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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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The Five Scares (and one revenge)

Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having a tendency to scare people, Corpse has gotten used to his friends being jumpy whenever he appears from the void into a Discord call with them. However, the one who has it the roughest with the spooks has to be his partner Y/N. Basically: The five times Corpse scared Y/N and the one time they scared him

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your lovely request it was a real joy to write and I had a ton of fun doing so! Hope you have equally as wonderful of a time if you happen to come across it and give it a read despite the long wait you’ve had to endure which I apologize for. Love, Vy ❤

Having had to go home for the night to keep an eye on their roommate’s dog, Y/N and Corpse agreed to have a video call before they fell asleep. They didn’t want to appear like that typical clingy and cheesy couple but after spending almost a whole week curled up in Corpse’s apartment, the two would feel each other’s absence to a very saddening degree to the point where they’d even forget the other isn’t around and would call out to them.

Letting the call ring, Y/N’s hand comes up to smooth out their hair. However, the touch reveals to them that their hair needs a bit more than a simple tap or a pat to be tamed so while they wait for Corpse to answer the call, they quickly head to their bathroom. Flicking the light on, their reflection greets them with the underwhelming news of the actual state of their hair at the moment: an absolute mess. They proceed to do their best with the single hair-tie they have handy. A bobby pin or two would be neat but they have no time to go and grab one right now, seeing as how they can’t recall if they even brought them back from Corpse’s apartment. If they didn’t, they would have to search their roommate’s room for some which would take an even longer amount of time.

Eventually, they manage to tame it in something closely resembling a presentable ponytail and exit the bathroom feeling more exhausted than before. With a loud sigh, they crash onto their bed, face-first into the sea of pillows, groaning at the slight sting of their muscles relaxing at last.

“Y/N?“ The decently loud mention of their name by a deep, familiar yet sudden and unexpected voice startles them to the point of squealing and jumping an entire inch away from where they were positioned.

They look around their room in a frenzy, wondering where on Earth that voice came from and how it could be here with them right now.

“Y/N, you there?”, before they could locate it, it emerges once again, helping Y/N get an ide of where it’s coming from - somewhere in the messed up bed sheets.

“Corpse?“ They finally find their voice, “Y-yeah I’m here. Question is: how are you...“ and then it all clicks, causing them to twist their face in an expression of utter disappointment and bury it in the palms of their hands, groaning.

“You forgot about the video chat, didn’t you?“ Corpse asks, amusement not even attempted to be hidden in his voice.

“Yup.“

It’s been one hell of a day. Y/N’s college lectures exhausted them to a max and their six hour job following their classes did nothing to help them AT ALL. Quite the opposite actually. Makes sense why they look, move and talk the way they’re doing right now: like a ghost, zombie and an elder combined in one. To add to their misfortunes for the day, they were met with the mocking ‘OUT OF ORDER’ sign taped to the doors of the elevator, laughing in their face with the information that their hellish experience for the day is far from over.

Just the thought of having to climb to the fifth floor made their stomach turn in the most unpleasant way possible, but the though of how long that would take made matters even worse. Arriving at their designated apartment, they have every right to be pissed, cussing their heart out.

However, then comes a new problem: the inability to pinpoint the correct key. They proceed to curse themselves, the keys, the door handle and the door itself before punching the poor wood that did no wrong and just stands here, serving its purpose of keeping unwanted people out of the apartment it’s guarding.

Following their anger outburst and front-door-abuse, they proceed to try finding the correct key once again, this time slightly more calmly as to not accidentally miss it in their frantic rifling.

Right as they’re about to try the third key, however, the door opens. Well, it’s opened by someone on the other side, that someone being none other than their boyfriend Corpse who’s currently staring at them wide-eyed, one eyebrow raised, the word ‘confused’ basically written across his face.

While he’s processing the sight in front of him, Y/N lets out a little scream, jumping back and away from the door, a hand placed over their chest as their wide eyes scan their boyfriend who now seems equally terrified as a result of their reaction.

“Corpse?!“ They manage to gasp, barely hearing their own voice over the loud thumping of their heart and the rush of blood in their ears, “What the hell are you doing here?!“

The confusion on Corpse’s face deepens, reaching whole new levels as his eyes gaze deeper into theirs, searching for the meaning behind their bizarre question. “You mean...at my own apartment? What am I doing, at home?“

For a few seconds, the two just stare blankly at one another, processing everything that’s just happened. Suddenly, it all just kinda caves for Y/N and they burst out laughing, doubling over, their arms clutching at their stomach as they do so. Their laughter is contagious, so Corpse can’t help but let out a few chuckles himself.

“Alright, you’ve been driven to insanity, I can tell.“ He mumbles at his reckless partner, coming up behind them and wraps his arms around them, lifting them up and carrying their laughing ass inside.

III

Finally deciding to sit down and get this damn project started, Y/N already feels like they’ve had enough of it, burnout already creeping in and threatening to ruin their work and trip them up every step of the way. It wouldn’t have been so bad had the subject not been one they absolutely despise and wish they could get out of studying but alas they’re stuck with it.

They equip their headphones as soon as they plant their butt on the desk chair in their tiny room in their tiny roommate-shared apartment, putting their Spotify playlist on shuffle as they open a blank Power Point document. They work better with music blasting in their ears since the silence tends to be too loud and distracting when they’re trying to focus. So, that way they can also sing their heart out in peace and not get disturbed by the sound of their own off-key singing. Win-win, basically.

Singing ‘Never Forget You’ by Zara Larsson and MNEK, they get a little carried away, ditching the project to enter a full-blown music video they can imagine down to the detail in their mind.

However, there’s a surprise awaiting them.

As soon as MNEK’s part of the song begins, another voice apart from his echoes through their headphones, singing along to the song. Freaking the fuck out, they let out a loud scream, smacking the headset off them, sending the object falling and landing on their laptop keyboard with a crash that only serves to further startle their roommate’s dog which comes to check if they are being attacked or something only to be disappointed by the lack of action.

When pushing the headphones off, they did so with a force strong enough to snap the cable out of the laptop entirely so now the room is filled with the sound of that same foreign voice laughing his ass off.

A voice that belongs to no other than Corpse Husband himself.

“You gotta learn to disconnect from Discord calls, Y/N.“ The fucker says, still cackling wholeheartedly at his partner’s misery.

Pissed off or not, Y/N would have to admit he’s got a point. But they’d also rather never speak again than admit it so...

“Fuck you!“ is what they say instead, seconds before disconnecting.

Making breakfast is not something either Corpse or Y/N are used to, mostly cause they both either wake up late or skip the meal entirely. Regardless, having been given a day off from work and having no classes since it’s Saturday, Y/N saw no better way to start their day off than to prepare a nice breakfast for them and their boyfriend to enjoy. Problem is: they aren’t the most skilled in the kitchen. Sure they can scramble an egg or make mac and cheese, but in order to do it correctly they are not allowed to have distractions of any kind. Not even music, that’s how you know it’s serious.

Seeing as how Corpse has never seen them cook, he’s obviously unaware of theirs. The dummy straight up waltzes into the kitchen, unintentionally remaining unspotted and unheard by Y/N because he’s barefoot and because they have their back turned to him.

“Whatya cooking over there babe?“

Y/N’s focus bubble, being as thin as it is and considering they initially thought Corpse was still asleep, they have every right to let out the yelp they just did, dropping the egg they were gonna crack over the pan in said pan in its entirety - yes, shell and all.

A moment of silence commences: regretful on Corpse’s end and frustrated on theirs. Neither of them dares to say anything to avoid triggering the other. Well, that’s the case until Y/N decides enough’s enough and they turn to look at him, a wide, obviously fake smile plastered onto their face.

“Scrambled eggs, following a secret recipe, property of the L/N family.“

Seems like your pre-breakfast snack is an extra large dose of sarcasm, huh?

“So, how was your day? You sound pretty chipper so I take it wasn’t a nightmare like a few days ago.“ Corpse comments over the phone, listening to shuffling and shifting as Y/N moves around the apartment, getting ready to head out.

“It was great actually. Got some important results back and, not to brag or anything, but they were higher than I expected.“ They reply, a genuine wide grin refusing to leave their face as they silently count the amount of money they’ve got in their wallet. “I’m gonna go buy a cake so we can celebrate it. It’s no small deal, trust me, especially not when I initially thought I’d fail both these exams to the point of being pitied.“

“Wait...-“ Corpse attempts, his voice suddenly sounding strained and urgent but that’s the very reason he cannot seem to find or get the right words out of his system. Not that Y/N gives him any time to figure it out.

“No Corpse, you cannot change my mind. Cake and beers, we’re celebrating toni- SHIT!“ They scream as they throw open the front door, bumping square into someone standing on the other side, almost dropping their phone.

Taken aback by embarrassment and fear, they leap back, their eyes searching for the ones of the person whose personal space they just invaded. Well, to be fair, he was the one invading their personal space by standing right outside the door to their - well, to Corpse’s apartment.

The fear and irritation die down almost instantly when Y/N recognizes the person standing opposite them.

“Mind telling me why we’re talking on the phone when you could’ve come in and we could’ve had a normal person conversation?!“ They snap, ironically enough - they’re still holding the phone to their ear.

So is Corpse whos is smiling guiltily, “That’s why I called, I forgot my keys, but I got...carried...sorry.”

Well, at least this serves as proof Y/N’s not the only forgetful one.

~ ~ ~

Corpse has been stuck in his recording room for four hours now, never stopping his stream to take care of his basic human needs such as eating or going to the bathroom. This behavior of his has Y/N worried sick and unable to focus on the task at hand - an assignment they’ve been trying to finish for two hours now, sitting with their computer on their lap and looking hopelessly at the blank Word document waiting for them to fill it up while they are waiting for it to start writing itself.

Seeing as how neither are gonna happen, not until Y/N puts their mind at ease, they slowly put the laptop aside, standing up to carefully skip on over to Corpse’s recording room to check on him, stopping by the kitchen to grab him a snack and a bottle of water along the way.

The door to the darkened room is open a crack, as usual, suggesting they can enter without knocking - this also means he’ll probably not hear them even if they knock so the whole gesture would be pointless. Not that Y/N has a tendency to knock or anything... Waltzing in, they find that the only light in the room is the very faint and dark glow of the computer screen which is displaying a dark and dingy room from a first-person view of the protagonist of whatever game Corpse’s currently playing.

“Corpse?!“ They whisper-yell/hiss at him, trying their best to grasp his attention without startling him - they don’t need to be told that the game is of the horror genre and the last thing they need is for their boyfriend to flip backwards and fall out of his chair because they scared the shit out of him. “Hey?!“

Neither attempts prove futile so, despite their best instincts telling them differently, they walk over to him and tap him on the shoulder. The reaction, while within the realm of expectancy, is a lot more startled than they expected, accompanied by a scream on top of all. They’d never heard him scream in fear before, it’s quite amusing if they’re being honest.

They suppress a snicker as Corpse’s wide open eyes meet their squinting ones in the darkness, “Y/N...babe...what is it? Is everything ok?”

Y/N rolls their eyes, “No, everything isn’t ok. Your unhealthy habit of forgetting to take care of yourself, for example.” They put the snack and the bottle on the his desk, giving him their best disappointed-parent look before turning on their heel to strut their way out of the room. However, just as they are about to make their exit, they stop right at the doorframe, giving their stunned one final glance over their shoulder with a smug smirk playing across their face, “Oh and by the way, that’s what I like to call revenge.” Just like that, they leave, pushing the door back into its previous position.

And boy, is it some sweet, sweet revenge.

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hitoshisbabygirl · 3 years

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Author's Notes ♡: Hi there hey! Welcome back to another collab piece!! This round I try to have him in his pro hero line of work and being his usual soft and caring self. It’s a bit soft but also heated at the end sooo, I love making a softer Kiri so enjoy!! I hope I did this justice~ bunny ❥

Warnings : NSFW again! (◎_◎;)

A use of pet names like twice, if you squint you’ll see a bit size kink and Soft Dom Kiri, fingering, Light cursing, pussy job, Kiri is a soft but huge lover

Word count : About 3.3k!

Paring(s) : Pro hero!Eijiro Kirishima x F!Reader

Summary : Kirishima was used to saving people, and having the joy that comes with it and completing his job, so what happens when he falls for the girl that is his main link to a case?

Enjoy ♡

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Kirishima knew taking this mission with Fatgum would be one of their more challenging ones : A drug ring filtered out throughout a high end hotel with an escort and stripping service. Supposedly they'd traffic with the girls, under trays of food or other masked ways. The menus were keys to what each drug was, and each service was a different type of delivery. They were so close , so very close to understanding what was happening but...they also hit a bump. Most of the investigation was focused on the owner of the hotel but they soon found out that they were barking up the wrong tree. The owner of the hotel wasn't who controlled the flux in the drug ring but a patreon, a wealthy real estate manager for a mob. Sighing, Kirishima rubbed his face, glancing at Fatgum who was writing like a madman at the desk in their jointed room “Hey Taishiro..” Kirishima called as the blonde let out a hum,still jotting notes “We have that other lead right? Uh..” He started as he flipped through his own notes, running over a name “Peaches, the cage dancer?” “Yeah what about her?” Fatgum said as he looked to his red haired subordinate “Why don't we see if we can find her? She should be working tonight right? The other dancer said she only comes in on certain days, and she seems tied to Mr.N'' He siad as Fatgum joined him at his side , reading over his notes “Yeah! If we're lucky we’ll find some more about our lovely friend here”

And with that they headed downstairs and to the giant double door, the sound of thumping music seeping through the crack “Well Red, let's head in yeah?” Taishiro said as Kirishima followed behind. He knew undercover work was difficult, and it didn't help that both had to disguise their identities to the best they could : Fatgum and him both using colored hair spray to hide their hair colors. Taishiro opted to stay in his smaller form more often and wore clothes that were more fancy while under the name “Yuri”. Kirishima on the other hand was his makeshift “Bodyguard” , opting for all black looks and tended to hide his mouth with a black mask, going by the simple nickname “J”. The purpose was for Fatgum to look like another high end boss with security , and that's how it was. As the two entered they were greeted with half dressed to bare women with only covers asking them what they needed or wanted , some handing them drinks and allowing them to wander. The lights were bright and strobing , almost too much to the sober person, so the intoxicated had to be worse. Heading to the back they passed through a curtain into the higher end of things. Men with people at their hips, smoking cigars and watching as more dancers did their usuals, money being handed over , thrown and placed on their person. “Alright how about we split up, il take this seat, see if you can find the cage dancers” Fatgum said as he sat to an approaching girl, the women threw herself to his lap as Kirishima sighed watching him start up as he saw a red light behind another side curtain. Catching his attention Kirishima walked forward, into a darker room with a string of red lights illuminating a cage-like stage. Before he could get far a man stopped him

“Excuse me sir do you have a reservation with Peaches?” Bingo. He found her “Uh no sorry i don't , i didn't know i needed one for her '' He said shyly as the man looked up to him before sighing “Well, then sir i can't help you” Sighing Kirishima looked at the stage again when he saw one of the most beautiful sights he could see. A woman, covered in a red and black piece popped into the stage “Whats the issue Moby?” The women said as her eyes widened to the tall male in her usual empty room “Ah nothing miss Peaches, this guy i guess thought he'd get a show” The security said as the girl still looked to him and smiled waving him in “He does now, put him on my list yeah?” She said as the security stuttered , letting the towering man past “Ah miss, is it okay if my friend comes along as well? He went to a different stage but he would be meeting back up with me” He admitted as th e woman strolled to him , pressing a hand to the cage “He can come too, tell Moby to put him on the list sweetheart” She said before walking away, yelling to the security “Put his friend on the too!”

Soon Fatgum came into the room with him, sitting beside him as more paterons surrounded the stage “the other dont know them, it seems our girl is the one were with now” He whispered as they all looked up to the stage , the setting being set for the act who was coming out. If the hush whispers were anything he knew the girl they were waiting for would be something great.

All of a sudden Kiri could feel his heart in his throat, the woman he had spoken to came out , still dress the same as she waved to the whistling people below, goting to her pole with a jump and started spinning effortlessly, the sight was absolutely stunning ; he'd never seen such a beautiful display before. No one told him that stripping was a form of art, no matter how people tried to look down on it, this was art to him. He now knew why she was so sought after, the grace she had as she moved closer to him through the cage made his heart unironically thump and all of a sudden the throb in his chest moved to between his legs , an embarrassment he wish he wouldn't admit outright until a shove on the arm from his senior “Its alright, i think she likes you” Fatgum whispered as Kirishima looked up, seeing in fact that her eyes were glued to him.

Moving to the front she leaned against it, eyes locked on him as she beckoned him closer, the desperate others trying to reach for her as she smirked , reaching to Kirishima “Why dont you cmre big boy” She said as they whooped and hollered , all smacking him in the back as he gave fatgum a wide eyed look, the hidden blonde, giving him a thumbs up. “U-uhm I-” Before he could say much she tapped the cage , pointing to Kirishima as the security took him around to the opening “You're a lucky guy ; its rare she does a lap dance with fresh faces” The guy said, confusing the hidden redhead “How's that?” He ask “Well whoever spends the most on her usually just gets a leg tap or such, a lapdance is the highest thing she'll do with a crowd” He said before giving him a chair and opening her door “Have fun, she might spoil ya” And withthst he was face to face with the beauty. Walking up to Kirishima she gave him a smile, her smaller hand running over his chest before she took the chair from him , sitting it in the red light. “What should i call you cutie” She whispered before he felt the knot in his stomach tighten again “ Uh..how about..Jay..” He whispered back as she pushed him lightly into the chair “Well then Jay, ill give you a nice show hm?” she giggled, before moving into his lap. Kiri felt himself freeze , she smelt very good, and was too close for comfort. She was warm, and the way she looked at him made him feel like a highschooler all over again “C-can i touch you sweetheart?” He whispered as she settled , her eyes wide as she buried her face in his neck “A real gentlemen, I knew it was a good idea to trust you.

Go right ahead cutie, be gentle with me” she answered as she started to rock, rolling her hips with the thumping of her music. Slowly he put his own hand on her waist, following her constant moving as the group below yelled, telling him to do more or for her to strip even more. He felt her get close to his face before their noses touched, the heat in his chest blooming more as she pulled away. Feeling brave he gripped her hips, pulling her closer and with a gasp her arms moved back to his chest , the two in their own world before realizing there were eyes on them both still. Slowly she crawled down his lap, eyes on his as she ran her hand back on his thighs , her face on his lap as they screamed for more before the curtain dropped, covering them and the guys outside of it begged for more. Sitting back on her legs and letting kirishima catch his breath he held a hand to her , helping her up “T-Thank you for the show Miss Peaches , I feel honored“ Kirishima said as she blinked, before feeling her body heat up “O-Oh uhm why thank you for thanking me, i don't get much appreciation, and most would want your place. I….felt drawn to you so” She admitted before giving him a look “OH and you can call me [ ], but try not to around patreons, they'd be upset they don't know yet and i just told some newbie” [ ] teased as he laughed , agreeing “Yeah definitely. I hope to see you uh, more often” He said before he could stop himself, giving her the same shocked look her face had “I guess you're who've been asking for me.

Here, I'll give you my number and you tell me whenever you need something” She said, holding her hand out for his phone. Fumbling he took his phone out, taking her number in his phone as they walked to her dressing room. Shyly [ ] looked up at the tall boy who insisted on walking her back to her room. Standing ther awkwardly he gave her a shy look back “Uh i know this is random but when is your next show? I love how beautiful you look and i'd...wished to be able to..i'm not sure what id want to do being there” Starting to ramble he laughed and rubbed his head before [ ] grabbed his hands “Hey that's fine, i'll come around more often if you're around i feel safe with my new shield” She teased.

And thats how it was for a few weeks, them seeing her every day she danced and her even coming to see them on her off hours. Kirishima explained why they were really there and it made her heart happy to see change. She decided to help them, giving more information to them, helping them along with their case as it started to close. Before long Kirishima and [ ] had gotten closer, the two of them growing to love the others attention , so much so Fat gum called them out for it “Yknow, when this goes down, you should get [ ] to follow us , she's quite smart , and she could do wonderfully as a partner. She would benefit better from a safe environment” Fatgum said one day while they were finishing their report “Ya think? I do care for her, and I can't stand her coming over and crying about the abuse…...but i dunno what if she doesnt like me like that…”

Kirishima whispered as he felt a hand smack him on the shoulder “Ask her. Can't hurt to ask right? And the way you both give eachother puppy eyes even when she's on stage i'm pretty sure she likes you the same way you like her.” He teased as the red head beside him sighed, hearing a knock at their door. Opening it he was face to face with the girl in question, [ ]. Her eyes glowed as she came in, greeting the two males in front of her. “Hey guys! How's everything going?” She said as she sat on the edge of one of the beds in the room , dressed more casually which made them both have a sense of joy “Ah well we should be arresting him tomorrow once he gets here, I know you work tomorrow night so ill have Kiri be with you, he’ll make sure everything runs smoothly , we’ll all go back to the headquarters and regroup okay?” Fatgum finished as [ ] shook her head, agreeing with the plans as she sighed “I'm nervous but it needs to be done... I , well all of us can't take this anymore...constantly being in fear all the time yknow?” she sighed as she laid back, a comfortable silence falling between them as they all laid around the room “Uhm [ ] can I ask you something?”

Kirishima said as she hummed, cracking an eye open to look at him. Knowing what was to come Fatgum gave him a thumbs up before claiming he had a call to go investigate downstairs, leaving the two of them together. “[ ] I cant stand you in pain...I dunno what i can do for you but...please, let me help you out , come with me , with us. I want you to be happy y'know and ive enjoyed every second we’ve had together..maybe im being selfish, or maybe its silly but...I” Trailing off he looked up to [ ] giving him soft puppy like eyes. Reaching out she placed her hand on his , rubbing her thumb on the back of his hand as she took in a breath to start her own comment back “Kiri...Ejirou, I care about you, so so very much, I wouldn't want to be a burden to you, but I'd love to go with you. Question is , is tit the both of you who want me around or a certain red head who cant take his eyes off of me” She teased as the color in his face flushed to his ears , stuttering as [ ] laughed “Its okay Kiri, Fatgum told me too, that we both care so much for eachother and should admit it, its why im here now actually” [ ] said as she meekly met his wide eyes, not fully thinking he understood her “W-wait say that again?” Kirishima croaked, meeting her gaze as she smiled , tracing his hand that sat beside her leg. Before he could stop himself he tackled her to the bed , pushing his lips against hers. With a gasp she kissed him back, wrapping her hands around his neck as they laid there, sealing their promise to eachother with a kiss. Soon, Kirishima pulled away, but not before tugging her bottom lip in his mouth. Gently he placed his hands beside her face, looking into her [ ] colored eyes, his heart fluttering once more as he kissed her forehead “Im sorry [ ] i just couldnt help it… Uhm am I moving too fast? I can definitely wait until youre ready” He spoke out as the girl under him sat up, gripping his cheeks “Kiri, honey ive waited for us to confess and now youve gotten me riled up, take good care of me yeah? Later on we can be more intimate but for now..I need you” She said, seeing he way the red heads eyes darkened at her comment “Then let me tak good care of you my love”

And with that he slide a large hand down between her thighs, rubbing at a wet patch forming against her panties as he pushed passed them, entering her with teo plump fingers “I gotta get you to relax, i wont fit if youre this tight” Whispering in her ear he picked up the pace, kissing right under her pulse as [ ] sucked in a breath, grabbing onto a strong arm “K-kiri I-” Shushing her , Kirishima leaned over to kiss her lips, speeding up his fingers as he felt her drip between them “Cum for me sweetheart, let me open you right up” He begged. Feeling her stomach tense at his choice words [ ] whimpered, her high hitting her as the sound of him pumping her though it echoed throughout the room. Pulling his hand out from her fluttering pussy and short he smirked, licking her orgasm from his fingers. Giving her a lopsided smile he spoke ‘Cant wait to eat you out..but thatll have to wait. I need to be in you” Sittin up from her Kirishima pulled his shirt off and with a toss threw it uncerimosily into a corner, as well as his pants and her clothes. [ ] couldnt help biting her lip as she saw the bulge under his boxers, a spot of precum at the tip as he palmed himself before pulling them off slowly, the red tip smacking his stomach

“ Like what you see?” He teased as he ran the tip between her sopping folds, a gasp as soft ‘Yes’ falling from her lips “Ill be gentle okay? If its too much tell me, alright?” he said as [ ] agreed , opening her legs more as he started to rub around her clit, catching it with his swollen head. In a trance he kep that up, bucking between her lips as it started to make them both sticky and hot. Soon she couldnt take it anymore, grabbing his hand as she pleaded with him “Please Kiri, put it in already, I can take it” Letting her words sink in he smiled before flipping her to her stomach, pressing his tip against her wet hole “Hold on to something then” was his last warning before pushing in, his tip sliding by with ease as the smaller girl under him moaned, arching her back to take more in his first push. Slowly he kep rocking his hips, pushing more and more in before finally bottoming out, a satisfied groan spilling from both parties lips. Leaning down to her neck Kirishima bit down gently before picking up his pace, holding her hips in place as [ ] whined , reaching back for a hand “W-wait please its too much” She whined as he slowed his hips only a bit , feeling her clench over his own thick member “Youre close again...is me pounding you from behind too much” He cooed, biting a new post on her neck as he sped up again, making the girl squeal “I-i dont wanna cum yet! I dont w-want it to end” She spilled out as she felt the knot in her stomach return, warming her lower body as he kept up his pace, sliding a hand to go between her legs as he searched for her nub, tracing it as he drilled in her from behind. Too quickly [ ] felt it snap, the little bit of control over her rapid orgasm faulting as she came overhim, grabbing the hand on her hip as she weakly rocked back “Thatta girl, keep going you got it...fuck im close too, where d-do you wnat me to cum” He asked as his own hips got sloppy but never slowing down, in fact they picked up more pace as he chased his own high “Im on the pill, please fill me up baby, Eijirou i need you to fill me up” [ ] pleaded. Hearing his name unexpectedly was his demise. He felt himself quiver as thick ropes of cum spilled from hsi tip inside of her spasming and warm walls, a low growl falling from his lips as he rocked the last of his oragsm out, small ‘Thank yous’ and ‘I love you’ falling from his lips. With care he wrapped his arms around her torso, holding her to his chest as he pulled them sideways “Well...i didnt expect the night to go like this” [ ] giggled as Kirishima kissed her shoulder before agreeing “I don mind it...but I meant it...i didnt just use you fro sex or anything..”He said again as she hummed, kissing the hand the laid on her chest “I know...i meant it too..” As the comfortable silence filled the room [ ] felt something hot stir her again. Looking down she could see Kirishima getting hard again> Before she could say anything he spoke “Whenever youre ready, I could go for another round sweetheart” Slightly pushing her hips back [ ] knew she was in for a long night

#my hero academia #bnha #bnha collab #bnharem collab #kirishima ejiro x reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #bnha x reader

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dynyamight · 3 years

Note

bkdk … 12 ? ༼ つ ◕◡◕ ༽つ

12. “I think we need to talk."

The moment Bakugou opened the gym doors, and smelled rain in the air, he knew he had to book it back to the dorms.

Slamming his feet on the pavement floor, he forces himself to run out. His muscles ache all over, and his arms barely want to stay up, pumping at his side. But, he rather try and make his way to his room dry, than have a downpour soak him to his bones.

By the time he reaches to the safe, dry front steps of the dorm building, the rain finally begins. Lightly, the drops splatter slowly to the ground.

Catching his breath, Bakugou stops by the rails, holding onto one side as his muscles cramp. His thighs are burning, and his arms want to fall off entirely. But, he let's his mind focus on the pain.

He's had a rough fucking week, and for once, his mind was elsewhere.

“It’s starting to rain now, isn’t it.”

Bakugou jolts, quickly facing up to that familiar voice. That voice that haunts his dreams, ingrained deep into his mind. That voice that makes his heart race just a little quicker. That voice, from the one and only.

That forgetful nerd.

“Ah, sorry! I didn’t mean to spook you.’ Midoriya says quickly, offering an apologetic smile. He’s sitting on the front porch, holding onto a book close to his chest. “You probably thought you were the only one out here, right?”

“..You don’t have to apologize.” He breathes out. Despite the haywire of his nerves, exploding his insides, the words roll off his tongue easily. It's oddly the same phrase he's used each time they've met. "S'not like you personally screwed me over."

"Ah, my bad—"

"What did I just say."

“I—" Midoriya weakly chuckles, shaking his curls. "I guess I can't help it. I promise I won't forget.”

No matter how many times Bakugou hears that, it always sounds so genuine, so real. Rather than an empty promise. "I'll hold you to it, Deku." He mutters, regardless.

"What does that—" A light shines through Midoriya's gaze, and immediately he smiles. "Wait, you know what. I swear that's not the first time someone has said that to me. Deku."

Chills run down Bakugou’s spine. That's never happened. He's never slipped up. Fuck. “..Really?”

“Yeah, it sounds so familiar. But, I don’t remember exactly where I've heard it before.”

Both disappointment and relief flood his whole entire body. He doesn’t know what he would do if Midoriya would remember all his terrible attempts, though a part of him did yearn for recognition.

However, maybe it was for the best. Give them a fresh start, every time. Fucking hip hip hurray.

Hell, maybe this was the world's way of sending him all the karma that he has built up. It decided to pick the one person he deeply cares about, and make both of them suffer.

Bakugou looks back at the book Midoriya held, something in his mind reminding him about one of the first talks since the incident. “Is that Catch-22?” Bakugou asks, pointing it out.

It takes a moment for the question to visibly register through Midoriya's brain. But, when it does, Bakugou can tell by the way Midoriya’s eyes widen and the wide grin on his face that grows, “You've read it?”

“Nah, just heard about it. A lot.” He doesn’t need to explain himself further.

Leaving his seat off the bench, Midoriya rushes up to Bakugou’s face, eagerly leaning in. “I highly recommend it! It’s a literature masterpiece, the best of its genre!”

For a moment, Midoriya looks up to Bakugou’s gaze, eyes bright in interest. However, the next second, he looks away, with a feeble laugh as he scratches the side of his head nervously. “In my humble, personal opinion, of course..”

“What does it even mean?” Bakugou asks instead, holding tight to their conversation. He refuses to let it go for even a second. “Catch-22.”

“Oh. Uhh, the best way I can describe it,” Midoriya lifts his chin in thought. His gaze drifts up, as if he was wracking through his brain like it were a couple of shelves, “is that it's a dilemma from which someone cannot escape from, because of a set of contradictory rules.”

Bakugou scoffs. “Give an example. I’m too fucking tired to decipher whatever the fuck you just said.”

“Okay, okay!" Midoriya laughs, "It’s like job applications. How can you gain any experience for a job, unless you get a job that gives you experience?”

“Like, how in order to apply for a loan, you have to prove to the bank that you don’t need one?”

“Yes! Exactly that.”

“That shit has a name?”

“They’re hard to find, but even in everyday life, we can find ourselves in our own catch-22’s without realizing it! Isn’t that crazy? For all we know, life itself could be one!” Midoriya rambles, growing louder and louder, to the point Bakugou swears he can hear his voice echo.

Though, Bakugou doesn’t mind. This alone is possibly the most Midoriya has said to him, with all encounters combined.

Surprisingly, a blush forms over Midoriya’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean to babble on like that.”

“How do you get someone to remember you,” Bakugou starts, before he can stop himself from asking, “when they keep forgetting who you are every time?”

Midoriya stares.

Quickly, Bakugou coughs, “Ain't that a catch-22?”

For a small moment, all he can hear is the rain, pattering down the pavement around them. But, then, Midoriya hums, tilting his head, lips pursed. “Yeah, it most definitely is. Though, I've never heard of that one, before.”

"Yeah well," Bakugou shoves his sweating hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “That’s the fucking dumpster fire I’m in.”

“With all respect, does your person have medical reasons why they keep forgetting?” Midoriya asks slowly, immediate concern filling his expression.

“Not that I know of." Bakugou admits, "But, I wouldn’t put it past them. Or, they might be plain stupid.”

“That's rude!" However, the accusation sounds fairly weak, when Midoriya's chuckling.

He feels the corners of his lips upturning. "What's 'rude' is the damn bastard not remembering anything, other than random, trivial shit." Bakugou huffs. "Which changes, daily."

"And, you say nothing works? Not even telling them?"

"Yeah. 'Cause they'll fucking forget the next day."

"Have they ever wrote about you?”

Bakugou does a double take. When did Midoriya ever— “Wrote about me?”

Nodding, Midoriya gestures behind him, to the backpack beside the bench. “Personally, I've been using lots of sticky notes, planners, and journals to jot down things I need to remember.”

“Again, my memory's a bit distorted, so in order to tell my future self what I need to know, I write it out for me to read, the next day. Maybe that’ll work for your person?”

Writing. So that the next Midoriya can read it and remember. “..Would it work, if I wrote it?"

Midoriya furrows his brows. "I think it would be better if the person wrote it out for themselves. You know, so that it helps to jog their memory."

Suppressing the immediate heart drop he feels in the pit of his stomach, Bakugou exhales a big sigh. "There's a lot of shit the fucker needs to remember. His purpose. His quirk. His dream. Lots of important shit."

"Why not start with you?" Midoriya smiles, reassuringly. "They're bound to have a diary entry all about you."

Immediately, Bakugou's irked. "I ain't writing material."

"I think you are. Good writing material." Midoriya confesses, never letting that dopey, wobbly smile drop, "I don't know your name, but everything about you is unforgettable, to say the least. I bet even someone like me will recognize you next time."

But, you don't. Bakugou thinks, feeling the tug at his heart tighten, choking him from the inside. You never do.

From the pocket of his gym shorts, Bakugou starts feeling his phone vibrate, before it rings. Despite that, Midoriya's jump causes him to be just as startled.

Rubbing a hand to his neck, Midoriya weakly chuckles, "Sad. We were just starting to get to know each other."

Bakugou doesn't respond.

'ALL MIGHT.' The caller ID states in bold letters.

"I gotta go." Bakugou states firmly, holding tightly around his phone. "I need to take this call."

Midoriya's smile fades, but quickly it's picked up. "Yeah, no worries. I've probably been keeping you outside for too long."

Bakugou curtly nods, "You have."

And yet, even when the ringing persists, loudly telling him to walk away, leave, he stays. Because, Midoriya just looks like he doesn't want him to go.

He doesn't want to go, either.

"I never got your name." Midoriya mentions quietly.

Why would I give it, if you won't even remember?

Yet, that freckled, doey eyed face Midoriya's got never brings out the rationale, spiteful side of him out. Because, no matter how many times he has to say it, he'll do it again, and again. In a heartbeat.

"Just call me Kacchan."

Visibly, Midoriya's taken aback. Though, with the phone call on its last few rings, he finally steps off to the side, giving Bakugou space to walk.

"I'll see you around then," Midoriya waves off to him, "Kacchan."

A personal hell. Bakugou's living his personal hell.

When he walks inside the dorm building, the emotions suddenly hit him hard. Every day, he has to keep putting up with this crap.

Midoriya greeting him, talking to him, and saying goodbye, like a damn fucking stranger.

It kills him, eating away at his brain, knowing Midoriya's unable to look at him, and see nothing, but a stranger staring back.

When looking at Midoriya meant the world to him.

With a swift thumb swipe, Bakugou slides the phone call open. He clears his throat. "What now old man."

"I think we need to talk." All Might's voice crackles. "Privately. The sooner, the better. It's about the quirk that's been affecting young Midoriya."

His entire body tenses, halting him still. "..What about it.."

All Might sighs, long and tired. "The authorities found some intel about the culprit behind the memory loss. And, well.."

"Well, what?" Bakugou snaps.

"Midoriya's in deeper trouble, than we thought."

#star responds #as this is the last drabble!! it shall be the longest!!#ahh.. to be honest i struggled with this prompt #it sounds like a breakup & i selfishly did NOT want to write it #buuut then i remembered an au i had in mind ! & decided to revisit it for this prompt #its basically memory loss au !! deku has been hit !! with a quirk!!#& bakugou. who just came to terms with his feelings. is struggling #anyways !! thank you bestie for this prompt !!#ckatsudon #bakudeku #my beloved #FICLET

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shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

shut in [4]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, threats

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: greetings everyone!! how are we all doing? i have nothing to say here tbh so anyway stan sam wilson being a lil shit whenever possible.

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Alright, thank you.”

You hung up the call, trudging back to the house, discarding the battery along the way.

The air had a chill to it and there was an occasional breeze that went past, rustling leaves providing an eerily comforting background score. The temperature tended to rise as the day went on but nights were especially cold due to the abundance of trees.

Even though the stress of the situation you were in constantly consumed all your waking thoughts, you still found the time to appreciate how beautiful your surroundings were.

The last few days were barely memorable. Sam and you tended to stay out of each other's way unless your meal time coincided or you watched the local news together. The schedule had worked out favourably.

He wasn’t very hard to live with.

Most of the time.

His commentary and small jokes were never-ending but were not as unwelcome as you initially thought. It brought some much needed light into your otherwise dreary day. When it came to figuring out how to do laundry due to your now extended stay or whose turn it was to do it, things got a bit messy but were resolved quickly.

He used to disappear often for hours on end. You never concerned yourself with going after him to find out where he went, figuring that unless he was hatching a plot that led to your demise, he was entitled to his own privacy. He’d return a while later, calmer than when he left.

It was fine. Nothing to write home about. Neither of you were dead yet.

“What are you doing on the bed?” You were reconsidering your last thought when you walked into the bedroom to resume your self-interrupted sleep, only to find him face down on the sheets. “It’s my day today.”

“Just give me some time. I’ll be out of here soon enough.” His voice was muffled as he spoke into the sheets.

“You can take all the time you need tomorrow when it’s your turn.” You swatted at his legs, earning a grunt of chagrin from him.

“Go eat some soup and maybe you’ll calm down,” he fired back, unmoving.

“Today’s not soup day. Which you would know if you paid attention to our schedule. That we made. Together. The same schedule which says it’s my turn today.”

He groaned, shoving his face deeper into the pillow. “My back’s killing me. Just give me a few.”

“Why, what’d you do?” you asked curiously, letting go of his leg.

“Combat training. Took a few beatings, fucked up my spine.”

“Does it hurt a lot?”

“It comes and goes.” Sam finally rolled onto his back, giving you a view of his face. His bone structure was amazing, even from quite possibly the ugliest angle you could have over him. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

You just stared at him as he linked his arms behind his neck, elevating his head to look at you. He had a small stubble that was starting to grow longer. You wondered if he would shave it. He looked good regardless.

“How’s your beloved?”

“Huh?”

“The person you keep sneaking around to talk to on the phone. I’m not your dad, y’know. You can talk to them inside the house, ‘m not gonna ground you,” he quipped, a small, teasing smile on his face.

“He’s not my lover. Just... an acquaintance.” You felt the awkwardness starting to set in after you trailed off. “Anyway since you’re awake, we need to talk.”

“‘Bout what?”

“What happened that day. We’ve been avoiding it but we need to figure out what went wrong. Or at least a clue.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed, wincing as he sat up straight. “How do you want to do it?”

“Just talk me through how you got put on this mission and what exactly happened that day, I guess.” You took a place on the bed, leaning backward on your hand for support.

He nodded, delaying for a second to collect his thoughts before beginning.

“So basically-”

The sun was particularly relentless that day.

The ringing bell above the door of his favourite coffee shop was a welcoming sound. The barista smiled at him in greeting, asking if he wanted his usual to go.

His park bench was empty as it always was. Sam liked to think of it as a small gift from the universe; the fact that it was perpetually unoccupied.

He liked to sit there and watch people’s day go by. His iced coffee-

“I don’t really require that much detail.”

“Patience. I’m getting there.”

It was arguably one of the most peaceful days he had had in awhile, and he was hoping to keep the streak going. Nothing seemed like it would phase him, not even the phone ringing, drawing his attention away from the scene in front of him. Caller ID didn’t trace who it was.

“Hello?”

“Wilson.”

Sam gripped the cup so hard he thought it might spill over onto his jeans.

“I told you not to call me, Ransone.”

“But honey we had such a good time last night,” he faux cooed, “You know I have needs-”

“I’m not getting involved in your stupid organisation, Vincent. I told you I’m done,” Sam broke in, not wanting to waste time listening to his stupid dramatics.

“Listen here, Wilson.” The swift change in his tone was looming, threatening. “You’re done when I say you’re done-”

“Wanna bet?” Sam took a sip of his coffee. “I thought we made it clear in Detroit that we’re done. Honey.”

He added the last part out of pure spite just to get a rise out of him. Much to his glee it seemed to work as Ransone let out a deep exhale before continuing.

“That was before we found out there’s a mole in my gang. I want you to kill him.”

“This is way below my pay grade. Have one of your interns do it. Your shitty murder warehouse hasn’t seen much action in a while.”

“This is Pierce we’re talking about. If he’s working for another organisation, his ass is going to be so guarded, these kids couldn’t wouldn’t even get past the gate. Besides, you know my murder warehouse is for special guests only-”

“Man, it must suck real hard to be you right now,” Sam didn’t wait for him to complete his sentence. He finished the last bit of the drink he had left, gathering his things before standing up. “Find someone else. I’m out.”

“You might want to reconsider that. We found him.”

He stopped in his tracks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam said steadily, grip on the phone tightening.

“I think you do, though. Had us fooled for a while there, thinking he’s dead. A little more research, some cash into the right pockets and boom! There he is, clear as day.”

Sam felt a chill go up his spine.

“He doesn’t know we know. We’re just keeping an eye on him for now.”

“If you even fucking think of touching him-” his fists were balled up, struggling to keep his anger from rising.

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t.” Ransone laughed. “I’ll just have one of my interns do it.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Ransone. It’s not somethi-”

“Do this hit and I’ll leave him alone,” Ransone interjected. “You’ve worked so hard to pull him from our radar, Sammy. It would be a shame if it all went to waste.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. Suddenly the day didn’t seem as bright as it was a few minutes ago.

“I’ll text you the details. You tend to leave me on read so I thought I’d make it more fun. Do you want the confetti with the message or the lasers-”

Sam just hung up the call, feet firmly rooted in his spot. He had no idea what he was going to do.

The notification of a new text alerted him. Pierce’s address along with the exact timeline of when he’d be home.

It was across the country. If he botched the mission on purpose, Ransone wouldn't be able to find him for a few days at least, much less reach him. He could go on the run-

‘Do it or he dies.’

His train of thought was interrupted by a picture that made his blood boil.

Especially when it exploded with the stupid confetti effect.

“Okay, basically he threatened you with something to go do the hit.” You didn’t ask him what exactly he was threatening him with and Sam didn’t really elaborate.

“Yeah. Didn’t leave me with much of a choice. He’s batshit fuckin’ crazy anyway, I knew he’d do whatever he felt like.”

“So you ended up going.”

Pierce didn’t seem to get many visitors. Not that anyone could be blamed, this guy was one of the biggest pieces of shit Sam had had the misfortune of meeting.

Over the two days he had staked out in front of the mansion to find out if this guy had as much security as Ransone had boasted of, Sam had come to the conclusive truth that no, he very much did not. He had a standard home security system which was lacklustre compared to the rest of the house.

Maybe he just assumed that being a senior member of the mob would garner some fear to his name. Dumbass.

He found the tall shrubbery surrounding the property to be out of the line of sight of the camera, and climbing it wasn't very hard. He landed softly on the manicured lawn, adjusting his gloves and checking his surroundings before pulling his gun that was secured in the waistband of his pants.

He removed the safety, keeping it close to him as he stalked through the front yard.

The red car parked at the side earned an eye roll from him. If he had one, there was no doubt there’d be more. He just had to find a basement or garage.

Walking around the house, he kept close to the wall, searching for any opening to the basement.

It didn’t take long before he found a set of stairs to the exterior entrance of the basement. He checked to see if anyone was around before making his way down them. The lock was unsurprisingly easy to pick.

The basement was mostly dark save for a few strategic lights placed to highlight the magnificence of his several race cars. The man was moved slower than the second coming of Jesus. The cars just seemed like an overcompensation.

The switchboard was not difficult to find. He pulled open the cover, glancing at the switches before turning all of them off, plunging the whole basement into darkness. If his security system was as outdated as Pierce was, it would have turned off along with the rest of the house.

“Oh, that’s why the cameras weren't working when I showed up.” Bits that seemed amiss were beginning to place itself together the more his story progressed. “I assume you entered the house through the window on the side?”

“Sure did.”

Your guess was right. He’s the reason why it was ajar by the time you arrived.

As soon as he entered he had his gun raised. Scanning the room as he went past, his senses were dialed up to eleven. If he was really under the protection of Serpentine, they were doing a terrible job. He had gotten in completely unscathed.

As he made his way deeper into the house, the sound of some movie playing became louder. But he had cut off the power supply to the house.

His eyebrows pulled together tightly into a frown, he made his way down the hall towards the sound. No one was in the dining or living room he canvassed.

Finally, Pierce’s silhouette became clearer. He appeared to just be sitting there idly while a smaller screen played in front of him. It wasn’t a TV, just an iPad.

If Pierce was asleep it would just make the job easier. Gun raised, Sam made his way into the room silently.

Pierce was still. Sam raised the gun, taking a step closer.

A floorboard creaked.

He immediately cringed, shoulders tensed as he came to an immediate stop. It seemed like forever as he waited for Pierce to wake up, to brandish a gun and try and defend himself.

He didn’t.

Taking a step to the side, Sam moved diagonally. Each one was slow. Ready for any sudden movements from his end.

He finally stopped in front of Pierce.

A bullet hole in his forehead. Eyes open. Chest still.

He was dead.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Sam breathed out, lowering his gun. Pierce’s glassy eyes stared blankly ahead. He didn’t look like had been dead for too long.

A soft thud in another room made his head snap up. It was in the same direction from where he came.

He silently moved backwards to the corner of the room, hoping that the darkness was enough of a disguise as he saw someone stalking down the hallway.

“And that’s when you come in. Thought you were comin’ back to make sure he was dead.”

“I had just got there. Saw that everything was off, and just assumed it was a power outage.”

“What about you? How’d you end up there?” Sam had his legs crossed, leaning forward to listen to you.

“Ransone told me that there was a spy who was sending information out for nearly two years. Needed him gone and he wasn’t sure if his other agent would show up-” you mentioned to him- “I guess that’s you. Told me I had an opening at 8pm. When I got there, the CCTV was off. Found the window open so I just used that.”

You were replaying your memory, step by step to remember what exactly you had seen.

“Heard the movie playing, found no one when I went down the hall. I saw the car keys on the island, which came in handy later. Entered the room, pushed his head with the gun and he just slumped over like a damn rag doll. That’s when you made your grand entrance.”

“Got one chance to make an impression. Had to make sure I looked cool, emergin’ from the shadows and whatnot.”

“It doesn’t make sense though.”

“Ouch. Thought it was pretty legit, actu-”

“No, no-” you waved him off. “Not your entrance. The henchmen thing.”

He paused, mulling over what you said. “If he was working for Serpentine, he would have been more careful. Why did they show up after he’s dead?”

“I don’t think they work for Serpentine. If Pierce was giving them information, they wouldn’t kill him.” You had good reason to be confident about that. You thought you did, from previous assessments.

“Unless they were scared that he’d switch again,” Sam suggested. You looked up from your fidgeting fingers to him. “Didn’t want any of their secrets going back to Ransone. They got to him before we did.”

“Why’d they shoot at us then? If they killed him and left, why’d they wait for us to show up? Why did they try to kill us?”

“I think we’re ignoring the important thing here,” he paused. You looked at him expectantly, prodding him on. “How did they know we were coming? They should have killed him and disappeared but they expected us.”

You tilted your head. “Are you saying-”

“There might be more.”

“Pierce might not have been the only one,” you finished. “There are more spies.”

“Tipped ‘em off. Told them we were going to be there.”

“And killing us was just to poke Ransone with a stick,” you murmured, eyes downcast, fidgeting with your fingers again. “But that just seems random. It doesn’t make sense.”

“None of this makes sense, sweetheart.” Sam scoffed, leaning back again.

“We’re missing something. There’s something wrong.” You looked at him. “If it’s just a random attack, why did they release our face to the whole fuckin’ country? Why are they specifically targeting us?”

“Finishing what they started. Covering all their tracks from that day. If we’re not dead, we’re a liability.”

“What if it’s not Serpentine at all? What if it’s another gang?”

“Serpentine has the most motive.”

“We don’t know that.”

He looked at you incredulously. “I think there’s substantial evidence to suggest they fuckin’ hate us. Besides, they’d want me dead specifically.”

“Why?” you inquired, eyes narrowing.

He opened his mouth like he was going to explain but closed it a second later, leaving you guessing.

“Fine, but it doesn’t mean they’re the only ones who do.” You made a point to ask him later or at least conduct your own research into it.

“Okay,” he said, shifting to lean on his elbows, “who else could it be? If Pierce was working for Serpentine and Ransone found out, sends someone to kill him, it’s essentially an attack on one of their own members. I’d say that's a pretty good motive.”

“I don’t know. Hydra doesn’t like us either. There’s Ten Rings too. But Serpentine just doesn’t work out.”

“How are you sure?” he asked. “You a spy for them too?”

You rolled your eyes at him as he raised his eyebrow. “It doesn’t make sense. What if we’re missing something? Did we go through everything?”

“I just went through my entire story down to the most irrelevant details. Twice. Nothing’s missing on my end.” He pushed himself off the bed, taking a long stretch before looking back at you.

“I think we should do it again. Just to make sure.” You rotated your torso to look at him. “We can figure it out-”

“You’re going to lose your mind if you keep at this any longer for today. Take a break.”

“I can’t take this lightly. Everyone’s out there looking for us and there is no one we can trust-”

“And going through our stories for the third time today is going to solve that how?” He had his hands crossed over his chest like a stern parent.

“I’m sorry but our faces are probably plastered in every damn police precinct in the country,” you snapped, “And I think that us remembering something some stupid detail might actually help rather than, I don’t know, taking naps and eating sandwiches. So no, I’m not going to drop it. Because I actually want to get out of here.”

You didn’t mean to sound so angry with him. He had told you everything twice already and patiently answered questions that you had. You didn’t think he was lying. You had no way of knowing but you hoped that some sort of allegiance was being formed between you both.

There was silence for a minute, leaving enough time for the guilt to creep in when he didn’t fire back. It’s what you expected.

“I’m not asking you to drop it. I’m saying take a break,” he said calmly. “You’re thinkin’ enough for the both of us anyway.”

You let out a small exhale, forcing the edge to retreat from your voice.

“I’ll be back in a while.” With that he turned around and left the room. A few minutes later you heard the backdoor open and shut.

Great.

You massaged your throbbing temples, eyes closed. He was right. Your mind wasn’t clear and you had been at this for hours. You wouldn’t be able to think critically.

Or at all.

You dropped back on the bed, grabbing a pillow and pressing it to your face. The coolness of the fabric felt nice.

You just let out a sigh, turning to your side to hopefully get some sleep.

_____

You woke up what seemed like hours later to a dark room.

It took your eyes a while to adjust stepping out into the hallway illuminated by the light in the kitchen.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice rang out. “Made you a sandwich.”

You rubbed your eyes groggily, looking where he was pointing. Sure enough, there was a sandwich on the table. He sat at the seat adjacent to it.

“Thank you.” You contemplated sitting next to him for dinner. It would be a first.

In the end you just grabbed your plate, giving him a half smile before making your way to the couch. You settled on sitting on the floor instead, leaning your back against the foot of the sofa.

The TV was already halfway through playing Megamind so you just let it continue, mindlessly chewing on the bread. As far as peanut butter sandwiches go, it wasn’t all that bad.

“Wilson,” you called out sheepishly, eyes not leaving the movie. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. It wasn’t right.”

“It’s okay.”

How he let go of it so easily was beyond you. The sandwich was surprising too, but you took it, not wanting to change his mind. He couldn’t have poisoned it. You had checked his stuff.

You sat in silence for the rest of the movie. Your mind kept slipping in and out of thought but it was a comfortable atmosphere you found yourself in.

After the credits started rolling, you went to leave your plate in the sink. Sam brushed past you, grabbing the blanket at the foot of the couch, launching himself onto the cushions.

“What are you doing?” you asked, puzzled as he snuggled in.

“Going to sleep?” He tilted his head to look at you.

“Use the bed.”

“It’s your turn today.”

“Your back’s fucked up. I’ll take the couch.”

He didn’t budge.

“Go on.” You mentioned to the room with a shrug of your shoulder.

“You’re not going to let me argue, are you?”

You pressed your lips into a straight line to hide a smile, shaking your head lightly.

“Well, okay.” He let out a small noise as he got up. “Guess I’m sleeping business class tonight.”

Sam walked past you, careful not to bump into you. You swapped places with him, making your way to the couch, readjusting the blanket that was haphazardly left there.

“Y/N.” You peered at him from the corner of your eye, only to fully turn when you caught his gaze. “I appreciate it.”

You just nodded, tossing the blanket over yourself as he switched off the light.

Next part

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 3 years

Text

The Hard Things

Doing the right thing is never easy. Calum and Freya have a lot going for them. But what happens when fear gets in the way.

Inspired by I Follow Rivers by Marika Hackman and Starting Line by Luke Hemmings.

Calum X Black Female OC.

I cried once writing this. 7.4k words. Angst. Just angst and sarcasm.

@notinthesameguey is personally responsible for this. So blame her.

The Hard Things--Alternative Ending

Masterlist (on semi hiatus)

___________________________________

If Freya were going to be honest, she would admit that the second she saw Calum and his friends walk into the building she knew things were going to be bad. But Freya’s not being honest. Because being honest would almost include admitting just how too easy it was that day. How if those particular sequences of events hadn’t happened that specifically, then she wouldn’t be here--trying not to watch the quiver in his chin or the way he blinks rapidly. Then she wouldn’t be trying to forget the way his voice quakes.

But they did happen in that particular order. On a Thursday afternoon, he and his friends walked through the door. And here, here at this part, it’s easy to be honest.

Honestly, she is staring--way too hard and way too long at the rag-tag gaggle of people, but especially the man pulling up the rear of the group with a bright red hat snug on his head and covering his eyes, though not even the brim can hide the plump full lips pulled up into a tiny grin at something that must’ve been said. Because another guy, this one fairer-skinned in a hat too and a baggy t-shirt is also laughing. And of course, this group would enter just as Tre stepped away to check on the lanes already throwing. Vanessa wasn’t too far from the desk, but she was trying to help some parents figure out when they could schedule an event for someone’s birthday in the coming weeks.

This only leaves Freya as the only person available right now until rounds were completed to handle any new patrons. With a glance down to the clock on the computer, she could see that a couple more folks would be coming back to the front at any point. But clearly, that point wouldn’t come quick enough.

“Hi,” Freya greets flicking her gaze back up to the group with a quick smile. It’s the training. The fact that more than once she’d been told that customers liked her, especially the way she gave instructions but she needed to smile more. And if this weren’t the job keeping her afloat during her time of getting her degree, in addition to the administrative desk work she did at the university, she would leave here in a heartbeat. Possibly even in the blink of an eye. Whichever was faster.

“Hey! We were hoping you had a couple of lanes for us.”

Freya counts the head. “Just you seven?”

The guy that spoke initially turns the man in the back with the bright red hat on. “Still no word from her?”

The guy shrugs. “Don’t sweat it.” And Freya clings to every syllable. The almost sleepy drawl to his voice lined with a twinge of an accent. She can’t place it at first. But all of them share slight variations in it. The man in the red hat’s voice is low but smooth.

“Yeah just the seven of us,” a taller man pipes in.

“Okay, we can only have two people throwing on a lane at a time. I can put you on neighboring ones but we’ve got very strict rules about how many people can throw at a time.”

There’s a murmur amongst the group but eventually, it comes back to Freya that they’re okay with it. She runs down the safety rules, the forms they have to form out, and checks their IDs. She notices the man with the red hat’s name is Calum and though she knows she shouldn’t, she tries to commit it to memory. It won’t last long. She forgets names all too fast, but she never forgets a face.

“Nessa, watch the desk for me!” Freya calls out as she collects the cases with the axes and directs the party to their lanes. There’s a table for convening and a separate for the axes to rest. “Alright,” she starts with a quick whistle to settle the group. They get chatty but are quick to turn their attention back to her. “I don’t want to kick anyone out, but I will. So one last recap of the rules.”

When Freya finishes, she has the entire group repeat the rules back to her. When they return it to her all correctly, she smiles. “I appreciate y’all already. There are several range officers. They monitor carefully from several posts,” and she points them out as she speaks. “The shift rotates out in an hour. Meaning you’ll have to pause let the old shift go and let the new shift jump in. You’ll hear beeps to signal you to stop and start. If you have any other questions or concerns, you can find me at the front or a range officer. And we’ll be happy to help. Let’s keep all fingers, toes, extremities, and eyeballs intact and we can have a great day together. Enjoy.”

Usually, in her safety spills and best way to throw, Freya makes sure to keep eye contact with everyone in the group. However, she places a purposeful gaze on Calum when she tells them to enjoy. It’s reckless--she knows that. A little flirting hasn’t hurt her. Besides, she knows the moment she walks away, he’ll forget about her. They always did and she likes it like that. Flirty enough to keep good reviews, but never too flirty to insinuate anything more.

In her departure, Freya feels eyes on her, lasting longer than usual. And maybe she put more emphasis behind the swish of her hips and maybe she hoped it was Calum watching her walk away. But she doesn’t dare turn around. No matter how much she hopes in a fleeting second that maybe she had flirted just a little too much, Freya does not turn around to confirm or deny anything.

Back at the front desk, Freya takes a look at the cameras. Anyone at the front can see the lanes too--it’s for safety when you have live blades. Her gaze travels over each one though just out of the corner of her eye she catches the bright red hat. A few guys clasp him on the back but she can’t hear whatever else is said. The rest of the afternoon goes by slowly. As people leave, few come in to replace them. The weekend will be busier--it always in. And Freya knows that soon too, once the afternoon becomes evening things will pick up just a little.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Everything okay?”

Freya barely sees who it is talking before they’re out of the door. Calum, phone pressed to his ear. She watches him for a beat as he paces near the front windows of the establishment. Her gaze doesn’t linger long before something on the floor catches her eye. She sees it’s black and square. When she gets closer it looks like a wallet. Clearly used and loved by the creases in it. She glances back up to Calum to see him still on the phone and peeks at the ID just to make sure who it belongs to.

With the blank stare of Calum’s ID photo looking up at her, Freya takes it back behind the desk. She’ll wait until he gets off the phone. A minute or two later, the door chimes again with Calum reentering.

“Hey, you dropped this,” she calls out, stepping out from the desk to hold out the wallet.

Calum pats his pockets and a split second panic causes his eyes to go wide. “Oh shit, thanks. I-I didn’t even realize it fell out of my pocket.”

“No worries. Just glad to get it back to you.” Calum takes it and slips it into his pocket, hands patting the outside to make doubly sure it’s secure. “You guys doing okay back there?

“Yeah, we’re good. Though I think somehow the girls are kicking our asses.”

Freya smiles with a small tuft of laughter escaping her. “It’s power and finesse. You can tear down brick buildings but if you don’t get the release right so it’s not twirling over the axis too many times, you’ll come up with nothing.”

“So says the expert?”

Her cheeks heat for a second at the raised eyebrow Calum gives her. Running her tongue over her teeth to hide the smile, Freya nods. “Yeah, I’ve thrown an axe or two in my lifetime. So I guess that counts as me being an expert.”

Calum laughs. Whether it’s at her or not, Freya’s not sure. But she likes the sound of it. “Tell me what else the expert suggests.”

A moment passes where Freya’s watching his gaze. Wondering if an anime glint will twinkle over his brown eyes because it’s a smooth delivery. Smoother than some of the stuff she’s done. There’s no way he’s fucking real.

Freya takes a half step back, slipping through the threshold that separates the front desk from the main lobby and the hallway to the back where the lanes are set up. “This expert suggests that you try her advice and impress all your friends.”

“More finesse. In the wrist, right?”

“In the wrist.”

A shy smile is shared between the two of them. It borders telling everything and saying nothing at all, borders on giving away on how much Calum might’ve considered concocting a ruse just to get her attention and how much he did backtrack on his plan because it was his sister calling and that shocked him. The smile borders on Freya twirling the Havana twists around her finger and her rolling her eyes at Calum’s thinly veiled attempts at flirting.

Both of them are saved by the front door chiming and Freya gives a nod to Calum before turning her attention to the person now entering. But Calum watches the way she leans into the counter and smiles down at the small child standing next to their parent. “Oh my god, you’re getting so big,” Freya comments and then walks back around to settle next to them.

“No, Fre, I’m not bigger dan yesterday,” the kid responds.

“Huh, could’ve fooled me. Your dad will be out in just a second. Shift change had to wait for one more person. Anything cool happen at school today?”

Calum leaves then, though he can catch the small boy gush about the races he won at recess. It’s probably crazy of him to try and find some sort of way to come back here again soon, but Calum’s already trying to put together an excuse.

When Calum heads back to the front with the group, laughing at Michael’s utter disgust at the way the last few throws went, he does look for Freya. A girl with red hair is sitting at the desk instead. And though a little bit of disappoints settles into his stomach because he wanted to tell her how well her advice worked, he finds himself resolved and it wouldn’t be broken.

******

Calum told himself whatever Freya had to say during this talk wouldn’t break him. Hell, if he were honest, he didn’t think it would go like this. “You know, I used to say I was no good for people all the time,” Calum laughs. He sniffs hard and wipes his noses on the back of his nose. “It was a clean get-away line.”

“I’m not giving you a get-away line. I’m giving you the truth,” Freya returns.

“No, I’m-I’m not saying you’re giving me bullshit. You’re setting a boundary and a good one at that. I respect it. I’m just saying the irony. The same thing I used to tell others is coming back my way.”

“Karma’s a bitch.”

“I don’t regret it.” Calum shakes his head, not because he’s lying. But to emphasize his point.

*****

Calum doesn’t regret going to the Yelp, Facebook, or Instagram page of the business to see if she had liked it or appeared anywhere on their social media. And luck would have it, he manages to find her. The owners like to show off their employees. Their preferred form of employee appreciation appears, in Calum’s investigation, to be a quick bio of new employees along with a video of them throwing. He nearly misses Freya’s post because of his quick scrolls. The bottom of the page comes up quicker than the app could handle and just as the new page loads that he notices it. The thick twists and black lipstick sitting on her cool dark brown skin.

He doesn’t regret it when he followed the account that was tagged, or the message he sent her from his finsta, or the messages they exchanged for a few days. And he for damn sure can’t find himself to regret it when he came back to the place a couple of weeks later to see if Freya was working.

There’s no regret when she smiles at him and laughs. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to test your theory yet again. It worked last time. But I want to make sure that it wasn’t beginner’s luck.”

“You doubt me. You dare doubt me? I’m offended.”

Calum laughs briefly as he leans into the counter of the front desk. “It’s more like I’m testing a theory. Making sure the results can be recreated.”

“Oh, I promise you my results are valid.” She reaches out for his ID and every so gently their fingers brush. Calum can’t tell if that’s intentional or not, but it doesn’t the slight shiver that runs down his spine. “So just you today, huh?” Freya continues on, grabbing a clipboard, some forms, and a pen.

“Just me.”

“Rest of your friends scared.” Her gaze falls to the stack she’s gathering, checking something off on the top page and then sliding the ID back to Calum.

“They’d probably laugh at me if they knew I was here.”

“Laugh at you?”

“Tell me--why do you think I’m here?”

A moment passes between them. Though it takes up more like several seconds, time feels froze as Freya studies his face. Calum wants to reach up and readjust his hat out of a nervous habit. He wants to take it back. But more than anything, he wants to know if he has a shot. If it’s worth really pursuing.

“I think you’re here to test a theory. Maybe, just maybe you’re here because of Vanessa too,” she smiles as it says. Like she knows that isn’t the truth but she doesn’t want to give into Calum.

And while it’s not the answer he was hoping for, Calum takes it. She wants to play a game and he can be down for that.

*****

She wants to reach out for his hands. They sit next to each other in the lounge chairs Calum keeps lined around his pool. But Freya thinks twice about it. The bulbs dangle above them casting an amber hue onto the water, a stark contrast to the twilight pressing evening closer to night’s full darkness. Freya does regret it. She regrets not leaving her teasing response just to testing a theory. She knew what Calum was fishing for, what he was hoping to confirm when he came back by himself.

Maybe it was just where she was then. Then she thought she could give more. Now she realizes she can’t. She likes it when she’s dating someone and they can decide on a random Sunday for errand runs. She likes having them around. And not that Calum wouldn’t be around. Tours didn’t happen all the time. But they did run long. And who the hell knows where she’d be in eight months after she graduated. Her life wasn’t stable--she wasn’t tied to the West Coast like Calum was.

Her life was full of variables. Ones that she didn’t really plan on trying to solve until closer to Christmas in the spring right before graduation. And she didn’t want to give Calum any more false hope. It wasn’t set in stone that she’d be staying in LA and it wasn’t set in stone that she could handle the long departures. Calum deserved someone that was more sure of themselves.

“I think having regrets is no good anyway,” Freya says, finally breaking the long silence between them. “Having them doesn’t change what happened anyway.” But that doesn’t change the fact that you still regret this, Freya thinks to herself.

“I used to believe love could overcome any obstacle.”

Freya turns to look to Calum and catches thhe way the stubble on his chin from the few weeks he’s gone without shaving halos just a little in the lights. “Used to? The right person, the right love--”

Calum shakes his head. “Now I think people loving me means that they love themselves and they can tell me what they want or need. No guessing. No games.”

“Still sounds a lot of a hell lot like overcoming obstacles.”

“But it’s not a dream. It’s tangible. It’s not me daydreaming up in the clouds. It’s me--right here. Right now. Knowing seeing what it means more than anything else that all the shit I was thinking of as a kid really needed just to be put on the ground level for me.”

“What-what do you mean?”

“I mean as much as it fucking sucks that you’re telling me no, I know you’re doing it for the right reasons. I-there’s like this thing with me. I watch people. I don’t walk into a room of strangers and become the center of attention. I don’t like people all that much, but I care. You know? I care about the people I put into my life and I want them to do well and succeed. I want what’s best for them. It’s not always easy to want that, but innately, I do, I think. Deep down I want what’s good for people. And maybe love is doing the hard things, you know.”

He pauses. Freya watches the way he drops his head, fingers threading through the curls. She keeps quiet. There’s something more, something deeper to the words. “And you’re doing the hard thing. Whether it’s for me or not is debatable,” Calum continues. “But I think love is doing the hard things.”

“You said that having some space was important to you. And while I understand that, like you do need to be your own person in a relationship--”

“Your reasons or how you want to justify it to yourself for me isn’t something I need. You already said that you know what you expect and like out a relationship and that the touring would be too hard for you. Set boundaries for you. What good does it do to justify it to me?”

“So you know I’m not being an asshole, Calum. For fuck sake.”

“No, no, I-shit. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant--who are boundaries really for? What do they do?”

“I guess they do protect the person making them. But I’m not trying to be an asshole to you. I swear.”

Calum looks up from the cement of his background lining the pool to the glossy sheen coating Freya’s eyes. They’re black in the settling night. But Calum knows they’re more like a medium brown--dark enough to get lost in them, but when they catch the light just right, they can feel like an enchanting spell sucking him in.

“Freya, you are a sarcastic son of a bitch. But an asshole to those that don’t deserve it, never.”

She sucks on her teeth, swatting at his bicep. “Take that back.”

Calum leans onto his left elbow, closing the gap between them just a little. A smile lifts his lips gently. “Never.”

“We’ve both been burned. Is it bad I didn’t want that again?”

“No. I used to say love is a scam. So I don’t think I’m necessarily the poster boy for relationships.”

“But admit it, you hoped this was the one so you wouldn’t be the odd man out.” His brows furrow at her comment. Freya gives him a soft smile. “Two of the guys are engaged. But all three of them are in a relationship.”

He sighs, gazing dropping from her face. “Maybe I was hoping so. Is it bad of me to want to be in love?”

“No. I told some kids that my boyfriend was Shermar Moore,” Freya admits with a laugh. “I was working at a summer camp and one girl saw his picture on my phone. It was my lockscreen for the longest time. So I just went with it. Well, I was spurred in part because of Drew who was a fucking creep and wouldn’t leave me alone. But I did fantasize about it. Dream of being in love with some famous and the limelight. Shit at that point, I hadn’t even dated anyone either. So another part of it was a desire too.”

“Is that part of it too? Worried about what trolls and whatever will say?”

“Oh, no one who doesn’t know shit about it can make me get outside myself.” Freya laughs but reclines into the cushions of the chair. “But maybe it’s a little bit of it. That’s too many voices talking all about you. It’s a lot of noise and some of it has to bleed through you know. Even if you’re careful and you work not to take it in, some does, right?”

“I don’t think humans were created to be able to handle that much criticism or even love and adoration. Our brains can’t handle it. So yeah, a little bit seeps in. But you keep that door closed as much as you can. You talk to people that also get it. Fuck, you even get a therapist.”

“Or a dog,” Freya says before turning her head to watch Duke laying inside next to the back door.

“And a dog,” Calum corrects.

“Excuse me, you get a therapist and a dog.”

“Tell me something.”

“I’m listening,” Freya returns, looking back to Calum.

“Before you go tonight, tell me the thing you’re going to cherish between us.”

“Will you do the same?” Calum nods at the question but doesn’t respond verbally as he gazes at her.

“Do you want to answer now?”

“Are you leaving now?”

“I-I didn’t think you wanted me to stay.”

“I want you to stay as long as you feel comfortable. And then when you leave, the parting thing we have is the good, the best of us.”

“What if I stay until dawn?”

“Then you stay until dawn. Though, I think it’s safe to say both of us will pass out by 3 AM.”

“That was the most ridiculous thing I think I’ve ever done,” Freya laughs. Remembering the same she spent a Friday night after a shift at Calum’s place. He had a birthday party on Saturday along with a vet appointment with Duke. And then Sunday, Freya had we weekly lunch with her friends that she couldn’t miss. So Calum asked her if she wanted dinner Friday night at his place. Which she said yes to, but then it turned into them doing a movie marathon. Which then turned into Calum betting her that he could stay up longer than her. But they ultimately passed out around 3 in the morning on Calum’s couch.

“Thankfully, I did not miss Duke’s vet appointment that time,” Calum tacks on.

“Yeah, no thanks to me waking you up half an hour before it.”

“That darlin’ is what I call details.”

“No, I call that a very important fact,” Freya defends sitting up. “Duke would’ve been late twice if not for me.”

Calum giggles at her incredulous look. She always got heated fast, though she knew when it was serious things and when it wasn’t. “It wasn’t him paying for the visit.”

“So you ought to kiss the ground I’m standing on right now because you didn’t have to pay anything like a cancellation fee.”

“You’re not standing on any ground right-” the sentence doesn’t get the wind to complete itself when Calum watches her stand up. “Or maybe you are standing up.”

Freya hears him, but she gazes up to the sky. Trying to look past the twinkle of his backyard lights. There’s not much to see due to the light pollution. But the sounds capture her attention next. His neighborhood’s almost been mostly quiet. But with the twinge of the summer’s heat fading, Freya can hear the last bit of people outside. A dog barks into the night and there’s the crunch only tires on gravel and asphalt can give. There’s a hum in the night that Freya can feel in her bones.

It’s hard not to fall in love with the sounds of the night. It’s hard not to romanticize this, how possibly if things were different she could find herself at some point always standing in the middle of this backyard listening to the sounds of the night, having Calum beside her or maybe Duke when he’s gone and just letting herself go to the buzz. In all honesty, Freya craved stability. Always having something to come back was her dream. But in that dream it was a partner who would be there for every dinner. A shared space that was full with both of their presences.

“When you think about coming home what’s there?” Freya asks. “Like, in ten years, what’s in your home when you walk inside?”

Calum closes his eyes, bringing the picture to his mind’s eye. “Like, the truth of what I see?”

“The truth,” Freya confirms.

“Two kids, a dog for sure. Maybe two. A wife. A lot of laughs. Being knocked over with hugs. Maybe a movie that hasn’t quite been paused catches my ears. Maybe it’s summer and my mum’s over too. Because she wants to be around the kids as much as possible. And my sister--she comes over when she can too. So we have to figure out what to cook because it’s a family dinner night. I’m mostly likely in Australia. But I could be somewhere else. Just not LA. I don’t think I could have kids here.”

“That sounds lovely, Calum.”

“But I am scared. My parents divorced. What if it doesn’t work out?”

“That wasn’t your fault. And if we heal from our trauma before having kids then maybe some of our fears won’t come to reality.”

“And if it does.”

“Then we know the boogeyman is real and sometimes we can do our best but things that are meant to happen will still happen.”

“Your parents are divorced too, right?” Calum remembers her mentioning a distinction between her mother’s house and her father’s house. But she hadn’t outright stated that her parents were divorced, just alluded to it.

“Yeah. My dad remarried. He seems happy.”

“What about you? If you closed your eyes and thought about yourself in 10 years, where are you?”

“I technically asked what do you see in your home when you walk inside 10 years from now.”

“Oh, come off it,” Calum laughs, throwing a dismissive wave her way.

“But,” she giggles and then closes her eyes. The breeze blows across her face and she lifts her chin up to catch as much of it as she can. Then she speaks, “I don’t know. Home’s full of the people I love. And I feel stable. I’m not worried about what I’m going to do weeks from now when something inevitably has to change. Because nothing’s going to change. Or at least, I’m not anticipating change. I think that’s what I’m sick of. I’m sick of dealing with change and constantly moving around and not knowing what the next year is going to look like. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder and planning. I just want to be still.”

“You did the whole back and forth between houses, huh?”

“Yeah. I always felt like I was playing two versions of myself when I was younger. I had to be one way around my mother and one way around my father and according to my therapist, the constant games of charade fucked me up a little.”

“How often did you go between their houses?”

“Every weekend.”

Calum sucks in air through his teeth, “Yikes. Yeah, no wonder you want stability.”

“Oh, thank you Dr. Hood. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Well this is a question so it’s not something you don’t know, but is the thought of me being gone for months at a time remind you of that? Like, you’d have to be one way while I was here and then another way when I was gone?”

Freya shrugs. But it’s right on the nose. “I’d have to learn to be with you and then be without you. And all I have are switches. No dimmers. I’m either on or I’m off. And I-I’m working on it. But I’ve got a long way to go.”

Calum scoffs, whispering mostly to himself. “All I have are switches. No dimmers.” It’s not a taunt to her. It’s not him blowing her concern off. It’s recognition that colors his tone. It’s the sigh when hearing something that connects so deeply it takes all the oxygen from lungs with it.

“And I swear to Christ, Calum, if you make a Lowe’s or Home Depot joke, I will extract your ankles from you right here right now.”

“Extract? What the hell?” Calum laughs.

“Broken ankles heal,” Freya returns with a smirk. Her face is lit mostly from above due to continued standing position but Calum catches the way her lips move.

“Remind me to really never piss you off. Between your ability to throw axes and the time you told me about putting ham on a girl’s car, I don’t think I want that kind of trouble in my life.”

“I only put the ham on the car because my friend was heartbroken and she was a cunt for cheating.”

“Yeah, see that’s what I mean,” Calum points out, his index finger swirling in a circle in front of her.

“I could’ve slashed her tires too.”

“I think ruining her paint job was more than enough.”

Freya places her hands on her hips, looking down at Calum. “I’ve got some anger issues too. Did I mention that?”

They laugh but Calum recovers first to speak. “I hadn’t noticed it before. Thank you for telling me that. But in all seriousness, Freya, the boundaries you have make sense. I hope you continue with therapy as well,” he states with a giggle. “But it’s not easy to look back at yourself and realize ‘Oh shit, maybe I don’t want that thing again because that actually fucking hurt’. And do something about it. That takes a lot of strength.”

“Thanks, Calum. And I will continue with this therapist for the rest of the school year because it’s free. Shoutout to some universities for having really accessible mental health resources.”

Freya finally sits, facing Calum. He keeps his gaze averted. But it doesn’t bother her. “What’s the intention behind telling me I can stay as long as I want? Is it to get me to change my mind? Just earlier both of us were near tears and now we’re walking down memory lane. Sharing things we hadn’t shared yet.”

“I want as much of you as I can get before you’re gone. Selfish, right?” The tears are back, she can hear them in his voice.

“No. A bit of your masochism showing, certainly.”

“You ever know something’s bad for you, but you want it anyway? You want the pain anyway?”

“I mean considering both of us are littered tattoos, pain’s not something we’re too worried about.”

Calum wishes he didn’t laugh, not even the short burst of laughter. “Someone’s coping with humor.”

“Someone’s self flagellating.”

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want you to go. But I don’t want you to hurt yourself either.”

“Maybe love is doing the hard things. You said that yourself.”

Calum swallows hard and his voice only comes out in a whisper. “I know I did.”

Freya blinks away the blur of tears. But as soon as they clear, more replace them. Her voice is tight as she speaks. “Doing the hard things suck though. Don’t think this is easy.”

“It’s because it’s the hard thing,” Calum returns. He wants to smile and manages to get a small one but he knows. Freya’s going to leave. She won’t stay.

“My favorite thing,” she starts and Calum exhales hard. There it is--the confirmation. The sentence gets caught in her throat so she pauses to clear it, work the tears down to at least speak. God, why couldn’t it have been easy. “My favorite thing between us, about us, whatever you want to label it as, is that we could also be honest. And even if it was burning waffles or ducking paps to watch a movie for an anime that you had no idea anything about because I wanted to go desperately and you had to Google a summary during the previews, we were always honest with each other.”

“I want to put it out there that you only told me that it was for an anime as I was buying the tickets. So I had zero time to prepare beforehand.”

“I told you the name of it the Monday before we saw it.”

“And admittedly, I forget it the second after you said it.”

“Fair enough, Calum. Fair enough.”

Calum spins in the chair and takes her hand. The first time they’ve touched today. Normally, Freya was more than happy to give out hugs but when Calum opened the front door, she have a half smile and stepped inside. If he could go back to earlier, he’d tell himself that was the first sign.

His thumb passes gently over the butterfly on her left hand. “The thing I’m going to cherish is that you made me feel sixteen again. My entire life changed at sixteen and I felt pretty invincible. I was also scared and excited. I was going to be in a band, like a one with lots of records and I don’t know--I only had that dream to believe in because I damn sure did not have a back up. It was before the downs. And I don’t regret the hard times either. But you’re the first person in a long time that gave me those butterflies. Assumed I was just never going to feel them again and I wasn’t a good person before, not as good as I could’ve been. But you gave me something to be good for again. Getting your text made my whole fucking day. And you-god, you cared about so many things. I bought books you recommended and couldn’t wait to talk about them with you. I remembered the kind of person I want to be. So thank you. For making me feel sixteen again in the cheesiest way possible but also in the best way possible too. That things are worth giving a shit for and that we can let people in and it won’t always burn.”

“Just a little sting.”

Calum nods. “Just a little sting.”

Freya brings his hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to the right one. Her sniffle is loud amongst the hum of the night. “If it weren’t for the fact that my eyeliner is tattooed to my face it would probably be running. I’m sorry it has to hurt at all. But-but I’m hopeful.”

“Hopeful?”

“Hopeful that we’ll get what we need out of life.”

He nods again, watching the tears track down her cheek. “We will.”

Her hands gently slip back out of his grasp and she uses the back of her wrist to press under her nose. The tremors shake her hands, so she shakes them before standing. Calum cranes his neck up, words about to fall from his lips. But she cups his cheek and smiles at him. “Don’t. There’s nothing else to say.”

It happens just as he blinks. He sighs, eyes closing to steel himself. Because there’s always so much else to say. And then her lips are pressing to his forehead. It last long enough for Calum to take hold of her thighs instinctively want to pull her in closer to him.

Then she’s gone. His hand slides down the rough denim and Freya’s walking to the edge of the backdoor. Duke picks up his head but doesn’t move much else. “Oh yeah, you don’t need to move. You know everyone comes to you, huh?” She gives him a few pats and scratches. “I’ll send you something for your adoption day, okay, love? And you might hate wearing it or you might love eating it. But be on the lookout for the mailman. He’ll have something from me.”

Calum doesn’t say anything as she says her goodbyes to Duke. She kisses the top of his head too and he thinks she might’ve whispered something else but he’s not certain from his spot on the chair. The swish of the tassels on Freya’s jeans signal her and the click of her heeled boots tell Calum she’s walking farther from him. The latch in the fence clicks and the wood around the hinges creak as she presses into the door. There’s a soft thud as the door shuts and then Calum can’t hear anything over the cough he uses to try and cover the tightness in his chest, can’t see anything in the blurry vision of his tears

She’s just gone.

******

When the front door bell sounds, Calum doesn’t think much of it. It could be a package or someone selling something. So he pushes up from the kitchen table and heads to the door. There on his porch is a light blue box with white bones on it. The subscription box that Calum gets already came. But then he notices an index card with a handwritten address on it. He picks it up. Right there in the return address is Freya’s name. He sucks in a breath and then looks to see who it’s addressed to: Duke Hood + Calum.

“Duke,” Calum calls out, stepping back inside to the house. He closes the door with his foot. The click of paws let him know the old man’s heard his call. “A little early birthday present has arrived just for you.”

He walks deeper into the living room and sets the box on the coffee table. Inside holds an olive green harness, treats, and a card. Calum laughs as Duke presses his snout against the bag of treats. “Alright, alright. I get it.”

Duke happily munches on one of the chews from the bag and Calum opens the card. A different letter slips out into his lap. He can see the ink and lettering pressing through to the other side. His heart hammers, but he forces himself to turn back to the card. “Dear Duke,” Calum pauses to see if Duke responds but his investigation continues on the treat. “I mean, fair enough.” Calum continues to read the card written by Freya, “Even though only the universe knows your true birthday, this card, harness, and bag of treats is meant to mark you sticking it out with your pops for yet another year. To spare you the grumps about a very cute hawaiin shirt I, instead, got a badass harness. Now you’ll be the coolest guy on the block. Happy Birthday/Adoption Day. With Love, Fre.”

Duke, done with the treat, looks to Calum and settles next in front of his folded legs. “Oh, so much work eating a treat.”

But Calum reaches down to gently pats at his tummy. The front of the car is cute, Calum finally recognizes. A cartoon white dog is drawn on it with large pink glasses against a yellow background. There’s no telling where she found it at. Calum looks down to the handwritten letter on printer paper. What would Freya possibly have to say?

Calum hadn’t had the guts to press send on any of the texts he drafted in the three months since they last talked. He wasn’t sure if he could. He is sure that if Freya hadn’t wanted anything to do with him, she would’ve said so, and she wouln’t have sent this box for Duke. His fingers tremble as he unfolds the letter.

Calum,

I figured you heard me tell Duke he was going to get a gift. And I knew I couldn’t not deliver on my promise to him. But I do apologize if it crosses any line. Please let me know too--if it crossed any boundaries.

I hope you’re well. Congrats on the latest album too.

With Love,

Freya.

P.S. I saw you a couple times drafting a text to me but never seeing one go through. And if you’re asking why I hadn’t sent a text either, know it was fear too. And me not being sure if keeping it open like that between us would only do more harm than good. So I’m sorry. But I am here, in the sense that to the best of my capacities, I can try to be here.

*****

Her bag’s slipping off her shoulders but she finally gets the key into the lock and gets her front door open. She sighs as she falls into the ugly blue apartment door and all but flings herself into her place. The stack of mail in her hands barely makes it to the edge of the kitchen counter too. It was just one of those days and Freya couldn’t be mad at herself. Everyone had days like this.

Putting her keys up and getting her backpack next to the couch, she settles into the stools at the kitchen counter to sort through the mail. One’s a bill from the dentist she visited a few weeks back. The one thing her student health insurance didn’t cover. But she couldn’t complain.

There are few junk flyers that she immediately tosses. And it’s her name scrawled in a almost all caps that catches her eyes before she even gets finished with the rest of the pile. In the top corner for the return address she catches the name: Calum Hood + Duke

“Mail from Duke, what a surprise.”

But the real surprise is Calum’s name. It’s just a plain white envelope with a stamp and the city mark it was mailed from. Freya pops it open and sees a sheet of legal pad paper folded up.

Freya,

Thank you for Duke’s gift. The chews are a hit. The harness is much appreciated for our walks. Though, I think they’re more like walks for me. And Duke gets a little exercise in before he tuckers out. But I don’t fault him. No lines were crossed. So no need to worry about that.

I think I like the idea of mailing letters more than I do like texting. But I understand. Doing the hard thing sucks. It always has and always will. Do what you need to for yourself.

Thank you. I wouldn’t normally do this. But there’s a couple songs--they’re about you. I wanted to give you a warning before you listen to it. If you listen to it, I guess I should say.

Best of luck with your last year of school. You’ll have that Master’s in no time and then maybe soon you can take over the Library of Congress like all your evil plans have laid out. (I know, I know. Not what your Library Studies degree does. But I still think you should.)

With Love,

Cal

Freya chuckles at the Library of Congress comment. She picks up her phone and finds Calum’s thread. It’s easy to want to tell him that she can’t take over the Library of Congress and that she’s glad the treats went over well and that the harness was really more of an accessory to make sure Duke looks like a badass.

But she knows--she knows the ease got her into a pickle before. It’s why she stopped things before they got more serious. But was fear going to always predict what she was going to do in her life? Maybe the ease of things was a sign to continue. But if what if things got too far? WOuld be able to handle Calum being gone? Would she inevitably get her heart broken? And sure no amount of contemplation can predict things like this, but she did want to play with that risk no matter how fucking easy it was in the moment.

With a frustrated sigh, Freya drops her face into the forearms. Her phone is still in her grip with the movement. “It’s never fucking easy is it!” she shouts into her apartment.

There’s silence that engulfs her but it gives no response.

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood imagine #calum hood blurb #5sos #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5sos blurb #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer blurb #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood x black oc #calum hood x oc #calum hood x fem oc #h writes

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takoyakitenchou · 3 years

Text

You and I, a takumegu story

joy is meant to be fleeting. and yet.

Morning

“Takumi-kun,” Megumi yawned as she approached him bearing onigiri and a stainless steel HydroFlask filled to the brim with piping hot jujube tea.

The Italian greeted her with a steaming mug of coffee from his espresso machine in his kitchenette. “I wish I could say good morning, but I’m rather averse to the notion at this point.”

Megumi laughed. It was nearing 5 AM in Tokyo, and they’d been in Takumi’s office at Legislation with a veritable cityscape of the first and second seats’ paperwork organized by importance for the last ten hours. It was tragic that they had agreed to finish all their work a night early so they could enjoy each other’s presence, but this quality time had been relegated to the stupid office.

“Shall we continue?” Megumi asked, her words lacking any and all traces of conviction.

Takumi heaved a sigh. “I’ve signed so many documents today I can’t tell if I’m writing in Japanese or Italian.”

“To be honest, I’ve probably not even been signing my own name,” she mused. Then she blanched. “O-oh no! W-what if I sent t-the—”

“Relax, Tadokoro-san,” Takumi said, sensing an impending panic attack. “I’m sure Arato-san reviewed the documents before we sent them to New York.”

“I was the one reviewing them!”

Takumi put his hand over hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. His eyes widened slightly as he realized what he was doing, but he brushed the feeling aside. “It’ll be alright, Tadokoro-san. It won’t matter too much.”

It looked for a second as if she were about to implode, but then she sighed, “I don’t have enough energy to hyperventilate.”

“I understood that on so many different levels.” Takumi took one of the onigiri and felt rejuvenated with the first bite, reveling in the warmth of the honey dressed pork. “This is a masterpiece,” he told her. “I feel better than I’ve been the rest of the month collectively.”

She smiled, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. “I’m glad you think so.”

Takumi’s eyebrows drew together. “Tadokoro-san, now that we’re both functional, do you want to visit the noodle festival in Dotonbori?”

She dropped her onigiri. “T-that’s in Osaka, Takumi-kun.”

“Well, Nakiri Alice told me we’re free to take the jet whenever we want as long as it’s not in use.” Takumi lifted his hand. Dangling from his fingers was a lanyard with a small gold key. “Shall we?”

“It’s five in the morning…” But they both knew she was already more than convinced.

When they landed in Osaka, the festival was already underway.

The sun was slipping past the horizon by the time they realized they’d been gone the entire day and probably caused pandemonium at Legislation — tragic, how they were the sole pillar keeping the Elite Ten from falling to pieces — but neither seemed to mind.

They were sitting on a bench, watching the passersby, content with all the noodles they’d consumed.

Takumi furrowed his brows. “Tadokoro-san?”

“Yes, Takumi-kun.”

“How would you feel if we called this a date?”

Megumi’s eyes widened. “E-ehh?”

Takumi’s face turned red as he attempted to contrive a respectable excuse, but his panic was cut short when Megumi took hold of his hand with an uncharacteristically calm air.

“I would love that, Takumi-kun,” she smiled, and with one look, Takumi figured that not even the urban atmosphere around them could compare to the cosmopolitan vibrancy in her gold eyes.

Sunset

There has always been some vague concept of balance. Everything comes with a counterpart; there is no exception to this, and there never will be. It is a universal truth, as constant as the laws of motion, as flexible as time. Balance is often unseen, and yet it is there. Joy is countered with anguish, laughter with tears; neither can exist without the other.

And yet, every time Takumi Aldini’s electric blue eyes fell upon that sweet cinnamon roll of a girl — one hell of a chef when she was provoked, though — he realized that no law was absolute, because he had never experienced anything but exhilaration when he was with her.

Love was fleeting; that was another supposed aphorism he’d learned from the wise.

But loving Tadokoro Megumi was something he could do once, twice, twice eternity.

“It says in Nakiri-san’s memo that we’re supposed to be providing a lunch service for the jury of the Bocuse d’Or,” Megumi frowned, reading the post-it note stuck on the inside cover of the manila folder Alice had provided for this particular task.

Takumi finished off his espresso. They were watching the sunset in Vienna, drinking Melange and sharing a slice of Sachertorte with the sun descending beyond the Wiener Musikverein in the gentle Saturday backdrop. “For a second there I was going to ask you which Nakiri you’re talking about. Isn’t the Bocuse d’Or in France?”

“Lyon,” Megumi confirmed. “I’m betting Nakiri-san sent us here on purpose. Bocuse d’Or won’t even happen this year. Ah, look. She left us a note on the back of the post-it.” Megumi cleared her throat before reading, “Happy one year, lovebirds. You have twelve hours before Erina goes berserk and calls NATO to send troops to find you guys, so enjoy them. Call me when you want the jet to come pick you up from VIE.”

“Well, Tadokoro-san, I guess we can relax for the rest of the task period. Happy one year, by the way.”

Megumi gave him a bright smile and replied, “Happy one year, Takumi-kun.”

The sky was soft, an endless canvas streaked with muted shades of orange and pink, everything blending into a gorgeous view highlighted by the spectacular architecture — and yet Takumi couldn’t seem to register anything other than the remarkable girl blushing nervously across from him.

To think it had been a whole year. It was too good to be true. This was the type of love most men searched for their entire lives without once catching a glimpse of; this was the type of love in fantasy, romance novels — everything an illusion. And yet this was real, as real as the warmth of her heart beating against his when she pressed her nose to his neck.

Takumi knew even he, with all his virtues, didn’t deserve her. But maybe she’d be willing to take him along for the ride; wherever Tadokoro Megumi went, he would follow.

It was just then that Takumi’s phone rang, snapping both out of their shared reverie.

The Italian sighed as he read the caller ID: Nakiri Erina.

“Do I pick this up?” he mused aloud, but he already had his answer.

“Y-you have to, Takumi-kun! She’s the first seat!”

“What do you say we don’t go back to school?” Takumi said, turning his phone on silent and flipping it face down.

Megumi gave him a horrified look. “You just ghosted Nakiri Erina!”

“I mean, she’s probably too busy dealing with Yukihira’s chaos to care, right?”

“Chaos is a severe understatement,” Megumi admitted. “B-but what if she kicks us off the council?”

Takumi grinned. “It’ll be alright, Tadokoro-san. We have a whole week to ourselves.”

With a sigh, Megumi relented. “So… we’re in Vienna.”

“Right.”

“There’s this restaurant I really want to try… but there’s another place down the street that Ryo-kun said had really good rainbow trout. And while we’re in Europe… have you been to Budapest?”

Takumi clapped his hands together. “Say less. We’re taking a sabbatical for the rest of the month.”

Megumi gave a nervous chuckle. “For research purposes, right? Otherwise Nakiri-san is going to kick us over the Pacific Ocean when we get back.”

At this, Takumi burst out laughing. He managed to choke out, “You are truly one in a million, Tadokoro-san.”

And he meant it.

Dawn

To say Takumi Aldini was known for his elegant calisthenics would be a stretch, but when that chaotically graceful blessing was around him, swinging up onto the rooftop of the trattoria with a picnic basket perched precariously on his fingertips was most definitely not a problem.

Megumi was waiting for him with a fleece blanket around her shoulders and a gentle smile that warmed her gold eyes brighter than the Italian sunrise. “Hi, honey,” she said sweetly, as if she hadn’t prodded him awake ten minutes ago and told him to bring breakfast up to the roof in five. He’d never be able to catch up to her hopping hare speed, but he figured he’d gotten the basics of Tadokoro Time down. To be early was to be on time and to be on time was to be late. Considering he was five minutes past the downbeat, his girlfriend had probably been waiting for him since before the dinosaurs.

“Good morning, amore,” he replied as he sat beside her and opened the basket. Takumi produced a loaf of brioche and began cutting with expert precision, trying to keep his pulse steady as he felt her eyes on him. The small velvet box in his pocket was doing nothing to help this endeavor.

Megumi regarded the two identical 1.8-centimeter slices in awe before thanking him and lifting the first bite to her lips.

“This is delicious,” she said once the tranquil hum of the autumn pond had faded to the back of her mind. “The rosemary completes the ensemble really well.” He was truly amazing; they’d been cooking love confessions for each other for the last seven years and he could still make her heart skip beats. His love was unconditional, more pastel than anything.

“Grazie, amore,” he said. “It means the world coming from you.”

“I’m only telling you the truth,” she blushed. “If I have to, I’ll say it every day to make sure you know that.”

It was now or never.

“Listen, Megumi. There’s something you need to know.”

She gazed up at him curiously over her brioche.

Takumi took a deep breath. To hell with the speech he’d parsed out in his head last night — that kind of thing never worked anyhow.

Loving Tadokoro Megumi was about elements and worlds that weren’t in their dimension or maybe even in their universe; it was something beyond time and space that his mind couldn’t process, much less put into words, but maybe this dawn would help transmit this, somehow.

But it was highly probable that Takumi had been ready for this simple statement since the moment he first laid eyes on her. A night’s worth of drafting could not possibly hope to serve justice to everything he needed to say. It was the pinnacle of all his emotions that would do more than enough, right here, right now.

“If I said I knew exactly when I fell in love with you, I’d be lying, but if anyone asks I’ll tell them I love you now, and that is all that matters. Tadokoro Megumi, you are the most insanely talented, beautiful girl I have ever known, and I am the luckiest man in the world to stand by your side, so thank you for that. I know I’m far from perfect; I have my flaws, and you have yours, but you need to know that every little part of you is absolutely everything to me, and nothing in this universe could ever change that. With your hand in mine we will turn this wasteland into paradise. You and I, no… us. I promise that I will always be with you. Forever is finite. But my love for you is beyond that.”

At this point, Megumi closely resembled something similar to a red train — Takumi swore he could see the smoke venting from her ears — but he’d waded too far in to step back out.

“I have one question for you.” Takumi got down on one knee, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the Verragio box. The ring was elegant to the point where it possessed an ethereal quality. Diamonds seamlessly fused with rose gold on a platinum band; it was definitely flashier than anything either had ever dreamt of before, much less purchased, and yet it was heartfelt and deliberate. And, perhaps most importantly, it spoke volumes — more words and confessions captured within the metal than Takumi could ever express.

It was a promise of the unbridled love he had for her, the promise of a sterling future he wanted to build with her.

“It is a privilege and an honor to love you. Will you make me not only the luckiest, but also the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

She nodded, doing her utmost to fight back the tears. And as dawn broke in the sky above them, the girl that brought onigiri to his office at five in the morning, the girl that laughed at him over hiyamugi and squeaked whenever he wrapped his arms around her, the beautiful girl that always made him wonder what he had done to deserve her, said two words, and that was enough.

“I will.”

soooo um hi @taku-megu i was your secret santa this year! writing a takumegu fic is something i haven’t done before, so i’m really glad i was given the opportunity to write for you. i hope you have a safe and wonderful holiday with your loved ones!

and of course, thanks to @shokugeki-secretsanta for organizing this event :)

- reina

#shokugeki no soma #shokugeki no soma secret santa #takumi aldini #tadokoro megumi #takumegu #merry frickin chriSTmaS

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descendantofthesparrow · 4 years

Text

Harry Hook x Sparrow!Reader - oneshot - WICKED

These are very similar requests so im just smashing them together!

random-thoughts-and-spoken-words

Hi! I love all of your stories, they’re so well written and amazing! So, I have a request. Could you do a short little thing about the reader being in the end of the first movie, but she chooses to be evil, and goes back to the Isle for Harry, who’s really happy she’s back. Then could you end it with a week passed and Ben sends men to ask Harry and the reader back over? You could add Gil and Uma to that list too. If you can’t do it, that’s fine. Love all of your works!!

@random-thoughts-003

could you the reader choosing evil at end of first movie, for Harry and because she truly evil. she goes back, rejoins old gang, Uma’s crew. creates chaos more than before, kidnaps Ben. When core four try to say she’s good, she purposely almost kills one of them. in third movie, she doesn’t make it past the barrier and has to wait for Harry and Gil. when they come back, prepared to live out their days, they find Reader somehow got even the worst villains to give up their territory and let the crew steal their things. the sea three get to the ship, the crew was 100% better fighters. when the barrier is taken down, Harry tries to convince reader to come, but she says she’s waiting for someone. Thinking she’s cheating on him, he stays there to see who she is meeting. Turns out it’s her father Jack Sparrow and they plan to make the Isle into the modern Tortuga. Harry walks over and Reader introduces him to her father as boyfriend. later on, when he confesses he thought she was cheating, could you end it with her “Oh Harry, I may be evil in my soul, but I’d never go so low as that.” (They started dating at the beginning of second movie.)

How dare they, they would just…UP AND ABANDON THE REST OF THE ISLE?! Rotten to the core my ass.

You snarled, turning away, pausing as a hand fell on your shoulder. “(y/n) is good too! You have no ide- AH!” your arm flourished out, a gleaming switch-blade in your hand, slicing at Mals arm.

“get away from me you traitor” you growled, glaring down at the purple-haired fae, who started up at you in shock, holding her sliced arm close to her chest.

“wha-wh-(y/n)?” Evie stuttered, grasping Mals shoulder and pulling her back “what's gotten into-“

You snarled, turning and walking out of the cathedral. Ben and Evie raced after you, calling your name “(y/n)! wait!” Ben yelled, you huffed spinning around and crossing your arms.

“what do you need princey?” you drawled “I have an isle to get back to” Ben tilted his head in confusion, bless his soul, good intentions, but poorly executed.

“why? Why would you want to go back to the isle” he asked, genuinely curious, evie was frowning, looking concerned.

“I left assuming my friends would join me after everything, but since that didn’t happen, im going back, im not abandoning them.”

You spun on your heel, stomping off and making your way to the limos, snatching a bridge remote, you paused, groaning and walking to the dorms, for once happy that you had a room all to yourself, grabbing all your gear and stuffing it in a bag.

You snatched your compass and hat, fixing the tricorn on your head and hefting your bag over your shoulder, heading back to the limos.

You unlocked one and tossed your bag in the back, ripping off the flags and the hood ornament, pocketing it and making your way to the driver's seat.

“(y/n)!” you paused, looking back, pup, the shorter boy trotting after you, dude running after him.

You sighed, leaning back on the car “what do you want pup” you muttered, a sneer on your lip.

He stopped a few feet in front of you, slightly out of breath “you don’t know how to drive, ill take you” you stopped, staring wide-eyed at him.

“Carlos the fuck” you muttered, “you’re coming back with me?”

“no” he shook his head “no im dropping you off, I understand why you want to go back, but if you go alone someone could get that remote and leave the isle, we both know there are some people who deserve to be on the isle.”

You slowly nodded, you might be evil, but you weren’t heartless, and beasty boy had been trying to right the wrongs of his father.

You sighed, walking around to the passenger side and opening the door, plopping down and nodding to Carlos “well, im not waiting all day!”

He beamed, sliding into the driver's seat dude hopping in after him and climbing into the back, head peeking through the sliding window door.

You slid down into your seat, watching as Auradon passed by in a blur, turning into the ocean as a golden bridge built below you.

You gave a salute to Carlos as he nodded back at you, turning the limo around and driving back off the isle. you breathed in, looking to your right, the large metal tube leading to the docks letting the smell of the ocean into the old garage.

“home sweet home” you muttered, squaring your shoulders and walking through the tube.

You smirked as you saw the common folk walking around, some fishing some simply just sitting in the cloud glazed sun.

“(y/n)” a thick boyish accent came from your left, you spun, a smile breaking through your lips as you spotted the boy you had missed so much.

His ocean blue eyes were glazed with surprise, the line of fish he was holding dropping to the deck, his mouth gaping open.

“yer- yer back! I thou-Oof!” he wheezed, tumbling back when you charged at him and rammed into his torso, wrapping your arms around him and holding on tightly.

He caught himself on a barrel, chuckling as he hooked his hook on his pants belt loop, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling your neck. “I've missed yeh lassie” he muttered, hand reaching up to cup the back of your head “when did yeh get back?”

“About five minutes ago” you mumbled, leaning heavily into him, pouting as he tugged your shirt to pull you off of him.

“well, glad ta have yeh back lassie” he patted your cheek, spotting your bag behind you. He picked ti up and slugged it over his shoulder, giving you his arm and leading you to the chip shop.

“LOOK WHOS BACK!” he hollered, the patrons looking up with glares, looking back down quickly as they spotted you.

“(y/n)!” the crew yelled, uma coming out from the kitchen and smirking.

“there you are, I knew you wouldn’t leave us behind!” you grinned, breaking away from Harry and leaping towards Uma and colliding into her.

“I would never” you chuckled, rubbing your cheek into her head “im not like the traitors” you pulled away, tensing as you prepared to be tackled by the crew.

Which you were.

The rest of the day was spent taunting the tv which showed the after party of the coronation. And a rowdy party for your return.

You hummed as you walked the allys of the isle, harry next to you, arm around your shoulder. Ben stepped out from the ally, blinking surprised as he locked eyes with you.

“(y/n- AH!” Ben let out a yelp as Gonzo and Bonny jumped at him, gagging him and tying his wrists together.

“let's go beasty boy!” bonny cackled, her and gonzo dragging him away, you hummed, patting Harry's back as he swaggered forward to taunt the traitors.

You leaned on the wall next to you, flipping out your switchblade to pick your nails.

A few moments later harry reemerged, once more wrapping his arm around your shoulders and leading you back to the ship, talking about how pups' hair was weird and Jay had lost his touch.

Hours later, you stood next to uma, eyes scanning Mal, Evie, Carlos, Jay, and Lonnie. Carlos held the wand, handing it to mal as harry brought ben forward.

“hol’ up!” uma called, mal pausing in handing the wand to uma, and harry stopping ben in his tracks. “too easy, we wanna see it work!”

Mal swallowed harshly, eyes flashing about “you always were quite the drama queen” mal sneered, looking behind her at dude.

Uma nodded, rolling her eyes, “oh and nothing too big or ben is fish bait!”

Mals' eyes flashed with worry, she turned, waving the wand about “although it may seem absurd, turn your bark into a word!” nothing, dude just blinked at her.

Uma turned to you, rolling her eyes. Mal let out a nervous laugh, growling at dude through her teeth “talk dog!”

“Does this vest make me look fat?” you blinked….alrighty then, dude could talk. So the wand was real…hopefully.

“give me the wand!” uma yelled, reaching for it, mal stepping back and pointing to ben.

“give me Ben!” she yelled back, you huffed, waving Harry forward. He pushed ben to his knees, sword ready to swing.

As uma took the wand, you watched as mal hurried to rush ben and the others out….and jay guarding a barrel of swords.

…it was a trick.

You snarled, watching as nothing harped as Uma cast the spell. “NO!” she screamed, snapping the fake wand on her knee “YOU DO NOT GET TO WIN EVERYTIME!” she turned to the crew.

“GET ‘EM!” in the corner of your eye you spotted Carlos whip out a slingshot, shooting gloves filled with a colored substance.

As the hit, they exploded into smoke. you stumbled back into harry who tucked you into his side and covered you with his jacket. You growled, unsheathing your sword and bolting forward, slicing at mal, who hardly had time to doge.

You nicked her neck, she stared at you in shock, yelping as you spun around and sliced at her legs, she jumped back, Ben grabbing her arm and running towards the tunnel that leads to the old garage.

“(y/n) please, we know you're better than this come back to aura-AH!” you leaped forward growling as you thrust your sword at his chest, ben falling back in fright.

“don’t you dare try, im bad to the soul, and I ain't comin’ back” you blocked a swing from Lonnie, the black-haired girl swallowing in fright as she locked eyes with you.

You huffed, pushing her back and kicking her stomach, dodging a stab from Carlos.

“ ‘Scuse me pup” you smirked, disarming him and gripping his wrist and flipping him around and slamming him to the ground.

--small time skip--

You screamed, throwing your sword to the ground, watching as Mal walked away. “UGG! OUT OF MY WAY!” Uma pushed past you and Harry, ducking into a shortcut to the garage.

You seethed, walking back to the ship, slamming open the door to yours and Harry's room, screaming as you slammed your fist into the hanging withered punching bag.

“lass, please calm-love” Harry walked in after you, watching as you tore up your fist punching the cracking old leather on the bag.

“AHHHHH” you let out a harsh scream “IT'S NOT FAIR!” you collapsed to the floor, Harry dropping with you and cradling you in his arms.

“Hey, hey” he cooed “it’s okay love, uma will find a way, well get off this hell rock” you sniffed, letting Harry's thumb brush away your tears.

“I know, we will” you muttered, cuddling into his chest. Harry picked you up, laying you on your bed. He shucked his shoes off and plopped next to you, tugging you into his chest.

“take a nap love, yeh need to have a rest” you hiccuped, burrowing into his chest and closing your eyes, slipping into a fitful nap.

You sighed, watching as Harry and Gil jumped through the barrier, smiling softly as Harry turned back and mouthed ‘ill be back for you’

You nodded, twisting around on your heel.

You had some jobs to do while they were gone.

Harry sighed, watching Auradon disappear from the limo window. At least he would be going back to (y/n). as he stepped out of the limo, Uma, and Gil following him, he noticed something odd.

The isle seemed…cleaner? Uma stepped next to him, spinning around in a small circle.

“what the fuck happened?” she muttered, a confused look on her face. “its…. I don’t know how to describe it?”

“ ello cap’n” harry grinned spinning around, bolting towards you as his eyes locked onto you.

“(y/n)!” he laughed, throwing his arms around you and picking you up, your legs wrapped around his waist. “gods I missed yeh”

“you were only gone for two days” you chuckled, running your hand through his hair, the other resting on his neck “but I missed you too”

Harry set you down on your feet, uma crashing into you “miss ya girl” you laughed, patting her back “missed ya to captain”

You broke away from her, leading them back to the ship. The three looked around, the usual big villans hulking around were yet to be seen. “look whos back!” a thick Scottish accent came from behind, an arm wrapping around Harry's shoulders, tugging him into their side and rubbing their knuckles into his head.

“how yeh doing lil’ bro? enjoying the life of a hero?” harry groaned, ducking under Harriet's arm.

“shut up Hettie” he muttered, pushing her away “where is everyone, not two days ago Frollo was screaming his ‘ead off just right there”

Harriet smirked “yer little girlfriend took over the isle, even scar and eq bowed under her heel” uma, harry, and Gil blinked in shock, looking to (y/n) who just shrugged and continued to walk to the ship.

Umas jaw dropped as they arrived, the crew was sparing together, and….they were a lot better than the last time she saw them.

Gonzo side flipped, avoiding bonny downswing, spotting uma as he twisted around to block a stab from Desiree.

“CAPTAIN!” he yelled, the crew yelled out with him, dropping their swords bolting down the gangplank and eagerly greeting uma.

“you’re back!”

“We missed you!”

“yer mas food is so shitty without ya!”

“cap'n! I dyed my hair, ya see!!!”

“I got a tattoo!!”

“I pierced my tongue!”

Uma rushed to rub her face, tears burning at her eyes, and here she though her crew dropped her as soon as she failed at cotillion.

You grinned, gesturing for gil to lift uma on his shoulders, as he did so uma let out a yelp a tear slipping down her cheek.

“whats her name!?” you called out, the crew sounding her name with resonance.

“UMA!”

“now lets party!” gil beamed, parading around the ship with uma on his shoulders, the crew rushing to grab the treasured rum and candy.

“lass come one, what are yeh waitin fer” Harry held out his hand, one foot crossing the barrier to Auradon.

“someone” you muttered, looking towards the ocean, but to harry, you were looking back towards the isle.

‘is….is she cheating on me?’ his heart hurt, after a year and a half of dating, you were just going to betray him like that.

Was it because he helped save Auradon??

“well,” he muttered “im waitin’ with yeh” you gave a shallow nod, not really listening.

An hour later, long after the freed vks and some villains had crossed the bridge. A certain ship appeared in the distance. You stood from your spot on the stairs, harry standing with you a heavy from on his face.

As the ship docked against the isle, harry felt confused….the person you were waiting for wasn’t even on the isle?

“DAD!” hol up wha-….HOLY FUCK JACK SPARROW?!”

“darling!” the now old pirate opened his arms, jack the monkey(who hadn’t aged in the years he had joined your father after Barbosa died) screeching in excitement, bouncing on jacks shoulder.

“oof” jack laughed as you collided with his chest, wrapping you in a tight hug.

“lass?” you turned a bright smile on your face, holding out your hand.

“harry! This is my dad, dad meet my boyfriend, Harry hook!” jack gestured for Harry to come close, holding out his own hand.

Harry grasped Jack's hand, gasping as he pulled him in for a hug.

“Good ta meet you lad, thank you for making my (y/n) happy all these years”

“so” Harry pulled back, looking from you to jack “why are yeh here”

“we’re turning this place into the new Tortuga!” you grinned, spinning around, arms wide open “pirate and sailor paradise!”

Harry laughed, “sounds awesome lass…oh was that why yeh took control of the isle?” you nodded.

“yep, couldn’t have Jafar or something try to take over”

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “look lass, I need ta apologize fer somethin’” you tilted your head, raising your brow.

“for wha’?”

“I though ye were cheatin’ on me…when yeh said ye were waiting fer someone” you laughed, stepping close to Harry and hugging him.

“aw hookie, I may be evil, but I would never go as low as that~”

Harry snorted “I know, im sorry”

Jack smiled, looking around at the isle.

“master gibbs! I think its time to start fixin up this dump”

“aye captain!”

---the end---

I got this request back in January!! At least the longer more detailed one, forgot when I got the short one, but since they are VERY similar, I just mushed them together, thanks for reading and waiting!

#descendants #Descendents #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine

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needtherapy · 3 years

Text

open always petal by petal (ch 1)

Song Lan knows his only passenger, Cao Huan, is more secrets than truths, but he's still the best passenger Song Lan has ever had: paid up front, self-sufficient, and silent.

It shouldn't matter that Cao Huan plays the guqin like his heart is broken.

It shouldn't matter that his smiles light up the darkest corners of Fuxue's passageways.

It shouldn't matter that he makes Song Lan curious, curious in a way he hasn't felt in years.

It's just an ordinary transport, a regular fare, a mostly-honest way to make a living. All they have to do is get from Sichuan Station to Caiyi Port. The galaxy may be a dangerous place, but Song Lan is very good at his job, and this should be an easy two-week trip.

The rest doesn't matter. It doesn't.

READ ON AO3

Notes: Rated E for Explicit. Title from e.e. cummings' poem "somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond". Thanks to @cirilien, @coslyons, @treemaidengeek and tucuxi (AO3) for the beta reads!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

⋆ Day 0 ⋆

The papers are fakes, Song Lan thinks, but damn good ones. It’s really only the feel of the paper—a bit too clean, a bit too smooth—that tips him off. The ID badge is probably fake too.

He examines the man standing in front of him. He’s handsome in a patrician sort of way, if a bit too thin, and nearly as tall as Song Lan himself, dressed in graceful Eastern Sector robes that rustle the way only real silk does. They’re a far cry from Song Lan’s utilitarian jacket and comfortable shirts and pants in shades of constant black, only a small step up from the uniform he used to wear.

Song Lan wonders why this obviously wealthy man would need forged travel docs. He doesn’t really care, of course. Everyone has their secrets. But he doesn’t need trouble with the Goldlighters. It’s already tricky enough to be unaffiliated without drawing the attention of the galaxy’s most powerful economic cultivation guild.

With a sigh, Song Lan fishes the comm out of a pocket and holds it to the tiny neural node on the side of his head.

[Why the fake name?] the comm speaker asks in a cheerful, melodic voice that still twinges painfully in his chest. It’s been five years. He should really get the damn thing re-coded.

Instead of being offended, the man—supposedly named Cao Huan—tilts a wry, weary smile at him.

“I had hoped to be anonymous a little longer,” he says, his elegant accent denoting excessive amounts of privilege and education. “If you require my real credentials, I can produce them.”

Song Lan shrugs and shakes his head. As long as the man is legit, he can call himself whatever he wants, but now Song Lan has another question. Frowning, he lifts the comm again.

[Why not just travel on a Goldlighter transport? You’re headed for Caiyi. It’s a major port. You know it’ll take two weeks to travel through all four sectors in my ship? The trip might be more dangerous than on a sanctioned vessel,] Xingchen’s voice asks.

Song Lan is under no illusions about his typical fares. There’s usually a good reason they want to travel without questions, and usually a good reason they choose Fuxue. He might be unaffiliated, but he’s not cheap. The galaxy is a dangerous place, and he’s very good at his job. In ten years, he’s only lost one person. It was, however, the only one who mattered.

“I am returning to my family after...some time away. I am in no hurry,” Cao Huan answers, with an edge that Song Lan takes to mean the topic is closed.

Well, he’s happy to take the man’s money; he paid extra to be the only passenger. Song Lan shrugs again and motions for Cao Huan to follow him on a very short tour: kitchen, guest bedrooms, sonic lavs, the foolishly indulgent bath, infirmary, bridge, engineering, cargo bay, plus half a dozen corridors that serve as storage, computer terminals, short-term passenger seating, and whatever else Song Lan needs them to be. He’s even strung up hammocks in emergencies.

[Make yourself at home,] he says with a nod and quick, slanted smile.

“Thank you Captain Song,” the man says with a wide, genuine smile that starts in the corner of his mouth and spreads, opening like a flower across his face. It surprises Song Lan in a way he can’t quite articulate, as though neither of them expected today to hold any need for smiles. “I have been told you are the best pilot, and I look forward to the journey.”

Song Lan finishes prepping Fuxue with supplies for the two-week flight, plus extras, because it’s always better to plan for the worst. He checks to make sure his one luxury—six skeins of outrageously expensive qiviut yarn—is carefully stowed in waterproof cases. Having warm socks and something to do with his hands in the long dark expanse of space is worth any price. Cao Huan busies himself with loading his own gear, waving Song Lan away when he offers to help.

“Commander Song! Commander Song Lan!”

Song Lan turns at the familiar voice calling a half-forgotten title, but it takes him a minute to recall the person: Ouyang Ju. They had served together some ten years ago in the war that brought down the Wen High Chancellor. Fat lot of good that had done.

“Man, it is you! Haven’t seen you in ages,” Ouyang grins, slapping Song Lan on the back. “How’s it going?”

Song Lan tries not to flinch. He has never understood the need people have to touch each other when they’re talking. It’s annoying. He smiles and tips his head, the universal motion for a polite and disengaged fine, and hopes he won’t have to elaborate. It’s not that he doesn’t like using the comm. He would just rather not use it.

Alright, maybe it’s that he doesn’t like using it.

The man’s face twists with sudden, embarrassed recollection, and Song Lan knows what’s coming next.

“Sorry to hear about your partner and...everything,” the older man says with an apologetic grimace. “He was a great guy.”

[He was,] Song Lan acknowledges, giving in to the blasted voice box. [Thanks.]

“Hey, I’m XO on the Goldlight Ren,” Ouyang nods at the huge transport vessel resting in the nearby docking bay, just visible through wide banks of windows designed, Song Lan assumes, to show off the might and power of the ships that travel here. Nothing like Fuxue, who might be ninety meters if he squints just right, can be flown by a single person, and only requires a landing pad.

“Anything you ever need, you tell me, okay? I owe you.” Without waiting for a response, Ouyang strides away, whistling a fairly dirty bar song.

Song Lan watches him go, wishing it was that easy, wishing he could reduce the war to favors performed, a series of tit-for-tat exchanges that balance to zero instead of a perpetually-red loss column.

Wishes are pointless. Only the road ahead matters.

Song Lan sees his new passenger idly poking through a bag, head dipped away, back turned, and something about his posture rings a distant alarm bell in Song Lan’s mind. He has flown the route from Sichuan Base to Caiyi Port hundreds of times in his life. It should feel exactly the same as every other trip. And yet this time, he senses trouble brewing, and he does not like it.

⋆ Day 3 ⋆

Other than the unexpected music, it’s almost like flying alone. Cao Huan seems to have a sixth sense for knowing where Song Lan will be and avoiding him. He only occasionally catches glimpses of the tall man, white robes swirling behind him as he disappears through doorways or around corners.

It suits Song Lan just fine, and he laughs to himself about his initial concern. Cao Huan is the best passenger Song Lan has ever had: paid up front, self-sufficient, and silent. Song Lan finishes his first sock less than two days out of port, a record.

The only place he consistently runs into his passenger is in the kitchen. After the third day, it occurs to Song Lan that, as strange as it seems, it must be on purpose. Song Lan gets the definite impression that Cao Huan waits for him to arrive before he eats, as though it’s some ceremony he wishes to observe.

There’s no good reason for it, but Song Lan starts to eat his meals at the narrow kitchen table too. After all, there’s no reason not to, either. He just doesn’t usually eat in the kitchen. He’s grateful to discover that conversation is not the reason Cao Huan prefers company; meals continue to be quiet, peaceful affairs.

“Captain Song?”

Cao Huan’s voice startles Song Lan into dropping the knife he’s using to stir his...whatever this goop is.

“My apologies, but...will you join me for tea tomorrow morning? It is not as enjoyable to drink tea by myself.”

Without meaning to, Song Lan looks at the cabinet that contains the “tea” and “coffee,” thinking, it’s never enjoyable to drink that swill, and Cao Huan laughs.

It’s only a laugh on the barest technicality, a soft huff of air, but it changes things so profoundly, Song Lan has trouble staying on his feet. Suddenly, Cao Huan is a person, not a passenger, not a potential problem. The word no forms in his head even as he feels himself nodding.

Cao Huan smiles and inclines his chin, pleased, and Song Lan finds himself smiling back. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s not usually so soft-hearted. Xingchen was the nice one, he reminds himself, and look how that turned out. The cruelty is the only way he can snap himself out of the whispering camaraderie, a pointless train of thought, and back into his role as captain of a ship, nothing more.

[Captain, your attention is required.]

As if to punctuate the computer’s notification, an alarm sounds—unexpected, as this part of space should be smooth and easy sailing. Song Lan grimaces, shrugging apologetically.

“I’m coming,” he signs to the computer’s security camera, before running back to the bridge.

It turns out to be nothing major, only a debris field. Either a small ship had a catastrophe here or a large ship dumped trash. Neither option is particularly heartening. Bad enough if ships are carelessly leaving obstructions on a primary transit route, worse if a ship has been attacked and destroyed here where it should be safe. He knows the Joint Senate is doing its best, and Hanguang-jun, the new chairman, is by far the best leader the four sectors have had in decades, but it’s hard to protect everyone.

There’s no signs of life anywhere after three scans, and Song Lan steers them out of the mess before he resumes course and autopilot.

He doesn’t go back to the kitchen, though.

It isn’t wise, he tells himself, to think of passengers as anything but temporary. Even if they seem nice, even if they’re friendly, they always reach their destination and move on. That’s what he likes about flying transport.

Like clockwork, at 8 pm the music starts. The first night on the ship, Song Lan had thought he was going crazy, hearing the eerie twang of an instrument he didn’t think still existed outside of private art collections.

But no, his passenger had been seated in the mostly-empty cargo bay, eyes closed, playing the guqin. An actual wooden guqin. The music had echoed through the hold, wrapping its notes around Song Lan and reverberating in his chest. He had listened with a mix of disbelief and reverence to the beautiful melody flowing from the fingers of the obviously skilled musician. He listened, in fact, until Cao Huan lifted his hands off the strings and sighed, a long, plaintive sound of grief that piqued Song Lan’s curiosity more than was healthy, and he’d hurried away before Cao Huan noticed him.

The next night had been the same, the music winding into access shafts, around the bridge, even through engineering.

Which Song Lan knows, because he tried all of those places to escape it.

Tonight, though, he gives up. If he is going to be treated to an impromptu concert by a master musician every night, he may as well enjoy it. He knits on the catwalk over the cargo hold and listens, wondering if the song has words, wondering what it means to Cao Huan, wondering how long you had to practice to make the guqin sound like an ocean of sorrow.

⋆ Day 4 ⋆

Evidently, Cao Huan had not been referring to Fuxue’s stores of tea.

He had his own.

Song Lan tells himself to stop being surprised that a man who carries a guqin and can afford a private transport would have a jar of aged white tea that smells like honey and the summer sun. He sits at the table across from Cao Huan and watches him gracefully pour tea, holding back his draping sleeve with one hand.

Cao Huan notices Song Lan’s raised eyebrows.

“You must think me overly indulgent,” he says, pouring his own cup. “I am not particular about many things, but I do enjoy good tea. I am fortunate that it is something my...my family can provide.”

Oh, Song Lan thinks, his family must be tea merchants, which does explain quite a bit, and he feels a little guilty for judging the man on appearances. He wonders if it’s flash-cloned or actually soil-grown, and he peers into the cup, considering the color and shape of the leaves he can see, as though they will give him an answer.

“It is soil-grown,” Cao Huan answers Song Lan’s curious thought, and smiles when Song Lan looks startled. “It is the obvious question. Unless you were seeking your fate in the leaves?”

Song Lan snorts, and Cao Huan laughs again, again that soft exhale that feels more intimate than raucous laughter. It highlights faint lines around his eyes and softens his usually-tranquil angular features with a hint of playful teasing.

“Perhaps you do not believe in fate? Or perhaps you do not believe tea can tell the future. It is considered a noble art, Captain Song. Could so many fortune-telling market grannies be wrong?”

Song Lan laughs, a sadly rusty sound, he thinks with an internal wince, and shakes his head. The man looks pleased.

“Captain Song, may I ask a nosy question?”

Sometimes when people say things like that, they mean I am going to ask a nosy question whether you like it or not, but Cao Huan sounds sincere. Song Lan considers. With a sigh, he finds the comm.

[You may ask. I can’t guarantee that I can answer.]

The man’s mouth twitches in an almost smile. “That is fair. It is only...I noticed you signed to the camera yesterday. Do you…” he pauses, seeming to reevaluate his question, which is good, because Song Lan has frozen.

He forces himself to relax. Hand sign languages are no longer illegal, but he still can’t stop the fluttering fear from pooling in his gut.

“Does the computer understand your hand signs?” Cao Huan finishes, and Song Lan practices breathing normally.

[Yes. It’s easier to sign than find the comm sometimes, especially if I’m in a hurry,] he says through the little speaker, only a little defiantly. He won’t let this man shame him.

“Would you prefer to speak this way?” Cao Huan asks, lifting his hands and signing as he speaks.

Song Lan just stares at him.

And stares.

And stares until Cao Huan’s eyebrows raise. “If you would rather not…”

“No, I do prefer it,” Song Lan signs hurriedly, not wanting him to withdraw the offer. “It’s just...unusual to find someone who knows hand signs these days.”

The High Chancellor had been a paranoid and suspicious man, and he had outlawed the use of hand signs decades ago, fearing them to be the language of bandits and assassins. He wasn’t entirely wrong; hunters and thieves did use the signs, but so did countless others. His replacement, who preferred to be called Xiandu, wasn’t much better. All in all, almost thirty years passed before the current Joint Senate legalized them again after Xiandu’s death three years ago. In so many places around the four sectors, the sign languages that correlated to the spoken languages have been lost entirely.

Song Lan had learned the sign language after Xingchen died five years ago, after he was left for dead, after he decided he was done with the future. His teacher was a wizened old woman on an unaffiliated space station, Rogue Sky, and she was most likely one of the High Chancellor’s feared bandits. Song Lan hadn’t cared then and he didn’t care now. All he knew was that she’d refused to let him wallow in misery, no matter how much he felt he’d earned it.

Song Lan still takes her snowflake cakes whenever he’s near Qinghe space. It’s the least he can do.

Cao Huan nods in acknowledgement, still signing as he talks. Even though it’s unnecessary, Song Lan finds he likes watching, the words and motions blending together to make something wholly different.

“I have always loved languages. This one is particularly beautiful and unique.” He grins suddenly, eyes twinkling with mischief, and the expression turns his face brilliantly luminous. “Plus, it was an appealing novelty to learn something forbidden.”

Song Lan’s first reaction to the man’s captivating smile is an unwelcome surprise. Instinctively, he covers his embarrassment—which he hopes has gone unnoticed—with something he’s more familiar with.

“I did not have the luxury of enjoying the novelty,” his fingers cut angrily through the air. “I was taught illegally on an unaffiliated station by a former bandit, but it was better than never speaking again.”

Swiftly he stands and goes back to his room to berate himself. He isn’t sure which is worse, yelling at his passenger or feeling a knee-buckling surge of desire for him. He has no business doing either.

Song Lan flops on his bed and stares at the ceiling, at the sword that hangs above his head. Shuanghua, Xingchen’s pride and joy, the sword he brought with him when he joined Song Lan’s crew, the sword that couldn’t save him in the end. Couldn’t save either of them. The guilt throbs in his gut, as familiar as the vibrations of Fuxue’s heart, and he sinks into it. This is an emotion he understands.

[Captain, do you need assistance?] his computer asks, and Song Lan wants to laugh. It seems that even Fuxue thinks he’s being a moody child.

He shakes his head and signs to the camera. “What would you do if I did? I’m the captain and the crew.”

The computer is silent, the question apparently having stumped the AI.

[Zichen, do you want to talk about it?]

“No,” his hands say emphatically. He’s not an expert, but he’s pretty sure it’s not going to help to get a psych eval from a computer that’s using his dead partner’s voice.

“Captain Song?”

And now Cao Huan is on the other side of the door. Why can’t everyone just let him sulk in peace?

“Captain Song, I profoundly apologize. It was a terrible, insensitive thing I said, and I am so sorry. It is not an excuse but...I have not been around...people much lately. Evidently I am still quite bad at it. I will not disturb you…”

Song Lan yanks open the door.

“It’s nothing,” he signs slowly, calmly. “I overreacted.” Song Lan smiles ruefully. “I’m not around people much either. Thank you for the tea.”

Cao Huan blinks in surprise, and his face shifts through a series of expressions Song Lan doesn’t recognize before landing on careful neutrality.

“You’re welcome. I...I would be happy to share tea with you every day. If you wish.”

He looks like he’s considering saying something else, but he doesn’t, just nods his head once and goes. Song Lan doesn’t exactly watch him walk down the passageway, one fist resting on the small of his back, but he doesn’t not watch him either.

⋆ Day 5 ⋆

Song Lan is amused to discover that Cao Huan is insatiably curious about everything on Fuxue. It’s not hard to believe he’s been isolated for a while. He is unfailingly polite, and still mostly avoids Song Lan, but occasionally, Song Lan finds him in the oddest places: staring at the engines, examining at the computer core, meditating on the catwalk, sorting through supplies in the infirmary. Song Lan wonders if he’s bored.

He finds Cao Huan on the bridge one day, running his lithe musician’s fingers over the flight panel, murmuring something to himself. Song Lan knows as soon as Cao Huan is aware of his presence. He doesn’t startle, exactly, but he stiffens and steps back slightly. His face, when he turns to Song Lan, though, is tranquil and uncomplicated.

“My pardon, Captain,” he nods, and steps to the side as though he intends to move past Song Lan, but for once, Song Lan is curious.

“Were you talking to Fuxue?” he asks before Cao Huan looks away.

Cao Huan’s neck flushes, and he shrugs. “I have heard these Jian-class AIs have distinctive personalities, as it were. I prefer to err on the side of caution.”

Song Lan doesn’t understand what he means, but Cao Huan is still blushing, the tips of his ears turning a distracting shade of pink, and it makes him want to know.

“I don’t understand,” he says, and Cao Huan sighs.

“I was introducing myself,” he explains. “It seemed courteous.”

Song Lan can’t help his smile. He wonders if Cao Huan introduced himself to Fuxue with his real name.

“Yes, Fuxue is somewhat unique,” he agrees. “My...my partner was a gifted tech, and he gave her more autonomy than is customary since we flew alone so often.”

Cao Huan nods. “So I gathered. She tells me about him sometimes. Is her voice…” he pauses, noticing the look of surprise on Song Lan’s face. “Is that strange?”

Fuxue talks to Song Lan, and of course, she used to talk to Xingchen—one of the reasons, Song Lan suspects, that his ship is so unusual. Talking to Xingchen for extended periods of time would make anyone a bit odd. But as far as he knows, the ship has never spoken to any other passenger, much less talked to them about Xingchen. He can’t decide why Fuxue would start now, whether it’s a bug in the programming or something about Cao Huan specifically.

“Yes,” Song Lan acknowledges. “She still manages to surprise me sometimes.” He smiles up at the camera in the corner of the room and adds, “Don’t make trouble, my love.”

“I believe she likes the music,” Cao Huan says, stepping around Song Lan and moving into the passageway. “I apologize again for intruding on your bridge.” He smiles, a minute flicker, and Song Lan catches his sleeve impulsively, probably foolishly.

“You are welcome on the bridge any time,” he signs swiftly, before Cao Huan can leave. “Whether I am here or not.”

Cao Huan considers for a moment and nods, his smile a little wider, a little more genuine, and Song Lan doesn’t regret his words at all.

⋆ Day 7 ⋆

“How did you learn this?” Cao Huan asks one day, touching the toe of the sock Song Lan is knitting.

They are sitting in the two bridge seats, and Song Lan is working through a heel turn, shaping the rows to reinforce the curve. He finishes the section before he sets down the sock to answer.

“I learned when I was a boy. I grew up with scrappers, and there was a lot of downtime.”

Cao Huan is silent, rubbing the soft wool between his fingers, and Song Lan wonders why he bothered to ask.

“Would you like to learn?” Song Lan asks, and Cao Huan shakes his head slowly.

“Yes, but I am not certain I will ever...I do not know what my future holds. There may be no point in learning.”

He sounds so bleak and disappointed, dozens of questions pop in and out of Song Lan’s head, and he firmly shuts them behind a door. He isn’t going to intrude on this man’s private life.

“There is always value in learning something new,” he signs instead, and Cao Huan smiles ruefully.

“You sound like my brother,” he says, then snaps his mouth closed and hides the expressiveness of his face behind the neutral mask Song Lan is beginning to recognize, even if he’s still not certain what it means.

“Mm,” he agrees, one of the few sounds he can still make. To his surprise, Cao Huan laughs.

“Now you truly do sound like him. He is not a man of many words, but he is very eloquent with noncommittal sounds,” Cao Huan explains when Song Lan looks puzzled.

“You’re close?” Song Lan asks, and the shuttered expression returns.

Still, the man answers after a pause. “Yes, we were, but...he is gone now, living his own life. I am proud of him, but...it makes going home seem...different.”

Every word is reluctantly spoken, as though giving shape to them makes them dangerous. Song Lan vows not to ask any other questions, but Cao Huan keeps talking, and he can’t very well tell him to stop, either.

“Home used to mean people, but...they are grown or changed or…” his eyes close in obvious pain, and Song Lan wants to tell him to stop or distract him with a starboard nebula, but there’s nothing, just this palpable misery.

“Or gone,” he finishes. “Home is only a place now. It should be enough but…”

Song Lan understands this much at least.

“It’s too quiet.” He finishes Cao Huan’s sentence, and he means that home has always been Fuxue, but it no longer hums with love and laughter and Xingchen. It is the same place it was five years ago, but...it isn’t.

Abruptly, Cao Huan leans forward and squeezes Song Lan’s knee, his face softening in sympathy. It’s only a brief touch, but Song Lan’s body reacts like the brush of fingers is a line of electricity, both sharp and crushing, nothing like he expected, not that he could ever have expected this particular cataclysm. Has it been so long, he wonders, since someone touched him with kindness?

He stands, covering his sudden need to escape by hunting through one of the storage bins for a bigger set of knitting needles and a chunkier-gauge yarn. He sets them on Cao Huan’s lap.

“You may as well learn,” he signs with an easy smile. “We still have a week of travel left.”

Cao Huan laughs in disbelief when Song Lan shows him how to cast the yarn onto the needle, but he turns out to be a quick study, which Song Lan should have expected, given his dexterity with the guqin. Song Lan admits to himself that he likes the way the man’s face lights with the satisfaction of meeting a challenge, even more the way he brandishes a square of fairly smooth rows with such pride.

The quiet stretches out like a lazy cat, broken by the sound of clicking needles, and it settles serenely over Song Lan. Usually on transports, he is busy every waking moment, herding children, answering questions, sometimes even preventing bloodshed. He could get used to this uneventful kind of trip.

As if the gods have heard his thoughts, a piercing blue alarm sounds. Not an environmental emergency. Blue is an enemy attack.

Song Lan jams his needles into the yarn and tosses the whole bundle into the corner before turning to the screens, grabbing the yoke with one hand and snapping the comm headset onto his neural node with the other.

Where? he asks Fuxue through their mental link, and Xingchen’s voice relays the coordinates through the overhead speakers: 403 225 687.

He enlarges the image. Junk pirates. A mini-fleet of five. It could be worse, it could be Red Robe mercs or Goldlighters or soldiers of any major faction, but he isn’t looking forward to a run and gun. He scours the sector for a nearby...anything. There’s an asteroid field and two tiny stations, one in either direction, all so much further than is particularly helpful. He makes a decision and changes course, doubling back on the pirates and surging past them.

[Cao Huan, we have pirates,] he says via the comm. [We’re going to try to outrun them first.] He doesn’t bother explaining what the other option is.

“Give me tactical control,” Cao Huan says, calm and insistent, and even though he has no reason to think this man has ever even flown a ship before, Song Lan flips on the secondary pilot display and unlocks the manual gun controls.

[Fuxue is adapted for neural node. You’ll have to shoot manually, but it might at least scare them off,] he explains.

Cao Huan grins. “Or I might surprise you, Captain Song.”

He does, of course. Song Lan is busy avoiding the pirates’ attacks, so he can’t watch as carefully as he suspects he'd like to, but his new co-pilot seems to be racing through calculating targeting coordinates like he’s half computer. Interestingly, he isn’t aiming to destroy, only damage, and he knocks out the first two ships’ navigational cores with single, identical, virtually impossible shots.

Fuxue is easily faster than one of the ships, and Cao Huan clips its starboard wing, only dislodging the thruster, before they pull away. It’s enough to send the forty-meter ship spinning out of control in the opposite direction.

The last two though...they’re a problem. The smaller of the two has an expert pilot and gunner, and Fuxue takes several hits. One explodes against the side of the lifeboat bay, others destroy sensor arrays and scatter pieces of shielding into space. They’re going to have to do something drastic or they aren’t going to survive this.

[Rolleram?] he asks Cao Huan, not entirely sure if he’ll understand, but he nods once and waits for Song Lan to turn.

Song Lan rolls Fuxue in an arc and flies directly at the larger ship, avoiding a few shots before dodging around the ship on its right side, swooping down, using the ship as a blind. With a hard bank, he brings Fuxue up on the other side of the big pirate ship. The smaller ship is right in front of them, a perfect shot.

[Now!] he yells, but Cao Huan has already fired the phaser cannons, and without even looking, Song Lan knows he’s calculated Fuxue’s path and the pirate’s trajectory perfectly.

[Target disabled,] Fuxue confirms. [Nice shot, XO.]

Cao Huan’s mouth tips in the corner. “Thank you, Fuxue,” he says.

Song Lan shakes his head at them both. Since when did the passenger become his executive officer, and who thanks a ship’s AI?

But there’s no time to celebrate. The last ship, the largest ship, is less agile than Fuxue, but more heavily armed and is throwing everything at them in a last ditch effort. With a jarring lurch, Fuxue shudders, and Song Lan grimaces.

[Port wing…]

[Yes I know,] he snaps. He only barely has enough rudder to pivot Fuxue, pure luck more than anything. They won’t survive one more impact like that.

“Wei Drop?” Cao Huan suggests, and Song Lan snorts.

[Play dead?] No one who has ever seen the Wei Drop is fooled by it twice. But even as he derides the idea, he realizes it might work. It’s going to have to. Cao Huan is a good enough shot, and they don’t have a lot of choices left.

[Fine, but if this doesn’t work, you owe me a ship,] he says, killing Fuxue’s engine, shutting down all the systems, and letting his ship slowly start to drift oh-so-subtly in a circle.

It works. He can’t believe it works, but the pirates stop shooting, probably reluctant to break their new salvage any more than necessary, and coast toward Fuxue.

When Fuxue has made a full rotation, when Song Lan can almost see the attacking crew through the shielded fore windows, he looks at Cao Huan, who nods.

It happens so fast, the two of them working in unison to flip on all the power, stabilize Fuxue, take aim, and fire twice. At the last second, the pirate ship banks, trying to escape the shot, but they’re too close, far too close, and instead of disabling the wing or navigation, or whatever Cao Huan was aiming for, the ship explodes in a blinding blast of nuclear white light.

The last thing Song Lan thinks, the last thing he has time to think before the shockwave hits them, is Xingchen is going to be so mad about his ship.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #lan xichen #song lan #lanlan #space au #in which there is knitting and space battles #tea and music #and both of these wounded men get to heal a little #Kristina writes tiny stories #this one is medium sized

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ink-on-parxhment · 3 years

Text

it’s never too late to turn the other way

also find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30085704

Summary:

First it's graduation, and then one years passes, then two, then five. This job they're in, everyone around him seems to love it, seems to need it like they need the air in their lungs and blood in their veins, but sometimes he looks up and can only see how much it takes and takes and takes.

This life was what he was made for, what he was good at, but just maybe he can have something else, be something else.

Excerpt:

“I don’t know if I was ever meant to be a hero in the first place.”

There’s a sigh on the other end of the line that seems like it releases every bit of air in Aizawa’s lungs.

Graduation day rolls around with pale sunshine and what he feels is relatively little fanfare. For all that they have seen in their three years at UA, he thinks that this should feel more monumental, like maybe it should be bigger than his brain is making it.

But he looks around at the crowd and the decorations, sees Midoriya bouncing on the balls of his feet and exuding enough energy to power a city block, and thinks maybe it is that big, maybe it is monumental. It just doesn’t feel like anything monumental to him.

So he sits in a fold out metal chair and listens to Nedzu talk about the fundamentals of heroics, about what it means to be a Pro. He watches Midoriya rise from his spot further down the front row, where he sits right beside Momo, his suit gleaming green in the streaming sunlight, and take the microphone with shaking hands. He talks about how close their class is, about how they are siblings in arms, bonds forged in blood-wasitworthitwasitreally- and how it is an honor to take up the mantle as heroes amongst other professionals. He watches in a daze, hands cold as ice and sweating bullets, as Momo takes the mic from Midoriya and talks about dedication, about honor, about bravery-I’mnotreadywe’renotready-and then they’re all standing to get their diplomas and, more importantly for most, their licenses.

The Big Three go first, and then it’s all alphabetical from there. He watches Midoriya wipe tears from his cheeks on the sleeve of his uniform as he walks away from a handshake with Toshinori, watches Momo take her diploma from Nedzu and a wide, full smile stretches her mouth, watches Bakugou bare his teeth in a grin down at his license.

Eventually, it is his turn. He walks up the stairs to the stage and takes his diploma from Nedzu, shakes the chimera’s paw, and takes his brand new Pro Hero License as well. The look on Nedzu’s face is unreadable as always, but now more than ever he cannot decipher the glint in his eyes.

He steps away and off the stage, watches the rest of his class take their diploma and license with a sense of awe about them. He looks down at his own license, official Commission seal in the corner, and his face and name stare back up at him. Their licenses aren’t supposed to have their real names on them, for security reasons and for underground Pros like Shinsou who need anonymity to survive, but he had never gotten around to changing his hero name.

He stares down at his ID photo, traces a thumb across the official seal, and breathes past the lead weight that has dropped into his lungs at the thought that they’re here, they’ve made it.

He looks around, sees Midoriya pull his mother into a hug, both of them crying happy tears with All Might standing awkwardly next to them, as if the whole class hadn’t figured out he had practically adopted Midoriya. Bakugou is being aggressively group hugged by his group of friends, face a storm cloud but hands unlit, his equally explosive mother taking pictures in the background. He sees Shinsou pull a faux dismayed Aizawa in for a picture, and that’s another mentorship turned pseudo-family that has been poorly hidden since their second year.

His own family, his own father, is walking toward him, and he can see their smiles from here. He’s holding his Pro license and his family is proud. There’s so much happiness in the clearing he can practically taste it, and he feels nothing.

This is what he’s worked for since he was a child. So why does it feel like he’s still got a full marathon to run and no end in sight?

I saw you’re in town. Want to grab lunch?

He sends the text before he can overthink it, going back to halfway watching the late-night news and idly eating his cooling dinner. According to the newscast, Midoriya will be in town for the next week, and he hasn’t seen his friend face-to-face in over a year.

I work most days that im there!! Are you free Monday? The text also has what feels like way too many overly excited smiley emojis that still don’t compare to the literal sunshine that is Midoriya’s megawatt smile, and he has to shove down the rush of affection that settles in his ribs at his friend’s enthusiasm.

I am free Monday. Just let me know what time.

He is free most days, is what he doesn’t say. He sees his mother once a week and video-chats his siblings just as often. He tries to see Momo once a month, but she is busier than ever between her new agency and her recently revealed relationship with Jirou. He texts Midoriya and Iida, does his best to stay in touch with Tsu and Ochako. He has a text chain with Shinsou that goes quiet for weeks and then chimes notifications constantly for days. He sends memes back and forth with Kaminari.

He came out of graduation with hard won friendships, relationships he bought with blood and sweat, and he clings to them with a ferocity he does not cling to his work with. They all talk about their work like it brings them this greater purpose, like it’s what supplies the blood in their veins and oxygen in their lungs, but he clocks into the same agency he interned with his third year exactly on time and clocks out exactly the moment he is supposed to.

He does his work. It pays his bills, and that is no small thing, he thinks. He is saving lives and making a difference, and that should be enough. (It is enough, it has to be enough, what else would he even do?) But he thinks about the light in Midoriya’s eyes when he talks about a job that sounds like it just keeps taking and taking and taking and can’t quite muster the same level of enthusiasm.

Does 1:30 work???

It does, in fact, work. He would have made whatever time work, he thinks, barring a major villain outbreak.

Yeah

They make plans to meet up at the restaurant their friend group had haunted back in high school, which isn’t too far away from his agency or where Midoriya will be that day. He types the plan into his phone’s calendar and sets up a reminder he will not need. The strict organization is a habit he fell into in high school alongside Iida’s detailed schedules and Midoriya’s enthusiastic notes, and it is a habit he has yet to shake.

The newscast flashes on the screen in front of him, the aftermath of a fight and newscasters talking. There’s a video of Red Riot carrying civilians, and then a transition to him looking scuffed and beat up but relatively unharmed.

Something close to ice settles in his stomach as he watches his former classmate, his friend, field news reporters, and even through the screen and all this distance he can see how tired Kirishima is. The newscaster is talking, but he cannot hear their words. All he can see is the way Red Riot, because he is Red Riot right now, is smiling for a camera and the way his shoulders are inching up towards his ears, a habit he’d been reprimanded for in Media classes since first semester second year.

The ice solidifies, and he picks up his phone before he can think about it.

I can’t wait to see you Monday.

I can’t wait to see you too!!!

xXx

Time passes til Monday in a hazy crawl. He has Saturday off, and uses the free time to go see his mother. He has recently taken up new hobbies, primarily punch needle just because when he brought it up at the last class get-together Bakugou had laughed right in his face, and he couldn’t resist the eye-twitch it brought about every time he brought it up in conversation. That’s what started it. Now it’s just soothing.

He calls his sister, feels his shoulders relax as she tells him all about her elementary classroom. They don’t talk about anything heavy, and he feels all the tension in his body seep into his couch cushions as the call ends.

He’s been trying for more precision with his ice recently, more out of idle curiosity than any use it will have in the field. It has morphed into his second hobby at home, which is tiny ice sculptures that melt and leave puddles when he gets distracted and are too lumpy by half. He thinks about his sister and her soft, gentle voice on the phone, talking about her classroom of kids, and her fierce, sharp eyes that always see through him, cut him to the quick, and conjures his quirk until there is a tiny badger in his palm, only recognizable by the fact he knew that’s what it was supposed to be.

“Oh well,” he thinks, vaporizing it. “They’ll get better.”

He stops, blinks. The thought buoys him all the way through work the next day and into Monday.

Midoriya is already at the restaurant when he gets there, so he makes his way to the table and sits across from his friend. He’s got his characteristic green curls pushed up under a cap, and he’s in a well-worn All Might sweatshirt that he recognizes from third year. Shouto has done nothing to cover his own recognizable hair, but he changed out of his uniform before he left the agency. It’s enough, he thinks.

Midoriya is bouncing slightly in his chair like he’s barely holding words back, like he can’t quite keep his energy contained in his mortal frame, and it reminds him of research rabbit holes and long nights and manic grins. He looks so different from the smile he gives the press that it would have given him whiplash had he not seen this same megawatt smile across a phone screen at least once a week.

“Hey! How are you?! I know we talked the other day, but I haven’t gotten to talk to you since I traveled and I haven’t seen you at all on the news, which I hoped was a good thing, but you never know.”

He smiles, waits for Midoriya to finish his thought process before answering his first question. It’s good to see his friend. “I’m well, well enough. I’m not on the news enough to make watching the news a good indicator for how I am, though.”

Midoriya scoffs, his grin still in place. It’s a little bit blinding. “You’re on the news more than you think! Anyway, what have you been up to? We spent our whole last call talking about my last case, I want to hear about you!”

Midoriya has leaned forward, resting a little on the table, and Shouto is the sole focus of that green gaze. It’s a little breathtaking to be under that much scrutiny all at once, because one hundred percent of Midoriya’s attention is no small thing. He realizes in that moment how little he has to actually say, when he isn’t talking about his family or his friends. He doesn’t want to talk about work.

So he just… doesn’t. “I took my mom my latest project, and she’s doing really well. She’s been asking about you, actually.”

If Midoriya is confused about him not talking about their jobs, he does an admirable job of hiding it. He leans forward on his arms, twists a napkin in his scarred hands, and lets Shouto talk about his family and his new hobbies for longer than he thought he had words for.

Their drinks come, and eventually their food. Midoriya is swirling broth around his bowl by the time he runs out of questions and Shouto runs out of words. He hasn’t brought up work once during the entire meal, and Midoriya hasn’t asked. He feels happier, lighter than he has in months, and Midoriya is smiling, softer and gentler than his megawatt smile and more precious for it.

“We should make a habit of this.” He says, before he can let his brain get in front of his mouth.

Midoriya doesn’t even hesitate. Both their schedules are busy and the travel time would be insane, but he doesn’t hesitate when he says. “We should.”

xXx

There’s a heart monitor beeping steadily, and the rapid fire tap-tap-tap of a cell-phone typing indicator somewhere to his left. When he turns his head he can see a bowed head of mussed green curls and broad shoulders covered by a partially torn uniform.

The room smells like antiseptic and the air feels chilled even with his constant thermoregulation. Even if he can’t quite remember what part of the fight landed him here, he’d recognize the hero-specific hospital rooms, head-wound or no.

“Hey,” he says, and almost chokes on how dry his throat is.

Midoriya’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice, phone forgotten in his hand. He looks exhausted, tension lining his shoulders and bruises smudging his eyes, though whether those are from lack of sleep or from his own round with a healing quirk Shouto doesn’t know.

“Hey.” Midoriya says, clearing his throat. “How do you feel?”

He takes inventory of himself, tenses the muscles in his legs and arms just to prove he can, then rolls his shoulders and tenses at the shock of pain that shoots down his neck. “My head hurts, but mostly I’m just tired.”

Midoriya sighs, but mostly he just looks fond. Shouto doesn’t think he has any right to be this aggrieved considering how many times he has been on this end of the hospital bed.

“That makes sense. I don’t know how much you remember about the fight, but you went head first into a wall there at the end, so you should be free to go once they clear you on the concussion.”

He hums, looks around for a clock to see how long he’s been here for. The fight had been midday, but the curtains are pulled tight and the bright, artificial lights from above give nothing away. There isn’t a visible clock, but the board on the wall they use for long-term patients hasn’t been filled out and they’ve only clipped his papers there, so he assumes he hasn’t been here very long.

“You know,” Midoriya starts, and his voice shakes like it did years and years ago, like he’s nervous and doesn’t know how to get these particular words past his teeth. “You end up in the hospital more now than you ever did when we were kids.”

He whips back around to Midoriya, fast enough it sends pain shooting behind his eyes and down through his shoulders. He grits his teeth as it passes, even though Midoriya’s eyes go soft and concerned. He’s leaning forward in the barely-padded visitor chair, still scuffed and worn from the battle Shouto barely remembers, and thinks that can’t be right, can it?

He thinks back, traces the past few months, past few years in his mind. The fifth year anniversary of their graduation had come and gone with little fanfare not too long ago, all of 1-A that could get off of work crowding around a busy restaurant table. They’d poked fun at Midoriya and Bakugou and their new tug-of-war over the Number Two spot until the two (or Bakugou, really) had almost come to blows, and they had had to bow out of the establishment before someone called a camera crew.

But then he thinks beyond that. Thinks about how many times someone has had to call in Midoriya for this exact thing, especially after he had moved back here after he had shot up the rankings again. He closes his eyes and tries to remember if there has been a single month in the last year he hasn’t landed himself in the hospital, always over something minor, and can’t come up with a single stretch of time.

“Yeah,” he says, because he has nothing else to say in the face of the pit that has opened up in his stomach. “Being a pro is hard, Midoriya.”

Midoriya laughs, bright and loud and utterly exhausted as he slumps back in the creaky hospital chair. “I know. I know! But still. Be careful out there. If not for you then for the rest of us.”

He smiles, wry and knowing, and hauls himself out his chair. There’s a pit yawning wide in Shouto’s stomach, numbness and horror warring for space in his chest, because what has he been doing, what has he been letting happen?

“I’m going to go let someone know you’re awake, okay?”

He just nods.

xXx

Half a year passes before anything comes of his conversation with Midoriya, but he cannot get his words out of his head. He goes into situations at work just like he always does, throws himself into the line of fire like he has since he was a teenager, and cannot get the nagging voice in the back of his head to stop whispering, “you’re being reckless, you’re not trying hard enough, you need to be careful.”

He sits vigil over his coworkers when they get hurt and thinks nothing of it. It’s part of the job. He watches Midoriya get slung through drywall and crumble the brick behind it a month later. He feels cold and empty just long enough for the panic to set in, just long enough for him to get him to first responders and see Midoriya open hazy eyes as they bandage his face. He passes the neutralized villain to the authorities by complete muscle memory, and somehow makes his way to sit with Midoriya in the hospital until he wakes up from all the different healing quirks used to set his body to rights. When he wakes up, he doesn’t seem that upset about the whole affair, but then Shouto thinks back and realizes he hasn’t been hurt like this in over a year, and this is nothing compared to the damage that maps out his exposed arms.

He himself is nursing a bruise the size of a grapefruit along his ribs and got closer than he is comfortable admitting to hypothermia in the fight that took Midoriya out, and he’s not the one in the hospital bed.

“How are you feeling?” he asks Midoriya, hovering a chilled hand over Midoriya’s shoulder, where he knows bruises lay.

“Ah, I’m alright. It could have been worse, you know?” he says, and presses the bandaged skin into Shouto’s offered hand.

He doesn’t want to think about the alternate, could-have-been-worse situation. Instead, he amps up the power in his palm until Midoriya sags against his hand, a relieved sigh passing between his lips. “I do know. You’re still hurt.”

“Couldn’t’ve been avoided.” His words are slurred, all soft around the edges in pain relief and exhaustion.

It couldn’t have been avoided. He thinks about the bruise marring his ribs. He thinks about the concussion that had landed him in the hospital not that many months ago, and the other, minor concussions and sprains and bloody-blue-turned-purple bruises he’s taken home and wrapped because he took a hit he couldn’t, wouldn’t dodge.

He thinks about the way his very skin aches sometimes, in the mornings and after being out in the cold for too long.

“Maybe.” He says, and curls his fingers more securely over his bandaged shoulder.

xXx

It goes on like that for a while, and he can’t quite figure out what hits are the ones he’s supposed to take and the ones that can be avoided. He watches his friends take hits day after day, throws his own body into the fray and comes out mostly unscathed. They went to school for this. He should have the answer to this by now, he thinks. He remembers answering questions about acceptable risk. But then, it’s all different in the field, now that it’s his job and his call and there are people he could save if he just got between the situation and them. Midoriya’s words rattle around his brain at night, and he spends a lot of time making tiny sculptures of mishappen lions that melt in his palms as he thinks about what it means to put your all into a job and what it means to be reckless.

He figures it out all at once on a Thursday evening.

He’d been called in as backup for villain apprehension, what should have been textbook and a relatively safe position considering Midoriya and several sidekicks were the heroes taking point on the assignment.

One minute he’s helping shepherd civilians out of the wreckage, and the next minute he looks up and is met with a flying chunk of concrete coming right at him, rebar sticking out at lethal angles. There’s nowhere to go, no where for him to dodge and he’s protecting civilians besides.

So he just. Stands there.

Time seems to slow down to a crawl.

There is no fear.

The chunk of road is still flying at him, there are explosions in the distance, and there’s a hollow pit in his stomach.

This is how I die. He thinks. It isn’t a scary thought. After everything, this is how I die.

A voice, shouted loud enough to be heard over the boom of the explosions is what pulls him out of his stupor.

“Shouto!” It’s Midoriya. His voice is frantic and panicked and full of fear and his adrenaline kicks on pure instinct, and that’s when he remembers to do something.

His quirk manifests in his hands not a second too soon, a mini glacier freezing the oncoming boulder (and half the destroyed roadway) in place feet before it can hit him.

It is far, far too close for comfort.

Midoriya bounds over with a crackle of green lightning, sparing a brilliant smile for the remaining civilians before grabbing Shouto’s shoulder and turning him towards an awning for as close as they’ll get to privacy right now.

“Are you okay?” he asks lowly, and his eyes are wide and concerned despite the fact that neither of them have any noticeable injuries.

Except Shouto’s heart is beating so hard he’s surprised Midoriya can’t hear it, his right hand has completely frosted over despite his otherwise complete control over himself, and the hollow feeling he’s been carrying around since he can remember has just cracked wide open into something hot and raw and painful.

“I will be.” He says, voice rough, and it’s the truth even if it doesn’t feel like it.

“Okay.” Midoriya frowns, hand warm and heavy on his shoulder. “Okay. Just let me know.”

He doesn’t push any further, just squeezes Shouto’s shoulder and then heads off to take care of the rest of the civilians caught up in all this.

Shouto turns, chest aching and heart racing, and does the same.

He has a job to do.

xXx

He is fine, or close to it. He sits in his living room hours later, heart still thumping hard in his chest and hand still icy against the rest of his skin, and bounces his phone against his thigh.

He is fine. He’s got a text message from Midoriya checking up on him and an email notification from their agency manager asking if he got checked out by a medic, and he’s ignoring both of them. The image of concrete rubble keeps flashing through his mind, jagged rebar tearing through the air at fatal speeds, and he can still feel the way his body wouldn’t move.

The way he just accepted it. Welcomed it.

He can’t call Midoriya. For all that he is his best friend, the thought of laying out the endless pit, the numbness that has plagued him since before he can remember scrapes him raw. He cannot face that boundless optimism with the cracked weight in his lungs right now.

But he cannot go on like this. The kind of indecision, the kind of recklessness, the kind of hopelessness, he had felt is going to do what Midoriya had warned him about sooner or later and get him killed.

This might have been the path he has always been on, the path he was set on and guided down, but maybe there’s another way. Maybe there’s something else out there for him.

He hits the unlock button on his phone and searches his contacts, looks for a number he hasn’t needed in a long time. Swallows down something like bitter pride, remembers if you ever need anything from days a little more fearful and chaotic, and hits call before he can talk himself out of it.

It rings four times before an answer.

“Aizawa.”

“I-“ He cuts himself off.

“Are you safe?” He asks, urgent. The sounds of laughter trickle in over the phone’s tinny speaker, voices muffled but loud in the background. He had forgotten in the onslaught of his own personal numbness, but Eri would be starting high school by now. He still remembers her wrapped up in Mirio’s cape and Midoriya’s arms, and hearing her laugh muffled by the hallways of her home sends a surge of guilt through his chest for calling his teacher out of a happy, early retirement.

“Yes.” He answers, because he is physically safe. “I’m sorry. I—”

He feels like his words are falling from his mouth completely unbidden.

“What’s going on, Todoroki?”

“What do you do when you can’t be a hero anymore?”

“Kid—"

“I don’t know if I was ever meant to be a hero in the first place.”

There’s a sigh on the other end of the line that seems like it releases every bit of air in Aizawa’s lungs.

“There are other options for you, Todoroki, other than hero work. You’re good at what you do, but this isn’t your only option, kid.” He sighs again, and this time it sounds just as tired but more accepting, more like contentment. “Trust me, there’s a life beyond your license. If you need to, get out while you can.”

Shouto takes a deep breath in, holds it, lets it out. In for eight, hold for four, out for eight. The cracking, aching pain in his chest that has replaced the numbness he has been carrying around since he can remember eases ever so slightly. It feels a little lighter, a little easier to breathe around.

“Okay.” He says, and his voice is rougher than he wants it to be. “Okay.”

“Let me get you a phone number to call, okay kid?” Aizawa says.

He hears a shriek of laughter and thundering footsteps in the background, and even before he finds a pen for the phone number, he can feel part of the weight weighing down his lungs chip off and away.

xXx

He ends up talking to Hound Dog, who he wasn’t aware while he was in school but is not only a therapist but a licensed career counselor for the Gen-Ed and Business students along with dealing with the Heroics and Support kids’ course load.

Hound Dog starts the call with the ever professional “How can I help you?”

Which he appreciates more than he can say, because he saw Hound Dog more than anyone in his class except for maybe Midoriya and Bakugou, but it also grinds his brain to a complete and utter halt.

He hasn’t talked to Hound Dog since graduation. Unlike Aizawa, he hadn’t had a connection with him outside of their strictly professional one. He isn’t comfortable or familiar with the man. He cannot imagine making this call without the prompting he had gotten, and he wonders, wildly, if he would be freezing this much if he had made this call to someone with the exact same job title that he had never spoken to before.

He thinks the answer would be yes, considering he can’t get words out past his teeth.

“Hello?” The tone is worried, but not confused. He has a feeling this is not the first time someone has frozen on the other end of a phone call to Hound Dog. This isn’t even the first time Todoroki hasn’t been able to get his thoughts in line when talking to the man.

He clenches his fist, lets his nails press into his palms, and breaths so deep he thinks he can feel it in his toes. Thinks about the words he’s been rehearsing.

“Ah. Hello. I was calling to ask you how I could market my hero-course education and experience in a non-heroics field.”

He can hear the tap-tap-tap of a keyboard, and then, “I think I can help you out with that. Do you have any ideas for what you want to do, or are you just starting this process?”

His brain stutters to a halt again, his thoughts a whirl of—I don’t know, I haven’t thought this far ahead, this was all I was ever meant for, I don’t know what to do now—but it’s quicker to cut off that train of thought this time. He has his laptop open in front of him, and a pad of paper beside him. He resolutely doesn’t click the pen like he wants to.

“I don’t know exactly what I want to do yet. If you have ideas, I would welcome them.”

It comes out a lot steadier than he feels.

xXx

He finishes the call over an hour later with about forty tabs open for different vocational programs, for local colleges with education and analyst and support programs, with a notepad with numbers to call if he has questions about programs.

He ends the call and breathes deep, the room around him dark except for his computer monitor. His resignation letter is typed and ready to print, glaring up at him from his Important Personal Documents folder.

He raises his hand over the little bowl he keeps on his desk to practice his sculptures.

With a rush of cold, the details are lacking. It wouldn’t win him any awards, but he thinks it looks like it’s meant to. A phoenix taking flight.

For the first time since he picked up his license, since maybe forever, the feeling carving space in his chest is hope.

#bnha spring break #bnha #todoroki shouto #angst #angst with a happy ending #tw:suicidal ideation #tw: canon typical violence #tw: hospitals #I swear this fic isn't as dark as it sounds I just want my boy to be happy #my writing #Prompt: Pro #Mido is a Good Friend

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oh-for-fic-sake · 4 years

Text

It All Worked Out In The End

When the parents are away the kids will play... or fight one of the two.

I am genuinely have a too much fun with these imagines.

Masterlist

Warninngs: Swearing ,Mentions of fighting ,Hinting at Drugging and Rape (nothing explicit)

Jaskier stood befor you in your rented room dunking the bloodied rag into a jug of cool water before wringing it out then lightly dabbing your eye brow and angry claw marks on your face. Ciri stood off to the side apprehensive watching the bard tend to the wound.

"Got her good tho didnt i?" He smirked at that trying so hard to be disappointed in you but he really couldnt.

"Yes I even won a bit of coin, lets just hope the other two dont come back until this has gone down we can explain the black eye and cut but not the scratches."

"Yeah ... I still have all my teeth tho!" Cheerful in your victory utterly pleased with yourself Ciri shook her head at this then spoke up in disbelief.

"Where did that even come from?" You grinned wincing again as it hurt the bruises that were forming on your cheek and jaw.

"Well my sweet Cirilla a few years of pent up anger can do wonders for your right hook or in my case bitch slap" She snorted relaxing as she saw that you were to all intents and purposes unharmed. She wandered over to the bags on the chair by the bed.

"Wait Jask did you say coin? You put coin down?" Jaskier shrugged in response to your question dipping the rag in to the water again.

"Hey they started taking bets at the bar, I wasnt gonna join in but then looked at you , there was no way you werent gonna put her down ,your face looked a lot like Geralts growley face" He swiped over your face one last time there was a pregnant pause.

"So you gonna split the coin?"

"Nope" He said popping the p dropping the now pink cloth with a wet slap on the table. Your younger sister from another mister walked back over to you with a small vial. Poppy milk or better known to you as morphine.

"Yennefer left us some poppy milk for emergencies, you should take some now before you really start feeling it.How are we going to keep this from them?" Waving a hand motioning to your damaged face as Jaskier prepaird the medicine. If you were honest you didnt think that far ahead at the time you just needed to ko that Bitch -which you did thank you very much- but you knew what Ciri was getting at Geralt and Yennefer were a couple of mother hens... allbeit slightly more intimidating... and dangerous... and volatile.

"Not sure we can" You replied nodding greatfully at Jaskier who offered cup of water that held a dose of the pain killer. Knocking it back before pulling faces at the bitter taste.

"Oh god! Ugh no" you shook your head befor quickly eating a cube of cheese from the small platter in front of you. The singer shrugged ignoring your outbust looking between the both of you.

"All i do know is that your going to be in trouble when they do find out" He said in a sing song voice you slumped back in the chair grunting.

"Oh yer how'd you figure its just me in shit Jask" Sputtering he glared at you

"Maybe because your the one who decided to turn savage and attack a whore! You even bit her bit" You tapped a pointing finger on the table

"Ok fisrt things first she hit me first got a strict rule never throw the fisrt punch but allways throw the last and second yeah fair enough i bit her but she was fighting dirty. And you could have pulled me off her, you also placed a bet on me which was encouraging it.If im going down your coming with me." He gaped at you in disbelief.

"What about her she didn't intervene either?"

"She also didn't bet on me."

"I don't think Geralt himself could have dragged y/n off her" Ciri quipped from the side lines you nodded at her continuing.

"Not only that im pretty sure they left you in charge bard so really when you think about it its all your fault" He pailed as you and Ciri high fived.

"I need to lie down" Wobbling to the bed flopping on it face first.You and Ciri shared a look after a few beats of silence befor being asked the enevitable question

"So how did it start anyway?"

"Thats what id like to know" Came from the bed as Jaskier sat up.

"Not really sure she was just running her mouth i geuss" You lied patting her head befor freighning tirednes making your way to the other bed deciding that she never has to know the real reason to you cat fighting with a whore. A few days later after the scratches and swelling had faded the others returned they hastily made their way up to the room. Geralt started speaking as he stormed through the door.

"Can some one explain to me why iv just had to pay for a whores loss of earnings And medical costs?" You balked

"Loss of earnings I knocked out her teeth surely shes making double on blowies" Jaskier snorted into his mug

"What the fuck happened?" Geralt growled out not finding your comment amusing in the slightest as he saw the clawed bruised cheek, blackened eye and cut on your brow he quickly gave Ciri and Jaskier the once over fearing youd all been attacked, relife flooded him when he saw they were ok . Yennefer gasped striding past the seething witcher stopping in front of you placing a soothing hand on you uninjured cheek.

"Who did this?" She whispered you beamed at her nuzzling into her palm.

"Dont worry I dealt with it. Besides I got off lightly you should see my opponent" Ciri nodded in agreement befor breifly explaining.

"Y/n had a fight with a whore, beat her into the ground actually then knocked her out with a single back hander. Was quite immpressive to watch"

"Made a satisfying sound to" Jaskier added Geralt looked between the three of you.

"So Y/n had a cat fight with a whore?" You all nodded

"And did enough damage to not only knock out teeth but keep her out of work for a few days?" The three of you shared a look and nodded the hunter sighed a deep breath crossing him arms.

"Do i want to know what started it?"

"Probably not" was you offered choosing once again to keep the fact it was for Ciri's sake to yourself, trying to trick you in to selling yourself for a night was one thing but planning to drug and sell Ciri was a completely different ball game. She was family.No one was getting away with that not on your watch its lucky you caught on to the hushed conversation. You dont want to think about what could have happend if you hadnt been paying attention. Geralt threw his hand up looking towards Yennefer when it was clear none of you were going to elaborate any more then that. Aproaching he droped his swords and bag taking Yenns place tilting your face to inspect your wounds.

"Well they didnt do much damage or manage to fracture anything ,even your nose which is good." He leaned in kissing your forhead chasetly. As yenn preceeded to pull you over to where her bag was on the bed with a healing balm in hand stippling it over the cut on your face.

"Fighting a whore honestly, can't leave you alone for a few days with out you getting into trouble. I hope you know your in trouble missy" She muttered as she flitted threw her bag then began fussing over your split knuckles applying a different ointment.

"And the money we had to give her for this whole incident is comming out of your allowance starting today" Geralt grunted from the table Jaskier and Ciri watched in peels of laughter as you tried squirming away from the sorceress pleading with the unimpressed white haired male you continued protesting at Geralt's decision until he pinned you with a stern look that shut you up. Yeah he wasnt a happy camper.

"And your grounded from singing bard" Jaskier stopped laughing

"What?"

"you were told to take care of them and it doesnt take an idiot to guess why this is considerably heavier you dont make this much from singing alone" he growled out lifting up jaskiers bulging coin pouch .All in all the couple took it better than any of you thought they would, you were relieved they didnt push the issue as if they knew what had kicked it off they probaly would have burnt that whore house to the ground, whores and all... Jaskier did share his winnings tho so it all worked out in the end,Jaskier made a weeks worth of coin in a night, you saved Ciri ,let out some pent up aggression and Geralt didnt have kill anyone.

#witcher fic #witcher fanfiction #witcher imagine #geralt x yennefer x you #geralt of rivia #geralt x modern reader #geralt x y/n #jaskier x reader platonic #ciri x reader platonic #yennefer x reader #henry cavill fic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader

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staranon95 · 4 years

Text

what friends are for

a red hood au drabble

Matt doesn’t mind being known as the ‘tech guy’ of the crew. He doesn’t. He likes technology. Technology is easy to understand. It’s easy to work with, for the most part, and it doesn’t try to kill him. Well, at least not purposefully. If he dies from electrocution, then it’s probably his own damn fault.

Working with technology usually keeps him away from the nasty business on the streets. Usually, he can walk down the street and not be bothered by someone who has a grudge with him because those people wouldn’t know him if they saw him. They only know him through the Trojan viruses he infects their computers and security systems with.

He’s not a fighter. He doesn’t want to be. He wouldn’t know how to get out of a hold. He can handle a gun only minutely, and he knows and accepts the fact that he’s a damsel in distress whenever someone grabs him. He’s all fine with this.

What he’s less fine with is dealing with this current ‘Red’ situation. As if the moniker Red makes it any easier to determine who this person really is. Gavin has a theory that it’s actually someone who’s been dead for five years—Alfredo Diaz. He was once an acquaintance of the Fakes, but then . . .

Well . . .

Mistakes happen.

That’s what Matt refers to them as. You can’t carry forward in a job like this with the guilt of someone’s death on your hands. Otherwise you might as well run up the white flag and call it quits.

But Alfredo was the one that made them all ask: was this all worth it?

And now it seems he’s returned. But for what purpose? Why pretend being dead all these years? Why the cat and mouse games?

So Matt goes digging as he usually does with puzzles like these. He likes watching murder mystery shows because it’s fun putting the pieces together in his head and making the correct guess ten minutes in and watch everyone else flip out when he’s guessed right.

So he starts at the beginning. The crime scene.

Arson investigation. Case closed. Three dead. Four in hospital. Blah, blah, blah

Ah, here we go.

Diaz, Alfredo, 20.

Damn, he was so young.

Not like Matt was any older.

They found his DNA at the scene, and some of the bodies had been burned to the point of being unrecognizable. So it’s entirely possible that they could’ve been mistaken about who truly died that nigh.

But then how could he have gotten away?

So Matt looks to the hospital records of that night. Who was brought in? None of the Fakes. They have their own doctors on payroll for that. The four brought in were just common thugs of a different crew they’d been tangling with back in the day. And all four has since been arrested. One of them had the charges dropped against them with the other three landing in jail, with two of them still there to this day.

Returning to the question at hand: how did Alfredo survive if all the evidence clearly said he didn’t? Was someone using their dead friend’s identity for their own gains? And if so, why?

A rapid and sharp knocking at his door draws Matt away from his computers. He looks through the peephole and sees Trevor on the other side. He sets about unlocking the door and letting him inside.

Trevor is usually well composed. He dresses smartly like Geoff used to back in the day before Geoff said, “Trevor, you’re the man of the house now,” and promptly left without another word. But this Trevor is frazzled Trevor. His hair has been ruffled. Running his hands through it has been a nervous tick of his since Matt has known the guy.

“What is it?”

“Have you found anything?” Trevor asks. Another thing about frazzled Trevor is that he is painfully direct. No time for pleasantries. No time for ‘hey, I haven’t seen you in two weeks! How’s it going!’

“On Red?”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing that stands out. I was just looking through the old crime scene reports. I honestly think this guy is just fucking with us. Probably picked up his ID and looked to see what history ‘fredo had with us.”

“Gavin was so sure, though.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I have a soundbite to do some sound analysis shit on it. If you can get this guy talking clearly and record it for me, then maybe I can work some magic. Or better yet! Some DNA would be nice?”

Trevor paces the length of Matt’s living room, and it’s now that Matt is seeing the wear and tear on him. He should’ve thought that this was eating Trevor up more than he was letting on.

Matt sighs and moves to the kitchen to fill some glasses with water and bring them to the coffee table. He sets them down and sits on the couch.

“Trev, you need to tell me what’s going on, man.”

He walks the length of the room twice more before sinking into Matt’s recliner, holding his head in his hands. It’s a solid minute before he moves for one of the glasses and another two before he speaks.

“I don’t like thinking about that night,” he says.

“Neither do I. You’re not alone in that.”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up either, you know?”

“I think it’s natural if you do. It’s . . . it’s odd. That’s for sure.”

“Like.” Trevor pauses, runs a finger over his lower lip. “He could be back. He could be trying to come home and I.” He breaks off and leans back into the recliner, folding his hands behind his head. When he gets uncomfortable, he avoids eye contact, he fidgets. Matt gives him all the time he needs because, while he knows he’s not exactly able to show it, this is weighing heavily on Trevor.

“I don’t know what to do here,” Trevor says. “Geoff says we’ve got this. That we don’t need him to draw this Red guy out, but I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.”

“You know Geoff is probably taking this as hard as you are. He’s the one who brought you and Alfredo on.”

“Yeah, I know that. I just wish he had more to say than ‘you’ve got this’ when clearly I don’t.” Trevor huffs and goes boneless in the recliner.

Matt pulls out his phone and opens Uber Eats. He scrolls through to find a place he knows Trevor will eat from. He places the order and reaches for the remote to his TV.

“I’ve been on a Yu-Gi-Oh binge lately,” he says.

“Yeah? What season?”

“Season two.”

“Oh, the Marik stuff.”

“Yeah and Kaiba’s about to be a real bitch to Ishizu. Food will be here in like thirty minutes.”

Matt stands to at least shut his computers down for the night. It’s been a while since Trevor has crashed here and he wants to be there for his friend. Trevor needs this. Red can wait another day.

#fake ah crew #fahc #gta au #star speaks #star writes #red hood au #in sticking with my red hood equivalents #i guess this would make matt the Oracle?#the eyes in the sky perspective

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doodlingstuff · 3 years

Text

Neil’s (fake) B-day

Let’s celebrate my boy’s birthday with some fluff :)

All likes, shares, kudos and comments make my day shine. Thanks for reading ❤

***

( Chapter 14 of Comeback)

Andrew was definitely allowing himself to get carried away by Neil’s joy, otherwise, there is no logical explanation as to why he is driving the pipe dream towards the stadium instead of Fox Tower after he got Abby’s clearance to get back to classes. They could be using each other time’s in more pleasant ways, but then again, Neil loves his newfound family and all their nonsense. And Andrew is no one to take that away from him. Even less after everyone thought they’d lost him for good. Twice.

Matt’s massive truck and Allison’s hideous atrocity are already there when they arrive. Neil is still too unsteady to walk that much from the parking lot to the court on his own, and he is too stubborn to use any walking aid, but Andrew has proved his talent as a reliable walking stick, so he lets the striker hold to his arm and squeeze it all the way.

As Andrew knew beforehand, the lounge is covered with streamers, balloons, confetti, and an enormous Happy Birthday sign.

Every Fox approaches Neil with a big smile. Some dare to pat him on the shoulder and Matt ruffles his hair. Almost everyone gives him presents and of course, the boy looks lost. He turns to see Andrew, but it wasn’t his idea, so he won’t make it easy, although there is the faint ghost of a smile trying to break free as Neil gets more and more confused.

“Happy birthday kid.” Coach is the last one to approach and the striker finally finds it in him to talk.

“Thank you? It’s-It’s not my birthday, tho”

His comment is received by a well-deserved couple of pairs of eye rolls.

“Some things never change, do they?” Aaron asks. Her cheerleader shushes him with an elbow on the ribs. Maybe Andrew doesn’t hate the woman that much after all.

“Sweet baby, don’t tell me you forgot your own birthday,” Nicky says.

“It’s March 31, Neil! We promised you a party!” Matt follows with one of his brightest smiles.

The auburn-haired turns to look at Andrew as if he’d had any part in that. He was only the driver and his attention is drifting away from the happy reunion as he eyes the big cake on the back. That may be worth the bother.

“Told you my birthday was in January,” Neil says, clearly uncomfortable.

“And you were getting killed then.” Allison goes on. “You deserve a birthday party. Even if it’s not your real birthday.”

“But-”

“Lookit this way,” Nicky interrupts. “You get to celebrate twice every year. Sounds like a dream.”

Neil looks like he wants to keep arguing, but Wymack steps in before. “Shut the fuck up before I get sick. These morons made you a party. Enjoy it and stop looking like a stray cat for once.”

The next argument in Neil’s tongue dies as everyone starts to roll food around. They are smart enough to restrain themselves from singing and the cake finally arrives. Since the junkie is happy talking to everyone and watching wide-eyed all his presents, Andrew can distract himself by seeing how many slices of birthday cake he can eat before getting sick of it. As if that was possible. It’s easier for Kevin to die from diabetes just by watching.

"Alright. Time to get serious.” Wymack is clapping to get everyone’s attention after they all are stuffed and ready to pass out. It takes almost fifteen minutes for the team to clear their heads and gather in the sofas around their Coach.

“As you know, we are too far away to have a normal championship, but after how things unfurled for the Ravens,” He spares a brief glance towards Andrew that the twin dismisses “They decided to get them back to their original district. That said, championships will be only a single round of deathmatches to be played on the same day. Winner teams will be qualified by points scored. The two best go directly for the championship and the rest can wait until next season.”

“I still don’t know which team we will be facing but from now I tell you that for once, it doesn’t matter the score. This year had brought a shitload of problems I hope I never have to face again, but we made it to this round, so let's take the chance as best as we can and keep showing we are not a joke anymore.

Wymack is faster to keep talking before his shortest striker speaks “As for you Neil, don’t even expect to play more than five minutes. You are allowed back to practices, but I will strangle you myself if you pull another fucking stunt in the court. Depending on how you do and in the remote chance we pass, I might think about letting you play the full final match. Doubts?”

Everyone shook their heads or deny. Andrew can’t take the perspective of getting back to practices, but Neil is radiating energy only with the perspective of five minutes on a match, so he abstains from complaining as Kevin starts talking endlessly about every single plan and strategy he’s plotted during the past months.

Andrew can’t wait to get out of there, but if Neil is happy, he can stay a bit longer.

Campus is swollen by darkness when they get out of the gathering. Nicky spends the short ride speaking, as he always does, and Kevin is making a tantrum from traveling in the back. Andrew can’t care less. If he doesn’t like it, he can walk to Fox Tower or catch a ride with the rest.

When they arrive at the building, Andrew takes Neil’s duffel bag and motions towards the elevator. The junkie is about to protest, but he is finally learning to tell when he’s tired and the night hasn’t ended for them, so he steps into the elevator.

Andrew has the door of the dorm open for Neil. They step in and the blond makes way to the bedroom. He dumps the duffel bag on the bed and looks for the things he stuffed in there before heading out.

“Wait.” There it goes. The cogwheels inside the junkie’s brain finally move. Nicky and Aaron pause their silly game to see “This is not my dorm.”

“It is now.” Neil looks for the lie in Andrew’s eyes and then he sees Nicky laughing as bills pass between him, the other twin, and even Kevin.

“You are such a cute thing. Andrew kicked Aaron out as soon he knew you weren’t dying.”

Neil looks startled from Nicky’s gigantic smile to Andrew’s shrug. They had shared enough nightmares and had slept together so many times for it to be a scandal, but it was until then when the blond realizes he didn’t ask. He just acted out of spite because he wanted to have Neil close.

A big smile spreads on the striker’s face and then he follows Andrew to the roof.

After three cigarettes, Andrew still can’t find how to get this over with. They had talked about bigger demons before. They had shared more intimacy. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Still, his voice is almost scared when he talks.

“Enjoyed your party?”

Icy eyes send a wave of shivers down his spine. “I guess. I’ve never had one.”

“And you won’t ask me why I didn’t get you a present?”

“Do you want me to? I don’t need presents. And you had given me much more.”

“Then shut up.” He says and finally drops the contents of his pocket in Neil’s hands.

Minutes pass before the striker can talk again. “My phone and keys.”

“You left them on purpose.” There is a hard swallow traveling down Neil’s throat.

“Told you I never thought I’ll stay. And... I couldn’t be Neil Josten in the Nest. If I took these, they would’ve been more reminders of the life I couldn’t have anymore.”

“You have it now.” The official IDs sent by Kengo are still unbelievable to Neil. He nods as he grips the objects in his hands. The proofs that he is real, that he didn’t come out from Andrew’s drugged mind and he will stay. Probably.

“And this is your present.” The blond drops a packet of cigarettes in Neil’s lap. He looks bewildered and attempts to give them back.

“Abby says I shouldn’t smoke again.”

There is no point in explaining things to the pretty idiot, so Andrew settles for looking at him until he opens the damn box and takes out a couple of pieces of cloth.

“You want me to sew your socks?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Andrew replies while pulling up his sleeves. Maybe Neil can get the hint that way.

“Armbands?”

“It’s already hot as fucking hell and you keep wearing long sleeves.”

Realization crosses fast through his face. If the junkie thought Andrew wouldn’t notice he didn’t want the scars on his wrists on display, he was even dumber than how he looked.

“Thank you,” The red-haired says while slipping the pieces of cloth through his hands.

Words are burning Andrew’s throat worse than the smoke of his sixth cigarette. He doesn’t want a no , but he knows he won’t be in peace if he doesn’t ask. “Will you stay now?”

“I haven’t gone anywhere.”

The blond only spares a glance at Neil. He doesn’t want to explain. However, as silence stretches, he knows he needs to make sure the point is understood just in case Neil is indeed stupid or Andrew hasn’t been clear enough.

“Last year I told you to give me your back and stay. You ran away and did the exact opposite. You’re not in danger anymore. The promise stands. I’m just asking again.”

A wild river clashes with sweet honey. For the first time in a long, long while, Andrew can’t tell what hiding those eyes are hiding. He is the one with the blank expression, not Neil. Silence keeps growing between them. The blond is sure he talked too soon. He is expecting the dream to vanish because it has been a big strike of consecutive good weeks and nothing lasts forever. He doesn’t forget that.

“Your memory isn’t so perfect after all.” Andrew is startled by the comment. Of course, it is. A fucking burden he never asked to have. A good thing when it comes to Neil and the bright smiles he gives. The twin starts digging if he had any other slips like the room swap without asking first, but he can’t find any. “I said yes. Always yes.”

“It was a different question.” Relief spreads as he speaks.

“But the answer is always yes.” The blank stare is quickly replaced by a big smile.

Andrew knows he has to tell him that always can’t be his answer for everything, that there will be times when it’s no, that he will respect any change of mind, that he doesn’t want to force it, that he is afraid everything is still an illusion, but Neil is so close and he has talked so much, that the only thing he manages is a soft growl as the striker´s lips are near his neck, and then, every objection gets drowned in a kiss.

“One condition,” Neil says when they part. “You don’t protect me. We protect each other.”

Every complaint dies even before Andrew can voice it because it is true.

Before Neil said it, he gave his life willingly for Andrew, and the blond had turned the world upside down in a week to keep the pipe dream safe. The promise was fulfilled before it was made.

Regardless, it’s the first time someone says to him anything like that, and it fills his chest with something so powerful and strange that he isn’t sure if his life is really this good. Perhaps he died in juvie, or in Thanksgiving, or in Easthaven, and this is all a weird fantasy created to bear the boredom of being in hell.

When they return to the dorms, neither asks before getting inside the same bed to fall asleep with their fingers intertwined.

If always feels like this, Andrew can get used to having it.

#aftg #aftg fanfic #aftg fic #all for the game #the foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men #canon divergent au #canon divergence #andrew minyard #neil josten #andrew x neil #neil josten & the foxes #david wymack #always yes #fluf #birthday #party

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aesthyuckic · 4 years

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AVENOIR | l.dh - SEDECIM

Genre: High School AU (at beginning) ; Tarot Reader!Witch!Hyuck

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: (bold if in use) slow but with a purpose, belief contradictions, mentions of r*pe, blood, swearing, violence, mentions of abuse

Pairings: Lee Donghyuck (Haechan) x Reader (F)

X OF CUPS IN REVERSE: shattered dream, broken family, bad relationships

Cosimia’s eyes fluttered opened once again. She was not looking up at the gray sky they had this morning but rather the ceiling in her trailer. She was in bed, surrounded by softness... Maybe it was just a nightmare, she thought to herself... but that’s exactly why she hung the dream catcher up so long ago... Nonetheless, she still found comfort on Donghyuck’s side of the bed. She could still smell his cologne in the sheet that made her heart swell for some reason.

It took her a few moments to open her eyes again as she was basking in the sheets. Her hands were the first thing she saw, they were clean. The images of her hands covered in blood and the knife flashed into place. She shook as she sat up, just looking at her hands in terror. She swear she could still feel it but she wasn’t sure if she had just imagined it or it was real... She felt like passing out at the thought.

It wasn’t long before a girl walked in after. Her name was Irene, one of eldest, kind of a nurse and also a dancer in the shows who was like an older sisters to most of the girls there. She was there to take care of Cosimia in the meantime.

“Oh my god, you’re up!” The eldest exclaimed. “Lay back down.”

Irene rushes out of the bedroom to get a glass of water and a wet towel for the girl. She came back and put the cup down on Cosimia’s night stand before she put the cool towel on the other’s forehead. She smiled, sweetly, before she sat down on the bed with her.

“What happened?” The young girl was quick to ask which seem to make the other girl’s expression drop.

“Well...” She started.

“Don’t sugarcoat it.” She sighed

“You fainted after you stabbed Ten... I only know that because Johnny always set up cameras! He had to turn it into the police though. And Ten’s okay, too, just in a bit of pain and out of the job now...”

“How about Haechan? And what about me? How am I not in custody?”

“Calm down, we don’t need your blood pressure going up! We’ve had enough people from here go to the hospital today! Haechan was stable according the last update I got on him and Cosimia, you were passed out... The police couldn’t question you even if they wanted. They’ll get a statement later but it was clear from the video it was self dense. He did have a gun point to your head.”

“I put it there, though.”

“It was still self dense in the end because he wasn’t backing away or anything.”

She let out a deep breath before laying back, rather relaxed compared to moments ago. She didn’t think it was out of self dense, she didn’t feel that way anyway. The more times she played what had happened over and over again it just felt like anger was building up... She wandered about Donghyuck... He was okay but how long ago was that? She just wanted to see him so badly.

”Irene, can you please take me to the hospital?” The young girl begged. “Please, I just want to see Haechan.”

“Oh, no, don’t cry! I hate seeing you cry!” She pouted. “I can’t! You need to rest and Johnny thought so too.”

Though, the young girl continued to cry. Not in the hopes of getting her way (even though she also wanted that) but because of what she had seen before the chaos had even started. The most recent memory of Donghyuck she had was one that was traumatizing to her despite not being physically there for it.

Irene just frowned, unsure of what to do as unneeded guilt washed over her. Luckily for her, Johnny did text her, telling her whenever Cosimia was up and ready to bring her down to hospital, that he needed to talk to her. The eldest was too relieved that an escape come so quickly she didn’t notice how odd it seemed. She was just too happy to pull the other out of bed and have the crying stop.

The girl seemed to get antsy the closer they got to the hopsital. In fact, when they had arrived and gotten on the elevator to take them up to the floor Donghyuck and Johnny were on, she was itching to get out. She felt like it was taking forever and every second she was just wasting. When the elevator dinged to signal the doors were going to open she raced out of there, leaving the older behind. She was more concerned with finding the room number that she searched frantically for.

And then she finally got to the hall of numbers in the 400’s, knowing he was in the room 444. Her seemed to speed up as she passed room 440 and right as she got to the number she had been waiting for, someone came out. It was Johnny, which ruined her hope of Donghyuck being awake in the first place. Her boss noticed her right away but she didn’t seem to care as she pushed past him.

She tiptoed to look in the small window of the door. She saw the boy on the bed, hooked up to multiple machines. He was so still and in all honesty, it made her want to start crying again. He was always so lively, to see him so still was unlike him and she hated it. At least he was still alive, that much she was thankful for...

“Cosimia! Have you even been listening to me?!” Johnny asked, finally capturing her attention. “I said we need to talk.”

“What?” She started to panic and it was obvious in her voice. “Is Haechan okay?!”

“Yes, he’s fine!” He sighed. “Lucky too... If he hadn’t been for that crystal he always wore he would probably be dead or at least worst. He’s in a coma right now, though and he’s going to wake up but the doctors don’t know when.”

“Then what do we need to talk about?”

“When were you going to tell me you both were pronounced dead months ago? Do you know how hard it was to get the cops off your trail?! Who the fuck is Peter Lee and Josphine Vasquez anyway?!”

She was left shocked by what her boss had said. She also knew it was only a matter of time before he found out but she hoped it wouldn’t be at a time as bad as this...

“I can explain.” She said.

“Well, go on!” Johnny commanded. “I’d love to hear it.”

“The summary of it?” She hesitated. “Haechan and I faked our death so our parents would think we were dead and not try to come after us. I got fake IDs for us so no one would suspect anything.”

“Oh my god, this isn’t some movie, Cosimia!” He gritted. “You have families that have mourned over you and wondered what they’ve done wrong for you to both end up ‘dead’ when you were with me the entire time! I can’t believe this.”

“Johnny, you don’t understand!” She whined. “We did it for a reason! And what about Jisung, Iaan, Olivia and Kai? What about them? They’re all our age and they’re with you.”

“You’re not ophrans like them and what was the reason? So you could have your little romance cliche?”

“We weren’t even into each other at that time! And he’s eighteen, he can do whatever he wants!”

“Fine, then you’re going to be going back by yourself.”

“You don’t understand! When are you going to get that?! I’m not leaving Haechan’s side either! And I’m not exaggerating when I say I rather die than go back! I will kill myself before I ever go through that again!”

The hall got quiet after the screaming match that had the small girl in tears. She shook so visibly as she cried into her hands. Her back had made it to the door of the room before she slid down it, only to sob on the floor. It made the boy feel so... guilty and bad. He might of scared her too which made him feel worse. He’d admit, he had somewhat of soft spot for the girl... She was like a little sister he never had, but he’d never admit that part.

“What don’t I understand?” He asked, softly, sitting down to her.

“Huh?” She cracked as she lifted her head up.

“What don’t I understand,” He repeated. “Maybe, if you told me, I would and I would let it stay too... I’ll figure out the police if I have to.”

“I wanted Haechan to be the first person I told...”

“I’m sorry... but if you want to have the possibility to stay, you’re going to have to tell me.”

“Can we at least go in the room?”

He nodded before helping the girl off the floor. He, then opened the door, allowing her to go first and soon following after her in the room. She seemed to rush over to the bed as he closed the door. He didn’t really expect much else as he come to sit in the chairs across from the bed. He watched as she brushed a few strands of the boy’s hair out of his face as it was getting long. Her smile as she did so was bitter sweet... He looked peaceful, too peaceful. She finally sat down next to Johnny but he couldn’t help but noticed the way she kept looking at the boy who lied in the bed so still.

“You know,” He started. “Doctors say sometimes people can hear people talk from inside their coma. So, maybe in a way, Haechan will be the first person you told, beside me, of course.”

She hummed with a nod.

“Are you ready, though?” He asked, just to be positive as it seemed pretty heavy.

“It doesn’t really matter if I am ready or not, in this case... I have to tell you or you’ll send me back...”

She had sudden realized in that moment, everything was cloudy and blurry in her mind. She couldn’t see what was to come like she usually was able too... She didn’t know what was next for her after telling Johnny or anything. Her gut told her that she’d be fine in the end. The one thing she did know was to always trust that feeling.

“I don’t know where to begin...” She confessed.

“Take your time.” He said.

She felt the overwhelming sense of being dirty, once she had felt to often beforehand that she could never truly shake. She squeezed her eyes shut and her throat felt like it was lined with wire as she tried to hold everything in. She found a past to start, intuitively. She felt like she was living the whole thing over again but this time it really dragged. She knew that’s how it felt at first and that’s how’d she would feel but god, it was the worse pain on top of what was already going on.

She was surprised to see the tall guy in front of her also tearing up a bit at the end of it. She guessed he really didn’t understand it... Not with the way she cared herself especially around him. She took his hand, letting him know it was okay... To which, he had gently brought her into a hug. He whispered something about not letting her back and that’s when she knew she was finally safe.

She really broke after that, gripping onto the boy’s sweater rather tightly as she wailed into the fabric. It only slightly muffled it but he could only imagine how long she had been holding that in. Of course she needed to scream and of course she was exhausted by the end of it. She tried to find air again after, but only found herself lightheaded.

It prompt the boy to get her water after because it was apparent she needed it. He only left when he saw her crawl into the space next to Donghyuck. Laying there, she noticed the silver was fading to platinum as the strands got longer. She sniffed to herself as she stared at him. She was hoping he’d wake up soon, so they could talk again. For now, she found some comfort in mumbling things, no matter how serious or ridiculous they were to him in his unconscious state.

She fell asleep like that next to him. Her arm draped across his bare waist, quite a ways away from the bullet wound covered in gauze. The doctors and nurses seemed quite broken by the scene once visiting hours were up. They didn’t want to separate them but Lucas and Jaemin had shown up to take her back to the trailer which now seemed like her permanent home.

She had woken up, in the car which a jacket draped of her. She recognized the scent was Lucas’ and could see him driving too. She was half awake so she just shut her eyes again but oh, how she wanted too sleep next to her friend so badly like every other night...

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 3 years

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The Hard Things--Alternative Ending

Doing the right thing is never easy. Calum and Freya have a lot going for them. But what happens when fear gets in the way.

Inspired by I Follow Rivers by Marika Hackman and Starting Line by Luke Hemmings.

Calum X Black Female OC. Angst with a happy ending. Because my characters should never be happy.

The Hard Things--Original Ending.

Materlist (on a semi hiatus)

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