#I just feel seething rage when it tells me I made too many mistakes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hurting-fictional-people · 3 years

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Continued from here

At first, Hero doesn’t notice the slight changes around them.

They wake up, and the pain wakes as well, flooding them with its burn and stealing away their breath for the few instants they take to accept and relax into it before opening their eyes. Villain’s curled-up figure, snoring softly from the armchair next to the bed, is the first thing they see.

Hero lays their head back down and sighs when last night comes back to them. They wish they couldn’t, but they remember it all too well – every kind word, every worried touch and whispered confession.

Embarrassment burns their cheeks at the thought of Villain seeing their scars, the horror written across their face when they did. They were never supposed to see those – no one was, not when all of them were results of Hero’s fails, of Superhero’s discipline. They were a shame Hero carried for not being good enough, and one Villain should never have seen.

They give Villain a side-glance, sighing again at how uncomfortable their position looks, their body too big for the tight space of the armchair.

It’s only then that something clicks into place.

Hero doesn’t own an armchair.

They jerk upright, and immediately fold forward, holding their stomach when pain shoots through them. Hero catches the anguished whimper before it escapes, and only a huff of air leaves in its place. It’s still enough for Villain to open their eyes and sit up too.

“You’re awake,” they state with a yawn, giving Hero a once-over that stops at the clean bandages and makes their stomach churn.

“Where am I?”

Villain’s smirk sends waves of fire through Hero’s blood. How the fuck were they so stupid to trust Villain when they were at their most vulnerable?

“Welcome to my place. Do you like it?”

Hero bares their teeth in indignation and grips the sheets with the hand that isn’t holding their injury. “Take me the fuck back.”

“Oh, no can do, sweetheart. I gave you the nice guest room, though, I think you’ll like it,” Villain says, already standing up and calmly walking around the bed. Hero doesn’t move from their spot under the duvet, not when they can barely move without grunting, let alone get up and follow the bastard. “What do you say about breakfast? I’ll be right back with it.”

Hero can only watch as they leave the room, and the lock clicks behind them.

They fall back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling hopelessly.

Villain locked the door. Hero’s hands tremble at the thought, at how the room suddenly seems so much smaller. They had said they’d be back with breakfast, hadn’t they? But how can Hero trust Villain after they kidnapped them?

The feeling isn’t unknown, though. Hero is way too familiar with the helplessness of being locked away from the world, isolated until they were desperate enough to comply. So forlorn they were the perfect vessel for learning, as Superhero would say. It hadn’t happened in a long time, not since they started obeying the orders without question, but the terror of being alone for hours that turned into days that turned into weeks never truly left them.

You are too unruly, Hero, Superhero always said, scowling at them after they refused an order or made a mistake, if I don’t discipline you, you’ll be just like any villain. It’s for your own good, and one day you’ll see it.

And then the door would be locked, and they’d be alone. Alone until they forgot what it was like to talk and be answered, alone until they gave up on any form of pride and just screamed at the walls that they were sorry, please, I’ll do anything, alone until–

“…hope you like toast, we didn’t have pancakes, but I do know how to make really go– hey, Hero?”

They look up to see Villain walking inside, carrying a tray filled with food. Hero doesn’t cry – you don’t show weakness, Hero, ever, or will I have to teach you how to control yourself too? –, but a sob gets caught in their throat.

They aren’t alone. They are not alone. Hero shakes their head to push away the memories and glares at Villain, carefully pulling themself into a sitting position.

“Why am I here, Villain? Am I your hostage? Your prisoner?”

A shiver runs up their spine at the thought, at the punishment they’d earn for being caught by Villain of all people – being caught without putting up a fight, of all things.

“You are hurt,” they say as if that’s enough of an answer, and sit down in the armchair again, placing the tray in the bed between the two of them and pointing at the piles of food there.

Hero crosses their arms and waits.

“Just eat, Hero, we’ll talk about it after breakfast, okay?”

“How did you even bring me here?” Something vicious is curling around Hero’s heart, something unwelcome, something painful, something they aren’t ready to admit feels like betrayal. Villain doesn’t owe them anything, Hero has no right to feel it, and yet, there it is. “Did you drug me while I bled out?”

Villain averts their gaze and sets their jaw. “They hurt you,” they seethe, the rage only barely contained in their voice.

“I didn’t even tell you why or how I got hurt, you can’t–“

“I’m not stupid. You said enough for me to guess it.” Villain looks up with such unrestrained hatred, that even though they know it isn’t directed at them, Hero can’t contain a flinch.

They straighten up as best as they can to hide it, though, keeping all of the pain carefully hidden away from their features. “Superhero helped me become the hero I am today. Each of these scars is a mark of shame, of my failure. So if you want to blame someone for them, blame me.”

But instead of appeasing Villain, the words seem to have the opposite effect. They clench their fists, nostrils flaring, pupils swallowing their irises whole. “Keep talking and I won’t be able to contain myself next time I see that sad excuse for a person.”

Hero pales, trembles. And Villain, of course, notices.

“Superhero has abused and gaslighted you, and you still blanch at the idea they might be hurt,” Villain sighs, looking up to the ceiling as if searching for an explanation there. “Scars aren’t shames, Hero. Scars are traumas, and there’s absolutely no context in which they’d be a form of discipline. That’s blatant abuse.”

“Don’t talk about them like that,” Hero says rigidly, staring down at their hands. Somewhere deep inside them, hidden so far away they barely remember it’s even there, there’s a young Hero nodding and crying along with Villain’s every word. But Superhero’s words sound louder than any old, forgotten, version of Hero ever could. We don’t speak ill of our people, Hero. And if you do, you’ll have to face the consequences, they’d say between each crack of the whip.

“Just eat,” Villain sighs, hiding their face behind their hands and rubbing their eyes.

There’s so much worry mingled with ancient fear inside of Hero, they don’t even question how fast they answer to the command. They are hurting and confused and betrayed, and their mind can’t help but fit in its usual mode of complying with each and every order. Just like all good heroes do, Hero, you must obey your superiors, and therefore help the people. Show me you can obey and I won’t need to hurt you anymore.

They eat breakfast in silence, and although Hero’s mind keeps bouncing around the argument and their future, something that went unanswered keeps bothering them until they can’t help but spill it out.

“Did you drug me to bring me here?”

Villain looks them dead in the eye, lets them see the guilt lurking there – but also the truth. “Yes. You are hurt and I wouldn’t leave you like this to be even more battered by your beloved Superhero.”

“You had no right,” Hero whispers. Tears well up in their eyes, and the air gets caught in their throat, turning into gasping breaths that are not enough. Suddenly, they can’t breathe. They can’t think. Villain drugged them after Hero trusted them and let them see it all, they drugged them and took them away and they had no way to stop and they still have no way to stop it–

“Hero!” Villain shouts, holding their shoulders and giving them a little shake. It hurts their wound and makes them gasp, but it isn’t enough for Hero to stop quivering.

“You drugged me–“ is all they can rasp out, fighting to regain control of their swirling emotions.

“I gave you a mild sedative and brought you here, that’s all I did,” Villain says hurriedly, “you didn’t wake up because you were really tired, not because I knocked you out. I’d never take your will away like that.”

“But you did!”

Their stomach hurts and their chest echoes and Hero feels like they’re falling and falling and the fall never ends.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d be this upset about it,” Villain exclaims, holding their hands.

Hero snaps before even they realize what they’re doing – one moment Villain is holding their hand, the next said hand is flying through the air and connecting with Villain’s jaw with a dull thud and a sharp pain in their abdomen. Two gasps of pain sound at the same time, and both Villain and Hero curl forward, holding their respective injuries.

“You punched me?” Villain says, unbelieving. For one moment, one fleeting instant, Hero freezes and waits for the blow to be returned, only twice as bad, or maybe for them to be left alone as punishment. And then the moment passes, and Villain’s stunned eyes come back to focus. Hero pants and glares at them, but even though they’re still mad and scared, there is also guilt overlaying it all now.

“You drugged me!”

“I also kidnapped you. And it was a mild sedative, you could’ve woken up– why are you so hung up on the drugging?”

As if in answer, Hero’s heart starts to pound. It screams from their chest, thrums inside their ears. Their tongue doesn’t voice any of the truths laying there, though. Not when they can still feel the bitter taste of betrayal – what would Villain do with the knowledge of how many times they were drugged as a punishment? As a ‘calming technique’, according to Superhero? As a ‘teaching mechanism’?

“Does it matter?” they bite out, shifting their weight and holding in a moan when the wound shifts as well. “I never should have trusted you.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

But that doesn’t mean anything, not really. Superhero’s said it before, and they ended up hurt either way.

“You can’t keep me here against my will. Unless you plan on tying me down and locking me up, I’m going to leave whether you want it or not.”

Villain takes a sharp breath and grits their teeth. Although goosebumps spread across Hero’s skin, they don’t back down.

“Why would you go back to them?” Villain sags on the chair, and even though their face is somber, there is something in their eyes that looks so much like pleading that Hero holds their breath. “I can protect you. You can even ‘save the city’ or whatever, I won’t stop you. But why go back to the person who hurt you? I see the fear you’re hiding, Hero. You and I both know that the only thing waiting for your return is more pain.”

“What do you want me to do? Stay here? Become a villain myself?” they scoff.

Something flashes in Villain’s eyes, something so weirdly close to pain Hero find themself at a loss for words. And then it’s gone, as fast as it appeared, and Hero chooses to believe it was only their imagination.

“Do as you wish, but I won’t be responsible for your being hurt again,” Villain says in a final tone. “And if I have to tie you down and lock you up until you’re healed and able to defend yourself, then so be it.”

“So the ‘playing hero’ part is over, huh?”

There’s so much hurt, so many places. In their belly, in their contained tears, in their heart. Hero grips the sheets and glares at Villain’s narrowed eyes.

“I never said I was playing hero,” they respond coldly, “I’d rather be damned than be anything like Superhero.”

Villain gets up after that, but stops at the door and turns around to look at Hero. They stare at each other, and in their gazes, something builds and something breaks, and as words form and die in the tip of Hero’s tongue, they seem to do the same in Villain’s, for they simply sigh and turn their back, leaving the room without another glance and locking the door behind them.

(part 3)

#whump #whump writing #superhero whump #villain caretaker #hero whumpee #superhero villain #hero whump #villain x hero #villains and heroes #traumatized whumpee #wounded #solitary confinement mention #noncon drugging #panicking #implied past torture #kidnapped whump #manipulated whumpee #manipulative whumper #conditioned whumpee

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kuroopaisen · 3 years

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tiny love || 13

➵ as tooru’s younger sister, falling in love with iwaizumi hajime is easy. your feelings aren’t ignored, either. this time, you both decided to tell your brother the truth.

warnings: f!reader

wc: 2.8k

m.list | ch. 12 ↞ ch. 13 ↠ ch. 14

Tooru’s beaming face stared up at you from your phone as you get through to voicemail for the seventh time today.

He smiled at you from the walls, a whole range of Tooru of all different ages – all Tooru’s who hadn’t shouted at you for sleeping with his best friend.

You’d come to your room in the hopes that it might bring you some comfort. Stupid decision, really. There was so much of him here, grinning at you from your walls, from your desk. You hadn’t even realised how many damn photos you had of him until today. And he’s in everything; photos with your friends, photos with your family, nice shots of Miyagi that he’s managed to ruin with half his forehead.

God, if Tooru wouldn’t forgive you for this…

No. He’d have to.

Your brother was going to hear you out, and he wasn’t going to speak over or belittle you. He had to recognise you as an independent adult.

You hadn’t told Iwaizumi you were planning on doing this. He’d bore enough of Tooru’s rage today. And besides, this was a conversation you wanted – no, needed – to have on your own.

If only your stupid brother would answer his damn phone.

What’s the bet he’s practicing his serves with all the aggression he’d cultivated in high school? Or maybe he was just watching his own phone ring, staring at it with derision as your name glowed on his screen. Or maybe he wasn’t doing anything, simply passed out on his bed, tuckered out from all the rage.

You took a deep breath as your thumb hovered over the call button. One last try. Just one.

The phone rung once more. You were starting to get sick of the sound – the same number of trills, the same mechanical rhythm.

One more time. If he didn’t pick up now, then—

“What do you want?” Tooru’s voice was sharp, with far more aggression than necessary.

“I need to speak with you,” you said, as much confidence in your voice as you could muster.

“Go away,” Tooru hissed.

“No!”

You didn’t mean to shout. It just came out of you, as if it had been dog rattling at the gates, begging to be let out for the hunt.

“You’re not going to run away from this, Tooru!” You could already feel the corners of your eyes burning, your throat starting to constrict, that awful knot in your stomach reforming.

You didn’t want to do this. But you had to.

Tooru said nothing in response. But the white noise coming through the receiver let you know that he hadn’t hung up.

“What is your problem?”

It was a plea more than a question.

“My best friend is fooling around with my sister,” he hissed.

“Look,” you breathed, your chest so tight it felt like was going to crack your ribs, “you don’t get to dictate who I do and don’t date.”

“That’s my best friend.” Tooru didn’t miss a beat. But part of you is relieved to hear that he still referred to Hajime that way. Maybe all was not lost.

“I know,” you replied, clenching your fist in your lap. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

Tooru scoffed. Every petty argument you’d had over the years comes back to you – Tooru’s dismissive, obnoxious tone, the ache of not being listened to, the frustration at being treated like a little kid.

“What if you break up?” Tooru said, as condescending as if he was explaining how the sun rose and fell. “What if something goes wrong?”

“We’re adults, Tooru,” you rolled your eyes despite the circumstances. “We’re not going to be petty about it if that happens.”

And we’ve already managed to let you live a cushy life after a breakup, you thought to yourself. Though you knew better than to tell Tooru that.

“An adult wouldn’t go behind her brother’s back,” he seethed.

It was really all about him, huh? Your relationship, how much you and Iwaizumi cared about each other… Tooru wasn’t even thinking about that. It was just his perspective, his wants, his needs.

It’s just like it was back in high school. The only difference is that this time, Tooru was articulating these thoughts. Knowing the assumptions, you made all that time ago, in your hormonal, addled teenage brains…

“Look,” you snapped. “I’m sick of losing to you.” They’re words you should’ve said ages ago. Or maybe you shouldn’t have said them at all.

But they were out now, no longer a dirty little secret held close to your chest for who knew how long.

You weren’t just talking about Iwaizumi, either. You’d always felt second to Tooru – second to his fire, second to his passions. Always second over the finish line. Always second best. Always less important.

Fuck, you’d even moved halfway across the world just to live up to his ‘legacy’. How were you supposed to just go to a Japanese university after Tooru had moved to fucking Argentina? No, you’d wanted to prove yourself. To show that you, too, were worth something.

But even after all of that, you’re still just ‘Tooru’s little sister.’

And poor Iwaizumi was all this converged; poor Iwaizumi, stuck between two hearts and shackled by his sense of propriety.

Iwaizumi, who could easily be part of both of you, weaved through both your souls by calloused hands.

“I’m not losing him again just because you don’t like the idea of us being in a relationship.”

Maybe it was an irresponsible thing to say. There’s too much truth in it, too many years of bitterness stored and cultivated in your gut.

But too much has already been said. Nothing could be taken back. And if life wasn’t going to let you have anything of your own, anything you could be proud of, then you sure as hell weren’t letting it take Iwaizumi away from you, too.

You jerked the phone away from your ear and jabbed the ‘END CALL’ icon with more force than necessary.

That… could’ve gone better. Did you even achieve anything? Or had you just added to the clusterfuck? But there was nothing to be done now.

Hajime said he’d stick by you this time. That meant there was no backing out now. Not that you wanted to – not after all of this.

✧ ✧ ✧

I’ll go for a run, Hajime had thought. It’ll help calm me down.

Wrong.

He’d made the stupid mistake of bringing his phone with him.

Oikawa’s unique ringtone blared in his pocket; a little jingle of Oikawa singing ‘Iwa-chan!’ Oikawa had created it one day in their final year of high school when Iwaizumi was taking a toilet break.

Iwaizumi had never had the heart to change it, irritating as it was.

Slowing to a stop, he slipped his phone out of his pocket and brought it to his ear reluctantly.

But this was a new kind of reticence. This isn’t the everyday annoyance he’d felt in high school whenever Oikawa stroked his own ego, or when Oikawa refused to do the bare minimum of looking after himself.

This was something else entirely. Something Iwaizumi loathed.

“Hello?” He answered gruffly, voice terse with both anxiety and exertion.

“What the fuck is going on, dude?”

Cutting right to the chase, then.

“We told you,” Iwaizumi swallowed. “We’re dating.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Oikawa snapped.

“What do you mean, then?” Iwaizumi bit back his temper.

Shouting at Oikawa wouldn’t get him anywhere. That’d just make everything worse; and he didn’t want to do that to you or your brother.

Oikawa was silent for a moment – quiet enough for Iwaizumi to check the connection.

“She said ‘again,’” Tooru murmured.

Iwaizumi didn’t have the space in his heart to get mad at you. Not after years of keeping your feelings locked in your heart, trying to do the right thing by your brother, trying to make all of this work despite the discomfort it brought you.

He took a deep breath. “This isn’t the first time something’s happened.”

A confession. One he should’ve made years ago.

But God, did his soul feel lighter for it.

“Wait, what?” The tone of Oikawa’s voice was unplaceable.

“I kissed her at the beginning of our third year.” The words were out before he could doubt them. Now wasn’t the time to be delicate, to be cautious. If Oikawa was going to respond like this, then you both have to return in full force.

“What the fuck?” Oikawa’s an emotional guy. But those three words had more rage and vitriol in them than Iwaizumi had ever heard before.

“She wasn’t exactly subtle about the fact something was happening,” Iwaizumi grumbled. Looking back on it, he really had been cold. You’d just been reaching out to him, hoping that he’d give you the affirmation you craved. He’d avoided you in the hopes that you’d forget all about it.

God, it had all been very ‘teenage’. Part of him felt like he couldn’t blame either of you for that – you were teenagers at the time, after all – but another part of his heart couldn’t quite forgive himself for what he did.

To you, and to Tooru.

“Was this before summer break?” Oikawa spoke after a long moment, a quietude in his voice that even Iwaizumi wasn’t familiar with.

Iwaizumi swallowed roughly. “Yeah.”

Another silence. But this time, it’s hostile. It felt like the silence before a huge wave crashed, the air thrumming with the tension of what was about to come. It didn’t feel like Oikawa was about to shout; no, it’d be worse than that.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There’s hurt in Oikawa’s voice, but not the same kind of before.

“Because I knew you’d be mad,” Iwaizumi admitted. And I was scared.

“That’s no excuse.”

It never was.

“I know,” Iwiazumi sighed. “I was a coward.”

“What, so you decided that you’d just go behind my back now?” Oikawa scoffed.

“I didn’t plan for this to happen,” Iwaizumi said, biting back a snarl.

“This didn’t cross your mind at all when I asked you to live with her?”

Iwaizumi remembered that conversation well. The doubt, the fear, the apprehension. He hadn’t wanted to do it – didn’t want to put himself in that situation again. But Tooru had been persistent; kept talking about how someone needed to keep an eye on you.

“I decided to share an apartment with her for you, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said, voice surprisingly firm and steady. “Because you were the one who wanted me to keep an eye on her.”

“But—”

“I care about her,” Iwaizumi swallowed. “This isn’t all about you.”

“I never said it was ‘all about me,’” Oikawa fumed, “you guys just obviously didn’t think about me at all.”

Iwaizumi took a deep breath, the knot in his forehead getting deeper. Ignorance must be bliss. But Oikawa had no right to think like that, no right to make such accusations.

“We both put you first, you know?” Iwaizumi said, voice tight. “I dumped her in high school because of you. And I bet that she moved in with me because you asked her to.”

“What, so this is my fault?” He sounded bewildered more than anything else.

“Of course not,” Iwaizumi huffed, “but don’t think for a second that nobody in this ever gave a shit about you and your feelings.”

“Well you could’ve asked me—”

“It’s not just about you!”

Iwaizumi didn’t mean to shout. It just came out of you, as if it had been dog rattling at the gates, begging to be let out for the hunt.

He didn’t mean to repeat himself, either. Oh well.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Some sweat still lingered on his forehead – a damp reminder that a few minutes ago, he’d been on a run. To relieve tension.

Funny, that.

“Look, I know I should’ve told you about it in high school,” he mumbled. “And I shouldn’t have kept it a secret for so long. But you don’t have a right to say that we can and can’t be together.”

Their words he didn’t know he had, solid and strong and steady.

“We’re not doing this to spite you, Oikawa,” he said. “I know she’d want your approval more than anything. But your feelings aren’t going to stop any of this from happening.”

Oikawa was silent. Iwaizumi didn’t need to see him to know the look on his face; pouty, with all the air of a petulant child despite his age.

“Why do you even have such a problem with it, anyway?”

It’s the question. The one that all this mess boiled down to. Part of Iwaizumi felt betrayed; did Oikawa not trust him? Did he not deem him ‘worthy’ of his little sister?

But another part of him understood the anxiety. That’s why he asked gently, with as little antagonism as possible.

It was hard. Much harder than he’d anticipated. But it was necessary.

“That’s my little sister. And you’re… you’re my best friend. If you two broke up, where does that leave me? And I’m sure that neither of you would rely on me if you did break up, and—”

“Why are you so certain we’ll break up?” Iwaizumi nearly laughed.

“It could happen!” Oikawa whined. “Nothing’s set in stone!”

“Exactly,” Iwaizumi nodded. “So, there’s no reason for you to be so concerned about whether or not we’ll break up. It’s just as likely that we won’t.”

Another silence.

“What, are you planning to marry her or something?”

Iwaizumi’s cheeks flared and his stomach swelled. “Wh—I—Don’t get ahead of yourself!”

“Oh my God… you’re planning on marrying my sister…”

“I didn’t say that!”

“But you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t!”

Of course Oikawa would jump to conclusions like this. Shittykawa and—

“Do you love her?”

Iwaizumi was struck dumb by the question.

Does he love you? Well, yes. There’s a space in his heart specifically carved out for you, in your shape. Honestly, it’s been there so long he’s not sure if it could ever go away. Not truly.

But he wasn’t sure if that’s what Oikawa was asking. He meant love in a distinctly romantic way; the sort of love they show in movies and play on the radio. The sort of love that specifically drove romantic relationships.

Somehow, that’s what made him nervous. Iwaizumi knew he loved you – saying it out loud, to your brother of all people, was an entirely different ball game. Different meanings, different layers of love, and you intersecting all of them.

God, he’s got it bad.

He swallowed roughly, clenching his fist at his side. “It’s too early to say, but…”

“But?”

“I… I think I could.”

“God, you’re taking this too seriously…”

“I’m taking this too seriously!? You’re the one who—”

“’It’s too early to say but… I think I could,’” Oikawa parroted in his best Iwaizumi impression. Iwaizumi would’ve given it a six out of ten at best; he’s pretty sure his voice wasn’t that deep.

“You’re a piece of shit,” Iwaizumi grumbled.

“As you like to remind me,” Oikawa hummed in a sing-song voice.

It was strange. Talking in those voices. Saying those words.

It was almost like things were normal.

“Anyway,” Oikawa cleared his throat, snapping Iwaizumi out of his disorientation. “I’ve got to get back to practice. So…”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi nodded. “Good luck. But don’t overwork yourself.”

Oikawa chuckled with a tsk. “Now, now, Iwa, I’m not the boy I was in high school.”

Iwaizumi could only hope that was really the case.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Hey.”

You were sprawled out on the couch, staring at the living room ceiling. You’d quickly deemed your bedroom far too precarious of a place to be, but that didn’t leave you with much.

And you couldn’t even call Amaya – she’d be (or, at least, should be) asleep right now.

But Iwaizumi was back, appearing in the front home with his hair all ruffled and his cheeks flushed. Of course he made coming back from a run look good. It’s really not fair.

You sat up, offering him a weak smile.

He returned it gently, making a direct beeline for you.

“Did you have a good run?” You asked.

“Mm.”

You blinked at him.

Iwaizumi looked at you with a certain cautiousness. “He called me.”

Shit.

Tooru must’ve… you must’ve said something that…

“How did it go?” You asked. No point jumping to conclusions.

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It could’ve gone worse?”

You don’t know what to do with that knowledge. “That’s… good?”

Iwaizumi chuckled, shaking his head.

It was nice, seeing him smile. It felt like he hadn’t done that all day.

“Are you okay?” He asked, a big hand coming to caress your cheek.

You leant into it, pouting. “No.”

He sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Anything I could do to make it better?”

You pondered it for a moment. “You could make us lunch?”

He smiled. “If that’s what you want.”

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime scenario #What Are Tags #tiny love #also can you believe i didn't make you guys wait for all eternity for this chapter? exquisite

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feelingmarvelous13 · 3 years

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crestfallen | bucky barnes

summary: night brings a lot of things to a lot of different people. to you, it brings the guilt of Bucky Barnes pain.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

warnings: swearing, anxiety

word count: around 1k

a/n: hi! this is me trying to write! it's my first time writing bucky and exploring fictional characters seriously. thank you so much @bucky-at-bedtime for your help with this. it was so insane to have you as my go-to person. you're such an inspiration! i have no idea how far this will go but thanks to everyone who's reading this. let me know what you think!

✮ ✮

You don’t know how long you sat on the couch before Bucky came looking for you. Perhaps an hour, perhaps half an eternity. Did it matter? The thing you knew for sure was that the thoughts that currently inhabited your mind could keep you awake for as long as you lived.

What a pleasant prospect.

Bucky noticed immediately that something was wrong. He saw it in the way you were clutching your knees to your chest, in the way you stared onto the living room carpet that you had persuaded him would look gorgeous in here because the pattern reminded you of your favorite sweater. He felt it in the way his heart ached as he had to endure the sight of you – undeniably lost.

He just stood there for a moment, at the edge of the couch. Bucky was afraid of what was happening – emotions, real, human emotions were still something he was re-learning. What if you suddenly changed your mind about him? What if he did something wrong but had been too self-involved to notice? Or worse…what if he couldn’t help you with what you were dealing with?

“y/n, what –,” he had to clear his throat, “what is it, doll?”

You closed your eyes, as if you were in pain. Bucky’s heart sank. What the fuck was happening? It was the middle of the night, nearly three in the morning and here you sat – the one person who made him feel whole seeming so… empty.

You didn’t know what Bucky was feeling right now. The freezing pain inside your chest was making you dizzy. You forced yourself to look up nevertheless. And there they were – his soft blue eyes … which, you’d imagined all night, had seen so much tragedy and heartlessness, so many things you wish you could’ve spared him.

“I don’t know…I just –,” you seemed to choke on your own words but you were not strong enough to hold them back any longer, “I want to take it away from you, you…you know? Everything, everything they did to you. I don’t want you to go back to a war that was long ago in your dreams just to wake up and … and find yourself at war with yourself. I don’t want you to be alarmed when a glass falls and shatters on the ground because it first sounds like… like gun fire to you. I don’t want you to feel weird or strange or misplaced because you don’t know how to tell me when something is wrong. I really just –,” you were sobbing at this point, furiously sobbing. You were taken aback by the rage that was unleashing itself in that moment – as if it had always been there, quietly seething inside of you, slowly scratching the emotional surface … until it was set free.

You took a deep, trembling breath.

“I want to punish every goddamn soul who ever did you wrong. I want you to be happy and content with who you are. I want you to feel free when riding a motorcycle, not like you’re on the run. I want you to listen to old music without feeling like you’re…out of this world. Everything you are is so … worthy and utterly beautiful to me. Everything about you makes me want to live– you know… live in a world that is not made for loving and kind and empathetic people. A world made for torture and lies and hate. And they did all of these things to you. I guess I just wish… I could’ve protected you.”

You stand up with shaky knees and walked slowly towards him, his silhouette ghost-like against the dim light coming from the bedroom you shared. You forced yourself to keep looking him in the eyes, not really able to read his expression though. Were you overwhelming him? You couldn’t tell. You couldn’t think about anything but the pain in your chest, the disappointment you felt in yourself that you knew was irrational – and yet felt terrifyingly real.

“And this – this isn’t –,” you tried to wipe the tears off your face, “This isn’t pity or something like that. I’m just angry at the world for hurting you. So fucking angry.”

You see Bucky frowning, not saying anything at first, just looking at you, watching you as you grabbed his face and ran your fingers carefully through his messy hair, tears still forming in your eyes but your breath starting to slow down. He had never experienced anything like that before. Or not in this way. Steve had looked at him the same way a few times before, when he was going to places Bucky was sure were just as dark as his very own. When his best friend was trying to fight against guilt and shame and hurt. But this – this was different. It was as if somehow he had managed to transition his pain and nightmares onto you. Bucky felt like he had done the very thing he was always so obsessively careful to avoid.

You looked him in the eye, still waiting for a reaction even though you weren’t sure you wanted one. It hadn’t been your plan for Bucky to find you like this, to listen to you losing control. And maybe, as he always did, as he was trained to do, he was blaming himself for what you just said.

Maybe you had just made a huge fucking mistake.

Almost automatically, you wrapped your arms around him, something you knew made him feel safe, and muttered softly: “I love you, Bucky.”

Bucky, too, wrapped his arms around your back and shoulders, holding you, just as you were holding him. And he remembered that giving each other stability and security was what you two were all about. Bucky made a decision in this very moment, hearing you breathe against his chest: right now, he could believe you, he was allowed to believe you and not think of himself as the monster they made him. He trusted you – because here you were, muttering I-love-you‘s like an affirmation, telling him how it hurt you to see him hurt. Empathy was something that came from a good place – standing with you in his arms, he realized that. And, for once, he was at peace with that – and with his decision.

“We’ll be okay. Trust me on this, doll.” He whispered, slightly taken aback by his own optimism.

You moved a bit away to look him in the eyes again and tried yourself on a smile. “I’ll make sure of that.”

Or I’ll die trying.

#james buchanan barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky angst #marvel imagine #bucky barnes #i'm so sure no one will see this

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blush-and-books · 3 years

Text

sun's gone // but you always liked this time of day

angsty, hurt/comfort with a happy ending, juke canonverse. title from Place In Me by Luke Hemmings. special shoutout to my dear @unsaid-emily who loves this lyric as much as i do.

warnings: luke is just going through a lot and its scientifically proven that anger destroys brain cells so just be ready

----

Finding out that Rose's death day was on the same day as his mom's birthday was... Not easy, for Luke.

Him and Julie both mourning different things. Both of them felt different things surrounding their mom situations, and Luke knew that his job as Julie's "Luke" was to be there for her. He had been there for Reggie when his dad was leaving home every night to go sleep wherever his mom wasn't, and when Alex's parents turned into apathetic losers post-coming out.

He should be a master at all of this parent shit.

Unfortunately, there's a difference between losing love for or from your parents, and losing that parent to a force out of your control. Luke was used to the tension that was easy to complain about; to criticizing what his friends' families were doing wrong.

From how Julie talks about her, it doesn't sound like Rose Molina was doing anything wrong.

He can't help the way that rage smolders in a deep pit of his stomach. He hates that Julie's sad, and he hates that he didn't have a mom like Rose Molina, and he hates that the universe was cruel enough to give his favorite person such a wonderful mother and take her away before Julie was even an adult.

Sometimes, especially today, he's reminded of the hate he felt for his mom. When he was fifteen and wrote her a real song, one of his first when he started to improve his writing skills, and he could see the twitch in her eye of disdain.

That night, she told him to start looking at jobs. He was old enough, after all.

He went to the closest place he could find - a local diner - picked up an application, and cried.

She didn't care about his art; she didn't realize how his art meant more than anything he could buy with money. What was starting to sting was the fact that she probably would never care. And as he got older, she made it increasingly clear, and...

Yeah. Emily's birthdays were bitter.

Luke was bitter.

Julie was depressed.

He went to see her that day, it was a Saturday, and tried to talk to her. His hand softly ran up and down her side as she curled under the comforter, and when she invited him under the blankets he gratefully accepted the invitation.

Maybe Julie, the girl that made them whole again, could heal this little extra wound, too.

They talk. Julie cries; he avoids it.

"It's just really hard to be without her, you know? Sometimes shit just happens and it feels like a time she needs to be here, and she's not, and I don't know what to do."

Luke misses feeling like that. But it stopped about a month after he left home.

"Well, I mean, I've gone this long without a mom, and I'm fine. You can live without her. You're gonna be fine."

He says it with the same apathetic tone he always uses when he shifts into Emily-mode, and it isn't supposed to be like that, but it is.

Painfully.

And his mistake is obvious when Julie's frowning lips part open in horror, and her eyes are welling fresh with tears that illuminate the red around her irises.

Carelessly, with his eyes wide open, he's torn her apart.

Under the comforter, he feels cold. Even Julie's body next to him feels cold, and-

"Julie-"

"Get out. Please."

"I'm sor-"

"Luke, please- Leave me alone."

When Luke finally sobs, he's alone. It's dark outside and the garage is empty because the boys respect that it's a rough day for many people in this household, but the sadness and anger overcome him until he's opening his mouth to scream and nothing comes out, and when he's so dehydrated that his body is void of any tears, he sits on the couch with a damp face and plucks the chords of Emily's birthday song from 27 years ago.

He tries not to feel the numbing depression very often. But you can only push down such strong emotions for so long before they choose to ignore your fighting attempts.

Julie made it easier to battle the fury he felt towards his mom. That woman will always have a grasp on him, a place in him - probably because he never properly processed it. He's stuck with all of it now. The internal playlists of songs that remind him of how mad he is or sad he is, for him to listen to whenever his temper towards Emily seethes.

Tonight, he doesn't have a choice but to face it.

----

The next morning, there's a note for him.

Please give me the day to myself.

No author claims their identity, but the loopy "y" is a dead giveaway that Julie wrote it, let alone the content. His chest does that shitty thing where his ribs feel as though they are compressing against his lungs and breathing is hard.

He feels like that all day, but he still waits.

But he barely makes it to sunset before he is poofing to the hallway and standing before her bedroom, fist raised to knock.

The sunset was pretty tonight. He hopes she enjoyed it. Her favorite time of day is dusk, when the air only feels fresher because it carries a chill with it, and the world begins to slow down.

Luke knocks.

Julie answers.

"I'm sorry," he rushes out before she has the chance to interrupt or he has the chance to say something stupid. "What I said- That was my stupid, stupid anger at my mom. It was her birthday yesterday." Julie looks surprised to hear this, of course she didn't know, but she doesn't say anything.

"I don't know what it's like to go through what you did. I wanted to support you yesterday, and I didn't, and I know that. My feelings got the better of me, and that isn't fair. And I am so, so sorry, Julie."

She remains still in front of him, but only for a beat. Eventually, she moves aside, wordlessly, and stares at him expectantly.

He takes exactly four steps inside, and plants his feet once again.

"It's not stupid," is the first thing she says. Her voice has a piercing edge to it that he rarely hears, and he hates it, but stays quiet. "How you feel about your mom. Don't call it stupid. I don't think it's stupid."

She takes a deep breath. A tear slips through her lashes.

"But what you said was really fucking insensitive. All I needed from you was to be there and hold me and let me ride this wave, not try to relate or compare our problems. How would you feel if I tried to guilt you for running away because 'at least you had a mom'?"

Shitty. He'd feel shitty, because they are two different situations and she has no right to speak on something that she hasn't gone through.

He answers with that, verbatim. And he throws in another apology for good measure, making it clear that he understands where he went wrong.

"Good. You understand. Thank you."

Her eyebrows twist together. It's a tell that she wants to say something too.

"If you ever need to talk about your mom, you know I'm here for it. I didn't know her birthday was yesterday."

Understanding, he nods. He didn't tell her it was Emily's birthday, because the day was supposed to be about Rose, and then it wasn't.

"Thank you."

The two of them fall silent.

Luke doesn't want to leave, but feels like he should; Julie hasn't asked him to leave, but he doubts she wants him to stay.

They're just two kids with gaps in their hearts, left by the absence of their mothers.

Sometimes - all the time - Luke feels Julie filling that gap. Not as a mom, of course, but as another person; someone to love him and support him and make him happy.

Emily might not ever go away in his head. But Julie Molina, over anyone, will always have a place in his heart, in his head, and in his soul.

She's just magic like that.

So magic that she finds it in herself to step forward, and he is roped in by her gravitational pull, and they're falling into each other's arms.

Luke imagines that if he ever went to a heaven instead of coming back to the modern day, that this, Julie's arms around him, is the feeling that would greet him at that end.

Everything feels better here.

----

tags: @bluefirewrites @lydias--stiles @sylphrenas @wlwcarries @ruzek-halstead @willexx @sirena-de-lunas @babydagger28 @phantomsandsunsets

#jatp #juke #julie molina #luke patterson #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfic #juke fanfic

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mintjamsblog · 3 years

Note

Does Alfie ever demand that Tommy calls him Sir?

Okay, this is so late, (I'm sorry, I have sat on this answer for literally weeks). It also answers another ask I seem to have lost/deleted, which simply said 'sub-drop?' So, here you go, it turned into 1600 words of smut, I'm afraid. (Set in my Mistakes AU, but can be read without that background).

Subdrop

"How many fingers Tommy?"

Tommy lifts his head but it drops back immediately.

"Tommy, love, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Ten," Tommy says, without even looking. "Everyone has ten."

"Alright, love, up we come."

It's no wonder, really, Alfie has toyed with him mercilessly for — he checks his watch — fuck, well over two hours, has brought him to the brink of orgasm over and over again, watched his face flush and his thighs tremble and his stomach contract in anticipation of the release he's repeatedly been denied.

Tommy's so fucking pretty when he lets himself go (when he's made to let go) and Alfie, well, he's always been a sucker for pretty things, ain't he? Beautiful things.

Tommy finds it so hard to relax that once Alfie gets him loose, persuades him into handcuffs or a spreader-bar or, immobilises him somehow, his inclination is to make the most of the situation, to wring him out like a wet towel, count every last drop of resistance as it splashes onto the floor — a puddle to be licked up and savoured (metaphorically speaking, of course, there's no way Tommy's licking anything off any floors with his arms and legs fastened securely to the straps of a leather sling).

The silly boy still approaches these scenes as if they're a test of his fortitude rather than a willing exchange of power and trust. And that's fine, mostly. A click of his fingers or a safeword could end it all, but Tommy'd far rather grit his teeth and pretend he don't want this at all. Alfie can allow that for a while, can give him something to bite down on until he's too far gone to care about giving a voice to his plight.

Usually it takes some impact to get Tommy to give up his sounds. He needs to be pushed past some physical threshold. A firm hand, a paddle, a whip — they each make him sing different notes, eventually, but always the same fuckin' undertone. Anger. Whether Tommy's angry at Alfie (likely) or at himself for needing this (even more likely) is neither here nor there. Tommy has plenty to be angry at; the world ain't always been kind to him and he's even less kind to himself.

But anger, well, it's corrosive innit? Useful when controlled, maybe, when mastered effectively and released into the world in small bursts that serve a purpose; to warn or threaten or reinforce the hierarchy. But not when it seethes in your blood, pumps through your heart and into each artery like slow-acting poison that seeps through veins and capillaries, reaches the tip of every extremity, hides beneath every thought. That sort of anger, the sort Tommy lives with, that anger needs to be let. Like blood.

Not that Alfie's some antiquated physician restoring balance to the humors. Nah, he fancies his particular form of therapy's far more effective, even if his tools are barely less crude than the old-timers' scalpels and leeches. Alfie prefers to mix things up, to intersperse the blows of a bullwhip with the soft, wet heat of his tongue; to lash Tommy with a folded belt, then hold his cock like a delicate creature he's trying to stroke back to life. He'll pinch and tease and whip and probe until Tommy rails and rages, fists balled, teeth bared, every muscle pulled taut as tension wire. Eventually he'll scream at Alfie, at himself, at the universe, then let the breath shudder out in increasingly shaky increments, like he's tumbling down the stairs.

The journey to that point is best travelled slow. Given time, Tommy's tight grunts and growls always soften into something looser, gentler, pain still evident in the pitch of his voice, but threaded through with desire and resignation and something else entirely ... an underlying need to give up or give in. To please, Alfie flatters himself.

That medley of sounds, the unwinding trajectory of 'em, awakens some possessive creature in Alfie. He can feel it uncoiling inside him, muscles sliding and flexing as he drives Tommy towards an apex neither of 'em can see — a pinnacle of endurance or restraint beyond which Tommy simply is. Or maybe isn't. Beyond which he is merely a consciousness, untethered from any worldly woes and oblivious to the sensations of his own flesh. Or perhaps oblivious to anything but the sensations of his own flesh. Either way, Alfie knows to watch when the sounds turn animalistic, when the groans are so low and feral that they peter out into breaths. Into nothing. Into rolled-back eyes and gaping mouth and climaxes so molten they look more like pain than pleasure.

"Come on love, that's it, down we come."

It's a struggle getting Tommy out of the sling, he's too exhausted to cooperate, to untangle his own limbs from the leather, so Alfie releases the two lower straps and pours him out like water. Like water he slips through Alfie's waiting arms and pools at his feet on the floor.

"Up you get," Alfie says, hoisting him under the arms, and up Tommy comes, unsteady but obedient in his altered state of mind. Alfie braces him for a moment, waits for Tommy's body to harden, for a flicker of conceit to return to those down-cast eyes. Now is when Tommy should swipe a hand down his face, curse under his breath and huff an almost laugh, a poor disguise for self-consciousness, but a sign he's aware at least.

But Tommy offers no such reassurance, regains none of the control that usually washes back as soon as he's up on his feet. He's deep, Alfie realises. Deeper than usual.

He whispers into Tommy's ear, small praises that have no place in any moment other than one such as this. His fingers run down Tommy's back, tracing small paths through sweat that's turned cold, an attempt to distract and reassure, but already he knows it's too late. He's left it too late. He can feel the distant vibrations and knows they'll soon take Tommy's legs.

By the time Alfie gets him onto the bed, onto his side, the trembling has tipped into shivering, a violent reflex that even the finest goose-down duvet fails to subdue. Alfie curses himself for missing the cues, for pushing Tommy too hard. "S'okay," he whispers, "you were beautiful."

But Tommy is straining against the hold, against Alfie's leg wrapped over his own. "I need ... I'm gonna be sick," he says, and throws himself into a sitting position with a violent retching sound. The purge that follows isn't from his stomach, it pours down his face in scalding tears that drench Alfie's waiting hands. Tommy throws his arm up and buries his eyes in the crook of his elbow, taking frightening gasps after every few breaths.

"Come on, now," Alfie says, entirely at a loss. Sure, he pushed Tommy hard tonight, but it seemed like what they both wanted. Needed. "Please, don't," he whispers, hands searching beneath Tommy's forearm to thumb away some of the tears. He wants to tell Tommy he doesn't mind, he can cry as much as he likes. Alfie don't see this as victory; Alfie's not him. But he says nothing, afraid of dredging up ghosts as he coaxes Tommy back down to the mattress, runs fingers through his hair, holds him tight against his chest and lets him cry himself out till the tap runs mercifully dry.

"Why?" Tommy says, eventually.

Fucks sake, why what? Why anything? Why do they do what they do to each other? Why does Tommy allow it? Allow Alfie to pull the meat from his preverbial bones? Alfie's asked himself the same question often enough. Not why does he do this, exactly, he's well past shame over that, but why did he get this lucky? Why does he get to do this with Tommy? To see what no one else sees? Why did he push him so hard tonight? Why did he think Tommy could take it?

"Why did you spend so long ... you know ..." Tommy sniffs, "when there's nothing in it for you?"

Alfie pulls Tommy out from his chest enough to look him in the eye. "Nothing in it for me? Are you fucking kidding me, Tommy?"

"You didn't even come," Tommy says.

At that, Alfie grabs Tommy's arm, fumbling to open the top button of his jeans and force Tommy's hand inside. "There," he says, in his sternest voice. "Nothing in it for me, hmm?"

"Oh!" Tommy says in surprise.

"Yeah, oh, you blithering idiot. Twice. No fuckin' hands."

He watches Tommy swallow, feels fingers flex through the undeniable evidence soaked right through Alfie's boxers.

"Why?" Tommy asks again.

"Why what Tommy? Why does God allow famine and pestilence? Why do good people die? Why didn't I meet you ten years ago, hmm?"

"Why did you fucking come?"

"Because you’re sexy as all burning hell, aren't you? Turn me on like a switch."

Tommy curls into him tighter, buries his face again, and it dawns on Alfie that he really and truly doesn't get it, does he?

"The first time, right, you wouldn't lay back." He keeps his voice low, strokes Tommy's perfect little ear. "I'd fingered you till you were leaking all over your stomach, all over the marks I'd left with the flogger. You should've been way past defiance by then, but you just kept trying to sit up ... your mouth hanging open, like you were trying to fuckin' kiss me." Tommy burrows further still. "So I slapped you," Alfie continues. Maybe that was a bit cruel. "And you only tried even harder. Lay your sinful tongue on your lower lip and strained up out of the sling." Alfie's hardening again at the recollection, at the way he'd thought Tommy was acting, playing the little minx, struggling to reach forward with his wrists and ankles bound to the straps above him. Only Tommy'd never appear so needy, not in his rightful mind, wouldn't chase Alfie's mouth like a newborn pup seeking out its mother's teet. And he'd gazed at Alfie through half-lidded eyes, in that way he had no right to do, like Alfie was the only face he knew in the entire unholy world, like Alfie could fuckin' save him, reach inside his body and take all the pain away, maybe, or make it ten times worse. Like whichever option Alfie chose Tommy'd fucking let 'im.

"And?" Tommy says, when Alfie falls silent. God, he really doesn’t remember, does he?

"And I leant down and kissed you, you silly boy. And I came in my pants, like a teenager."

Tommy makes a wet sound that could be a huff, or could just as easily be more tears.

"Weren't my fault," Alfie adds, defensively. "Your mouth was so fuckin' soft, despite what I'd done to you. And you. You mewled like a Siamese kitten..."

Tommy squeezes him, through his pants, seemingly soothed by the hard line he's holding, proof, perhaps, that Alfie is part of this.

"And the second time ... the second time ... fucking hell. Right at the very end. The last time you came. You looked so fucking fucked-out, love," Alfie's hands are roaming now, sliding over the marks he's left all over Tommy's skin. He seeks out the curve of Tommy's throat, presses kisses there. "All the fight gone out of you. Covered in sweat and welts and come, so exhausted you were trembling ... and please, you kept saying please." He cups the back of Tommy’s head, pulls him closer still. "And I didn't know what for. And I kept asking you, please, what, Tom? but you wouldn't answer. Couldn't, maybe. Too far gone to know." He bites gently on Tommy's ear, at the little crease where it joins his jaw, the tiniest sign of age on his otherwise youthful face.

Tommy's hand is working now, struggling to find its way beneath the fabric of Alfie's underwear. "Then what?" he breathes into Alfie's ear.

"And then you said please, Sir."

Tommy's hand stops dead at that.

"I ... I didn't--"

"S'alright, love, you were under, weren’t you? Too fuckin' deep to know." And there might be a tiny part of Alfie that wishes that weren't the case, that would like to hear that word on Tommy's lips again, but not at the risk of a drop. Hurts too much to see Tommy so upset.

He removes Tommy's hand from his trousers and laces their fingers together, pulls them up high enough he can kiss every sticky knuckle.

"You want me to clean you up, love? Tommy barely shakes his head; his fingers clench around Alfie's hip. "Okay, in a little while then."

Ain't right to feel so tender about being stuck to someone with come. To like the smell of their sweat so much you don't wanna wash it off. Hell, he'd sleep like this all night, in jeans and boots an'all, if it gives Tommy the reassurance he'll so surely claim he don't need.

#asks #anon #sub-drop #tommy x alfie #my fic #mistakes #tofie #tomfie #writing

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devilrainbunnie · 4 years

Text

._ anthurium pt 2 _.

tomura shigaraki x fem!reader

1/X/3

CW: anxiety trigger, manipulation, cheating, mentions of alcohol, mentions of depression and mental health (minors DNI)

a/n: I could not get the second part idea out of my head, I’m also going to try to write properly instead of doing all lowercase for practice. I’m used to doing lowercase but, whatever.

Tomura sprawled out over the black couch in his now empty, and lifeless apartment. His eyes were locked to the ceiling above him, though he was looking at nothing in particular. There was an unfamiliar feeling inside of his chest he had never felt before. Never in the mans life had he ever felt, or thought the way he did now. All his life he had done nothing but take, hate, use and abuse everything in this world-- so why couldn’t he stop feeling this heavy weight of regret within his body? Why did the corners of his eyes prick with hot, salty tears? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about you? In his mind, he blames you for this feeling. If you had just stayed, and let this continue, he wouldn’t feel like this.

But deep down he knows, that this is all of his fault.

He hurt you, constantly. Because you had always been there, accepted him, and coddled him, he never expected you to go anywhere. No matter what he did, or no matter what he said to you. He had hurt you in the past, many times. You always stayed. That made him believe you were okay with everything, or that’s at least what he told himself to make what he did not as bad. He never saw you crying, he never saw you actually upset. He thought your sometimes pestering and anxious ways you tried to confront him were nothing but annoying, not that you were silently begging him to love you and see he was breaking you. Or maybe he just didn’t want to see it. He didn’t even think about how it was affecting you. He was selfish, when all you were was selfless. You’d given everything to him, after Kurogiri was taken, you took care of him. Fed him, comforted him, made sure he was holding it together. Even before that, you tried to stop him from scratching at himself, you made sure he ate more than just take out, and junk food. You made sure he slept every night, showered every day. You helped him keep his things tidy.

You gave him something he had never had; love. You gave up everything to be with him, and you made sure to always put him above yourself, even when you shouldn’t have. He realized up until recently that he made the biggest mistake he would ever make. He lost the one person who would’ve dropped everything for him, for someone who was nothing but a good fuck. Someone who was manipulating him, someone who quite literally used their quirk to make him believe what he was feeling was genuine.

Tomura hated himself for it, he felt like a fucking garbage can. He lost his everything. He lost his love, his life, his happiness... all for some sex, and higher ranks.

He tried a couple times to release his pent up emotions by turning to the girl, but he felt sick any time he put his hands on her. Everything came crashing down to him, and it didn’t exactly happen immediately. The first time it hit him, is when Dabi tried to kill him.

...

The day after you left, Tomura was furious with you. Believing you had betrayed him, deceived him, and that he was going to unleash hell the next time he laid eyes on you. He slammed doors all night long after he found your note, drinking some sake and staying up until the sun rose. That morning he had a meeting, he got ready and wore his usual new outfit, a fancy black suit, with a long black trench coat and fur lined at the hood. Something you had actually helped him pick out, even though he whined about it being itchy against his face and neck constantly. He preferred his big hoodies, skinny jeans and converse, but now that he was a leader of such a professional group-- he was expected to look the part.

He adjusted himself in the mirror, putting on the singular artist glove, and flattening out the wrinkles in his suit. In all honesty, he just wanted to go to bed, and sleep away this angered feeling but he decided against it. Tomura needed to be professional.

He stepped out of the apartment, his hands in the pockets of the thick trench coat. A migraine beginning to settle into his head at the bright lights of the building. His eyes squinting, and blinking rapidly to adjust. He mindlessly strolled over to the elevator, and waited until the doors opened. Staring at his fancy black dress shoes, thinking to himself how stupid this all was. Soon the elevator arrived, and he stepped inside. It was empty, just how he preferred it, leaning his head back against the cold metal framing of the cart as it went upwards to the room he planned to have the meeting.

Soon he arrived on the floor, stepping out of the metal box, and walking into the large room the meeting was meant to take place. As soon as he opened the door, all eyes were on him. He walked to take his place to speak, when he heard a familiar raspy voice make a comment towards him. Tomura, having absolutely no patience for his shit, decided to speak out. “Is there a problem, crispy?” he sneered, taking his seat on the couch, scooting himself in to get comfortable.

“Yeah, there is a big fucking problem. Not that you would give a shit though, fucking prick.”

“Excuse me?!” Tomura snapped, sitting up to look at Dabi standing in front of him.

“You fucking heard me you nasty street rat. We have a fucking problem, and you’re lucky we’re inside because I wouldn’t hesitate to torch you alive right now.”

“What crawled up your ass and died?” he scoffed.

“Y/n. You fucking pushed her away. Y/n could be dead right now for all we know and it’s all your fault, because you just had to be selfish and fuck someone who is quite literally using you.” Dabi snapped, a little bit of blue shining from the insides of his closed fists. He was seething with rage, the tension in the room was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.

“She left on her own accord dumbass. If you’re so concerned with her, then go find her yourself. Stop talking about her. I don’t have time for this shit. I did nothing--”

“That’s the thing crusty, you did. You fucking cheated on her, pushed her away, made her cry, and treated her like shit. Do you know how many times I had to see that poor girl looking like she was barely hanging on by a thread?” He sneered, Tomura rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t fucking act like you did nothing wrong. All of us tried to talk to you about cheating on her because we never saw Y/n and when we did, she looked fucking hollow. I don’t know how many times Twice or Spinner tried to talk to you about it, and you’d shut the door in their faces.”

“As I said, she left on her own accord! Quit talking about this--”

“He’s right, Tomura-kun. You need to take responsibility for this, she left because of you. She didn’t just abandon you, you pushed her to her limits and she left because she felt like she was no longer wanted by you. Why can’t you just take responsibility? I thought you were better than this Tomura-kun.” Toga stepped in, his words hit her hard. Toga was like your little sister. She loved you the most out of anyone in the league besides Twice, any time she could, she was right at your hip. “I-I... I miss her so much.” Toga said quietly under her breath, feeling herself start to tear up.

“Fuck this!” Tomura said loudly, slamming his fists down against the couch, and standing to his feet.

“You don’t get to just fucking walk away from this!” Dabi screamed at him, which was really the only time they ever heard him get upset. Dabi marched straight at Tomura, launching his fist straight to his face. Tomura grabbed his wrist with his gloved hand. They began to restrain one another before Dabi started slowly inching flames his way, and Tomura’s glove began to slip off intentionally. They were both pulled away separately. “I’m gonna kick your ass for this soon enough you grimy fuck! That girl was the only person in the league I actually enjoyed! Fuck you! I’ll fucking kill you!” Tomura realized how much he was acting like an older brother to you, and how truly sad everyone looked. You were part of their family, and he had made you leave. The rest of the day was a blur to him, he spent it drinking too much sake, playing games, and at some point crying.

The next days, he was angry and couldn’t process his emotions without some alcohol in his system. After a while, it hit him way too hard, and sleeping at night was nearly impossible. The next weeks all he did was mope around, and hate himself. He didn’t do anything like he used to anymore, besides stuff with PLF, he just took it upon himself to waste his days away locked on the couch or bed.

...

Tomura rubbed his face with four fingers, turning to his side to stare out of the large window, watching the way the moon shined into the room. He imagined your silhouette sitting at the window watching it to, like he often saw when he came into the room. This time instead of being annoyed at your presence, he wonders how he could fix things if you never left. Would things ever even be seen properly if you hadn’t left?

He whines out loud at the thought, wishing you were there to tell him it’s all okay, and comb through his hair with your soft fingers like you used to. He wants to sleep, but he can’t.

“I miss you. I’m a fucking idiot.” he softly murmurs into the air. Looking over to the anthurium plant that was in its usual spot that you loved so much, you had that plant longer than you were with him. Most of the plants in the room were long dead by now, but the anthurium was thriving. It gave him the smallest bit of comfort and relief, that somewhere, you were alive and okay. He wondered if you’d ever come back, even just for the plants. He smiled at the thought of you again, and he reached to the floor to pull up one of your old tee-shirts you left behind. A simple black one, and it still reeked of your familiar, comforting scent. He nuzzled his face into it, absorbing the comfortable feeling it gave him. Imagining you just being here again, right back into his arms like he wished. Like everything was okay again. The thought gave him comfort, as he closed his heavy lidded crimson irises that begged for the release of slumber. To dream of a life different than the one he was faced with. One with you in it.

In another life, I guess.

^^^

The last month was a tough one for you, you left everything behind. No plan in mind but to get as far away from Tomura as you could. You managed to get through the run down city of Deika somewhat okay, even though there was rubble covering the entirety of the streets. You would’ve been left with cuts and bruises because of how hard it was to climb over certain spots, but luckily your quirk saved you from that. Your eyes were dry by the time you reached the end of the city, it dawned on you there that you were finally free from the pain you once felt. It didn’t completely go away, but the familiarity of your surroundings was unknown, and that gave your mind some clarity. There was no pain here, nothing around you reminded you of him. It was uncharted territory, a place to make your own. Sure it was just a mostly deserted pavement road surrounded by some trees, and houses that were more than likely empty. There was nothing left to do but go forward. You walked down the empty pavement road until the sun began to rise, and still no signs of any civilization. It was empty, lifeless, and dull, but you were happy. Free. From time to time you’d stop to fix your shoes, find somewhere to relieve yourself or drink some water.

You were hoping to find a bus, or a motel before you got too tired. You stopped for a moment to check the small pocket watch you had with you in your bag to see that it was almost seven in the morning. But you kept on, and even though your legs began to feel like jello-- you soon were coming upon a new city. One that looked full, lively, and different.

Instead of just hopping on a bus, you decided to find a motel to shower, unwind and sleep in a warm bed. As you stumbled upon one, paid for you room and stripped yourself of your clothes, you immediately crashed to the bed. Sleeping for far longer than you wanted to, but needed to.

For a while it was a lot of traveling, trying to come up on a plan, and your money was running low. You were free, but there was still a cost. There you were, eating some cheap, cold soba outside in the rain in Musutafu. It was midday, and there was a lot of people out on the streets going to and from work (or school, who knows), the streets were lined with cars. heroes were on patrol everywhere. It felt good to be back somewhere you were used to, even if there was nothing for you there to feel stable. The jacket you wore was fairly thick, but didn’t keep you the warmest. You sat underneath a small bus stop shivering while eating something that made your hands go numb. Some of those that passed you gave you dirty looks, eyeing you up and down, assuming you were just another dirty beggar enjoying a meal someone else paid for you. Internally you felt ashamed of yourself for having to live like this, but it was all for a purpose. Let them stare, what do they know?

Soon your noodles were lessening, and you had finished your soba. After you took the last few noodles, you grabbed all of the trash you had sitting around you, and walked over to a trash can outside of the large law firm you were outside of. Placing it inside, and walking away before you heard something behind you. “Y/n?” a voice called from behind you, not registering at first that it was familiar to you.

You turned your head to look at the person behind you. It was Giran, in the flesh. Standing there with an umbrella over his head, and cigarette kissing between his lips. “Giran?” He flopped his grey locks out of his forehead. He looked exactly how you remembered him, gapped tooth, nice looking clothes, beautiful gold rings decorating his fingers, and the little glasses of his you always tried to steal from him.

“Doll... what the hell are you doing all the way over here? What happened? Why do you...”

“Why do I look like this?” You raised your brow, he shamelessly nodded. “I’m homeless, that’s why.”

“Why? What happened for you to be homeless?”

“I... I left. Things happened, I just-- I needed to leave.” you stumbled over your words, not really wanting to tell him the full story.

“I have a feeling there’s a story there you’re not telling me.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you about it another time. Well, it was good seeing you, I’ll leave you to it--”

He hastily cut you off, not letting you walk away from him. It was obvious to the both of you that you were running from something, and probably going to run off to another city alone again. “Wait!” you turned to him, raising your eyebrow to him. “I was just heading home, come with me. You shouldn’t be out here alone, doll.”

“I don’t want to impose... Really, I’ll be fine--”

“Y/n. You are homeless, I want you to be safe and sleep in a warm bed. You aren’t imposing sweetheart, I’ll take care of you. I ask nothing in return besides that you fill me in at some point about what happened. I don’t wanna hear any no’s or but’s coming from ya, you’re not sleeping out on the streets anymore. Let’s go.” he said shamelessly. Giran was always good with looking out for you, you came to him shortly before going to the league looking for work as a healer within a group. You found yourself intrigued by Shigaraki, and Giran of course being the gentleman he is, asked you if you were sure a million times. Telling you that no matter what happened, he would watch over you, and take care of you. He’d always cared. You hastily agreed, he patted your shoulder comfortingly.

You followed him closely back to his home, the umbrella doing little to prevent water from falling all over you. Soon you arrived to his beautiful home, and quickly settled in. He allowed you to take a shower, took all of your clothes to run through the washer, and gave you some of his spare clothes to wear in the mean time. The hot water soothed your sickly cold feeling skin, the musky mint smelling soap soothing your senses. For the first time in a while, you were relaxed.

After taking a shower, and setting up in his guest room, Giran came into the room. Eyeing you carefully as you sat in the white cotton sheets in his baggy undershirt and basketball shorts. Your wet hair sticking to the back of your head. “Hungry?” he asked. “I’m about to order takeout, what sounds good?”

“Curry, and taiyaki. Haven’t had either in so long.”

“An interesting combination, but I’ll see what I can do. Just relax for now, feel free to hangout in the living room. I got a TV and some books. Do whatever you feel, though.” he grinned at you. Patting the doorway before turning to walk away.

“Giran?” you called out to him.

“Yes?” he replied putting himself back into view.

“Thank you, for everything. I hope I can make it up to you one day.”

“Don’t worry about that now doll, all I care about is keepin’ you safe.” he smiled a genuine smile, which you returned. It was nice to be surrounded by so much hospitality and kindness. He stepped away from the door frame once again to let you do whatever it is you wanted to do. That night you both shared a meal, chatted, and went to bed. He let you take some books into the guest bedroom for you to read whenever you wanted. You felt at ease, like you were finally safe and grounded. You didn’t have to rely on Tomura for anything anymore, you had yourself.

Even though deep down, you missed him. It had been ages since he last held you, kissed you, or even looked at you properly-- but you still missed it. All of it. You wondered if he was doing okay, if he was still with her, or if he even cared if you left. Honestly, you doubted it, he probably would’ve taken a couple days to even realize something was even slightly off. You didn’t regret your decision, but part of you would always miss him.

Always, and forever, love him.

Over the next month or so, the routine was generally the same. Giran learned about what Tomura had done to you and why you were homeless. He decided to let you work with him in his office, you mostly would just organize his files, greet clients (usually ones he needed help convincing because you were the little office eye candy), cleaning around the office, and just overall being his assistant. He respected you, cared for you, and got you back to your feet-- without expecting a thing from you. The two of you were growing closer, and you were nothing but thankful to him. Sometimes the two of you would dress up super fancy to go to meetings for very high up clients who couldn’t be seen anywhere near where Giran worked out of safety for the two of them. It was a quite relaxing life, and you were growing used to everything.

There you sat in your usual spot in Giran’s office, filing some paperwork that needed to be put away. Your office was a little room attached to Giran’s main office, small but comfortable. You’d spend most of the day in there until it was lunch time, or special cases where he needed your charm to make a client more comfortable. You were lost in the groove of the routine that often came with these tasks, listening to the music playing from your laptop speaker that was low enough to be able to hear anyone talking, and not be heard by anyone but you. From time to time stopping to play with the button on your blouse. Giran insisted that you dressed formally for the job, which consisted in business formal attire. Like right now, you were wearing a black button up blouse, dark maroon pencil skirt, tights, and black mary-jane high heeled shoes. A cute little choker chain on your neck to show some more class, and matching simple earrings. You looked formal enough to be doing the job, but also cute enough to just go out in the outfit.

After sitting, and filing for what seemed like hours, you decided to stretch. Getting up from your chair, and popping your limbs. Walking into Giran’s office cautiously. You didn’t hear anyone with him, but you never knew. You lightly knocked on the door frame to get his attention, his face was downwards as he read over some documents at his desk. “Hey bossman, how’s it goin’?” You asked him, leaning into the open frame. His head turned towards you away from the desk, a small smile present on his features.

“Good, good. Just readin’ over this real quick. You need me doll?”

“Oh don’t flatter yourself, I just needed a bit of a break, and you also shouldn’t be stretching your neck out like that. You might hurt yourself.” raising your eyebrows playfully. He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Well, it’s almost time for lunch. How about you go out and get us somethin’ to eat? You hungry yet?” he asked pulling a cigarette from his pocket, and placing it on his mouth. Grabbing his metal lighter from the desk to light it, taking a long drag before exhaling the smoke slowly out his nose.

“Hmm... maybe, I’d be okay with getting us something.”

“One sec.” he replied, getting up from his seat to walk to his large trench coat that sat in its place on the coat rack in the corner next to the door. Digging in the pocket of it for something, which he soon found. He took a drag on the cancer stick once more before returning. “Here’s my card.”

“Thanks.”

“Also, you look beautiful today Y/n.” he admitted, leaning against his desk in front of you.

“Are you implying I don’t look beautiful every other day?” you retorted, feeling your face warm up with bashfulness.

“Never, doll. Just thought I’d make you smile.” he leaned towards you. Pulling his cigarettes from his lips to press a kiss to you forehead, your stomach fluttering wildly. Sometimes his little affirmations of affection made you go insane, you sometimes wished you had the confidence and stability to just grab his collar, and kiss him. Sure, he was older, but he was attractive. There was no doubt there, and the feelings were mutual. But you assumed neither of you wanted to ruin what was already going on. “Now get on, it might rain within the next hour. Wouldn’t want you to get wet.”

You smiled, placing your hand on his cheek in an assuring way before walking to the coat rack to grab your warm coat. Turning back to him before exiting the office, a soft smile present on your lips, muttering a quick good bye before opening the door.

Soon you were back with take out bags on your hands, coming up upon the door of the office, knocking, before taking a step in. Happy to see Giran again, and eat your lunch. As your eyes registered upon the desk in front of you, you felt your heart drop into your stomach. Your hands quickly becoming sweaty as your gripped on to the plastic bags you held on to for dear life. There was that familiar light blue colored mop of hair sitting in the chair adjacent from Giran. He was wearing a black trench coat you hadn’t seen him wear since he exchanged his wardrobe for all of the suits, his back was to you, but even then you could still immediately tell it was him. His voice rang in the air, and died quietly as he recognized Giran’s distressed face.

“Giran, what...” he asked, but let the words fall off his tongue, turning his head to look into your direction.

Without waiting, you dropped the bags of food on the ground, turning to open the office door. You quickly walked to the elevator, smashing the buttons on the wall to step in, just wanting to get away from him. You were scared to face him, you refused to, and luckily the buttons outside the elevator dinged, and it opened, you looked back to the office to see Tomura opening the door, catching your gaze. “Y/n! Wait! Please!” he called after you as you rushed inside the elevator, smashing the buttons to close. Your arms and legs trembling violently as you waited for the door to close on him.

“Stop! Y/n please let me-- hey stop!” he called after you, his foot steps and voice growing closer as the door began to close. When it almost came to a close, you saw his panicked red iris, he sounded so distressed that it made you almost want to open up the door, and let him in. But at the same time, you were trembling. You knew he worked with Giran, but you never expected to see him again. Giran tried to promise you that, but he also warned that things were unpredictable, and that he would do his best to keep you safe. You felt tears welt up in your eyes that you tried to blink away, knowing that he most likely was going to beat you to the lobby and confront you anyways.

You loved him.

But could you even forgive him?

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki fanfiction #tomura shigaraki x reader #giran x reader #giran x reader idk?? kinda??#shigaraki angst #tomura shigaraki angst #angst #bnha au #bnha fan fiction #mha fan fiction #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki #tenko shimura #this is kind of trash i am so sorry #please forgive me i just wanted to post something

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pl-panda · 4 years

Text

The vines that bind us - Chapter 7

Chapter 1 || Previous || Next

-----------

After double-checking with security, it turned out that Tim Drake did not show to work. She sighed. Looks like more work for her… Just like Nathalie said.

She started by greeting the two plants in Mr. Drake’s office. Both were incredibly satisfied with themselves that they earned bigger pots. They were also even happier to see her. Next, she took care of her new plants. The two on her desk she quickly took a liking to. They were cute. Only the large plant that now stood in the corner next to the vent was snarky and dared to make an inappropriate comment about one of the office plants. The hole in that leaf was caused by a bullet thank you very much. Mari quickly and clearly explained where it made mistakes.

With that done, she got to the paperwork that was left on her desk. There were many things to be done before the lunch break.

----------

Chloe was giddy the whole day. She got a green light to deal with the Liar in any way she wished. So many plans. So many possible revenge options. So many lawsuits to be filled. But as she was walking to the cafeteria, a new, even more devious, plan formed in her head. She would need the help of a certain stuck-up brat, but if she got him to help, it would not only destroy Lila but utterly ruin her. She already had several ideas from her other schemes that could be adjusted. Oh, this would be glorious if only she found… there!

Damian Wayne was not having a good day. He was in fact having a really, really bad day. His father had forbidden him from bringing another sword to work until his previous one is returned. Given how efficient the GCPD is, he would be lucky to get it before thirty. He was the only one of his brothers to arrive at WE before lunch, which led to more irritation. He definitely hated the corporate gossip about one Marinette Dupain-Cheng. How she was awesome, how she was a 'bamf' (whatever that meant), or how much they adored her kind-but-still-no-nonsense attitude. She took his sword!

“Wayne.” An irritating voice came from behind. Damian was of course aware that someone was behind him but dismissed it as an employee doing something unrelated to him.

“Bourgeoise. What the heck do you want from me?” He spat

“To show you something.” She pulled her phone from the pocket of her jacket. He quietly admired how she found female clothing with pockets that deep. At the same time, he kept frowning at her.

“I swear, if it’s…” He didn’t finish, because she pressed ‘play’ and the video started. The whole thing laster about seven minutes. With each passing moment, his frown deepened and by the end, Chloe wondered how can he see anything when his eyes narrowed to two tiny slits.

“I. want. her. dead.” He seethed through the clenched teeth.

“Good. But we can’t kill her. Mari forbid it and I know your father isn’t exactly fond of killing.”

“Tt. What. do. you. want?” He pronounced each word clearly.

“Simple. Destroy her with her own words.” She pointed to the group where she was clutching to Adrien’s arm for her dear life. “Mari-bear is too moral to play with her lies like that. Us? We play to win.”

“Fine. But I want my sword back.”

“Clever boy. I knew you could break into an evidence room.” Chloe smiled. “They returned it cleaned of blood the same afternoon. Guess you were too late.”

“Tt.”

“Fine. I will get your precious sword. But if you try to mess with Mari…”

“I got enough of it from my father.” He scowled.

“Good. Now, onto the plan.”

---------

Mari didn’t come to eat lunch with Chloe. She was perfectly aware that the girl would start one of their plans and wanted to have an alibi. Instead, she dived into the paperwork that had to be done as soon as possible. It was going on good and if she dealt with it before the day’s ended, she would have time to try searching for her mother in the evening. She even inquired with the City Hall about the ownership of their old apartment and the answer should be coming any moment now.

She was broken out of her concentration by a scream of rage and frustration.

--------

A few moments earlier

Damian stalked toward the group of teens that were relaxing from their intern duties. He could clearly see the Liar clutching to Agreste boy like a leech. Perfect for their plan.

The boy had to agree that what Blonde concocted was both deviously brilliant and brilliantly devious. A perfect opening play. He made sure that he looked flawless before suddenly ‘appearing’ behind Lila and Adrien.

“How could you?” He asked in an emotionless voice. His face was showing only traces of sadness. Just like he would look if it was for real.

“Who are you?” She asked dismissively.

“Really Lila?” He asked, allowing a small amount of water to appear in his eyes. It was not like him to cry at all, but his mother taught him all useful ways of emotional manipulations and tears were all the way on top of that list. “After all these years, our relationship meant so little to you? I specifically got this trip so we could reunite and you are just… hanging off of some french model?”

“Listen here you…” She was interrupted when Chloe stormed, her heels clicking loudly around the cafeteria. Conveniently, everyone removed themselves when they saw Damian stalking toward intern-bitch. Speaking to police two days in a row is not a pleasant experience.

“Wayne. What’s the mess here.”

“Tt. You were right. She is a harlot.”

“Wayne?” Alya asked with wide eyes.

“Yes. You have the questionable experience of meeting a pissed Damian Wayne. My poor cake…” She moaned.

“Would you let that go, woman!?” He asked. This time he had no need to play his emotions. Bourgeoise never forgave him and Drake that Cake incident and it grated on his nerves. He paid her back.

“It was my birthday!” She raised her hands up. “And you are all idiots. Lila kept telling you how great her relationship with Damian was. And yet she is hanging off of Adrien, sinking her claws into his arm. I think the English expression was… I swear I read a book about it. Something with red A…” She pressed a finger to her lips, acting like she was trying to remember. “Ah! Scarlet Woman.” She grinned. “That’s what you are, Lie-la. A scarlet woman using men to get what you want.” That was vicious even for Chloe. Adrien took the opportunity to push the fuming girl away and get back. He could admire the chaos that was about to happen very soon.

To their surprise, Lila calmed herself and giggled.

“ah! Silly Dami-boo! I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I thought we were always just friends. It must’ve been one big misunderstanding”

The people around started to nod their heads, accepting what she said as plausible. Damian Wayne wouldn’t be the first to get the wrong idea. At least until their phones buzzed. Chloe was smirking.

“Misunderstanding? This declarations of love say something different though. I seem to remember there was even some talk about a ring.”

Lila checked her phone and her eyes went wide. There were messages that looked like from her. That witch even replicated her speech pattern. It was much better forgery than what she did with Maribrat.

“Lila?” Nino stared at her in disbelief.

“I’m disappointed. After all this time together.” Damian shook his head. He pulled a small bracelet off and tossed it at her. “Consider this a break-up.”

Chloe smiled. “So you are free now.” She asked him. Damian saw the predatory grin and felt a sudden need to run. But he knew that the witch was not yet destroyed.

“Yes…”

“What say I concede that the cake incident was entirely Drake’s fault. If you take me for a coffee after work?”

Damian gave a distraught Lila a look of hatred. Then, he turned back to Chloe.

“I would like that. Does 4:30 pm works for you?”

“I should be free by then.” She smiled. “It’s a date.”

With that, she left with Damian toward the elevator. Lila had enough of it and stormed to the bathroom. Soon after that, a shriek of frustration filled the building. Since it sounded like the bratty intern, nobody cared enough. The class was not allowed to leave their posts, not that too many of them wanted to be near Lila at the moment. They had many things to think about.

Damian and Chloe sat in the Law department, both having a satisfied grin. It was totally worth it.

“Just to be clear. I still hate you.” He said to her.

“Same here.”

“To the Liar’s fall.” They raised a cookie each and bit in. Most people that saw them had to check again because the Ice Prince was actually hanging around someone his age.

--------

Mari managed to record the shriek and now used it as Lila’s ringtone. It was a nice mid-day surprise that brightened her day. It lasted all beautiful hour until Marleen White, the head of PR, started knocking on the elevator, demanding to see her. Given her state and that she didn’t even call, it was something urgent. Mari quickly let her in.

“We have a huge problem.” She tossed a folder full of pictures on her desk. There were prints of chat screens with various dates. The content was most troubling.

“I assume someone leaked it to the press?” She shrugged.

“How can you be calm? It’s a disaster!”

“They are fake.” Mari shrugged again.

“Fake?”

“A. That’s not Lila’s number on any of her four mobile phones. B. I have no idea who made it, but they have no idea how Damian Wayne acts. It’s straight up the same bullshit she will be facing a lawsuit for once the Law Department gets through the tons of paperwork. And C. This is an American number. Lila had no way of getting it three years ago. Plus the timing is too perfect. She gets punishment from the company and then the scandal with her dating youngest Wayne gets out. Whoever made it settled on fast, not precise.” Mari circled things on the prints.

“So it’s all fake?”

“I suspect she wanted revenge on the company for the extra work I had her be assigned.” Mari grinned at the memory of the shriek. “Or, someone’s doing it in her name.” For a moment her thoughts wandered to Chloe. She would have to speak to her soon.

“We will deny it and post all of the details you highlighted. The tabloids might still latch on it.”

“To be honest, I think it will be better than being dragged through the mud for the deaths. Especially since there was no story attached. Personally, I can’t care less about celebrity romance.” She dismissed the concern. It pained her a bit to speak about the dead in such a dismissive manner, but through the day she slowly absorbed that it was not her fault. She couldn’t blame herself. That’s what Marinette would do. Marinette was left in Paris by the irritating classmates and had her luggage (full of Adrien’s cheese-stinking socks) sent to India or somewhere.

“That’s… quite a good idea. I assume you will want this forwarded to the Law department to add to the lawsuit.”

“No point. It’s fake and we have no proof who leaked it. I’m plenty certain we have nothing or that person would already be sitting in HR.”

“The IT is looking into it, but they have little hopes. It went through an external server that we can’t get access to legally. Whoever leaked it was smart enough to avoid easy detection.”

“Good. By the way, what about that statement?”

“I sent it to your email.”

“I see it. I will read it and send you eventual suggestions.”

“Sure. It’s nice to have someone competent in place.”

“I thought Mr. Drake was quite a good CEO. He got this company from the hole back to the top?” She tried to remember what she knew about Wayne Enterprises and Wayne Tech

“Yeah, but he is… eccentric. And can disappear at weird times for hours only to then work through three days without sleep”

“Oh. And Sarah was unhelpful?” Mari winced, remembering her own runs when the deadlines approached and she realized she spent the whole week constantly fighting Akumas.

“She was good with people, but…”

“I get it.” Mari smiled. “Luckily, I have experience with babysitting.”

Both women cackled at that.

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

Once Marleen was gone, Mari quickly called Chloe’s phone. The girl picked up almost immediately. She was speaking to someone.

“I hope I’m not interrupting your work?”

“Don’t worry Mari-bear. I was just speaking with my newest side-kick.”

“Tt. I’m not a sidekick!” A voice came from next to her. Mari tried to resist the urge to facepalm. Chloe tilted the phone to show a pouting Damian Wayne.

“Shut up Sidekick. I’m the mastermind behind our plans.”

“And I pay for them with my image and sanity.” He replied.

“Hush you! I will let you know that some people would kill for the opportunity.”

“Tt. Right now I want to kill someone.”

“Har har. So funny, are you?”

“As much as I enjoy watching you two flirt… Get a room.” Marigold joked, watching both of them blush red. Before either had a chance to attack her for implying anything, she continued. “Chloe. Did you per any chance fabricated and published texts between Damian and the Liar?”

“Wait! That bitch actually published it?”

Mari facepalmed. She could feel the headache coming. In the hindsight, maybe it would’ve been better to just fire Lila’s sorry ass, together with the rest of the bunch. She could easily have Adrien and Chloe hired on some less permanent deal. They could both do without school for a while.

“Tt. Now I will really need my blade. Please tell me that nobody believed it?” Damian asked, frowning.

“You’re in luck. Madame White caught the wind of it quick enough. She will be making a swift statement that this is an attack on your person and the image of Waynes as a whole. Plus publishing a detailed analysis of why it couldn’t have been you.” Bluenette reassured him that his precious reputation would not take any great hits. Or not too great of a hit at least.

“Good. Jon wouldn’t let me live it down.” He sighed in relief.

“Now, Chlo. You know I love and support your deviousness, but please try and limit the civilian casualties of your future plans.”

“Fine. I can’t promise Lila’s retaliation to follow the same rules.” She huffed.

“Good. You’ve got any plans for the afternoon?”

“She is already otherwise occupied.” Damian quickly interceeded. He might not like the blonde much, but his honor demanded that if he actually invited her for a date, he did his best.

“I will leave you to your scheming then. Or whatever else you are doing” Mari quickly hanged up on the couple before they could scream at her. She saw a bit of blush enter both of their faces so she counted it as a win.

---------

The rest of the day passed relatively quickly. Tim Drake did not show for work, so she had to handle the paperwork herself. She never imagined how much work went into organizing one press conference. Sarah did absolutely nothing about it before she quit. Her biggest problem was that she needed to have it happen outside of WE since several journalists expressed their concerns about security. Now she was being hard-pressed to find a separate convention center. Except that things were expensive and Finances were definitely not being helpful. She posted the task to one of their employees. He would send her the offers before the day was up, but there was a slight delay and she would have to wait until four. Mari decided that she can wait and have it done that day.

She informed Chloe and their teacher that she had to stay in the office after hours and get it done so they wouldn’t worry. Then, she dived into making what felt like dozens of phone calls. Out of four serious offers, three would actually pass the standards set by Mr. Drake in the email he oh so graciously sent her in response to a question about the situation. It was six when she actually got done with the negotiations, but the satisfaction was immense. The final price was ten percent lower than what she initially aimed for, so she had more funds for other things. The guest list was also reviewed in the meantime and already sent back, so that was one more thing crossed out of the list.

After being done, she bid farewell to the receptionist near the entrance and went to the Taxi she called before leaving. It was already waiting, which was a nice boon for the end of the day. Her next stop was not the hotel though. She gave the address in the seedier part of town. Her old address to be precise.

----------

“Are you sure Ma’am?” The taxi driver asked unconvinced. “I mean it’s not the safest part of town.”

“Don’t worry. I can take care of myself. Besides, my mother used to live here.” She gave him a bright smile.

“If you say so…” He shrugged and stopped before a rundown building. Moss and ivy had already overgrown this place a long time ago, but the plants seemed… unhealthy. Like they were left to fend on their own for too long. It was not a good sign.

Hesitating for a moment, Mari entered the building. She was hesitant, even though technically her mother was the owner. The ground floor was empty if one ignored several dozen wild plants in various states of growth. Some were dried and dead, while some others were lush and domineering. It used to be well-kept and ordered inside the garden that she and her mother tended to. She would fix that after she found her mother.

The second floor was not much better. The dust everywhere was indication enough that Pamela Isley moved out long ago. Probably even years. Mari walked around, reminiscing about her childhood. It was not what one would call ordinary, but she would never settle for it anyway. She loved learning about plants with her mother. The martial arts lessons with uncle Wilson when he had time. Science with uncle Victor or her mother. Even the math with uncle Floyd. And Allegra and Claude were there to keep her company.

Slowly, she trailed to her mother’s room. She hoped to find something useful there. She definitely did not expect to have to block a giant mallet with blue and red stripes. Ducking under it, she delivered a quick kick before running to the stairs. Mari dashed downstairs and burst onto the street. The Taxi driver actually waited for her. He was a godsend at this moment. She quickly jumped inside and ordered him to go.

“So? Unwelcome guests?” he asked a bit more cheeky than she would’ve liked.

“Yes. But apparently my mom didn’t live there is some time.” Mari answered in a bitter tone.

“Shame. Hope you have better luck, next time lass.” They rode in silence for a moment. “Name’s Chas by the way. Chas Chandler.”

“Marinette.” She smiled at the man. “Thank you for waiting. I would’ve probably been in a worse situation if not for you.” Mari did not add that the worse situation was ordering the wild plants to defend her. She worked with the wild plants maybe twice before and they didn’t listen that well to orders.

“Where to now?”

Mari gave him the name of the hotel. When they arrived, she paid him and gave him a rather generous tip for the work. It was already dark, but apparently Chloe was not yet here. The class was supposed to be visiting some local museum or whatever. It’s not like she cared.

When Marigold entered her room, there was a large book sitting on her bed. Tikki immediately zoomed out of her pocket and toward it. she hovered over for a moment before she huffed.

“Of course he would do that. He is an idiot though. I would be a much better teacher.”

“Who are you talking about?” Mari asked the small goddess.

“No one!” Kwami said quickly and in a bit higher tone. The bluenette could’ve sworn she saw Tikki get even redder than before.

“Okay… And what’s that? Nothing dangerous I hope?”

“It’s… it’s a spellbook.” Tikki said after hesitating a bit.

“Like magic?”

“Yeah.”

“Who would leave me a spellbook without as much as a note?” Mari asked. She could see Tikki was conflicted.

“I can’t say.” She finally let go of air. “I made a promise that I would keep the secret.”

“Fine. You’re sure it’s safe?”

“Yeah, but Magic is dangerous. You should only do it with some supervision.” Tikki warned her.

“Good thing I have you then.” Marigold grinned.

“Mari! You know I can’t exactly just…” Tikki paused. “You know what, it’s actually not a bad idea. I can teach you some simple stuff for the starters.”

“Huh? I actually expected you to be against it.”

“I trust you to act responsibly. And as a Guardian, you probably should start learning magic anyway.”

“Let’s get started then. Please tell me I can curse Lie-la!”

-------

#maribat au #maribat #marinette dupain cheng #Mother!Ivy #dc #MLB #mlb x dc #Batman #miraculous ladybug #miraculous lb #redeemed!chloe #Good!Adrien Agreste #bamf marinette

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idreamofplaid · 3 years

Text

Rebirth

Square Filled: Anonymous Sex

Characters: Dean x Reader; Cara (OFC); Chase and Jake (OMCs) mentioned

Rating: Explicit

Summary: After a nasty divorce and some soul searching, the reader knows just how to get her life back with a little help from a young handsome stranger.

Word Count: 3576

Tags: language; oral (female receiving); unprotected sex; age difference

A/N: This is for @idabbleincrazy ‘s 1k Follower Celebration. Congrats on your 1st thousand followers! I chose the song “1985″ by Bowling for Soup for inspiration and the prompt “Oh, fuck off.”

Created for @spnkinkbingo

Fuck him and his new girlfriend. He could have at least waited until the ink dried on your divorce papers before he decided to parade his “new” woman in front of the entire town. New. Right. He’d been fucking her while he was still married to you.

You needed to get the hell out of this place. Start over somewhere, somewhere that no one knew of your humiliation or how you’d thrown your life away. Only, you couldn’t because you had two children in high school that loved their lives here. At least they were happy; that’s what mattered, right?

The so-called “friends” you had in the subdivision couldn’t wait to tell you about your barely ex-husband and how he’d been seen out with her at the fanciest, most expensive restaurant in town. It was the same place he’d taken you for your last anniversary.

By the time your SUV pulled up in front of the bridal boutique, you were still seething. You slammed the door when you got out, not giving a damn who saw you. Let them go back and tell the entire fucking book club about your lack of decorum if that’s how they got their thrills.

When you walked into the store, a sea of white flooded your vision. Well, here was exactly what you wanted to see. Wedding dresses. Beyond them, further in the back, were the prom dresses. It was like the highlight reel of your life in dress form.

You’d gone to your senior prom with the cheating son of a bitch that was now providing juicy material for all the town gossips, and just like the biggest cliche ever; you’d given him your virginity that night. If only you could take that back, but you’d been young, wide eyed, and in love. Four years later, right after college graduation, you married him. As a result, Chase was the only man you’d ever had sex with. Right now, you were really kicking yourself for that one.

In fact, you couldn’t be more pissed at yourself for the decisions you’d made. If there was a way you could erase it all and somehow keep your two kids, you’d do it. You loved them, and it was that love that brought you here to this hell of taffeta, sequins, and silk. The alterations were finished on your daughter’s prom dress, and it was ready for pick up.

You tried to settle the storm of anger and frustration that was raging inside you before you walked up to the counter. It wasn’t the sales associate’s fault your life had turned out the way it had. You blamed yourself for that, and blaming yourself just made you madder.

Somehow, you managed to plaster on a smile while you gave your name and got the dress. Once it was in your hands, you stood frozen staring at it. It was a sapphire blue, body hugging, silk and Cara would be beautiful in it. It made your mind wander back to another blue prom dress, the dress you had worn thirty years ago. “I was the goddamned prom queen,” you muttered under your breath.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Joachin, the sales associate was staring at you with a confused expression on his face.

“Nothing,” you replied a little too sharply, abandoning all your earlier good intentions toward the innocent Joachin. You turned and swept out of the store in a huff of tarnished memories and present day frustration.

As you walked out into the sunshine of the early afternoon, you draped the dress over your arm. With your other hand, you started to dig around in your purse for your keys. Where the hell were they?

By the time only a few steps remained between you and your car, a feeling of furious panic started to bubble up inside you. You couldn’t have. When you reached the car and looked through the window, you saw that indeed you absolutely had. There were the keys, hanging in the ignition.

You placed your forehead against the cool glass of the window and closed your eyes. Of course this had happened. You would be stuck here dealing with this fuck up for hours. The auto club was never quick to respond to any call for help. At least you didn’t have to worry about the kids getting home from school. Cara had her own car, and Jake had an away baseball game this afternoon. You wouldn’t need to pick him up until later tonight.

A deep voice broke through your mental attempt to organize this mess. “It looks like you could use some help.”

You opened your eyes to see those bloody keys still hanging there, mocking you. Without nearly as much fire as you’d been feeling earlier, but still enough to get your sentiment across, you responded, “Oh, fuck off.”

“Well, I could. Or, I could help you break into your car.” Break in? Who the hell was this, and how dare he have so much cockiness in his voice?

You turned to confront the unknown son of a bitch who was so clearly finding your situation amusing. Upon seeing him, your attitude instantly changed. This man was gorgeous. He had full lips, a chiseled jawline, and eyes the green of an Irish meadow.

His face was so pretty it could easily grace a movie screen, and his body was equally heart stopping. He had the broadest shoulders you’d ever seen on a man, and you could see enough through the open front of the leather jacket he was wearing to know his chest and stomach were firm. He looked like walking sex, and it had been way too long since you’d had any.

The spark of inspiration struck, but in this case it was more like a lightning bolt. It was time to reclaim your own life. “Forget the keys. Where’s your car?”

Young and handsome smiled and gave a nod in the direction of the other side of the street. “It’s over there.”

Your eyes followed the direction of the tilt of his head. “That’s your car?” It figured. The car was a classic muscle car, strong and beautiful. It was just as much of a standout as the man it belonged to.

You dug back in your memory, seeking your long dormant flirting skills. They were rusty for sure, but still there. You smiled at this breathtaking man, just the right combination of coy and suggestive. “Could I trouble you to give me a ride home?”

He smiled back, and those green eyes got a certain gleam in them. God. He was clearly much better and more practiced at this flirting thing than you were. “Sure, sweetheart. It won’t be a problem at all.”

You followed him across the street, enjoying the view of his ass as you went. When you reached the car, he opened your door for you. THAT was something you hadn’t experienced in awhile. A welcome feeling began to flow through your veins, replacing the anger, frustration, humiliation, and regret you’d been feeling all day. This was a ripple of excitement and anticipation of entering unknown territory.

Handsome started the car, and the purr of the engine revved up that ripple of excitement inside you, turning it into a wave that washed over you and secured the idea that had been dancing through your mind. You silently committed yourself to it, and that decision filled you with something that felt remotely the way you remembered joy feeling.

He reached over and turned the knob to start the radio, then pushed a tape into the tape deck. Good lord. A cassette tape. It had been forever since you’d seen one of those. This guy had barely been born the last time they had been popular.

The songs that poured through the speakers were from your youth, before that even. They were the songs you’d heard when you were a kid. Songs from the time of your life when you didn’t think anything about mistakes, or getting things wrong. You were just filled with hope, possibility, and excitement for the future. That was the feeling you needed to recapture.

This was a good start. Many would say it was a reckless start, but this wasn’t their life. It was yours, and it was time you took it back. In some ways, you would be claiming it for the first time, and this incredibly handsome, exciting, and just a bit dangerous man beside you could help you do that.

He noticed the smile that had appeared on your face. “You like the music?” he asked.

“I do. I appreciate a man with a taste for the classics.” Those intoxicating green eyes were focused on you before he turned them back to the road and smiled.

Then a little bubble of excitement rose up in your chest, and you bit your lip. An idea had struck you. It was possible to redo your life; you were young enough. You weren’t just going to spend the rest of your days on the sidelines watching your kids live. On impulse, you turned and asked him, “Do you have anything from the eighties?” It was possible. This was a man with a collection of cassette tapes.

He didn’t take his eyes from the road, but his grin got bigger. “There’s a box under the seat. You might find some Bon Jovi in there, but I’m not making any promises.”

You reached under the seat, found the box, and started to shuffle through the bunch of tapes you found there. After sorting through the Zeppelin and the AC/DC, your eyes fell upon exacting what you’d been looking for. It was Bon Jovi’s greatest album in your opinion, Slippery When Wet, circa 1987.

You opened the plastic cassette cover and took the tape in your hands. It sent a rush through you, unlike anything you’d felt in years. This was the album you played in your own cassette deck every afternoon after school, all that time ago, with your best friend in the passenger seat beside you. Everything lay ahead of you, all the bad decisions still lay ahead. It was all nothing but good.

It felt like a magical talisman you held in your hands. You looked at your new companion hopefully. “Can I?”

“Sure,” he answered as he popped the current tape out of the deck and tossed it on the seat between you.

You put your find in the tape deck, and immediately the sounds of “Livin’ on a Prayer” filled your ears. Your eyes closed, and you allowed yourself to indulge in the fantasy of turning back the clock and living a different life. It was a life with a different boyfriend and a different outcome, the one where you weren’t a washed up stay at home mom who had put so many of her dreams on hold to support her husband and his.

Dreams of travel filled your mind, dreams of travel and starting your own business. Once you had imagined being a fashion designer, a glamorous fashion designer, before you started wearing conservative suburban wife clothes and stopped dreaming. The rekindling of that spark of who you might have been brought a smile to your lips.

“What are you thinking?” Handsome with the green eyes and the incredible voice asked you. He reached across the seat and took your hand in his. Your smile got even bigger. It was time to push the reset button on your life.

You gave the gorgeous stranger directions to your house. Okay, that was a little risky, but of all the things that had gone off the rails in your life; your intuition wasn’t one of them. You had the very distinct feeling you could trust him.

Your garage door opener was trapped back in your SUV along with your keys. He’d just have to park his car in the driveway. Let the nosy neighbors wonder about that.

Fortunately, you had a spare key to the house hidden nearby. It took a minute to find the correct rock, but when you did; there was the key where you’d hidden it underneath. You returned to the front door triumphant, key in your hand. Once inside, you put your purse on the table in the foyer while mystery man turned in a slow circle, taking in the place.

He turned back to you. “Nice house.”

You took off your jacket and hung it on the coat rack in the corner. “Thanks. There’s a nice liquor cabinet too. How about a drink? A small thank you for rescuing me from the side of the road.”

He rubbed his thumb along the corner of his mouth. “It wasn’t exactly the side of the road, but I will take that drink.”

You walked on into the house, making your way to the living room; he followed. The bar was located near the massive floor to ceiling fireplace, and the ceilings were high. Chase had insisted on it. It always struck you as a little much, but he was ever aware of appearances. Until now, it would seem. Apparently, abandoning your wife and children for a gold digging bimbo was a good look.

The crystal decanters on the bar certainly had the right look. They also had the right aged whiskey inside them. You flipped over two tumblers and poured some in each.

He took the glass you offered him and raised it to those luscious lips. After a long sip, he asked you “What’s it like living in a place like this?”

You whirled the whiskey in your glass for a moment, starting at it, then glanced up at him. “Not as wonderful as you might imagine. What about you? Where do you live?”

It was his turn to find his glass fascinating for a few seconds. “Nowhere really. I travel around a lot.” You couldn’t quite pin down the tone of his voice. Did he like that fact about his life or not? Either way, it added to the air of mystery around him.

You took a swallow from your own glass. The little boost of alcohol induced bravery certainly wouldn’t hurt with what you had in mind. “Are you in town for long?”

He licked his lips before answering. “That depends. I’m here for a job. Not sure how long it’s going to take yet.” Enough with the small talk.

You took the glass from his hand and put it down on the bar. “What about this afternoon? Do you have a little time off?”

He settled his hand at your waist. “I could take a couple of hours for some relaxation.”

You downed the remaining contents of your glass and placed it on the bar next to his. “I have a couple of hours too.” You put your arm around him and let your palm rest over the center of his back.

That sinful mouth was on top of yours in an instant, and he absolutely knew what to do with it. His kiss was gentle but firm, tongue dragging along the seam of your lips until you opened them for him. The taste of the bourbon on his tongue as his tongue moved around yours was practically weaving a spell around you.

The kiss became deeper and more insistent. Your tongue swirled and tangled around his, and your breathing hitched in your chest. He started to bend you back over the bar, and, from deep inside your pocket, your phone started to ring. “Ignore it,” he said against your lips.

“I can’t.” That’s what it meant to be a mother. You fished the phone out of your pocket and checked the screen to see who was calling. Maybe it wasn’t one of the kids. Cara.

You touched the screen to answer and put the phone next to your ear. “Hello.”

Without any preamble, your daughter launched right into the purpose of her call. “Mom, is okay if I…. Why are you breathing so hard? Are you doing one of those old aerobics routines again? Mom, that is so lame.”

He was kissing down your neck, his mouth open just enough to require you to struggle to concentrate. “No, that’s not what I’m doing.”

You heard the sigh and could picture her rolling her eyes. “Whatever, Mom. Can I go over to Tabitha’s for dinner?”

He was sucking on your pulse point, and it was getting harder to keep your mind on the conversation. “Yes. That’s fine. Be careful driving home.” You ended the call, aware the kissing that had felt so incredibly good had stopped.

He’d taken a step back from you, and those captivating green eyes held a big question. “Look, this can’t happen if you’re….”

You quickly replayed your side of the conversation in your head. “Married? No. I am very much not married. That was my daughter, and she won’t be home for several hours.”

His smile was back, and his arm went back around your waist. “Well, in that case, where were we?”

You all but tore the leather jacket from his shoulders and let it fall in a heap on your expensive rug along with your phone. The rest of his clothes and yours disappeared on the trip down the hall to your bedroom where you’d been sleeping alone for so many months.

Surprisingly, you didn’t feel at all self conscious as you walked into your bedroom naked with this man you’d just met. He was a sight to behold. You wanted to taste and touch every tempting inch of him, and you started with his chest.

You ran your hand over the firm muscles in his pecs and let your fingers trace over the fascinating tattoo there. It was as much a mystery as the rest of him, and you didn’t ask him any questions about it. This wasn’t a “bare your heart and share your past” kind of afternoon.

He watched your hands on him, and when he raised his eyes to meet yours; they were dark, filled with lust. His hand closed over yours, large and strong, and he led you to the four poster bed. God, he was gorgeous.

Solid thighs, toned stomach, and thick cock that made your mouth water just looking at it. He lay back on the bed, his golden freckle dusted skin a beautiful contrast to the white of the comforter, and pulled you down with him. You could feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

It made you wet for him, and for a brief second you wondered exactly what it was you were doing. That stray thought didn’t last long. It was replaced by a voice inside you that had been silenced by responsibilities and expectations of who you should be. He’s hot, and you’re single. Enjoy him.

He pulled you down into another kiss that made your head go dizzy with the sheer goodness of it. It felt wonderful, blissful, and consuming. Most of all, it made you feel sexy again. You started to move your hips, undulating them on the warmth of his firm body beneath you, losing yourself to the moment.

There were so many sensations competing for your attention. He was igniting the desire inside you that you had all but forgotten was there. His muscled arms circled around you, and he rolled you under him, caging you between his arms on either side of your head.

“Sure you want to do this?” he asked you huskily. His voice was as sexy as the rest of him.

“Absolutely. Don’t you dare stop now.” His lips crashed down on yours, and you returned every bit of the passion he put into that kiss. Then he moved his mouth down your body. The heat of his mouth closed over one of your nipples, and he began to suck on it, pulling the softest, neediest moans from you you’d ever heard escape your mouth.

This man shattered every inhibition you ever had with his talented tongue. The sounds you made when he closed his lips around your clit were absolutely wanton. He licked at you and ate you out like he enjoyed it. If his mouth was talented; his cock was even better.

It stretched you with a sweet burn that satisfied the ache and filled you. You dragged your nails down his back, wanting to leave your mark on him. He was certainly going to leave his with you. The memory of this day would be seared in your mind always.

He knew ways to make you feel good you had never even known about yourself. After your third orgasm of the afternoon, he finally came. You felt the pulsing of his cock inside you, and there was a certain satisfaction in that. You were smiling when he pulled out, rolled over, and lay down next to you.

His chest was rising and falling, his arm slung over his head. He was the picture of debauchery, and you loved how it felt to be debauched. You would need to take the comforter to the cleaners after this, because you weren’t done yet. Let those busybodies at the dry cleaners just try and figure out what happened to your bedding.

That wicked thought made you smile broadly. Oh, yes. The comforter would be ruined by the time you were done. This guy was for sure good for another round. Or two.

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @peridottea91 @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @tumbler-tidbits @fandom-princess-forevermore @emoryhemsworth @emilyshurley @shaniquacynthia @crashdevlin @terrarium-jpeg @jules-1999 @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @volleyballer519 @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnbaby-67 @wayward-and-worn @asthesunwentdown @vulgar-library @thinkinghardhardlythinking @petitgateau911

Dean/Jensen: @deansyahtzee @flamencodiva @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @focusonspn @akshi8278 @ladywinchester1967 @sgarrett49 @wingedcatninja @coffee-obsessed-writer @adoptdontshoppets @ellewritesfix05 @weepingwillowphoenix

#1kclassicrockchallenge #spnkinkbingo #dean smut #dean x reader #dean oneshot

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urlocalnctstan · 3 years

Text

𝚃𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜

Genre : Angst, Fluff, Slow-burnish, Idol AU

Pairing : Jaehyun x Reader ft.Mark (other members too)

Warning(s) : strong language, age-gap, mature contents, weird writing style lmao, uh what else? idk but yeah

Disclaimer :The story is completely fictitious, idol-fan relationships are not common so some of you crazy ones out here, pls don’t get too delusional, your oppas will be your oppas only virtually, not in real life.

Playlist : Youtube Link / Written

Word Count : 5.4k

Summary : ‘Time and tide waits for none’- a quote that is universally accepted and believed. You both had had your experience of meeting the right one at the wrong time, the concept of love long forgotten after the sudden downfall of your relationship together. But will time eventually heal everything for you both?

The car came to a halt, your mind subconsciously drifting back to the humiliation you faced tonight back at the office.

“ARE YOU FUCKING DUMB, Y/N?” your boss was a fuming mess, his whole office scattered with the documents you had brought just a few moments ago. At the sight of the shredded papers, you felt you heart clench. You worked so hard for this project, disregarding God knows how many nights of your sleep. The feeling of abomination was slowly creeping up from the pit of your stomach towards the man who stood taut, seething in rage.

“HOW MANY TIMES DID I TELL YOU TO JUST DO WHAT THEY ASKED YOU TO?” He yelled, his fist furiously banging on his wooden desk, beneath his hand rested some pieces of the torn documents.

“Sir, even you know how risky it is to design as they asked to. If a blunder happens it is our company that is to be held accountable, not theirs.” you knew it was pointless to reason with the stubborn headed prick, but you had to try out your luck.

“Get out. Out, out, out. Get your fucking face out of my face.” He swished his index finger repeatedly, letting out a frustrated shriek just as I was about to exit his office. His wrath was nothing new in the office, as all the other employees shot me a rather pitying look when they saw me exiting the team leader’s office with hands full of ripped papers. Wow, my 2 weeks worth of sleep. Just wow. You didn’t bother to reciprocate their sympathetic glances, storming out of the corridor as you furiously started clicking the floor to your cabin. The jabbing of your finger on the glowing button that read ‘13’ was the only sound that resonated in the fairly empty area, earning annoyed looks from the two individuals who stood right behind you.

“Ah, fuck.” You banged your head against the steering, recalling the even as you clutched the handles harshly. “Why,” another bang. “do I,” bang. “live like” bang. “this,” bang. You could feel your face was burning without even touching it, streams of tears flowing down. Just as you were about to give yourself another bang, the sudden honk of a car made you pause amidst your ritual. Indeed all motherfuckers love to test my patience. You decide to ignore the rider, mainly because you were also partially at fault for resting in your car in the middle of the park. You twisted the metal keys as the ignition went off, signaling your car was ready to flee. Yet again, you were distracted by soft knocks. You prayed to God to help you not lose your shit, at this point you were questioning if He ever hears your woes at all. The soft knocks stop immediately when you started to pull down the window, the person straightening only crouch again.

“Y/n?” his called out unsurely, as if he were afraid of mistaking you for someone else. You knew that voice, and that is not good news. Shit.

“Mark?” you were surprised to say the least, not expecting to run into an old friend. “Oh my god! How have you been?” You shoot out of your driver’s seat, instantly being engulfed into a bone crushing hug by the male.

“I have been good. Oh god, I can’t believe this! I can’t believe I ran into you after so long!” Mark still held you tight your embrace, the sudden reunion making him feel giddy with excitement.

“Yes indeed,” you were the first to pull out from the hug. You took a moment to study him; black mask covering half of his face as he smiled widely, eyes crinkled and the signature cheekbones still the same as they were in the past. God, it’s really been so long. “What are you up to these days?”

“Er,” Mark scratched his head as he laughed nervously, unsure if he was allowed to give you spoilers about his new album. “I have been working on my solo album actually.”

“Are you for real?” You found yourself hugging Mark again at the joy of his successful career. “I’m so so proud of you mate!”

“Thank you, thank you,” Mark swayed you lightly, his voice muffled due to the mask he wore. Mark was the one to pull out now, still keeping your caged as he placed his hands on your shoulders. “In no way I am gonna let you leave without a trace again,” he almost groaned.

“Promise, I won’t anymore,” you signaled to the stack of files that rested on the backseat of your car. “They won’t leave me alone.”

“I’ll just ask your boss to assign you with more tasks then,” he giggled mischievously, earning a light smack from you at the mention of such an absurd idea.

“I’ll track your way to hell to kill you again if you do something like that,” you hissed at Mark, who was still giggling at your frustrated reaction. The atmosphere became quiet as Mark looked up in the vacant sky, deep in thoughts while you waited for him to continue. Your phone buzzed against your leather coat.

[From Bullhead] : Don’t think I am overlooking your mess. This is the first and final warning from me.

You shivered, half from the cold and half from the text you just received.

“26th, sharp at 8 PM, my place.” He snapped his fingers, hooting at the realization of having a free day in his busy scheduled life.

“Okay, done.” You should have refused, you thought. But for some reason, you found yourself agreeing to his offer, you felt both sad and guilty for disappearing out of your friend’s life without a trace. However, you couldn’t ignore the greedy feeling you felt, the want to see him again. “I think I should be done around...7:30? So I think I’ll be able to make it.” You unlocked and handed him your phone.

“You have to make it,” his eyes focused on the screen of your device, swiftly typing what you assumed was him number. “Just incase, text me if I happen to forget - no I know that look, Y/n, you must text if that happens..” He rolled his eyes, knowing that how much you would be overthinking about possibly tiring him because of his busy lifestyle. Mark dialed his number from your phone before handing it back to you. You visibly snickered at the name he saved his contact with : ‘My Boo MarkLee <3’

“Stop pretending as if you never renamed my existence as Markie Boo,” he groans, remembering how this has been his another one of the hundred pet names he had. Your conversation was cut mid way as his phone loudly vibrated in his phone, swiftly pulling it out as the guy whined in annoyance.

“Yo, I gotta go now I guess, something came up at the company.” He looked sad, pouty. “See you around, yeah?” You were pulled into another hug by the male, he surely loved to hug as usual.

“Yes, yes. Now go. Don’t be late.” You patted his back, pulling out of the hug and shooing him away towards his car.

“See ya, Mom.” He beamed as he sped off with his car.

“Dumbass.” You muttered, softly laughing at the name he would always call you by, despite being years younger than him. You rounded around your car, getting inside. The start was bad but the end was good nonetheless. The keys of your car jiggled as you closed the door. Again, you twisted the keys, your mood slightly better than before for which you were grateful. Your car’s ignition blared, as you positioned towards the exit of the park, subtly muttering ‘long ass ride.’

The digits ‘7:37’ glowed on the the small digital clock beside your desktop. You felt stiff, stretching your neck as your bones made those cracking noes. You stare at your toes, zoning out was your passion and you excelled at it. You snapped straight, letting out a deep sigh as you started to scheme the projects before you were to hand them over to your bullhead boss. Soon enough, you were done, muttering almost too loudly for everyone that you wished your boss would be napping off instead of being awake.

Good for you, your prayers were answered for the first time in a while. You quietly placed the files that contained all the details that needed to be checked again by your boss, quietly making your way out of his cabin as soon as possible. On you way, you informed his secretary you were leaving, her face wore distraught and annoyance but softens as she saw you approaching. Sometimes you felt sympathetic towards her, often asking the heavens to bless her with utmost patience and perseverance to deal with the bullhead.

The marble floor clicked with every step you took, the sounds eerily audible in the serene lobby. It was very rare for the lobby to be filled with people in evening, the employees would practically sprint off their seats as soon as the clock hits 7. You made your way out of the building, making a mental note to buy a gift for Mark on your way back to home. What would he like? Take outs? Homemade? Wine? You drove across the street before halting your car in front of the department store that was situated just a few blocks away from your office. The header of the store glowed, the alleys seemingly half-crowded with people of different occupations you assumed. You let out a hiss as you felt a chill run down your spine, it was almost the end of Autumn which meant Winter was just round the corner. You decided to rely on your instincts, deciding to gift your friend a fancy bottle of wine despite having zero knowledge about it.

You were never quite the fan of wine. According to you, the seemingly alcoholic drink was too expensive, plus the etiquettes that came along for its consumption would always just make your turn your head away every time you laid your eyes across one. You schemed through the white shelves filled with different tastes and colors of wine, each hailing from various corners of the world. “How do I even spell it?” You crouched down a bit to a bottle that had caught your attention, the exquisite name was starting to make your head hurt. It’s probably a white wine you thought, the transparent color of the liquid was what made you convince. But something rather nostalgic caught your sight, before you could even realize, you found your fingertips caressing the cold glass bottle of the red liquid that you held now.

“If were to be a drink, then what would I be?” You lazily laid sprawled across the couch in the living, while you boyfriend who sat on the marble floor across fumbles with the knotted bunch of cables. Jaehyun had his gaze focus of the wire maze in his hands, eyebrows furrowed and lips pouted in immense concentration.

“Peach milk,” he smiled, unbeknownst to you he was actually implying a double meaning for his answer.

“And why that?” You felt his choice a bit amusing, not really expecting that as an answer.

“Because I love your ass and boobs,” he winked, only to be hit by a pillow that was resting beneath your curled legs. Jaehyun felt himself giggling by your reaction, it was cute to see you being annoyed. “Babe, c’mon. I can’t lie about it.”

“Never mind, just forget it.” You started to get a bit pissed, hurt as well because your sensitive ass thought he would probably say something sweet that would make you heart flutter.

“Peach milk is my favorite, that’s the main reason why,” Jaehyun shifted his focus back to the cables, the last two knots were too adamant to let go of each other. You felt yourself smiling, too wide, he definitely knew you well. Cheeky bastard.

“What about me?” he asked, eyes still focused as he working on untying the last knot.

“Hmmm...” you shifted your position on the couch, now sitting up as you stared your boyfriend’s figure for a short while.

“Red wine.” sophisticated, classy, unique, warm. If you were to describe the aura around him, these would be the first choices.

However, your answer seemed to have caught Jaehyun’s attention, pausing in his tracks as he got curious as to why the specific choice. He had a huge grin on his face, he adored how you remembered the specific detail of red wine being his favourite, for he mentioned it in your first date which was 2 years back. But he knew there was more to it. He knew you too well. “But why red wine?”

You kept your gaze fixated on Jaehyun as he gets up from the ground, putting the cables in a secure manner to avoid another tie war. He hugged the pillow tight which you had previously thrown on him, before propping down beside you on the couch with a tired sigh, looking at you intently. It was as if you both were having a staring contest. So you rested your head on your right hand, both staring each other with soft smiles before you continued.

“You are much more to what everyone thinks you are,” you notice how Jaehyun cocks an eyebrow, still staring and trying to process what you just said.

“Just like wine, the more I know you, the more I know just how amazing you are. Both sweet and sour, but the balanced ratio of it is what makes you more admirable.” You admired how he was always able to balance things out, prior to what everyone believes about him, he had both good and bad sides to him. And that’s what made him more human, him acknowledging his flaws. That’s what made you fall for him.

Hearing you, Jaehyun thought he might dislocate his jaw anytime soon for smiling so hard. His heart started to do all sort of flips, ears starting to pink. It was at times like this when you don’t need words to express how you were feeling, silent but the communication was still present. Jaehyun slides his hand into yours, you glanced at both of your intertwined fingers before looking at him, his eyes full of hearts for you. You giggled, feeling shy at his intense stare but returning him the same way.

“I love you,” he whispered, his starry eyes which were only looking at you.

“Excuse me miss,” You jolt at the sudden change of voice coming from behind you. You whip around, a girl probably in her late teens stood nervously, her hands fidgets with the belts of her backpack.

“Miss, you were kinda in the way so..” you felt flustered for absent-mindedly drifting into your dreamland while shopping for your friend, chiding yourself mentally in the process.

“Ah, I am so sorry,” you moved swiftly to the side to allow the teen some space to carry out her shopping. “Please, carry on.” You smiled softly. Though at the back of your mind you wanted to point out how she shouldn’t be consuming alcohol, but disregarded the urge nonetheless. Sometimes children should get to enjoy their minimal amount of fun in their youth too. You were still clutching the red wine bottle in your hand, eyeing it one last time before placing it back in the racks. You cleared your throat, as if to let the voices speaking inside your head know that you are not a stupid 20 year old anymore. You shake your head, glancing around to inspect if others were judging your state before proceeding to the counter for the random wine you picked which might have cost you half of your monthly salary. It’s okay to spend once in a while.

Mark was literally running around his apartment. Running. His head shot up as he remembered something. “Shit, fuck, are the bathroom lights okay?” he murmured to himself, sprinting off to the bathroom that was located in his vast living room first, followed by the ones in his bedroom and guestroom. Mark was still a newbie to the norms of living alone, him being a newborn living-alone man for sparsely 2 months. And he would barely be home due to his schedules. There were even times he would just forget his own bedroom.

“What else, what else,” he glanced over the whole area eyes drifting here and there before he realized something. Dumbass forgot to check if there were even enough food for two. Mark quickly scurried to the kitchen counter, the utensils were more than enough before checking his fridge. Beers? Check. Soju? Check. Kimchi? Check. Slices of chicken breast? Check. But the 33 year old still felt something was missing. Mark shifted his focus on the wooden shelf that was just above the kitchen sink, the transparent glass door of it making a creak sound as he opened it. For an apartment who’s owner was barely home, the shelf was definitely well packed and organized. It contained all sorts of ramen, tteokbokki and any other fast food you could name. “What else, what else, what else, what else,” he kept chanting, as if by some magic his chants of short memory would be heard and he would know what else was he missing out. He hunched over the lower shelf to inspect if all the sauces his housekeeper stores for him were present there. Absorbed in his thoughts, Mark did not notice the sudden sound of his bell going off, before the sounds just got repeated and even more louder.

“What the fuck?” his eyebrows creased in annoyance, cussing out all the profanities he had in his vocabulary at the visitor’s insolent mannerism. Mark was beyond pissed, the person behind the other side of the door not only disrupted his memory battle but also had the audacity to ring the bell like a 3 year old in the middle of the night. Instead of just answering from the intercom, he directly opened the entrance door. “Look, it’s like 11 in the night - Hyung?” Mark halted his rant session as he realized it was Jaehyun standing in front of his house. Covered in black shirt, black mask, black pants - black everything, it would take a while for others who did not know him personally to recognize the member of the top boy group in the industry.

“Were you shitting or something,” Jaehyun smiled before casually giving his best friend a hug. Mark pulls out some of the spare slippers he had stored, while Jaehyun sits on the wooden step as he unties the knots of his black adidas. As Jaehyun get ups, he looks over to the other male standing in front of him, then down at the slippers and then again to the male.

“What?” Mark laughed, his hands shifting to the sides of his waist.

“Mark, please don’t go shopping by yourself next time,” Jaehyun silently judged Mark for offering him the fluffly colourful pink body and yellow polka dots slippers, similar to the ones he was wearing but the combination in opposite.

“I got them from the BOGO offer going on in the supermarket just down the lane,” Mark wiggled his toes under the furry layer of clothing, slightly humming at the texture. “Bro this shit comfortable and cute, you can’t deny that.”

Jaehyun gives him another look, amused at how his bandmate’s old habits were still the same. “I help you out with your fashion choices next time. Don’t worry.” He patted Mark’s should, a sympathetic grin on his face as he anticipated the other male’s dramatic reaction.

“Oh please,” Mark scoffed. “More like you need my and Johnny hyung’s assistance for your monotonous wardrobe!”

Jaehyun laughed at his friend’s rebuttal before lazily propping himself on the bean sack in the living room with a low hum. Oddly enough, Mark’s apartment felt more homely than his own apartment which was just above a few floors.

“But what brings you here?” Mark walks over to his fridge, judging by his friend’s sudden visit, he knew drinks had become a necessary part of the night. “And what about Hayoung?”

“What about her?” Jaehyun raised his eyebrow at Mark, skillfully catching the beer Mark had tossed to him after asking about Hayoung, Jaehyun’s, well complicated girl something.

“I though you guys might just....I don’t know, be official or something.” Mark stole a glance towards his friend, nervously opening his can. The momentary pin drop silence was an indicator, he indeed blurted something he should not have. The fizzy hiss of the beer can being opened barely broke the ice.

“I don’t do things like official,” Jaehyun scoffed, producing a low sigh after sipping the beer. Mark decided not to further press his friend, despite having an old unresolved grudge against Jaehyun somewhere deep within him. It had been years since all of that had happened, but he still felt hostility creep up inside every time he remembers that night, that week, that month. After all, it was you that Jaehyun had completely broken, torn and ripped apart.

Unbeknownst to the rummaging thoughts inside the mind of his bandmate, it took a while for the older to realize how oddly clean and organized the apartment looked. Jaehyun turned to Mark, eyebrows raised with mischievousness coating his words. “You having someone for the night tomorrow?”

Mark almost made a disgusted face but instead opted to scrunch. “Bro, I don’t have Tinder, neither do I wanna be a carrier of STDs.” Mark placed his empty can on the small glass table, simultaneously letting out a tired huff. Jaehyun almost took an offense to the statement, the attack was definitely but indirectly made towards him. But he decided to shrug it off, Mark was not lying after all. Jaehyun did not even know half of the girls’ names he had slept with, someday or another mixing up names which ends in him getting kicked out or being cursed out. That was what had happened that night as well.

“Okay, I forgot. Hayoung, yes. Speak.” Jaehyun shot an incredulous look to the younger, as if he was able to read his mind or something. Mark only furrowed his eyebrows at the reaction.

“I-I....got kicked out,” Jaehyun’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the sharp eared male was able to catch his friend’s low murmur. Mark stifled his giggle, only to receive a glare from his friend. Jaehyun ran his fingers through his newly dyed lilac hair. Fucking embarrassing.

“But what made her do that?”

Jaehyun felt chills run down his spine as the scenario replayed in his head. He shivered despite the heater being on, an amused Mark glancing while chugging down the small remaining amount of beer. Mark was being a gentleman trying to conceal his laughter as Jaehyun rambled how he managed to fuck up yet another good hook-up buddy. At this point, Mark was not even surprised. Victim to his obvious facial expressions, Mark hated lying, and equally hated being lied to as well. Jaehyun side glanced his friend, a loud annoyed snort escaping from him. “Having fun, aren’t you?”

“Well, I mean it’s fun — sorry,” Mark clears his throat. He should be the type of friend who gives advices instead of laughing. Mark wiggled in his seat, distorting the empty can before having a perfect shot in the trashcan just a few feet away from him. Smooth one.

“I think I might retire, or just quit after the current contract ends,” Jaehyun felt tight, the words came out from him in a way too suffocating form. Mark visibly tenses, his laidback posture now crouching forward to his friend. Mark was too pre-occupied in his escalating solo career, the support he had been getting even before the official stage was way too much for him to fathom, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. A stinging guilt crept up inside him, chiding himself of being such an inconsiderate friend. “It’s high-time I start to live on my own accord.”

Mark decided to rather not pressurize the half-drunk dude with his numerous questions as to why or what has made him to take such a step. Jaehyun struggled to keep his eyes open, exhaustion was taking over his body ever faster now that he had booze in his system. Jaehyun would have rather opted to just spend the night on the couch (he preferred Mark’s limited edition long L shaped sofa over any king sized bed) but the guy decided to not get welcomed by his mate as ‘good morning.’ Mark put a hand on Jaehyun’s knee, an attempt to stop the non-stop stomping which was a very well-known drunk habit of him. Piling the blankets he just brought, the younger warned again, eyes like red lazer lights before trudging towards his bedroom.

Feet wobbly, Jaehyun struggles to drag his build to switch off the remaining lights in the living room, glancing throughout the long empty space. He gulped down harshly, the familiar empty feeling creeping back to him which he had been avoiding for so long — for years. Jaehyun took a deep sigh, the heavy feeling feeling weighing down his chest as he took light steps towards the big glass window which granted him the view of the whole city. His eyes flickered at the luminous sight. He felt big but small, full, content but numb and empty.

“Hyung, you’re still awake?” a sleepy voice spoke from behind, breaking out Jaehyun from his trance.

“Huh?” It took a moment for him to process an answer. “Uh yeah. just like that. You go sleep.”

Mark shrugged, walking towards his bed as Jaehyun plopped down harshly on the duvet, wincing slightly as he felt a sprain in his lower back. With the alcohol slowly losing its effect on him with each passing second, Jaehyun started to feel more sober, more drawn back into the reality. He hated it. This feeling he was feeling.

Mark was having a rather difficult time to fall asleep. He even put on a random sleeping eye mask he uses for travelling, but alas that did not help either. He was too giddy, too excited for tomorrow. Pulling up the blankets over his head, Mark was assured he was safe from everyone, even maybe from God as a huge grin breaks out on his face. As much as he hates to admit it, Mark loved how things turned out to be the way they were.

“Oh god, this is so awkward. Oh god can I please please just die already?” Mark halted on his steps at the voice, glistening in sweats after the recent stage. He thought it would be an adventure to opt for the public washroom in disguise since the green rooms’ ones were all occupied by the rest of the members; and boy, Mark was really giving his all hold his pee.

“OH GOD!” the sudden yelp caused the male to shriek quietly, muttering an inaudile ‘jesus’. Despite the odds, Mark decided not to test his luck, holding in the bubbling feeling just before explosion as much as he could. Muttering quiet curses, the male struggled to hold his posture as he stealthily tried to get to the other side of the stairs. Too busy in his on the way to urination voyage, Mark realized it was too late, he bumped. Bumped into someone. A girl. Hell yeah fucked. Panic crept at the back of his throat as he anticipated what was coming forth. Him being surrounded by numerous fan as he desperately tries to hold his pee. What a fucking sight.

“Look, I know you might be a staff or something,” Mark whipped his head at your voice. “But please just oh god,” you rambled, leaving the man standing with his legs crossed tightly in utter confusion. “I had no idea — Mark Lee?”

The colors from his faced drained, Mark turned casper for a split second.

“PLEASE!” he was quick to react, half-whispering as he desperately caught your hands. “Please don’t just, uh.., shout or something.”

You immediately raised your hands in defense. “I uh have no reason to do so?” You stated, observing how he was literally squirming, it did not take you long to understand that the canadian needed to go the washroom as soon as possible. ”Oh!” You quickly moved. “Sorry for blocking your way!” Before he could even say thank you, you disappeared without any trace. Mark made a quick mental note to thank you, well that only if he ever happens to cross paths with you again. And deep down, he wised he would. On the other hand, you let out another distressed growl, promising to all of the heavens that never will you be ever accompanying your cousin sister, or let alone come to any concerts from now on. The stunt your drunken cousin had pulled just a while ago was humiliating enough, but of course, she had to spice it up by vomiting on the hallways just in front of the green room. You silently prayed and hope with all your might that maybe they will be generous enough not to sue you or ask for compensation for the mess, looking around cautiously for any employees before you sprinted off for the exit door, and yes, dragging the passed out stunt lady.

Mark felt as if he had a halo above his head, the water balloon inside him finally set free. But he had to race when he saw his phone buzzing with notifications, all of them belonging to his manager or the group chat of the members chanting same syllables ‘Where are you’ ‘show starts in 2′ ‘get yo ass here’. It did not take the rapper too while before he reached the green room, the makeup artists and stylists immediately wrapping themselves around him with brushes and hair sprays. He was smiling, genuinely smiling as he replayed the encounter he just had. Johnny raised an eyebrow with an amused grin on his face.

“What’s with the smile, bro?” Johnny pulls up some random exercises to relieve the tension in his muscles.

Instead of dodging his question, Mark replied, still smiling, but wider. “The pee voyage was a nice one.”

Johnny judged the younger for a second before chuckling and heading towards the stage. The loud noises from the fans echoed throughout the whole arena, full of green lightsticks gleeming like blossoming spring garden. No wonder I called them grass, Mark thought. But today, he was looking for a rather specific individual, his eye scanning almost all the faces in the crowd. He hoped to see you again, smiling gleefully as he performed, but thought that it was too greedy of him to want this much in a span of a day. And so he performed, for the first time without any pressure of doing good, enjoying every moment of the stage he was on and yet again, wished that maybe, maybe your paths will collide with his again.

part 2

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sincerelybluevase · 3 years

Text

Careful, Madam Chapter Six

A/N Thank you all for being so patient! I didn’t think I’d ever finish this, but the final chapter has been written. You’ll have to wait a little bit for that, since the wonderful @thegirlisuedtobe is making a beautiful teaser for it, which I obviously want to post first. But rest assured; this fic is finished after chapter seven! The previous chapters can be read here.

All night I lay thinking as to what to do. Systematically, I went through every option I could think of until I arrived at the inevitable conclusion.

The best I could hope for was for Maxim to be convicted of murder. I didn’t see that happen any time soon, though; everyone thought he and Rebecca had had the perfect marriage, so why should he have wanted to kill her? His identification of the wrong woman could easily be explained away as an honest mistake made when he was sick with grief and horror. That could not explain why Rebecca lay dead in her cabin, but then the authorities could hardly expect Maxim to know everything, now could they?

I could accuse Maxim of killing Rebecca and testify against him instead, but I rejected that idea just as I had done earlier that day when it first occurred to me. I did not think I would be believed, and even if I was, I didn’t think people would forgive me for betraying my husband. After all, he had lifted me up out of poverty and obscurity when he made me his wife. Many already believed I was after his money; if I repaid what they thought of as his kindness by seeing to it that he got hanged, they would think me a conniving little schemer who had murdered her husband to inherit his money. It would be all over the newspapers, and so everyone would know. Reporters would harass me, everyone else would snub me. I thought I might be able to bear that, but what life would that be for my child? For there was my little stranger to think of now.

Perhaps it would be best for the baby if I did nothing. There’s a lot to say for being born in wealth and privilege, and few children would be more privileged than the ones born with the de Winter name. Manderley was a glorious place to grow up besides. In my mind’s eye I could see my child and I on the beach dragging driftwood from the surf, laughing as Jasper chased after seagulls. Afterwards we’d have tea under the chestnut tree, and I’d cut the crusts off a sandwich, because that was how they’d like their bread. Maxim would scold our child if he saw, because he had, no time for such puerile nonsense, but it would be all right, I would shield them from his moods, his madness. Yes, I could continue to be the second Mrs de Winter, shy and silent, a quiet little thing at my husband’s side. Rebecca had played at being a devoted wife really rather successfully, hadn’t she? And she had never even loved him. I had. Surely I could pretend I still did? For my child, I could go back to being the girl I had been just a few days ago… But no, I thought as I turned on my side, watching the form of my sleeping husband in his bed, I can never be that woman again. Not after finding out Maxim had murdered Rebecca. He had killed once; what was there to prevent him from killing me, too, if I shamed him?

And I had shamed him already, hadn’t I? He simply didn’t know it yet. What I had done with Mrs Danvers would ruin him and Manderley, should it ever come out. He’d kill me for that ten times over, and Mrs Danvers, too.

Mrs Danvers. Queer, loyal Mrs Danvers. What was she doing now? What I wouldn’t give to be with her, to try and alleviate her suffering! For she must suffer greatly now that she knew her beloved Rebecca’s death was murder, and she must seethe with rage and hatred for Maxim. That was perhaps my biggest fear: that she hungered for revenge and would harm herself to get it.

To keep her, my little stranger, and myself safe, there was only one thing to do: run away with Mrs Danvers. But how to accomplish it? I had no money, and there was no ready cash at Manderley; we had accounts at every store and company so that there was no need to pay with bills and coin. Maxim had given me no jewellery during our marriage, so that couldn’t be sold either. Still, I supposed I could find a way. The most important thing was to find Mrs Danvers before she could do anything harmful, and convince her to come away with me.

If she didn’t want to run away with me, I feared my heart would break.

Despite my sickening worries, I must have slept then, for the next time I opened my eyes, daylight had found its way into the room. It pooled onto the floorboards, heavy and hot. The bed beside me was empty. I fumbled for my watch, saw that the inquest was about to start. Maxim had left me behind, as he said he would. Two days ago, this would have broken my heart, but that morning, I found it a mercy.

I went to the bathroom, where I vomited. Perhaps it was the baby making me sick; perhaps just the great stress of the situation I had found myself in. I brushed my teeth, dressed quickly, then went in search of Mrs Danvers. I kept wiping my hands on my dress. What if she had gone to the inquest? I should have stayed awake. But no, I found her where I expected her to be: in Rebecca’s room.

“Oh, Mrs Danvers,” I said. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching Rebecca’s crumpled nightgown. Her eyes had turned to slits, so swollen were they from crying. She smelled of sorrow, that strange salty scent that clings to the hands and face. My heavy heart had lifted at the sight of her; now, it began to ache. “Oh, Mrs Danvers,” I repeated, “how your eyes must hurt!” Like two embers burning in her sockets, I imagined. And so, before doing anything else, I went into the bathroom and turned on the tap. I wetted my handkerchief under the cold water, then took it to her and dabbed at her eyes. She made to fend me off, stiffened, then succumbed.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Danvers. I didn’t mean to leave you after what I said. I suppose you’ve a lot of questions. I wanted to come see you sooner so we might talk about it, truly I did, but I could not find you, and then Mr de Winter wouldn’t let me out of his sight.” A drop of water course down the inside of my wrist, making me shiver.

She stilled my hand. “I always suspected he killed her,” she croaked. “She wouldn’t drown, not even in that squall, not my mistress, not she. For a year, I’ve suspected. I just couldn’t prove it. Tell me, Madam: how did he kill her?”

My throat was tight and dry. I swallowed painfully. “He shot her.”

She bared her teeth, her lips curling back like that of a corpse. “I thought he would. He’s always been a coward. He wouldn’t dare kill her with his bare hands. She would have fend him off, had he tried. Did she suffer?”

“No. She died instantly.”

“Will her bones show that he murdered her?”

I shook my head. “He said the bullet went straight through.”

“So he shall be acquitted then, won’t he? Colonel Julyan, the doctor performing the autopsy, they’re all his friends. They’ll want to believe in his innocence, and even if they didn’t, they’ll want to avoid a scandal. There’ll be no justice for my mistress. Not unless we testify.”

“They wouldn’t believe us. They think me a slutty interloper and you queer and hateful.”

Her shoulders tensed, but only for a moment; then, she slumped. She took the handkerchief from me and pressed it to her eyes so forcefully drops fell down like tears. “Thank you, Madam, for telling me.”

I sat down next to her, dimpling the mattress. The stale scent of azaleas mixed with dust rose up to meet me. “I have thought our situation over. I’ve turned every option round and round in my mind, and there’s only one thing for us to do, Mrs Danvers. We must run far, far away from here.”

She lowered the handkerchief and stared at me with those sore, burning eyes. “Run away?”

I nodded. “We can’t testify, and we can’t remain here. Would you be able to work for him as nothing had happened? I can’t go on being his wife, at any rate, not now that I know he’s a murderer. What’s there to stop him from murdering again? And there’s my little stranger to think about now, too…” I pressed a hand against my belly. How long until it would swell?

“No,” she said in a low voice, “No, I can’t work for him anymore. You are right. But he wouldn’t let you go, Madam, especially now that you’re carrying his heir. And how would we live?”

We, I thought, and through the sickness and despair, my heart fluttered, she said ‘we’. We shall do this together, she and I. I placed my hand on hers. “Working girls like us can always find something, and I’ve saved a little money when I was Mrs van Hopper’s companion. Surely you’ve saved, too?”

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course. I’ve always had little use for money. But I meant, do you want us to live together, Madam?”

“Yes, yes of course! I can’t imagine living without you anymore, Mrs Danvers. I think that, foolish as it may seem, I’ve come to love you deeply these past few days. It’s as if I’ve looked inside of you and seen you, really seen you, not the cold, efficient housekeeper, but the warm, feeling woman underneath.” Blood rushed to my cheeks, and I felt shy again, tortured by my anxieties. Perhaps I had been too eager, too forward. “Besides, it would be practical. To the outside world, I can be a widow and you my aunt. No one would question it.”

She sat still for a moment, then clasped my hands and brought them to her mouth, kissing them with dry lips. “No one has ever wanted to live with me like that. I’ve always been needed as a nanny, or a housekeeper. Never as a person. Thank you, Madam,” she murmured.

I rested my head against her shoulder. “When should we leave, do you reckon?” Every fibre of my being wished to never see Maxim again, but if we left too hastily, we might make mistakes that could lead Maxim to us. Better to suffer his presence for a little while longer if that meant I could be rid of him forever.

“Not quiet yet, Madam. In a month, perhaps. It gives you time to lull Mr de Winter into a false sense of security, and by then you won’t be so sick with child anymore. Besides, it will give me the time I need to prepare our journey.”

“Will it be hard for you, to leave Manderley? It has been your home for years.”

She stroked a line on the back of my hand. “It was my home because of my mistress. I’ve a new mistress now. Where she leads, I shall follow, and let her be my home.”

Tears pricked in my eyes. “And you shall be mine. My God, I can hardly wait. It shall be heaven, to be with you, to never have to see Mr de Winter again.”

“Well, well, well,” a voice said.

I got up and whipped around. My bowels turned to water and my knees were so weak I almost had to sit down again.

Maxim stood on the threshold, his face that strange waxen mask I had observed in him often when he was tired or angry. “Maxim,” I said stupidly. “I thought… the inquest…”

“That didn’t take more than an hour. A verdict of accidental death. I rushed straight home to tell you the good news, only I couldn’t find you. You can imagine my surprise when Frith told me he had seen you gone into Rebecca’s rooms. I almost didn’t follow you here, but then I thought, what power does that perverted slut hold over me now that I’ve killed her and gotten away with it? Only I didn’t expect to find that my devoted little wife has turned out to be a perverted little slut as well, scheming with a housekeeper twice her age to elope.”

“I didn’t… we weren’t…”

“You little bitch,” he hissed. He dashed through the room and struck me so quickly I barely saw his fist move. His knuckles connected with my cheekbone. The pain took a few seconds to arrive, hot and sharp.

Oh, I thought stupidly. I made to press a hand to my cheek, but he grabbed my wrists and pulled me to him. “You little bitch!” he roared, spittle flying from his mouth. “How dare you leave me?!”

He shook me so hard my teeth rattled. This, I thought with icy certainty, this is how I shall die: at the hands of my husband. Funny; he hadn’t dared kill Rebecca with his own hands, but then I had never quite measured up to his first wife, now had I?

“Stop!” I pleaded. “Maxim, please stop! You’re scaring me!”

He slapped my face with an open palm, bringing tears to my eyes. He raised his hand to strike again when Mrs Danvers said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sir.”

A metallic click sounded.

Maxim turned to look at her, his hand frozen in mid-air.

Mrs Danvers was pointing a gun at him.

Tagging: @solattea, @mlletina, @msmaryadmitrievna, @alice1nwond3rland, @need-not, @halewynslady

#my fanfic #danvich #rebecca #rebecca das musical #rebecca fanfic

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hurting-fictional-people · 3 years

Text

Cry for me

CW: restraints, vomit mention, electrocution, implied noncon, knife cut (?)

Before | After

“Do you know what day is today, precious?”

Kiara glared at Blake, willing all her hatred to show through her eyes since she wouldn’t dare to voice it. She knew if she did, it would only buy her more pain.

They both knew the answer to the question. She had been asking him what day it was for the past… she didn’t know. The days started to blur together soon after she was kidnapped. And ever since they did, Kiara had been tormented by the helplessness of losing everything she ever had, even something as simple as knowing which day it was. Blake had taken so much from her already – her freedom, her house, her life. But it all only truly hit her when time was taken from her too.

Blake had watched her collapse to the floor and curl into herself as Kiara realized she was so completely in his mercy, she depended on him to know something as simple as the days. And he, always the bastard, rejoiced in her despair. Refused to tell her.

If she had to, Kiara would guess she was with him for a month now. Maybe two. Or something in between.

Blake patiently waited for her to answer, never looking away from her blazing gaze. Kiara sighed and hissed through gritted teeth “No, Blake, I don’t.”

“Better yet. Do you know what day is tomorrow?”

Kiara seethed. Oh, how did she want to spit in his face and tell him to fuck off. How did she want to scream and punch him senseless. If the threat of being pinned down and tortured mercilessly wasn’t constantly hovering over her head, she would’ve seriously considered it.

“Come on, don’t be like this, I’m only teasing you.” Blake crooned, brushing a finger under her chin and lifting it slightly. “Tomorrow is your birthday, sunshine.”

With only one sentence, a few well-chosen words, he knocked out all the air from her lungs. Tears welled up in her eyes, but Kiara made sure to squeeze them shut before Blake could see them.

Kiara would be 25 years old when midnight came. She had planned to throw a big party to celebrate it. Had been talking about it since she turned 24. Now, she would spend it with the man who was breaking her piece by piece, probably lost in a daze of hurt and despair. What a birthday.

“Don’t make this face,” he pouted, “you’re turning 25, it’s a beautiful age.”

“How do you know my age?” she asked, turning her face to the side, hoping he would let go of her chin. Thankfully, it worked.

“I know everything about you,” he grinned. A chill ran down her spine, even though she already knew that. She would’ve probably told him whatever he wanted to know either way – when he decided to take something from her, there was no holding it in. “What do you think about a birthday gift?”

She peered suspiciously at him. “A gift is only a gift if there are no strings attached to it. You never give me anything without expecting something in return.”

“You wound me like that, Kiara” Blake breathed, placing a mocking hand over his heart. “Now, seriously, I mean it this time. You’ve been good to me and I think you deserve a treat. So, what do you want?”

“For you to let me go.” His smirk vanished instantly at the response, and something dark replaced it, making her heart skip a beat. She was quick to correct the mistake. “I want a book.”

Tilting his head to the side, Blake narrowed his eyes and unclenched his fists. “Which book?”

“Any book. You can choose.”

She only started breathing again when Blake sighed and smiled, the immediate danger leaving his eyes as she gave him a wobbly smile of her own. He muttered an all right then before taking a handcuff from the nightstand and closing it around Kiara’s wrists. She shuddered, but let herself go limp under him and tried to think about which book he’d choose as he pulled her into the already well-known world of pain and fear.

The book was covered in ugly orange and blue wrapping paper. Blake sat across from her in the living room as she opened it, watching her intently. As soon as she set her eyes on the book, Kiara had to bite her lip to hold back the tears.

Heartless, from Marissa Meyer. The same book her brother had given her the Christmas before, and she had never read.

“Do you like it?” Blake asked, drinking in each emotion that passed through her eyes. “You had a lot of fantasy at your place, and the girl at the bookstore recommended it. It’s an imagined backstory to the Queen of Hearts.”

She didn’t know what was worse, for him to actually know which books she’d like, or that she actually felt a hint of gratitude sparking in her chest. It was twisted and painful, but he had given her a piece of her brother, even if he didn’t know it. A piece of the life she used to have, the person she used to be. Kiara nodded and thanked him, sincerely for once.

“I have a job to do, so I’ll leave you to it,” he said, seeming vaguely disappointed by her lack of enthusiasm. Little did he how fast her heart was pounding, or how hard it was to draw breath through the tightness in her throat.

Kiara missed a lot of things. Everything. But having a distraction, losing herself in a good story, was what she wished for the most after she’d accepted she wasn’t getting out of there anytime soon. Alone in the penthouse – aside from Blake’s employees, who never came too close to her –, she dived into the book until the story took her away from all the hurt, fear, and sadness.

The hours ticked by, but she only stopped reading to go to the bathroom once before returning to the book. As it was, she would be happy to be lost in just about any story, well written or not, but that was one of the good ones.

Pages flew by until she came to the end with tears streaming down her cheeks. It had been good, but so, so sad. Kiara sniffed as she closed it, a familiar peace enveloping her. That wonderful feeling of finishing a great book.

It didn’t last long, though. As soon as she looked up, green eyes pierced into her soul with a seriousness that made her quiver.

“You’re crying,” Blake stated.

“It was a good book,” she said, slowly. “Really good, but also really sad.”

“You never cry because of me.”

Kiara held the book to her heart as if it could protect her from the danger dancing inside of Blake’s eyes, around the edges of his words.

“You scream, and beg and comply, and yet you never once cried,” he said, taking a step closer. “But I leave you alone with a book for a day, and find you crying over a piece of paper.”

His voice was low, but there was something in the way he said it, the way his eyes swept over her, that had Kiara ready to go down on her knees and plead him for mercy.

“It suits you, the tears. It’s cute. But I want you to cry for me.”

Her stomach churned as Kiara brought her knees to her chest, uselessly hoping that if she made herself small enough, he might forget she was there. She knew it was an empty hope even before she did it. It always was, when he was staring at her like that, taking slow steps in her direction, just to watch the fear blossoming in her eyes.

He was right. He had done a lot to her, hurt her in more ways she could ever dream existed, more than she could remember by now, and yet she hadn’t cried once. Refused to. It was the last thing she had control over. The only thing.

“Cry for me, Kiara,” Blake ordered, crouching in front of her. “Cry for me and I won’t hurt you.”

The part of her that had learned to bend and obey shuddered, ready to do it. It wouldn’t be hard. She was always on the verge of tears nowadays. But even though part of her begged her to comply, Kiara gritted her teeth, raised her chin, and stared straight into his eyes.

“The fun way it is, then,” Blake crooned.

Before she could do as much as take a breath, he yanked her out of the couch, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her away, yelling and clawing at his back.

She knew it would only make things worse if she fought, but she also knew she would only cry if he did his worse anyway, so why not throw everything to shit? Her nails found skin under his shirt, and then blood. She was thrown on a table before any real damage could be done, though. Pity.

Kiara thrashed and cursed as Blake closed restraint after restraint around her until she could no longer move. Ankles, wrists, stomach, chest. She could only pant when he finished and towered over her defenseless figure.

“It really is a shame that you decided to behave like this on your birthday, of all days,” he sighed, holding up a knife where she could see it. Kiara’s entire body went rigid as its sharp point touched her temple. “This is for scratching me,” Blake whispered as he pressed the knife until it broke the skin in a shallow cut. And then dragged it down, all the way from her temple to her chin.

Kiara yelped, too stunned to even scream. It burned. Blood soaked her hair, slipped down her neck, warm on her already sweaty skin.

“I hate you,” she choked out, “you can say what you want to, but scaring me not to tell you how much I despise you doesn’t make it go away. I’ll always despise you. I’ll never be yours, no matter how many times you force me to repeat it.”

Blake snickered.

“We’ll see about that, sunshine.”

She continued to spit each hateful, panicked thought her mind could conjure. In the end, she knew all those words would render her was more pain, but at the moment the anger was something to hold on to other than fear. It almost muffled the hurt, too, so she grabbed the rage desperately and used it to try and shield her heart.

Something was stuck to her arms, her legs, her collarbones, but she didn’t give herself time to fear or wonder and just kept jerking against the harsh restraints and shouting her hatred.

Blake worked in silence, watching her resistance with a furrow in his brows.

“You are a fucking psycho, and you never–“ she grunted, cut off by a thick cloth being shoved into her mouth, making her gag. Kiara glared at Blake with wide, furious eyes, hoping he would read her contempt there. He only licked his lips, as if he could already taste her pain.

And then, in the blink of an eye, the entire world shattered around her and was replaced by pure agony.

Electricity coursed through her body, making her muscles constrict, her breath hitch, and a high-pitched screech fill the room. She was beyond any form of rational thought or normal sensation. The pain swallowed her whole until Kiara was nothing more than anguish and despair.

It stopped as suddenly as it started. In a moment she was enveloped in pain, and in the other she was trying and failing to curl into herself, begging muffled pleas.

When the last bolts of pain started to subside and her muscles slowly tried to relax from the painfully constricted position they were in, Kiara found Blake staring at her, looking amused. “The pain suites you, precious. The blood does too. At least you look pretty for your birthday.”

A sob tore through her throat and she closed her eyes fiercely to stop the tears from falling. As soon as she closed them, a pain unbelievably bigger took her away from any rational thought once more.

Pain was too small of a word to describe the unbearable shock that stole away anything she ever was, felt or thought, and left in her place a puddle of hurt.

It lasted forever. A life. Eternity.

When it ended, she felt bile in the back of her mouth, but couldn’t even vomit with the cloth pressed against her teeth. She sagged on the metal table, sleek with sweat, and choked on the gag and the dread.

Her throat felt raw from screams she didn’t remember screaming and her entire body shook and ached. The electricity might have stopped, but the pain didn’t, not in the slightest.

A chuckle filled her ears, accompanied by a gentle hand caressing her cheek. “If I take the gag out, will you be rude to me again?”

She didn’t have the energy to do anything. Not to nod or spit or even open her eyes, really. So Kiara kept them closed and tried to breathe through her nose as Blake pulled the cloth out of her mouth.

“I’m so very pleased with you, Kiara” Blake crooned, slowly unbuckling each restraint. She just laid there on a puddle of her own blood, too drained to move or think or talk. “It’s over now, my precious. You can rest.”

He sounded utterly amused. It was only when he opened the last restraint that her heart stopped for a moment.

Blake was pleased. But she hadn’t…

With shaky fingers, Kiara reached toward her eyes. She felt the wetness there, knew what it meant, but didn’t believe it until her fingertips stood right in front of her eyes, gleaming with tears.

“You didn’t even realize you cried, did you?” Blake murmured, running his fingers through her bloody hair. “Do you realize you’re crying right now?”

This time, when the sob came, there was nothing she could do to stop it. As well as the tears she suddenly felt as burning paths on her skin.

He had truly done it. He had taken everything from her. Every last thing.

Kiara sobbed as Blake picked her up and carried her to the room. She wept throughout the bath he gave her. As he tucked her in and shackled her hands to the bed, there was a steady stream of tears trailing down her cheek, even when the whimpers and sobs stopped.

She thought the tears were stopping when sleep made her eyelids heavy. She would be dehydrated if it went on for much longer.

But then, when Blake leaned in to kiss her cheek and murmured “happy birthday, sunshine,” the sobs started all over again.

#whump #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #defiant whumpee #implied noncon #electrocution #torture #lady whumpee #lady whump #blood cw #vomit mention #knife #birthday whump

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dreamypeaches · 4 years

Text

don’t wake up pt. 5 | rafe cameron x reader

summary: your relationship progresses and rafe makes a mistake

warnings: drug use, alcohol use, cursing, angst (oops)

word count: 4.8k

a/n: apologies in advance. this is sad. it’s also not completely proofread because it made me sad while reading it back. final part will be out tomorrow or monday. enjoy :)

series masterlist

Rafe Cameron was a lot of things. He couldn’t even count all the labels he had swirling around his head. Rafe Cameron was an asshole. Rafe Cameron was a disappointment. Rafe Cameron was an addict. Rafe Cameron was hated. Round and round the words spun in his head. But for the last few weeks, they had slowly started to dissolve replaced by words that spilled like honey from your lips. Rafe Cameron was a good boyfriend. Rafe Cameron was sweet. Rafe Cameron was strong. Rafe Cameron was loved.

You two hadn’t said the words yet, but he knew how he felt about you and he was certain you felt the same. For three weeks you had been official, secretly. Not a day went by that he didn’t see you, hug you, kiss you. You and Rafe hung out everyday. Sometimes, Rafe would plan out elaborate dates, spending his money like it was nothing to buy you a dress and some fancy lingerie. You would drive to the mainland where no one you knew would be, going to the most expensive restaurant he could find, then staying in a suite at the nicest hotel possible. Rafe Cameron was a man who liked to spend his money, he was glad he had finally found something worthwhile to spend it on.

As much as you loved being spoiled by Rafe, most times the extravagance was too much. You grew up on the Cut, you were used to having nothing. You were a simple woman with simple needs, and Rafe would do whatever you wanted to meet them. So, most days, you would drive around the island. You had made several playlists, each one designed to introduce Rafe to a new type of music. Rafe was the first to admit that he had shit taste in music. The first time he had picked you up in his car, he’d pressed shuffle on his music. The look you gave him had been the most terrifying thing he had seen to this day. It was decided then that, as long as you were in the car, you decided on the music. Rafe was pleased to learn that he wasn’t completely hopeless. You had been pleased to hear that he loved Fleetwood Mac, one of your favorite songs being Dreams. From then on, you promised Rafe that you would save him from the musical desert he was living in.

As much as Rafe loved showering you in expensive things, he loved the time in his car with you more. Music turned all the way up, windows down, his hand on your thigh, you singing at the top of your lungs with a contagious grin on your face, it was like a dream. He would drive until the sun started to go down. You would pick up dinner and end up at the beach or one of the beautiful lookouts that graced the Outer Banks. Cuddled up together, you watched the sunset and ate and talked. There were days you couldn’t wait to get home and would have sex under the stars. That’s when Rafe found you most beautiful, moaning his name as the moon reflected around you like a halo. You were his angel, and he was unbelievably happy. Still, it was hard, you both knew it would be.

There were days he fought with his dad and all his negative thoughts and anger swelled up inside him like a bomb. You learned quickly how to defuse him, with soft touches and quiet words, but some days he just needed time. Only once had he come to you, high as a kite with white powder still present on his nose. You shut it down immediately driving him home and telling him if he ever was around you high again, you were done. Rafe had taken it to heart, and had been clean for a couple weeks now, with great difficulty.

He stayed true to his other promise, not provoking your friends when they happened to bump into each other. Despite not knowing about your relationship, it seemed JJ Maybank was intent on making Rafe break his promise.

Rafe had been hanging out with Kelce and Topper when they ran into you, his sister, and the rest of the Pogues. He whispered to his friends to just ignore them, avoiding their surprised looks. Resisting the urge to look at you or touch you, he pushed passed, only to be stopped by JJ’s taunts. He heard you trying to stop him, telling him to just leave it alone, but he wouldn’t listen. Topper and Kelce turned, biting back at the blonde Pogue’s words. Rafe turned as well, meeting your pleading eyes for just a second before grabbing Topper, who had started to approach the group with malice, by the arm and pulling him away.

“They’re not fucking worth it.”

The rest of the Pogues started to leave, but JJ and Topper stood their ground, both refusing to be the first to walk away. Rafe watched as your hand moved to JJ’s shoulder, pulling him towards you but he pushed you off. Rafe’s eyes followed your hand as it trailed down JJ’s arm, taking his hand in yours. White hot jealousy coursed through him as JJ looked at you, and you looked at him, not Rafe. His fists clenched painfully at his side, trying to resist the urge to punch the smirk off his face as he looked back at the Kooks.

“See you Powerpuff girls later,” He said before you pulled harder on his hand. You spared Rafe one last glance, a quiet smile on your face, before walking off, JJ’s hand still holding yours.

Rafe felt himself go numb with rage. It boiled just under the surface for the rest of the day, until that night when he picked you up. He was completely silent on the drive to your destination. You noticed, easily. His normal grip on your thigh was instead wrapped around the steering wheel, showing of his white knuckles. He barely even kissed you when you got into the car, not meeting your eyes. By the time you reached the lookout where you were having your date, you were fed up. Knowing exactly what his problem was, you prepared yourself to confront him. You laid out the blanket while Rafe grabbed the cooler. The moment his butt touched the ground, you were on him.

“Look, I’m sorry about JJ. He doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut,” You started, reaching for Rafe’s hand. He pulled it away from your grasp, turning to look at you for the first time that night.

“Does he have a thing for you?”

Your eyes widened, taken aback by not only the words, but the venom behind them.

“A thing? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you and JJ! I saw you two today! The way you held his hand and the way he fucking looked at you, I can’t get it out of my head! So please, tell me whether or not you have a thing for him so I can decide if I get to break his nose,” Rafe seethed. You looked away and sighed. He allowed you to take his hand this time, though he didn’t return your grip.

“No, JJ doesn’t have a thing for me. But, since I care about you, I’m going to perfectly honest. JJ and I did have a thing, once, many years ago. Honestly, I wouldn’t even call it a thing, it was nothing. I was young and he was my best friend and he was cute. We were sixteen and just trying to figure out dating and all that shit. He asked me out because it made sense, me and him. Everyone already thought we were together, so why not try. We went on one date, he kissed me, and we realized what a terrible mistake we had made.”

Rafe had now laced his fingers with yours, staring down at your intertwined hands as you spoke. You reached up and tilted his chin to look at you.

“Baby, that was years ago. JJ and I are just friends and we will never be anything else.”

“Someone should tell Maybank that,” Rafe mumbled, making you giggle.

“If this,” you motioned between the two of you, “is going to work, you have to trust me.”

Rafe groaned, running a hand through his hair. He rarely wore gel in it when he went out with you, knowing how much you hate it.

“It’s not you I don’t trust, it’s him. This is why I want to stop hiding. That Pogue needs to understand that he can’t touch what doesn’t belong to him.”

You rolled your eyes before lifting yourself up so you were face to face with him, lips inches apart.

“I don’t belong to anybody, Cameron,” You breathed. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you roughly into his lap to straddle him. One hand moved down your back, gripping your ass as he sucked on the sensitive spot below your ear. You let out a moan and he chuckled darkly, whispering in your ear, “Are you sure about that angel?”

Clothes were shed soon after that, Rafe hovering over you and pounding into you as you screamed his name into the night. When you finished, Rafe held you close against his chest, covering both of you with a blanket. His fingers ran through your hair as you head rested on his chest.

“Are you going to the kegger tomorrow?” He asks.

“Of course. Are you?”

“Yeah…” Rafe is silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “Do you want to go together?”

He feels you sigh as you lift her head, resting your chin on his chest to look at him.

“Midsummers is only a week away, baby. I want one more week of just being with you without having to worry about anything else, okay? One more week, then you can shout it from the rooftops if you want.”

He already knew your answer before you had even spoken. Several times throughout the past few weeks Rafe had asked you to go public before you had planned. Each time you said the same thing, just a little bit longer. Rafe Cameron was a lot of things, passionate, persistent, possessive. Patient was not one of those things. That days incident had done nothing to calm his already raging impatience. But he kept it down, willing to wait one more week if it meant being able to hold you like this for the rest of his life.

Rafe woke to you getting ready for work. Your hair was still wet from the shower, hanging loosely around your shoulders as you pulled on a bra and underwear. He didn’t move from the bed, too enraptured by you to even think of turning his gaze away. You felt his adoring stare and turned to give him a smile as you covered up the love bites he had left on your neck the night before.

“Good morning, baby,” You said walking over to give him a peck. Rafe had other ideas, wrapping an arm around you to pull you into his lap, deepening the kiss. A giggle escaped your lips as Rafe’s lips trailed down your neck and you gasped as he sucked at a bare spot on your neck. Satisfied with his work, he leaned away and gave you a smirk.

“You missed a spot.”

You crawled off the bed, flipping him the bird as you returned to your make-up bag. You got ready quickly, the walk to the Wreck from the Cameron residence being much longer than from your own home. Rafe had offered numerous times to give you a ride, but you didn’t want to risk it. Plus, you always added, you liked morning walks, helped you get your mind ready for the day ahead. Rafe couldn’t wait for the days when he could join you on your walks, hold your hand as you moved through the morning sun where everyone could see you.

Kissing him quickly, you pulled away before Rafe could deepen the kiss. You gave him a smile as you started toward the door.

“I’ll see you tonight!” You called before sneaking into the hallway. You had perfected the art of sneaking through Tannyhill undetected, and Rafe could hear you humming the Mission Impossible theme as you disappeared down the hall. He grins at your dorkiness before snuggling back into the pillow that still smells like you.

“Rafe!” The man woke to the sound of his name, jumping as his door bursts open and a stern faced Ward Cameron walks in. “Of course, you’re still asleep.”

Rafe reaches for his phone on the bedside table, mumbling, “What time is it?” 3:13p.m.. Shit.

“Dad, I’m so sorry-” Rafe began before his father cut him off.

“Oh, you’re going to be. You were supposed to be at Davidson’s office three hours ago to help me close that deal. My own son blowing off one of my biggest investors, do you know how big of fool that makes me look?”

Rafe rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to comprehend his father’s words through his sleepy haze.

“I must have forgotten to set an alarm last night. I’ll call Mr. Davidson, I promise, I’ll fix it.”

“You will do no such thing. You’re done.”

Eyes widening, Rafe jumped from his bed, grabbing his pants laying on the ground and pulling them on.

“Dad, please, I know I fucked up, but I can fix this, just let me-”

“No, Rafe. I will fix this, just like I fix everything you ruin.” Rafe’s mouth slammed shut as his father set his menacing glare on him. “You know, for the past few weeks, I thought you were changing. You’ve been different, working hard, getting serious, acting like the son I always wanted, but now…I know it will always come back to this. You will always find a way to disappoint.”

Ward’s eyes rake over his son’s body, taking in the hickies adorning his body.

“And what was it that had you so distracted, hm? Some whore?”

“Don’t call her that,” The viciousness in Rafe’s words takes Ward aback for a moment, but he recovers quickly.

“What should I call her then? Do you have a girlfriend, Rafe, who I haven’t had the privilege to meet? No, of course not, what respectable woman would date you, a boy with no prospects who mooch off his father’s money. A disappointing little shit, what woman would want that?”

Rafe doesn’t meet his eyes. It is silent for a moment, Ward waiting for some sort of response that never comes. He scoffs, shaking his head.

“What father would want that?” He says finally. The door slams as Ward leaves, making Rafe flinch. He stands in the middle of the floor, frozen for a moment by the ice of his father’s words. When he’s sure his father is long gone, Rafe let’s out a frustrated scream, turning to assault the bed with his fists. His breathing is heavy as he pulls away, pushing his hair out of his face and looking around the room. He moved to his dresser, eyes wild as he pulls open the drawer, tossing clothes around until he finds the small, white powder filled baggy. He holds it up, feeling his heart pound. But the words of his father are staring to be drowned out by your voice in his head. Rafe gives the bag one last glance before shoving it in his pocket.

Kelce and Topper are already pregaming when he shows up at the Topper residence a few hours later.

“There he is!” Topper calls, bottle of vodka in hand, “We were worried you’d be too busy being balls deep in Pogue pussy to hang out with us.”

Kelce makes a face at his friend’s crude words, greeting Rafe with a slap of the hand and a fist bump. Both Topper and Kelce knew about his relationship, it had been hard to keep it from them after that day at the golf course. Respectful of your wishes, however, Rafe refused to tell him exactly which Pogue it was. They had their guesses, always bringing up a new name when he saw them. Topper has suggested you once and Rafe had to hold back his urge to confirm.

“Yeah, not today,” Rafe says simply, taking a seat on the couch beside his friends.

“Man, who knew Rafe Cameron of all people would be pussy-whipped. And by a Pogue of all people? You could do better.” If looks could kill, Topper would have dissolved out of existence right then and there. Passing Rafe the bottle of vodka, Kelce tried to ease the tension.

“We’re just glad your happy, man.” Rafe grimaced, chugging almost half the bottle before passing it to Topper.

He had spent the last few hours stewing. Ward’s words sitting at the back of his mind, taunting him. He’d tried to call you, but knew you cared too much about your job to check your phone during a shift. He’d sat in his room, smoking one of the joints you kept there to calm his nerves, to no avail. When all else failed, he drove down the Wreck, needing to see you. But as he walked towards the door, he saw you through the window. Leaning against the counter, you were laughing at something one of the Pogues had said. They were all there, Kiara behind the counter with you while the rest, including his sister, sat on the other side. You looked so happy at that moment, in a world that he never got to see you in. He turned back to his bike at that moment, not wanting to ruin your day with his shit. So, he went to the place he was used to going after a fight with his dad, place he hadn’t been to in weeks.

Barry was surprised to see him, thinking Rafe had dropped dead somewhere finally. He didn’t stop to chat, already too disappointed in himself for being there at all. He bought a couple grams, doing a line before leaving the disgusting home and making his way to Topper’s.

Rafe looked up at Kelce, who’s smile had faded into a look of concern after watching his friend chug most of the vodka. Rafe gave him an emotionless smile, reaching into his pocket.

“Do you know what would make me really happy? If I didn’t have to do all this alone,” Rafe threw a few bags of coke onto the table, earning him a slap on the shoulder from Topper.

“Fuck yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.”

Topper and Kelce continued talking as they sorted the lines, but Rafe tuned them out. His eyes squeezed shut, all he could see was you. You’re disappointed look the first time you had seen him high, your smiling face from earlier today in the Wreck. Ward’s voiced echoed. What woman would want him?

Rafe’s eyes snapped open and he ripped the rolled up bill from Topper’s

“Dude, what the fuck?”

He leaned down and snorted two lines, relishing the familiar burning feeling. Passing the bill back to Topper, he leaned back on the couch. As the high washed over him, he tried for the first time to push all thoughts of you out of his head.

The kegger was in full swing. You’d been there for a little over an hour now and had yet to see your boyfriend. You’d been concerned by the several missed phone calls from him waiting on your phone at the end of you shift. You’d tried calling back, but no answer. Again, on your way to Kie’s to get ready for the party, no answer. No texts, no nothing. Kiara had noticed your concerned look as you sat on her bed, staring at her phone.

“Everything okay?” She asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” You replied.

“Is it your secret lover?” Kie wiggled her eyebrows at you and you gave her a half-hearted laugh.

“He isn’t answering. But, it’s whatever, I’ll see him later, I’m sure.” You tried to shrug off the worry nagging you from the back of your mind.

“Wait! Is he going to be there tonight? Do we get to meet him?” Smiling at her excitement, you shook your head.

“Yes, he will be there but no, you don’t get to meet him. Soon, I promise.”

Kiara gave you a look before turning back to her closet, picking out the perfect outfits for both of you.

She continued to check in on you throughout the kegger. Your anxiety was interfering with your ability to have fun, too busy searching for any sign of Rafe and checking your phone constantly. The phone was suddenly yanked from your hands as JJ appeared in front of you, a concerned looking Kie and Pope behind him.

“You need to calm down. I feel like I need to take a Xanax, you’re anxiety is so bad.”

You tried to grab for your phone, but JJ snuck it into his back pocket, handing you his drink instead.

“Have fun, Y/N! I’m sure lover boy will show up soon!” Pope said, JJ nodding in agreement. You tried to heed their words, but it did little to suffocate your worries. A distraction was in order. You looked out onto the dance floor, noticing Sarah and John B dancing up on each other. You downed the contents of the red cup, barely even tasting it as it slid down your throat.

“You’re right, let’s dance!” You said, dragging your friends to the dance floor beside John B and Sarah. Soon enough, you were moving you hips to beat, laughing and spinning as your friends danced along with you. You suddenly gasped, moving over to JJ as one of your shared favorite songs came on. He took your hand, spinning you around and dancing like an idiot as you both shouted the words. You felt your worries slowly start to fade away, unaware of the jeep that had just pulled up to the edge of the Boneyard.

Rafe sat in the car, frozen as his friends hopped out. Kelce appeared at the passenger window, pulling the door open.

“You coming man?” No. He thought. He didn’t want to face you, didn’t want your to realize who you were actually dating. A disappointment, an asshole, and addict. But Topper wasn’t having it. He took Rafe by the arm and pulling him out of the car.

“C’mon, let’s go find your little Pogue.” Rafe felt his feet move, his heart pounding as they got closer and closer to the excitement of the party. The music was blasting and he recognized it immediately. It was one of your favorites. He pictured you in the passenger seat of his truck, dancing wildly in your seat as you yelled the words. He knew exactly where you would be.Like a magnet, his gaze was pulled to you on the dance floor and all his worries and self-hatred of the day faded.

Instead, he was filled with white-hot rage, burning through him like a wild fire in the summer. You were next to Maybank. He watched you dancing, laughing, being happy with someone who wasn’t him. He heard his heart pounding in his ears as JJ grabbed your hand, twirling you around. His feet moved on their own, marching down the sand and straight toward you. All he saw was red as he threw the punch, fist connecting with Maybank’s cheek and sending him to the ground. There was yelling and gasps from the crown as Rafe climbed on top of the blonde, gripping his shirt and landing punch after punch. His knuckles were on fire and wet from the blood covering JJ’s face. He couldn’t stop. He heard you scream his name. He couldn’t stop. He felt something crack beneath his fist. He couldn’t stop. Someone grabbed him, spoke to him, he couldn’t hear.

You were in front of him suddenly, eyes full of tears and fury. Your mouth was moving, but he couldn’t comprehend what you were saying. All he knew was you were yelling, before turning back to JJ, who was being helped up by John B and Pope. Your hands cupped his barely conscious face that was more black and blue and red than anything else. He watched you say something to him, watched John B and Pope carry him away, watched you return to him. You didn’t touch him, just started walking to the edge of the beach. He followed. He had to.

It was almost completely silent where you were, you had walked so far. All he could hear was the crashing of the waves (or was that the pounding in his head?) and your uneven breathing. He stood in front of you, staring at the sand at your feet. He was startled by your soft touch as you took his hand, holding his wrist to examine his knuckles, which were red and bloody. Just as soon as it had come, your touch was gone, his hand dropping to his side limply.

“What the fuck, Rafe?” Your voice wavered, watery and dejected. The anger had not yet disappeared from his veins, clouding his mind as he spoke.

“He was touching you. I told you, Maybank needs to learn not to touch what’s not his.”

“And I told you to trust me! I told you to leave my friends alone! You almost killed him, Rafe.”

Silence. He’d never heard you yell before, never heard anger come from your angelic lips. But what he noticed the most was the fear. Fear of him, of what he is. He couldn’t speak, but you wouldn’t allow him to stay silent.

“Rafe, fucking look at me!” You took his head in your hands, tilting it up to meet your eyes. Rafe wanted to crumble at the look on your face. It wasn’t just disappointment that swam in your eyes. Sadness, fear, anger, they all were there too, but one was more prominent than the others. Disgust.

“You’re high,” You stated, releasing his head and taking a few steps back.

“What did you want me to do, huh? I couldn’t even talk to you about it! I couldn’t walk up to you and say ‘excuse me, can I cut in? I want to dance with my girlfriend.’ No, because you want to hide. This wouldn’t have happened if you had just come with me!”

“So this is my fault now? I didn’t shove the cocaine up your nose and make you beat the living hell out of my friend!”

“Maybe not, but if you had just listened to me, we wouldn’t be here! Maybe, if you weren’t friends with those dirty fucking Pogues, we would be happy!” Your glare sent a knife right through his heart.

“Those dirty Pogues are my family! And if you’re calling them dirty, then you’re calling me dirty too. Just because you deemed me worthy of your Kookness doesn’t change who I am, where I come from!” You sniffle, looking down at your feet.

“But that’s just it, isn’t it? That’s what it comes down to, Kooks and Pogues. Maybe this is my fault, maybe if I wasn’t so scared of losing you, of losing my friends because of some stupid rivalry, it would be okay. But that’s not how it works here. You will always be a Kook and I will always be a Pogue and there will always be some impossible gap between us that, not matter how hard he try to cross it, we will always fall to the bottom.

“And I hate it, because I…I love you, Rafe.” His heart breaks at the way your voice quivers around those words he had been so desperate to hear. He wants to reach out to you, hold you, kiss you, scream at you, anything. But he’s frozen to the spot, a lump forming in his throat as you move closer to him.

“I love you, but I don’t think we can do this. There will always be something.”

You will always find a way to disappoint. They weren’t your words, no, but they were close. There would always be something for Rafe to fuck up.

“I love you, Rafe. I’m sorry…” You trailed off, hand lingering on his bicep before disappearing, walking back towards the party and away from him.

Rafe stood there, still frozen. Some part of him was shouting at him, begging him to go after you. Don’t lose her, you can’t lose her! But the other part of him, the part that screamed louder, kept him where he was, far away from you and your heart that he had broken.

Rafe Cameron was a lot of things. Rafe Cameron was an asshole. Rafe Cameron was a disappointment. Rafe Cameron was an idiot. Rafe Cameron was an addict. But, most of all, Rafe Cameron was loved, and he had fucked it all up.

taglist: @teenwaywardasgardian @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @obxmxybxnk @butgilinsky @juliarose21 @bluesiderudy @ilovejjmaybank @diverrdown @diverdcwn @drewsephsmiles @https-luna @broken-jj @nqbmf @ityagirljay @downbytheouterbanks

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fic #obx fic #my writing

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thisnoodlewritesao3 · 3 years

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Angst you say? I have an idea so lets go with noya or Kyoutani gets in an argument with reader because hmmmm maybe reader or the boys aren't taking care of themselves properly and it can end with some fluffy cuddles maybe?

Ah, okay, this isn’t too good. But here is a lovely little angst to sluff Nishinoya fic! @pitterpatterpies Here, have some angst to fluff, because- I’m horrible uwu

Warnings: Um, hinted depression, self-neglect. I dunno what to call it. But, Noya is having a v hard taking care of himself in the eating department

----

“I hate seeing this way!” You bit back against him. You’d come over to his house at the ask of his sisters - the loss from Aoba Johsai hit him harder than he would ever admit - everything a silent reminder that he wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t fast enough. That he would never be enough. Every worry and doubt seeping deeper into his mind, coaxing over his soul until you were sure he was drowning in the thoughts. He’d been watching the match on repeat, bags under his eyes heavy, maybe it was your imagination, but you were sure he’d lost some weight. It hurt you. Made you sick that it was killing him so much; so you tried to comfort him, you tried to soothe him with soft words and promises of home cooked food. He kept fighting. Kept pushing you away.

“Then go!” He snapped, finally tearing his eyes away from the screen to meet yours; somehow, they were so empty. This wasn’t the bright boy you knew, ever happy and fun-loving. No.

“Why would I go when you’re sitting here, hating yourself over something you can’t change?” You pushed off of his bed, pacing lightly to ease your nerves. “You don’t eat, you barely drink, you force yourself into practise, you haven’t even been sleeping. Can you just talk to me?”

“There isn’t anything to talk about.” He rolled over again, focusing back on the screen.

“Yes, there is,” you reached over him quickly, snatching the phone from his grasp, using all your willpower to not throw it across the room. He was quick to jump after it but you managed to scramble away, “why do you keep watching this? Do you think it’s going to make you feel any less of a failure? Are you searching for the answers of your mistakes inside a recording of a match that is focused purely on making you look your worst?”

He wasn’t even focused on your words, too ruled by his own emotions for it to be worth it.

“What do you think watching this is going to solve?!” You yelled, kicking him away from you. You had light scratches and bruises forming on your arms from his frantic movements, but none of that mattered. Nothing mattered if he was this way. You swallowed your own anxieties and focused purely on the boy in front of you.

He was silent, eyes darting around the room. When they landed on his jacket, you knew there was only one thought on his mind. He stood up slowly, dragging his body towards the fabric; but you couldn’t let him leave. Not now. Not when he was volatile. So you did the first thing you could think to do, launching yourself and grabbing his ankle, tugging him back onto the floor.

You didn’t let him get back up, moving quickly to sit on top of him, “do you think you’re not good enough?” You were seething, heart racing and filled with rage, worry, fear. So many things but no answers. Except that seemed to be it; his eyes widened before he scrunched up his face and turned away. “Well, you are! You are good enough, Yuu. You tried your best, you fought your hardest, you kept the ball up for as long as you possibly could.” Any confidence you had was quickly sputtering away. “I was so proud of you, I <am> so proud of you. More than you. More than you could ever imagine.” Tears were building in your eyes, he looked at you; the sight made you want to break down, but you had to keep going. Just for a little longer. Just a few more minutes. A few more words. “But you can’t go on like this.” You released his wrists and cupped his cheeks, gently rubbing your thumb over the soft surface. “If you want to be better, whatever better is, then you have to take care of yourself. You have to eat. And sleep. You have to drink. You have to be kind to yourself. You have to talk to me. Tell me what’s happening in your pretty mind, baby, okay?” He barely managed to nod, so slow, so subtle that you might’ve missed it. Hesitation deep in his eyes. “Can you say it?”

He swallowed, taking in a deep breath, “okay…” that was the softest he’d ever spoken. You didn’t move from on top of him, choosing to pull his chest up and bury his head in the crook of your neck, running your hands through his hair. For a little longer, his arms remained by his side, then - eventually - they lifted up, wrapping around your waist, squeezing you lightly, nails scratching against the surface of your back. You whisper sweet nothings into his ear.

Time seems to pass so slowly as he sobs in your arms - the tension that eases from him takes its sweet time until every muscle in his back relaxes - sobs hushing to little whimpers and sniffles.

Eventually, when he’s calmed down enough, you pull him back into his bed, pulling the covers over him. When you step away, he reaches out, so weak, only releasing you when the promise of food leaves your mouth.

Of course, you don’t leave him alone for long - thank God his sister’s had already made some food for the two of you - and you soon return to his side. He whines and you roll your eyes, feeding him piece by piece as some random YouTube video plays on his phone.

He’s sleepy - though that barely even describes it - so you send your parents a message that you’ll be back home tomorrow, and stay by his side. He points you in the direction of some shorts and one of his shirts and you hurry into them, not wasting a moment to get back to his side.

Once you’re on the bed, he curls up close to your side, resting his head on your chest and clinging to you like a needy child. His breaths calm, after some time, and you press a light kiss to his forehead, “I love you, Yuu.”

“I love you, too.”

#haikyuu!!#hq #nishinoya yuu #nishinoya x reader #writing #my writing #haikyuu writing #angst #fluff

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botwstoriesandsuch · 3 years

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The reason aoc had no stakes is cuz even if we lost link would just take a nap and then wake up and murder ganon with a stick

Ok I recognize that this is a joke and I love you good job have a lil kiss *mwah* nice joke nice joke but also I am in MAJOR WRITING MODE which means that I am prompted to write essays on the storytelling process at the flip of a switch and buddy, pal, chum, mate, this is a major switch that has been flipped

Because it gets on my nerves, it’s one of my BIGGEST PET PEEVES of ALL TIME, I abso-fucking-lutely DESPISE, when people think that stakes is equivalent to life and death. I just hate it, it makes me seethe to no end. I could grip the clouds from the heavens, and my rage would make it rain upwards.

People who think stakes is just about winning or losing or living or dying, I will stake you, I will do violent crimes. You wanna know why those big superhero movies like Justice League and what not don’t work? It’s because it thinks that big giant death armies are meaningful stakes. You know stuff like Civil War, or hell even shows like Attack on Titan or Gravity Falls work? It’s because it’s stakes exist both externally and internally, and the consequences of actions exist beyond just living or dying or winning or losing.

Listen to me very closely. The reason Age of Calamity has no stakes, is because you don’t care about the characters. It’s not because of the timelines, or resurrections, or whatever whatever, no. It’s because you don’t care about the characters.

Now Ashshshshsh, yes you love your bird and fish husbands and wives very much ok yes I get that, I do too. BUT, BUT, when you look at this from the storytelling perspective, like thinking from the perspective of someone experiencing the story fresh for the very first time, with or without botw context. You did not care about the characters, you cared about the ending. That is why there are no stakes.

Why the fuck do you care if Teba dies? Like, sure, if Teba dies, you are sad, the character that you love is dead, you might even cry! But why do you care, what are the consequences of his death, what happens if he dies, what does he, on a character level lose?

What you’re typically supposed to do to get your audience to care, is establish a character, develop them, then give them a goal and a need to attain that goal, a good goal or motivation that affects a character both externally and internally, and then when the conflict or battle comes up, you’re left with that feeling of “oh no, I really hope this character wins, because otherwise, [insert something] happens, and I don’t want that.” That’s what stakes is, in very broad concept.

That’s why living and dying is a form of stakes, but it’s not the only one. “Oh no, this character is hurt, I really hope this character wins, because I like them, and I want them to live.” That’s you stakes. Same idea with winning and losing. “Oh no, this character is losing this volleyball match. I really hope this character wins, because they’ve worked hard to reach their goal, and I don’t want to see that go to waste.” Okay, great.

Now the PROBLEM is, those concepts are overdone to the point of extinction, like it’s arguable that the stakes of living and dying just doesn’t exist as a strong good form of stakes in media anymore. Whether by symptom of plot armour, of predictable writing, or the establishment of modern tropes and clichés, blah blah blah, you can’t solely rely on those ideas for stakes. ESPECIALLY in the realm, of video games. I don’t need to spell out the whole living and dying aspect of it right? And the winning and losing stakes goes out the window because that concept has an entirely different meaning and tone when the player is the one in control. Essentially what I’m saying here is, on a character level, you can’t rely on those ideas as a sense of stakes because it just doesn’t have meaning. But the thing is, Age of Calamity does rely on it. And it SOME aspects, it worked.

You have experience good stakes in this game before. You’ve probably done it on some crazy tough side mission or some interesting self-made quest to find yourself that last raw bird wing to finish up that upgrade. You yourself struggled, and understood the journey that you went through, the time that you invested to make yourself better (as big or small as it may be) at the game, and you eventually beat that level, or found that item. And you were genuinely relieved and happy. Whether you realized it or not, you were on the edge of your seat, intently focused on the task and “battle” at hand, you were invested in yourself, and the effects of the outcome of your struggle. That’s what good stakes does. That’s why so many videogames have impactful story telling.

But listen here, the reason you only experience those good stakes through the gameplay, is because you don’t need to put in the effort to care about yourself. You’re you! You know yourself, you played out your motivations and struggles. That all happens without the games help. So now the issue becomes, you need to emulate that same feeling for the story world and it’s characters. And Age of Calamity just puts in none of the meaningful work to get you care about the CHARACTERS on a CHARACTER LEVEL. It relies SOLEY on the work done by Breath of the Wild, with the exceptions of maybe Kohga and King Rhoam. And also Sidon is an exception in the sense that his relationship to his sister is a pretty decent stake (but tbh the bar is VERY LOW)

We’ve established how the stakes of winning or losing or living through a battle don’t have as much strength as motivations or stakes in this game. So, knowing that....Name Daruk’s motivation. Name a true and honest reason why Zelda shouldn’t die. And don’t tell me that “because it would make the other characters sad” because that is just a reaction to events (based on the characterization and writing work done by AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT GAME cause again Hwaoc doesn’t character develop for shit) being sad isn’t motivation, or stakes. Being sad is a normal human reaction to anything ever, it isn’t anything new, and by god it doesn’t inherently impact the world or story around you.

You know what would have been good stakes? If Age of Calamity developed the New Gen Champs a bit more and maybe one of them could say something like, “I feel it’s my duty to help stop the Calamity, because the fact that I time traveled here means that I have a big responsibility, and if we lose then I’m a failure in both this time and my own. So I need to step up to the plate that has been set for me” or something something. Or, and this is a big one, give ASTOR something to do (because stakes is inherently about CONFLICT and you can’t have good internal and external stakes when there is nothing to CONFLICT with the other characters) let Astor be like “This world doesn’t deserve to go on, humanity has made too many mistakes, I was abandonded as a child, the King murdered my mom, I need power to get revenge, or to revive some dead family member” blah blah blah pick one of the clichés but at least it would be SOMETHING. When motivations conflict, that’s what gets you to care about characters, because then it’s not just about living or dying, it about the effects of that death, or that loss. If this character dies, they died believing a lie, or believing they were a failure and I don’t want that. If this character is defeated, they won’t get another chance to save the people they care about, and I don’t want them living with regret. These two characters have sympathetic goals, and I can see the points that both sides have with their motivation, but I also like them so I don’t want them to die, oh no, what’s gonna happen.

If you don’t CARE about the characters, and their goals, if the only thing that’s keeping you awake at night about them living or dying is “I like them” then there is something wrong.

You didn’t finish Age of Calamity because of the characters, you didn’t finish it out of an honest desire to see these characters reach their goals. MAYBE there’s a connection you had for Zelda, but honestly compared to Breath of the Wild, it’s nothing. You finished Age of Calamity simply out of curiosity to see what happened at the end, to see what your efforts of gameplay lead up to. You had no actual character arcs to latch onto or care about, which means you had no expectations or desire to see how they would play out, no STAKES no INVESTMENT. Which means live, die, resurrect, or perma-death as you see, you’re not invested in the characters, your invested in the time you put into that media.

#hwaoc spoilers #also not to be a film nerd on zelda-sideblog but this is why Age of Ultron doesn't have the same effect as the original avengers #and this is also why the ending of gravity falls or atla are the best #and also why disney live action remakes dont work

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