be awake at this time of night.

"Sup?" You offered; a mouth still filled with a half-chewed biscuit. You reached down and picked up the packet, holding the open end to him, "Biscuit. You bailed pretty quick after dinner," You gave a small shrug when he shook his head, placing the packet back down, "Which is a shame because there was a great movie on tonight you would have enjoyed,"

"Would’ve I? 4 weeks I've been living here, and I can't say our ideas of a good movie match yet," Daniel replied. stepping further into the kitchen, reaching into a cupboard and pulling out a glass, "Dinner was good though. Thank you," He poured some water in the glass as you ate another biscuit.

"Yeah of course it was, I cooked it," You joked, remembering how he hate barely half what he had on his plate. You noticed the dark grey circles under his eyes, how pale his skin was looking, the slight shake in his hand, "You should eat something though,"

He rinsed the empty glass under the running tap as he rose an eyebrow, "Like chocolate biscuits?"

"I never said I was the healthiest person in the world" Your smile faltered as you saw the somewhat distressed look on the agent’s face, “Are you okay? It’s 2am,”

Daniel shook his head and leaned against the granite countertop, his eyes downcast as if he were searching for the strength to actually open up to you. You knew it was going to be difficult for him to do so, especially coming out of the time period he did where men showing any sort of emotion was a sign of weakness. You stopped chewing and watched him closely, watching as his jaw clenched, his fingers grabbing on to the edge of the counter as if he were using it to physically hold himself up.

You decided to take the initiative in this conversation. He barely even knew anything about you, perhaps he wouldn’t open to you until you opened to him.

“I’m an empath,” You started.

Daniel’s eyes shot up to meet yours, his eyebrows furrowing as to ask why you were talking about it. Instead of acknowledging it, you just held up your wrist, once again showing him your band and gave a small smile, “I can feel other people’s emotions with just a touch. I can also manipulate them to feel what I want them to feel. Both a blessing and a curse that one,” You gave a self-depreciating smile, “Ever since I’ve had this band on it’s like I’m missing a piece of myself. I can touch things; I can touch people and I feel nothing. There’s just this emptiness inside me that I can’t find anything to fill it with. It’s the reason why I need it off,”

“Do you feel everything? Or are you able to control it?” Daniel asked, his posture somewhat more relaxed now that you were talking about yourself instead of whatever was going on in his head.

A short nod, “Yeah. I lived in a compound with an egotistical genius who never slept, a super soldier from 1945, a genius with awful anger issues, and two assassins. You don’t live with those type of people and not learn how to control it. Although, when someone’s feeling something and it’s overpowering, I can feel that no matter how hard I try to stop it,”

You remember putting your hand on Tony’s shoulder after he watched that video of his parents dying, the pure rage and betrayal spread through his body and into your mind. Tears welled in your eyes as your body almost crumbled under the weight of grief your friend was feeling. Swallowing deeply, you shook away the memory and turned back to Daniel who was watching you with curious eyes.

“You look tired, you should get to bed,” He gave a lopsided smile, watching as a small smile crossed your own face.

“I’m worried about you,” You admitted, catching Daniel’s brown eyes with your own and holding them.

He shook his head, “Don’t be. I’m okay,”

“Liar,”

A small smile crossed his face as he reached over and grabbed a biscuit out of the packet, holding it up to show you that he had it. You watched as he took a bite of it and leaned on the counter.

“I’ve just sort of realised that no matter what, I’m not going back. I can’t walk around my neighbourhood again, see friends, family. I miss them,”

“Would you go back? If you had a chance?”

“In a heartbeat” There was zero hesitation in his voice, his eyes showing the desperation, the sadness he felt missing his loved ones.

“I’m sorry” You stated quietly.

“Me Too”

Tags:

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#Daniel Sousa x reader #enver gjokaj #Agent Cater #Marvel #Agents Of Shield #Daniel Sousa

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infaethable · 4 years

Text

(part one here)

riz gukgak has been legally dead for a week when he wakes up in a hospital bed.

it’s not like in movies, he doesn’t come to consciousness all at once. he catches snippets of conversations and traces of sensations, the relief of his mother’s voice for half a second, the comforting smell of adaine’s bergamot shampoo that always lingers even a few days after a wash, a hand in his, rubbing a thumb across riz’s split and scabbed over knuckles before he finally fights the urge to go back into the sweet relief of unconsciousness and opens his eyes.

it's so bright that he immediately has to beat back the impulse to close them again, his pupils narrowing into slits in order to take in less light. he's got a killer headache, and his mouth is dry as he says the only thing he can think of.

which is understandably, "ow."

fabian, who riz had uncharacteristically not noticed sleeping silently in the chair beside the bed, falls out of said chair in surprise. riz lets a smile spread across his face, the first in a number of weeks.

now that he's more in himself, he takes in the room more and sees that clearly, he's been here for at least a little bit. if he had to guess, a couple of days. there are multitudes of cards on his bedside table, a kids one scrawled over in black sharpie clearly from fig, a handmade one that could be from kristen or gorgug, a lovingly colored in color by numbers type thing unmistakably from adaine, and a number of nondescript ones probably from distant classmates or his mom’s coworkers. on the windowsill is a slightly misshapen glass vase riz recognizes from it’s home on fabian’s dresser, holding a tin flower.

riz leans over the side of his bed, ignoring the flash of pain from pulling his stitches (which he apparently has now?) and takes in fabian himself, who’s getting his bearings on the floor. he supposes he’s being hypocritical, as someone in a hospital bed, but fabian looks rough.

he's got dark shadows under his eyes, and his hair, which over the past year had shifted slowly from straightened to loose bouncy curls, is frizzy, and disheveled like he’s run his hands through it too many times for the style to keep. his jacket, usually pressed (which riz made fun of to no end, the idea of pressing a letterman's jacket was so ridiculous-) was crumpled on the chair as if it had been draped over him like a blanket when he fell. and as fabian reaches a hand on the side of the hospital bed to help himself up, riz sees that there are white bandages wrapped around his palms.

riz feels a pang of worry along with the pull of his stitches, so he reluctantly repositions himself, but cocks his head to meet fabian’s gaze and croaks out (he should really ask about some ice chips-), “what happened to your hands?”

fabian finally gets himself to a standing position, blinks the sleep from his eyes, and says, "the ball. you’re- i'm going to get a nurse!" and runs out of the room.

riz gets about ten seconds of confusion before sklonda comes running in, and envelops him in the warmest hug he’s ever had and holds on for dear life.

and then, in a voice laced with more grief than he’s heard in six years, she says,

"you- riz you were gone."

and riz says back, trying not to get his mom’s curls in his mouth,

"i texted adaine?"

and sklonda pulls back, hands still on his shoulders, says,

"and then you went missing for three weeks! they found three and a half pints of your blood on the floor of a laundromat in bastion city, riz you are so!"

and then she makes a noise that riz knows means she is utterly done with his antics and buries him in a hug again.

and a nurse comes and taps sklonda on the shoulder, "mrs. gukgak? we need to check his vitals."

his mom corrects the nurse under her breath, “as i’ve told you, it’s miss gukgak.” before taking a step back.

riz answers benign questions like what country he's in (solace) what week it is (second week in november) how he’s feeling (bad) all the while craning his neck very subtly to see if fabian will come back in the room. his mom only rolls her eyes once.

when the nurse leaves, sklonda sighs and rubs her temples, and starts, "riz, you lost- you lost so much blood."

riz can’t meet his mother’s eyes as shame pools in his gut, says quietly, "i- not all of it was mine."

sklonda tenses, before continuing, "we figured that out when you showed up again, but riz, it was." and her eyes well up as her voice breaks, "if it had been, there was no way- you couldn't have survived it."

riz's brows furrow in confusion, as he prompts, “but it wasn't."

and sklonda retorts with a frustrated hand gesture, "yes, well the idiots in the bastion city precinct didn't know that, riz." and pauses to make sure he's looking her in the eyes as she continues, "you were legally dead riz. for a week."

and riz's eyes widen as he takes in the information, "what- that's stupid. i was alive. didn't anyone do any divination spells? or locator spells? or, actually, fuck-” riz takes a quick breath as some machine next to him starts beeping, “i um. warded myself against divination and locator spells, but i think dead is a little bit of an overreaction! how does this happen?!"

sklonda raises her voice, “calm down-” before taking a glance at the steadily rising heart rate monitor, and says in a low tone, “what's done is done, and the important thing is that you're alive."

riz does not calm down, his voice raising pitch slowly, "everyone thought i was dead? everyone?"

sklonda nods her head slowly, says, "we were about halfway through your will, which, by the way, how the fuck did you, a fifteen-year-old boy, get a will notarized without letting me know about it? do you want to explain that?"

riz's eyes are as wide as saucers as he says, "wait wait wait. my will? halfway- how much of my will?"

sklonda furrows her brows for a millisecond in confusion before a revelation washes over her face and incredulous anger sets in,

"riz gukgak. you were legally dead for a week and that is what you're worried about? YOU LOST THREE PERCENT OF YOUR BODY WEIGHT IN BLOOD!"

and she takes a step back, takes a deep breath, and says, before riz can respond, "i am going to get myself another coffee, and you some ice chips. and you are banned from “deep cover” for- for till college!"

and riz tries to sit up, but his stitches pull too painfully to ignore, so he cranes his neck to see out of the room as he shouts after her, "like in icarly?!"

sklonda shouts back, “stop pulling your stitches!” before disappearing out of sight.

riz waits there for a couple of moments spiraling, maybe he got the old letter, fuck, did i remember to switch them out? habit of forgetting things integral to my wellbeing, please don’t fail me now, i promise i will never say anything bad about you again- maybe they didn’t even get through all of them? or maybe he got it but he didn’t open it? was going to save it for his wedding day or something like in that movie with julianne hough- before hearing tentative footsteps, and looks up to see fabian in the doorway, head down, wringing his hands.

riz is suddenly acutely aware that he hasn’t talked to fabian (besides the brief exchange earlier) in almost a month, which would make it the longest he’s gone without talking to fabian since they met. even in those long and lonely weeks in jail, they found quiet ways to communicate. notes passed daisy chain style, the odd few messages by way of fig or adaine whenever both of their cell doors opened enough to let magic in.

riz opens his mouth to say something, act like a normal fucking person, but-

he can't.

and thankfully, fabian does, clears his throat and says, so quiet that riz might not be able to hear it if he weren't a goblin, "i got your letter."

fuck.

riz winces and looks down at his lap, the green of his hands contrasting with the pale blue hospital gown patterned with tiny dark blue polka dots.

he holds his tongue as he thinks about what to say before finally responding, "you um.” so much for thinking about what to say, he thinks as he levels his gaze at fabian yet again, “i wrote two. i had to rewrite yours, for- reasons. which one?"

fabian takes a step into the room, pauses a moment, then closes the door behind him. fabian’s movements are slow and hesitant like he’s trying not to make any loud or sudden noises. he still won't meet riz's eyes. riz gets the sinking feeling that he knows what letter fabian read.

fabian confirms it anyway, "the one where you said-"

and that’s all riz needs to interrupt, his voice painfully high pitched at this point, "we don't have to talk about that. it- it was a contingency plan, just in case, you know, and we can just move past it."

riz gives a smile that begs fabian to not notice his face is lime green right now. and then as a further misdirect, he adds, "you never told me what happened to your hands."

fabian finally meets riz's eyes, and his expression is. god, riz is so bad at reading faces, and he’d count fabian’s as his top three most readable faces, on the sheer amount he looks at it alone. he’s. confused? hurt? but that can't be true, why would fabian feel hurt? maybe he's mad riz took advantage of their friendship? but fabian denies that there's a friendship to betray at every turn-

his train of thought gets interrupted by fabian's next words, breathy with a hint of annoyance maybe, "i- my sword. burned my hands. when i made my pact."

and riz's eyes widen even more as horror and panic sets it, what the fuck did fabian do-

"your WHAT?"

fabian winces at riz's gravelly voice, which cracks halfway through so it can't be very intimidating, before saying, "riz, it's not important, if we could just please talk about the letter-"

riz interrupts him again, "i don't think my feelings for you matter as much as you selling your soul, fabian, why would you do that, oh my fucking gods-"

and fabian raises his voice for the first time, a hint of darkness and desperation riz hasn't ever heard before in his voice, "you were dead riz."

and riz quiets down, shakes his head from side to side a minuscule amount, before saying so quietly it could almost be a whisper, "what does that have to do with anything?"

fabian gets a look on his face that riz couldn't parse in a million years, his lips the smallest bit parted and his head shaking in mirror to riz’s. disagreement? confusion? riz can’t figure it out.

fabian’s steps echo on the linoleum as he crosses the distance from the door to the side of riz’s bed. riz looks up at him, so much taller normally and even more imposing now, and he doesn’t know how fabian clocks it, but he does, leans down so he’s on his knees and he and riz are at eye level.

it's dizzying, to have fabian's full attention like this. he almost opens his mouth to question what are you doing? but can’t bring himself to break the magnetism of the moment.

fabian’s gaze bores into his, and he says again, so softly riz thinks for a second that he wasn’t meant to hear it, and so broken that riz never wants to hear it again,

"riz. you were dead."

and for a beat, they just stare at each other.

fabian, slowly, slowly, reaches his hand to envelop riz’s, and it feels familiar. he can’t remember any other time fabian has held his hand, so that has to mean-

riz gets these feelings sometimes, little thorns of hope that dig their way in and whisper, what if- that inevitably disappoint when fabian crushes them underfoot. riz waits for the inevitable.

the inevitable doesn’t happen.

fabian leans in the slightest bit so that their foreheads are touching. so close that riz's breath hitches and fabian must feel it. and fabian has tears running down his face, riz doesn’t know how he missed fabian starting to cry, but he is, and fabian swallows a lump in his throat before saying in a pleading tone,

"riz”

riz realizes that fabian hasn't called him the ball since he came in the room.

so he says back, those thorns crawling their way into his voice, hope, bloody and raw,

"yeah?"

fabian swallows again, and then, small and wavering, asks, "would you tell me again?"

and riz squeezes fabian's hand, involuntary, says, a tiny bit breathless,

"that i'm in love with you?"

and fabian nods imperceptibly, forehead still pressed against riz's.

so riz, with the conviction of a dead man, answers, "i'm in love with you."

and fabian inhales, sharply, before saying, "me too."

and then fabian kisses him.

and this isn't like the movies either, the tile is probably hard on fabian's knees, and riz has to crane his head to the side in his half laying down position, but fabian's mouth is warm and he tastes like coffee with so much sugar that it can't be called coffee anymore, and his hand that's not holding riz's comes to rest on the back of riz's neck, fingers threading into riz's curls.

riz pulls away, takes a deep breath, and says, "you mean that you're in love with me, and not that you're in love with yourself right?"

and fabian's face spreads into a smile and he laughs like sunlight that riz has barely seen in weeks, answers, "i'm in love with you, riz."

riz's voice is breathy and higher pitched than he would like as he says back, "cool cool cool. would you kiss me again?"

but as fabian goes to lean in again, he hears a voice from the doorway, the same nurse that took his vitals previously,

"he most certainly will not. your heart rate is way too fast for the amount of blood you lost young man."

sklonda is behind her, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

fabian goes to back away with his arms up in a surrender motion, but at the last second presses a kiss to riz's lime green cheek, before he backs away for real.

riz is already missing his presence as he meets sklonda at the doorway, where he finally breaks eye contact with riz to look her in the eyes. she puts a hand on his back to gently push him out of the doorway and into the hallway outside.

she says, annoyed in that way that means she’s not really annoyed but amused, “go get adaine. she’s been waiting for her turn for ten minutes, and if she waits any longer i can’t say in good conscience that she won’t murder you, and then we’d have an actual death on our hands.”

and sklonda turns back to riz, raises her eyebrows. riz raises his back, and she walks across the room to press a kiss to the corner of his head. the nurse rolls her eyes, mutters something about adventurers, and shuts the door on them.

#i actually have a ban on riz dies aus but i wanted the angst #what exactly happened to riz when he was in ''deep cover'' ?#fuck if i know #also shout out to @figaydas on twitter #for the leave it all to me fancam #that put the sleeper agent icarly/fh thought in my brain #inspiring the for till college bit #and also to mac <3 #all of you thank mac if not for mac @pastelmogar you would not be seeing this #bc again #i only ever post things when mac tells me to #fabriz #my writing

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lu-undy · 4 years

Text

Chapter 11 - SBT

Here it is!

The Frenchman hit the hotel after his lunch with Victoria. He left the car to the parking valet and shot to the lift where he found Bastian.

“Which floor, Sir?”

“Cinquième.”

[Fifth.]

“Right, Sir.” The young man felt it. His client felt under the weather somehow. He wasn’t his same confident self. Of course, Bastian stayed away from questioning it or trying anything. He kept to his job and politely obliged.

When the lift stopped and the bell rang, the doors opening wide, Lucien resolutely exited without adding a word. As the doors closed again, Bastian put his hands in his pockets.

“Oh?”

When his hand emerged out of it, a few coins shone in the palm of his white gloved hand. He smiled.

Meanwhile, Lucien had slammed the door shut as he entered his suite. He went straight to his bathroom. He opened the taps fully and let the water flow in a violent and loud stream. He removed his expensive shoes, put them out next to the front door and started stripping naked in front of the bathtub. His eyes were riveted on the water, the chaotic stream creating and destroying bubbles.

His tie, jacket and vest flew out of the way quickly and he stayed bare-chested, crouched down, his chin and his arms on the edge of the bathtub, staring emptily at the water level rise. He couldn't hear his own thoughts if he had wanted to, the bath was too loud. Perfect, that was absolutely the point. Lucien wanted to smother and drown the voices in his head which repeated what Victoria had said.

Bullshit! It's impossible to not feel lonely!

He frowned. Of course it was! That was how he had managed to survive! He had managed to embrace his loneliness and accept it! Victoria was young… Oui, too young to understand, no doubt. And of course such a sacrifice comes at a price! It is far from easy! But he had made it, he had succeeded in ridding himself of that feeling, the impression of a vacancy in his heart where a human should be...

The Frenchman sighed and stopped the water from running. The bath was full. He looked at the bottles standing at the edge of it and found some bubbling gel. He poured some in and mixed it until a thick foam formed at the surface. Lucien finished stripping naked and slipped in.

He let himself sink in slowly, until his back rested against the bathtub. He laid his head back and let his eyelids fall on his eyes.

"Mon Dieu…"

[My God…]

His lips hardly moved and the words slipped between them in a thin thread of air.

Now what?

Well, now there was no loud water to deafen the voices in his head, no walking hard and fast to escape them either. Non, he had to face it all.

Fine.

Oui. Victoria was right, but only partly. Only very partly. There were a few times where he could still feel it, feel that he missed someone. Who? Well, that woman obviously, who else? Well…

Lucien frowned, his eyes still closed.

Now if he was being honest, he was over her. He had put her in that tin box that was under the ground in a parisian park. She didn’t exist anymore. She was long gone. But he couldn’t help it. Each time he felt that feeling of emptiness creep up on him, he would think of her. It wasn’t because he missed her per se, but rather because he had no one to think about and associate that longing to.

Longing.

Oui, sometimes, very rarely though, the Frenchman longed for someone. Someone to hold, or to be held by. Someone to share his days with, someone to make sure his dreams were peaceful.

"Mon Dieu…"

His jaw relaxed.

He thought back of these countless times he had someone to warm his bed. Those were surely happier times. But for some reason, he did not miss those the most, even though they did bring some kind of satisfaction…

"Pfff…"

He sighed. Enough for the bath. He felt himself spiralling down to useless thoughts. The Frenchman washed himself and exited his bathroom, wearing his bathrobe. In his bedroom, he chose a shirt and trousers and put them on. Lucien went to face the tall mirror next to the entrance to fix his cuffs and tie.

He stared at himself, his hair disorganised and still damp. He hated his grey, lifeless eyes and frowned, focusing on the tie.

"Bien…"

[Well…]

He punctuated, as if to turn the page of his mind. He thought back on his mission.

"The target makes himself rare in public, hm? So be it, but I hope I will be able to at least catch a glimpse of him at The Queen Victoria. To that end, I need Richard's suit… I hope he will be fast. The sooner I go to that place, the better. Actually, maybe I can work on its layout first….? Oui, I shall ask Maurice for a map of the building and maybe a list of frequent clients."

He finished with his tie and went to grab his file. The Frenchman then put everything on the coffee table and sat down on the black leather sofa in front of it. He raised his head to see if there were any clocks on the wall to see the time when-

"Oh…"

He hadn't realised it but his living room was massive. It was much more spacious than what he had caught a glimpse of as he had entered his suite the first time. Moreover, one side of it was entirely windowed and he could see a good part of the city from it. The view cut his breath short for a moment. But that wasn't what caught his attention first and foremost. Non.

He stood up and walked to what had caught his eye.

"Very nice…"

He let the tips of his finger delicately brush the black varnished wood before pulling the stool and sitting down. He opened the long black varnished lid and set his fingers on the keys.

A piano was sitting in the middle of his living room and he hadn't noticed it for days…

He looked at his fingers on the white keys. Last time he had seen them like that, the skin was smoother and he could see everything but the age on them. Now of course, it was much different.

What should he play?

What key to press? What hammer should hit the strings of silence?

He knew. And started playing.

{To the reader: Listen to Bard by Brad Meldhau on Youtube!}

The first few notes were shy, he didn't dare push the silence away too hard. He just wanted to fill the void, have the melody and the slightly dissonant harmonies talk to him in a way that words couldn't, even in his mother tongue.

For there are ideas that simply cannot be put into words, they can't be molded into letters and put together into a string like the pearls of a necklace that passes from one to the next. Non. Some ideas cannot be expressed in words but…

But tones, sounds, melodies, harmonies. Those could render those invisible colours of the soul. Non. Music was the only vehicle to take these emotions from within himself and gently blow them out, like he would a fluffy dandelion. Music was the only one who could guide those wordless primitive waves of his insides into the air.

And at what cost did it all come? As usual and as they say in French 'La fin justifie les moyens' : the end justifies the means.

Lucien did not care that he would probably sit there for hours on end, he did not care that the sky went from blue, to pink, to orange, to dark as he still sat there, hunched over the ivory keys that hit him repeatedly. Neither did he mind that his back would not forgive him for this. The strain that he put onto his shoulders and his spine, he ignored. Those could wait and be cured easily with some aspirin. For the pain he was easing now with all this, there was no prescription.

He played relentlessly and it lasted for hours until he could barely see the keys in the darkness of the night. He raised his nose off the keyboard and saw the night city, the buildings standing like black silhouettes only punctuated by yellow-lit windows here and there.

Lucien took a deep breath and sighed before straightening his back and stretching his shoulders. Now he could feel the back pain. But at least his mind and spirit were empty. He could face life again. So he decided on a late night coffee. He would go on foot too, no need to get the Panthera out for that.

The Frenchman took his jacket and exited his dark suite. On his way out he met with Bastian. He signaled him to get closer.

"Va voir Maurice et demande-lui les plans complets de l'intérieur du Queen Victoria pour moi s'il te plaît."

[Tell Maurice I need the complete plans of the layout for the Queen Victoria, please.]

The young man nodded.

"Sure, Sir."

"Thanks."

As he walked out of the hotel, Lucien realised that the city was still pretty busy. Nightclubbers and young people were the faces that he mostly saw as the night was rarely for families with children.

He stopped at a crossway and lit a cigarette, waiting for the cars to stop passing and let him through.

He crossed the road and continued, a cigarette between his lips. His feet were choosing the path, he was merely following until he found himself in front of a shop. The neon light at the entrance was blinking in blue and pink.

Joe's

He pushed the door and the jingle of a bell rang. Lucien could hear the static noise of a radio further in the narrow shop but it wasn't music, no, the background noise covering the voice was too loud for it. It was sports, some match or competition of some sort.

"Look, who it is, eh? Came back for another map?"

Joe emerged from nowhere.

"Ah, good evening. Non, I am just…"

Lucien had no idea what he was doing.

"Just havin' a look, eh? It's fine, take yer time, I'll just be at the radio, we're playin' New Zealand, see?"

Joe turned his slender silhouette and started walking away.

"Wait."

He stopped.

"Can I ask you something, Joe?"

"O'course, son. What d'you need?"

"We can go at the counter if you'd prefer to have a seat." Lucien suggested.

"Oh, long story time, eh? Roight, follow me."

Given how small the shop was, it only took them a few seconds to arrive at their destination. Joe walked behind the counter and hopped on his tall stool.

"So, tell me."

"I would like to ask you what Victoria likes."

Joe's bushy eyebrows jumped.

"What?"

"Does she have any passions? Is there anything she likes to do outside of her working hours?"

Joe lowered the volume on his radio until it was but a whisper, and pointed an accusative finger at the Frenchman.

"Oi there, listen. You don't touch my little girl Vicky, alroight?"

"Pardon?" Lucien asked in his native language.

"Ya heard me alroight. You lay a finger on her hair and I'll find ya! By God, she's half your age, son! You could be her dad! Go find yerself someone who’s really for you!”

“Joe, non, you misunderstood me, I - oh mon Dieu! I hope she isn’t under that impression too… I just… Argh.."

Lucien sighed and put a hand on his brow.

"Vicky's a good girl."

"I know." The Frenchman answered. "Which is why I am asking you this. I might have offended her and I want to make it up to her."

"What did you do?"

"She said something that was too true for me to hear. So I left her without adding a word."

"Not exactly well mannered comin' from a posh fellow like you, eh?"

He nodded.

"Alroight. Tell you what. She's got a collection of comics that she likes. Here's the next issue."

Joe put a magazine on the counter.

"Get that to her and apologise."

"Merci."

"T's'alright."

"How much do I owe you?" Lucien asked.

"Not a cent. You're doin' it for her, which is enough for me. Now go and I hope she'll forgive you."

Lucien took the comics book and raised an eyebrow to Joe.

"Why?" He asked.

"'Cause she likes you, the poor thing. She's never had friends to have lunch with before, y'know."

"How do you know about our lunch?"

"She came here before you did. Brought me me pills. And she talked. But she's back home now. If you wanna see her, you'll have to wait for tomorrow."

"I see. Many thanks, Joe."

"See ya."

And with the same jingle of the bells, the Frenchman went through the door. On his way back to the hotel, he looked through the window of the restaurant where Victoria worked. The lights were off and it was lifeless. Only the jukebox still shone in a corner of the room.

Lucien went on until he found himself back in the hotel.

"Evening, Sir."

He turned and saw Bastian.

"Bonsoir, Bastien." He answered.

[Good evening Bastian.]

The young man went to the lift and entered right before the Frenchman slipped in.

"Fifth floor, Sir?"

"Oui, s'il te plaît."

[Yes, please.]

The doors of the lift slowly slid shut and they both felt it take off the ground floor.

"Bastien?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"You can call me just L."

"Ah, alright, thanks L."

"Tell me, is there anyone who has the rooms around my own?"

The young man raised an eyebrow at the weird question.

"I don't think so. And in any case, suite 504 is one of the biggest that we have. It occupies almost a third of the floor. The other rooms are much smaller."

"I see. Could you double check for me please?"

"Of course, Sir."

"Merci bien."

[Thank you very much.]

The doors of the lift slid open and the Frenchman stepped off.

"I will be waiting for your answer in my room."

"Alright L, I'll just be a minute."

The Frenchman nodded and followed the corridor to his suite. He entered and removed his jacket and shoes. He flipped one of the switches just to have barely enough light to see. He headed straight to the bar where he found a bottle of what looked like wine. He opened it and poured himself a glass.

Ha, wine.

You can’t call it wine when the cap is a plastic lid that you have to unscrew. Non. Proper wine came in a glass bottle too dark to see the subtle beverage, like black tights on a woman’s slim legs. Barely enough to see its content but more than enough to see its shapes. He drank it and it stung the back of his throat.

He coughed a few times. He hadn’t expected it to be that acidic. What château was that?! Ah, yes, a local cheap one.

There was a knock at the door. Lucien went and opened it.

“Ah, Bastien, alors?”

[Ah, Bastian, so?]

“They are all empty and the house will keep them so for you.”

“Parfait. Thank you very much.”

[Perfect.]

“You’re welcome, Sir.”

“Oh, and Bastien?”

“Yes?”

The Frenchman took a step forward, stepping out of his suite, his feet in direct contact with the carpet of the corridor. He adjusted the young man’s tie and his hat.

“There. That is better. If you want to make it, you have to pay attention to the details, mon petit.”

[My little one.]

“Oh, uh, thank you very much, Sir.”

“L.” Lucien corrected him.

��Ah yes, L.”

“Now, good night.”

“G’night, L!”

Lucien watched as the young man walked as light as a feather back to the lift. He smiled to himself and got back inside his suite.

Without a second thought, he grabbed his glass of wi--whatever that dark, acidic beverage was and went to the piano again. He brought an ashtray and lit a cigarette.

The Frenchman didn't feel like sleeping despite the late hour of the night. Instead, he repeated some pieces that he knew again and again. And now that he knew he had no neighbours, he didn't hold back his fingers.

He loosened his tie and gulping down more of the bitter wine, he drummed his fingers on the ivory keys more aggressively, more passionately.

Non, he wasn't going to sleep that night and God had given him a finely tuned piano. He wasn't going to waste the opportunity.

His fingers slithered, glided and slammed rhythmically as his bare foot crushed the pedal repeatedly.

Soon he closed his eyes. He had tamed the keys, they would come under his fingers when he needed them without him even having to ask in any way or another. He shook his head left and right, his cigarette between his lips.

He had spent minutes that transformed into hours playing. The tie had been thrown away and the shirt had three buttons open as the sweat beaded and rolled down his brow, his eyes still screwed shut. His hair flew after him as his shoulders were jumping in sync with the tempo. The grey and black, wet locks now stuck to his brow or slammed it repeatedly.

And he didn't know it but the sun was rising and the birds were chirping.

Lucien rolled the sleeve of his left arm as it was still playing and then did the same to his right hand.

The sun was rising but his eyes were still closed. The Frenchman would start his day only when his ears and soul would have been nourished enough.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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peter-parkourwrites · 5 years

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Heartbreak Summer 2

Bucky Barnes x Reader, College AU

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes broke your heart two years ago. Now, after settling down finally in college with your group of old and new friends, he ́s transferred into your school, and maybe back into your heart.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Angst, mentions of drinking, slight pining from everyone’s favorite tin-man, slight thor x reader, jealous Bucky, swearing

A/N: TAG LIST IS OPEN!! Am I really starting a new series before my last one is finished? Yes. Don’t worry tho SFF will be uploaded soon. I just had this idea and I’m extremely excited about it.

Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for reading loves, I hope you guys like it!

*Gif not mine, credit to owner*

series masterlist

Bucky watches with a small frown as you turn away from him, Thor’s arm wrapped delicately around your waist. That used to be him. He wonders if he should punch Steve, or thank him for not telling him you’d be there. And by his assumptions, you hadn’t known he’d be there either. With how stiff and quiet you suddenly got. Bucky grimaces as Thor reaches out to help you into his truck, ever the gentlemen. Bucky used to be that for you, he used to be the one to surprise you with flowers, kiss your knuckles when taking you home after a date, and opening doors for you no matter how far away he was from you. Bucky would launch himself over counters if it meant you didn’t have to open a damn door.

It’s not fair.

He thinks as Steve drags him over to his own car, followed by Sam as Tony, Nat and Wanda cram into the back of Thor's truck behind you.

Should he strangle Steve or Thor first?

It’s a tough draw. Bucky knows why Steve didn’t tell him you were going to be there. It was his first week back from his adventures in Europe abroad, and he had only wished he never left you. If Steve had told him you were there, he wouldn’t have come. The last time you two spoke wasn’t exactly… great.

“I don’t know why you think you have to do this.” You hissed staring up at him with angry eyes filled with tears. His heart cracked at the fact that they weren’t the usual bright doe eyes he’d get to look into every morning. He didn’t want to fight with you, he wanted to hold you and tell you everything would be okay.

But he chose the only option he could, at the time anyway.

“I have to do this (Y/N)! It’s a full year abroad to study and train under professionals!” Bucky was shouting now, something he had only done one other time when his sister was in that car accident years ago. She was better now but that night sent him in a downward spiral.

“What about us?!” You cried, voice shaking with anger and sadness, Bucky couldn’t really decipher which pained him the most.

“Us?! Us? This is a huge opportunity and you’re asking me to turn it down for some dumb childhood dream you had for us?!”

“No Bucky that’s not what I’m asking, I’m asking you to promise me we’ll be okay, and you won’t!” You hissed, your voice wavering as you looked anywhere but him.

“You know I can't do that (Y/N).”

“WHY NOT! Y-y-you s-said you’d always be here…” Your voice trailed off, and that one sentence would linger in his mind for the next two years.

“I can’t promise you I’ll still be the man you love when I come back doll.”

“NO! D-don’t call me that… y-you don’t get the right anymore.”

“Look… I’m sorry but I need to do this… I won’t let you sit here and suffer for the next two years while I’m away. Live your life, I don’t want to hold you back.”

“So? I-I can go with you! I-I’m sure they have better nursing programs in Europe-”

“I won’t ask you to leave everything you love behind for... For me. I won’t let you do that. If you go with me I-I’ll” He let out a long sigh, and his fists clenched at his side, the next words he said hurt him to even say but the look on your face as he said them made him sick. “I’ll leave you…”

Your breath hitched in your throat as your body went stiff. Clearing your throat you nodded and crossed your arms over your chest.

“I won’t be here waiting when you get back. I refuse to do that to myself. I won’t let you break my heart like that James.”

James. That hurt. In all your years of knowing him, you’d never called him that. He swore his heart shattered at that. So with a short nod, Bucky took careful, but long strides towards you in case you decided to bolt from him. When you didn’t, a small tear slipped down his cheek. Pulling you into his arms he pressed you flush against his chest, taking a deep breath. Lavender and fresh linens. You always smelt like that in the spring. And Bucky would miss it so much more than he knew.

“I love you ya know.” He murmured against your hair. He felt your fists grasp tightly at his dark shirt, knowing it would be stained with tears. When you didn’t say it back, he knew that was his cue to leave. Reluctantly, he pulled away from you and bent down to place a small kiss to your forehead. But you stopped him? That never happened. But then again, he did just break your heart.

Letting out a small sigh, he opened his eyes and looked down at you.

“Y-you’re leaving… just go please.” You whispered the sorrow in your voice was evident. With a nod he walked to the door of your apartment and walked out, closing the door with a small click behind him.

Bucky followed Steve into the pizza restaurant. His eyes met the back of your head as you let out a cheerful laugh, his heart lurching in his chest. God, he missed that sound. The pure bliss from hearing that every morning was sorely missed when he slept alone in his small apartment in London.

You sat there so happy and in pure bliss, a stark contrast from the last time he had seen you. Bucky slinks through the crowd, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets to hide his shaking hands. Nerves fluttered in his stomach with every step he took closer towards your ethereal form. His eyes are trained on you, and you alone. Thor has a hand on your lower back, that makes him scowl, shooting daggers at the back of the blondes head. Steve nudges Bucky’s side with his elbow as the group turns around to face them. Bucky's eyes quickly pull away from your form, looking at everything else but you. And that's when he fully regrets coming out tonight.

The small pizza place has since expanded and added a simple bar. Dark wooden tables are scattered around, with tall stools adorning dark blue cushions with some rips on them. There are small floral arrangements at either end of the bar counter, courtesy of Elaine, one of the owners you all knew.

The pizza side hadn’t changed one bit since high school. Same squeaky metal tables and chairs. Same beige linoleum flooring with those gross brown stains on a few tiles - that no one really knows what they’re from. - Your sat at the usual table you all hogged every Friday night after highschool. A corner booth, with added chairs to fit everyone, overlooking the bustling city. You sat by the window, having a chat with Wanda, who was across from you, Tony occasionally chiming in with his sassy remarks.

The scene is so… bittersweet to him. It reminds him of those simple nights before college, when he didn’t know he’d be leaving for two years. Your first date was here. Your first kiss, right outside under some silly mistletoe that had been put up around Christmas.

“Come on doll, one slice!” Bucky begged, his hand keeping a steady grip on yours, as he pulled you through the crowd of people on the streets. Fresh snow was falling around you, covering the gross brown slush that lined the sidewalks, giving the city a softer look to it.

“Babe it’s cold!” You hissed, as a sudden rush of cold air flew at your face. Impeccable timing. Bucky turned to look back at you with a large grin. Your nose and cheeks were red, being nipped at from frost, your hair was stuck to your face as flakes continued to land against it.

“I know, but once we're in there we can have some hot chocolate and warm up.”

“Hot chocolate and pizza? That sounds like a stomach ache waiting to happen Buck.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it doll!” Bucky called as he continued to brush past people through the busy streets of New York.

After walking a few blocks from his apartment, you found yourselves standing underneath the doorway, a line beginning to form. You groaned, burying your face between his arm and side to try and block the cold from biting at your face even more. A soft chuckle left Bucky's lips as he glanced up noticing the small green plant.

“Babydoll.” He whispered in your ear, tapping your side. You shook your head against his chest and he snickered before pulling your shoulders back. When you were about to protest he pointed up at it. Your face started burning, suddenly washing away any remnants of the cold weather.

His arm curled slowly around your waist, his blue eyes examining every detail of your face. Almost like if he looked away he'd forget everything he just saw.

Raising a brow, as if asking for permission, he waited for any indication that you didn't want this, hoping and praying it wouldn't come. When he peeked his own eyes opened, he saw your doe eyes looking up at him through your lashes with a bashful glance, he swore his heart stopped. You nodded your head at him, slowly and without wasting another second, he pulled your waist against his, tilting his head to the side and leaning down his lips found yours.

Your very first kiss and he was ecstatic. Words couldn’t even begin to describe the feeling as his hand cupped your cheek, cradling your face delicately in his palm. Suddenly it was no longer cold, and all he could feel was heat pulsing through his veins. He waited for years to kiss you, and at the age of seventeen, here he was finally kissing the girl of his dreams. Your lips melted together in a dance-like fashion, it wasn’t sloppy or rushed. It was slow and calm. Both of you take a minute to relish in each other's warmth. You broke first, needing air and all he could do was give you a big grin. Your eyes met his again and he leaned forward, placing one last short peck to your lips before pulling you along behind him into the pizza place.

As Bucky carefully sits at the end of the table with Steve, everything is stiff and quiet. He feels like an outsider, no… he is an outsider. He concludes as you all make inside jokes he has no remembrance of.

You all look different from those highschool seniors he drove away from. Wanda's hair is no longer pulled back into a flimsy ponytail like it always was. She knows how to style it now, with large bouncy curls that rest on her shoulders. Natasha's hair was no longer blonde, or red. It was a simple mix of both, Bucky made a note to mention it.

Sam was ́beefier ́ As younger Bucky would have put it. Sure he had muscles in high school but they weren't exactly… evened out with the rest of his body. However, now his biceps actually filled out those stupid muscle shirts he insisted on wearing all year round. He seemed a lot more snarky than normal too, but now being more touchy with everyone. He was never one for a lot of physical contact, and it was nice to see him actually giving out hugs, or letting Wanda grab his arm while she jumped around excitedly.

Tony was still short, almost as short as you… if that was possible, well no matter your height, you'd always be shorter than Bucky and Steve. The one thing that didn't change about Tony was his spunk. He was the same sassy prick who had the best sense of style. And a pure genius, Bucky could only dream of having his smarts, and quick-witted remarks.

Clint was still an asshole, and just as crazy as before, if not more so. From just the short time back together again, he could tell Clint was still a troublemaker.

And then, there was you. Your hair was longer than when he last saw you. You had finally switched over from those baggy shirts with cheesy puns on them to blouses that showed off your curves. Bucky swore it made his heart lurch, he only hoped it was for yourself, and no one else. He still had at least one of those silly shirts in his drawers back home, considering you always forgot them.

The one thing that didn’t change was your face, sure you had matured but the way you lit up when someone started talking about a topic you loved, your eyes got wide, and there was that same sparkle in your eyes that you used to look at him with. Your lips were plump and pink, covered in glittery lipgloss, or that damn strawberry chapstick he loved so much when you were younger.

“So, how was London?” Natasha’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and now the entire tables attention was focused on him. Clearing his throat, Bucky pulled a pizza from the platter and placed it on his plate.

“It was okay, it’s hard when you don’t know anyone there. Sure I made friends but damn if I didn’t want to come home.” He said with a small nervous chuckle.

“I bet you missed the team,” Sam said, nudging his side with a grin. Bucky rolled his eyes and shoved his shoulder lightly.

“Duh, but I bet you guys missed me a hell of a lot more. I mean how many loses have you had since I’ve been gone?”

“Too many,” Steve added with an exaggerated sigh as he bit into his slice. Bucky rolled his eyes and took a bite of his own, his eyes scanning the faces of those around him. They met yours for a second, and you had a curious look etched on your features. But he didn’t look long enough to ask, because those damn (y/e/c) eyes would have had him melting all over again. After an hour and a half of chatting, falling into old routines, and copious amounts of pizza, everyone was ready to head home.

You slid out of the seat and took Wanda's hand as she helped pull you up.

“I think I ate double my weight in cheese and bread.” You groaned, resting your head on her shoulder.

“Come on then, you need some tea and your bed.” She said her voice like velvet on your ears. You nodded against her before standing up on your own again. Stretching out your arms you let out a loud yawn and walked over to where everyone was waiting outside.

“Well this has been fun, but I am exhausted and Netflix is calling my name.” You said patting Wanda’s shoulder and grinning at the rest of the group. Nat chuckled and looped an arm through yours.

“When is it not.” The red-head teased as she nudged you slightly.

“Hey Shameless season nine just got added and you bet your ass I am going to watch all of it in one sitting.” You hissed and did your best attempt to intimidate her with a glare. She just shook her head and waved goodbye to the group.

“I’ve already watched it, it’s… alright.” Bucky's voice cut through you like a knife. You grimaced and shook your head.

“Wrong, it’s going to be great.” You said, newly found confidence creating an edge to your words. Bucky cleared his throat and shrugged.

“Eh could have been better, but whatever floats your boat doll.” You visibly tensed at the last words. You hadn’t heard that word from his lips in years, let alone anyone’s. It was so characteristically Bucky that if you heard it from anyone else you’d probably throw up.

“You’ll see James it’s going to be an amazing season.” You finished with a small grumble and walked off with Nat and Wanda, not even bothering to say anything to the rest of the group.

“I don’t get why he has to push my buttons like that?! I mean it's been two years and he thinks he can show up all over again and act like he didn’t leave me for some trashy whores in the red-light district!” You panted, face growing hot with anger as Wanda and Nat sat patiently on the couch.

“Hon I don’t think he-”

“And you know what else! I bet he knew I was coming and showed up anyway just to spite me! Try and win me back, or make me jealous! Well, you know what? It’s not going to work this time, nope nope I refuse to let him back in for the second time. I mean what on earth does that fucker think he’s doing? I mean my sorry ass is still in love with him, and he thinks he can just waltz back in here looking hot in that stupid leather jacket I bought him, and-and just, do that?!” Nat let out a strangled sigh and handed you her glass of water she had been nursing since you started the rant half an hour ago. Exhausted from yelling, you flopped down against the couch cushions, Wanda reaching over and running her fingers through your hair to calm you down.

“I hate him.” You muttered, bringing the glass up to your lips and taking a long sip.

“You just said you loved him,” Nat said, standing up and moving towards the fridge for a glass of red wine. Being as classy as she was, ever since you had all tried it one night at one of Tony’s parties, she lived for the drink.

Although she only brought it out during emergencies. Apparently, this was an emergency. Which, to you yeah of course it was. Bucky had just left. After that night in your apartment, you hadn’t heard from or seen him in two years. Sure there were those small moments of panic when you would like a photo he posted on Instagram. If you didn’t have a heart attack then? Well, you were sure you were having one now.

“I know that.” You hissed and moved to sit up, Wanda letting out a small huff as she pulled her hands away from the braid she had started. “I just… he left me. He left us and now he thinks he can show up again like nothing happened?”

“Maybe he’s not even here for you,” Wanda added in as Natasha handed you the glass, halfway filled with the red liquid. At Wanda's comment, you swore you were going to throw up from the feeling. Ever since he had gone away, you always felt… empty. Some part of your heart, he had surely taken with him.

You felt that way for a while, three months to be exact, until school started up again and you dove into your studies, promising to yourself that the rest of your college career would not be wasted on some stupid fantasy, with a dumb, stupidly handsome, idiot of a guy. But Bucky was more than that to you, he always would be. He was there when your mother got sick when you got into that car accident when you first got your license. He was there when you won the state championships for soccer in high school. Every damn thing. And yet, you hadn’t felt that gut, no soul-wrenching feeling since. But things change. The past creeps up on you, and you have no way of knowing how to handle it.

“I’m going to bed…” You muttered, pulling yourself from the comfort of the couch, to move to your lonely bed. As the girls said a quick goodnight, you grunted in response, to busy focusing on how the hell you would be able to sleep, and how on earth to get Bucky out of your thoughts.

----

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#Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #college au #bucky barnes college au #student!bucky barnes #the winter solider x reader #james buchanan barnes #james barnes x reader #james barnes #white wolf x reader #Steve Rogers #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #sam wilson #tony stark #thor x reader

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skyfall-good-omens · 5 years

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Aziraphale gets a cellphone...

Crowley reached into his pocket and withdrew a small black rectangle. Aziraphale’s eyes grew wide.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“All part of the Preparations! I’m not going anywhere without a way to get a hold of you.”

“But you’ll be with me!”

“Not every second,” he huffed. “I have it all set up,” he said, setting the cellphone down next to the passport. “It’s very simple, but I need to show you.”

Aziraphale eyed the cellphone like it was a bomb about to go off. His raised his eyes to Crowley’s sunglasses with a resigned sigh.

“Come on. It’s not so bad,” Crowley drawled, leaning in on his elbows and taking out his own phone. “We’ll practice,”

We again. Aziraphale had to say something. The tone of the demon’s voice, the tenderness, had struck him like a blow.

“Why are you being so patient with me?” he asked.

Crowley tilted his head. Leveled his covered eyes at him.

There was a word that didn’t pass between them. A strong, powerful, heavy word that they felt, but had never spoken to eachother, about eachother. It carried too much baggage. They had taken to expressing it through actions. It felt safer. Crowley set down his own phone and made a beckoning motion with his finger. Aziraphale warily presented his hand and Crowley took it. (Touches were getting more and more frequent as well. Hand-touches, hand holding, a careful stroke of the pad of one’s thumb to the tendons on the back of the other’s hand. All things they had purposely avoided, unless cultural norms dictated otherwise, throughout the millennia. It was… nice.)

“I just want you to know, “ Crowley said calmly – gently, “that inside… I am screaming. You are a pain in the arse, and I’m mostly doing this for the wine.” Aziraphale was pretty sure he winked behind those dark glasses. “Mostly.”

“You are awful,” the Angel said fondly.

“Good. Don’t forget it.”

He let go and picked up Aziraphale’s phone. “Here, let’s just play with it for a bit. Maybe we can find a way to get you to like it.” He slid his thin fingertip around the screen.

“I am never going to be able to…”

“Amazon,” He handed the phone back. “They have just about every book you could imagine. Just touch this part,” he indicated, “and the keyboard will pop up and you can type in whatever you want to look for. Then touch the little magnifying glass.”

“Did I not hear though, that this Amazon was displacing independent bookshops?” he said, turning as Crowley walked past him, wandering over to the couch he had more or less made his own.

“Oh Antichrist, that was ages ago. Way past that. Walmart of the internet now. Don’t worry.”

He looked skeptical but did as he was told. After a few aggravating bumps to the screen, he set the phone down and touch-typed his way through. “How do I capitalize?”

“It really doesn’t matter,” Crowley said, but showed him anyhow. Once the results popped up, they perused the listings together, and Crowley showed him how a simple brush of the fingertip sent the whole screen flying upwards. “It’s called scrolling.”

“Really now?”

“Just mess with it a bit.”

Aziraphale was far from captivated by what he was looking at. Everything was so small and crowded. He tentatively pressed his finger to the screen and swiped it upwards. The display reacted and raced upwards.

“And people actually like this device? Hard to imagine.”

“Oh they love them. You have no idea.”

“I certainly do not.”

“What did you search for? What did you type in?”

“'John D. Maccerone’, second Earl of Salden. He published a version of Edlwitche’s Fourth Centurey Bible. I’ve only ever seen the second printing which removed almost all of the errors.”

“Anything come up?”

Aziraphale looked down at the screen and was taken aback. “Why look!” He read the blurb out loud. “Eldwitche’s Fourth Century Bible compendium. This publication contains all the previously regarded “first folios” of the long-lost version of the seminal religious book. Complied in 1844 by John D Maccerone, it is considered the definitive exploration of the missing and mishandled books.”

“You want it?” Crowley asked.

“Well of course I want it.”

“So buy it.”

“I’ve been trying to for over 400 years you old silly.”

Crowley groaned and pointed, “see what that button says? You tap it and I’ll show you how to buy it.”

“I can buy John D. Maccerone books with this?”

“You can buy a 5-gallon bucket of macaroni and cheese if you’d like.”*

Aziraphale set the phone down for a moment and opened a tin of biscuits he kept nearby for just such emergencies. “This is a bit overwhelming.”

Crowley picked up the discarded phone and began tapping at it. “Remember that time in Saint-Germain-en-Laye?”

Aziraphale felt his face brighten. “The church and the sour grapes, of course I remember!” He sat back a moment, munching thoughtfully. “Was that.. that wasn’t…”

“Think so,” Crowley nodded, his eyes focused on the phone.

“That was the first time we tried doing each other’s jobs, if I recall.”

“Well, close to it yeah, but I don’t think you really considered it a job back then. It was quite an ordeal to get you to agree to it.”

The process of reminiscing was not one that was new to them, but the act of remembering things warmly, simply for the fact of remembering, was. Nostalgia is not inbuilt in angels. A bit over the top really, when you had six millennia of memories to tap into. “Let me see now. I was to appear to the local pastor and inspire him to build the church.”

“And I was there to wither the vineyards of a certain family, send them spiraling into misery and provoking them to a life of crime.”

“Yes! Oh my, and instead you tempted me to partake of some of that wine and convinced me that in the long run, it really would be more of a blessing if I inspired the family start a boisterous business as opposed to entering the criminal underworld.”

“I didn’t tempt you!” Crowley looked up. He always was so sensitive about that word, but Aziraphale knew it was true. “You went into that knowing full well how good that wine would be!”

“You didn’t?”

“No of course not! I never.” He leaned over and plucked a biscuit from the tin. “Here, try one of these.”

Aziraphale held his hand out and Crowley placed the sweet very purposefully in the very divot in the center of his palm. “Nuts lie in thy path for stones, And thy feast-day macaroons turn to daily rations.”

Aziraphale took the biscuit and bit into it, reflecting on the recitation. “Browning.” He nibbled daintily around the edge. “Mmmm. Well, anyways. Why do you bring it up?”

Crowley spun the phone around. “Let’s go back.”

Aziraphale scrutinized the screen. “What about my Bible compendium?”

“Your book is on its way.” He pointed. “What do you think?”

On the small screen there was a map of the France. “Well surely! I haven’t been there in ages.”

“Alright. Bought you a book. Decided on a trip. You ready to practice calling me on this?”

___

* Footnote:

#my writing #good omens

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rosesloveletters · 4 years

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This is a very personal post for me. I never thought I would be making it, but I would like to share the trip I took with J exactly a year ago; I’ve spoken about this trip on a number of occasions and it is what really bonded us together. We’ve been inseparable ever since. J is not the kind of guy to open up easily, yet this trip was the very beginning of the both of us learning how to trust again.

I don’t like to share such personal details of our relationship, but it’s been a year since all of this took place and I kept it mostly quiet for that time; I’ve had the chance to hold this close to my heart and keep it only to my own knowledge, but now I would like to document it, as I’ve been looking back on it heavily today.

The rest will be under a cut, because there are pictures and I don’t want to clog everyone’s dash with useless info, photos and such if you don’t want to see. For those that read on, please enjoy.

In all of my life, I have never been away from my home for the holidays. Every Christmas Day and Thanksgiving Day, I am never anywhere but home. Last Thanksgiving was a ‘spur of the moment’ kind of thing that came to fruition only a few months before the holiday.

I had been sick a week prior to the trip and J had remained with me throughout that time. I can’t say I am completely new to F/Os, though before joining this community I did not know that self-shipping had a “name” or that “F/O’s” is a term; I have never had another F/O stick by my side during an illness. I tend to push them out of my mind when I have a virus, but I learned quickly that J is persistent. He did not leave. I was completely alone for the entire day and feeling J there kept me from utterly falling apart.

After my illness, the very next week we were on our way to Gatlinburg, Tennessee. If you’ve never been there, it is extremely touristy and crowded, but I love it. It has been practically a second home to me for so long; my family and I used to go there every summer. We stopped a long while ago, but I was thrilled to finally be back in a place so familiar. I know where all the restaurants are, all the stores I like, the aquarium (which we visited!) and more.

Our first day there was not much because we had been traveling the whole way. We rented a bed and breakfast up in the mountains; it was a fifteen minute drive of terror to get there. There were no guard rails on the steep hill and nothing keeping us from a sheer drop every time we came up or down, but what was at the top made it all worth it. Our little apartment was perfect and the view was spectacular.

This was our place at the top of the mountain and the spiral staircase that led to the loft where I stayed with J:

I could tell he felt safe up here in the middle of nowhere; I wanted to take him somewhere he wouldn’t be recognized. Within the hustle and bustle of the city, though, he had to be careful. He wore old clothes that he had saved that had been his, dark suspenders and black lace up shoes most days. This trip was the first time I saw him without his face paint. The point of the trip for us, was for us to be able to grow closer. J is a tough nut to crack, but we’ve known each other a long time; we got to know each other in a much different light on this trip.

This is the view from our balcony the first morning after we arrived:

We achieved a kind of solitude up there that we never would have in the city. J doesn’t like the city, despite his adamant request that we continue to live there. He has such a recognizable face that he is only truly at ease in a place like this, with civilization miles away.

When we did go into town, we stood in line for donuts. Of course since it was Thanksgiving, it was swarming with crowds and crowds of people (J hated that and several times he thought someone had recognized him.) J is a sucker for sweet treats and he was thoroughly excited with the idea of donuts; I later took him into a candy store in the same venue and he behaved, well, as one might suspect. I think he shoved a bunch of rock candy into his pockets because when we got back to our apartment later I heard him crunching on something and we didn’t buy any chips.

This was where we stood in line for donuts (I got a glazed donut with white frosting and sprinkles and J had something called a ‘pillow’ which was basically a square-shaped donut with creme filling):

We sat on a bench by the fountain and ate our donuts; J had his finished in about thirty seconds and was licking his fingers by the time I was on my third bite. That was the best food we had had there so far; the night before, we went out for pizza and it was horrible.

After we had had our donuts, J was ready to get away from the crowds; he felt like someone had been staring at him, so we headed out to the park for a while. J is not much of an outdoorsman, but he likes the solitude and that no one would be around to spot him. Everywhere we went, there were people, so J and I headed further back in the park where there was less of a chance to be around anyone. We got out and walked along a deserted pathway and stood on the edge of the creek as it rushed past us.

Here’s a photo from our walk:

After that, we headed back into town for lunch. Before we went inside to sit down, J dug around in his luggage for a purple knitted hat of his and put it on so he’d be less recognizable and his identity would be concealed enough for us to sit down long enough to share a meal. We had Mexican food; I learned that J has a thing for tortillas and extremely spicy salsa (and that he’s a messy eater.) We had our food fast and I think J had a margarita or two, but his scars were attracting some unwanted negative attention and people were staring, so we left fast before he could say anything. We went and bought tickets to the aquarium, per my request.

Inside the aquarium was the first time J saw my childish side; I get super excited at aquariums and zoos because of all the animals and it reminds me of all the fun school trips I used to take when I was little. We saw all kinds of sea creatures. J was most fascinated with the sharks and the jellyfish, while I was busy looking at the sea turtles and string-rays. However, my favorite exhibit was the penguins. We stood and watched them for close to thirty minutes. The staff members were feeding them and the little penguins got so excited. One man held up his cup and straw to the glass and one little penguin tried to grab it!

J and I were shocked when we saw this sitting inside the medical facility’s window where they tend to the penguins (for those who don’t know, Burgess Meredith was the actor who played the Penguin in the original Batman television series with Adam West as Batman, Burt Ward as Robin and Cesar Romero as the Joker):

We spent much of our time that day in the park after the aquarium trip and then we retired to our apartment at the top of the mountain and spent that night watching movies. That night was the night J told me the origin of his scars. He had never told anyone the full and completely truthful story and that was the first time he ever did and probably the last. This trip was full of ‘firsts’ for us; it was the first time we ever made love (watch him get pissed at me for saying that pffft.)

On Thanksgiving morning, J whipped us up some cinnamon rolls. It was a scene watching him try to use the oven; it was an extremely ancient appliance and he was dropping f-bombs left and right and I think he also burnt his hand on the pan. The only thing J will make correctly are things that come from a can, tin or otherwise are pre-made or sweets. In this case, we had a very decent breakfast:

We spent the rest of that day in the park and then that evening, we traveled over to the next town for our dinner reservations. Even though we had reservations, there were so many people we still had to wait over an hour to be seated. It was cold and we were wedged into a tiny corner as we waited. There was nowhere to sit and so I leaned back against J; he rested his chin on top of my head and would occasionally tap on my shoulders along to the music coming through the overhead speakers.

When we were finally seated, we were brought several courses, the first being apple fritters and drinks (the highlight of the meal), then we had some soup and it was terrible, and finally we were brought the main course: turkey, ham, green beans, mashed potatoes, corn, cranberry sauce and dinner rolls. There was so much food and, spread out across even such a large table, it was unimaginable how we were expected to eat it all. J finished almost all the turkey and about half the ham (he didn’t eat all day so he could “save room” for the meat.) He went to town on the rolls and mashed potatoes as well. He kept sneering at the cranberries and watched me with disgust as I ate them. He threw a dinner roll at me across the table to get my attention and grinned when I looked at him; he had corn stuck in his teeth. he took his hat off halfway through dinner because it was warm inside the dining room and somehow he wound up with mashed potatoes in his hair.

Here’s our meal before J had ravaged it all 9utter chaos ensued after this photo was taken):

Our last full day in Gatlinburg was fairly relaxed; we went into the city that morning, but it was even more crowded (it was a Friday) and J decided we’d better head out. We went into the park and started up one of the mountains. I let J drive and he drives like a maniac; we made such sharp turns I almost ended up out through the open window. He sped up the mountain and we quickly made it to the top. The view was breathtaking but J didn’t even blink. I know he had to have appreciated it as well, but he doesn’t make a big deal out of things. The farther up we went, the more deserted the lookout spots became and when we found ourselves alone, J scooped me into his arms and kissed me. Seeing tiny glimpses of his humanity was unsettling at first because I had never known him as such; J still finds ways to surprise me, even now.

This is the view we had at the top of the mountain:

and this is the spot where J kissed me:

( Cameron: and she kissed me

Pat: Where?

Cameron: in the car )

Little did we know that on the way down from the mountain, we would be sitting in the car for almost three hours stuck in traffic. We made the most of it; J wouldn’t let me turn on the radio for some reason, so I talked to him. He didn’t say much, but he listened. This was when I found out J was more of a listener unless he was in a playful mood.

When we got back to the apartment that night, we watched a Christmas movie together. I don’t fully embrace Christmas until the day after Thanksgiving - I owe it to all the holidays to give them equal time and attention (and I like Thanksgiving a lot.) No Christmas movies, music or decorating until after Thanksgiving. J kept talking through the entire movie and every time he laughed it scared me because he was so loud. It doesn’t bother me if he talks through movies because I do it too.

The next day, we packed our things and left to come back home. This is the view from outside our balcony on our last day:

I keep coming back to the memory of this trip because it was the last trip I got to take before the start of Covid; no one knows when it will be safe to travel again or if it will even be next year. I miss when everyone was able to do so and we weren’t risking our health and safety as well as other people’s just by going out. Of all the trips I’ve taken, this one will always be special to me because of J; he was like a light in my life and he came in at the most opportune time.

I haven’t felt that happy in so long. I had been suffering greatly a few months prior to the trip, but because of him things were beginning to change. I might not be a part of this world if I hadn’t met him again at the time I had and I am lucky that I got to experience such a lively time in my life and all the little ways loving J has renewed my sense of self-love and awareness in the world and things around me.

This trip is one I owe to J, but also to myself; I felt aware of myself and my space in the world.

I have no idea how I talked J into making this trip with me, nor if I’ll ever convince him to come with me anywhere ever again, but I will hold the memories close to me forever and I’ll always look back on this time of the year as something special and happy.

#self-shipping #jaie #my stuff #I love my J #I dont know if he feels the same but I know how I feel

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caddy-whump-us · 5 years

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Etienne is more mobile now, which is good, but he’s still being extremely disobedient, which is bad. Viktor calls the doctor back to see to Etienne since Etienne is not eating. Re: Etienne’s crutch, please picture something more like what Tiny Tim might have than a real modern crutch, something that’s like a tall cane, with a padded T-shaped top, and one handle sticking out from it partway down.

Caution/TW: force-feeding (depicted), gagging (depicted), and mentions of vomiting (does not actually occur). I know these are major triggers for some people, so please be careful!

---

With his leg healing, slowly, Etienne could crutch his way around the house, slowly. So he was let out of the Rose Room, at last, bathed with a hard scrub, and had his crutch set under his arm to follow after his master.

And that was expected of him: Viktor would make his rounds of the house every evening, attending to this matter or that problem, dispatching postulants to keep the house, writing letters to masons or carpenters (which would be delivered by a postulant in the morning; these workmen would never see the master of the house themselves). He would attend to the household accounts. He would speak to Lucien, who was the unofficial head of the postulants.

And Etienne was expected to follow after him, like a dog at heel, silent but present.

Those had been his first steps out of the cellars when he had first arrived: collared and leashed like a dog, with Viktor still carrying a switch in his hand, he had been taught to heel behind his master as Viktor went about the household. The leash and the switch were put away after a time, but not the collar--not until Viktor had put Etienne in the cage in the library. And now--or, at least, as it had been--sometimes Viktor did not demand Etienne follow after him. Instead, he left Etienne in the cage and saw to the house himself, leaving Etienne caged but also to his own devices.

But now Etienne was expected to heel like a dog again, tapping his way along with his leg held up from the floor. The crutch dug into his arm and his chest. He tottered on it. He dared to put the foot of his damaged leg against the floor and Viktor shot him a hard look. And so Etienne went back to tottering along, clicking out with uneven steps: a soft padding step for the slipper on one foot, the sharp tap of the crutch for the other.

And Viktor would take sharp turns down hallways or suddenly climb a flight of stairs, leaving Etienne to struggle along behind him. Stairs were wretched, trying to balance on one foot, then lift himself up with the crutch under his arm. He had fallen more than once since he’d been allowed out of the Rose Room. But if he delayed too long, Viktor would punish him with a slap across the face. It had been three so far this evening. He was to heel, not to wander after.

And, so, panting and hobbling, Etienne tried to heel.

Viktor turned aside near the kitchens (where a few postulants were busy around the fire and table) and into a small whitewashed stone room. A few chairs and a long table stood there, and two lanterns were burning on the table. There was only darkness to be seen through the window set high in the wall. Some larder, perhaps, or scullery, but now left almost empty and scrubbed clean.

Etienne followed after Viktor as quickly as he could but stopped in the doorway, panting, and reaching across his body to grip his crutch with both hands. He moved slowly towards the middle of the room.

“Sit,” Viktor said and gestured toward the chair that stood alongside the table. And Etienne did as he was told. He set his crutch aside, balanced against the table.

“And stay,” Viktor said, before slipping out of the room.

I am a dog again, Etienne thought.

The room was chill; he wrapped his arms around himself and waited.

Viktor was not gone long and, when he returned, the masked doctor was following after him, carrying his black kit bag.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” the doctor said, setting their bag on the table.

Etienne said nothing. The doctor opened the bag and began to sort through the instruments inside.

Two postulants came into the room then, each carrying a covered tray which they set down on the table as well.

Etienne reached for his crutch, but kept his eyes on the postulants and the doctor.

“No,” Viktor said and Etienne looked over to him. Viktor’s eyes were cold. Etienne set his crutch back against the table, but now he kept his eyes on Viktor.

“Move these,” the doctor was saying, waving at the covers and dishes on the trays. “I’ll want the tray. The table won’t do.”

The postulants began to clear a tray. Viktor interrupted them:

“Wolfram, will you?” and he pointed generally to Etienne.

One of the postulants--larger and more broad-shouldered than the other--took something from one of the trays and stepped toward Etienne.

Etienne leaned away from him, hard, against the back of the chair. The postulant came forward and showed he carried a length of rope coiled in his hand. Etienne shrank down, hunching in the chair, and threw a worried look to Viktor. But Viktor seemed impassive, unconcerned.

The postulant was just as impassive as Etienne looked up at his face (strong, square-jawed--how did he find himself here?). He settled Etienne’s hands down the back legs of the chair and began wrapping the rope around him, spiralling, spiralling, down around his chest, down to his wrists, across the tops of his legs.

“Just keep the one leg from moving. He should know better than to try it with the other one. After all,” he said, “He could break it again.”

The rope was surprisingly, unexpectedly long, but also soft (just as unexpected). The postulant tied it off at Etienne’s ankle and stepped back.

“Come behind him, Wolfram. He may yet need to be held still.”

Etienne looked to the masked doctor who had turned from the tray and the instruments to watch. Etienne tried to find the eyes behind the smoked glass in the mask--no such luck.

“Why are you here? What are you doing?”

The masked doctor held up their hands. “Your master bid me to come.”

“What?”

The doctor took on a low tone, like a schoolmaster smiling while still scolding: “You can’t be as much of a fool as that. I’ve been at your master’s beck and call since long before you came to his house.”

“Of course,” Viktor said, and Etienne whipped his head around to face him. “Who do you think I called on when one of my servants was ill with a fever or had taken a bad fall?”

“And I was glad to be of service.” The doctor took a shallow bow.

The smaller postulant had taken the cover off the tray: bowls, eggs (still in their shells) in a small dish, spoons, a whisk.

“But why are you here now?” Etienne said. His throat was going dry.

“Your master,” the doctor said, holding out their hands, like crows’ wings, “has told me that you’re not well. You aren’t eating.” They stepped closer and took Etienne’s chin in one hand and turned his face from side to side. “And it certainly looks like you haven’t been eating to me.” They clicked their tongue. “It’s best to act now rather than let him waste away.” They looked up to Viktor. “You were right to send for me when you did, my lord.”

Etienne pulled his chin out of the doctor’s hand. He flexed his hands against the legs of the chair, pulled against the ropes.

“And what do you recommend, doctor?” The voice of a stage actor, of one who knows already what’s to be said.

“He must be fed, even if he will not eat.”

Etienne scowled at the doctor and set his teeth together. The doctor reached out and patted Etienne’s knee.

“You needn’t worry,” they said. “We’ll get you fed and strong again.”

Viktor turned a chair towards his side of the room and sat down, throwing one elbow over the back of the chair.

“My lord,” the doctor said, “May I?” and they gestured to the smaller postulant.

“Camille, assist the doctor.” He pointed to her languidly and she bowed.

And then there was quiet, with only the sound of Etienne breathing hard through his clenched teeth. Then the sound of dishes; the doctor was pointing out things on the tray. The postulant cracked an egg into a bowl and beat it, then spooned in something soft and pale (porridge perhaps). The doctor pointed again and she began to pour milk into the bowl--the doctor motioned for her to stop. She beat the mixture again. And Etienne turned to look at Viktor again.

He turned back only because he heard the sound of metal against the metal of the trays. The postulant was holding the bowl with both her hands cupped around it, as if to warm herself. The sound had come from the doctor lifting a tin funnel and a length of dark red rubber tube up from the tray. They checked both with care, examining the tube especially for any holes.

Etienne turned to Viktor again. “You can’t be serious.”

Viktor was silent.

“You can’t be serious,” Etienne said again, his voice rising with fear.

“Now then,” the doctor said, passing the funnel to Camille. They pointed to Wolfram and then to Etienne. Wolfram took up a handful of Etienne’s hair and pulled his head back. Etienne kept his jaw tight and his teeth closed.

“Ah,” the doctor said, tossing up their hands. “What am I thinking?”

They turned back to the tray, turned around again with a green glass jar no bigger than their palm. The lid was off and they were dipping the end of the tube into whatever lay within.

“We shall need,” they said, still dipping, “a bit of grease to ease the way.” And the jar went back onto the tray.

Wolfram took up a tighter grip on Etienne’s hair and set his other hand on Etienne’s shoulder. Etienne, for his part, pulled back as far as he could; he was beginning to shake. The doctor leaned over him, the beak of their black mask almost touching Etienne’s nose. And now Etienne could see the eyes behind the smoked glass, blinking--human eyes, eyelashes, moving. The doctor held up the greased end of the tubing between them.

“If you swallow, it will go down easier. If you don’t swallow, it will still go down. And I will take as much time as is needed to get it down. Do you understand?”

Etienne said nothing, but only locked his eyes with the doctor’s. The doctor looked up at Wolfram and nodded. Wolfram gripped harder at Etienne’s hair.

The doctor brought the tube up to Etienne’s nose--it smelt of fish, of fat, and Etienne twisted away as best he could with Wolfram’s hand in his hair. The doctor caught him by his chin and held him. Etienne twisted again, but the doctor caught him again, held him, and looked him in the eyes.

“You’ve hardly eaten for the better part of two weeks,” they said. “You’re not so strong as you might think.”

Again the doctor put the tube to his nose. This time, Etienne was held still.

Slowly, inch by inch, the doctor began to push the tube into Etienne’s nose. Etienne gagged, coughed. Still the doctor went on pushing the tubing in. Etienne shut his eyes and wriggled against the sensation--like something, a worm or a slug or a snake, crawling up his nose. He shivered. His foot, his good foot, was tensing and twisting, scraping his toes across the floor.

He coughed again, hard, and the doctor leaned over him again and said, “Swallow.”

Etienne closed his eyes and did, tasting fish at the back of his throat.

“Go on,” the doctor said and slid another inch of tubing in, which began to burn as it went down. Etienne’s eyes watered. His fingers gripped at the legs of the chair.

The doctor looked behind them, toward Camille. “We’ve a cloth here, haven’t we?”

Camille brought it to them and the doctor paused, wiping Etienne’s eyes.

“Swallow,” they said and went on pushing in the tube.

It was slow and it was agony--coughing, gagging, and the burning in his face, the doctor demanding he swallow (to swallow the tube itself). Etienne was left gasping, all attempts to keep his mouth shut long gone.

The doctor left him to gag and gasp and swallow on the feeling of something caught halfway down his throat. They held up the tube where a band of thread was wrapped around the tube--a few inches out, still, but not so many. Etienne stared at it, his eyes still streaming. The doctor wiped his face again.

“We need only this much more,” they said. “You can stand it.”

At the table, he heard Camille stirring the bowl again and it distracted him from seeing the doctor push the next inch of tubing down his throat. He gagged again, harder this time.

“Swallow,” the doctor said, until the thread was just at the tip of Etienne’s nose.

They held up the other end of the tubing, still quite a length and held it out to Camille who took it, holding it up as the doctor had. Etienne was still gasping, almost choking, at this thing, this tube running down the back of his throat. The doctor came over and pushed gently against his stomach (despite the rope holding him to the chair) and nodded and wiped Etienne’s eyes again.

Wolfram still had a grip on Etienne’s hair, but it seemed looser now. Etienne went on swallowing, gasping, gagging, swallowing again.

The doctor took up the funnel and set it in the end of the tube. Etienne pinched his eyes shut and lolled his head, such as he could.

When he opened his eyes again, Camille had come over with the bowl and the doctor tipped it into the funnel--a few spoonfuls at first. Etienne dared cast a glance towards Viktor, who hasn’t moved in all this time.

They all watched at the first spoonfuls of porridge and raw egg and milk traveled down the tube, turning the dark red rubber darker as it passed. The doctor held the funnel higher and Etienne felt it, cold, passing down his throat against all his will, and then, still cold, down into his stomach.

Etienne watched as another few spoonfuls slipped down the tube and into him. Again he gagged and again the doctor told him, “Swallow.”

As slow, perhaps slower than sliding the tube into his gut, the doctor poured the mixture into him--in spoonful and cupfuls, it slid down the tube and hit his stomach, cold. His stomach clenched, he closed his eyes.

The bowl, at last, was empty. The doctor passed it to Camille. Etienne leaned back against the chair, panting.

“Mix another batch,” the doctor said.

Etienne sat up and opened his mouth--the doctor put their hand over it.

“Don’t speak or you might choke and your master would think very ill of you then.”

Camille cracked the second egg, beat it, added the porridge, poured in the milk, and stirred. Etienne leaned back against the chair again, squeezing his eyes shut.

He did not see the doctor pour the first cupful into the funnel and into the tube, but he did feel it. Again, by spoonfuls and cupfuls, the bowl was poured down the funnel, down the tube, and into Etienne’s gut.

When the bowl was, at last, empty, Etienne fell back against the chair again, breathing hard. The doctor passed the bowl to Camille and came back to wipe Etienne’s mouth.

“And one more, I think,” they said, “but no need for the egg.”

As she set to work, Etienne caught the doctor’s eyes again and shook his head, no no no no no no.

The doctor leaned close to him again, still holding the tube and funnel aloft, and said, “Yes. Your master will have you fed. And if you do not eat when you are given meals by your master, then I will come back and I will feed you--as often as is needed.” And he went on pouring in another few spoonful of the milk and porridge and egg.

Though Etienne couldn’t drop his head as he would have liked, he closed his eyes again. He heard Camille stirring the bowl--porridge and milk this time and waited to feel it.

A few spoonful and his stomach began to ache--stretched and bloated. He shook his head, to beg, to plead for some mercy, but the doctor went on, pouring in the last bowlful faster than the first two until Etienne was shaking.

He sat still when, at last, the bowl was empty, breathing fast and shallow. The doctor handed the bowl back to Camille and, mercifully, did not ask her to mix another bowlful.

The doctor shooed Wolfram away and he let go of Etienne’s hair and Etienne only realized then how tightly he had been holding it.

The doctor leaned in close again. “You could have done better. But you did well enough. And I will come back if your master sends for me again. Now lean your head back.”

He did as the doctor said and, slowly, the doctor began to pull the tubing up and out of him again. He could feel it rising up, like sickness, and gagged as it passed through the back of his throat, and could smell the porridge and milk as it passed from his nose. His eyes watered. The doctor set the tubing on the tray again. He gagged again, sneezed.

“Oh, there there,” the doctor said, and came back with the cloth. “Blow your nose.”

Etienne still felt as if he had either been sick or had been sobbing: his eyes were wet, his nose was sore. Worst of all his stomach felt fit to burst.

The doctor leaned over him again and felt at his stomach, squeezing. Etienne made small sounds of protest and found his throat was scratchy and sore.

“You should be able to untie him now,” the doctor said.

Viktor waved to him and Wolfram did as he was told. Etienne immediately slouched forward in the chair, his head on his knees, and immediately regretted it and sat up again. His stomach bulged. He leaned against the back of the chair again instead.

The postulants gathered the dishes and slipped back into the kitchen again. The doctor was wiping off the rubber tube and the funnel.

Something clenched in Etienne’s stomach, he leaned forward halfway, beginning to retch. He clapped a hand over his mouth--and Viktor caught him by the back of his shirt collar.

“Do not bring it back up,” Viktor said, coldly and into Etienne’s ear. “You needed to be fed and you were fed. You should be grateful that I gave you so much. I gave you more than you needed. I gave to you, generously, from my hand and my table.”

Etienne sat still for a long moment with his face hidden in his hands, with Viktor still holding his collar. He panted, he swallowed hard, he whined and groaned, he shook and sweated, but, as ordered, he was not sick.

The doctor was packing their things away again in their black bag. They bowed again to Viktor and left the room as quietly as they had come into it, their long black coat sweeping behind them.

Viktor stood over Etienne until his shaking eased and then said, “Come.”

With his stomach churning, Etienne took up his crutch and, weakly, followed after him.

#whump #vampires #viktor #etienne #dehumanization #captivity #tied up #medical #psychological #force-feeding #sickie

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madamhatter · 4 years

Text

koagema inquired: here she is, miss gamer girl— all dolled up and practically floating in the hallway. heels clack on the floor, a sound one would rarely associate with her— then again, makeup is also rare to be appreciated upon her features, yet there it was, her cheeks tinted pink and lips redder than usual. even the fact she was wearing a dress instead of her usual cardigan-skirt combo seemed surprising, but... she felt like dressing up. and who else would she want to show off to aside from a certain hatter? UNPROMPTED ASKS | ALWAYS WELCOMED | @koagema | continued from here.

Firm elbow on the edge of her shined and sanitized desk, an internal quarrel festers in Sophie’s mind. Her face doesn’t signal any form of struggle. Countless years spent in the grinds and gears of the higher class, a dirty business altogether, she was consistently exposed to the chatter and incessant noise of gossip and rumors from dirtied mouths of high society. The only few benefits of such early exposure were learning to contain and coordinate past such meddlesome and vile words.

Entangled in the back of her mind were those pestering utterances -- they knotted together and grew in size, a notable distraction and annoyance it was becoming now. With her right arm’s elbow perked on the table, she hides her disdain and tightened lips behind the palm of her right hand. Brows knitted, eyes refusing to leave the glass panes of the windows, Sophie hadn’t dared turned back to look across the classroom. She digs her molars into the rich pink gums of her cheeks. Rows of teeth repeatedly chew and grind, her brows lowering as her eyes look back on the top of the wooden desk. Any harder and she would’ve tasted iron.

While her mask was fixed to remain calm and almost empty of thought, the indignation already spilled out earlier. Timeliness for the Hatter was to be several hours ahead, she entered the classroom much in advance, even before the homeroom teacher (which led to them being scared nearly out of their wits). Whispers and chat from the birds -- also known as her classmates -- grew noisier as they gathered in their seats, all the more invested in talking about others, especially about the class representative next door.

Surely, she should’ve ignored it. She should’ve minded and never read more into the situation. Her nails tapped against the desk, the longer she listened, expression distorting from perplexion to disbelief. Eyes squeeze shut, as does her fist, intaking her breaths slowly.

"The class representative from 77-B is acting different..." "Eh?" "Didn’t you see Nanami-san dressed up like that? Do you think she has a boyfriend?" "Or maybe she’s trying to impress her crush..! I wonder if he’ll like it."

And there was an audible snap in the back of her mind.

At the memory, she cringes and closes her eyes. Several of her classmates had grown stiff and frail at the enunciation and power behind her voice-- not one expected out of a gray mouse. It was perhaps why they took the respectful step away and returned to their seats, having their ears talked off about ‘minding their business and not to perpetuate any ridiculous claims.’

What was this feeling, so sudden and new? Her brows furrow together, raising, and she opens her eyes again to make out the lines across her desk. All that jumbled mess that occupied her mind, it was a void that followed her throughout her childhood. At the one point in her life that she thought she had a confidant in her late father, his charm and wit all came to conclude with simple advice.

‘Just like the metal tin where we keep all the needles (and lovely tomato cushion), thimbles, scissors, pins, buttons, and tools we use, we need to keep it stored if she wasn’t needing it. And just like those bad, dark things,’ he would muse with a spin of his finger, towering over his daughter as the sunrays dripped through his hair, revealing its rare red gold, ‘we keep them in there if we don’t need them.’

And so she tidied her thoughts, a mental sweep into the metal tin of her mind, storing it away for a rainy day. She had no purpose to feel this way -- how dug its claws inside her stomach, an uneasiness that left her foot rapidly tapping against the ground. How it, for some odd reason, tightened her chest and she felt smaller than ever...

It didn’t matter now, she concludes, it’s time to keep it all back there.

To loiter in the halls during the lunch period was an all familiar point of Sophie’s schedule. Instead of conversing and going through with the others in the main course, her mind was immediate to reroute her back to work. She dusts down the length of her uniform’s skirt, grumbling to herself at her own untidiness. First what happened this morning and now I look disgusting, she sighs to herself in disbelief.

Prodding away at the folds of her skirt, Sophie was more than unaware of the world around her. Too many details to scrutinize under her eyes, it only fueled the distraction through her spiral into self-deprecation. The length of her scarred fingertips tug on the fabric, she mutters the type under her breath, reminding herself the appropriate detergents use to clean it -- even if there weren’t any stains

Fumbling, tongue-tied unspeakable unnameable something was pitted in her stomach, distracting what little remains of her anchored logic. Her fingers return to the thick braid of deep copper and speckles of silver, picking now at the ends. Head bowed, eyes narrowed, she couldn’t help if the bottom of her feet and the joints in her fingers twitch. Though, it didn’t matter as she finally takes the first step.

Pacing, pacing, like a mouse trapped in a labyrinth, unable to make a choice at the fork. Nonsensical rambling underneath her breath, all only glimpses of self-deprecation and shattered confidence she held together with the tightest seams. It was only natural that with time, the strongest sutures should be removed after all the healing was done. Yet, it was a recurrence that all too much, hastier and impatient as ever, Sophie removed them too soon, prolonging the healing process.

For how long could she inspire this forged mask until it’d expire? Her body pauses, hands slowly rising to her face as she closes her eyes. Holding herself was the most typical comfort she found at home and here. It dissuaded her from being caught adrift in the vast truths and realities, all the thousands of thoughts that existed in her mind and overwhelmed her once she found calm. Never was there such a thing as rest for the eldest of three.

Her hands slowly trail behind her neck, slowly inhaling deeply, making out the pressures and tense muscles from her jaw to her shoulders. Rhythmic breathing mechanisms, slowly in and slowly out, tranquility wasn’t as easily found as she’d like it to be.

Click, click, click -- Sharp, narrow heels meet the polished floors of the academy halls. A snap to reality, Sophie feels fear strike up her spinal cord, her hands dropping down as if she hadn’t been dancing with despair. A forced gulp, only considering as to who it could’ve been and if she knew them, she grimaced reality. It made it worse if it had been one of her peers that she starkly admonished over...

She shakes her head, refusing to remember.

Yet, the young woman turns...Eyes widening, lips slightly parted, and the entirety of the cacophony in her mind goes silent.

The brisk rush of jubilance and childish glee, that’s all that the 77-A student feels the moment her lingering gaze returns to the silhouette of the 77-B class representative. Impulsion to pick, tear and claw at her own being numbs in a moment, just like how her lungs ease to breathe in the air as if it wasn’t hurting her chest. All the wider her eyes grow, her body relaxing, and it was almost as if she felt herself getting lighter and lighter. Almost as if her boots couldn’t keep her grounded any longer.

“Miss Nanami.” She clears her throat, straightening her posture and promptly bowing her head softly forward. “Good afternoon, it’s wonderful to see you.” Though, as much as she boasted to hold eye contact and hold herself well in conversation, her eyes dart away.

Never had Sophie encountered or needed overdramatizing and oversaturated language in compiling her internal workings. Yet, something swelled in her throat as she felt urged to speak -- whatever that she thought of coated honey and sweets on her tongue and palate. Figure shrinks at the trouble of speech -- words cannot contribute to the collateral of her body being stuck in place.

It isn’t as if seeing Chiaki wasn’t ever such a blossoming of euphoria, a sensation that didn’t now flee her. Settling her mind was a waning and unfamiliar feeling, almost craving for it, something that couldn’t be named --- because she was quite terrified to know what it was.

“Miss Nanami, you look wonderful..as you usually do too. That is such a wonderful cut for you -- and, where did you get that shade? It suits you so marvelously.”

Alas, a linger gaze could only do so much for her when she groped onto reality. Struck by the unnameable, unspeakable something, her hands slowly to her front, aimlessly folding her hands, but her eyes envisioned much more. Rosied tint glossed her lips, rouge powdered her cheeks, curves of light pink curls framing her face--- But, all this did was accentuate the matter of how much Chiaki could stunt her to such tranquil silence.

Not needing to speak, not needing to act, all she... No, shouldn’t say it... All she ...... to do was spend it in her presence. No matter what she did, Sophie ...... all the time. All the time she could have to spare, all the time she ......to give.

The mass in her throat, she couldn’t feel it anymore.

Glancing down for a moment, her brows quirk. Tear-shaped petals dripped from her lips, thinner than the circumference of her little finger, and a familiar shade of powdered pink that overwhelmed her mind. Another blink, they were gone. Another blink, the petals were scattered on the ground by the hundreds, petals surrounding her worn boots.

Not a second longer, the word finally came to her: peonies.

Placidity still forms her face, eyes roaming back to Chiaki. The gardener herself, a cynical half of Sophie’s mused. The one who’d gotten and now has linked me to this unpredictability I feel. Another half, chirpier, sharper, and rougher, retorts. It isn’t her fault for the problem I created for myself. I’m are the one who allowed the seeds to be planted, I nurtured and grown whatever this is.

For all the weightlessness Chiaki inspired, an invisible deadlock wrapped around Sophie’s shoulders. An uncomfortable weight against her back, leisurely hanging on her with chest pressed to her, and its whispers flooding her mind. Disappointment extraordinaire, Sophie Hatter recognizes reality was forcing itself unto her. Say it already, say it. You know it’s true.

Want. She forced herself to spit it out. It was a dangerous word. Want, want, want. A selfish impulse to impose herself to be worth anything and forcing herself to a position of desiring that couldn’t be. Couldn’t be, mustn’t be, shouldn’t be.

Laying by Chiaki whenever the two were meant napping, half of the time exchanging tired dialogue and giggles, eyes unable to move from the other, in spite of the messy hair and unkempt appearances. Midnight proposals conducted by the restless, if not unhealthily attuned, students who kept within close proximity, always chattering away and roaming between the library and greenhouse, or even hiding underneath piles of blankets. Seating aside another during their lunch period, cozily listening to the fountain behind them, exchanging tales from their classrooms, pointing out if any spare crumbs gotten on their mouths or clothes...

All the thoughts swirled in her mind, all leading back to a now smiling Chiaki before her. The hatter, eyes wide and blood cold, holds her head once more in Chiaki’s direction, watching her draw closer. The racket in her chest couldn’t be endured as her heart bruised her ribcage and rushed the blood flow, breaking the paralysis.

She takes one unsteady breath, a forceful swallow, as she is finally pushed past the brink of denial.

Oh.

Oh shit.

“....We should get to the cafeteria,” she timidly murmurs, attempting to hold herself together by the loosening seams.

#( checkbooks inquiries and much ; answered asks )#( verse: the ultimate ᶠᵃᶦˡᵘʳᵉ hatter | school life )#( an 8-bit wonder && a retro-fit mess ; are you sure this route is the best ? | chiaki && sophie )#koagema #long post #long post tw #[ sorry for how late this is ]#[ she dumb. she try. but she's dumb ]

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roraruu · 5 years

Text

wip: eyes on target

an old one that i polished up bc HAAAAA FAYBIN RIGHTS

“You watchin’ kid?”

Tobin snaps back to attention as Python steps in front of his gaze. His cheeks heat furiously with a blush. His arrow nocks against the indent on his bow, sliding down and falling to the ground. Tobin swoops down to pick it up. “I asked you a question.” He glances up, the elder towering over him with an unimpressed look across his normally-tired face.

Shit, Tobin thinks to himself, doing his best to make the blush on his face fade. He puts the arrow back into his quiver, standing at full height. His grip tightens around the handle of his bow. “I was watching.” He says as politely as he can. Something about Python tries his nerves, be it his apathy or his incorrigible nature. He’s supposed to mentor him, show him how to become a better archer, but majority of the time Python is telling him to go piss up a rope.

“Then what was I doin’?” He challenges.

He scrambles for something, anything that will convince the archer that he’s focused on their lesson. He spies a tin of beeswax and a spool of extra string nearby. “You were just showing me how to restring a bow.” He says, forcing confidence.

He makes a loud eh!, throwing his thumb down. “Wrong kid!” He says. “You haven’t watched for a damn second. I’m working for nothing.”

“I’m sorry.” Tobin says. He stands straighter, his eyes flickering to the ground.

“Sorry doesn’t give me back the half hour of my life that I just spent on you.” He says bitterly. Tobin’s gaze flickers back to it’s original spot as he speaks. The elder frowns, following his gaze. “What were you even staring at...”

Tobin quickly turns his eyes to the ground again, trying to find something of note to focus on. But he’s too late. Python’s gaze is set on Clair and Faye and their winged mounts, locked in training. Clair stands, calling out for Faye to steady her hand and mind. Faye is astride her pegasus, her back curved ever so slightly as she hauls her arm back and throws the weapon, landing below her target. A look of realization comes over Python’s face as he practically rips the bow out of Tobin’s hand and turns away.

“H-Hey!” Tobin goes to argue, “I can focus, I know I can, just give me another chance,“ he pleads.

“You don’t get another chance kid.”

“Python, you’re supposed to—“

“I’m not supposed to be babysittin’ you if that’s what you were going to say.” He says. Tobin’s shocked at how easily he goes from disinterest to disdain. For once in his life, Python is giving a shit and of course it’s the worst moment for poor Tobin. His eyes widen as the elder steps past him, a frown on his lips. “If you’re going to waste the lesson mooning over—“

“Please stop,” Tobin says as sternly as he can.

He ignores him, pointing a gloved finger towards the young ladies and their steeds. “—Over pegasus knights rather than the enemy before you, I’m not going to waste my time.” He says, stringing the additional bow over his chest.

“I wasn’t mooning—“ he argues as quietly as he can. Python’s loudness has garnered the attention of Clair, who looks over her shoulder with a raised brow. He lowers his voice even further.

“Fine, staring at the knights. That better?” Python japes bitterly, voice growing louder.

“Python, please.” He begs. His cheeks flush in embarrassment as he lowers his head.

“Keep your head in the clouds, and you’ll sooner shoot her in the back than in the heart.” He warns, looping the other bow around his back this time. Faye and Clair have stopped their lesson, glancing over to them. Tobin stares at the ground, face burning and fists clenching as he glances towards the two again. They look up as Python walks off, leaving Tobin to flush bitterly and kick up dust as he leaves the training field.

—

Tobin finds Python with Forsyth after the meal. They’re sitting out at the edge of camp. There’s a fine view of rolling Zofian meadows that used to be farmers’ fields. The soil is too barren to grow now and what used to be crop space is now nothing more than a large grass meadow. An unwanted fallow covers the land—no villagers wish to plant grain or vegetables that will be trampled by cavalry and infantry. The sky is clear, twinkling stars lighting up the dim night. There’s a lantern between the two and a bottle of ale at Python’s fingertips. Alcohol is forbidden amongst the Deliverance—or at least, heavily frowned upon unless it’s in the hands of the holy and offered to Mila’s servants. If they’re trying to hide it from others, they’re doing a shit job. Tobin thinks.

Forsyth’s loud and chipper voice dies down as he notices Tobin’s shadow. The knight leans closer. “Python, I think you have a visitor—“

The archer is stretched out against a log, arms across the bark. He cranes his head around, a smarmy smile on his face. “Oh there she is, the angel visiting us sinners—“ his voice dies down as he notices Tobin.

“It’s not Lady Silque.” Forsyth says with a short laugh. Python’s smile turns to a frown as he turns away from the villager.

“Can I talk to you?” Tobin asks. He’s pleased by the slip-up on Python’s part, but it’s not enough to quell the annoyance from embarrassing him.

Python’s got the bottle of ale in his hand and a frown on his face. “I’m off duty kid.” He says gruffly.

“Python, our job is to mentor—“ Forsyth warns, spiralling into a short lecture on the importance of questions and being open to helping at all times. Python rolls his eyes, his fingers and thumb moving along to the lecture he’s heard thousands of times.

Forsyth finishes, sitting tall and proud as if he’s actually gotten through that thick skull. Python throws back another drink of his ale. “Fine.” He says, forcing a smile that looks more strained than sincere. “What do you want Tobin?”

“I need to speak privately. Sorry.” He says, glancing to Forsyth, who is already on his feet.

“Say no more. I’ll go see if Lady Silque needs help.” He says. Then, with a little smirk says, “I’ll give her your regards.”

“Tell her I’ll be seeing her tonight.” Python calls, waving the bottle in the air.

“You better not be!” Forsyth warns sternly, he turns away beginning the short walk back to their encampment.

The archer chuckles lowly before glancing to Tobin. He lays further back against the log, staring off into the night sky. “What do you want?” He asks.

“I’m sorry about practice today.”

“Are you?” Python challenges, glancing to him. “Because you don’t look like it. You look like you’re a kid who got caught stealing goodies.”

Tobin scoffs, regretting the idea to apologize. “You know, you can be such an asshole sometimes. Like today.”

“That makes two of us.”

Tobin frowns. “Why were you so short during the lesson?” He asks, crossing his arms. “I’m every bit as strong as you and yet you’re treating me like an idiot. I know how to take aim, I know how to shoo—“

Python interrupts, a harsh gaze narrowing on him. “Because while I have talent, you’ve got focus.” He says, tipping the bottle back. “And it’s not on the bow in your hands.”

“It is!” He argues. “I’m focused, I can handle myself—“

“Then how come you were staring at Clair and Faye the entire session?” He demands, placing the bottle on the ground and crossing his arms. “I could’ve sworn I saw a puddle of drool at your feet. No girl thinks that’s cute.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” He scoffs, glancing away.

“Ha! You speak like I haven’t seen my share of girl problems.” The elder says. He juts a thumb at himself.

“Who would date you?”

“Who said I dated them?” He retorts with a smarmy smirk.

Tobin internally gags, thinking of poor Silque dealing with this drunk bastard. “You’re despicable.”

“True love doesn’t exist kid.” He says, pointing a finger at him. “And it’s not worth losing your life over. If you don’t put your training first, you’ll be dead on the battlefield and she won’t give a damn.”

Tobin stays quiet. “You speak from experience?”

“Maybe.”

There’s a silence that follows as Python tilts back the bottle again. A frown crosses Tobin’s lips as Python speaks again, this time a tiny bit softer. “You gotta work this out though. You can’t go riskin’ your neck just for a glance at a girl.”

“Do I have to?” He says, face scrunching up at the thought of exchanging gossip with his mentor.

“It’ll help.” Python says. “And I won’t judge. That much...”

He lets out a sigh, lowering himself onto the log. Python‘s arm stretches out, holding the bottle between his fingertips and taps it against Tobin’s knee. He hesitates for a second before taking it, swirling the ale around for a second as he thinks. He takes a drink, relishing the bitter barley taste on his tongue.

“So lay it down. Which one of them has your fancy?” The elder asks before leaning forwards. “Unless they both do—“

“Gods no.” He says, almost sputtering out the alcohol. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, regretting the decision to talk with Python. The elder holds his hand out for the bottle.

“Who then?”

Tobin shifts nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. His mentor, asking a question on which girl he admired more. A disgusting man, who is trying to bond with him over women. A bond is a bond, Tobin thinks, staying quiet.

“Should I guess then?” Python asks, rubbing his chin in false thought. “Probably Clair. You and the other rugrat have that competition going on right? Word of warning, she is annoying. Won’t shut the hell up unless her brother tells her to. Maybe let your sucker of a friend have her—”

“It’s not Clair.” Tobin says quickly. He covers his face with his hands.

Python’s brow raises as he leans towards him. “Faye?” He asks in disbelief.

“What?” Tobin says. “She’s my friend and lately I’ve been worried about her...”

“Riiiiight. Worried about her.” Python nods, taking another sip of the ale. “Be honest... are you getting jealous over her and Alm?”

“No.” He says, face flushed. He feels like a child, spilling the beans on something so personal.

“Oh so you’re okay with being second choice?” He asks.

“No.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know why she’s so head over heels for him, I just wish it were different, but it’s not so.”

“Why is she like that then?” He asks, intrigued by the gossip. He passes him the bottle. Instead of drinking, Tobin just swirls it around slowly, focusing on the circular movements.

“When we were kids, a knight visited our village. He wasn’t the good kind either.”

“There’s a good kind of knight?” Python japes.

“Anyways, Alm saved her from being taken captive,” Tobin says. “I... I might’ve gotten us into that situation for the record.”

Python lets out a harsh laugh. “Then I don’t blame her for looking past you.” He says.

“Gee thanks.” Tobin says sarcastically.

“So you’re childhood friends? You older than her? She might like a guy who can take care of her.” Python suggests.

“She’s a year older than me. And you’ve seen her, she’s a demon!” He says.

Python hoists himself up onto the log, rolling his neck so it cracks. “She’s been there, like... everywhere.” Tobin says. “She used to horse around with us back when we were kids, and seeing her as a knight now is just... weird.”

Python nods before narrowing his gaze. “That it?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” Python asks, brow furrowing. “Last battle you almost got hit twice because you were staring at the back of her head—“

“She’s pretty okay?!” He says. “Really pretty...”

“So you’ve got a thing for the weird girls who pine after guys and then don’t even acknowledge you.”

“Faye isn’t weird!”

“Easy stud.” Python says, holding his hands up. “Meant no harm.”

The younger archer hangs his head, taking another drink from the bottle. “Gods, this is embarrassing.”

“The feeling’s mutual kid.” Python says. “But I’m not about to train you if you can’t keep your focus on your target and not her bu—“ Tobin’s fierce glare stops him for a split second, but that aggravating annoyance resurfaces. “Backside.”

“What do you suggest then?”

“You have to work around these things.” He says. “Believe me, it’s tough but you’ll grow used to it.”

“Or else?”

“Or else you’ll be the one shooting down Faye.” He says, leaning over to swipe the bottle up.

“How do I work around them?” He asks.

“Two options. Maybe three if you’re adventurous.” Python says, holding up three fingers and wiggling the third. “The first you get over her.”

Tobin stares dumbly at him.

He shrugs. “Worth a shot. I hate young love. Fucking iron-clad.” He mutters. “Second, you get Alm to break her heart. She likes him right?”

“I think she’s still in love with him,” he says painfully.

“All he has to do is say no. She’d probably back off after that.” Python says. “She comes off as meek and polite enough, so it seems the best option,”

“What if I don’t wanna break her heart?” He asks, glancing to Python. “I don’t think I could do that to her. She’s my friend before anything else.”

Python smirks, clearly enjoying such scuttlebutt. “Number three which is only for brave souls...”

“I’m brave enough.” He insists, leaning towards the elder.

Python taps his nose. “You tell her how you feel.” He says as Tobin rests his elbows on his knees, hanging his head once again.

“She’d laugh in my face.” He whines.

“So?”

“So I’d be embarrassed!” Tobin says tiredly.

“Hey, it’s her loss if she doesn’t like you for you.”

“You sound like my Ma.”

“Listen,” Python says quietly, touching Tobin’s shoulder. “You know Faye right? What she likes and doesn’t?”

“I’ve got an idea.” He says.

“Would she laugh you off?”

“I don’t think so,”

“Then that’s enough right?” He asks, shrugging.

“Easy enough for you to say, all you have to worry about is making Silque blush. You don’t give a shit about anyone.” He says annoyedly. He takes another drink from the bottle, this time longer and headier.

“Hey, if heaven is real and speaks, she’d be the last one talkin.” Python says with a shrug.

The younger hands the rest of the bottle to Python, leaning towards him. “So is she your girl?”

He almost chokes on the ale, dropping it into the younger’s hands. “Gods no,” he says. Python snatches the bottle of ale from his hands, frowning. “Enough for you, lush.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tobin says under his breath.

“Listen to me, all you have to do is be honest with her. Go at your own pace.” Python says.

Tobin nods. “Yeah whatever.”

Another bout of silence falls as Python raises the bottle to his lips and finishes it off. He sits up, hauling his arm back as far as he can and throws it into the meadow. It rolls off, out of their line of sight. Tobin glances up, looking expectantly for shattered pieces.

Python nudges his shoulder. “C’mon, what are you going to say,” he asks.

“What?” Tobin asks.

“Out with it. What are you going to say to Faye?” Python asks. “A part of archery is knowing your stance and your target. Think of it that way.“

“What do you want to pretend you’re her?”

“No idiot,” he says. “What would you say to Faye if she were—here.”

His face blanches, glancing up behind him. Tobin doesn’t notice the silent footsteps or light pink dress of the Pegasus knight. Python avoids her gaze, telling her to go with his eyes.

Idiot. She doesn’t listen, only stares on with continued worry and confusion. She’s too headstrong to turn around, instead taking another threatening step forwards. Python hides a smirk as Tobin rambles.

“I don’t know... probably that she’s really pretty and that she’s always on my mind? Is that stupid? Weird?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck. “Probably is. Wait, no. I should tell her that I really care about her. That I like her the way she is...” Python hides behind his hand, shaking his head. “What?! Is that too cheesy? Too dorky?” Tobin asks asks. “Python c’mon, don’t leave me hanging—“ “Tobin?” His blood freezes for a second before boiling. His gaze narrows on Python who pretends to stretch. “Well I think I’m going to go see our favourite healer now,” He says quickly, winking at the younger of the two. “Eyes on the target, stud.”

#ru writes #wip #tobin #python #faye #LETS HOPE THAT THIS SENDS FAYE TO MEEEEE

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savedbythenotepad · 6 years

Text

I’ve been watching a lot of Jenna and Julien lately and I suddenly got inspired to write a Viktuuri YouTuber AU. It was pretty fun to write and probably riddled with mistakes and whatnot but ah well. ^^

Please enjoy!

“Hi YouTube.” Yuuri greeted with a wave and a rather derpy smile meant to clearly entertain the person who was holding the camera. It succeeded as the edges of the frame shook slightly with familiar laughter trickling through the audio. That then caused Yuuri to start chuckling and the video was cut to the next part.

Yuuri was currently stood in his kitchen and stood behind the island with ingredients laid out in front of him. There were also the necessary equipment and a curious Vicchan who was carefully sniffing at a bag of flour as his tiny paws made clicks against the marbled top. It seemed to be a fairly quiet and calm day in Yuuri’s life judging by the relaxed expression on his face as well as the rather slouchy sweater that he wore. Viewers who had watched his videos for a long time would be quick to tell that it didn’t belong to him but rather to the person who stood behind the camera.

“Again, hello YouTube,” Yuuri repeated with another wave but a simple smile this time. “I’ve come back to bring you another segment of cooking with Yuuri.” He then moved to pick Vicchan up and was immediately smothered with kisses which caused Yuuri to laugh happily. “Are you excited?” he asked the small poodle whose tail began wagging. “Are you excited for another cooking with Yuuri?” His voice was delicate and softer when he spoke to his dogs and it caused everyone to melt at the pure love that he displayed for them with the mere actions that he did.

Vicchan barked once again which caused the other dogs to sound off off-screen. The camera turned to reveal two bigger poodles who were stood near a pair of rather pale feet. They looked up at the camera but their sights were focused on the blue eyes behind it and the wide smile they were given. The largest one named Makkachin jumped up to rest her front paws on the person’s pant-clad thighs and was given to an affectionate scratch beneath her chin which caused immense tail wagging. The second largest named Kiko was quick to follow and panted happily when she received the same treatment.

“They’re so spoiled,” Yuuri laughed and the camera was soon turned back to him as he still held Vicchan in his arms. “But it’s because we love them a lot and honestly, they deserve everything in this entire world.” He pecked Vicchan on the head before placing him gently on the hardwood floor and turning his attention back to the camera. “So! Today, we were aiming to make a simple chocolate cake because Viktor has been craving it all week.” Yuuri gestured towards the camera and it turned once more to reveal a beautiful man with bright blue eyes and brilliant silver hair.

“It’s true, I’ve been craving it so much,” he replied and went to set the camera on the tripod that stood a few feet away from the island before making his way to stand beside Yuuri. “It’s hard because my schedule is quite rigid so I need to eat good due to what I do.” He then grinned. “But now it’s off-season!” he cheered as his arms went into the air and Yuuri laughed. “So I can eat without I want without going too overboard and I’ve missed my Yuuri’s chocolate cake and he is sweet enough to make it for me.” His gaze turns onto Yuuri, soft and adoring, before he leaned down to peck his cheek. “Just like his cake.”

The apples of Yuuri’s cheeks turned a rosy red but his lips curved upwards in an endeared smile. But he was quick to play it off with a playful shove at Viktor’s right shoulder and took a deep breath as he rolled up the too-long sleeves. “So the idea is that Viktor is going to help me out in the kitchen today which could go either way,” Yuuri said, casting Viktor a knowing look. “As you all know, Viktor can be...a whirlwind in the kitchen.”

“I’m not that bad!” Viktor defended and Yuuri gasped with widened eyes as he gestured around the kitchen.

“You never place things back in the correct place and you constantly leave bowls on the edge of the counter which sends me spiraling into unneeded anxiety!” Yuuri exclaimed and as if by example, Viktor had been keeping his hands busy by playing with one of the glass bowls. After hearing Yuuri’s words, he set the bowl down--near the edge of the island top. The action wasn’t on purpose but it definitely proved a point.

“I’m just fast when I cook,” Viktor replied, staring into the viewfinder of the camera as if he was defending his ways to the viewers who would watch this later. “Leaving things open are convenient because I don’t have to struggle to open them later when my hands are dirty or slippery.”

Yuuri blinked. “That is a ridiculous argument.”

Viktor blinked back. “It’s a rather sound one if you ask me.”

Yuuri slowly lifted his hands to his head before groaning loudly while Viktor smiled brightly, having won this round of who could annoy who more. It took a few seconds until Yuuri torn himself away from his hands, an amused smile gracing his features as he gave a sigh.

“I’m a Sagittarius, I shouldn’t be having to deal with a Capricorn.” He told Viktor and that earned him a wide grin as Viktor took the bag of flour before dropping it onto the island. It made a loud thud which sparked the dogs to bark once again and for Yuuri to launch into a heaps of laughter.

“Let’s get cooking!” Viktor almost screamed and Yuuri looked like he couldn’t breathe as he held onto the counter, laughter still wrecking his body as the dogs barked to high-heaven.

-----

The baking process went as well as it could go when Yuuri and Viktor were both in the kitchen. Yuuri enjoyed taking his time with measurements and oiling the baking tins so the cakes didn’t stick to the bottom. He knew that he would be more reliable with the ingredients considering that Viktor preferred to eyeball things rather than go for accuracy.

But he honestly didn’t know why he was so surprised when Viktor took their stick of butter and proceeded to oil up their baking tins with the tip of it. He had done this rather than take a sheet of their kitchen roll and butter it up before going for it. Yuuri had been measuring flour at the time and the laughter flared up in his throat again as he saw Viktor go at it.

“Why are you so chaotic?” Yuuri questioned as he poured the right amount of flour into the bowl. “Why do you do this to me?”

“Why do you insist on making the dogs howl all the time?” Viktor shot back and that seemed to throw Yuuri into a bind but he got out of it quickly.

“Because it’s cute and you know you love it.” Yuuri replied and soon developed that look of mischief that made Viktor realise what he was about to do. He was about to plead but Yuuri beat him to it when he said to the dogs, “C’mon lovelies, SPEAK.”

Kiko started them off as she howled loudly which immediately set off the other two who joined her as they spoke for Yuuri. Viktor faked a cringe as Yuuri howled along with them until their house echoed with the sounds of high-pitched squeaks. It was too adorable not to love but Viktor wouldn’t show that now as he stared at the camera with a blank expression. Editing would ensure that it zoomed in on Viktor’s face to show how he snorted out his laughter after a barely a moment.

The flour had been placed into the bowl along with all other dry ingredients. Viktor had been tasked with cracking the eggs which ended up with him tapping them on the side of the bowl. But then he placed the empty shells on the counter and Yuuri exclaimed, “I’m a Sagittarius, please THROW THEM AWAY!” which immediately launched into another playful argument as Viktor threatened to pelt Yuuri with flour before he ran away when Yuuri aimed to crack an egg over his head.

It settled after a bit as the two of them worked in harmony which was truly how it was until Yuuri handed Viktor the electric mixer to mix their ingredients together. Funniest moment in YouTube history when Yuuri’s face automatically showcased horror as Viktor turned on the electric mixer before settling into the mixture. Which, of course, caused batter to splatter onto every close surface while Yuuri screamed and the dogs barked in unison.

“I’M A SAGITTARIUS!” Yuuri yelled through the loud noises of the mixer before Viktor yelled back, “I’M A CAPRICORN!” and laughter greeted Yuuri once again with so much vigour that hiccups visited him with the intent of jolting his entire body. Viktor hurried to get him some water though it was hard considering that he had to stop chuckling himself as he handed the water to Yuuri and gently rubbed small and soothing circles into the space between Yuuri’s shoulder blades.

The batter was poured into the two cake tins and were ready to go the moment the oven beeped to alert them that it had finished pre-heating. It was an easy and quick process as Yuuri had taken the reins on this one and smoothed the batter until it was an even layer before placing them into the oven. Then the bowl was left for snacking and Yuuri busied himself with the whisk while Viktor licked the inside of the bowl with the help of his fingers.

“This is so bad for us.” Yuuri said with a mouthful of a chocolate covered whisk. He seemed completely fine with it though as his tongue made quick work for the chocolatey goodness lingering between the metal lines. That definitely caught Viktor’s attention as he watched Yuuri lick and suck at the utensil with a delicate touch that he knew all too well. Yuuri noticed the lull in Viktor’s movement and gazed at him with brown eyes widened with a glimmer of innocence before he realised what had caused Viktor to halt in his actions.

He slowly removed the tip of the whisk from his mouth before gave a small flick of his tongue to it to gage the reaction that he got. It earned him flushed cheeks and blue eyes which were relatively darker than before and focused entirely on his pink mouth. Yuuri hadn’t intended for this to happen but it was a row of dominoes as seeing Viktor like this also sent him down a similar spiral. If they weren’t currently filming a video then Yuuri would have definitely made use of that leftover batter for something rather inappropriate and he knew that Viktor had the same idea.

But Yuuri snapped out of it quickly with a soft cough which pulled Viktor out of it as well. They both smiled at each other with cheeks tinged pink and the corners of their mouths covered in chocolate. The cakes wouldn’t be done for another fifteen to twenty minutes so Yuuri suggested that they cleaned up while Viktor suggested otherwise.

“But it’s going to annoy me and we have all of this free time,” Yuuri whined but it turned into a yelp when Viktor came up and lifted Yuuri up with ease. “Viktor!”

Viktor locked his arms beneath the swell of Yuuri’s ass and grinned up at him. “You need to learn how to relax.” He squeezed the wonderful muscle of the back of Yuuri’s upper thighs before smiling at the camera. “We’re gonna go and lounge in the living room while the cakes baking!” he told their future audience and began walking out of the frame. “We’re going to play with the dogs and I’m going to tackle you if you even think about escaping from the couch.”

“I’m actually going to cry,” Yuuri’s voice came from off-screen and there was a brief sound of struggle intermingled with giggles. “I’m a Sagittarius, you can’t do this to me!”

“I’m a Capricorn and yes, I can.” Viktor replied, amused and a squeak from Yuuri followed which left a lot to the viewers’ imagination.

----

“The cakes are ready!” Yuuri declared after he ran into the kitchen and smiled widely at the camera. He then veered off screen to retrieve them from the oven and Viktor appeared moments later with a Makkachin cradled in his arms. He moved with a slight bounce in his step as if he were carrying a baby and placed several kisses against the side of her head which she returned enthusiastically.

“You’re one of my best girls~” Viktor sang as he rocked Makkachin from side to side. “Because my other best girl is Kiko and she’d get mad if I don’t include her~” That earned him a bark from Kiko who couldn’t be seen due to the island but Viktor blew her kisses before Makkachin wiggled in his embrace. He bent down to let her go and that was when Yuuri popped back into the frame with the two cake tins balanced on an oven tray.

They were perfectly cooked and ready to be made into a layered cake after they cooled down. Yuuri placed the tray onto the island and beamed at them before beaming at Viktor. He then gestured to them and Viktor nodded in agreement as he lifted his hands to give two thumbs up.

“I cannot believe that we made two amazing cakes without them burning,” Yuuri said as he brought out another bowl to make the buttercream icing. “Technically that shouldn’t have been possible with your impulsive tendencies and my need to scream about your impulsive tendencies every five minutes.”

“You’re making it sound like I’m a child who can’t ever keep themselves still,” Viktor replied, pouting while passing him the icing sugar from one of the off-white wooden cabinets behind them. “I am more than capable of resisting my impulsive tendencies.”

Yuuri blinked. “That is bullshit.”

Viktor gasped. “And that is rude. As a Capricorn, I am offended.”

“And as a Sagittarius, I am offended that you are lying to me.” Yuuri retorted and they were at it again as Viktor tried to get his point across but Yuuri ended up howling again which caused the three poodles to join in. It was a loud and effective way to prevent Viktor from talking and all he could do was stare at the camera as he listened to the howls mixed with high squeaks.

The rest of the video was of Viktor and Yuuri making the icing which involved Viktor dusting icing sugar onto a blank-faced Yuuri and Yuuri chasing Viktor around with a wooden spoon because he was a Sagittarius and he had had enough.

It all came to an end when the chocolate cake had been layered and wonderfully iced with a few shavings of dark chocolate placed on top. Beautiful and spectacular and ready to eat as Yuuri cut a slice for both of them and they shared the delectable treat.

Viktor gave a moan that could put a porn star to shame and promptly fell to the floor while praising Yuuri’s baking skills. Yuuri couldn’t resist staring at him in heightened amusement as he nibbled on another bite of cake before feeding another bite to Viktor. That gave another hilarious but genuine reaction and Yuuri had no idea what to do as he looked at the camera, clearly so exasperated but so in love with the man seated on their kitchen floor.

“I hope you enjoyed this video,” Yuuri started but was soon erupted when Viktor went, “I’m a Capricorn who demands some more cake.” and it was obvious that Yuuri was trying his hardest not to laugh at this moment and time. He cut off another piece from the slice and fed it to Viktor who hummed happily before going, “That’s the Good Stuff, fuck yeah.”

The end of the video showed Yuuri bursting into laughter once more as he slid to the floor to join Viktor.

#viktuuri #victuuri #victuri #yuri on ice #yoi #mywriting #youtuber au

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tighnaurri · 6 years

Text

Cloudtop Pt. 2 // Mark & Jaemin

Part 1 // NCT as Angels and Demons

Angel! Mark X Reader X Jaemin

Rating: PG-13

Length: 2,870 words

Summary: Every morning you wake up with small wounds; just little scrapes and bruises you attribute to flailing in your sleep. This morning, you woke up with a huge cut across your hip, a glowing golden dagger plunged into the wall, and what looks an awful lot like a dead angel on your floor.

Masterlist

After Jaemin left to get the broom, Mark began fumbling around his words like a fish out of water, gesturing behind himself and pointing at the open door as he backed up.

“I- I have to go… my fish is drowning?” He squeaked, face redder than a strawberry. He reached for the door handle but missed it instead, stumbling to the side as he lost his balance. Catching the edge of the door frame, he stepped back into the hallway, eyes wide in disbelief as he gawked at you. “Have a good day?”

He dashed out of view, footsteps nonexistent after three taps. You were knocked out of your stupor when he ran, moving forward to watch the man – entity? – go. By the time you reached the doorframe, there was no sign of him. He had vanished into thin air.

Holy shit.

You stared wide-eyed down the hallway, convinced that you were hallucinating or that it was just some strange dream. Pinching your arm, you felt a spike of pain that forced you to throw out all the thoughts that said this wasn’t real, because it most definitely was.

“Where did Mark go?” Jaemin asked, making you snap back to the situation at hand. You scrambled for an excuse.

“He just ran off.”

Jaemin furrowed his brow as he began to sweep, “Do you know each other? He seemed to recognize you back there.”

Yes, we know each other. He’s my fucking guardian angel.

“We, uh… dated.”

Jaemin smirked, “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you coughed, trying to act natural, “It was brief. Very brief. We broke up after, like, a week. I think.”

“Was the break up bad?”

“No, it was fine,” you waved off. “I-I’ll go get the dustpan.”

You excused yourself, rushing to the hallway closet for the pan. You used the door to shield you face from Jaemin, hiding you panicked expression. You had buried yourself in a ton lies, but you couldn’t take them back now – especially when the truth was so ridiculous Jaemin would probably ask you either to find a new apartment or apply for admission into a mental hospital.

Grabbing the dustpan, you smiled like you weren’t kicking yourself for every poor life decision that has led you to this point, and helped your roommate clean up the glass.

Despite the initial panic of seeing your guardian angel face to face, it turned out to not be so bad. In fact, moving in with Jaemin might’ve been the best decision you’ve made in a long time.

The injuries had stopped, and your sleep schedule had improved significantly. You were no longer hobbling into work with bruised limbs and sunken eyes, but instead with a pep to your step and eyes as wide as a child’s. You felt fresh, alive, and – most importantly – safe.

Jaemin was great, too. He didn’t press the topic of your and Mark’s “break up” since Mark had first vanished, instead focusing on how you were now. He was gentle but not patronizing, sweet with a touch of snark, and he made a mean cup of tea – all the essentials for getting along with you.

It’d been a few weeks since you’ve moved and, and it was going amazing. You didn’t know how you got by on your own without Jaemin at this point.

“What’s got you in such high spirits?” Your coworker, Jungwoo, said.

You shrugged, smiling as you shoveled a heap of soil into a pot, “Nothing much.”

Jungwoo snorted, “Yeah, right.”

You laughed, throwing a thimble worth of soil at his face, “What? Am I not allowed to be happy?”

“I didn’t say that,” Jungwoo pouted. He flicked a bit of dirt back at you, “You’ve been a little depressed these past few weeks, that’s all. I was wondering what put the smile back on your face. We missed it.”

Haechan, passing by with a heavy sack of mulch, winked. “Damn right we did!”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Please don’t ever wink at me again, thanks.”

Haechan proceeded to wink numerous times, stopping and fleeing only when you threatened to throw your spade at him. Your boss yelled from the inside of the flower shop, telling you to stop scaring the customers. Haechan stuck his tongue out at you through the window.

You barely restrained the urge to flip him off.

“What’s your roommate like?” Jungwoo asked as he began planting a geranium, eyeing you around the plant.

“He’s good – he makes me tea and goes to the same college as I do.”

“Is he cute?” Jungwoo said with a knowing smile.

You scrunched up your nose, reaching for your own geranium to re-pot. “I guess you could say that.”

“Well it sounds like you found yourself a jackpot of a roommate,” Jungwoo finished his pot with one last scoop of soil. “I’m glad.”

You smiled, “I’m glad too.”

On days where you and Jaemin had classes at the same time, you would walk together to the university. Somedays the two of you would leave early, getting coffee at the local café before continuing your walk. It was nice.

One particular day, though, Jaemin gave you a proposition.

“I think you should try to talk to Mark.” He said, looking at you over the lid of his chai latte. You raised your eyebrows.

Oh, God, not this again…

“Really? What makes you say that?” You played it cool, pretending like your braincells weren’t all firing at once at the mention of the angel’s name.

“I just think it’d be good for you – and him,” Jaemin urged. “He’s a good guy. Plus, its never good to leave stuff unresolved.”

“Unresolved?” You took a sip of your drink, pursing your lips. “What’s there to be resolved?”

“He dropped a whole tray of cookies as soon as he saw you and proceeded to book it to god-knows-where. I’d say that that indicates that there is something unresolved between the two of you.”

He sipped the last of his drink before wiping his lips and tossing the paper cup into the nearest recycling bin. Your gaze strayed as he did so, and as you looked around, you realized this was normally where you split to go to your respective classes. You felt a small pang of sadness in your chest at the thought.

Jaemin approached you, a small smile on his face. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s just a suggestion.”

You nodded, “I know, although you do make a compelling case.”

He laughed, ruffling your hair. “Don’t fall asleep in class.”

You grinned, half-heartedly swatting his hand away. “I’ll try.”

For the rest of the day, you found yourself running your fingers through your hair, recalling the pleasant sensation of his touch.

Following “The Incident,” as he now called it in his head, Mark had retreated to the inner city. He had perched on a building, feet dangling as he sat in the open night air, starring down at the concrete below.

There was a shift in the air behind him. Mark did not flinch.

“Morael.”

Mark continued starring down at the city streets. “Rizoel.”

The angel sat down beside him. The two remained silent for whole minutes before Rizoel broke the serenity, “Why are you so far from your human?”

Mark stiffened, jaw clenched tight. He huffed, trying to get the words out, but he couldn’t. He gave his comrade a look before dropping his head into his hands. Rizoel seemed to get the gist.

“You broke one of your tenets.”

The blonde angel nodded.

“Which one?”

Mark snorted, “Why would that matter?”

“It matters.” Rizoel put a hand on his shoulder, “Trust me.”

The brunettes eyes were sincere. It hurt him to see his brother in this state.

“They saw me in my true form a few months ago. They had passed it off as a dream, but then…” He sighed, standing up. He paced along the edge of the building, “Things spiraled out of control. It ended with them seeing me in my human form about a week ago. I’ve remained at a distance since.”

“You broke two of the tenets, then.”

“Yes,” Mark confirmed, stopping to look Rizoel in the eye. “I broke two.”

“But you did not break the third?”

“Of course not!”

Rizoel hummed, “You are being defensive. You’re not hiding something from me, are you.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Mark defended. “I’m just worried.”

“That is understandable from someone in your situation.”

Mark nodded, ignoring the warrior angel’s distant way of speaking. It would bother him how apathetic he sounded if he hadn’t known him for a thousand plus years.

“I know I should swap humans, but…”

“But what?”

“I can’t.”

Rizoel rose to his feet, approaching Mark. He put a hand on his shoulder to stop his pacing. “Why?”

“I just can’t,” Mark looked out into the cityscape. “Their situation… It’s something I have to handle myself.”

Rizoel nodded, removing his hand from Mark’s shoulder.

“Renjun?”

“You know I don’t like that name.”

Mark didn’t apologize, “Promise that you won’t mention this to upper management.”

Renjun frowned but nodded. “I will try.”

Mark gave him the best semblance of a smile he could manage at the moment, “Thank you.”

Renjun vanished without a word.

Every day the following week, you thought about what Jaemin said.

Unresolved.

Sure, he may have been talking about you and Mark having “dated,” but doesn’t make his advice any less true. There was some unresolved stuff between you and the blonde – some very important stuff.

Eventually, you worked up the courage to talk to him, heading over to his apartment. As you stood in front of the angel’s door – hand up, poised to knock – you wondered if this really was the best decision. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to you, or maybe he wasn’t your angel anymore, or –

You took a deep breath.

Stop freaking out. It’ll be alright.

Even if Mark was no longer your angel, he still had a right to hear what you had to say – regardless if he wanted to or not. You knocked.

After what sounded like the dropping of a tin pan, a few thumps, and the stubbing of a toe, the door opened. Mark was standing right in front of you, cheeks dusted with pink and sweater coated with flour.

“…Yes?” He asked, brushing some of the flour off his shoulder.

“I wanted to talk to you.” You said, “You know, about the whole-” You flapped your arms, mimicking wings. Mark raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, yeah. Of course,” he held the door wider, allowing you passage. “Come on in.”

You entered, and he closed the door after you, leaving it unlocked. He dusted the rest of the flour off his self as you looked around, examining his apartment. There were many small trinkets lining the mantel and shelves – little things like a ceramic flower, wicker basket, and a misshapen hand-dipped candle. There were no photos or tv, but there were various instruments and music sheets, along with a bookshelf practically spilling with books, some of which looked to be near disintegrating with age.

Seeing these things made you wonder just how old Mark truly was – if that was even his real name. You looked back it him, turning.

“You owe me an explanation.” You demanded, voice firm. Mark said nothing in return, opting to stare at you with an aching gaze. It felt almost like he pitied you.

“Look, I don’t care what you are. All you’ve done so far is protect me. But-” You stepped forward, into arm’s length, “I need to know what you’re protecting me from.”

Mark shook his head, “I cannot do that.”

“Why?”

He bit his lip and turned away, “I simply cannot. There are a lot of things I can’t do.” He looked back towards you, arm twitching as if he wanted to reach out and touch you. “There are laws I must follow. In fact, shouldn’t be talking to you right now, either.”

“But you are.”

He nodded, agreeing. “But I am.”

“So, you’re an angel, am I correct?” Mark nodded. You opened your mouth and closed it, taking time to carefully word your next statement. “May I please see your wings?”

His eyes widened, surprised. “I shouldn’t.”

“I’ve already seen them once,” you reasoned, “but I was bleeding out and delirious. I just want to see them, so I know I’m not crazy, and that this isn’t just some outrageously elaborate prank.”

Mark nodded after a few moments of contemplation and stripped off his sweater without warning, pulling it up and over his head. You quickly looked away, shielding your eyes with your hand. He had gone from the soft boy-next-door to the guy you drool over at swim practice in the blink of an eye.

“Sorry, but this sweater isn’t really made for wings, so…” you could see him shrug out of the corner of your eye, your face as red as a pepper. He turned around, back facing you.

You slowly took your hand away from your face, overcoming the embarrassment that had swept over you when he had suddenly whipped off the fabric, becoming entranced instead by the soft white feathers that appeared before you. His back was bare one minute and endowed the next - the large, smooth plumes sitting before you.

“Can I…?” You asked, reaching forward.

Mark looked over his shoulder, expression unsure. He watched your hand as it hovered a few inches over his folded wings, adjusting the flaps nervously. He nodded, turning his face away once again.

You ran your fingers lightly over the feathers at first, barely skimming their surface. It was softer than anything you’d ever felt before, captivating you. You were tempted to rub your face on them like a cat, barely restraining yourself from doing so. That would be crossing way too many lines, for sure.

You dug your fingers in softly, pulling away when Mark stiffened and adjusted his wings, deftly avoiding the shelves as he did so. He turned around, facing you. You made sure your eyes remained on his, trying your best not to look down. The soft sensation still thrummed throughout your fingertips, a ghost of the feeling that your hands ached to pursue once more.

He held his sweater in his hands, thumbing at the fabric. “So… you’re not freaked out?”

“No, I am,” you answered. “The feeling of relief is just stronger.”

Mark hummed. You coughed, looking up at the ceiling as you avoided looking at his bare shoulders.

Why the fuck is he so pretty?

“You, um…” you gestured to your own shirt and to his bare upper body. Mark raised his eyebrows before it dawned on him what you were implying.

“My apologies.” His wings vanished, much to your sadness, and he pulled the shirt back over his head. “Did you need anything else?”

“Just one last thing.” You smiled sheepishly, “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Mark frowned, eyes narrowing just slightly, “What is it?”

“I may or may not have told Jaemin that we had dated briefly in the past as an excuse for why you ran away that night.” You cringed, shrugging your shoulders with your hands up in defense.

“Well,” Mark licked his lips, glancing around the room. He sighed, “That’s, uh… not ideal.”

“Yeah…” you trailed off. “I’d really appreciate it if you went along with it.” He nodded, and you told him all the lies you had told Jaemin – which were luckily few in number.

“I can work with that,” Mark assured. “Besides, we just have to pretend to be friends now. That shouldn’t be hard.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “So, I guess I’ll, uh, let you continue where you left off with… whatever you were doing.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” The awkward silence that fell around you two made you want to vomit. You quickly retreated to the door, giving him a small wave as you opened it. He returned the wave, other hand nervously threading through the hair on the back of his head.

As you closed the door behind you, you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. You had done it. You confronted him and got all that you could out of him. Sure, you still might not know what had been tormenting you in your sleep those few month ago, but you at least knew you weren’t crazy.

You leaned against his door laughed with relief, dragging your hand down your face as a broad smile split across it.

Things are really looking up, aren’t they?

When you returned to your shared apartment, Jaemin welcomed you back, teasing you about your stupid smile and that “he told you it would be fine.” You jokingly told him to shut up, narrowly dodging the blueberry he pitched at your face in response.

You sat on the couch next to him, snagging a few of the berries when he offered them. You watched am episode of Parks and Rec with him before heading off to bed, last few blueberries in hand.

“Sleep well,” he winked. You scrunched up your nose at him, but returned the notion anyway.

If only you understood the irony, because the following morning, you awoke with a dull pain in your neck. You got up and inspected it in a mirror, shuddering at what you saw.

From your right ear to your shoulder was a fresh cut, over six inches long and slowly dripping blood. It was shallow, but it was too close for comfort.

You screamed.

As usual, feedback is very much appreciated :) thank you for reading!!!

Masterlist // Part 3

#mark scenario #jaemin scenario #nct scenario #mark fluff #jaemin fluff #Angels and Demons AU #cloudtop #chaptered #Princes of Hell Series

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