#trying to write backwards on my phone not being able to color match

[tinamybeloved]

her finger pointing at a blue “GO” why am actually into something.. keep your car keys close

Real and true

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Oh my god i just found you're writing and I'm obssessed. First of all, I'm in love with your edgy!karl series. Seriously, it's amazing. Second of all, I had a little idea that you can take as a request if you'd like. I was thinking edgy!dream/clay but with a shy innocent girl. And a hint of some fear play kink? Like she's all cute and he's so edgy shes scared and intimidated by him when they meet and it turns him on knowing shes both scared of him AND attracted to him at the same time so he uses it against her(consensually of course)

can we call him alt!dream? ;) also,,, i rly like this request...

𝐉𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒. ♘ 𝐚𝐥𝐭!𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 (𝟏𝟖+)

pairing: alt!Dreamwastaken x fm!reader

warnings: smut (18+), fighting, smoking, language, oral (fm. receiving), fear play, asphyxiation, sight size kink & praise, dominance

The movie theatre dimmed, the beginning credits of the film reeling as a montage of a city played in the background. You settled back in your seat, accepting the fact that you had been stood up, determined not to let it ruin the movie you had already paid for. That’s right; instead of treating yourself to a new pair of shoes or a set of notebooks, you agreed to meet up with a sleazy guy from class after weeks of him pleading.

You sighed slightly, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you realized you hadn’t even wanted to see the film and had only agreed because he suggested it. Someone moved into a seat near you, his legs stretching as he slumped down, purely due to his towering height. You stiffened, crossing your legs to inch away from him at the sight of his various tattoos peeking out from beneath his dark corduroy jacket.

He carded a hand through his dirty blond hair, revealing an eyebrow ring as he swept his bangs off his forehead momentarily. You tore your eyes from him as you noticed the cigarette balanced behind his ear. Even with the seat between the two, you could smell the smoke on his clothes mixing with the faintest hint of vanilla.

You folded your hands in your lap as you noticed him give you a once over. He reached towards you, making you flinch slightly before you realized he was holding out his bag of candy to you. “Want a jellybean? You look upset,” he motioned, voice low as he whispered.

You shook your head quickly, muttering a thank you and playing with your fingers. He shrugged, watching you for a second more before turning back to the movie. He tucked his arm behind his head, chewing on his lip as if debating whether he should keep talking to you or just let you be. You weren’t really sure which outcome you preferred.

On one hand, he fit every one of your guilty pleasure fantasies, while on the other, he terrified the hell out of you. It was more of an intimidating feeling, residing in the way each of his movements caught your attention and the way you could barely keep your eyes off his grungy appearance. Your mind drifted from the plot of the movie and towards the images of his tattooed hands wrapping around your throat and giving you a reason to be scared.

“You here alone?” He asked, popping another jellybean in his mouth. The action made you think of your grandpa waning himself off of tobacco when you were younger. Those jellybeans were blue and a flavor of comfort for you now, while the man before you seemed to only fish for the red ones.

You nodded hesitantly. “I got stood up,” you mumbled, making him shake his softly. “What about you? Are you here alone?” You wondered where you had gathered the courage to talk to him, his demeanor making you want to run, but his voice was a symphony to your ears in the darkness of the movie house, drawing you closer with each of his lulling words.

He wet his lips. “So far,” he answered. He stuck out his large hand for you to shake, his skin was coarse against yours as his finger reached to brush against your wrist. “I’m Clay,” he added, his name rolling into your mind and nestling itself into your memory just due to the tone of his voice. After you gave him your name his mouth curled into a soft smirk. “It’s nice to meet you,” he remarked. You blushed for an unknown reason, thankful for the darkness to mask your emotions.

Someone entered the theatre, marching up to Clay and leaning down to his ear. “Dream, we have to go now,” the guy whispered into his ear, just loud enough that you could hear him. Clay's face twisted into an annoyed expression while the guy turned to leave.

Clay straightened his jacket on his shoulders. “Not to seem to forward, but can I get your number?” He queried. You raised your eyebrows at him, basking in the fact that despite his friend’s agitation, Clay was taking his sweet time making his move on you.

As if you were acting on instinct, you grabbed a pen from your bag as he held his hand out to you again. You found a bare spot on his skin and wrote your number as clearly as you could manage with your shaking hands at the way his eyes watched you alluringly. Without thinking, you blew on the ink, trying to keep it from smearing. You froze, realizing what you were doing as he bit back a smirk.

He was completely eating up your awkwardness.

He reluctantly took his hand back, being pulled up by his friend. “I’ll call you,” he whispered on his way out, heat rushing to your ears.

The movie ended shortly after he left, sending you back out onto the city streets and away from your cocoon where you had forgotten about the sleazy classmate and let thoughts of Clay weasel their way into your nerves. As you stepped through the doors, your phone began to ring, kick-starting your heart at the thought of it being Clay. Instead, it was a friend of yours asking how your date had gone. You tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder as you pulled a piece of gum out of your purse.

Her ramblings went deaf on your ears as a car violently pulled up to an alleyway a block from you. You squinted as you moved closer, your apartment being in that direction anyway. A few men got from the car and that’s when Clay stepped into view from behind one of the buildings, flicking his cigarette to the ground and snubbing it out with the toe of his heavy boots as he watched them get out. You could see your number still written on his hand, mixing with his tattoos.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking tiredly at the group of men that had come from the car as his friends began to shout at them. Clay chewed on his lip, looking around and away from the conversation before his gaze met yours. His eyes widened slightly before he turned back, an attempt to keep the attention away from you.

One of the car members grabbed for Clay’s jacket, yanking him closer as if to get him to pay mind to the man talking. Clay sent him a cocky grin, towering over him. With his normal height and his boots, he had at least a foot on the guy. One of Clay’s friends separated the two, breaking the groups into a brawl while shouting was accompanied with fists and elbow jabs.

You turned, walking in another direction as briskly as you could without bringing attention to yourself and the group of boys in the alleyway. Little did you know, Clay was watching you leave and kicking himself for it.

The next day, your mind was racing with Clay’s whereabouts. He seemed like he had his opponents under control, but what if one of them had brought a knife or another weapon? It wasn’t unusual for boys in the city to butt heads like they were, but the fact that you’d let one nearly pick you up the night before was boggling.

You gripped the strap of your bag as you crossed the street, stepping onto the sidewalk and adjusting your skirt. You kept your head down as you passed various people coming and going from their apartments before your ears picked up on a familiar voice. You picked your eyes up, spotting Clay and a small group of guys walking together. He popped a jellybean in his mouth after chiming into their conversation.

You held your breath as they neared you and that’s when you noticed his bruised face and scraped knuckles. Your number was faded on his skin, but still apparent on the back of his hand. He smiled at you, breaking off from his group and walking backward to match your pace. You bit back a smile. “Glad to see you’re okay,” you mumbled, barely able to make eye contact with him. His friends called out for him and he waved them off, walking in line with you.

He chuckled lightly. “Yeah, sorry. I would have called last night but…” he made a gesture to his torso as he trailed off. “I broke a rib. I didn’t really… I don’t.” He laughed sheepishly as you raised your eyebrows. “I’m fine. It’s good,” he brushed.

You picked your gaze off the pavement finally, focusing on his discolored black eye and busted lip. He didn’t seem to be too hurt, but he wore his wounds well. “You’re not scared of me, are you?” He asked, voice changing slightly. You drew in a sharp breath, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before it could get further knotted in the wind. A few people narrowed their eyes at the two of you and you wondered how you looked together. What kind of juxtaposition it was; his tall, dark figure looking like death in Doc Martens while you barely passed his shoulder in height with your less intimidating color scheme.

You debated how to answer him. Your eyes flickered to his dangly earring; a silver ankh. He ate another jellybean. “I was at first. I’m still kind of weary of you, I guess,” you muttered, making a smile bite into his features.

Clay ran his fingers through his hair, which you were beginning to believe was a habit when he was coming up with what to say. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

You shook your head. A blush crept to your cheeks. “No, I kind of like it,” you mumbled, barely audible enough for him to hear. His hand slipped into yours and you could feel your chest tighten.

“You like being scared of me?” His voice was dripping with allure, making you bite your tongue in a flushed embarrassment. “You just keep getting better and better,” he teased, making your ears burn.

You weren’t sure how you ended up there, but God, were you thankful for Clay’s hands as they kneaded your ass, his lips pressing against yours. He ground his hips against yours, moaning into your mouth as your nails sank into his tattooed skin. His tongue pressed past your lips, his large hand moving to fist in the sheets beside you before dragging up your shirt to grip your breast.

You breathlessly moaned as he broke your kiss, lips trailing down your body as he sat back on his knees, dragging your underwear off as your shirt was also discarded to the floor. He looped his arms around your thighs, bringing you closer to his mouth as his concentrated stare shifted to your eyes before he buried himself between your legs, your body tensing as a groan ripped through your body. Your fingers carded through his soft blond hair, tugging slightly in appraisal as he pulled away from you.

Clay looked up at you again, slowly pressing one of his long fingers into you, you moaned his name, reaching one of your hands up to grip at the headboard above you. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?” He asked, voice deep with lust as his breath fanned against your wet core. He pushed another finger into you as you nodded. He pressed his lips to your thigh. “I can’t believe you’re scared of me,” he mocked, making you whimper as his fingers pulsed against your sweet spot.

He pressed his lips to your core again, tongue teasing at your nerves as you caught your lips between your teeth. You moved your knee further up his arm for a better angle, driving him deeper. He pulled away, his fingers speeding up. “So needy,” he chuckled, the sound enough to send you over the edge if you really thought about it.

“Clay, please. I want you,” you whined softly, your thighs threatening to close around his head. His eyes sparkled devilishly, leaning away from you before tugging your legs towards him. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, jaw tensing as you moaned around him.

He grabbed your hips, flipping your body and pushing your shoulders into the mattress. You heard him unbuckling his belt and your fingers knitted into the sheets beneath you. He pulled you back by the shoulders, hand moving to hold onto your neck. “Maybe I should give you something to be scared of,” he chided, making a shiver run up your spine as he pushed your thighs apart driving himself up into you. You were sure you would tear in half at the sheer size of him, but you bit back your whimpers at the pleasuring pain.

One of your hands moved to grip onto his arm as he thrust into you, his teeth threatening to dig into your shoulder as you moaned. His other hand moved to tease at your nerves, his determination to summon your orgasm sending your head reeling. You tilted back your head, resting against his shoulder as his hand tightened around your throat.

He let go of you, dipping you against the mattress again as his fist knotted in your hair. He steadied himself, leaning on one of his arms beside your head. Your hand wrapped around his wrist as he thrusted into you at an ungodly pace, lips hovering beside your ear as he grunted your name and how good you felt.

You pushed your hips up against him turning your head enough that he pressed his lips against yours, the vibrations from his moans sending heat throughout your body. Clay’s tongue slipped into your mouth roughly, tasting your whimpers and lust. His teeth dragged against your lip as you felt him throb inside of you.

He pushed your shoulder back, moving you on your side as your leg curled around. At the new angle, he could drive himself deeper into you; dark green eyes focused on yours as his warmed breath cascaded over your chest. His hand moved to your jaw, running his thumb against your burning lips as his sights were almost hungrily looking upon you. Your breathing became shallow as he smirked at you, moving his hand to your throat again.

He leaned down, slowing his pace to drag in and out of you as his lips were close to your ear. He applied pressure, your breath hitching in your throat. “So pretty. Good girl, taking me so well,” he praised, making you moan as he kissed you again before speeding up his thrusts. You moaned out his name again, finishing as your eyes fluttered shut. He chuckled darkly, pounding into you harder. “Fuck,” he hissed, lips pressing to the skin behind your ears, digging his face into your hair as he chased his high.

He exhaled, breath blanketing your skin before he kissed your shoulder, cheek, and finally your lips in a quiet appraisal. You pulled him into the spot beside you. He ran his fingers through his hair as you curled against his side, his other hand brushing softly against your arm. You knotted your fingers with his, brushing your thumb against where your faded number rested. “Didn’t you just break a rib?” You asked, finally noticing the slide bruising on his side.

Clay chuckled softly. “Yeah, I think I was running on adrenaline until a second ago,” he groaned.

Dream Tag List: (to join, follow this link :))

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake

[gallickingun]

could i request 48 with bakugo? i really love how you write him and i love your writing in general 🥰

a/n: you are so kind, thank you so much! my heart is in a fluffy place today so here is some sweet stuff!! well, it ends sweet. beginning is angsty :) 

DID I HEAR SOMEBODY SAY BOXER!BAKUGOU????

Prompt #48: I called you at 2am because I need you.

“Fuck,” Bakugou brushes the heels of his hands over his eyes, one completely swollen shut and the other weeping uncontrollably. He fumbles in his pocket for his phone, bloody fingertips smearing over his screen. Another string of expletives tumble from his lips before he can find your name in his contacts. 

He can’t help but note the time on his phone - 2:37 am.

“Please pick up,” Bakugou swallows the growing lump in his throat, “C’mon, pl-oh, hey.”

Your voice rings out on the other end of the receiver, gravelly from sleep but he can’t even notice because he’s just so thankful that you’re awake now.

His voice cracks when he speaks next, “C-Can you...shit, can you come pick me up?”

You rattle something off, not even asking where he’s at because you already know. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to pry his backside up off the concrete after a particularly difficult match. But, he has always had his main rule - no hospitals. 

He hears the telltale beep of your side of the line cutting out and the nerves roll off of his shoulders in waves. He sinks further down the sidewalk, the brick scraping his already raw skin, but his adrenaline is pumping too hot for him to feel much of it.

When you arrive, less than a half hour later, he’s snoring against the wall of the alleyway, a garbage bin not too far away. You shake your head and step forward, smacking him on the back of the head to wake him up, “Alright, sunshine, time to go. Can you walk?”

“Oi, for Christ’s sake,” Bakugou rubs at the tender skin at the back of his head, “I could have a head injury, you bitch!”

You point your finger in his face, the tip of your nail grazing his bloody nose, “Call me a bitch one more time, Katsuki, and I will leave your ass in the street. They can pick you up tomorrow with the rest of the trash.”

Bakugou wants to snarl, wants to snap and bite at your finger, smarting off to you with some retort, but instead he keeps his mouth shut, shrinking back so you’ll leave him alone. He’s not in the mood to argue, not now. He’s already lost one fight tonight, and he doesn’t really feel like losing another.

Besides, the last argument the two of you had didn’t exactly go his way.

You help him up, lacing his arm over the length of your shoulders. He’s sticky with blood, but still warm to the touch. You help him hobble into your SUV, opening the trunk for him to climb in. You’ve lined the back with a sheet and plastic tablecloth so your car won’t be obscenely dirty after this, and your meticulousness makes him chuckle.

“Feel like a dog,” he mutters, dragging his legs up into the vehicle. 

You toss his bag in next, grazing his bruised thigh as it skids to the other side of the trunk. Bakugou’s eyes go wide and he digs his hands into the sheet underneath him instead of mouthing off like he wants to. The last thing he needs is you tossing him out of the back of your car at high speed.

“You are a dog,” you answer.

The next thing he knows, you’re slamming the trunk and making your way to the driver’s seat. Something in him wants to speak, wants to say thank you or how have you been? However, when you turn up the music and the familiar piercing sound of hard rock hits his eardrums, he knows better than to say anything. Instead, Bakugou leans his head back against your window and dozes in and out of sleep.

He’s shaken awake by the slamming of your door, the soles of your boots stomping against the concrete of your garage. The trunk door opens and he squints his eyes against the bright LED light attached to the ceiling. He swallows, snatching his bag as he swings his legs over the bumper. It hurts, and his face must show it because you step closer.

He waves you away, insistent on dragging his own ass inside. You take a stride backward and watch as he struggles to stand upright. His knees give out and a string of curse words part his lips but before he can crumble to the ground, you’re underneath him, catching his body in your arms. You lift him up as much as you can, thankful he’s shed the flashy costume in favor of a signature black tank top and cargo pants. It’s much lighter and not nearly as bulky.

The two of you hobble over the threshold and towards the bathroom. It takes a few minutes because he’s slow and heavy in your hands, but eventually you make it.

“Get in the tub,” you instruct, turning on the water. You disappear into the hallway to grab a few towels and the first aid supplies, which gives him enough time to try and slip out of his tank. 

When you return, he’s got his elbows stuck in his shirt, unable to yank it over the top of his head. You sigh, “You’re hopeless, you idiot.”

You snag his shirt and tug it over his head, having to extend your arms all the way given his height. Bakugou hisses as the tank sticks to a particular wound, the crusted blood on his shirt the only thing keeping it plugged. You ball up the fabric at the hem and give it a final tug, tossing it in the sink once it’s peeled from his body.

“God, what kind of guy did you fight?” You examine the cut which is now seeping blood, crimson dripping down the contours of his obliques. Bakugou peers down at you, a grimace ever present on his face, “Fuckin’ crazy ass. Fingernails were knives, super strength and shit.”

You shake your head and huff out a laugh, “Do you need help?”

The word ‘yes’ never leaves his mouth, but the wounded look in his eyes tells you all that you need to know. You unbutton his pants and drag the cargos slowly down his legs, careful not to reopen any major wounds. You do notice a few scrapes and gashes on his thighs and calves, making you wince at the sight. He steps out of the pants, the sensation of the cool tile welcome against his hot feet.

You’ll never get over the way his sweat smells - or rather, doesn’t smell. The scent radiating off of him reminds you of a campfire, of a summer evening spent in front of a set of flames, making s’mores and laughing with friends. His quirk seems to have nothing but upsides - not only is he both offensively and defensively a force of nature, but it also gives him a sweet aroma that deters the stench of salty sweat in favor of sugary nitroglycerin.

Bakugou kicks off his underwear, facing away from you, and you’re able to drink in his full form - he’s been taller than six foot since the last you could remember and it would seem he’s filled out even more in the past couple of months than when you last saw him. Even when he’s bruised and battered, he’s still beautiful, that much you know.

As he winces and his eyes close, you take the time to look over his shattered body. He’s got blooming purple and blue bruises all over his torso, little red cuts to offset the color range. Even still, the solid way he’s build, muscle and sinew wrapped around dense bones, makes your heart turn in your chest.

Bakugou breaks you from your trance as he steps into the bathtub, wincing and gasping as the water hits his open wounds. He sinks down to his neck in the bath water, the bubbles doing just enough to hide him from you.

“Damn,” he rolls his shoulders, swallowing the lump caught in his throat. He rolls his neck and his jugular pulses obviously, jaw muscles tensing under the pressure of his teeth as they grind together.

You drag the damp rag over the cut on his shoulder, trying to ignore the way his face screws up in pain. You sigh, “I think you’re gonna need stitches. Are you sure you don’t wan-”

“No hospitals,” he shakes his head, “you know what would happen.”

A growl rolls around in your throat but you swallow it, instead focusing on cleaning his wounds. Your cheeks heat from the closeness of his naked body, even though he’s submerged in bathwater and injured from head to toe. Bakugou has always been able to get you heated, no matter the situation.

“You can get your legs,” you tell him, wiping at his face with a new rag, staining the grey fabric red. Tears settle in the bottom of your eyelids, threatening to spill over the more you think about the situation he’s in. Despite the fact that he’s there completely out of his own volition, it still makes your heart wrench seeing him broken down like this.

The water is tinged a reddish brown when you’re done and he unplugs the bathtub. You hand him the towel before you get an eyeful of him, walking to stand in the doorway while he dries off.

“I set you some clothes on the back of the toilet,” you choke out the words, tilting your head to look up at the ceiling. He’s chuckling but it’s cut off by a grimace, “Still haven’t burned these yet?”

You kick your foot against the carpet in the hall, “Katsuki, just because you pissed me off doesn’t mean I’m not still your best friend.”

The words hurt as you say them, but you have to spit them out so they don’t die in your stomach. Being labeled as something so platonic has haunted you for decades now, ever since those playground days spent with the blonde, trying to pick up his mess and put back together those he’d hurt.

Bakugou makes the toilet seat shudder when he collapses on top of it, body hunched over from effort. He sighs, “I know you hate this.”

It’s his version of an apology, of words that he can’t ever seem to spit out right. It’s the exact reason you told him to leave you out of his irresponsible and illegal activities. Using quirks to fight was considered a heavy offense, landing some individuals life in prison. Katsuki learned to fight on the streets, and when he wasn’t accepted into U.A., he turned to underground fighting rings to satiate his need for justice and penance. 

“You’re right,” you gulp, turning to crouch in front of him. You’re on your knees when you pull out the suture kit, “I do hate this. So why did you call me?”

His hand finds the fabric of your hoodie, curling around it to use as an anchor as you start to stitch up the particularly large gash on his rib cage. Bakugou grits his teeth, the answer coming out strained, “You’re all I have.”

Unfortunately, it’s the truth. Bakugou has become a rather recluse individual, relying on specific people rather than many. Deku earning a quirk and flying to the top of UA’s class was like a kick between the legs, something Bakugou wasn’t sure he could ever recover from. To watch his childhood rival rise on the charts, closing in on the other Pro Heroes until it appeared he would challenge even All Might in ranking, did nothing but tear down Bakugou’s confidence even more.

You noticed that he started to get involved in more reckless, high stake fights. He would call you, barely breathing, and beg you to take him home and put him back together. It helped that you had become a nurse while he was learning how to use his quirk to make money under the table.

And eventually you hit your limit.

“Katsuki, this has gone far enough!” you shouted, tears gathering in your eyes. You sighed, clenching your hands to fists, “It’s time to choose. I won’t be a part of this any longer.”

Bakugou growled, stepping forward even though he could only see you with one eye, the other swollen shut, “I don’t take orders from you!”

Your lower lip quivered and you threw the bloody stitches in the sink, your fingers worse for wear after patching him up so many times, “Eventually it’s just not worth it, Kacchan. Eventually it’s too much.”

“Maybe for a weakling like you,” he spits the words like venom, and you recoil as if they’ve stung, “but I’m strong enough to handle it.”

You nodded, nostrils flaring to keep yourself from giving away too much of your feelings on your face, “Then handle it by yourself.”

The memory alone brings the threat of tears to your eyes, heat gathering at your temples and making your forehead throb. You swallow the lump of emotion multiplying in your throat, begging your feelings to get out of the way so you can do this one thing, and then he can leave.

You’re sighing again, the sight of his swollen face making your whole body hurt, “God, doesn’t this get old?”

You wash his face with antiseptic before using a butterfly bandage to seal the wound on his face. The bruised eye will just have to heal with an ice pack and some pain medication, not much you can do so close to his dainty organs.

“All I know is my fists, you of all people should get that,” he snaps, voice teetering on the edge of patronizing. His hand flattens against your side, fingers curling around your ribs, “It’s been too long and I’m too far gone. It’s too late.”

You’re sliding forward now and he can feel your thighs settle atop his so he grasps you on either side, keeping you anchored to him as you work at his face. He has a few spots near his hairline and jaw that need to be stitched back together and you focus all of your attention on them, pushing away the reality that he’s holding you just the way you like, just the way you want. 

You’ve imagined him holding you like this too many times to count. You always wanted to feel his hands on your body, keeping you enraptured in his presence, eyes glued in on your face while you sit in silence. Even if there were no conversation to be had, you would have been happy to find solace in his touch.

“S’never too late, Kacchan.”

The sound of you calling him by the name you used when you were small, when you were always chasing after him, it’s intoxicating. He swears he could get off on your voice alone - the way your lips curl around his name, how his chest tightens when you’re this close. The blood pumping in his veins is so loud he’s sure you can hear it thudding under his skin.

Bakugou tilts his head, looking up at you with his one good eye, hands falling to your thighs, “I’m sorry.”

An audible gasp parts your lips and you immediately blush, hating yourself for your outburst. It is rare for him to speak those words, to let loose the threads of honesty that haunt his mind. His face looks so open, so bare - eyes blown wide and jaw hanging open just slightly so you can see the pink of his tongue.

“Kacchan,” you shake your head, tears resurfacing as raw emotion claws at your chest like an enraged beast. You tie off his suture and drop your hands to his shoulders, thumbs brushing over the dense muscles connecting his neck to his throat, “Don’t.”

“All you ever wanted me to do was to be sorry and now that I’m saying it, you’re telling me ‘don’t’?” Bakugou’s voice rises with every word, his fingertips biting into the fleshy parts of your hips. He grinds his teeth together and his nostrils flare as he attempts to tame the fiery outburst that sits on his tongue, begging to be unleashed in a raging fury. 

Your lower lip wobbles and he surprises you by brushing the pad of his thumb over the fullest part of your lip, effectively stealing your breath. He is being kind, gentle even, something you have not seen from him in quite some time. This is the Katsuki you know, this is the Katsuki you cherish.

There has always been something between you and Bakugou, ever since the two of you could figure out that you had emotions, but were competent enough to know how to hide them. He bottles himself up until he’s ready to explode, and you feel too much but your fear reigns you in and keeps you quiet. Neither of you spoke about it, although everyone around you could feel it, could see it. 

Maybe that’s why you snapped at him all those months ago, telling him to choose. Maybe you wanted him to choose you so you could surge forward and kiss the breath out of him. But then he pushed you away, sidelined you as if you meant nothing to him; almost as if abusing his body and breaking his spirit was more important than you and the bond you shared.

“I-I’ve been so fucking lonely since you left.” Bakugou runs his fingertips down your jaw until he’s got your neck in his grasp, fingers spread out without issue over your throat. The tips of his fingers tickle the nape of your neck and you want to fall into him, to let him take you alive and never let you go. He could do away with you and you’re sure you’d still say thank you, still beg him to do it again.

Bakugou swallows and his throat bobs, but you snap out of your stupor to shake your head to fire back at him, “I didn’t leave, you chose fighting over our friendship.”

“Quit bullshitting yourself,” he growls, voice grating against his throat. You’ve never heard him so raw and real, so emotional. Bakugou grits his teeth together just long enough for your eyes to track the way his jaw muscles clench, “You wanted a confession out of me that night. You wanted something I couldn’t give you. And now you’re upset about it.”

And yet, the way that his hands hold you gingerly and warmth seeps into his carmine irises makes you think that he doesn’t believe what he’s saying, or rather what he’s denying. You roll your lips together, trying to rid yourself of some of the tension building up in your body. His eyes track the motion and it gives way to even more of his inner honesty to be put on display.

“Kacchan, I-”

Bakugou surges forward and kisses you square on the mouth, a bruising action that is over as soon as it’s started.

He pulls away, breathing heavy as his one healthy eye struggles to stay open at the sensation of your lips. His eyelashes flutter against the tops of his cheeks but you can’t notice because your eyes won’t even open. Your jaw is unhinged, mouth parted while you try to absorb what just happened.

“K-Kacchan,” you whisper, your voice too close to wanton. 

His breath stutters over your lips, both hands on your face to hold you in place as he breathes you in. Bakugou’s hands are hot, warm against your cheeks, that familiar sweet scent making your head dizzy. You’ve missed the comforting smell, the reminder that he is close, within an arm’s reach. Other’s describe the scent as burnt sugar, but to you it’s a warm caramel, a familiar haze that makes you feel at home. 

The both of you open your eyes at the same time, time moving slow as your irises meet. Your palms drift to his chest, knees shifting just enough so your hips brush his groin. Bakugou grunts, eyes dropping to your lips as his waist rolls upward to meet yours, “Fuck.”

A moment of hesitation passes between the two of you before you clash together in a searing kiss. His lips slot between yours as his hands drift into your hair, holding you close to him while he makes quick work of your mouth. Bakugou, even battered and tired, is skilled at knowing when to tug your lips and when to soothe you with his tongue. It’s as if he can read your mind, making moves you didn’t know you wanted him to make before your mind can catch up with your body. 

“Kacchan,” you whine into his mouth as he sucks on your lower lip, digging his teeth into the sensitive flesh. One of his hands drifts to your hips, fingers digging into your backside as best he can from this angle.

He groans, “Love it when you call me that, shi-baby, say it again.”

You echo the name repeatedly, feeling the desperation in him grow with each syllable. He’s probably opened one of his wounds with the way his muscles are tensing but he couldn’t care less. All he’s thinking about is the way you taste, the way you feel. Your mouth is warm and gentle in comparison to his raging power, the desire to overwhelm you like an opponent sits in his belly, a fire being stoked with every motion. The touch of your hands in his hair is grounding to an extent; reminding him that he’s here, with you, and it’s not just a dream.

Eventually you have to part long enough to breathe, but he starts down the path of your throat, open-mouthed kisses leaving a patch of warmth behind. It’s as if he’s unable to let you go now that he’s had a taste of you. You whine, digging your hands into his shoulders while he works at your skin.

“I should’ve picked you,” he murmurs against your collarbone. He sucks a small hickey into the thin skin before nudging his nose over your jugular, “I-I should’ve made the right choice.”

You’re gasping for breath, the sheer force of his kisses from earlier still leaving you wanting. You look down at him, eyes blown wide and lips bruised from use, and you know that he’s telling the truth. There’s something in his irises that he can’t hide - a certain vulnerability you’re sure he’s only shown to you.

“Suki, I-” You swallow the hesitant lump in your throat, every word you’ve had pent up in your lungs for the past few months begging to be freed. Bakugou shakes his head and kisses you again, mouth silencing you before you can let out something too honest. He has to tell you the truth first; he’s been sitting on it for months, percolating with it and allowing it to eat him alive.

“I fucked up, okay? I get that.” Bakugou nuzzles his nose against yours, keeping his eyes closed because otherwise he knows he won’t be able to finish his sentences. “You scared me shitless, and I screwed everything up. I know that now. And I’m sorry.”

You brush your hands through his hair, tugging gently to reassure him. He huffs against your neck, “I wanted to choose you, I swear.”

“I wanted you to pick me,” you exhale, and suddenly you are Atlas and the world is being lifted off of your shoulders when the truth is spoken. Tears collect in the corners of your eyes but you know that it’ll frustrate him if you start crying so you lean back to try and keep them at bay. After taking a short breath, you whisper, “But I’m sorry I ever made you choose. That wasn’t fair.”

He kisses the base of your throat, lips muffled against the skin, “I-I can’t promise you I’ll just quit. This is my life right now. But, I-”

“You can’t change for me,” you tug on the back of his head to get him to face you. “I know that now.”

You’re sure his irises have never been so soft, so pale; amber gazing up at you in awe of your words. His lips are parted and you take advantage of the moment to lean forward and take his mouth captive. You slip your tongue between his lips, mapping out the curves of his teeth and gums. You moan when he suckles on the tip of your tongue, biting down gently on the base, enough to make you squirm.

He peels back to press his forehead to yours, gasping for breath so his chest brushes against your torso. Bakugou notices the glassy look in your eyes, the way your mouth loses speed the longer he kisses you.

“C’mon,” he murmurs into the curvature of your neck, “let’s go to bed.”

You blink slowly, “B-But, Kacchan, I-”

“No buts, loser,” he picks you up and tosses you over his good shoulder. A quirk-laced slap to your backside makes you squeal, “Kacchan!”

Bakugou chuckles, spanking you again, but this time much lighter. He rubs his thumb over your thigh as he walks you to your room, the trek all too familiar, “You’re falling asleep while you’re kissing me, loser. It’s past four in the morning.”

It does not take long for you to fall asleep after he’s wrapped himself around you underneath the covers, ankles crossing beneath the blankets. His hand is in your hair and his ears perk at the sound of your gentle snoring, adoration making his mouth turn upward and his eyes shine. Bakugou buries his mouth in the crown of your hair, kisses dropped over your scalp like flowers planted in a garden.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, squeezing his good eye shut, the other throbbing in a dull rhythm.

Somehow those words are easier to say when you’re asleep.

---

a/n: well, that started off alright and then slowly digressed into... dumpster fire. but hey, what’re you gonna do! i bet you hoes thot you was gettin’ some spice, huh??

taglist: @kamehamethot @simplybakugou @lady-bakuhoe @todorki-shoto @redhawtriot @burnedbyshoto @cookies-n-chaos @katsukisprincess @rat-suki @cutesuki--bakugou @k-atsukidayo @bnhatrashh @succulent-momma @voiceofreader @multifandom-fanfics @that-one-enthusiast @bitchtrynafck @cutest-celestial-princess @blue-peach14 @pastel-prynce @bokunokangae @shoutodoki @bakuoushoe @tenyaingenium @hoe-biscus @kingtamakimurder @myherofuckademia @myherowritings @lxvely-mha @myherorambles @ramen-rambles @bratwritings @samanthaa-leanne @orokayagi @tumblingintothefeelstrain @sunbeamwrites @bnhawritten @bnhasidebin @lovekatsukibakugo @aizawamirite @plusultrawritings @bnha-violetnote @yuueimagines @suckersuki @heroes-landing @bnha-mha-imagines @heroesreverie @pink-imagines @brattyquirks @kazooli

[ghstandpucks]

Cutting Edge ~ Nathan MacKinnon Ch.7

Hi everyone! I hope you are all having a wonderful day! I was excited writing this chapter and I hope you all love it! I think at this point I’m half way through the serious with the different events I have in my head to take place! Thank you for all the kind words and reblogs! You have no idea the smile it puts on my face! Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you think! 

Prologue Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 

You almost did a spit take when the Avs’ media department told you their plan for that Saturday’s home opener. “You know that is in three days, right?” you asked to clarify you heard correctly.

           “Yes we do. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal though, you already know the routine,” one of the men spoke up. You looked at him like he had grown an extra head.

           “I’ve skated at least five different routines after it. You can’t expect me to remember that one specifically,” you argued. “Also, fans are coming here for a hockey game, not a figure skating event.” The media department was asking you to perform your long program that you skated for the Olympics during the second intermission.

“It would be a fun way to introduce you to the fan base though. Show everyone that we have an Olympic champion as a coach,” you stared at the girl who told you this. They were all smiling at you, but you were starting to feel like a side show.

           “I just want to be treated like one of the team, one of the coaches. I don’t want to be a side show,” you tried to reason with them.

           “You aren’t. Just this once. It is the home opener after all, everyone will be excited and we’ve had requests on our social media to see you skate.” The man said again, but this time looked disinterested in anything else you wanted to argue. How was skating your performance in a sparkly, little dress going to earn you respect as a coach? The media team looked at you expectantly.

           “Just this once please. I’d rather have the focus on the team and blend into the background myself,” you conceded. A few of them nodded, but you weren’t so sure you were being heard. You had this problem more frequently than you would like. Being of smaller stature with a softer voice, you weren’t always taken as seriously as you would like to be. Leaving the meeting, you walked back over to the ice and put your skates back on. The team had a light practice that afternoon after playing two back to back games, you being pulled aside after practice.  

           Back on the ice, you looked up your routine on Youtube. No one could really blame you for forgetting parts of your routine; you still competed after the Olympics and did have to memorize new ones. Playing the music over the loud speaker you started to mark your program, slowly remembering where your spins and jumps were placed. The footwork was what would be tripping you up. You closed your eyes and tried to remember as best you could, until you skated backward into a wall. Or what you thought was a wall but ended up being Nate, his hands on your waist to steady you. “Dang MacKinnon, you are a fridge,” you laughed as he let go of you. Nate’s cheeks became a little red as he chuckled.

           “Why do you look so stressed?” he asked you. You looked down quickly, not realizing that you had a look on your face.

           “It’s nothing,” you tried to smile. You knew the home opener game was on everyone’s nerves. They wanted to play well and win, and did not need you panicking for a different reason. “Why are you still here?” you asked, trying to change the subject.

           “I was waiting for you outside, but you never came out after media took you off for whatever they needed. I just thought I would come find you,” he said quietly, trying to gauge your mood still. “Why is your music playing?” You let out a laugh.

           “You actually know this is my music?” you asked, starting to skate backward away from him. Nate followed, starting to see you were avoiding his questions but also wanting an answer.

           “Coach showed us your routine when he told us you would be our skating coach,” he explained.

           “You have a good memory,” you commented, stopping the music once you reached your phone. Nate rolled his eyes and took your phone out of your hands. “Hey!” you yelped, trying to take it back from him. He looked at the video and back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Media asked me to perform my routine between the 2nd and 3rd period. The only thing is that I’ve kind of forgotten my footwork for it because I’ve had other routines after it. Plus I’m not entirely comfortable performing it at a hockey game that I’m supposed to be a coach at.” You explained in a huff, turning in circles as you explained because you couldn’t exactly stand still.

           “Why did they ask you to do that?” Nate asked, reaching out and grabbing your hand to get you to stop spinning. You shrugged, looking down at your hands and playing with his fingers.

           “They said to introduce me to the fan base.” Nate nodded and looked at your phone.

           “Well what do you need help with?” he asked. You looked up at him and relaxed a bit under his gaze.

           “You don’t have to stay. I’m sure your tired,” you said, but he shook his head.

           “Either you tell me what I can help you with, or I will keep your phone so you can’t practice at all.” Nate gave you a straight face. You rolled your eyes but smiled at him.

           “Tell me if the footwork matches up?” you asked swiveling away from him, and Nate smiled softly at you.

           “You got it Coach.”

~ ~ ~

           The feeling at the Pepsi Center was electric. The fans were excited and it made the arena come to life in a way that a figure skating event never had. At your competitions, people sat patiently in their seats for their favorite skater to take the ice, clapping politely for the others. Here at the game the fans were up and yelling, being as noisy as they could. You tried to focus on the team, but your performance was in the back of your mind. Was this really a crowd who wanted to watch a skating routine. You were standing behind Kadri at the moment, half way through the second period. The score was tied 1-1, and you could feel the tension radiating off the team.  With about five minutes left, the other team called a time out and a woman from media appeared on the other side of the glass, motioning for you to go with her. Bednar saw her too, and nodded toward you. “Break a leg kid,” he said as you walked past him. Nate was on the ice and skated over to the box opening, offering you his arm before you stepped onto the ice. As you reached out for him, you remembered what you wanted to say during the time out.

           “Oh! Cale, try to go to the outside. They keep stopping you when you turn in,” you said and he nodded.

           “Good luck,” Nate whispered as you let go of his arm when you got back on the none-slip surface off the ice. You sent him a small smile. As you were changing, you heard the goal buzzard go off and the crowd cheering. You hoped that meant it was one of your boys. Looking in the mirror after you changed, a huge smile lit up your face. You hadn’t worn this dress since the Olympics, and you loved the way it made you feel. It started off white at the top, and faded into (Y/Fav/Color). The whole dress was bedazzled with Swarovski crystals the same color as the material of the dress. The sleeves were sheer netting, bedazzled as well, with an open back. You put on your three-tier crystal choker that you wore for every competition since you were 8. Not one to have a lot of superstitions, your choker was the one thing that would devastate you to skate without since you had it for so long. You had worn your hair into a bun for the game and just had to fix your make up. You did not want to show up with competition make up to the game. Lacing up your skates, you walked out and started to warm up your jumps in the tunnel. Once the ice was clean, you were able to skate out and warm up quickly. No attention was draw to you, though being the only one on the ice drew it to you anyways. After warming up your jumps and a spin, you skated back off to wait for your introduction. Taking off your jacket, you jumped slightly as someone took it from you.

           “Didn’t think you could perform without us Coach, did you?” Tyson asked. You turned around and saw the team walking back down the tunnel toward you, most with their helmets and gloves off. The guys piled onto the bench, along with the other coaches. It made you relax slightly having familiar faces. Nate sat on the edge closest to you and gave you a reassuring smile.      

           “You got this,” he said in a low tone so that only you heard. You nodded, smiling brighter as you heard your name over the speaker. You skated out to center ice, elegantly striking your beginning pose. The music started, and everything around you faded as it always did when you performed. You felt like you were flying when you jumped, and couldn’t help a little excited toe step when you landed your last triple axle of the routine. Also, it did not help that you heard the guys cheering you on, so you knew you were doing something right. The last note of your music played, and you jumped out of your scratch spin to your backward bend, effectively ending your movement and routine. The stadium lit up in applause, whether they were just being polite or not you didn’t know, neither did you really care. You didn’t realize how much you missed performing until now. Smiling, you bowed and waved at the crowd. As you started to head back toward the Avs, a chant of “Coach” started to sound. You laughed and went down the line high fiving them. The ice was set to be cleaned once more, the holes your toe picks made being filled in quickly as there was about five minutes left of intermission. You were bouncing with adrenaline, and Tyson had to practically throw your jacket in your face for you to pay any attention to him. Walking off the ice with the team, you all of a sudden remembered the buzzard that went off while you were getting ready. You turned to Gabe who was next you.

           “Who scored?” you asked eagerly. Gabe smiled his charming smile at you.

           “Makar. It was your call Coach,” he said. You bounced excitedly and shoved Cale when you saw him. Nate was watching you the whole time, amused at your bubbliness.

           The game went on, with the Avs scoring 3 more times, making the score 5-1 when the final buzzard sounded. You were standing on the bench when it happened, and Nate picked you up slightly to put you back on the ground before you tumbled off the bench in your excitement. He had remembered what you said about being clumsy if you didn’t have your skates on. Once the team was in the locker room, you grabbed your bag and your dress and changed. Nate had mentioned that everyone would be going out after the game and that you should go with them. Then when Mel facetimed you to pick out an outfit, you really couldn’t say no. Plus Nate said he would pick you up so you didn’t have to worry about driving that evening. Though you suggested it should be the other way around since he was the one playing in said game, he insisted. After letting down your hair from its bun, you changed into a pair of skinny jeans, a top that just barley hit the top of your jeans, heeled boots and a jacket, and walked back toward the locker room where the families and guests of players were starting to gather. Before you could even question where you should go, a familiar blonde grabbed your attention. “You were beautiful!” Mel squealed, pulling you into a hug. You laughed and thanked her.

           “I never want to do that at a hockey game again, but thanks,” you smiled at her. She rolled her eyes.

           “I know. Nate said you were apprehensive about it,” she said, eyeing you suspiciously. You gave her a questioning look. “Just cause I can’t get you to spill everything yet doesn’t mean I can’t get something out of him at least. And I got my something. So you look extra cute tonight, your welcome.” Mel smiled slyly at you. You were about to ask her what she actually meant when the team started to disperse out of the locker room. Sinking into the background as everyone greeted their loved ones, you couldn’t help but feel warm at the scene. Competing as a figure skater was so individualistic, you usually didn’t see your family after a competition until after the award ceremony back at the hotel. That was if they traveled with you at all. As you looked around, you locked eyes with a familiar pair of blue ones. Nate made his way over to you, scooping you up into a hug. You giggled; your arms wrapped around his neck. As if you both remembered where you were at the same time, Nate quickly set you down and you brushed your hair behind your ear awkwardly.

           “Nice game MacKinnon,” you said, trying to not seem like you were too phased by remembering where you were. Nate chuckled, rubbing the back at of his neck. He felt slightly bad for making you feel awkward, but he was also getting tired of this unspoken line you had both drawn. What he wouldn’t do to just be able to kiss you then and there. He had to admit, watching your routine on video was one thing, but seeing you perform it in person and seeing you radiate with joy after took his breath away.  

           “Thanks coach. I guess you were pretty good too,” he winked at you. You laughed and shook your head, shoving his arm. Once everyone who was going out decided on where they were going, you walked with Nate to his car. Andre also got a ride with the two of you. You tried to tell him he could sit in the front since his legs were longer, but he insisted that you took the front. Once at the bar, the team got a seat in the VIP section, of course. You had actually never been in a VIP section, except for the time you went out with your friends for your 21st birthday. You had pulled the Olympian card, tipsy you having fun being center of attention when you usually shy away from it when you were off the ice; and it helped you were with a group of attractive people in the first place. Drinks were brought around and you had to fend off Tyson who kept trying to make you take a shot with him. Eventually you gave in and did one, but stuck with your beer for the rest of the night. You were a lightweight, and did not want to get drunk the first time you went out with everyone.

           As the night went on, you were definitely tipsy but not uncontrollable. You danced with a few of the girls and just had a fun time talking with everyone. Nate kept a close eye on you, grinning as you cracked up at something one of the girls said. “So what are you going to do?” Gabe asked, taking a seat next to Nate at their table. No one was paying attention to the two; either out dancing, at the bar, or in other conversations.

           “About what?” Nate took a sip of his beer.

           “Coach. Y/N,” Gabe answered, rolling his eyes. He knew Nate knew what he was talking about. Nate sighed, and figured out of everyone Gabe would probably give the sanest advice in this situation.

           “Honestly, I don’t know. I like being around her. I feel like I can just be myself and she doesn’t expect anything from me. I mean, I think she’s amazing,” Nate rambled and Gabe grinned at his friend. “But like you said the first day she showed up, I’m screwed. She’s our coach. She’s trying to work out this whole entire program and I don’t want to be the reason why it may not work out for her. There’s a line that we haven’t crossed for a reason, you know.” Gabe nodded. He felt bad that Nate was in this position. He was honestly just messing with him when he told him he was screwed that day; he hadn’t expected there to be actual feelings between the two. Nate had a solemn look on his face, and Gabe patted his shoulder.

           “To be frank, you two seem to have some sort of connection. It’s not obvious, but I’ve been paying attention since day one because I thought it was funny at first. But since then you guys have just grown closer it seems. I mean, you hang out all time. And don’t think I didn’t notice that you went and sat with her on the plane coming home. I don’t know what to tell you, but you are both adults and I’m sure if you just talked to her about it you could work it out,” Gabe finished as you and Mel bounded over to the table.

           “Work what out?” you asked, curious as to why the boys looked so serious. Gabe gave his wife a look that you did not understand, and answered as Nate seemed at a loss for words.

           “A new play,” he said, and Nate nodded. You took a seat next to Nate as Mel sat next to her husband, and dove into a story of what Linnea did that day. Nate started to relax again, laughing along with you. Soon after the night came to an end, and Nate drove Andre home before heading to your apartment. He carried your backpack for you into your apartment, setting it down by the front door while you ran to your room to put your dress away. With his conversation with Gabe still echoing in his head, Nate sat down on your couch, rubbing his face.

           “Do you want some water or something?” you asked, walking back into the main room.

           “Yeah. Water would be great. Thanks,” he responded. You grabbed two water bottles out of your fridge and handed him one as you sat cross legged on the other side of the couch facing Nate.

           “What’s up? Are you alright?” you asked, worried he was upset about something. It seemed like there was something on his mind. Nate turned to you, debating if he was really going to say it, or if he should leave it and you would both keep playing this game of not being something more to each other even though he was pretty sure you were on the same page as him. He gauged you as you watched him, deciding that you weren’t drunk, in fact you barely seemed tipsy anymore. If he was going to say anything, now would probably be the best. After taking a quick sip, he set the water down on your coffee table and turned so he was fully facing you.

           “What are we doing Y/N?” he asked. You looked at him confused, not sure why he was asking.

           “We’re hanging out? Drinking water…” you trailed off as he shook his head.

           “I didn’t mean right now. I mean kind of but not really,” Nate mumbled, but stopped when you reached for his hand and stared down at them intertwined. “What does this mean to you?” he asked, giving your hand a light squeeze.

           “Um,” you started, not sure if you actually wanted to say what it actually meant to you.

           “Because this,” Nate squeezed your hand again, “means something to me. And I think it means something to you too.” You nodded at his assumption. That was all the reassurance Nate needed to keep talking. “I like you Y/N, a lot. Like more than I thought was possible.” You smiled shyly, but then you remembered why you were in Colorado to begin with.

           “Nate, I’m your coach…” you started, but Nate shook his head.

           “I know that. I would never want to put you in a situation that cost you that, but I also don’t want to pretend like these feelings don’t exist anymore.” He moved closer to you and your heart picked up a bit. “You looked beautiful skating today. I think you look beautiful everyday and I want to be able to tell you that without feeling like I’m crossing some imaginary boundry.” You blushed and looked down, but Nate used his other hand to gently lift your chin back up so you were looking at him. He looked slightly worried that he had said to much, so you knew it was your turn to talk.

           “I really like you too Nate. I just don’t know how we’re supposed to navigate this. I’m worried that the program won’t be taken seriously if we start dating,” you said and Nate nodded, slowly letting go of your face. You could see the doubts start to form in his mind, and quickly grabbed his wrist, effectively keeping him there. The two of you stayed quiet for a moment, letting all the words that had been said sink in. Nate took a tentative breath, not sure if he wanted to know the answer to his next question.

           “So then what do you want to do?” he whispered, but at your proximity to each other it could have been a shout. You were pondering what to say next when he spoke up again. “Because I would like to see where this could go Y/N.” If you had any more doubts, that sentence pushed them away. You smiled softly up at him and nodded.

           “Me too,” your voice was barely over a whisper, but Nate heard you loud and clear. He smiled warmly at you, looking down at your lips then back into your eyes. This time when he leaned in, no phone went off to drag you both out of this blissful bubble surrounding you both. Your eyes fluttered shut as his lips finally met yours, the butterflies in your stomach working overtime. It was short and sweet, and you both had smiles that could light up a room when you pulled away. You knew there was a lot to discuss and figure out, but in that moment you could have cared less. The rest of the night was spent with stolen kisses and talking about nothing and everything all at once. Neither of you had ever felt so content. And as the sun started to rise over Denver that Sunday, it found the two of you cuddled up and fast asleep on your couch.    

tags: @bqstqnbruin​ @avsfans95​ @andreiaafaria​ also @gravygravygravy​ @comphybiscuit​ (I know you two didn’t ask, but you’ve been so nice to me <3)

[darlinvandijk]

Wish

Concept: there’s literally no concept for this, I’m just a bit sad, so I wanted to write a little blurb, because sometimes my dream world is better than my real world. Sorry for my absence lately. I hope you enjoy

I stare up at the ceiling of the bedroom on the tour bus, the only lighting in the room being that of the moon shining high outside in the sky, filtering in through the crack between the two small curtains we had set up. It’s nearing 11 pm, but Ruel had a late night rehearsal just to make sure everything would run smoothly for his concert tomorrow, and I decided to stay on the bus so that they could get what they needed done rather than having to constantly drag Ruel away from me and back to the stage every five minutes.

I raise my hand in the air, letting my fingers move through the stream of light, watching as the shadows dance across the room almost as if they have minds of their own. I feel the bus shake as the wind outside rushes around in hard random gusts, being so strong I can hear the howling of it every few seconds, smiling as the noise almost brings me a sense of peace. I lay flat, just listening to the sounds of the wind, my body warm and comfortable in Ruels sweatshirt, when the sound of hushed voices and footsteps distracts my train of thought. I instantly sit up staring straight at the door, knowing any second now Ruel would enter, tired and clingy from the stress of today’s events.

“Hi bubba” I whisper, smiling as he enters, closing the door softly and instantly coming over to me with fatigue lining his steps. He sets his phone on the nightstand, kicks his shoes off into a random corner of the room, and nudges me backwards so he can crawl on top of me, resting his face against my chest with a sigh. I run my fingers through his soft hair, feeling him leave a small kiss to my chest, before letting out an annoyed breath. “What’s wrong? Something happen during rehearsal?” I softly question, still playing with his hair as he lets out a frustrated groan, his body tensing up as he thinks about the rehearsal that just took place.

“Tomorrow’s show is going to be absolute shit” he grumbles, shoving his face against my chest, gripping my sides as his body stays stiff with tension. I stay silent and twirl the hair at the nape of his neck, waiting for him to continue so that he can elaborate on what’s bothering him, knowing if I say something he’ll get sidetracked. He lifts his head and rests his chin in the middle of my chest, his hair falling down and covering his eyes, my hands instantly pulling it back and putting it into a little bun with my scrunchie so that I can see his face clearly. “Do you think I’m good at this music thing? Like do you think I know what I’m doing?” He questions, insecurities floating through his mind, and shining through his eyes as they fill with an uncertain look. My eyes widen in shock upon hearing his question, not able to comprehend that he’d question his talents, knowing with my whole heart there’s no one else in this world that’s meant for this life more than him.

“Not only do I think you’re absolutely amazing at what you do, but I know you’re meant for it. You were born for this bub, there’s no better match when it comes to taking on the music industry than you. You might not know what you’re doing at all times, but no one does, that’s a part of learning and seeing what works and doesn’t work” I reason with him, the sigh that escapes his lips causing my heart to break just a little bit, knowing tonight was just one of those nights where I won’t be able to fix his problems and make them go away like I’d wish. I press my palm against his cheek, letting my thumb rub across it as he leans into my hand, craving a connection to make him feel like him again. “You’re doing the best that you can and I’m proud of you. I’m always proud of you. What’s making you think differently today?” I quietly ask him, my heart finally shattering as he looks away from my eyes, the moonlight shining into the small room illuminating the unshed tears that fill his eyes.

“I-I don’t know. Everyone just had something they didn’t like or to complain about today. I was doing too much or I wasn’t doing enough, but I’m trying my hardest... but maybe my hardest just isn’t enough.” He chokes out, a quiet sob breaking through his body, tears softly falling down his face as he lets his wall down. I let him clutch on to me as he cries, his tears falling on to my shirt soaking it in the process, and his face turning pink as it heats up. “I just want to be good enough. I w-wish I was good enough” he barely gets out, his feelings crashing through him, everything he’s kept inside for so long finally breaking surface. I wipe the never ending stream of tears away with my hands, caressing his face in hopes of brining his comfort, before shifting so I could sit up with him facing me.

“You’re good enough Ruel, you’re more than enough. Everyone is just stressed from constantly being on the road, but don’t let their words get to you, because you’re doing more than they could imagine” I quietly mumble to him, holding his face in my hands as he gazes at me with a broken look, his heart yearning for acceptance and appreciation. I pull him into my arms, holding him in a tight embrace as he hiccups and sobs against me, my eyes watering at the cries he lets out. He shakes in my arms as I rock us side to side, occasionally pressing a kiss here and there to his head, whispering sweet praises into his ear as he lets everything out.

“I just want to make everyone happy, but it feels like no ones ever happy with what I do. I’m either too energetic or I’m too boring, I’m too loud or I’m too quiet, I’m too this or I’m too that. Why can’t I just be me and have that be enough” he whispers, his voice cracking as he speaks, looking up at me with pleading eyes, wanting nothing but a way to make his heart stop hurting. I watch him with sad eyes, not knowing how to make things better, because there are just some things that are out of my reach, though I so desperately wish I could change the way things are. “I get compared every day to all of these other people, but I can never just be Ruel. There’s always something more to it. I can’t even grow my hair the way I want it without people complaining or wear what I want without getting side remarks, why can’t people just accept me for me. I’m tired of trying to make everyone happy when I’m not happy anymore” he admits, resting his head against my neck as I hold him, finally realizing that this is a lot more than just stress from the team today, but rather built up stress from all the things this lifestyle and career brings with it.

I pull him up and rest him against the headboard as an idea makes its way to the front of my brain, before making my way to my duffle bag on the floor, grabbing all the supplies I need and making my way over to him. He watches me with curious eyes as I turn on the light in the room, sniffles leaving him every now and then as he sits silently, his eyes looking over all the things I have set out in front of us on the bed. I grab his phone and unlock it, putting on his playlist that always makes him feel better, and grabbing my two headbands that I packed in case of events like this. I pull myself on to his lap, his hands instantly going to my hips as he holds me on place, and reach my own hands up to wipe the last of his tears before pressing a kiss to both of his eyelids. I grab the headband and place it over his head, pulling it back up to push the front pieces of his hair back that had fallen out of the bun, and passing him mine so he could put it on me like he always does.

“I know I can’t take the pain away, but I hope I can help ease it” I whisper as he puts my hair up and pushes the headband in place, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his pouted lips, smiling when it coaxes a small smile to rise. I grab a few of the face masks that I have set up before showing him all of them, knowing he likes to choose which one we do, even if he goes off of color rather than what it’s supposed to do. He grabs the pink jelly face mask, only liking it because of the glitter that’s inside of it, and sets it on my lap while moving the other ones to the bedside table. “I just want to tell you that you’re good enough. You’re always good enough, even when you don’t feel like it.” I remind him, using my applicator brush to put an even layer across his skin, smiling as the glitter shines in the light. He watches me silently as I finish applying everything, before he takes the brush from my hand and puts the mask on my face, his eyes concentrated as he spreads it across my skin.

“I love you” he croaks out, his voice deep from crying and exhaustion, and his eyes conveying how much he truly means what he’s saying. I give him a small smile and pucker my lips for a kiss, laughing when he does the same, trying to avoid our sticky skin from touching. “I can’t explain how much I love you, but you’re my best friend, and I’m thankful for you and everything you do for me.” He barely gets out before my eyes water, having already been emotional from seeing him so upset, to being emotional because he’s the best thing to ever happen to me. He lets out a quiet laugh when he notices my watery eyes, rubbing my hips with small strokes from his thumbs, wanting to kiss me but knowing the disaster that would take place because of the masks still drying.

“I love you too. We’re best friends for life, but I’m lucky that my best friend is also the love of my life, since not a lot of people get that” I tell him, both of us just relishing in the presence of one another, knowing that we’ve always got each other to lean on when things get rough. I lightly pat on his face, feeling the masks rubbery texture, before slowly peeling it off and waiting for him to peel mine off, laughing at his excited expression. He grabs the discarded face masks and sets them down, picking up my favorite serum and applying it for both of us, smiling when close my eyes as he rubs it into my skin. “I know today was rough, but tomorrow will be better. You’re going to kill it at your show and I’m going to be right there watching you from backstage, because I’m your biggest fan and I always will be. Just like how you’re always my biggest fan” I smile up at him, closing my eyes when he leans down to press a kiss to my lips, laughing when he pushes me back and lays on top of me, pressing kisses across my freshly moisturized skin.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, you’re literally the only thing that keeps me sane” he mumbles, grinning as I look up at him through hazy tired eyes, laughing when I whine as he gets off of the bed. He puts away all of the skin products, throwing away the used face masks, and turning off the lights before coming back to me. He gets settled on the bed, taking our headbands off and tossing them on to the night stand, before pressing his back against my chest, and humming in content as I wrap myself around him, caging him away from the stresses of the world. We lay in silence for a little bit, having switched the playlist to his ‘sleepy time’ one, his calm breathing ghosting over my arms that rest around his shoulders and neck. “I’m sorry about my breakdown today, I guess things just finally caught up to me and it hurts. It hurts to feel like people don’t want the real you, but rather the person they’ve made you to be in their head. I’m a real person with real feelings, but I think a lot of them see me as a manufactured person here for their entertainment.” He tells me, feeling more at ease to open up about the thoughts clouding his mind. I hum in agreement at his words, knowing that a lot of people tend to forget that he’s not just some pop star they can fantasize about, but a person who has their good days and their bad days.

“I know Bubba, I know. You just need to keep being you, because you’re enough. If they can’t accept you and what makes you happy, then they don’t truly love you the way they say they do. Just so you know, I love when you grow out your mustache, or grow out your hair, it makes you look extra handsome” I mumble, giggling when he laughs at my words, knowing how much I mean it from the distracted glances and subconscious stares he notices time to time. “You’re perfect the way you are, even if they don’t like it. Whether it be you screaming and dancing around during rehearsal, or silently sitting in a practice room, because you’re just being you.” I remind him, knowing he won’t be able to see himself through my eyes, but hoping one day he can love himself the way I do. He’s the sun in a sea of regular stars, color in a world of nothing but black and white, and a sunflower in a field of roses.

“I’m lucky to have you, thank you my love. Goodnight, I love you” he mumbles, his brain finally slowing down as my words reach his ears, peace settling in to his heart. He barely hears my reply as I mutter back my response, pressing a kiss to the back of his shoulder as he finally surrenders to the fatigue plaguing his body, slowly easing against me in my arms as he drifts off into a dreamworld where life is easier and happier than what we get here on earth.

I hold him as the music softly floats throughout the room, the quiet rumble of the tour bus driving through the empty streets, hidden beneath the voice of frank ocean. My heart aches and hopes for a better day tomorrow, knowing my beautiful boy deserves nothing but peace and happiness, because there’s not another soul out there that’s as bright as his.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I do” I mumble into the dark room, my eyes finally shutting as sleep takes over.

[celosiaa]

hi me again 🥺 sorry for making you tear up even if it was in a good way (hopefully?) 💕 i don’t mind the wait at all, i completely understand and it’s 100% worth it (honestly i get so excited whenever you post a new fic)!! soooo... i was doing some research for a project on epilepsy and i got thinking about epileptic martin?? like particular in s1 maybe he didn’t tell the other archives crew as he didn’t know them that well/hadn’t worked closely with them before (ok sorry tbc as i am rambling)

hello friend!!! I am so sorry that this took me a literally unreasonable amount of time to write! I really enjoyed the research I did for this, and I love this hc forever. And I hope this is what you were looking for <3

CW seizures, nausea, misgendering

Focus.

Just focus.

For god’s sake.

It’s been nearly an hour of Martin sitting at his desk, trying desperately to rein in any sliver of concentration he can muster to look at the laptop screen before him. He feels awful doing it, but every time Jon has passed by his desk that day, he’s found himself pretending to click around or to type—though he’s got the brightness set so far down there’s no way he’d be able to see it anyway. After a few attempts at turning it back up, he’s had to immediately look away, as the pounding behind his eyes resumes again. So for now, he’s stuck with reading statements—something he is loathe to do even on a good day.

And this certainly wasn’t.

He knows better than this, knows that he’s very nearly approaching disaster—what with the not sleeping out of hypervigilance, not eating out of anxiety, and not having his seizure meds for the past two days, as he’d managed to run out of his flat without them. And there’s no doubt in his mind that he cannot send anyone back to his flat. Not with Prentiss still on the loose.

Selfish selfish selfish

No, stop it.

You haven’t even done anything.

Wishing more than anything that his mind did not constantly run him ragged with thoughts like this, Martin looks up from his papers, intending to find a rubber band to snap against his wrist as a distraction, but instead—

Instead he finds himself frozen, colors fading in and out across his vision, heartbeat steadily climbing as his fingers go numb.

No no no no

Not now not now please not now

Realistically, he knows it’s only been a few seconds, but the seconds feel like years against the rapid thrum thrum thrum in his ears, made even worse when he sees Tim approaching from the periphery.

Damn it damn it

Please please please

“Hey Marto!”

Like clockwork, the focal aware seizure ends, and at last—at last he is able to move enough to look up at where Tim stands, leaning against his desk, smile fading rapidly as he watches Martin blinking in the suddenly-too-bright light.

“You alright?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at his face, doubtless taking note of how quickly he is breathing now to match his settling heart rate.

“Y-yeah, sorry, um. Was just thinking,” is all he can reply, fighting to put an easy smile back on his face.

It seems to have been the wrong move, as Tim only shifts to sit atop his desk, expression quickly becoming overrun with concern.

“Okay, well…you look like you’re having a panic attack, mate,” he says lowly, reaching across him to grab his water bottle and set it nearer to him. “What do you need?”

Even with his misguided interpretation, Martin can’t help the flood of affection he feels toward him in this moment—because that’s just Tim, isn’t it? Never assumes, just asks what will help and then does it.

If only I weren’t such a mess, and would let him.

“Oh, n-no it’s not—it’s not that, Tim, I’m—I’m alright. Must’ve…drifted off, or something. Had a nightmare.”

There is no way Tim buys that, no way in hell—but thankfully, he lets it go.

“O…kay then. Well. If that’s the case, I was just thinking of grabbing some lunch, do you want anything? Don’t reckon you’ve eaten properly in a bit, yeah?”

God, Tim.

I don’t deserve this.

Yes, you do. You deserve a friend and you need to eat.

You need to eat.

“Uhh—th-thanks, erm.  Where—where are you going?” he asks, wishing to god his voice didn’t sound so shaky.

He takes a few intentionally deep breaths after that—thinking that perhaps it is a panic attack, after all.  Without realizing that several seconds have gone by since his question, he feels Tim’s bracing hand on his shoulder, knowing that he’s not going to ask again—but offering him a clear sign that he’s there all the same.

“Just the corner shop,” he murmurs, starting to rub his thumb over the shoulder seam of Martin’s t-shirt. “Nothing fancy. But I can get you a sandwich, if you like. Well, no—I am getting you a sandwich regardless, but I thought I might be considerate for once and ask if there was anything in particular that you want.”

“Yeah—erm, yeah, just. Anything that’s warm would be nice,” he says at last, sinking a bit as Tim removes his hand from his shoulder. “Thanks, Tim. That’s—that’s really kind.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously,” he says, clapping his hand back against Martin’s shoulder with force before standing. “Be back in a bit. Drink that water.”

“I will,” Martin nods, earning himself some finger guns of approval before Tim starts walking towards the lift. “Thanks, mate.”

And he’s so close now, so close to shouting after him, to asking him to pick up his meds from the chemist, if he calls them in—

Just ask just ask just ask

—and then Tim is around the corner, and out of sight.

Damn it all.

He tells himself it’s probably for the best anyway—that he’s not really even sure he can get them. But it doesn’t stop him burying his face in his hands, tugging at his hair in frustration and shame. Really though, he ought to call first before mentioning anything—perhaps they have a delivery service, or they’ll refuse him, or something.

And what then?

The idea of finding himself suddenly on the floor of the archives, alone and in the dark with the worms having crawled all over him while he seized—

Have to call.

Reaching bitterly for his phone, he takes a deep breath as it rings, preparing his best “customer service” voice.

“Boots, how can we help you today?”

“Hi! Erm, I was wondering if—if I could get a refill for my prescription? For—for carbamazepine,” he says, cheery voice belying the dread with which he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Sure thing! Just need your name and date of birth and I’ll look you up.”

“Right. Erm—well, it’s Martin, but I think you’ve still got me under, erm. Mary Blackwood,” he says, forcing himself not to grit his teeth at the foul taste his deadname leaves in his mouth. “Date of birth October 15th, 1987.”

“Alright, let’s see here—“

Please please please

“—it looks like you’ve already got your refill, Miss Blackwood. Our system says you picked up your medication on the 19th.”

“It’s—it’s Mister, actually. Erm,” he stammers, stomach churning over the entire thing. “L-listen, I—I’ve had to leave my home quite suddenly, and—and I am unable to return there for the time being. So I don’t—I don’t have access to my meds. And I, erm. Really need them.”

Pathetic pathetic pathetic

“I’m really sorry, Mister Blackwood. You’re going to have your doctor call in another prescription for you before we can get you that refill. Unfortunately, it’s out of our hands.”

Of course.

“Oh, right. That’s erm—that’s okay. Thank you so much,” he says as brightly as possible, unwilling to blame anyone for something out of their control.

“You’re quite welcome. Take care.”

With a long, shaky sigh, Martin throws his phone back onto his desk, returning his head to its rightful place, buried in his hands. There’s no way he can call his doctor today—or tomorrow even, with it already being a Friday afternoon. No chance of him getting his refill, then. And no chance of sending Tim back to his apartment either.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

It was just a focal, nothing too bad.

Nothing unmanageable.

I can make it.

Steeling himself with somewhat tremulous determination, he takes another long breath—blinking back against the steady pounding in his head, and getting back to work.

—

“Aw come on, Sasha! Take a break with me!”

“Not on your life. I’m still furious with you, you know,” she replies, tossing her hair like a lion’s mane over her back. “Can’t believe you’d go all the way to the good café for Martin, and not offer me anything. Not even crumbs, Stoker!”

“Listen—” Tim grins back, hands raised in self-defense. “He looked like he could use some soup! I don’t know what else to say.”

“And you didn’t get me any? What about me doesn’t scream ‘I could use some soup, thank you?’”

“It’s different!! It’s—Martin? You alright?”

As he was walking past their bickering, eyes firmly fixed on the floor on the lookout for worms, Martin had suddenly stopped short—looking anxiously up and over their heads, framed by the doorway of Jon’s office.

“Martin?” Tim repeats, already halfway to standing in worry, following Martin’s gaze behind him and finding nothing.

Faster than he can turn back around, Martin’s muscles all tense at once—and he tips backwards onto the floor with a heavy thud.

���Shit! Martin!”

Tim darts forward at once, in some feeble attempt to catch him, but of course, far too late to do so. In his shock, he can do little but stand over him for a few seconds, taken aback upon seeing his eyes still open where he lies still on the floor.

“What happened?” Jon demands, stepping quickly out of his office towards them, where Sasha now crouches near his head.

“I-I don’t know, he just—”

And then Martin begins to convulse.

“Oh my god, he’s—he’s having a seizure,” Sasha gasps as she claps a hand over her mouth, from where it had been pressed against his forehead.

“Fuck. Fuck, what do—what do we do? Do we call 999?” Tim shouts, unwilling to sit by and watch as this all goes on around him, already grabbing Sasha’s phone from her nearby desk.

“I—I think so, let me—”

“Wait.”

Two sets of eyes land upon Jon as he interjects, crouching near Martin’s flailing left arm, waiting for him to set it back down before quickly grabbing at a bracelet circling his wrist.

“I-it’s a medical bracelet. Says epilepsy,” he says lowly, quickly sitting back on his heels as Martin’s arm begins to jerk again.

“Fuck. I—I had no idea,” Tim breathes, running an anxious hand through his hair. “How could we not know?”

“We should—” Sasha breaks off quickly to swallow a lump in her throat, before continuing. “We should be timing it, did anyone see the time?”

“I-I don’t—it’s probably been less than a minute, right?”

“I think so. I’m—here, I’m googling it to make sure—”

While she does so, Martin’s head begins to slam into the ground—and Jon immediately pulls off his cardigan, folding it quickly and placing it beneath him to cushion the blow.

“It’s alright, big guy,” Tim says, settling down to kneel next to Jon, who now has a hand gently pressed to his shoulder—not holding him down, just resting there in a comfort Martin probably cannot receive.

Tim rests his own hand against Martin’s thigh all the same.

“Okay, I think we’re good so far,” Sasha says at last, setting her phone down with a timer running on the screen. “Just time it, and—and keep watch. If it goes past five minutes, we call 999.”

“That’s—that’s it?” Tim says in dismay, snapping his eyes back to his friend, still convulsing on the floor. “There’s nothing else we can do?”

“No. We just have to watch out for him,” she replies, voice low as she adjusts Jon’s cardigan beneath his head. “Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

Not the answer that Tim was looking for.

And so they wait—silent save for the rhythmic smacking of his limbs against the carpeted floor, and the occasional whispered platitude, though all know he cannot hear them. The seconds tick by in agony while they sit helpless, all eyeing the timer on Sasha’s phone creeping up steadily past three minutes.

“I don’t like this,” Tim says, knowing how useless it is to say so—Sasha raising her eyes to meet his for the first time in a while.

“Me neither.”

“Nearly three and a half minutes,” Jon mutters, worrying at his bottom lip while still resting a gentle hand on Martin’s shoulder.

“We’ve got you, Martin,” Tim mutters. “We’ve got you.”

Ten more seconds.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Forty.

And at last—at last he goes still, right past the four-minute mark.

“Alhamdulillah,” Jon sighs as he lets his chin briefly rest against his chest, a sentiment echoed by everyone around him.

“Okay, turn him on his side, here—Tim—”

“Got it,” Tim says as he moves to crouch next to her, helping roll him towards Jon, head pillowed on the arm Jon stretched out across the floor as a cushion.

As soon as they get him in the recovery position, they watch as saliva runs out of his mouth, surely fit to choke him had they not turned him—and he begins to snore forcefully, catching Tim very much by surprise.

“Wh-what—” he asks in bewilderment, struggling to hold back a bit of shocked laughter.

“The website said that’s normal,” Sasha assures at once, reaching behind her to grab a box of tissues from her desk behind her. “He’s going to be sleepy for a bit.”

“Okay. That’s—okay,” he says, watching as Jon takes the tissues from Sasha and wipes at Martin’s face so very gently, before tossing them aside and taking his hand.

Taking his hand.

…interesting.

Stowing THAT away for later.

As Jon starts to move his thumb across the back of Martin’s palm, the snoring stops—and his eyes begin to flutter rapidly, attempting to force their way fully open.

“Hey Martin, can you hear me?” Sasha says rather loudly, bending over him and tapping his shoulder lightly.

All she receives in response is a moan, deep and low, as he squeezes and unsqueezes his eyelids, coughing a bit against the pooling saliva. Jon reaches for the tissues again at once, cleaning his face as best as possible.

“You’re okay mate,” Tim says, patting his hip before leaving his hand there for support. “You’ve had a seizure.”

It takes a few moments, but at last, Martin opens his eyes, looking vaguely around without meeting Jon’s eyes.

“Wh’ happ’n?” he slurs—all three of them exchanging a meaningful glance, a bit alarmed.

“You had a seizure, Martin,” Sasha repeats, stroking at his hair while Tim starts rubbing his hand up and down his arm, hoping it will somehow help to ground him.

Remaining still for a few moments, still blinking, Martin tries to take it all in— looking down towards where Jon still rubs at his hand, though still seemingly unaware of his presence.

“What happened?” he asks again, voice less slurred, but still weak.

“A seizure, Martin,” Jon says, trying desperately to catch his eyes. “You’re alright.”

At once, Martin wrenches his hand away from Jon’s grasp in favor of clapping it over his mouth, muffling a small and desperate gasp behind it.

“Shit. You gonna be sick?” Tim asks, already looking around him for something to grab as Jon once again prepares his tissues.

He does not respond right away, instead pausing for a few deep breaths—at last shaking his head no. In both relief and the absence of something to do with his hands, Jon fusses at the cardigan again—positioning it just so.

“Wh—oh, seizure,” Martin breathes, and Tim cannot help but feel relieved at his gaining a bit of orientation back.

“Yeah.”

Eyebrows knitting together, Martin moves the hand clapped over his mouth to rest on his eyes, sniffling a bit before speaking.

“M’so sorry,” he gasps—and it’s enough to break Tim’s heart.

All of their hearts apparently, as they immediately place their hands on him in a gesture of comfort.

“Hey, no, none of that,” Sasha soothes, brushing back his fringe again.

“M’sorry.”

“Martin, it’s alright,” reassures Jon, with such rare gentleness that even Martin lowers his hand to look—wincing quickly as he does so, and placing it back over his eyes at once.

“Do the lights hurt?” Sasha asks worriedly, placing her hand to cover his own, hoping to block more of it out.

“Yeah—ah,” he grits out with a pained little gasp, and Jon gets to his feet.

“I’ll get them,” he says, and walks quickly to the switch, sending them into a darkness illuminated only by the light from the hall.

With a quiet sigh of relief, Martin lowers his hand again, eyes still closed, and rubs absently at his nose. Stumbling a bit as his eyes adjust to the dark, Jon makes his way back to kneeling beside him, taking up his free hand again.

“Your head okay?” asks Tim, prompting Sasha to card through his hair to look for any swelling. “I’m sorry I didn’t—I couldn’t catch you.”

“…what?” comes the vague response, delayed by a few seconds as Martin tries in vain to sort through what was said.

“Still confused,” Sasha mouths at him silently—and he nods, instead going back to rubbing up and down Martin’s arm, as Sasha moves to massage his neck.

“M’sorry.”

“Hush, darling. It’s alright,” she says, and Tim knows without a doubt she will sit there all day, repeating these same things to him as long as he needs.

And loves her for it.

“…wh—Jon?”

Eyes more focused than ever, Martin looks down to where Jon still rubs a thumb over his palm, stunned very his very presence in this space.

“Yes, I’m here,” he murmurs, offering a small squeeze of affirmation, inadvertently painting a soft grin briefly across Martin’s face—before it drops quickly again in horror, as the reality of the situation sinks in again.

“Oh god. I—oh god.”

“It’s okay, Martin.”

“No no no.”

“It’s alright,” Jon comforts, more soothing than Tim had ever imagined would be possible for him. “Just be still. You’re alright.”

Five minutes turn into ten, turn into fifteen as Martin’s confusion slowly fades away—his recovery naturally filled with a deluge of apologies, patient soothing from his friends, and tending to the waves of nausea that come over him every few minutes. Ever so gradually, he becomes better able to hold a conversation; better able to hold their gaze, asking what happened before he went down, explaining that his…well, everything is sore, but that it’s nothing unmanageable.

There is very little that Martin would call “unmanageable,” of course, but it’s the most they will get out of him.

“I think I can sit up now,” he says after a bit, bracing his arms underneath himself to prepare, and Tim reaches out to support him at once.

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

A bit slow, a bit clumsy, they get him up—not without some worried questioning when he hunches forward, face buried in his hands as the headache worsens with the change of posture. But luckily, it dulls as quickly as it comes, and Martin soon finds himself able to look up, even to offer a bit of a sheepish smile.

“Want some water?” Tim asks as soon as he looks steady.

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m on it,” he says, refusing to accept any of Martin’s guilt-laden excuses, and dashes off to the kitchen at once, leaving Jon and Sasha still vaguely holding onto him in the fear that he might fall again.

“I’m alright, guys, really,” he assures, though he makes no effort to shrug their hands off—so there they stay.

“Do you know what caused this, Martin?” Sasha asks, folding his collar from where it sticks up at the nape of his neck.

With a heavy sigh and an exhausted pinch to the bridge of his nose, Martin replies, face reddening with shame.

“Yeah. You’re—you’re going to laugh.”

“Why would we laugh?” Jon asks so earnestly, so softly that it wins him a long and surprised look from Martin.

“I…dunno really, just. It’s just that it’s—it’s all my own fault. Stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

“I—I don’t—” he cuts off for a moment to hiss painfully as he rubs at his temple again, and Sasha’s hold tightens ever so slightly as a precaution. “I don’t have my…seizure meds with me. I left them at my flat when—when I ran. From Prentiss.”

Of course.

Of course he did.

“I would have gotten them for you Martin!” Tim shouts as he returns with the water. “Any of us would, mate. You should have said.”

“I didn’t want to send you back to my flat. She might…she might still…be there.”

He fades a bit as he speaks—rubbing once more at his temples, and Sasha resumes her ministrations of massaging his neck.

“Alright, just—it’s alright, Martin,” Jon soothes, a bit alarmed at the way he’s hunched back over—seemingly nauseous again, as he moves the bin a bit closer to himself just in case. “What can we do now?”

After a few long, deep breaths, his churning stomach finally settles long enough for him to answer, albeit a bit more vague-sounding than moments before.

“I tried…I tried to call the chemist, but…they won’t refill it unless I…unless I talk to my doctor. And it’s not like I can just go.”

“You have to get some from A&E then,” Tim insists, sitting back down next to him and pressing a hand atop his shoulder.

“No, I can’t.”

“We’ll go with you,” mutters Jon, before clearing his throat, returning to his best confident-boss tone. “We’ll keep watch for the worms. Go prepared.”

“You don’t—“

“We will,” Sasha says emphatically, leaving no room for argument—and even Martin knows when the battle is lost. “We’re happy to do it, Martin. Seriously.”

“Thank you,” he very nearly whispers, face flushing beet red as the undue attention of the afternoon catches up with him. “That’s really…too kind.”

“Well, you’ve got to get it somehow, mate,” Tim says with a chuckle, earning himself a warning glare from both Sasha and Jon. “What? I’m sure Martin wants this to happen again even less than we do. Which is saying a lot.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, surprising them all by chuckling briefly in return. “Reckon you’re right about that. I didn’t—this is pretty much my worst nightmare, so…just so you all know how sorry I am.”

“Yes, you’ve said,” Sasha laughs. “And it keeps continuing to not be your fault.”

“Right. Sure.”

He does not sound at all sure—but she lets it go all the same.

“We should go today, Martin,” Jon says as he stands, already grabbing a canister of CO2 in preparation. “Don’t want you to miss another dose.”

“And take that thing on the Tube?” Martin laughs, fully smiling for the first time since the whole affair began. “Think we might get some looks.”

“It’s the Tube, mate. Stranger things have happened,” Tim chuckles, rolling his eyes good-naturedly before jumping in to assist him in standing.

“Suppose you’re probably right about that.”

“Let’s go then,” says Jon, face steeled as if armed to the teeth and ready to tangle with anything coming his way. “Work that needs doing.”

[fireflyhwufanficwriter]

My thoughts on Dr. Stone’s S02E03 (“Call from the Dead”)

My thoughts after watching Season Two, Episode Three:

01. Taiju and Yuzuriha have different types of shoes – that’s a nice detail 😊

02. Leave it to Yuzuriha the arts and crafts club member to notice a detail like the dirt around the grave being different!

03. Day after day… I wasn’t expecting them to visit the grave THAT often. I like that they used the same phrase (“mainichi mainichi”) as last time – in Season One, Senku used it to describe Kohaku’s dedication to her sister, and now in Season Two, Nikki used it to describe Taiju and Yuzuriha’s dedication to their friend 😊

04. I liked Kohaku and Ginro’s excitement at hearing Taiju’s voice. This is the first time they’ve heard an outsider who they knew right away wasn’t an enemy! (Well, second time for Kohaku, since Senku saved her the day they met.)

05. The next time I’m on the phone with somebody, I’m going to imagine the same huge arc of electricity that Kaseki did 😁

06. Senku was so emotional – eyes shining with tears, smiling as he listened to Taiju – and then it all went away because he had to remind his friend that HE was Senku 😆

07. Just like how Gen is the stand in for the audience (modern timers, but generally clueless compared to Senku), Kokuyou and Ruri are the stand-ins for how incredible the phone must seem to Ishigami Village 😁 Come to think of it, Kokuyou’s had that role since last season – he’s far away enough from the main cast that he doesn’t know all of their adventures (and that distance makes him like the “normal” villagers), but close enough that he gets to share his thoughts and theories. It was through his eyes that we saw the big impacts that bottling and furnaces had on Ishigami Village 😊

08. I know it was short, but I like how Senku greeted Yuzuriha separately. They haven’t had that much screentime together since the anime began, but I like how Senku and Yuzuriha have their own friendship, instead of Taiju being their go-between or something like that.

09. “He’s been screaming all day.” All day? Have they been there longer than just the few minutes we’ve seen?

10. Kohaku noticed the defensive reason for why they had to speed things up! 😊 And I liked her observation about Senku and Taiju 😊

11. It’s could be easy to just write Taiju off as a loud blockhead, but it’s scenes like his allowing Tsukasa to hit him in Season One and his question about bloodshed in Season Two that really show you the kind of admirable, pacifistic guy he is 😊

12. “Gen will be back tomorrow or so.” Okay, so we have an estimate of how far the two kingdoms/empires are from each other. I’m glad they mentioned this!

13. Magma and Chrome’s loud conversation really shows how much anime can improve upon manga. When you’re just reading, you do know characters are talking and being loud, but when you’re watching anime, it drives home the fact that they’re being SO LOUD and that they need to SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP! Poor Gen… 😆

14. Thank you for finally saying Ukyo’s name, Gen 😆 Anime only folks get important information, and manga readers can sigh in relief that another character’s name has been revealed 😁

15. I’m with Magma. Chrome’s so selfish, worrying about his own life like that! 😡 Not like Magma, who’s strong and noble and self-sacrificing and only thinks of others and their safety 😁

16. You have to feel sorry for Gen… he’s trying to get the two of them to just SHUT UP 😆

17. I doubt Magma was seriously thinking that Chrome would go along with that plan, so he must have been joking… and the fact that we have Magma JOKING around with main characters after being the main antagonist in the middle part of Season One… they’re really pals now, aren’t they? 😲😊

18. Chrome’s battery has 15V… how much is that compared to an AAA battery for a remote control? I'll look it up later 😁

19. I’m a modern era person and it would have never occurred to me to use a wire to connect two ends of a battery and throw it into the grass to start a fire. Either Senku told him that battery stuff fairly recently and it was stuck Chrome’s mind because he was in charge of the heating team, or he’s just that much of a genius that nobody explained that to him but he intuited it anyway… or I’m just that stupid 😆

20. It’s expected that Chrome would sacrifice himself, but Magma… very impressive character development 😁 (I mean, I’m a manga reader, so I knew this was going to happen, but still 😁)

21. Gen’s eyes are blue? I never noticed until this episode.

22. Poor Gen… first, in Season One, he had to run like the wind from the shed of science to the Cave of Miracles while he was SEVERELY injured, and he had to do it as fast as possible to help Senku stay safe, and he was the only one who could do it… and now, he has to run like the wind while dealing with the knowledge and guilt that two of his comrades sacrificed himself for him, and he has to do it as fast as possible to be able to start his extremely important deception mission, and he’s the only one who can do it.

23. Gen really needs to get Kaseki to build him some kind of cable car system or a limousine so that he can travel in style between the two kingdoms/empires instead of exhausting himself all the time running back and forth 😲 Or at least a bicycle!

24. Since it’ll take Gen at least one day, possibly longer, to reach the shed of science, that means that Taiju and Yuzuriha must have talked to Nikki one or more days after they spoke with Senku. Anime helps with some things (like sound), but it can sure confuse people about the passage of time…

25. Copper swirly! 😊 I like Kaseki’s name for it better than Senku’s name for it 😆

26. Kohaku’s eyes! She’s SO fascinated by how the copper swirly is being used 😁

27. Nikki’s SO hostile 😲 I get that she’s a guard and everything, but she doesn’t really have a reason to be this hostile to Taiju and Yuzuriha, does she? It’s weird O.o Unless maybe she wanted to do something else (hunting/training/etc.) but she was forced to be their guard specifically because she’s a woman and can stick to Taiju AND Yuzuriha like glue? (Like Brienne from Game of Thrones.)

28. Why are her eyebrows a darker shade than her hair? This is sort of like Kokuyou’s weird hair colors, but to a lesser extent.

29. The punches are… she’s really hostile. Maybe it’s just to emphasize how much she changes later on and the episode, but it’s still so weird.

30. Didn’t Senku “die” on a cliff, out in the open? Kohaku was able to see him from (presumably) far away, and all that stuff with the gunpowder and the huge rock… am I remembering it wrong? Was it NOT a cliff after all? Because the rocks around this grave make it look like some kind of natural, concealed fortress!

31. Senku’s Sebastian voice sounds so silly 😆

32. I wish they had done Lilian’s voice differently. Gen’s fake Lilian doesn’t sound like a native English speaker while speaking English. Maybe they’re counting on the people they’re talking to not knowing the difference between foreign language accents… but still, this could have been done better. Maybe the studio just didn’t want to hire a new person to speak just a few lines. Or maybe they did this on purpose so that Nikki could notice something was off with her voice?

33. Yuzuriha being quick on the uptake again! 😁

34. This has to be the most stressful, rushed, and mathematical estimating of CD sales and body measurements ever 😆

35. The video game music was used in such a fun, light way last season (choosing the third mining team member) that hearing it in this scene for this situation sounds so weird 😲

36. That crouching backwards, pointing straight ahead Lilian pose seemed really out of place when the music is this really soft, gentle song 😲

37. I wonder if the stadium they showed us is based on a real stadium in Japan?

38. “Lilian doesn’t exist in this world anymore. Am I right?” Oh, Nikki… 😭

39. Senku’s eyes were shining when he replied to Nikki… I wonder if talking about Lilian reminded him of Byakuya… somebody who was in space with Lilian and also doesn’t exist in this world anymore… 😭

40. I love how Senku doesn’t lose anything or inconvenience himself at ALL by making that promise, since he’s going to protect the glass recording anyway because of Byakuya 😆

41. Okay, after Nikki committed to the plan (welcome, Nikki!), they zoomed out and the grave is seriously surrounded by all those vertical rocks. There is NO WAY this grave is in the same place Senku and Tsukasa last talked. No WAY.

42. I was SO surprised when the episode ended there 😲 That was NOT what I was expecting. This episode felt so short!

43. I still love this ending theme! 😁

44. About the ending theme (“Koe” / “Voice” by Hatena), songs mean a lot more to me when I understand what the lyrics mean, so I went to YouTube hoping to find an English cover or English subtitles or something. I found this video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scv09Dtby-8) by a YouTube channel called AniComet Music, and from 0:12 to 0:34, the lyrics are, “I keep struggling and suffering, but still / I’ll gain strength from the feelings I’ve had for you / It’s a story that will never change / Even though I knew I’d never be a match for him.”

45. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel the song is from Senku’s point-of-view, and both the second and fourth lines could be about Byakuya (especially the fourth line) – in a father/son context, of course – of how he gets strength and inspiration from Byakuya and how he feels his father will always be beyond him and more than him 😭

46. With that said, even though my interpretation is really meaningful to me, it doesn’t really make sense, since “you” and “him” are obviously different people, and when you read more of the lyrics, “you” can’t really be referring to Byakuya. Maybe my interpretation will change when I listen to the song more and read more translations, but this is the first English translation of the ending song that I’ve read, and it really speaks to me 😊

https://firefly-hwufanficwriterrrrr.tumblr.com/MyDrStoneEpisodeMangaThoughts

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of DC: Week of February 26th, 2020

Best of this Week: Batman: Curse of the White Knight Book Seven - Sean Murphy, Matt Hollingsworth and AndWorld Design

Batman is Dead.

The last issue of Curse of the White Knight gave us the last in the story of Edmond Wayne and revealed that the man that Bruce thought was his ancestor, turned out to have been the family to Jean-Paul Valley instead. Bakkar of the Order of St. Dumas killed Edmond after betraying and stealing Gotham from under him, thus assuming the name of Wayne and forming the city to his vision. With this newfound information, Batman has found himself a man with a lineage of thievery, especially after finding out that Gotham’s Elite have been funding their crime through Wayne Enterprises.

This issue begins with a somber flashback to a moment before the funeral of the Waynes. Bruce cries and blames himself for their deaths because he wanted to see The Mask of Zorro. He had always wanted to use the rapiers that his father kept on display and figured if he learned to use them from the movie, then he would be able to impress his father enough. Alfred, always so caring, tells him that if he’s able to go to the funeral, then he can hold a rapier. He then vows to teach young Bruce how to use it for the next danger he may face.

Matt Hollingsworth colors this flashback in a cool blue hue, emphasizing both the sadness and the hopefulness of the moment. Murphy portrays Alfred as being caring and shows that even with the tears, Bruce shows his ability to rise up and become the hero that people need. Though the rapier is far too large for his kid body, Bruce holds it firm in hopes of protecting Gotham in the future.

As we cut back to the modern day, Bruce faith in himself and his dreams of becoming Gotham’s knight are shaken. He was never a Wayne by blood and he sees himself as part of Gotham’s cuse. Many would be right to see him as such given Gotham’s crime initially started off as petty stuff and eventually escalated into battles with The Joker, Two-Face and others with Gotham being caught in the crossfire every time. He didn’t even know that his company was being used by criminals because of his singular focus on fighting crime.

Murphy draws Batman as being tired and ashamed of himself for only just now understanding Jack Napier’s vision and why Batman is just as bad for Gotham as The Joker was. His expressions are melancholic, Murphy makes excellent use of shadow to try to hide some of his shame and body language to make him look like an old man that’s been sitting on a lawn chair for eighty hard years. Harleen Quinzel acts as his voice of reason during his pity party and actually shows concern for him.

Harleen has been a central character in this world since the very first issue of the original White Knight and that doesn’t change here though her own personal arc is over. The last issue saw her do her best to bring Jack Napier out of Joker’s mind for one last time for information and to save her children. In the end, she had to shoot Joker in the head to let Jack rest and rid herself of the monster that had been plaguing her for years. She still finds herself at Batman’s side as one of his most trusted friends.

Bruce still has one thing that he can do to make sure that Jean-Paul doesn’t get away with his crimes and Harley convinces him that Gotham will forgive his transgressions like they did for the former Joker in Napier. At the same time, Azrael is still out there and Murphy and Hollingsworth give readers an AMAZING shot of the villain in his updated Knightfall costume. He grabs onto the nds of his cape as he soars backwards into his hideout. The lights of the city contrast with his blacks, yellows and blues to just give us a pretty damn good shot of how powerful he feels in the suit.

This is contrasted by the next few set of panels where he’s puking out of his mask after escaping from the GTO (Gotham Task Oppression Unit). This version of Azrael has been diagnosed with terminal cancer and as such needs medicine to live and suppress the symptoms. With little dialogue and some telling panels, we see that Azrael has empty bottle after empty bottle of pills in his cabinet. He’s starting to look a bit more gaunt than the first time we saw him. He’s withering away slowly and only has one more pill to spare for his coming battle with Batman.

I love the details that Murphy and Hollingworth add here. There’s blood in his vomit and it maintains after he pukes on his leg. His ribs are starting to show and we’ve seen just how jacked he was in the issues prior. His hair doesn’t appear as long as it did, even pulled into a bun/ponytail and there’s just something so final about the “shit” he gives after finding out that he only has one more pill left. In that singular moment, his mistakes come back to haunt him after killing his, admittedly, treacherous employer.

Soon after, Bruce makes amends to Barbara Gordon after inadvertently causing the accident that almost saw her completely lose use of her legs and effectively getting her dad killed. Barbara has always been resilient and we all feared that that issue #5 would be yet another Killing Joke, but here she is, using crutches to try walking again. The scene takes place during the bright Gotham day and this signals a brighter future for their relationship.

Bruce had always gone to Jim Gordon for advice on what route he should take, but without him, Bruce is missing one of his moral compasses. Barbara is the next best person because she has always been smarter than her father and Bruce has a ton of guilt to get off of his chest and Barbara handles everything like the mature adult that she is. She doesn’t blame Bruce for what happened, even though she said horrid things in anger, but can anyone blame her? She cries at the mention of her father and embraces Bruce, encouraging whatever his decision may be.

Of course, with this being the penultimate issue in this particular storyline, it only makes sense that we see a grand revelation come out of it. Murphy and Hollingsworth set the stage with Hollingsworth coloring the afternoon skies of Gotham with an orange-red kind of hue. We see various shots of different places in Gotham from public libraries to the streets themselves as Batman appears on the giant monitor of Gotham Square. Everything feels hot and sort of uncomfortable.

Bruce gives his appreciation and thanks to the people of Gotham for allowing him to serve as their protector and we continue to get these various shots of people. There’s auto mechanics watching the broadcast in their shop, people in a bar and kids watching on a cell phone with their dog. Murphy uses this to illustrate that Gotham is far larger than we think it is and that there are many people that Batman has saved from every corner of his beloved city, but he hasn’t done enough yet. So what’s the final step?

Batman reveals himself to be Bruce Wayne and dismantles WayneCorp.

Bruce finally becomes the knight that Gotham needs by giving back to the people. By destroying his company, he gives back to the people of Gotham by giving all of his money to nonprofits, schools, homeless shelters etc. It’s everything that Batman detractors have been saying Bruce should have done for ages. In doing so, he offers Gotham a better future than he could have as Batman, but he only asks them to stay off the streets of Gotham for one night while he takes care of the Azrael business. Murphy shows Bruce holding his cowl one last time, standing tall by his heroic decision.

Back at the GCPD, he gets lambasted by Commissioner Montoya for going off and doing his own thing again, but counters by saying that he trusts in the people of Gotham and they all formulate their battle plans. It’ll be his last time taking the reigns before he turns himself in as well, so he might as well make sure that everything goes according to plan.

As Montoya tells Batman that Azrael destroyed most of the other Batmobiles in his assault on bruce in Book Four (I think), she reveals that one survived and I see that Sean Murphy is a Batfan after my own heart. The Batmobile that survives is the badass one from the Animated Series, what this book is supposed to be the “sequel” to. It's sleek and well designed thanks to Murphy’s own love of cars. From the presentation, readers can tell that this is one of the pages he took serious time with as the Batmobile is given so much respect.

After a short conversation with Dick about what Bruce is going to do when he catches Azrael, Batman drives away, leaving his sidekicks concerned about his state of mind and we get one last splash page of Batman standing in the middle of Gotham Square without his cowl and the sky is a blood red. The Batmobile looks sexy in the background and this was all just so amazing.

Sean Murphy is a comic book treasure. His art and his writing truly made this an experience and a Batman story worth standing the test of time. It had the action, the drama, the stylish sequences and several twists and turns that make a story great. He’s made Batman his own in a grungy style much like how Scott Snyder and Greg Capullo have in a heavy metal manner. Murphy’s Gotham is a masterpiece in crustpunk with social problems that Batman’s always had in the periphery of his character and every issue has been better than the last.

Matt Hollingsworth brings it to life with his perfect colors; Whether they’re making use of the blues of Gotham’s clear skies or the light purples of the night sky, Hollingworth makes Gotham look distinct no matter the time of day. Scenes are given hues to match the tone of the pages whether they’re full of intense anger or incredible sadness, Matt Hollingsworth sets the mood no matter what

I really enjoyed this series, but I can’t wait for the next and final issue of it just to see that confrontation between Batman and Azrael. It’s been a long time coming and the fallout from Bruce’s decision as well… it’ll be too much, but yeah High recommend!

Also, support me on Patreon:

patreon.com/TyTalksComics

[succubustears]

My nightmare started at the hospital. My friend K and I were at a hospital... I don't really remember why. We were rushed out with a group of people. We left my aunt K there. Everyone was looking for their cars in this giant parking lot. My friend thought my car was in the opposite direction of where it was. I guided him the right way and using my cars horn we found it. It was in the biggest parking lot I have ever seen. Surrounded by dumped rusty metal storage containers and other things. It was like a giant open warehouse or dump site.

When we got into the car my two aunts C and S were there. S was driving for some reason so I was in the back with K. We drove through the area and S made a huge turn and scraped the back of my car on a container. I felt scared and timidly asked if she would help repair it.

We were on the road this time and surrounded by the usual PNW trees. She made another huge turn but the car left the road. We plummeted backwards into the foliage for so long, finally hitting a tree dead on with the back of the car flinging us down into a valley. We were already far off from any town. My aunts were fine but K and I were really rattled. I got out and found my bearings. K was getting ill by the car. C and S kept acting like we were being dramatic.

I looked around. There were a few older looking buildings, but no roads. Two young boys peeked out and we're walking over. I looked at my phone and had a bit of service. I called the emergency number and a man answered and cut me off every time I tried to speak. He said he would get us but I never said where i was. It made me nervous.

The boys arrived and I asked if they had any adults with them. They timidly looked at each other and said the adults wouldn't help us but they would do their best to help. They looked scared so I hugged each and had them go back home. I couldn't find K. Eventually S and C were gone too. They had left without me purposefully. The objects I took from the car were left but the car was gone too, only leaving the damage it caused in the dirt and trees. Night was arriving.

Time passed. I was there a while, along with another version of me. A version who couldn't talk. A version I protected like a sister. We lived in the place the car crashed. I took care of her and when the boys didn't return from the houses I decided to investigate them myself. My phone was gone and I couldn't find it. I wanted to contact someone.

I met one of the boys and asked if I could use their restroom. He agreed and let me in. I locked myself in and sat on the closed toilet, crying softly to myself a while. I was still cut and bruised from the crash tired and in pain. I calmed myself down and looked at myself in the mirror. I had dried blood on my face, my hair was tangled, my face was swollen and I noticed my front teeth had chipped. A vain part of me was devestated. They hurt but it wasn't so bad so I rinsed my face and began drinking the water desperately. I noticed it was a coppery brown color but I didn't care.

I left to thank the boy but he was gone. The more I looked around the house it didn't look lived in. I made my way to a bedroom that gave me a sinister feeling. There were two closets. One had some cloth hanging out of it, like it was closed in a rush and someone was hiding on the other side. I could hear voices from behind it. I walked slowly to it and the voices got louder. I had my hand on the handle but everything in my body told me not to open it. I was terrified.

I snapped out of it and left that room quickly. I looked around the house and remembered the boy telling me that I could take anything I wanted. I found my backpack there but I didn't bring it. I thought it was in the car when it was removed. I was happy because it had my study materials and other things I like to keep with me. It was mood lifter to say the least. Something told me to stay out of that house. I took a rolled up carpet, blankets, and things I could use to fortify our camp outside.

I returned to the other me. She was terrified and clung to me, so I hugged her. I guess I was gone a while. I gave her a book I found and she stayed in the camp reading it. She just read whatever I handed to her. I spent the time studying my Japanese and being frustrated with my inability to write Kanji properly. Time passed.

So much time had passed. The houses looked overgrown. I hadn't seen the boys in a long time. I had stacked stones into a bit of a wall. It was flat enough to doodle on and carve out. Made me feel safe. The moss and the comfort of the trees weren't so bad. The sun peeked through the trees and it wasn't so bad. I still wanted to leave.

I went to look for more things for my other me to read, and things to fortify our camp with. I looked through a window and saw animals scamper into another room. I opened the window and let myself in. It was a different house than the other. I hadn't been in this one yet. It didn't look lived in but it didn't look complete abandoned either. It gave me a pit in my stomach. I could tell I wasn't alone. I walked through the living area and into a hall that led to the rooms. I heard an old man scream from behind me and began to chase me. I shoved into a bedroom and ran into a closet, trying to pull the door closed.

But... Clothing was peeking out of it causing me to be unable to close the door. My eyes were wide and terrified, realizing I had seen this before, but from the other side. It was too late. The man was already in the room and knew where I was due to my mistake. I tried to keep the door closed with my strength but it wasn't a match. He was stronger than me. Almost feral. Spit was foaming and dripping from his thin lips onto his unkempt facial hair. He looked like he lived here alone forever. He slammed the door open and reached for me like a zombie. I screamed.

I woke up in a panic back at my camp. It was that morning before I went into the house. I looked at my shaking hands. There were red marks from me trying to keep the door closed and protect myself. It was almost like I had died and respawned. I gulped and calmed myselfm understanding my mistakes and I attempted to do it again, for some reason. If I could just not get caught...

I followed the same path as before. He screamed and I ran. I tried to grab the clothing hung on the door to make sure I could close it in time but it got caught anyway. My eyes widened in fear. I knew... But it happened anyway. I felt betrayed by my ego. I was so scared I fainted. I felt my consciousness leave my hands first, my knees buckled, my eyes closed and all I could hear was the feral footsteps of the man pursuing me.

My eyes fluttered open. It was dark but I could tell I was at the bottom of the closet. My back ached from laying on boxes and shoes. I pulled myself up and listened. It was quiet. I peeked out the door and there was no one there. My guard up, I left the closet and tiptoed out to peek out to the living room. I could tell I was alone in the house I relaxed a tiny bit with a small breath out.

The living room had changed. In front of the dingy blue couch there was now a bed shoved in the little space that was between the couch and the font window. It looked like the bed had been used recently. Something was placed on the unkempt covers. To my delight it was my phone. I checked it and it had a bit of charge and a bit of signal.

I ran back to my camp and called my father, who answered the phone casually asking how I had been. I didn't know how much time had passed but I knew it was a long time. I was shaking and trying to be polite. I know my father and if I speak to him wrong he would just hang up but I knew I couldn't call he emergency line again.

I was holding back tears. He was the first tangible thing I was able to contact. I told him what happens. The car accident, I couldn't find K, C and S left without me. I'm alone and I want to go home. I'm scared.

He sounded a bit annoyed. "C and S got back fine. Why can't you? Where's your car?" He said.

I explained that the car left when C and S left. I was desperate. They must have taken it! I gasped. I was holding on to my phone with both hands.

He sounded a bit less annoyed. "Ah. What a pain."

Tears were bubbling out of my eyes. I kept my voice calm knowing he would hang up on me if he heard me crying. "Please... I'd like to go home. I'll do anything to pay you back so please help me just this once. Just get me home.

My dad was quiet a moment. His voice was so calm and so cold. "It would be easier and cheaper for me if you just stayed there. It's going to cost money to find you. It's just going to be a burden on me. I'm happy. Why can't you just stay."

My heart skipped a beat. It felt like I was stabbed in the chest. My knees were weak. I was in so much pain. I was suffering. My teeth were broken. I was being hunted. I was so scared. My knees buckled and I begged.

He sighed on the other end and asked where I was. I scrambled to pull open my phone out to open my gps and I was immediately confused. I wasn't in Washington anymore. I was in Indonesia... But it wasn't Indonesia. It was called Indonesia but due to dream logic it looked more like Madagascar on the map and had the look of rural Washington...

He said he would try and make something work and my phone died. I held the phone to my chest. At least I could have the hope that I may be getting help.

Some more time passed and a man younger than me came, I recognized him as one of the boys from before. He said he was back for the summer but his brother wouldn't be joining him. He stayed a bit with me and helped me with things I couldn't physically do. He was secretive but I knew he was familiar. I was there for so long it almost seemed like home. He had gotten me more paper and pens and I was so happy.

All I can remember is that at night there was always a shadow to be afraid of. Similar to the old man I always ran from. My tired body always ached and my teeth hurt. The other me wasn't there anymore. It was just me. Lonely and tired on the verge of giving up.

My dad came and while I was scared I still was polite and appreciatative. He made comments about my cleanliness and teeth but I could hardly pay attention. I cried saying goodbye to the boy and asked him to not forget me. I felt so sad. I was so easily forgotten by everyone. Even my own family. I begged him not to and he promised he wouldnt. I knew he would forget me but it made me feel better to hear it. I remember limply sitting in the passengers side of my fathers truck as we drove away. I fell asleep.

I opened my eyes and saw nothing but darkness. I felt the fear like I was back in the closet. I was in the closet. It was closed this time fully so I couldn't see a thing. It was hot and suffocating. I was sweating and my heart was pounding. My knees ached and my jaw ached. Someone was on the otherside of the closet.

-

I gasped in fear and was finally actually awake. I was rocketed awake by my work alarm. My mouth was dry and my body was sweaty, aching, and so heavy. I felt like I was awoken from the deepest sleep. I wanted to just fall back asleep but I slept so deep I missed my 9am alarm and it was my 10am alarm which meant I had to clock into work as soon as possible.

It took every ounce of strength and willpower to myself out of bed. My knees buckled since they've been swollen lately from the new medication I'm taking. I couldn't see straight and I clocked into work, plopping into my chair. I took my Adderall to counteract this fatigue as soon as possible. I fed the cats and made it back to my chair. I went to bed on time. I slept about 7-8 hours, I can only assume. I didn't do anything different last night. I ate well, took my medication on time, didn't eat sweets or forget to exercise.

I don't know why I dreamt all that. It took me 3 hours to write this all down. I dont know why I needed to do that. I just needed to. It's 1pm now and I'm still exhausted. My teeth look fine though. There's no reason to be afraid.

I wonder what it meant. If anything at all.

[borkingbarnes]

50 questions!

Thank you for the tag @buckyland! You are literally the softest angel and I have mega amounts of love for you. 💗💗

Putting a Keep Reading bar bc its a lil long aha 

1. What is the colour of your hairbrush?  Black and red. Though I can't really brush my hair bc brushed out wavy/curly hair = hella frizz :/ 

2. Name a food you never ever eat.  Olives, bell peppers, Brussel sprouts. 

3. Are you typically too warm or too cold? Too cold. Always too cold, considering I live in a barren wasteland. 

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago?  jamming out in the shower lol 

5. What is your favourite candy bar?  Hershey’s cookies and cream 😍

6. Have you ever been to a professional sports game?  I think a professional hockey game when I was in elementary?? 

7. What is the last thing you said out loud? “what the fuck is this shit?” (directed at my final exam review) 

8. What is your favourite ice cream?  Vanilla or oreo! 

9. What was the last thing you had to drink?  Cofy. 💜

10. Do you like your wallet?  Yes!! It was a gift from Christmas! 

11. What was the last thing you ate?  a singular sunflower seed that was on my desk lol

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend?  No, I’m not a huge fan of buying clothes if I can't try it on first. However... this hoodie from UO is speaking to me but its so. frickin. expensive.  

13. The last sporting event you watched?  I think a men’s semi-finals volleyball match against UBC that hosted at my uni years ago? I had a huge crush on our setter at the time LOL 

14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn?  butter or caramel.

15. Who is the last person you sent a text message to?  A text to my bf ranting about how the government will only allow me to get 1 month of BC at a time (before you could get 3-6 months worth at a time), which is fucked bc it just means more trips out?? 

16. Ever go camping?  Yes!! Hoping to go this summer if everything clears up by then.

17. Do you take vitamins?  Occasionally, if I open the cupboard and see it. But only the fruity chewable ones bc they're yummy lol 

18. Do you go to church every Sunday?  No. But my one of my friends does and he was supposed to send in a video of him playing some song for his church’s Easter service bc he’s got a degree in music and just overall v good at his instrument. His brother streaked through in the background of said video. He still sent it in. The church played it for the service. akljsldkj 

19. Do you have a tan?  No, she long faded :(

20. Do you prefer Chinese food over pizza?  yes. 100% yes. gimme some of that good good sweet and sour pork ANY day. 

21. Do you drink your soda with a straw?  I don't drink soda lol 

22. What color socks do you usually wear?  Those multicoloured Puma ones which everyone has that you can get in a bundle from Costco are all I wear 😂

23. Do you ever drive above the speed limit?  I usually go like 5 km/h above?

24. What terrifies you?  Failure, not getting anywhere in life, being trapped, losing my mom and grandparents, got reaching my goals. 

25. Look to your left, what do you see?  The disarray that is my unmade bed 

26. What chore do you hate most?  Dishes. 

27. What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent?  lol its terrible but they could literally be saying anything but my brain will immediately go “DEOWN UNDAHH” 

28. What’s your favorite soda?  I don't like soda, but will on a rare occasion take a sip of coke or sprite if my bf is drinking it. 

29. Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive?  Drive-thru 100%. I will avoid humans as much as possible lol that and im too lazy to get out of the car most of the time 😅

30. What is your favourite number?  8, 38! 

31. Who’s the last person you talked to?  Like face to face? I guess me mum? 

32. Favourite cut of beef?  T-bone 😍

33. Last song you listened to?  Atlas - Luke Christopher (very fitting for the current times if you ask me, and just overall one of my all time favs.) 

34. Last book you read?  The mind-numbing bullshit that is my textbook. 

35. Favourite day of the week?  Saturdaze

36. Can you say the alphabet backwards?  No. I have 1 braincell, and she is not able to complete such an extensive task. 

37. How do you like your coffee?  A good old double double if hot, but I quite enjoy a vanilla iced cofy.

38. Favourite pair of shoes?  My black Nike running shoes in general, my black Timberlands in winter, and my black suede Chelsea boots for a more dressy look! (I enjoy wearing the colour black if you couldn't tell😂)

39. The time you normally get up?  If I don't have any obligations: 10:30-11:30 😅

40. What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? Give me ALL the sunsets. 

41. How many blankets on your bed?  3. I am a cold, cold child. 

42. Describe your kitchen plates.  White, square ones? 

43. Describe your kitchen at the moment?  Littered with papers and writing utensils because my brother does his homework at the dinner table

44. Do you have a favourite alcoholic drink?  Caesars with Walter’s caesar mix 😍😍 Daiquiris are also yum! AND PINA COLADAS. 

45. Do you play cards? I play uno almost everyday on my phone LOL (hit me up if you wanna play together!!)

46. What colour is your car?  Gray 

47. Can you change a tire?  I don’t think so? Though I know the basics? 

48. Your favourite state? Tranquil. At peace. Basically how I feel when I’m floating on my back in water with the sun on my face.  If its US states then I haven't been too too many, but I absolutely adored Florida because of DisneyWorld. I also have some really good memories in Illinois 

49. Favourite job you’ve had?  I still have this job but a vet assistant! 

50. How did you get your biggest scar?  lol. ha im embarrassed. buckle up and prepare for story time. it’s kinda gory(?) so don't read if you don't like that stuff!! 

Box jumps in high school (we had a proper actual gym with weights and machines and stuff). I took my glasses off (idk why I decided to workout in glasses instead of contacts?) bc they kept sliding down every time I jumped. Mind you my prescription is like -5.50 and I have astigmatism so my depth perception is like non-existent without some sort of corrective lenses. But my half blind, non depth perceiving ass was like eh how bad can it be? Well it was VERY bad!! I completely misjudged how high I needed to jump (the box was on the highest side) and basically slammed my shin against the edge of the box (its wooden and very solid!!) and the weight of the rest of my body plus gravity caused my shin to dig and scrape against the edge of the box v deep on the way down. Idk if it was bone or what but there was definitely something flat and whitish in the deepest part?? Nothing broken luckily, but it hurt like a bitch. Found a first aid kit and bandaged myself up and limped around the whole day. Years later, there's still a longish scar and it’s indented along it. 

I also have a fading but quite large scar from road burn when my friend decided it would be funny to push me super fast just out of the blue while I was sitting on a skateboard and not stop me when I started teetering. I was wearing shorts and basically scraped my thigh and part of my butt against concrete. It was painful as fuck and didnt heal for a long time bc it was such a large surface area. I was P I S S E D. 

lol thanks for reading if you’ve gotten this far! Tagging some beautiful peeps if y'all want: @evanstar @fightmewiatch @jalapenobarnes @buckthegrump @tropicalcap @sgtjbuccky 

[bts-love-sweat-tears]

Café Potente

Title: Café Potente

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Type: cafe!au, pure tooth-rotting fluff!

Rating: PG

Warnings: Namjoon being a slight perv, kinkshaming if you squint (haha)

Word count: 1,628

Summary: In which Namjoon uses English and Clumsy to get himself a date. 

A/N: First ever collab with @sugarcookiesandsins. She just had to re-create so be sure to follow her. She’s also the grand admin of a really amazing Discord fangirl server. This was both really fun and obnoxiously hard to write, bc we kept dying of uwus while writing (I’m old, does this make sense)? Anyway, sorry not sorry for the massive amounts of cheese.

For once in your life, you were hoping that the universe would cooperate. So far, everything was going perfectly: the bus schedule, the weather, the heavenly smell of freshly brewed coffee. But good things come only in threes and you felt it in your gut that the universe would be giving you something bad to balance it out. 

Still, you soldiered on; you had been dying to try this new coffee shop, and it did not disappoint. From the soft fairy lights framing the chalkboard menu to the soft murmuring of the people around you, this cafe looked like it had been pulled straight from a fiction romance: the type of place where a meet-cute would happen. You dragged your eyes over the old-fashioned brick wall on the left side, patterned with a collage of art and paper notices, some advertising other stores and other simply messages about loving life. 

All-in-all you could definitely see yourself coming back here, perhaps to study, or even just to curl up in that plush bean bag in the corner with a good book.

Walking further into your personal utopia, you entered the line and focused on the menu. It had all the classics, and even a special menu that you were considering making your way through. Settling on your order, you let your thoughts wander until they settled on the other patrons. 

There was a tall boy in front of you, clad in all denim and a baseball cap pulled low over his face. You normally didn’t pay much attention to those around you, but the line was barely moving, and he had presence.  He was on his phone, speaking animatedly about something or other. As you eyed him idly, you realized that the phone conversation he was having was in perfect English. It had been months since you had had any meaningful conversations, rather than the mindless repetition of colors and numbers you circled though with your students.

Without permission from your social graces, your feet moved closer, yearning to hear more about whatever mundane conversation he was having.  Just as you got close enough to actually hear the conversation, it was finally his turn to order. He almost dropped his phone upon hanging up, scrambling to catch it, but knocking over the tip jar in the process. It clanged noisily to the ground and you noticed a blush tint the top of his ears as he bent down to recover it. 

It seemed that luck was not on his side however as his hat managed to catch on the lip of the counter falling off his head to the hardwood floor. You picked it up, and handed it to him. He nodded gratefully but didn’t say anything. You had been hoping to strike up a conversation with the stranger, but he clearly had enough on his plate. He moved to the far end of the counter to wait for his drink and before you could think of anything to say, it was your turn to order.

After ordering and paying for your drink, you moved down to the far end of the counter, and stood once again behind the taller man. He was back on his phone, emphatically gesturing as he continued his conversation on the phone. He seemed clueless that he was mixing korean and english into a new language all its own. It was oddly endearing. 

You thought that you were at a respectable normal distance, but apparently chaos was a natural state of being for him. Before you knew what had happened, you were covered in the remnants of his drink. Though you knew forces of entropy were present in the universe, this boy must have been prime among them.

Somehow, in the scant seconds between grabbing his drink and spinning around, the two of you collided. You had expected that such a public embarrassment would move slowly, like in the seconds before a fall, but no. In one fell swoop, you had gone from cozy anticipation of your drink to completely drenched in his. You felt like a complete idiot, standing there frozen pondering the statistical probability of what had just occurred. 

However frozen you felt, though, the chaotic bilingual boy in front of you was a flurry of energy, moving for the napkins, apologizing profusely, and somehow still managing to maintain that smooth flow of bilinguality with whoever was on the other end. 

You decided to choose one for him, with a small grin you pacified the man. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” You rejoiced as the syllables flowed out your mouth, relishing in the rare feeling of speaking english. 

His eyes widened comically, whether surprised at your language skills, or lack of rage; you couldn’t be entirely certain. Still he managed to compose himself pretty quickly, before blurting out a final apology, seemingly blank on any other words. 

You covered your giggle with your hand, momentarily forgetting about the brown stain on the front of your favorite t-shirt, emblazoned with the words THAT GIRL. But, the passing breeze of an opening door felt cold against the front of your chest, causing you to try to shield your torso from the offending wind. 

You glared at the new customer, blaming them for the new awkwardness you were feeling. Yet, you felt the pointed stare of someone. Turning back to the clumsy genius, you raised an eyebrow at the way his eyes were fixated on your chest. Seeing his pupils moving back and forth was the only thing keeping you from slapping his porcelain skin. 

“Oi. My eyes are up here you know.” His face bloomed roses as he realized what it had looked like from your perspective. Stumbling over his words, he tried quickly to excuse himself. The next words out of his mouth satiated your rage completely. 

“It’s not what you think. Just trying to figure out whether you’re a Marlo Thomas or Phoebe Buffay fan.” Whatever words you had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t these. Instead of swearing off men forever, you were wondering whether you had just met your soulmate. Not only was he a fellow 90s kid, but he also knew one of the original leading ladies of primetime TV. 

“And if I say both?” You tease, wondering whether his words would be as clumsy as his actions.  Instead, he was surprisingly smooth, and despite his earlier mishaps, his entire demeanor had changed from a gangly awkward youth to someone comfortable with witty repartee. 

“Then I would say that we need to meet up again to fully discuss the pros and cons of each of the shows. This is a serious undertaking and we can’t be rash,” though his words suggest gravity, the expression on his face indicates that he is joking. 

“Same time next week? And maybe next time, I won’t become your personal coffee dispenser.”

Never in your life would you have thought to yourself that the most obscure t-shirt in your wardrobe would be the reason you fell in love, yet here you were cuddled on the couch, tracing words on the paper as warm breaths caressed your neck. 

“You done reading baby?” You nod your head once, shift backwards to envelop yourself even more in Namjoon’s embrace. At his words, you put down your book and try to be more present in the moment with the love of your life.

It was a Friday night, almost 2 years to the day that Namjoon had the great misfortune of spilling coffee and inadvertently staring at your chest. You had the great fortune of meeting a cute, nerdy, multi-talented guy who enjoyed the same old tv shows at you, and remembered the same microscopic details that you did.

 It had gotten to the point where none of your friends wanted to hang out with you anymore, the two of you finishing each other’s movie quotes and winning incessantly at trivia. But you and Namjoon couldn’t be happier much to your friends’ chagrin. And despite their grumbles, you knew that they were happy that the two of you had found someone so perfectly matched. 

You smiled at the memory as Namjoon turned the page for the both of you. It had become a tradition; both of you cuddled up on the couch under the blanket that you had gifted him the first Christmas. There was always coffee on the small table, the dark color contrasting against matching couple mugs. 

It was enough to make someone vomit, but you didn’t mind, and neither did he. In fact, the two of you would often try to outdo each other on the mug front, and you were never at a loss for a clean cup for a warm beverage. Some might call you hoarders, but you and Joon maintained that you were collectors. 

You finally had the man of your dreams, romantic, nerdy, and caring all wrapped into one being and sprinkled with a dash of clumsy for good measure.

“I guess the world was wrong Joonie?” Your boyfriend lifted his eyes from the book, glasses allowing you to see the shades of brown that painted his irises. He gave you a quizzical look that made you giggle - it wasn’t often that you were able to confuse him. 

“Good things don’t come in threes. They come in fours.”

“Spilling my coffee on you was a good thing? You know, y/n, some might call that a kink.” His dimples are out full force, softening your heart and the gentle smack to his arm.

“You know, Joon, for someone so smart, you’re pretty dumb sometimes,” you want to make him sweat a little, but you are unable to keep a straight face.

“I mean you.” 

[destructiveshade]

Lightspeed: Chapter one

“Alezxander Luis?” Called the voice from the front of the room.

Silence.

“Alezxander Luis?” Came the voice a second time.

Zxan could not hear his Advanced Physics/Calculus professor asking the class the question because he had his earphones in. He was doing what some would call doodling, but he preferred the challenge of designing the nanotechnology that would make his suit capable of transforming itself into the various gadgets he’d use when he got out of the Academy. At the moment, his nanotech designs were only theoretical. He couldn’t afford to actually make the tech, let alone test it to perfection. Hell, he could hardly afford the Academy in the first place.

“Zxan,” whispered the person next to him as a foot kicked him from the side. He looked up and took out an earphone.

“Ahh, glad you could join us Alezxander. I was just asking the class why time travel is only theoretically possible. Maybe you’d care to answer,” the professor said condescendingly.

“No, not really, sir,” Zxan replied, somewhat awkwardly as he returned to his sketches and equations.

“It wasn’t a question,” retorted the professor.

“Oh. Okay. Well, first off, to time travel, you have to think of time as a continuous line, not a reoccurring event that resets every 364.25 days. We’d have to create a technology that would bend time backward or forward onto itself in order for us to drop into the future or the past. There are actually some pretty compelling theories that state that time travel already exists, it’s just kept from us by our governments so that it’s not used for personal gain. But, to answer your question truthfully, time travel isn’t actually theoretical anymore, and it hasn’t been for a while. It’s just that not everyone can do it. Only people with the innate ability for time manipulation or for speed can time travel. In fact, my great great uncle on my mom’s side was the first Speedster to time travel without using any special equipment.” Answered Zxan.

The professor, who’s dark brown eyes squinted as he scowled at the young man, was obviously not expecting such an in depth answer, so he decided to try to embarrass Zxan with a follow-up question. “And you, Alezxander, are able to time travel also?”

“Well, no, but I never claimed to be able to.” Zxan said, annoyance obvious in his voice.

“Oh, that’s right. And what is your max speed, pray tell.” He said, being supercilious.

“Oh. It’s um, 450 mph.” Zxan responded, looking embarrassed and defeated. A long silence ensued, which drove Zxan, awkward as he is, to continue with his sketches.

The professor just kept on teaching, his thin lips spreading into a smug smile over his face as he won the small victory over the awkward student.

“Alyss Rodriguez, what is the square root of 7,921, and the square root of 1,398,750?” The professor shot off.

“89 and 1,182.68761725148708,” Alyss said, without any hesitation, from beside Zxan. Alyss was short, but fit, and very beautiful. She had long hair, but it was naturally very curly, so sometimes it just looked like an afro if it got staticky. She was born into a hispanic family and with a very rare ability. It is the ability of knowledge. It has its limits, but she pretty much just knows anything at any given time. The only catch is that she has to focus on whatever it is she wants to know.

~Looks like he’s out for me again.~ Zxan typed into the keyboard that was projected onto his forearm by his custom made wristband. The message was immediately sent to Alyss’s matching wristband. The only difference between them was the color. Alyss’s being bright pink and Zxan’s being Black with a streak of bright green.

Zxan had created the wristbands in his garage a few weeks earlier out of old computer and projector parts from his room and some old FitBits he’d found laying in the trash. The FitBit part is purely for show. All the real magic happens because of computer chips he designed, created, and put inside the FitBits.

~These watches are so cool.~ Alyss responded by typing onto her own forearm.

~The beauty of it is that no-one even knows they act as our phones.~ Zxan replied. After reading the message, Alyss looked over at Zxan, and Zxan looked at Alyss and just grinned.

The rest of the school day went by pretty quickly and was very uneventful, despite it being a school for children with abilities. Most of the students, like Liam, were required to wear Dampeners while at school, and through most of their lives. This is only because they don’t have full control over their powers yet, and some of them, like Liam, had very dangerous powers if not controlled properly.

The final bell rang, bringing the school day to an end. Zxan ran from his locker, down the stairs to the second floor of the Academy to catch up to Alyss, who was leaving for the day.

“Alyss! Wait up!” He half shouted, making his voice travel over the roar of the students that filled the hallways. He caught her attention and she waited patiently for him to push his way through the influx of students as they left their classrooms and rushed to their lockers.

“Hey Zxan, what’s up?” Alyss asked with a certain sweetness in her voice.

“I just wanted to see what you’re doing after school and was wondering if you’d want to hangout maybe.” He said, awkwardly.

“Oh, yeah, I’d love to, but Chad is taking me to the beach with some of his friends.”

“Oh.” He started, his smile fading slightly, then returning so quickly that Alyss thought maybe it never left in the first place. “Okay, never mind then. I’ll just head home then. Have fun!” He said as he patted her shoulder. Then he ran off towards the second set of stairs that led to the first floor of the Academy.

The Academy has dampeners for people with physical abilities, like Zxan. It means that even though his top speed is 450 mph, he can only run about 15mph tops, while inside the school. The dampeners are so strong though that he had to push his every last muscle to hit 15mph, so he resolved to keep it around his average when in school. A cool, 8mph. There are special rooms in the four basement levels where they teach the students how to properly control their abilities, but the day is Friday and Zxan’s training day is every other Thursday. And because he didn’t practice this week, he knows next week is his turn to try to push himself to 475 mph or higher.

As he left the school, he accidentally bumped into a sharp dressed man, who in turn helped Zxan from the ground. The man was not super tall, but taller than Zxan who stood at 5’11. He had a cleanly trimmed beard that tied into his mustache to make him look very eccentric.

“I’m so sorry Mister! I didn’t mean to bump into you! I wasn't looking where I was going and I… I’m sorry.” He said quickly and dejectedly. The man started laughing.

“Oh, it’s all right, my boy. Without kids like you keeping me on my toes, how else is this old fart going to keep his edge.” The man said while laughing. “What’s your name?”

“I… It’s Zxan, sir.” He replied, dusting himself off.

“Well, Zxan, my name is Howard Wayne VI.” The man said with a bow. Zxan just stood there looking awe-struck.

“As in, Bruce Wayne’s great, great grandson?” Zxan said in disbelief.

“The very same.” Howard said with a grin, reaching his hand out. Zxan grabbed his hand and shook it emphatically.

“Dude! You’re amazing! All your accomplishments and awards, and not to mention your role in the unifying of the gifted nations!” Zxan said excitedly, still shaking Howard’s hand.

“Yes, yes, I guess it was important, but that means very little to me. I’m here to help the gifted youth of our grand city of Great Rapids.”

“How so?” Zxan asked, finally letting go of the man’s hand.

“I’m here, on the behalf of my company, to present 3 scholarships for 3 gifted young adults.”

“What does the scholarship entail?”

“Essentially, the participants would be taken to my tower in the central region of the city and they’d be taught how to act as a hero, but not only while in uniform. They’d also be able to design and create their own super suits to fit their needs and abilities.” Howard explained.

“Can I apply?” Zxan asked excitedly.

“Of course. Everyone here is encouraged to apply. Then the committee for the scholarship will pick the three best candidates.”

“What are the conditions that the committee bases their evaluations off of?”

“Their are a number of different factors, but the main few are courage, honor, and loyalty.”

“It’s not based on wealth, right?” Zxan asked nervously.

“Nope. You’ve no need to worry. It’s a full scholarship, not like this academy.” Howard said with a hint of disgust in his voice.

“How do I apply?” Zxan asked.

“The applications will be passed out on Monday to all the students, but here, take this one and work it out the best you can over the weekend.” He said as he handed Zxan a packet of paper that looked suspiciously like a math test.

“Thank you, sir. And again, it was very nice to meet you, but I have to get home now. My mom is expecting me.”

As he walked through the front door of his house, he said hi to his mom and then went directly to the garage. He started working on the packet immediately, using his super speed to write and process the questions, he finished in 30 minutes flat. Most of the questions were easy, but the last one had him puzzled. It was a huge equation that looked like a college professor from Mars had written it.

The whole packet, before the last equation took him 5 minutes to finish. The last equation took him the other 25, but he finished it and he was confident he had the right answer.

The weekend went by slowly and painfully boringly. Normally he’d just hangout with Alyss, but since she started dating Chad a month ago, he had nobody who he could really talk to and hangout with. He thought that normally he wouldn’t care. In the past, he had friends who blew him off entirely for their girlfriends, and it didn’t really hurt. But for some reason, Alyss blowing him off for Chad hurt him in a way he hadn’t felt since his dad died.

He learned to cope, of course, using his great great uncle’s Cosmic Treadmill to help him work on his speed while his mom was at work. Or, more normally, he played video games and watched TV. Sometimes he even read books, and not teenager books. Like college level textbooks. He read them to strengthen his mind and to broaden his vocabulary. He never really hung out with his mom because she was hardly ever home.

His mom was also born with a rare gift, healing. That’s why she works as a nurse. Of course, she doesn’t have to hide her powers. Many many people around the world are very open with their powers. But as history shows, there are always people who are afraid of what they don’t understand. There’s a radical group that call themselves Purifiers and basically what they do is kidnap people with abilities and then kill them on an online broadcast. They say it’s to “purify” the gene pool of humanity, but Zxan just thought they were jealous.

Monday morning couldn’t come fast enough. Zxan practically jumped out of bed to get ready for school. Halfway to school, he realized that he couldn’t just pull out the application and say he already did his. The school might think he cheated or something, so he devised a plan. He would ask for one, then switch it out before he has to turn it back in.

When he got to school, he went looking for Alyss. His heart sank when he saw her though, cause she had an extra thick layer of make-up by her left eye. A normal person probably wouldn’t have noticed, but Zxan did because he grew up with her his entire life.

“Did Chad do that to you?” Zxan asked as he approached her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Alyss responded, trying to walk around him.

“Well, for starters, there’s way too much make-up around your left eye for that to not be hiding something, and second, you don’t even wear makeup that often. Plus I didn’t hear from you all weekend, so what happened?” He asked, stepping in front of her.

“I wasn’t paying attention and I walked into a door.”

“I’m going to kick his ass.”

“You can’t!” She hurriedly replied, “You know you’ll go to jail for using your abilities on regs!” Zxan knew that “regs” was short for “regulars”, which is what the gifted called people without abilities.

“Who said anything about using my powers?” Zxan retorted.

“He’s twice as big as you, Zxan, and he’s the star quarterback. Please just leave it alone.”

“Alyss, I don’t want to leave it alone. What he did is wrong. What he is is wrong.” Zxan said, getting angry with Alyss for protecting Chad. “You know what? Forget it. I just want what’s best for you, but if you honestly believe that he’s not going to do that again, then you’re not as smart as everyone thinks you are.” He said, then he turned and headed towards the stairs that led to the third floor of the Academy.

His first hour class went by slowly because he couldn’t stop thinking about how badly he wanted to hurt Chad and how sad he got when he saw Alyss. He knew Alyss was smart. He knew she’d do the right thing, but just in case she doesn’t, he resolved to introduce Chad to immeasurable pain if it ever happened again.

Halfway through the lunch period, he had decided to head up to his next class to wait. Advanced Physics/Calculus with the insufferable Professor Vlad. Zxan usually sat by Alyss, but today he didn’t want to. He was still mad at her for protecting the woman beater, so he decided to sit at the very back-left side of the classroom, right next to the window that looks out over the track field. It was the only desk in the classroom, the rest of the seats being chairs at small, two-person tables.

He laid his head down on the desk and waited for the bell to ring. After a while, when the bell didn’t ring, he finally looked up. Nobody was in the room. Not even the professor, who had been there when he first entered. He could hear faint shouts, but tacked it up to being because of the lunch hour. He looked out the window and noticed that there was also nobody out there.

‘That’s weird,’ He thought, ‘There’s usually a PhyEd class going on right now.’

Then he noticed the man, floating 300 meters away, shooting beam of lights out of his eyes and evaporating people into dust. Zxan jumped to his feet and ran as fast as they would carry him. He was shouting for Alyss, but couldn’t hear anything over the students screaming in the hallway.

He spotted her, huddled near a doorway so she didn’t get trampled over by all the other students. He ran over to her, pushing his way passed hysterical teenagers and hysterical professors.

“Zxan!” She screamed as she spotted him running up to her.

“Alyss, are you okay? Are you hurt? I need to get you out of here.” He said hurriedly, looking around for their best exit route. They were on the second floor of the academy, the stairwell was stuffed with students and teachers trying to escape the now on fire building.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He said, then turned and pushed his way through the crowd to the room across the hall. He looked through the window and assessed the height then ran back to Alyss.

“We have to jump.” He said as he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the sea of students once more.

“What?! Are you nuts?” She shouted. “It’s got to be at least fifteen feet high!”

“Yup, more or less. But there are bushes down there. Just trust me, okay?” He said, turning towards her and positioning her in front of him with his back facing the window. “Grab my jacket right here.” He said, putting her hands on the chest portion of his jacket, near his collar bone, as he pulled his hood over his head.

“What are you doing?” Alyss asked, the fear obvious in her voice.

“Just hold on tight and do not let go.” He said, pulling her into him and holding her as tight as he could. Then, with a powerful leap backwards, he threw them both through the window. He bit his tongue as a shard of glass dug into his calf as they went through the now shattered window. They landed on the bushes with a loud crunch and Zxan let out a shout of pain.

“Alyss, are you okay?” He asked as he quelled the dizziness from his head.

“Yeah,” She started. “Wait! Are you alright? I just landed on you. And we fell a whole fifteen feet! Are you okay?” She asked hurriedly, tears streaking her face.

“I’m fine, Alyss, just a little back pain and a scratch on my leg.” He lied. In fact, his back pain was so immense that he was sure he wouldn’t be able to move for another five minutes, if at all. But a blast of fire and screams from above shook him out of his focus on his pain. He forced himself to his feet and grabbed Alyss. He pulled her clear of the Academy windows and checked her for damages.

“Alright, you seem to be fine right now, but I’m not taking any chances. Get on my back.”

“What?” Alyss asked, totally confused by his ridiculous request.

“Get on my back, now.” Zxan commanded without any hint at a joke.

“Okay, okay.” Alyss said as Zxan squatted so she could climb onto his back.

“Again, hold on tight.” He said as he stood up, reached his hand up and braced Alyss’s head against his shoulder. He took the other hand and pulled up his scarf around the bottom of his face for a mask, and then he took off. He ran as fast as he could to the hospital where his mother works. He knew that she’d know what to do.

When he reached the hospital, without slowing down, he grabbed two pieces of paper and a pen and wrote two separate notes, then skidded to a halt next to a gurney. He put Alyss on the gurney then leaned down and started talking as he slipped both notes into Alyss’s pockets.

“Don’t let them know you have abilities and do not tell them where you came from and who brought you here. Ask for my mom, okay? Her name is Roxanne Luis. And please, Alyss, stay safe.” And with that said, he rushed back to the school.

[doux-ciel]

Personal Trainer CH. 8

A/N: Hey my angels!! Not gonna lie I’ve been binge watching t.v. shows on Netflix when I get home from work so that’s kind of why I haven’t been posting like I should be. But it has helped me like a lot with different stories ideas and possibilities in my writing, so I’m looking forward to that. Anyways here is the next chapter to The Personal Trainer, Enjoy ♥

Tagged: @erinisawriter @jess---writes @lefttowritee @fannistwrites @delphwrites @riftversus @requiemdelune @theouterdark @thewishingpages @youngdumbxlit @bzrtales @between--alleys @jadeswritinggarden @velvet-moss @viviscreams @seraphilth @writing-in-the-margins @blackandwhitesunsets @godxblooded @ghost-possum @sauwrites

*if you want to be tagged in my work let me know!*

It been about 2 weeks since I got that news that Henry is becoming the new department head, but my mind was somewhere else like on my match last weekend, which I won by the way. 4 rounds in I finally got my opponent, |Kiki “the monkey” Nicks: lost by KO|

I was dreading going back into work though. I didn't stop by the cafe this morning just because I couldn't stand seeing Jacob hurt and not doing anything about it, I barely get past the front desk when I hear Mr. Gerald yell. “Azalea you're late!!”

I pause, momentarily stomping my heel on the gray tiled floor, I look over at him. “Sorry I lost track of time I was at the gym”

He sighs, annoyance is clearly written on his face. “Breakfast is for eating not for working out…boxing comes second”

I start to walk away from him, sighing loudly. “Damn get off my balls…”

He speed walks over to me pointing his finger in my face. “Your testing me Azalea don't try something you can't start.”

Cameron walks past not even acknowledging my presence, I literally had to follow to her to her desk for her to finally look up at me. My eyebrows mush together confused as to why she is not speaking to me. “Hey”

Silence.

Her eyes look away from my face as she signs into her computer. I chuckle softly, “Damn who pissed in your cereal?”

Her eyes slowly shift up to me, “You bailed on our drinks”

My mouth forms an O, “The drinks!!”

She nods her head all dramatic like and she begins with sarcasm, “Yeah the drinks, I sat at that bar for 2 hours looking like a loser.”

I'm relieved to know it isn't anything serious, I shuffle over to her chair and fling my long arms around her. Laying my head on her shoulder an evident frown on my face. “I found out Henry got the promotion I had to let off some steam and I saw Fiona”

I could feel her body tense up once I mentioned Fiona, she starts to roll her shoulders backwards, trying her best to get me off. “Oh Fiona? So I'm guessing she's your new bestie now huh? Well that's nice you two get to spend so much time together.”

I squeeze her body firmly shaking her a little bit a joyous tone hidden in my voice, I didn't like my best friend not speaking to me over something so silly. “Forgive me please I'll buy lunch?”

“Depends are you actually going to show up?” She scoffs, a second later I hear laughter coming from her.

I start to smile as well. “You can't stay mad at me”

“Hey Belinda is Henry here?” I hear Mr. Gerald ask the receptionist, his normal hard and tight lipped face now has a look of concern.

Belinda shakes her head. “No”

“There's an entire board of directors in there and he's nowhere to be found!” He exclaimed, scratching the back of his neck causing it to turn a strawberry red color. I'm a bit concerned as well. I remove my arms from Cameron as we both walk over to the front desk to see what's going on.

“Have you checked his apartment?” Belinda asks.

Mr. Gerald sighs as he puts his fingers it a fist and bring his left hand up, he starts to hit the side of his head, bringing his hand back and forth. “His cellphone….his mother’s cell phone, I even called the guy who walks his dog; nothing”

For a second I thought I saw a smile appear on his face and it's rare that I see my boss smile. He brings his hand down and walks towards me, he places both hands on my shoulders. “Azalea… you can do the presentation for me, you know the report better than anybody.”

Is he serious? Now because his minion isn't here I'm the backup plan?....No no no no I'm no one's second choice. I bounce my leg up and down repeatedly and I can see Cameron right next to me, arms crossed having a scowl on her face. “Oh so now you need me?”

He starts to plead with me, I could tell he was desperate. “I was wrong ok, do you need an apology?...I'll scream it out the window if you want me to.”

“The promotion?” I asked, my eyes slanted towards the 5’9 plump male.

His expression turned sour for a moment but then it turned into a look of defeat. “I'll think about it; just please.”

He removes his hands from my shoulders, that’s when I hear my best friend chime in. “And a raise for me?”

Mr. Gerald turns to her, giving her a stern eye.

She starts to stomp like a young child, her plump lips form into a pout. “Damn I can't get anything”

I'm ready for this presentation but I totally forgot my folder at the desk,“Ok just let me go get a copy”. I start to walk away to go retrieve it when he stops me midway, holding a folder up in his hand he gives me another smile. “I've got one right here”

After he hands me the folder, we both quickly walk to the meeting room. Before he puts his hand on the doorknob, his eyes focus on mines.“I'm going to I introduce you to the board and then you can come in and blow them away...again thanks so much”

I give him a smile, “I got it.” Once he opens the door to step inside I could see the different faces inside sitting down in the tall white chairs that surround a large frosted glass table. Now I'm getting a bit nervous, my palms start to sweat and my stomach starts to turn. I place my hand on my abdomen breathing in and out slowly, taking a couple of breaths to just relax.

As I hear my name being presented on the other side of the door, I was about to place my hand on the door knob when I hear my cell phone ring.

I quickly grab the phone from inside my bra and place the phone up to my ear, not checking who was actually on the other line, but to my surprise it's Fiona.

Her usual bland voice was very hearty, cheerful almost. “Hey just called to wish you good luck today”

I take a moment to process what she just said to me, I didn't understand. I needed some clarification, I start to ask her. “What do you mean?”

She chuckles as if something is funny, “Well for your report thing” she says in a matter of fact tone.

Ok now I'm really confused. I start to walk away from the door, “How did you know?”

I don't know why but I sensed some strange in this next statement she said to me.  “I just have a feeling everything will work out the way it should”

“Wait how did you-”

She quickly speaks over me and starts going on about how she has this new workout plan for me and how it's going to be killer. She is Garrulous, just talking up a storm. But still in the back of mind I wanted to know what she mean by her previous statement about how things should workout. I try to say her name but she keeps on talking over me, after I hear her voice stop I quickly call out her name. “Fiona”

She quickly said she had to go and hung up the phone.

                        ¤ ¤ ¤

After the presentation as I promised Cameron and I were out for lunch my treat of course. Plus knowing her she will take whatever food you will offer her, I already know this bill is gonna be high because this girl can eat. Don't let the her tall and lanky frame fool you she can eat for days. As we were waiting in the front for an open table Cameron flings her arms around me, “Congratulations!!!”

I almost fall down, she is literally leaning on me, I playfully push her off laughing in the process. “Thanks”

I turn my head over to her as she speaks, she nudges my shoulder with a grin. “The office is buzzing, they say your presentation was the best they’ve ever had.”

A small smile came on my face as I brush my shoulders off. “I know, I'm amazing...Gerald should be on his knees begging for me to be the new department head”

“Yes he totally should” I see her eyes following a nearby waitress who is holding a Margherita pizza. I can practically see her drool almost falling out of her mouth, this hostess needs to hurry up before Cameron runs to the back and demands the cook to make her some food.

Finally after 5 more minutes of waiting and of Cameron complaining about how long they were taking, we sat down at a booth. Cameron immediately being paranoid didn't want to sit on the side that had her facing the crowd, she didn't like when people looked at her while she ate. Her anxiety got the best of her sometimes, so me being the good friend I switched with her. Once our menus were in our hand we waited for a waitress to come tend to us.

I skim the menu and my eye lands on the crab dip with Naan, I think I'm going to get that. As I place my menu back down on the table, I watch Cameron who is literally listing off the foods she wants. I stop her mid sentence when she said she wants steak.

“You know what? We should get some wine, excuse me!!” I flag down a waiter, a male who approaches us with an obvious fake smile on his face.

“Ma’am?”

I place my elbows on the table resting my chin on my now locked fingers. “Can we get some Pinot Grigio please?”

He nodded his head and said he’ll be back with our wine in a minute, I quietly thank him and stare off into the crowded restaurant full of people. I start to wonder again, about Henry.

I focus my attention back on Cameron. “It's just weird you know..Henry really wanted that position and then he didn't show up.”

Cameron shrugs, “Maybe he got cold feet”

“Wouldn't he have just called in sick?” I ask, my lips twisted. The waiter comes back with two glasses and pours us a generous amount of wine.

“Well it doesn't matter now..the job is yours you should be excited”

I know…” I trail off not able to finish my sentence.

Cameron sighs and takes a sip of her wine. “It's not like you did something to him.”

I hear my phone buzzing against my thigh, I pick the phone up from my lap and when I check to see who it is Cameron snatches the phone of my hand, her long nails barely graze my hand as she brings the phone up to her ear. “Who is this?”

I'm looking at Cameron for some verification on who just called my phone, I could see her demeanor change drastically. Her mouth formed a straight line as she was listening to whoever was on the other end, “Oh hi Fiona...yes it's Cameron her best friend...she’s out right now so if you could just stop riding my friends dick, that would be great. Oh and she won't be going to practice today goodbye” She pulled the phone away from her ear and proceeded to place it on the table.

I am seriously appalled by the way Cameron acted towards Fiona on the phone just now. I shake my head side to side quickly as I snatch my phone up from in front of me.

She rolls her eyes at me and drinks the rest of her wine. “What? That lady doesn't scare me..what's she gonna do? Make me run around the track after school”

[haikyuu-imagines-and-others]

Hi! Can I have a soulmate au with Mattsun and SO where they have matching tattoos, but SO finds out years before Mattsun (they went to the same Middle School) but has been hiding it because Mattsun had a girlfriend? Maybe Makki finds out a little after and agrees not to tell Mattsun, but is worried because SO is so sad and cries a lot? Can it have a fluffy ending too? Thank you soooo much 💙💙💙💙💙

My goodness there are SO many Soulmate AUs out there! I think if you hadn’t provided one… I would have chosen the ‘write on yourself to talk to them AU’ lol that’s a good one… Anyway! Angst almost NEVER has a happy ending lovely… so have this cliffhanger instead! Thanks for requesting, love! - Admin Satori

Matsukawa Issei:

The idea of love always seemed to bring out the oddest or expected answers from each person asked. Everyone had their own idea of love, of affection, of finding their soul mate. Whether the soulmate be with one or many, everyone had a equal and opposite piece, or pieces, of their heart floating about in the large, vast world before them.

You were riveted with the idea of love. The idea of someone being your other half. Of a higher being taking the time out of their busy schedule to create your other half just for you, and you just for them. That’s why you took every chance you could to search your body for any new markings. Soulmates, upon meeting, would be greeted with matching tattoos.

Only, they wouldn’t be in the most conventional places 10% of the time.

Your mother and father shared tattoos, only they were on the back of their necks. Your mother hand’t known about her tattoo for the majority of the time after she’d met your father. Your father had been clueless, as well. Soulmate markings turned out trickier than imagined, and you were equally excited, and nauseous at the idea of coming across your soulmate without realizing it.

Year after year, you’d grow more and more downtrodden as your body remained unmarked. Clean of any dark ink, any ink at all, just nothing at all showing your awaited future. Why hadn’t you met him yet? Had they been avoiding you? Were you unwanted? Were they even in your same country? In the same part of the world?

“I don’t think it’s too much to worry about, ______.” Your close friend, Matsukawa had muttered one day on the way home from middle school. “If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, then oh well.”

“We’re too young to think about it now, let’s wait until we’re older!” Hanamaki had piped in before stuffing his face with a cream puff you’d bought him after a lost bet. You couldn’t remember making a bet with him, but he did, and thats really all it took for you to treat him to a cream puff of his choosing.

It took you far longer than you were willing to admit. An embarrassingly amount of time. Almost 2 and a half whole years after that interaction was when you’d come across an oddly placed marking - just out of sight on your waist. Just above where your waist curved into your bottom. A colorful tree. Uprooted, each root having their own individual color that blended into the next. The leaves of the tree seeming to look as if the wind was blowing, some individual leaves flitting to your hip… which had been what had caught your eye.

You’d thought it was a spec of dirt you’d missed while showering, or maybe a newfound beauty mark? Perhaps it was ever something to worry about and talk to your doctor about it’s appearance…. But once you’d gone to inspect it, twisting a little more to be able to see the actual marking, using mirrors for better angles..… you felt your heart jump into your throat.

How long had it been there? How long ago did it appear and how were you just noticing it now? It was about the width of three fingers, only the length of your forefinger… but the placement… it was awkward. Out of sight. Almost out of mind. But the leaves….

The leaves of change were blowing around your body quite literally, and you felt a jolt of electricity shoot through your spine as a sudden realization came over you.

You’d see this tattoo before.

Touched it. Complimented it.

Though it hadn’t been yours to touch, to compliment, at the time…. It’d been Matsukawa’s. Much to his embarrassment, you’d noticed his tattoo and had felt happy that he’d found his soulmate in his girlfriend.

That was almost a year ago.

You did the only thing you could think of…
“______, it’s almost midnight…”

“I know… I know… Could you please come over? Please? I need to show you something.”

“And it can’t wait until morning?”

“No.”

A deep sigh before the telltale signs of rustling sheets, clothing being put on, “Okay, I’m on the way then.”

Less than an hour later, you opened your front door to the very tired eyes of Hanamaki, who didn’t looked very pleased to see you. But you barely gave him any time before pulling him in from the cold air and lifting the back of your shirt to show him the tattoo. “I don’t know when I got it…..” Hanamaki’s shoulders relaxed, and he felt a genuine happiness fill his heart at the idea of you and his best friend being soulmates. Together and happy…. But his own brief moment of joy was dashed before his very eyes when he remembered… Matsukawa was a taken man. “I.. I don’t know what to do, Takahiro…. Do… Do I tell him? I don’t want everything to explode in my face and not have him want me… and I just.. I just want him to be happy.”

You were rambling. This was clear. Hanamaki pulled you into a tight hug, resting his head on yours and closing his eyes as your panic slowly passed. He didn’t mind how tight you held him, how you gripped his shirt as if your life depended on it, or even knowing your tears were currently soaking through his shirt. He didn’t mind. You were his friend, and he knew you needed him.

“I’ll tell him.”

“NO!” You almost yelled, pulling back from his embrace to stare up at him intensely. He almost felt dwarfed in your gaze, actually taking a step backward in surprise. “Do not tell him….” Again, your tears welled in your eyes, your right hand going to your tattoo and resting on it, as if you were protecting it from the elements around you. As if it were going to be rubbed off at any moment. “Don’t tell him…”

Hanamaki frowned, confused now why you wouldn’t want to. What was the big deal? “He needs to know, _______. He’s over there wasting his time with Kihoko when he could be with you. Happy and with the right person.” A sudden flash of anger, “Don’t you want him? Don’t you want him to be happy?”

Now it was your turn to take a step back, feeling as if Hanamaki had just shot his words through your heart. You were speechless for a moment.

But he wasn’t done. “All you’ve gone on about is being happy with the one you love… Now you’re given the opportunity. He’s right there in front of you, and all you have to do is show him…. That’s really it. Why are you hesitating now? After all this time?”

“Why are you so angry with me?”

“Because I wanted you!”

The room stilled for a moment, the heaviness of his words seeping into your very muscles, making you feel glued to the floor, but your fight or flight sense pushing you to get out of there as soon as you could.

“All these years…. You’ve talked about soulmates. How great they are. How beautiful it must feel to have one. To know you’re loved unconditionally… You tricked me… Tricked me into loving you…. And try as I might, I can’t get you out of my head… I wanted you to be my soulmate, _______… And every day…. Every single day after meeting you… I’ve looked all over my body for markings. Tattoos. New moles… Anything….” Hanamaki looked away with a dark look in his eye, “But now I know…. You were never mine. There was no chance of that. You’d been marked for Matsukawa as soon as I’d introduced you to him…” A humorless laugh, “And now you’re hesitating.”

The need to comfort, to explain yourself, stilled on your being. Grew stale in your mouth. There was nothing you could do to help his heart heal. Nothing you could say to lessen the bite of reality. You lowered your head in shame, feeling as if you somehow had let him down. As if it had been your choice to fall in love with his best friend. To find your soulmate in the one person he was truly close to. “I’m…. I’m so sorry, Hiro…. I… I didn’t mean to hurt you…” You reached up and wiped at your tears, feeling them almost immediately soaking through the collar of your shirt and instead just using your hands to wipe away the tears.

Warmth enveloped your body, your head being pressed against a solid, reliable, familiar chest. “I… I just want you to be happy, _____…. Whether if it’s with me or not… I want you to find happiness… and love….” But his shoulders fell the more he realized that you truly didn’t belong to him. And you knew his words ripped at his heart. Shredded yours. It fell silent as he held you in his arms, wishing the fates to change, to create a world where the two of you would be together, happy and together… where he had the right to call you his, the blessing to wake up to you beside him, perhaps even hear the pitter patter of the shared life between the two of you.

But not in this life would he experience this.

And if he knew anything about soulmates… it was unlikely his dream would happen in another life.

Suddenly the shrill ring of his cell phone shattered the intense air around the two of you. His grieving, your comforting. You felt his groan of irritation more than saw his furrowed eyebrows, but it was only for a second before he was answering his phone, “What?” You kept your head against his chest, closing your eyes as you felt an emotional exhaustion weigh on your eyes. “I’m at ________’s….. Yeah… Sure.” A tap, then his hand was back on you, his chin resting on your head. “Your soulmate is on the way over.”

Despite his bitter tone, you pulled back in surprise, “W-what? No! Hiro, he can’t kno-“

“His girlfriend found her soulmate earlier today… Dumped his ass in a split second….” The news silenced you, your heart reaching through the darkness, through the distance, to his…. “He needs you right now…” Hanamaki sniffled, and it was that moment that you realized he’d been crying, too. He quickly wiped away his tears before stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “So…. Don’t let me down… Don’t hesitate another second….” He cleared his throat, feeing it constrict with feeling before he was backing out of your home, “Or I’ll never forgive you! Make him happy, _____…. Be happy… For me.”

You reached out to him, “Takahiro! You don’t have to leave! Come back in! You’re going to get sick!” But he only shook his head before turning on his heel and walking away from you, his shoulders hunched to not only try to shoulder off the cold but the fresh emotion threatening to break him down right then and there. “Hiro…..”

“_______?” A deeper voice called curiously, seeing you on your doorstep in no attire for the cold weather, “You’re going to get sick.” Matsukawa shook his head disapprovingly, but his red puffy eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you. He’d been crying. Everyone was crying. There was no avoidance of pain. Hanamaki getting the worst end of it, it seemed.

“Issei….” You breathed as he shuffled you inside your house, closing the door behind him, not knowing that his best friend had just past through that doorway in tears. If he had known, you wondered… would he still be here in front of you? Or would he have gone after Hanamaki? “Issei.. Are you okay?”

Matsukawa sniffled, reaching up and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand before shrugging, “I’m okay…” He sniffled again, and your heart shook at the sound, “Uh… Kihoko… She uh… she found her soulmate today…” Clearing his throat, he gave you a wide smile, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Maybe next time, huh?”

Aaaaaaaaaaaand I lied about the cliffhanger since this isn’t one of them lol just kind of prodding for a part 2 if it is requested :) Don’t hate me, love, this one was getting LONG lol (especially for a singular character)

[lovsy-archive]

Sequence [i]

sequence masterlist

masterlist

chanyeol x reader genre: angst word count: 4.8k

PROLOGUE:

01.13.17

His hands were rigid and stiff as he stared down at them, the muscles within the joints working uncomfortable hard to flex at the bend of the knuckles but failing. The air nipped relentlessly at his skin as he cursed himself for neglecting the gloves you’d mailed him so many months before, palms rubbing together with a deep sigh as he let his head drop backwards, his neck protruding from beneath the thick scarf surrounding it.

The metal adorning his left ring finger rolled around the skin with ease as he toyed with it subconsciously, the band itself managing a temperature even colder than the numb skin around it, a fitting comparison to the way the ring had lost value long before this moment. His eyes skimmed every face inevitably as they passed him, the feeling of guilt eating him alive, every pair of eyes feeling as if they were boring into him and digging out every secret he’d ever had.

He’d unexpectedly lived a life of many experiences, leaving all but nothing to the imagination when it came to deciphering the feelings bubbling deep behind his lungs. He’d known stress, he’d known anxiety, worry, fear, depression, heartbreak, and he’d known pain. God, had he known pain. But the wrenching tightness forming at the base of his ribcage, for the fist time in his twenty-four years of life, was not something he could manage into words.

Without a sound, he boarded the bus. His legs carried him to the back until they bent beneath him, his body stiff and cold against the plastic seats as his hands curled themselves into his lap. The tightness in his chest had spread throughout his entire upper body as the bus lurched forward, air locking deep within his as he attempted shallow breaths and thick lumps sticking to his throat every time he managed a swallow. His mouth was dry, void of any moisture as his tongue swiped out in attempts to ease the cracking displayed on his pale lips.

To him, in that moment, time was at a standstill. He counted the minutes that passed, an alarming total o them spent cracking every joint in between his knuckles and adjusting the hat clinging onto his head. Restless and unfaltering movements swallowed him the entirety of the ride as the bus crept towards his destination.

All at once, it hit him. When his feet stood, frozen on the pavement just outside of the building, wind crisp and unforgiving as it whipped at his bare skin, the tightness managing its way into his legs and down to his feet. He was unable to move them, neck stretched uncomfortably to look up at the towering building in front of him. The soft glow of each apartment shone softly in his dark eyes, some of the windows covered in curtains to block out the bustling city below, others left open and wide for the world surrounding to admire.

He’d counted the number of windows it took to reach yours so many times it was ingrained into his memory. He’d thought that if someone told him to scale the building to get there, he’d be able to do it blindfolded, just from feeling the number of beams he’d passed and letting his memory guide him home.

The muscles in his feet twitched, his angle rolling beneath itself slightly as he steadied his balance, tugging his jacket tighter around his rigid frame and digging his hands deep into his pockets. Shaking his head, he watched as the flurries of snow swept themselves to the ground, disappearing into the dull white beneath him as he found the will to dismount his feet and walk through the double doors that he’d sought comfort in so many times in the past.

His teeth chattered as the warmth hit him suddenly, his entire body shaking from the invasion of temperature and his eyes shutting at the sensation buzzing beneath his frame. The thin skin stretched across his cheeks reddened immediately at the heat, blood rushing to the surface and bringing the color back flushed across his entire complexion. The joints in his neck popped as he rolled his head backwards and back around, hands coming out of his pockets to pull the hat off of his head, fingers combing through his hair, a nervous habit he didn’t find himself having until he met you.

With his hat now in his coat pocket, he sent a curt not to the man behind the desk, plenty enough acknowledgment for the repetitiveness of the two’s relationship. He could feel the sharp gaze of the man on the side of his face as he waited for the elevator, a long exhale leaving his lips once he was able to step inside the lift and hide from his lingering, critical eyes.

Your door was the same as it had always been. From the first time he’d ever seen it, so many years before, the night you first took him home. Your wine induced laughter flooded the quiet corridors as you fumbled for your keys, everything about you lighting the fire inside of him that he had yet to extinguish, though it was evident that there was never a time he was trying to in the first place.

The outline of the number 907 was cold to the touch, yet somehow it set ablaze to the skin of his fingertips. Every memory of you, your scent, your voice, your touch, coursed through his veins as he rested his forehead against the wooden door, throat constricting and eyes burning. He’d waited too long this time around, went too long without the acknowledgment of his growing neglect.

The very same door that used to greet him after a day filled with stress and frustration, the door that used to open and reveal everything he’d ever craved in life, was the very door that made his chest feel so tight he couldn’t breathe, the pounding in his head matching the rhythm and intensity of the pounding in his chest.

The door was unlocked as he twisted it open, letting it shut softly behind him as he locked it, something you were always too forgetful to do. He toed his shoes off by their heels, pushing them just under the table you’d shoved into the corner of your hallway when you first moved in, its purpose overtime becoming a home to the collection of unneeded and useless items you two had accumulated.

He could hear you, distant and soft as you hummed from within the dimly lit kitchen. It was late. He knew he should’ve waited until morning to show up, to have everything crash back onto you at once, but he couldn’t help it. The thumping beneath his chest was becoming painful, the pent up emotions clawing at him, as if there was a creature inside of him painfully forcing its way out. He couldn’t wait any longer, even if that meant the ring on his finger growing colder.

Your humming didn’t sound happy, not in the slightest. It sounded distant, sad, and lonely. The song that was playing made his heart skip a beat, a grin just nearly breaking onto his face, but soon the moment was shattered by his chest clenching, frozen in place.

You were listening to his song, the one he’d written you multiple years ago when he was visiting family across the world from you. It was simpler then, when he was able to write you songs and persuade your forgiveness. Things were different now. Everything was different now.

You weren’t young and naive anymore, no longer hopelessly and foolishly in love. You were strong, passionate, unwavering in your beliefs and unable to be swayed by a gesture as sweet and romantic as a song being written specifically for you, to keep you company, to make you happy.

He’d known this, but not until it was too late to know. He’d only recent figured this out, when the attached songs in emails went unanswered, this factor being the one that dragged him home after so long. Song after song was sent, but you began to ignore his emails, craving his touch and presence far more than the rasped voice filling the silence in your home, no matter how much it made your skin crawl in excitement.

Everything was that way, nowadays. Silent and broken when he wasn’t around.

With his time away, he was constantly occupied, not allowing himself to miss you, not completely at least. But for you it was different. Every moment without him there was heartbreaking, the routine of counting down the days becoming impractical and numbing, until you finally decided to stop waiting altogether.

You belonged to him, in every sense of the phrase, from the ring adorning your finger tot he way your heart was incomplete without his presence. You couldn’t stop the feeling of abandonment from creeping into you as he was whisked away time and time again to fulfill his dreams across the world, leaving you behind more and more with each goodbye.

Still standing by the table cornered in the hallway, he noticed something. A new addition to the collection of items, something gold. It stood out against the other items around it, soft and glowing underneath the warm lights despite the dull assortment of keys and random pens it neighbored. It was small, smaller than his own hand, illuminating the table as the candle next to it cast soft, golden reflections.

“It was a Christmas gift, from my mom.”

Your voice ripped him from his thoughts, eyes darting to meet yours, big and dull, like the presence of him no longer did anything to replenish the life behind them. He could tell by the way you stood, your cup resting between your hands and your shoulders slumped forward slightly that he was too late. Too late, even, to try and glue the pieces back together. He’d taken it one step too far this time, you both had, not a single phone call being attempted in the two months he’d been away. Nothing but emails, filled with links and attachments to new music.

“And it’s-”

“Yeah, it’s for that,” you smiled softly, almost bitterly as you watched him hold the small golden figure. “It was the night I almost called you. I missed you so much and then afterwards she gave me that and…” You stopped, your voice faltering towards the end as you looked down at your feet. “It all hurt too much. You being gone.”

Not once did he pick up the phone, to try and hear your voice. You’d so desperately wanted to hear his that you listened to the songs he’d sent you on repeat until your laptop died, switching to your phone until that died too. But it seemed that to him, it was nowhere near the same. He never tried calling you, never craved your voice like you did his. He didn’t love you the same as you did him, and it was something you’d taken so long, so many months alone, to finally realise.

He tried opening his mouth again, but you looked down at your cup before he could, cutting off whatever he was going to say by swirling the liquid around in your cup. A soft sigh left his lips as he slowly put the gift down and shrugged the jacket off, hanging it on the hook against your front door. You watched his every move, the pit of your stomach dropping each time you felt the heat of his body linger towards you.

Your chest caved in on itself as you struggled to maintain a straight face, to hide your pain for the sake of you and your relationship. You couldn’t break down, not in front of him. You’d promised yourself this, so many nights ago, when you fallen asleep clutching onto the pillow that had began to smell more and more like your shampoo than his cologne after the countless nights you slept with it tucked desperately by your side.

His arms crossed over his chest, but not in an annoyed or indignant way. He looked defeated, tired, like he knew he had crossed a line before every walking through the door of your apartment.

“How long did you stand in the snow?”

You looked up at him as you spoke quietly, your chest contracting and heaving with your words, your body struggling to keep your voice steady and unfractured through great force and practice.

“Not long.”

You could hear the hoarseness in his voice, the lie wedged just beneath his tongue and the falseness behind each syllable. Breaking your eyes away from his hands where they gripped at the skin of his biceps, you looked into his eyes, head cocking to the side, not a single word leaving your lips but saying everything you were thinking.

He looked down at his feet, arms falling to his sides as he slowly walked passed you, making his way down the hallway and into your room. You followed, feet shuffling behind him despite the pain bubbling in your chest. He was a magnet, the strongest one you’d ever been with, and you were ultimately attracted to him. Nothing he could say or do could stop the undeniable gravitation you had towards him, towards his presence.

No matter how sharp the stinging in your body felt, you couldn’t ignore the fact that he was finally here, back with you. After two long months, your body craved his presence, and although your brain fought you to keep your distance, your heart shriveled and cold with months of training, you couldn’t fight the physicality of wanting to feel his arms wrapped warmly around you.

“Okay, awhile I didn’t want to come inside. I didn’t want…” he paused, turning around and stepping towards you, but only slightly, not even an inch. You blinked, looking up at him as hie rubbed his hands over his face tiredly. Your heart hurt for him, despite the pain you were feeling. You had always been that way, putting others pain first long before you cared about your own. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“We both know that ship sailed a long time ago, Chan.”

He nodded, watching you carefully. You felt his eyes burning into you, studying your movements as you took a sip from your drink that had now gone cold. Everything around you was swallowing your presence, the heat coming from his body getting stuck in your throat as you tried your best to take long, even breaths of reassurance.

You could hear his breathing, short and shallow as he stood. He was intoxicating you all over again, and you could feel yourself slowly being pulled back into his trance. You couldn’t let it happen, not how it did so many times before. You were different now, you refused to be hurt again.

Only he wouldn’t let you walk away. Not this time, like he had let you drift so many times before, like he’d walked away from you so many times before. His chest was heavy, throat tight as he watched you sidestep to get to the closet, avoiding any and all contact with him, even just a brush of your arms, as you set your cup down and shuffled through the drawers absent mindedly.

He could see you in the mirror, eyes flitting from shirt to shirt, eyebrows creased firmly and painfully. Your mind was running a thousand miles a minute, and he could see it. He could see the words on your tongue, the way you bit them back and swallowed them down, not allowing any sense of pain to shine through, though he already knew it was there. He could tell you were fighting yourself, he could read you better than anyone you’d ever met, and it was something you absolutely hated about him.

Park Chanyeol knew you better than you knew yourself. Most of the time, this was what kept your relationship together. When it was good, it was amazing, when he would so easily swipe the tears from your cheek and have your crying turn to soft giggling, when he would hug you simply because the pout in your lip told him you needed one, needed him. When you’d have a hard time expressing yourself, so instead you just kissed him, and he could feel the passion and love resting so deeply behind your lips it took his breath away.

The only thing taking your breath away now was the feeling of his hand on your shoulder, lingering and soft as if he didn’t want to overstep the boundaries he wasn’t sure on the existence of. You’d built walls around yourself over the course of the past two months, cold and tall, protecting you from the harsh realities you refused you let yourself feel.

Those walls, sturdy and un-moving, the ones you’d taken so long to establish, crumbled instantly at the feeling of his skin on yours. The heat beneath his fingertips ignited the fire deep inside of your chest that had burned out so long before, overwhelming your body as your hands gripped the clothing tighter.

A sob choked through your chest, your body turned tightly into his arms before you had a chance to register your own voice, his arms wrapped strongly and protectively around you, as if he was scared to ever let go again. He could feel your body shake with pain and emptiness, and he felt as if his ribcage was going to cave in on itself at any given moment.

He’d neglected you for so long, treated you as if you were a constant variable in his life that would never move, that he would never have to worry about changing. His career was something that was weak, one misstep and it would crumble at the tiny falter in attention. You were never something he thought he’d have to nurture in such a way, and that’s where he fell short. To think you would be okay, alone and isolated without him, without a physical interaction from him for so long.

He was painstakingly wrong, and he was paying the price for it as you gripped the back of his shirt and sobbed into his chest.

It felt as if every nerve had been set on fire in his body, metaphorically steaming underneath the grip of your fingers, which had pushed under the fabric of his sweater and clutched onto the skin of his lower back, as if it was their last time experiencing the connection. He could feel the shakiness in your hands, the way your heart beat sporadically in your chest as you sniffled and tried regaining your composure.

You didn’t plan on letting yourself crumble upon his return. In fact, you had planned to finally give up the part of yourself that he kept stored away, God knows where, and accept that his career was always going to be put in front of you. Despite the clenching your heart had done, the tears that had spilled from your cheeks dozens of times as you thought about this, you’d settled on it. It was what had to be done.

But standing there now, in his arms, his heart beating against your ear as you cried into him, everything you thought of doing escaped your mind. His presence drowned you, completely sweeping you away to the sea that was Park Chanyeol. He held onto you in such a way that it felt like he was trying to turn back time, like he was trying to prove that he would try harder, that he would never again let a moment pass by that you didn’t know you were loved.

And that’s exactly what he was intending to do. He held onto you with purpose, with the determination that he would bring back the life in your eyes, the perk in your walk, the smile on your lips. He was persistent to make the goodbye’s painful, but the welcome back’s so beautifully overwhelming that it was worth it every time.

No words were spoken as you pulled apart, your arm coming up to dry your face on your sleeve. Your breaths were still coming out short and jagged, unstable as you stepped back, his lingering arms falling off of yours and down to his sides. You’d had a moment of relapse, a moment where the pain felt like it was finally beginning to go away. But standing back now, tears no longer flowing and sobs no longer racking your body, you remembered why you’d felt the pain in the first place.

Chanyeol instantly sensed the shift as his hands dropped stiffly to his sides. He wanted nothing more than to tilt your chin up and gently wipe the tears off of your face, his nose scrunching at the way you hurriedly did that for him, your sleeve scrubbing into your skin roughly. He knew he had to earn that right, from the way you immediately closed yourself off the moment your tears had stopped falling. The way your touch on his skin stopped and you started going through the drawers again, searching for something that wasn’t there to be found.

A frown dug itself into his lips as you grabbed clothes to change into and locked yourself into the bathroom. Being away for so long, he craved the way you looked. To see you out of the sweater and sweatpants clinging to your frame, out of the fuzzy Christmas socks that adorned your feet and out of the slippers around them. He wanted to see you, every mark of your body, in front of him to study as to never forget again. But instead, you locked yourself away, changing in private and coming out only to put your clothes into the hamper and climb into your bed.

Your back faced his side, completely turned away and sheltered from where he would eventually climb in next to you. When he did, he slid in quietly, his back relaxing into the mattress he’d fallen asleep in thousands of times before, only without you in his arms. He craved you terribly, his chest rising and falling deeply as he tried to ignore the emptiness in the slot beside him. He’d gone two months without this feeling, without this churning in his stomach, without the coldness against his side. But being in bed with you now, so close to him yet just out of his reach, it was like knives digging into his chest. It wasn’t until you were so close he could inhale and be overwhelmed by you did it hurt.

And then it all hit him, like a tsunami taking over his senses. This is how you’d felt, every hour of the past two months. He wanted nothing more than to cling onto the pillow you were laying on, inhale your scent on the blankets, curl himself into your back as you slept softly. He’d only felt it just now, in the past hour of time passing, but you had felt this, the pain that swept over every nerve of his body, consistently for exactly sixty-four heartbreaking days.

The first time you heard it, you thought you were dreaming. The quiet, soft, choked sound that escaped his lips as he stared up at the ceiling. The second time you knew it was him, the bed shaking softly as he cried into the blankets tucked tightly into his face. Your heart broke as he cried beside you, your eyes stinging in the darkness and your body physically aching to turn over and curl into him, to let your fingertips ghost over his skin and whisper into his ear that the pain would go away, that he wouldn’t feel like this forever, that you were there for him and that you would vow to never stop loving him.

Thirty minutes later, your eyes stared blankly into the darkness, open so wide for so long they started to burn from the lack of moisture, your body stiff and rigid as the boy lying next to you sniffled into the blankets. You could hear him mumbling things to himself, under his breath as if he assumed you had fallen asleep, and he was telling the blankets his secrets. His body had shook for twenty minutes, choked sobs coming out, his body tensing every time he swallowed them down to avoid waking you up.

It wasn’t until the red numbers blinked 1:57, and his breathing was still shallow and uneven, his body tossing and turning after fourty five minutes, did you finally give in. Every where you searched your brain, it told you to stay strong, to let him cry himself to sleep like you had sixty-four nights without him, but you couldn’t. Not a strand in your physical body could stop you from turning over and nuzzling yourself slowly into his side.

His whole body tensed, breath immediately catching in his throat as he felt your bare skin on his for the first time since he’d laid down. For awhile, he didn’t say anything, didn’t move, only stayed completely still, eyes shut and hoping that he wasn’t dreaming, that you weren’t just adjusting in your sleep, that you wouldn’t shift over in a second after realizing what you’d done. But you didn’t leave, or move, or readjust. You tucked yourself into side and began to stroke the skin of his chest, softly and warmly, as if you were trying to brush the pain from inside of it.

Tears overwhelmed his eyes as you started humming, his vision blurring as they spilled out onto his cheeks. For two months he was too busy to acknowledge how much he missed you, how deep and unbearable the pain was between you two. He let his work consume him to erase the sadness filling his senses, pushing you to the back of his brain to focus on making music. He hadn’t done it on purpose, neglecting you that is, it was a coping mechanism. One that caused him more harm than good, one that made the love of his life, the center of his universe, crumble beneath him. But you were here now, and the feeling of your fingertips soothing his inflamed skin was enough to have him gasping for air as you swallowed him whole.

He didn’t move for five whole minutes. You had been counting, anxiety and fear coursing through your veins every second that he didn’t react to your body pressing against his own. It wasn’t until you began humming, your finger brushing against the skin of his chest softly, did he crumble. His entire body curled itself onto you, chest heaving heavily as he let the tears spill out onto his cheeks and into his mouth, clutching your waist tightly and not once letting go. He mumbled apology after broken apology into your hair, nuzzling his face into it as you cooed him to sleep.

“I can’t ever leave you again.”

His voice was hoarse and strained, the stinging in your eyes returning as tears welled up behind them.

“I know, Chanyeol. Please go to sleep.”

After just ten minutes of this, he was overcome with fatigue, cheeks stained with dried tears and arms clutched around you so tightly you felt as if you had been glued to him. Your heart clenched and unclenched in your chest as you let your eyes shut, regretting the moment you turned yourself onto him, regretting the moment you let your walls down. In the morning, you would get up, you would go to work, and you would leave Chanyeol alone in bed. You would go on with your life, just as you had planned before he came back.

Nothing, not even the burning sensation buzzing across your body at the feeling of him clutching onto you, would allow you to forget the pain and heartbreak you’d endured for so long without him. He’d been hit with a wave of emotion, but you were left stranded and drowning in the sea, with nothing but yourself to keep you afloat, to keep you alive.

He was back, asleep in your arms just as you had fallen asleep imagining so many times before, but this time it wasn’t happy, or soothing. It was painful and numbing, making you struggle to breath as you inhaled him. He still had every single piece of you, every broken shard of the shattered glass he left within you. Every goodbye from Chanyeol broke you more and more, the last one shattering your entire world, leaving you behind as fragments of yourself.

Park Chanyeol no longer had the ability to put you back together. He’d broken you too far, too deeply, too intensely this time to be able to find the glue to keep you together. You’d have to find your own glue, inside of yourself, to mend the pieces that he’d so selfishly stolen from you when he’d convinced you to say yes the night he’d gotten down on one knee and confessed his love to you.

Four years later, and he still held every shard of your broken heart.

next chapter ↬

[larryandgaystuff]

If you see this, post a snippet of your WIP.

The faint scent of some sweet flower, maybe lilacs, floats through the room, invading Louis’ senses, making it hard to breathe once more. Finding a ridiculous bout of courage from deep within, fueled by agonizing curiosity, he steps closer, keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible despite the nerves rattling his core.

And that's when he sees it. A head cradled by a halo of soft, auburn curls almost hidden amongst the extravagant layers of richly colored material covering the bed. The head turns slowly, as if its owner is moving only in sleep.

And then, facing him, with eyes closed and lips perfectly puffy from sleep, is the boy he’s been searching for since he found his dusty portrait in a long-forgotten trunk on that cold January morning that now feels like a dream.

“Harry,” he gasps, stumbling backward helplessly until his arse hits the ground hard, all of the air leaving his lungs in one unbelievable moment.

He doesn't have time to worry about his tailbone because the next thing he is aware of is the prince frantically throwing the blankets from his body to stand warily, defensively on the side of the huge bed opposite Louis’ splayed out form.

“Who are you?” the prince asks, his voice just barely shaking, his eyes wide as if he weren’t sleeping seconds earlier.

Louis swallows, looking straight at him and waiting for him to disappear, for this all to just disappear. Because this isn't possible. He doesn't disappear, just continues to stare at Louis, waiting for an answer. He’s poised as if he might run off any second, and Louis can only guess what that could mean if this boy is, in fact, who he knows he must be.

Louis inhales, standing slowly, holding his hands up in a sign he hopes the prince takes as surrender. “My name is Louis,” he chokes out. “I'm not...I don't wish to harm you.”

“Why are you here?” the prince continues, moving on so quickly, Louis feels dizzy with his interrogation.

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. He can’t speak, paralyzed by fear. And then his chance to try to explain anything is gone with the next shout from the prince’s lips, calling for his guards as he takes another step back and snatches the sword lying on the table behind him.

A group of muscled, armored men stampedes into the room, grabbing at Louis immediately. A huge, burly man with a scar running down the left side of his face roughly holds Louis’ arms behind his back, forcing him onto his knees. Another with a long, dark beard draws his sword. Through his terror, Louis watches another soldier, this one younger and more toned than bulky, approach the prince, bowing deeply.

“Your Highness, are you hurt?” he asks rather loudly, his obvious panic not quite matching the tone of the room as the prince stares ahead blankly.

The prince shakes his head, confirming his safety from the man currently being manhandled and threatened by a sword at his neck.

The soldier continues, “How would you have us proceed?”

Louis’ blood runs cold as he tries to calm his shaking so as not to do away with himself accidently before the prince’s judgment is even made. His head is swimming with a lack of oxygen, the need to breathe so intense with the prince’s eyes boring into him, angry and unflinching. His expression of surprise and well-hidden fright has turned to one of ice.

“Will you not struggle?” the prince asks calmly, laying his sword against the bed.

Unsure whether shaking his head or answering verbally would more likely result in the blade against his throat slicing into him, he takes a chance. “No,” he chokes out.

The prince glides around the end of the bed, slipping between guards until he stands only a hand's length away. He reaches out to smooth a palm down the side of Louis’ face, pressing his thumb hard into his pulse point. A wicked grin lights up his face. “Oh, dear,” he coos, disdain dripping from his voice. “Are you frightened, my pet?”

Louis is watching him now, his mind a little clearer with the prince this close. As if by instinct, as if his body knows the necessity of being on high alert in this man’s dangerous presence. He gazes right back into those green eyes that are just as bright as he thought they must have been during all of the silent conversations he had with his portrait. He stays silent, doesn’t want to cause himself any more trouble, if at all possible.

The prince laughs, amusement playing at his lips but not quite reaching his eyes. “Take him. Do not kill him.” His teeth glisten in the morning sun as his smile grows wickeder still. “I wish to speak with him first.”

And with his order, Louis is hauled out of the room in which he found himself only minutes earlier and dragged through a series of sunlit passages and just as many dark ones until being thrown into a cell made of iron and stone to await his fate.

~~~

Louis can't be sure how much time passes. His phone is sitting uselessly on a desk that decidedly doesn’t exist here, and he isn't certain it would work here anyway. The cell is dark and damp, no sign of the sun shining outside to help him know how long he's been sitting on the cold, hard ground.

Water slowly, steadily drips from somewhere, but he can't find the source of the sound. The bars of his cage were slammed shut the moment he was thrown inside, and a soldier armed on the other side stops him from attempting any sort of escape.

It isn't difficult to ignore his hunger, his thirst, his exhaustion after a while, his mind too busy running over the events that landed him here. The need for food and water seems utterly insignificant when faced with the impossibility of his situation.

How is he here?

He thinks back to the moment he opened his eyes and found himself in this strange place, this strange time. The ghost of a touch remains on his lips where the prince’s name had passed over them in a disbelieving whisper. He sifts through the fear he'd felt at the prince’s coldness.

He tries not to focus on the ethereal beauty of the boy who'd been peacefully asleep in the bed, swathed in deep purples and lighter maroons detailed with gold thread. He pushes from his mind the way he looked so harmless, gentle even, in sleep.

His failed attempt at thinking of anything but the prince’s eyes is interrupted by the sound of footsteps on stone. Then, an emotionless order, “Open the door.”

“But, your Highness,” says the guard, hesitating.

“Shall I repeat myself? Open the door,” the prince says, his patience clearly running thin.

“Yes, your Highness,” the guard responds dutifully, fetching a large metal ring from a fold in his clothing and inserting a key into the lock on the gate.

Louis stands shakily, realizing he's probably been down here for some time based on his weakness. The prince steps inside of the cell, his gaze slowly moving from Louis’ trainers, up his legs and to the writing emblazoned across his jumper, higher to his face until their eyes are locked.

“Explain yourself,” the prince says. When Louis can't will his lungs to relax, his vocal chords to emit any sound, the prince rolls his eyes. “You may speak.”

Louis swallows dryly, wishing stupidly for a drink of water. “My name is Louis.”

“Yes, you’ve said.”

Louis nods, holding his gaze. “I wish you no harm. I swear it.”

The prince steps closer, an act of arrogance and superiority with Louis unchained, able to attack if he so desired. “Do you doubt my memory? I assure you it is intact. Would you care to state any facts you have not already stammered at me in fear?”

Louis clenches his fists, his brain helpfully reminding him that he mustn't become angry if he wishes to secure his own safety. “I am not one of your people,” he remarks vaguely, unsure how to explain any of this. “I'm from England.”

Harry’s gaze travels back down his body. “Do you all dress this way in your kingdom? I have not had the pleasure of a visit in many years.”

Another breath in and out. “I'm not from the England you've been to, your highness.”

“You dare mock me?” the prince asks, his lips curling up in a smile, as if the challenge excites him.

“I don't mock you,” Louis replies. “I’m simply unsure how to convince you of the truth.”

“Which is?”

Louis takes a moment, ignoring the prince’s icy stare, to decide if he really wants to do this, with the price of failure most likely being his life. He takes a chance, praying for the prince to believe him, to hear him out for long enough to come up with a plan.

“I journeyed to your kingdom not from another land, but from another time.”

“Ah,” the prince smirks. “So you are a wizard? A simple witch only capable of butchering spells so badly you land in my bed chambers? Is this the best you can do? Pity. I'd hoped for more of a jest before I asked for your head.”

“I'm neither of those things,” Louis says, remaining as calm as he possibly can under the circumstances. “I’m in academia. A scholar of history.”

The look in the prince’s eyes changes at that admission, a brief flash of something Louis can't decipher in its quickness. “And what is it that you study?” he asks, his voice a touch quieter than before.

Louis steps forward, an unbelievable force of bravery moving him closer. The prince doesn't flinch, doesn't step back. His gaze is calmer, not exactly warm, but no longer quite as hard and unfeeling as the stone surrounding them.

Louis says the word before he can lose his nerve. “You.”