#I noticed it's always something that makes TRAs look bad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sykhan048 · 2 years

Text

Your Beloved...(chapter 25)

At Endeavor, Cutler was doing some paper work. Today was janes birthday. He was in his study engrossed in work. He was trying to make himself busy. This is the only way that he can forget his pains for some time. Mini watched him. She also felt bad for him. Then she thought something. She went from there. After some time she came at Cutler's study. He was still working. Mini entered the study. He was still working. He didn't notice Mini. Mini silently walk past Cutler's table and went to the balcony.

After sometime, Cutler's concentration broke by heard some sound. He looked here and their and saw Mini was talking with someone. He was surprised because he can't see anyone's presence except Mini. He got up from his seat and tried to hear the not so one way conversation.

Mini: You know what, Today I ride the horse. With Cutler. You know who is Cutler? Ok let me tell you He is the Chairman of East India tra....(suddenly stop) OOpsss...I forgot You know him already. You know what He hurt his teeth just because of his ego. He even ready to bear the pain but not ready to go to dentist. Such a rude and Egoistic person. Bitter groud. huhhh!!!

Cutler was totally confused that Mini is talking about him to a invisible person.

Mini: You know what he call me brainless kid. KID??? Am I look like a kid? Always scold me.

Cutler is now curious to know that who is the person that Mini is complaining about him. He went behind her.

Mini: Yes, I also trouble him, Quarrel with him. But you know How innocent I am.

Cutler: who is there? (muttered)

Mini: But anyways, He is not much bad that I thought. He is a nice person. He cares for me. How much I irritate or annoy him he could never hurt me.

Cutler smiled a little.

Mini: But one things that I don't like about him. He always hide his pain and anger behind his coldness. I don't like him for this behavior.

Cutler lost some where.

Mini: Oh no, I have to go otherwise the bitter ground will come and start his boring lectures.

Cutler chuckles.

Mini: Good night Mom. I love u. I miss you.

Cutler: Mini!!

Mini: oh Cutler! come in.

Cutler came in.

Cutler: what are you doing?

Mini: nothing just talking with my mom. Do you wanna met her?

Cutler: With pleasure but you said you mom....

Mini: hmm. I said but that doesn't mean I can't talk with her. look..(She pointed her finger)

Cutler followed the direction and see that I was a star.

Mini: That is my mom. Clam and steadily shining. I never got a chance to met my mom. I don't have any attachment or any memory of her. I don't even remember her face. But when I saw my friends with their mom, I really felt sad. I thought if my mom was alive then I could also get the warmth of my mom, I could also get the love of my mom. Yes, My dad loves me a lot. When I was a child I cry a lot for my mom. I was in depression. I felt incomplete without her.

Cutler: Then What did you do?

Mini: Not me. My dad did. He took me to our terrace and pointed that star and said that,

" This is your mom. She is watching you. Dear, your mom love you so much"

Little Mini: Then why did she go to sky? Didn't she know How much I miss her?

"She know it. She also miss you. She don't like to see you sad. But She can't came. She was so pure that god take her. Because god need good people to make star angels. But she don't like to see her princess in the pool of tears. She also cry along with you. Do you want to make your mom cry?"

Little Mini: No dad. I don't want.

"Then promise me and your mom that you will always stay happy. For your mother's sake. If you want to say anything to your mom or miss her, you will talk with her. She will definitely listen to you."

Little Mini: yes dad. I will never cry again. never.

Mini: That time dad just tell me this things to sooth a motherless child. He just tell me a story to save me from depression. Indeed it's just a excuse to distract a child. But what ever he want to say was absolutely correct. (Turning to Cutler and holding his hand) Cutler, We have no control in our birth and death. We can't have any option to choose these things. We can't ignore this 2 things. It is already decided. Death is a truth we have to accept. If we always stay sad by remembering them, they will also won't get peace.

Cutler was listening to her very attentively.

Mini: I had not a single memory of my mom, but I keep myself alive with that childish talk to keep her soul happy. You have so many bitter- sweet memory of jane, the moment's which you spend with her, janes works, her paintings everything. If I can do it then can't you live you life like jane wanted to see? Today is janes Birthday. Do you thing she is happy to see her brother sad? Didn't she was the one who wised never ending smile and happiness for you? You are making her fell guilty for her death which was not in her control.

Cutler looked another direction to control his tears. Mini understand this. She was about to go but stop midway.

Mini: I know it is hard for you. You can take your time. I just want to tell you something. (pointing a little girl) Her name is also jane and today is also her birthday. She is a daughter of a poor fisherman. Her parents couldn't celebrate her birthday. I promised her to celebrate her birthday. If you want, you can also join with me. At least the smile of this little girl will give peace to jane.

Mini went from their leaving Cutler alone to give him some time for himself.

Mini went to the garden. The garden was decorated as the occasion of birthday. Mini made all the arrangements. The Children came there along with the birthday girl Jane. She was so happy to watch this arrangements. The children thanked Mini. Mini smiled to them but then she looked at the The Endeavor. The Shadow of Cutler is visible threw the curtain of his study's window. Mini sigh.

Mini: (in mind) Will Cutler come?

Children's are went to get ready with their best clothes. Mini was still waiting for Cutler.

Meanwhile Cutler was watching them from window.

He was thinking about Mini's words. But then he scope his mind and came back to his desk.

At black pearl,

Someone is calculating something. He is sitting on a large table holding a bottle of rum and staring a compass. Yes he is the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow. He is searching his map which is lost.

"we still didn't find jack....Jack??"

Will and Gibs are talking while walking past the dock. They saw Jack and shocked. The ran to him.

Will: Jack, Where have you been?

Jack: Eh...working to find..Er....help ya.

Gibs: Why I am feeling sir that you are hiding something.

Will: Jack you went Tortuga right?

Jack: ......(couldn't say any thing)

Will: Jack where is your map?

Jack: emm...Itislost.

Will: What?

Jack: it is lost.

Will and Gibs wide their eyes in shock.

At ground,

The birthday girl arrived. She is looking so cute.

Mini: You are looking so cute Jane. Happy birthday dear.

Mini said with a smile.

Jane: Thank you Miss Sen.

Mini: Your welcome, (softly pulling her cheeks).

The children asked her to come and start the party. Mini was lost in ger thought. The lights are still on at Cutler's study.

Mini: Maybe he won't come. I really hoped a lot. (sigh)

#potc #potc fanfiction #lord cutler beckett #lord cutler beckett x reader #cutler beckett #cutler beckett x reader #pirates #pirates of the carribean: at worlds end #pirates of the carribean #pirates of the caribbean #fanfiction #cutler beckett imagine #cutler beckett fanfiction #cutler becket X fem reader #tomholander #cutler becket x oc

1 note · View note

everyhowlmarksthedead · 3 years

Text

DAY 1. FIRST ENCOUNTER.

A CHALLENGE WITH JAVIER PEÑA. ┃ NARCOS.

❝ words: about 1k.

❝ tag list: @diogodxlot @purrrrfect @danniburgh @rocketqueen @catcher11 @pedritobalmando @penelopeimp

❝ if you want to be added to the tag list for this challenge, send me a message or leave a comment.

Friday night means girls' night. Your friends and you meet at your house to get ready to have dinner and enjoy some drinks at your favorite club. It's been a crazy week since, supposedly, Pablo Escobar blew up a whole airplane in a failed attempt to kill Colombia's President. So you deserve it indisputably. You have worn your favorite white sink dress, fitting your anatomy to perfection and highlighting your legs; ready for anything.

As always, three Margaritas and one Guaro shot and you're already in the middle of the dancefloor. Letting yourself go with both eyes closed and your arms raised over your head, your hips swing at the rhythm of the Latin music earning more attention than you actually wanted. But you don't care, you're too focused on having fun with your friends as if outside of the local there's no a government-narcotraffickers' war.

Isabel holds your hands to dance with you, drawing an innocent grin on her lips, leaning onto your ear. “Hay un tipo tras de vos que no le quita ojito”.

(There's a guy behind you, who doesn't stop staring at you).

Squinting at her and wrinkling your nose, she makes you turn around pretending you are still dancing with her. As soon as your eyes land on him, your stalker puts his glaze away trying to keep a stiff upper lip having smoke from his cig, feigning he was talking with his own friends and not devouring you with his chocolate orbs. Isabel turns you again to face her, showing a gesture of approbation. That guy looks good. Really good. But he also looks like an asshole, so you aren't sure about what to do.

Your friend pushes you to the bar, alone, giving you the correct answer to the questions inside your head. You're not the kind of girl who hooks with the first man who makes googly eyes to you, but he has something different. Something mysterious. And you are too curious to let him go without figuring it out.

However, you change your mind at the last second, having another plan better than Isabel's. Going back to the table where your friends are, you wear your jacket in silence before hanging your purse from your shoulder. They don't say anything, knowing to perfection which card you are going to play. Blowing a kiss to the girls, you lead your steps to the exit door.

You're not going to lie, the fresh air feels like coming back to life, walking slowly to enjoy the streets of Bogotá and hoping that man follows you. You aren't scared. You can recognize when a guy is a bad hit, and when is a god's gift. And he's the second one.

“Señorita”.

(Miss).

You have to do your best to hide the satisfied smile trying to appear on your lips, turning around to the call claiming your attention.

“¿Qué se le ofrece, señor?”

(Do you need something, sir?)

“¿Ya se marcha?”

(You leaving?)

“Sí. Como que ya se me hizo tarde”. You reply shrugging, letting him come a little closer.

(Yeah. It's late).

“Entonces, déjeme darle una carrera a casa. No debería vagar sola por las calles a estas horas”. Tossing his cig to the ground and smashing it with his left boot, he offers you a hand to hold it.

(Then, let me take you home. You shouldn't walk alone at this point of the night).

Raising an eyebrow incredulously, you can't help but let a chuckle escape from your throat shaking your head slightly.

“¿Qué le hace pensar que me voy a subir a su auto, ah?“

(What makes you think I'm going to go with you?)

“Si no quiere, la puedo detener”.

(If you don't want, I can arrest you).

Unbelievable. Crossing your arms over your chest, you can't believe what he's saying. Seeing him tilt his chin with a soft move while clicking his tongue, he tucks a hand inside his jacket to grab something. You take a step back, feeling your heart racing because of the thought of a gun. In fact, he shows you a badge. A DEA badge.

“No me puede detener, no llevo drogas. Ni tampoco las consumo”.

(You can't arrest me, I don't have drugs with me. And I don't do drugs either).

“No dije que la fuese a detener por drogas. Me ha robado el corazón y fíjese que es un delito”.

(I didn't say I was going to arrest you for drugs. But you stole my heart and that's a criminal act).

His tone of voice is firm and convincing while tangling his hands in a fist under his abdomen and keeping eye-contact.

Oh, he has balls. Two big balls. And you don't want to recognize it, but he has won.

“Bueno, dale…” You accept the offer, leaning forward a little to read his name on the badge. “Agente Peña, me puede llevar a casa”.

(Okay, fine. You can take me home, Agent Peña).

The triumphant smirk he shows you, keeping his identification back to the inside pocket of his leather jacket, gives you chills down your back causing you to bite your bottom lip. Licking it lightly, you hold the arm he is offering you to lead you straight to his car.

The road to your house is silent —but not uncomfortable—, except for the guidance to find your neighborhood, even if he knows the whole street plane of Bogotá. But your voice is doing something to him, so he continues asking you where he has to drive to. And you have noticed that his car is running slowly, probably because the Agent wants to stay a little more with you. But the road has an end, much to his regret. Much to your regret.

“Ya llegamos”. You announce tilting your head towards him.

(We've arrived).

“Fue un placer traerla a casa, sana y salva”.

(It's been a pleasure, now you're safe and sound).

“Un servicio excelente, se lo agradezco, señor Peña”.

(And I appreciate it, Mr. Peña).

“Me puede llamar Javier”.

(You can call me Javier).

You lick your teeth on a funny grimace before opening the passenger door to step out from his car, looking for your keys inside your purse.

“Hey, ¿cuál es su nombre, ah?”

(Hey, what's your name?)

“Estoy segura de que lo puede averiguar usted solito, si tanto le interesa”. You can't help but tease him, walking backward to your house as you wave a hand comically.

(I'm sure you can figure it out without my help if you really want to know it).

He chuckles resting an arm on the wheel, looking at you through the open window. You like to play, but what you don't know is that he invented the game.

“Buenas noches, Javier”.

(Good night, Javier).

#narcos imagine #narcos #javier peña imagine #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña x you #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n

206 notes · View notes

eggtoasties · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2: II. Adagio

Read Chapter 1: I. Allegro

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Kuroo used to think the best sound in the world was a volleyball hitting the court on the other side of the net. Now, he has other things on his repertoire.

They were both called to the music room during study hall. As Kuroo walked towards Jouda-sensei, he watched as their teacher tried to cajole her into something, unable to catch their words at a distance. Arms crossed, she sent Kuroo an unimpressed stare making him respond with a nervous grin as he came to a stop.

“I was hoping to set you two up for lessons during study hall,” Jouda-sensei said, nodding between the two of them.

“No offense,” she said, quickly glancing at Kuroo, “but I’m paid to do this outside of school. Also, I don’t really have time to meet every single day—shouldn’t Daisuke be doing this? I’m sure he,” she jutted her chin towards Kuroo, “and I will both get called to other teachers and clubs during study hall so I don’t know if this’ll work out,” she huffed.

Eyebrows raised high, Kuroo said, “Wow, didn’t realize I was dead meat to you already, first chair,” resulting in a pout from Jouda-sensei and a glare from her which made him nervously snicker. He put his hands in his pockets, subtly wiping away at the clamminess of his palms.

“Aw, come on now, you know Daisuke-kun isn’t…” Jouda-sensei trailed off, trying to find the words, “the best at teaching. But,” she said brightly, “you’re the leader for a reason! And it doesn’t have to be every day—just coordinate with each other and other people to set up a rotation. I just want Kuroo-kun to be set up with good habits from the start.”

Sighing wearily and nodding, she faced Kuroo as Jouda-sensei left them.

Slouching in what he hoped was a nonchalant pose, he flashed a grin.

“So, are you gonna charge me by the minute?” Kuroo arched his brow. “Because I don’t really have the funds for that. Plus, I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to sell anything on school grounds.” Readjusting his backpack straps and slightly loosening his tie, his eyes met hers quickly before finding a place over her shoulder. “But, if you don’t have time or whatever that’s--” he stumbled over his words, “I’m sure I can figure something out.”

Rolling her eyes, she loosened her school tie. “Yeah, I’m going to charge a thousand yen a minute and if you don’t pay up, I’ll have my goons knock your kneecaps in.”

“Didn’t realize being captain,” she shot him an amused grin and he bookmarked it for later, “of the orchestra came with your own henchmen. Maybe I should’ve started way earlier,” he drawled.

“Yup,” she said cheerily, popping the ‘p.’ “They do all my coursework and bully people out of their lunch money so I can add it to my secret treasury in the cave underneath the school,” she said conspiratorially. “Also,” she began, facing fully towards him. “It’s nice to meet you—I really don’t mind helping you out, it’s just that with my last year of high school things are hectic with exams and applications and I really can’t commit to everyday,” she explained.

His shoulders relaxed with a breath he didn’t know he was holding, previous tension dissipating with her explanation. Kuroo nodded and held out his hand. As she grasped it, he raised a brow at the strength of her small grip and brightly painted nails.

“I get it.” Kuroo finally said. “I’m a third year too and it’s hard enough as it is without having to teach a newbie every day,” he said, semi-fondly thinking of Lev, “—all good.”

“Alright, well,” she said, swaying on the balls of her feet, “let’s get started.”

She had him play open strings so she could assess his posture and Kuroo was not accustomed to being the center of such intense concentration. Sure, he’s served a million times in games where he knew every eye was on him, but she seemed to scrutinize every aspect of his body. The distribution of his weight on his legs, the angle of his shoulders, the slope of his wrists, finger placement, and even his face—there was something to adjust. To be fair, she did say his face looked like he was constipated, but he figured it was because one should always look serene during such a cultured activity.

A gentle tap to the shoulder, a tap to his left inner wrist, her hands guided his body as he became accustomed to the instrument. She stood slightly behind him to his side at one point and gently held his right arm and set another hand on his shoulder to show him how the bow should move. He’s used to his body—Kuroo would say he has a better understanding of what his body is capable of than most people but, gentle movements to work with a foreign object was completely new territory. She’s not teaching him how to read a volleyball midair and figure out what the best millisecond worth of contact is. She’s not grabbing his lanky arms to show him how to position for a block—this is completely different.

He figured it’s one thing to adjust to new innovative plays mid-game and another to feel so entirely helpless and clunky. Although she’s only been patient and gentle, he can’t help but feel unsure and awkward in his body as he tried to follow her instruction. Maybe, Kuroo thought to himself, I should cut Lev some slack.

“Can you feel how your arm hinges at the elbow, but the elbow itself stays still?” she asked, lightly grasping his elbow and guiding his forearm. His skin tingled at the contact through his shirt and he repressed a shiver.

He’s used to physical contact—from his teammates. High fives, hugs, and fist bumps. But from a stranger…it’s different. He’s hyper aware of the calluses of her left hand when she taps the bare skin of his wrists and although each touch is light and fleeting, a part of him wished they’d linger for a little longer.

After a while, she grabbed her instrument and mirrored his movements, showing him the angles of her body in relation to the violin and bow. He stood in awe of the confidence of her actions, drawing a rich deep sound from the strings unlike the scratchy wobbly sounds he’d been producing.

She taught him two scales, explained basic music concepts he vaguely remembered from piano lessons and before he knew it, study hall was coming to a close. Head full with new information, shoulders a little tense, he absentmindedly fixed his tie while they packed up.

“Don’t feel discouraged during class,” she said. “Everyone around you has been playing for years longer. Just keep practicing and you’ll get there.” Adjusting the books in her hand she asked, “Why’d you decide to take orchestra?”

“I needed art credit. Can’t sing, can’t draw, didn’t want to do something on the computer and I didn’t know what band music was,” he shrugged. Immediately, he internally cringed at his explanation.

“Wait, actually--” Before he could try and amend his previous statement, he’s cut off by her laugh.

“You chose well,” she said. Then leaning towards him, she dropped to a faux whisper, “orchestra’s better than band.”

Kuroo felt heat creep up the back of his neck while she laughed so he tilted his head to the side and covered it with a smirk. “I don’t know about that,” he said cockily.

She snorted which did little to calm the confusing beating of his heart and he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she didn’t take the bait. Oh well, he thought, better try harder.

“You’re the one who enrolled in or-ches-tra,” she said, over enunciating the syllables. “Unless,” she sing-songed, “you feed into the stereotype that athletes are,” she pouted and batted her lashes, “stupid.”

He guffawed at her boldness but revelled in the glint in her eyes and the smug way she held her head.

“It wounds me that you would insult my intelligence without even knowing me,” he sniffed and wiped away a fake tear while she stifled a giggle. “I cannot believe my music teacher—my classmate—my captain has a bias against athletes,” he frowned and tilted his head. Pausing for a beat in contemplation, he sighed and continued lazily, “You must have been one of those kids in elementary school who always got picked last in gym.” He shrugged before delivering the final blow, “So you had no choice but to turn to music.”

He kept his face neutral as he studied her reaction. Her eyes narrowed at him and he broke out into a grin.

“It’s okay to admit it, I promise I won’t ask you to do something impossible like catch a ball or something,” he said, waving a hand placatingly. He caught the corner of her lip twitching despite the deadpan stare she tried to maintain.

“Give me your number,” she said, pulling out her phone.

“Woah, woah,” he said, dodging her attempts to force her phone in his hands. “If this was all an elaborate ruse to ask me out,” he dodged a jab to his side, “you didn’t have to get Jouda-sensei in on it too, who would’ve thought our little prodigy had it bad for the volleyball captain?”

“First of all, study hall is ending, but it seems that you were too preoccupied with trying to flirt with me to notice,” she said as Kuroo crossed his arms indignantly. Was he trying to flirt, he wondered. “Also, you’re forgetting that you’re the one who needs violin teachers,” she explained impatiently, finally getting him to accept her phone.

“Plus, if anything this just shows that you’ve been planning to confess to me for the past three years, but you were too nervous so you used your arts credit as an excuse to talk to me when everyone knows there are easier ways to get the credit,” she rambled as he punched his number in. “Also, you have a stand partner and a section leader—both of whom are not me, so I bet you,” she pointed an accusatory finger, “roped Jouda-sensei into this cozy little arrangement,” she said triumphantly.

Kuroo stuttered. “Maybe you should be a writer—what is up with your imagination?” he asked disbelievingly.

“No, no,” she said breezily, waving a hand absentmindedly, “I just figured you out, no need to feel embarrassed.”

Shifting his weight to one foot and running a hand through his hair, Kuroo’s lip quirked. “Guess you caught me,” he shrugged nonchalantly, extending their jest, “I’ve been in it for the long con, but,” he dropped a little lower to her height. “I never lose.”

Kuroo wanted to stab himself. It’s one thing, he mentally berated, to say those lines in the shower. Another thing entirely to say them to a human being? So used to provoking people just before they really got annoyed, he figured he got too comfortable. While his friends were used to his sarcastic quips and little agitations, not many people threw it right back at him. Should I apologize? Am I going to fail orchestra? Yamamoto was right, I should’ve taken sculpture I should’ve—

He was broken from his internal panic when she gently pushed his shoulder. “Well, seeing that the volleyball team has never won nationals, that seems to be a lie.”

Completely forgetting his previous anxieties, his mouth gaped open. “W-we’re definitely making it to nationals and we’re definitely going to win this year!” he nearly yelled. “A-and since when do you keep up with the volleyball team! This is more evidence that you’ve been trying to get my number for the past decade!”

“Who said anything about the past ten years!” she screeched. Kuroo watched his phone in her hand with concern as she waved her arms in disbelief. “And Yaku’s in my homeroom, idiot. He talks about the team constantly,” finally shoving his phone back to him.

Sighing a little in relief he checked his messages. “If I’m so wrong about you lusting,” she rolled her eyes so hard all he saw was white, “after me for all these years, what’s this!” he exclaimed, presenting his phone screen to her face.

It was a message from her that read: “Tetsu-chan, I think you’re so, so, so, so, sO cute!!” with several brightly colored heart emojis trailing after the message.

She immediately lunged for his phone to which he responded by smugly holding it above her head, pouting a little when she wouldn’t try and jump for it.

“Y-you planned this!” she yelled, making a move to grab at his sleeve.

“Nope,” he said languidly, smoothly side stepping her advances. “You just think I’m so, so, so, so, cute!” he said brightly as he placed his phone in his back pocket.

“I’m going to break your kneecaps in your sleep,” she grumbled.

As the bell rang and study hall ended, he sent her a little wave as he walked to his next class.

“Looking forward to it!”

Nearing his next class, he felt a short buzz in his pocket. Pulling out his phone he grinned at the texts. Nothing like riling people up on a Tuesday morning to get his blood pumping.

After he had left her standing in the music room, cheeks tinged pink and arms crossed, she sent him several texts. Many of them listed the ways she was going to abuse his kneecaps—he wasn’t quite sure why she was so fixated on them—poking fun at athlete stereotypes, and how he’d better practice every day.

They spent the day sending each other sporadic insults without heat which eventually devolved into actual questions about each other.

How did you start playing the violin? When did you start volleyball? Do you play in orchestras outside of school? What’s your position? How should I practice? What are sports practices like? What class are you in? What’s your favorite food? What’s your favorite color? What do you mean you bought a chemistry set for fun?

Kuroo was in his history class when he realized he was barely paying attention to the lesson. Expecting his usual meticulous notes when he looked down at his notebook, he saw he had hardly filled half a page of information. Too preoccupied with the little thrill of excitement that came with each text, he couldn’t help but discreetly check his phone every few seconds. He tried paying closer attention to the lecture, but tapped his foot restlessly, itching to see how she responded.

The school day ended in a blur and he found himself in front of the club room door. Violin case in hand, he swung open the entrance and proudly stated, “I learned scales today.”

“Fukunaga and I took choir last year and learned scales too,” Yaku responded. “Stop looking so proud about it, it’s literally a basic,” he commented offhandedly as he put on his uniform.

Chest still puffed, Kuroo didn’t let it deter him. “I’m reading music!”

Kenma grimaced over his phone when Lev seemed impressed and Fukunaga tried to stifle his laughter behind his hand.

Pulling top from behind, Kuroo asked, “Yaku, do you know the concertmaster?”

“The, huh?”

“The first chair violinist. Our year, in class 3-B?” Kuroo clarified. “She’s about this tall,” indicating with his hand, “her favorite color’s blue and she really likes fruit tarts?”

Ignoring the questioning glances from his teammates, Kuroo waited expectedly. Yaku paused. Eyes widening in recognition he brightened.

“Yeah! She’s been in my homeroom for the past three years, she’s nice. Smart, big on music, does a bunch of music competition thingies!”

“Thingies?” Kuroo mocked. “How old are you?”

“Shut up you glorified bean pole! I don’t know what she does in her free time, why are you so interested all of a sudden?

“She’s my violin teacher! I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t a serial killer or something,” Kuroo mumbled, tying his shoes a little forcefully.

“Okay,” Yaku drawled out, not believing his teammate. “I know the theatre club always asks her to be in their pit orchestra, but man their funding really got cut over the years, I wonder how they’re going to build the set this year, I mean they’re really trying to out-do themselves and—”

He stopped when he noticed the rest of the team staring at him in varying states of confusion and disbelief.

Yaku sniffed. “I have other interests and friends outside of volleyball, thank you very much…” he said, turning his head.

“Wow,” Yamamoto said, slowly shaking his head from side to side. “Yaku-senpai doing Shakespeare or something, could you imagine?”

“Yaku-senpai would definitely play the jester or something,” Lev chimed in. “But he’s so small would the audience even be able to see him on stage?” He wondered out loud.

Facing away from his bickering teammates, Kuroo hid his flush in the collar of his warm up jacket and willed for the heat to subside. He thought about what Yaku said—not about him being secretly into theatre, which Kuroo would definitely use in the future—but about having other friends outside of volleyball.

He knew he wasn’t as shy as he used to be, thank god, but he realized he had always kept his inner circle small. Not entirely on purpose, but those he spent the most physical proximity to tended to also become close friends—thinking fondly of his parents forcing him to meet Kenma.

He remembered how he nearly threw a tantrum when his Tou-san told him they were visiting neighbors down the street and that they had a son his age that he could play with. The thought of leaving their home—which hardly felt like home at the time of their move—to meet some stranger had filled him with such trepidation he had promised he’d practice the piano harder if he could just stay home.

However, his Tou-san gently grasped him by the shoulder and made him carry the box of oranges to Kenma’s. Multiple hours of awkward stuttering and silent game playing finally bloomed into a tentative friendship with the introduction of a volleyball and Kuroo figured that now Kenma’s more of a brother than anything else.

Outside of his team and casual school acquaintances, Kuroo thinks of Bokuto. A pleasant surprise when they met at a Tokyo training camp. With Bokuto came Akaashi and with Kuroo came Kenma and Kuroo never felt the need to expand beyond his core group. But meeting her—is different.

Different in that she stumbled into his life outside the court and he’s not sure if his fingers had ever been this sweaty from texting all day. He wondered if she’s a sign that he should actively try and meet new people but he quickly discards that idea and chalks it up to serendipity.

“—hey cut it out!” Kai yelled at Yaku lunging for Lev who was holding a volleyball in one hand, “To be or not to be, will Yaku-senpai ever grow again?”

Snapped out of his musings, Kuroo raised two hands to the group, “Alright, alright,” he tried to placate while Kai held Yaku back and Yamamoto cried tears of laughter.

“Keep going, Lev!” Yamamoto egged on.

“Too sleep, perchance to dream,” Lev continued, “that Kuroo-san will finally fix that rooster’s head of his.”

Amidst the collective roar of laughter, Kuroo snatches the volleyball from Lev’s hand and throws it at him.

Head lolled back against the train window, grimacing at the pull of his worn muscles, Kuroo stretched in his seat. Next to him, Kenma absentmindedly scrolled on his phone, sporadically showing Kuroo funny tidbits to pass the time on their nightly commute back home.

“Kuroo,” Kenma said as quick fingers typed out a text, “why are you taking this orchestra credit so seriously?”

Pausing for a bit, not-so-subtly reading Kenma’s text, he responded.

“I had a lesson earlier today and it seems like,” he ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t know, a disservice,” his voice rose up as a question while his brows drew together, “if I don’t give it my best shot when everyone else is so much better.”

Kuroo shrugged at Kenma’s contemplative nod.

“Anyways,” Kuroo continued, “she said thirty minutes of daily practice for a beginner will go a long way and she said we’d only really focus on the stuff for the concert so hopefully I can manage by then.”

Pausing his scrolling, Kenma looked up at Kuroo and blinked at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Kuroo narrowed his eyes at Kenma, having a growing suspicion of where his friend’s thoughts were, but ignored it in favor of watching him scroll through his phone.

Other passengers shuffled around them, coming and going onto their train and Kuroo looked out the window, frowning slightly at the last remnants of sunset fading away to cool indigos.

“Y’know, Kenma, I don’t think I want to just do volleyball for the rest of my life,” Kuroo said softly, breaking the stillness between them.

“No shit,” Kenma responded instantly over the animated beeping of his game. “Your joints definitely can’t take it for the rest of your life.”

Scoffing, Kuroo rolled his eyes. “Please--I mean, I’m going to go to college and still play, but,” he shifted his gaze towards the ceiling of the train car, “I want to learn more things.”

“Yes,” Kenma said slowly, “that makes a lot of sense.”

“I like learning new things, I always want to know more and I don’t know,” he pulled at his shirt collar. “With violin--it feels like I haven’t sucked at something for a while.”

With that Kenma snorted, thinking of when Kuroo tries to play video games with him or that horrendous volleyball club promotional poster Kuroo made that yes, he did take a picture of before crumpling and throwing it in the trash.

Kenma’s game pinged as Kuroo hugged his violin case between his legs.

“Plus,” Kuroo continued, “she said music is kind of like math with the rules and the counting, and when it all comes together like pieces of a puzzle it makes your hair rise and I feel like that’s kinda like volleyball too.”

“You get goosebumps when you solve a math problem,” Kenma repeated slowly.

“Missing the point there, but yes.” Contemplating a bit he added, “More when I balance a chemical reaction, but yeah, why?”

Kenma paused his game and set it on his lap, lips twitching.

“You’re not allowed to judge me,” Kuroo complained.

“I am,” Kenma responded quickly.

“Well quit it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Kenma popped the knuckles of his fingers and unpaused his video game.

“No.”

They sat there for a beat, each thinking about the unknowns--the unknown power of this new boss guarding the princess in the tower and the unknown of the near future, where game plays are traded for textbooks and the hopeful future of featherlight, fleeting touches and sweet, sweet melodies.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo tetsuro drabbles #kuroo tetsuro imagine #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsuro fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #kuroo imagine #kuroo fanfic #kuroo tetsuro fanfiction #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro x reader

30 notes · View notes

internalsealpanic · 4 years

Text

Better Die Than Doubt

Summary: You wince knowing he’s already noticed. You feel the tiniest bit more at ease as he approaches your booth but it didn’t stop your eyes from flickering and searching for something off in the environment. The creeping sense of being watched trails up your spine. You’re sure.

A/n: To no one’s shock, this entire fic was unplanned. I was possessed by the urge to make it (translation: I got the urge to write this and one of my enablers said do it). This story should be treated more or less as a horror story. Nothing is being glorified here except how dorky Jason is. That being said, PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS. This fic contains quite a few triggering things and I really don’t want you to be blindsided. Also thanks to @knightfall05x for helping me write this whole thing. Thanks to @batarella (HOE) for action writing tips.

Warnings: graphic violence, stalking, emotional manipulation, unhealthy coping mechanisms, drugging, nongraphic description of rape, and rape aftermath

masterlist

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes. You could practically feel the oncoming headache the way you could sense someone coming down the hall. This is what happens when you’re running on just 5 hours of restless sleep for the last few days. This headache was also not helped by the fact that this was your fifth coffee in the past 30 minutes. You probably should not be drinking this much caffeine this late but intelligent decisions weren’t exactly your strong suit this week. You rub the sides of your forehead feeling another wave of nausea.

You check the time again and groan. It’s been one-and-a-half hours since your agreed upon time had lapsed and yet one Jason Peter Todd was nowhere to be seen. You curse, nerves edging, and mind fraying. To be perfectly fair to him, he is a busy guy, vigilante, and all. You understood that fairly well- and this was sudden to say the least. You can’t really fault him for being a bit late but the long wait was ratcheting up your anxiety. Again, the coffee didn’t help but considering it was the only thing you could keep down since last night, you didn’t have much choice.

Last night.

Your stomach tumbled. You cup your hand over your mouth feeling your coffee traveling back up your esophagus. You let out a long exasperated breath, letting yourself sink into the booth. You look out the window, eyes flickering wildly searching for Jason. Your hands tighten around your mug. The feeling of being watched made you bristle.

Jason, well, Jason wasn’t hard to spot. The man was 6 feet 4 inches of pure muscle and leather. Having a handsome face and a ‘fuck you’ look in his eyes also helped. In short, the man was hard to ignore. You wave weakly to him as he dismounts his bike, a gesture far too small for your usual bombastic self. Jason’s smarmy smile greets you as he returns the gesture with his gloved hand. The motion is slow and cautious, rickety in a way. You wince knowing he’s already noticed. You feel the tiniest bit more at ease as he approaches your booth but it didn’t stop your eyes from flickering and searching for something off in the environment. The creeping sense of being watched trails up your spine. You’re sure.

“Jesus, y/n, you look like Timbo” Jason chuckles sliding into the booth his green eyes shining with scrutiny. You look at him flatly not having enough energy to properly respond to his jab. He winces seeing your lack of reaction. “Rough night, huh?” He asks flagging down a waitress, who looked quite pleased to get away from her previous table.

You nod weakly, slowly as if the fact that it had been a rough couple of days had just sunk in. “Yeah,” you reply, your voice small and a little threadbare. You drum your fingers against your increasingly cold mug. The waitress sets a couple of warm mugs in front of you. Her soft smile makes you uneasy. You and Jason mutter a thanks as she tells you to wave her over if you need anything else. Her warm brown eyes boring into the stark purple bruise on your face. You shrink and smile sheepishly at her.

“I’m fi-”

“I am going to throw these sugar packets at you if you say you’re fine.”

“Damn, ok, Mr.Kettle,” You laugh. His concern startles a genuine laugh out of you. You’re sincerely surprised how lively the sound that comes out of you is. “You know if you keep sounding like that, Jay, you’re gonna wreck the whole stone-cold badass thing you got going,”

“Y/n..”

You huff running your hand through your disheveled hair, trying in vain, to soothe your mind. What was the best way to put it? You swallowed, gathering your lapsing thoughts. “Sooo uh-” The collar of your shirt suddenly felt tight around your neck. “-I-” You breathe. “-I found around 4 or 5 of Blackmask’s boys and Deathstroke-No, I’m not shitting you- in my- my apartment for- well- the third time in the last two months, can I crash at your place? Just ‘til I find a new place. Oh and also how do I get rid of them?”

He blinks as his brain takes its sweet fucking time digesting what you had just said. He leans back groaning and running his hands over his face. He looks like he’d like to deck you if he wasn’t too busy being concerned for your welfare. You shrink again, feeling bad for springing it on him. The decision to leave out the gory details of your hectic week suddenly felt like the wisest choice but you had no doubt he’ll get it out of you at some point.

“I’ll skip the obvious ‘why did you wait three times before moving’ question because I feel like I’m probably going to get an aneurysm from your answer,” Your reasoning wasn’t quite that stupid. You were mucking about Sionis’s operation. The fucker decided to branch out his little enterprise into your city and like hell, you were gonna leave well enough alone. After you had set fire to one of his warehouses, you thought that would explain the False Facers. But Deathstroke? Deathstroke was a mystery. You’ve also been mucking about his business but you two have always been civil if not friendly. Frenemies of sorts, you guessed. You’ve been encountering him a lot in the last few days. You had figured that Blackmask had hired him but considering he threw two men out of your apartment window last night, you’re not entirely sure. You make an affronted noise that Jason elects to ignore.

“What did they do?”

“Aside from necessitating a visit to IKEA? Nothing.”

“Did they take anything? Leave a message?”

“Nope, nothing-” You furrow your brow trying to recall. You shake your head. “-They just made sure I knew they broke in.” You add, shrugging your shoulder. You wince at the movement. Your shoulder still aches from being hit with a bat. Jason’s shoulders shift, moving as if to reach out to you but stops himself. Instead, he continues with his line of questioning. “Sweetheart, there’s gotta be something missing.”

You frown, biting your cheek. Jason rests his chin on his hand, green eyes watching you and urging you to think back. It was either the weight of his gaze or the lack of sleep that was making it hard to recall. You close your eyes and catalog your belongings, analyzing the mental picture you have like a crime scene like how he taught you months ago, breaking it down into the smallest pieces of information and bringing it back into a bigger picture. Still, nothing. Nothing of note was missing. You shake your head and shrug your uninjured shoulder. Jason glares at the immobile one. You shake your head silently telling him it wasn’t from last night which just made him clench his jaw.

“Evidence?”

You shake your head. He frowns baffled.

“Tech?”

You shake your head again.

“Anything personal?” He asks jokingly.

“I-” A cold horror washes over you trailed by embarrassment. Your vibrator had been missing and so were a couple of your lingerie sets. You feel your stomach drop to the floor. “Oh god, Jay- I- Please, let me stay with you.”

“And have them steal my stuff?” He chuckles.

“Please, Jay, like you have anything worth stealing.” Jason frowns at you scrutinizing your face. You level him a glare but it was more in an effort to fight down a blush than anything venomous. Jason’s jaw unclenches and his face breaks into a shit-eating grin. “What color was it?”

“Wha-”

“Bzzzzzzzt ”

If you weren’t blushing before, you are now. Heat climbs up your spine. Your mouth felt dry.

“Well, what color was it, sweetheart?” Jason drawls, his voice dropping an octave. You shiver but bristle just as quickly. You bite your cheek and glare at him. “HA. HA. HA. Funny, Todd.”

“Was it Red Hood Red?” Jason teases, winking and raising his cup of coffee to his lips.

“Nightwing blue” You deadpan. Jason coughed into his drink. You preen with satisfaction.

“Does it make stupid puns while you go at it? ”

“Yup,” You say, the ‘p’ popping. “That’s part of the appeal.” You joke smiling into your mug. Jason snorts. “How is that supposed to be sexy?”

You shrug, a sharper less tired smile cutting across your features. “Dunno man. Nightwing is pretty sexy if you ask me.” You wink.

Jason makes a fake gagging noise. Well, it seems fake with how theatrical the gesture is but with bats? You never could tell. You roll your eyes and giggle. Jason’s shoulders loosen at your bubble of laughter, his face slipping into one of his sheepish smiles. “In all seriousness, y/n, you can stay at my place.”

You smile at him, your usual fluorescent smile.

Click

A man from across the street watches you intently through the lens of a camera.

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

Slade throws the photos across Roman’s desk, each glossy piece of paper containing a candid photo of you looking increasingly frayed and anxious.

Roman marvels at how your usually larger than life figure shrank into your puffy coat, how small and malleable and inexperienced you looked. He notes the panicked look in your eyes in every one of the photos and savors it. He couldn't wait to see it for himself.

In one photo, you're looking over your shoulder as you enter your office building.

In one, you’re tracing circles on a child’s hand with your thumb, beaming brightly as you told some wild tale to distract the child.

In another, you're slumped in your desk chair as you think over a case looking absolutely exasperated but determined.

In yet another one, you're locking lips with a man, his hand trailing up your shirt. Roman made sure to give the man some swimming lessons a few weeks prior.

In the photo in Roman’s hand, you're at the emergency room looking like you haven't slept in 2 days. Your face was bruised and your clothes were torn in several places where Slade had managed to land a blow. Your delicate skin marred with cuts and trickling blood. Absolutely gorgeous.

He examines it closely. The photo was taken just a few hours ago. You look like you're going to cry but your shoulders and jaw are squared more frustrated than scared. There's a fire in your eyes that threatens to level the city. A thrill rides up his spine at the prospect of extinguishing it.

“This is why you wanted to throw my men out the window?”

Slade hums. He shrugs and the edge of his lips curl into a smile. “It was the only way to convince the kid that we’re both after her-” His eye drifts to your face. Appraising but impassive. “The kid’s scared out of her mind and exhausted at this point.”

Slade had a point. Roman had to give him that. It wouldn’t be obvious to the casual observer but it would be plain as day to anyone like Roman who had been studying you for a while. You weren’t quite as meticulous with your appearance as Roman thought you should be (He would work on that later) but the dishevelment in your appearance was obvious. The slight dip in your shoulders in place of the prim posture that you usually employed was a blatant indication of your weariness. And the falter in your smile, the flickering in your eyes, and the number of times you let yourself bite your cheek showed the cracks in your fearless image.

Who knew weeks upon weeks of chaos could weather Minos City’s own budding hero?

In the photo next to Roman’s hand, your laughing face is stark and lively against the drab atmosphere of the diner, bubbling laughter carving life into your exhausted features making you look more like the shining paragon your city has come to rely on. The man sitting in front of you is laughing too. The sharp edges of his grin softened by the fondness in his eyes. It was hard not to recognize him even with such a foreign expression plastered onto his face. Roman crushes the photo in his hand.

“BUT NOW SHE’S WITH THAT SCUMBAG RED HOOD”

“And she’s now with the Red Hood. In his secluded safe house. Weakened and far from help. Most likely thinking that she’s safe under his protection and blissfully unaware of the tracker I put in her arm.”

“I see… It seems like you are worth the pay.”

Slade made no effort in hiding his smug grin.

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

“Jay, I really am sorry about this.” You mumble for what seemed like the fifth time in the past half hour.

“I sincerely hope you’re apologizing for the fact that you neglected to tell me you had bruised ribs before getting on my bike and not the fact that you’re staying with me because two crazy assholes decided your place needed remodeling.” Jason exasperates, pinching the bridge of his nose. You feel kind of annoyed by the gesture but he did have a point especially with your city’s less than smooth roads. You were also pretty banged up. As it turns out, facing off against a bunch of goons plus a master assassin is not good for your health. You swore viciously under your breath. Now, you weren’t expecting Deathstroke to go easy on you despite your rapport but the guy really didn’t have to throw you around like a rag doll. Even with your power to adjust the odds, it was a miracle that you escaped intact.

“Well, Mr.Pot, you ride your bike all the time even with broken ribs.” You bite back. Jason rolls his eyes unaffected by the distilled venom in your voice.

“Well, one of us is a stone-cold badass- ”

“And the other is a sasquatch with a stick up his ass.” You sneer snatching the beer bottle from Jason. Your tone was far too fond and playful to have any actual bite. Jason chuckles at you and ruffles your hair before snatching it back and handing you a bottle of water.

You huff taking the bottle from him and following him to the couch. He sits down on the couch patting the seat beside him. You plopped on to the couch, placing your sock feet on his lap. He grabs your ankles and throws your feet back at you. You just as quickly throw them back on and this time you do it with an absolutely delighted smirk on your face. “Rude,” He mumbles but doesn’t attempt to extricate you again.

“So Deathstroke, huh?” Jason starts, side-eyeing you over his beer. You adjust yourself to sit up a little straighter.

“You mean the asshat who broke my favorite lamp last night?”

“Who the hell has a favorite lamp?”

“Me! And get to your point.”

“Have you two- yanno?” Jason jokes, his eyebrows wiggling and hands gesturing vaguely. Your eyes grow wide and heat creeps up your neck and face. You scowl at Jason throwing a pillow at his face for good measure. He catches it with ease much to your frustration giving you his trademark triumphant grin. You kick at him with no real force.

“NO! What kind of soap opera shit is that?” You giggle into your drink. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before. The guy was skilled and pretty witty. You also had eyes and the man was handsome but something always felt strange about taking it further. You were civil but you kept your distance.

You pout at Jason again causing him to chuckle. “What? I’m just saying it’ll air out some tension~” He suggests winking.

“Oh my actual god, I hate you. I sincerely, truly hate you.” You laugh, kicking at his thigh. Jason makes an obviously fake hurt noise which draws out even more giggles out of you. Some tension in Jason’s shoulders releasing upon hearing the bubbly sounds.

“You speaking from experience, Jay?”

Jason shakes his head and coughs. “Catwoman-” Cough. “Talia Al Ghul-” Cough. “Sorry, sweetheart, seems like I have a really bad cough this week.”

And that is how you spend the rest of the night questioning Bruce’s love life.

“Food is in the fridge,” Jason says pointing to the said fridge which was sorely lacking magnets, sounding like a somewhat tired single parent.

“Do I look like I can keep anything down?”

Jason snatches the water bottle you had abandoned on the side table next to the recliner. “With that big mouth of yours? Sure.” Jason teases lightly booping you on the nose with your water bottle. “Get some rest.”

“Yes, mother” You sighed, burying yourself into the thick comforter he’d given you, crumpled water bottle in hand. He ruffles your hair.

“You know you’re safe here, right? ” The question startles you. You shift uncomfortably, pulling the comforter tightly around your shoulders. You shrug at him, not entirely certain how to answer. You know Jason’s safe house is, well, safe but you also thought your apartment was too. Your stomach twisted.

Jason squeezed your shoulder probably sensing the spiral of your thoughts. He smiles down at you, probably. It was hard to tell with the helmet.

“If you want, I can-”

“No, Jay, I’ll be fine here. You can go on patrol. I’ll be fine. Promise.”

The thing with Jason was that even when he was so big and bulky and hella intimidating, his empathy towards others had a bad habit of always shining through despite the layers of armor and sarcasm. You squeeze his hand, pressing little circles into his palm, and smile up at him. It was forced but it was the best you could do. Jason ruffles your hair again before letting go and making his way to the window.

“Get some sleep.”

“Aye aye cap’n” You yawn settling into a slump on the couch. Jason can’t help but smile fondly at you. You wave him a sleepy goodby before he sets off.

You passed out on the couch, an old habit you never grew out of. You always slept on the couch when you felt uneasy. It may have been some sort of way to separate stress from your bedroom. It sure as shit wasn’t for safety reasons. Your equipment was dispersed throughout your apartment but your weapons were usually stowed away in your room.

You feel a hand running gently through your hair, smoothing away all your apprehension.

“Jay” You grouse, your hand halfheartedly swatting at the hand stroking your hair. You bury yourself further into the warmth of the comforter feeling the need to shrink away from the touch. You feel a soft prick on your neck.

Your eyes fly open.

Shit.

The hand tangles in your hair. It throws you to the wall. The air is knocked out of your lungs. Your ribs scream. You scrabble to your feet. Your limbs fail you. They flail uselessly. Your breaths pick up. Your chest feels like it's caving.

"JAY" You shriek. “HELP.” A large hand grasps your throat. A rush of adrenaline kicks in. You thrash. You kick. Your hit lands. Another grasps your ankles. You scream. You swear viciously. Another grabs at your wrists. Something rough winds around your wrists and ankles.

The world tilts into an odd angle. Your head feels heavy so do your arms and your legs and everything.

"Jaaay" You slur, the air in your lungs becoming sluggish like everything else. "Jay" you sob again, knowing he wouldn't come. Not when he was so far away.

"Shut up you ….. bitch" You feel a swift kick to your stomach. It barely registers above the haze.

"Hey man-"

"What? The …. man said we …… rough her up."

"We can?"

"Yeah, ……, said so"

Your eyes blink, stupid, and uncomprehending. Distantly, you hear yourself grunting and whimpering. You can feel their blows but your body is too far away, too inaccessible. It was strange to physically feel yourself drift away.

Roman traces the sun shaped scar radiating on your shoulder with a leather-clad hand. The one shot he’d managed to land on you the first time you’d stormed one of his warehouses. You were all cocksure and quick wit and boisterous laughter. You really had the devil’s own luck but it seems to have run out. Not that Roman’s got any complaints. Not when he’s got you laying at his feet, tied up and vulnerable.

He crouches down, hand on his chin. His eyes roam appreciatively over your sleeping form, appraising you like a premium cut of meat. You look pretty against the black silk sheets he’d chosen. He sighs content with his prize. He traces the tip of his knife over your cheek, a dark purple bruise maring your features stark against the stainless surface of the blade. Slade really was quite careless when handling you. Not that Roman has any plans on being any gentler.

He lets his blade drift down, trailing down your neck down to the flimsy protection of your oversized shirt. Your steady breaths falter. You keep your eyes shut trying to gather more information but it’s hard not to focus off the tip of the blade cold against your warm skin even as the blade cuts through the thin fabric of your shirt. A large hand grasps your face roughly.

“I know you're awake, baby-” You blanch still not opening your eyes. The grip on your jaw tightens. You grin like a madman. “It's rude to keep daddy waiting.”

“Sorry, Sionis, I was really hoping not to have to wake up you’re ugly mug.” You sneer, voice thick and raspy with sleep but still full with your trademark confidence. Roman looks more amused than irritated. Your body and mind are still at the cusp of sleep. You wriggle and almost cry out with joy when you feel them move. You mind the hand on your jaw and its tight grip.

“Baby, I won’t tell you a-” You spit in his face, cracking an eye open to see his reaction. A bloody grin spreads across your face like wildfire when you see the annoyance on his face.

“You’re going to regret that” He growls, wiping his face with a torn piece of your shirt.

“Oh please-” Something cracks across your jaw.

“The next time it’ll be the other end,” It takes a moment for your mind to catch on. You stare at the hilt of the blade for a moment before letting loose another smarmy grin. His violent reaction spurs you on. Yeah, you can definitely see why Jason thinks you’re going to age him twenty years. “Oh please, You like my face too much for that.”

“You really wanna test that?”

“Nope,” You say, spitting into his eye and landing a punch square in his face. You cackle like a madwoman when he goes down. You don’t bother hiding the delighted chirps that escape your chest.

Being petty, you give him a swift kick to the face before dashing towards the door. You launch yourself, feeling like you can fly. The copper taste in your tongue almost feels sweet.

Your hand grasps the door when a hand tangles itself in your hair.

Roman throws you back onto the mattress, the springs digging into your back. You scratch and claw and thrash against the large hand wrapped around your throat. You snarl as Roman leans closer, his body pinning yours against the mattress, his weight immobilizing your fatigued limbs. A sweet-smelling cloth covers your mouth and nose, you gasp in surprise, inhaling the scent. Your mind is already sluggish by the time it catches on.

Your vision dims.

You feel hollowed out.

Your limbs fall away, arms drooping and pliant against the silk-covered mattress. The cloth feels too much against your skin. Vaguely, you feel horror prickling up your spine or maybe it was just the springs again.

Roman pulls away. You think you breathe a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of him lifted. He straddles your body, grinning down at you. Your mouth falls open to say something. You want to say that you curse him out or that you threaten him. The sound you make is small. Your tongue feels too heavy. No, something is pressing it down, you think.

Above you, Roman is a towering colossus. You’re vaguely aware of the shifting of his hips. He removes his gloved hand from your mouth and caresses the side of your face with mock gentleness. His movements are sluggish and syrupy. You make another noise when you realize to some degree of horror that isn’t. Your mind felt heavy and useless.

He snaps his fingers. The sound is dull like it's contending with water. A muffled set of steps approaches you. A man, you realize. You don't think you’ve noticed him before. His dark shape is messy and incomprehensible. A red dot flashes stark against his form. The mechanical sounds of a shutter drift in and out of your mind. You turn your head back to Roman at the sound of shifting fabric.

Above you, Roman, already without his suit jacket, loosens his tie, eyes staring hungrily at you. The pit of your stomach feels painfully cold. You blink at him stupidly. He chuckles, grasping your chin to make sure you’re looking at him. You protest against his touch.

“Don’t worry, baby, you’ll be the star of our little show like the filthy attention whore you really are. ” He laughs. It rumbles like thunder in your ears.

The world falls away.

Click

One

Two

One

You feel a prick on your neck.

Hot breaths fan against your face.

Your body is too warm.

You don’t want to know why.

Twenty-five, you continue counting.

You feel fabric shift against you.

Something sharp digs itself into your flesh.

One

Two

Three

Three?

Something’s crushing your windpipe.

Your body is aching. You’re not entirely sure whether it’s from use or disuse and by who.

“Good girl”

Thirty

Twelve

There’s something scraping against your flesh.

Is it a knife?

Hot pants fan against your skin.

Teeth

Four

Fifty-six

“Boss, I-.... going a …. bit too far?”

Smack!

“Do …. You…. to think?”

Two sixty-eight

A hand strikes you. You think your jaw is broken. It hurts but then again everything hurts. All you can do is take it and whimper.

Tears sting against your face.

“That’s right. Just like that. Like that, you little whore.”

Your body is warm again.

You still don’t want to know.

Two

Two?

You’ve counted two before.

You blink.

The haze of your mind lifts.

The coldness of the room seeps in your bones. You’re bare. You take stock of yourself, running your hands over your skin. Everything is still there.

Everything and a few other things. You let disgust and shame roll over you. A sob tears its way out of your chest. Your breath picks up. You feel your mind slipping. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, calling your mind back and steadying yourself.

You take stock again. This time moving your limbs and jangling your joints. They were weak but workable. You’re surprised to find yourself unbound aside from the collar around your neck. You suppose Roman’s confident in his drugs. How long have you been here? You press lightly against your neck, feeling the higher than normal pulsing of your artery. You shift yourself waking your legs up.

You stiffen, gooseflesh spreading over your skin as light filters into the room through the door. Your eyes snap shut, stinging from the sudden intrusion of light. The pulse beneath your fingers jackrabbits. You think you’ll keel over.

“Shhhhhh”

All the strength in your veins floods out, leaving a feeling of cold horror in its place. You scream or you try. Your body feels impossibly rigid. Roman stalks towards you, his footfalls slow and deliberate and too loud. Your heart jumps up to your throat with each step. You inch yourself away from him, drawing yourself up to make yourself feel bigger. He coos at how adorable you are, trying to look defiant. The mattress dips under his weight. Your mind begins to slip away from you again. The world falls away from you. You anchor it, digging your nails into your palms. He cups your face, thumb caressing your bottom lip. You glower at him and bite out something witty. He laughs amusement lighting up his features, the sound grates against your ears.

“Not gonna fight back?” He taunts, pressing his thumb down on your bottom lip. Your body recoils but then goes slack as he runs his hand up and down your side. Shame blankets you but the fear etched into you keeps you still.

Roman loosens his tie.

Your mind falls out of your reach.

“Such a good little slut.” He murmurs against your lips.

You wanted to say.

Instead, your mind starts counting again even as you hear the rustle of fabric.

BANG

A gunshot rings through the thick atmosphere of the room.

Roman curses.

His men stampede.

Another round of shots fire.

Something- No, no. Someone tears Roman off of you.

“Deathstroke?” You croak, your voice sounding foreign and absurdly brittle.

“Do you know anyone else walking around looking like this, kid?”

“Ravager” You snark, lips twitching into a smile. He rolls his eyes underneath his mask. The familiarity of the exchange breathes life into your body. Roman’s hand grips your wrist with bruising intensity. Your breath catches.

No. No. No.

The word loops in your head like a constant rat-tat.

Slade’s foot makes contact with Roman’s head, the force of it unnecessary but satisfactory. The sounds of bone-cracking fill the air. The man falls uselessly to the grimey floor. He shoots him with a couple of rounds for good measure, each shot instilling a pang of finality in the back of your mind.

You scrabble towards Slade, wide-eyed and shallow breathed. You cling to Slade as he bundles your body in silken sheets. He hoists you easily into his arms. You bury your face into the junction between his neck and shoulder, closing your eyes, the image of Roman’s bloody body on the floor pressed into your mind. You sob in relief. Your hands clasping onto Slade, white-knuckled and shaking.

"I've got you, sweetheart," He rumbles, running his hand through your hair soothingly. The tight knots in your body, loosen. You whimper a quiet thank you. “I’ve got you.”

You lift your head only to see Roman twitch.

Your breathing falters.

Fear pricks your spine.

Your mind falls away from you again.

Distantly, you feel Slade’s grip on you tightens.

Distantly, you hear him murmur something.

Everything is too far away.

Your eyes blink sluggishly. The world becomes dimmer with each blink.

A warm spray of water drizzles down over your aching skin. Your open wounds sting but the warm water pooling around you soothes the aches of your bruised flesh. Your eyes focus on the soft off-white of the tile on the wall opposite you. You don’t let yourself about the thin, rusty red film swirling in the water. The air in the room is thick with steam and the scent of lavender.

The absence of grime on your skin makes you feel lighter and gauzy and immaterial. You felt naked and obscene like you had been taken apart and now someone was examining pieces of you. You almost miss it.

“Lean back” Slade grumbles as he lathers your hair with some lavender concoction the hotel provided. Your body follows automatically, eagerly, obediently. You tell yourself you’re just tired. You tell yourself nothing’s wrong with your response. You tell yourself you’re ok. You wince. The warm water around you shifts. You hear it splash against the tile. You flinch at how loud it sounds. You take a deep breath and lean into his touch. He’s handling you delicately as though you would fall apart any second. You might.

Blinking away tears, you watch his face, aware that by leaning back, you’d be giving him a good view of the hickies, bite marks, and knife wounds Roman ‘gifted’ you. There’s a slight twitch in the corners of his lips. He must be disgusted with you too. You want to sink into the hot water and let it burn you anew, but you don’t trust yourself not to drown.

You close your eyes as another spray of warm water pours over you. You melt into it hoping it’s enough to wash the last few days- weeks?- away.

Your hands grasp his face, pulling him towards you. His hands brace against the tub, keeping him from falling in with you. Your arms loop around his neck, your hot breath fanning against his lips. You press your lips against him, searching and wanting. For what exactly? Comfort? Safety? Stimulation? His lips press lightly against yours, not quite a kiss. Slade actually looks taken aback.

The rest of the world floods back in. You peel away, your eyes wide with terror. “Shit- I’m- Fuck! Fuck! Shit, Slade, I- I’m sorry. I- Shit! I didn’t-” Your breathing ratchets up, becoming shallower as the pulsating in your ears grow louder. There’s a tightness growing in your chest that makes you think your ribcage is about to implode. You cover your face with your hands not caring how it didn’t help your shallowing breaths. You can’t look at him. You just can’t. You know you’re disgusting.

Your body wants to come apart, dissolve, and if it can, evaporate. You can’t breathe. You curl into yourself, into the water. A hand grabs at your wrist. You flinch. The hand carefully pries your hand away, forcing you to uncurl. Slade’s other hand cups your face gently, guiding you to look him in the eye. The lack of disgust in his face rattles you.

His thumb brushes against your lips making your stomach twist and your spine curl. He dips his head closer to yours. You kiss him eagerly. He lets out a pleased hum and smiles against your lips. Something cold licks at the bottom of your stomach but it’s overtaken by the need for connection, to fill in what had been hollowed out.

You press closer to him than strictly necessary as you watch the news, chewing on your cheek. He pulls you close, shifting you on to his lap. You don’t protest, eyes glued to the TV.

“Businessman, Roman Sionis, was found with several gunshot wounds to the stomach in one of his warehouses here in Minos City. He is now in stable condition. Authorities say...”

Your jaw falls slack in mute horror. Your stomach tumbles to the floor. You’re hyperventilating. Your teeth are digging into your cheek, you taste copper. Your mind spirals back into the room, back to the dirty mattress, back to Roman.

Strong arms wrap around you, stilling your trembling body against a broad chest. Your body relaxes a fraction. You curl into him, the buzz of nervous energy settling into a quieter panic.

“You’re safe with me, you know that don’t you, sweetheart?” Slade says tracing circles into your palm. You lean your head into his shoulder. You nod easing against him. “I’ll never let that monster anywhere near you.” He promises, pressing a kiss into your hair. A little sob wrenches free of your imploding chest.

Slade keeps his face buried in your hair even as you fall into a lull. It was the only way to hide the triumphant grin spreading across his face.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take good care of you.”

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

A/n: Thanks for reading. There’s a follow up to this because I can’t cope with bad endings. I had to promise myself a good second part to make the ending horrifying.

The writing process for this fic was basically:

Me: I have this horrifying idea!

My brain: Yes but what if we put a little dork Jason in it.

Me: I guess that wouldn’t hurt.

Me: Ok I have written nearly 2k of dorky Jason where’s the other parts?

Brain: Uh what other parts?

Me: *sighs and spends the next few days spamming @knightfall05x*

taglist:

@batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes, @americasmarauders , @l-horizon11, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell

#yandere dc #yandere blackmask #yandere roman sionis #yandere deathstroke #yandere slade wilson #Black Mask #Deathstroke #slade wilson x reader #Roman Sionis #roman sionis x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #Jason Todd #red hood x reader

249 notes · View notes

abluescarfonwaston · 3 years

Text

Gregory Week - Flowers

Day 2 of Gregory Edgeworth Week (note: contains delayed speech Miles and Gregory excited when he does start talking. He’d had taken steps to learn how to communicate even if Miles didn’t talk because he loves his son but please take care of yourselves.)

“So when do I get to meet the most important person in you life Gregory?”

She smiled at him and his chest ached. He wanted to run his fingers down the length of her braid. Kiss every blossom weaved in. She was beautiful and kind and perfect.

“Soon Flora. Soon.”

He sat on the floor next to Miles as he sorted through his building blocks. Arranged them by color and size. “There is someone I would like you to meet. If you would be partial to that.”

Miles considered one of the strange pieces. Debated where to put it. Set it down carefully so all the lines were straight. Nodded.

“Thank you.” He outlined when she would come over and for how long. Miles always appreciated that. Knowing exactly what he was up against. It made grocery store runs less daunting for them both.

Hopefully this would be less upsetting than the grocery store.

She brought a large bouquet of flowers with her.

“Don’t worry, we were going to throw them out anyway. Oh! But- But I’m not trying to give you subpar flowers it’s only that-”

He took them. Cradled them in his arms. Breathed in their sweet scent. “I love them.” He wasn’t sure anyone had ever given him flowers before. Not before her. Kept them on the desk at work until she threw them out and replaced them with new ones.

It was the little things like that. Like how she packed an extra orange for him because those convenience store meals don’t have any fruit in them Gregory! You have to take better care of yourself! You’ll get scurvy! Or how she reminded him to sort through the mail collecting on his desk. Or just pulled him up out of his chair to stretch.

Or how she laughed so bright and warm and it filled his chest. Just like it did when Miles giggled.

He wanted to be good for them. Be better. Be put together and organized and not be constantly two weeks behind on laundry and debating which of Miles shirts had the least amount of stains so people wouldn’t think he was failing as a parent.

“Well I like doing laundry Gregory. And we all need a little help sometimes.”

Oh he could love her. Marry her. One day.

“This is Flora, Miles. She’s one of my friends.”

Miles hid his face in his pant leg. Waved with one hand and clung with the other.

Her lips pressed together into a frown. Cast a worried gaze up to him.

“When you said he wasn’t talking yet, I thought he was younger.”

Add this to the list of ways he’s already failed Miles as a father. That he didn’t know they were missing milestones.

She sits next to Miles as he flips through the pages of his favorite book. Evidence law. There’s a little chick on the front with a deerstalker. He’s had to move his current law books up out of the reach of sticky fingers because Miles loved to take them out and stare at them. Mirror him as he read his own tomes. Although these couldn’t be interesting, they were just text.

Miles wiped his nose against his sleeve again. A button up with a bowtie. If he dressed Miles up fancy enough maybe no one wouldn’t notice how his shirts hadn’t been ironed in months. She leaned closer and pointed to one of the pictures. Braid with all those beautiful flowers falling over her shoulder. Asked him a question about it.

Miles sneezed. A tiny kitten of a sneeze. Neither could stop the instant coo. His sneezes were just so cute. Miles tugs on his sleeve and then covered his nose with both hands. Tissue please. He understands. Retrieves one and hands it to him. Blows his nose with a honk.

(I hope he isn’t catching a cold.)

Dinner is Miles favorite. Which isn’t the most impressive of meals but in the debate between impressing Flora and making sure Miles was as happy and content as possible for the duration of the meeting, keeping Miles happy had won. Besides, he barely had time to clean the spaces she’d see before she’d come over, much less make something fancy.

He reaches out and strokes the soft petal of the flowers on the table. They really made this place seem nice. Adult. Not like the bachelor pad turned baby playground it was. They could go to the farmers market together, swing Miles between them, and buy fresh fruit that wouldn’t rot in the bottom drawer half the time. Purchase nice art to hang on the walls. Always have fresh flowers for the vase. Have enough time to actually clean the dust he’d only noticed built up on the shelves once she’d stepped in the door.

(You’re getting ahead of yourself Gregory. Taking things too fast.)

“Miles dear? Is something wrong?” Flora asked.

He was wiping at his cheeks. Tears flowing. Snot running down his face. Discomfort and distress in every line. Breaths ragged like the start of a meltdown.

“Miles?!”

He scooted off his chair. Ran to his room. The door slammed closed behind him.

They stared at each other. Those beautiful flowers framing the shot.

Wilted alongside them.

“I should go check on Miles.”

He could never tell what the problem was with Flora. Miles seemed to like her right up until he started crying out of the clear blue. Began to sulk whenever they’d go to see her.

“I’m sorry Flora. Perhaps when he’s older...”

He knows she won’t wait that long.

She shouldn’t have to.

She leaves him with a dried flower and a book on sign language.

“So we can communicate even if you don’t talk.” He says and signs achingly slow. Has rehearsed these motions countless times in preparation. He wants to hear his son’s voice more than anything. But even more than that he wants him to be happy and understood. “I love you Miles.”

Miles plays with his trench coat. Fiddles with his attorney’s badge. He’s always worried Miles will pop it off and hurt himself. So far he’s been content to just shine and admire it. Cocks his head the way he does when he doesn’t understand a direction. Say that again?

He does. Begins to repeat the explanation on sign language. Miles shakes his head. Waves his hand. “Just the last part?” Nods. He hesitates. “I love you Miles.” He says and signs.

Miles watches his hand. Looks down at his own. Adjusts his right hand into position with his left.

I love you. He signs back.

His glasses immediately begin to fog. Tears blinding his eyes. “Can I…” Oh he doesn’t remember that word. He’ll just have to make one up for now. “Hug you?” Held his arms out wide. Shrugged his shoulders. Cocked his head.

Miles nodded and climbed into his arms. Pressed his ears against his chest. As if listening to his heartbeat.

I love you. I love you. I love you. He hoped Miles heard with every single beat.

I love you.

Miles played quietly under the bench as he argued his case. He didn’t like bringing Miles to court – one very prominent memory from when Miles was even smaller that ended in him covered in sick, making closing arguments through tears, and lightheaded with hunger came to mind. He really should have just switched to formula sooner. He hadn’t been able to keep up with the calorie demand. – But the Judge was always incredibly lenient about such things. Had taken a crying Miles off his hands to rock him to calm more than once. Refused to give him back until the trial was over, cooing his questions to Miles the entire time.

Wait. Did he just say-

“Hold it!” He began to say. Your statement contains a contradiction.

“HOLD IT!”A voice he did not recognize called out. High and loud. Young. He glanced around for it’s source. “Or Statement contains a,” Hesitation. He peered over the bench to the voices origin. To where the prosecutors, judge and courtroom were all staring. “Con-Tra-Dic-Tion!” Every single syllable was over and carefully enunciated.

Miles little grey head stood on the other side of the bench. Finger pointed.

The court erupted into noise.

Did he just- Oh that’s so cute! – why’s there a toddler – did you hear him?!

He rounded the bench and scooped him up. “What did you say?!”

Miles jumped. Looked away. Startled. Head bowed like he’d done something wrong.

“No- no no no. Miles what did you say? Can you say it again? Any of it. Say anything again.” Nuzzled into his hair. “I love you so much please say something.” I want to hear your voice so bad.

(Am I pushing too hard? Am I scaring him? Too much. You’re making this too big a deal. You said it was okay if he never spoke.)

It would have been. He loved his little boy. No matter what.

But he couldn’t help but want to hear that voice.

Miles buried his face in his shoulder as he squeezed him to his chest.

“… Father…” Came the embarrassed little squeak.

Oh I love you I love you I love you.

The prosecutor cleared his throat. “Gentleman… I believe we were in the middle of a cross examination?”

He rounded on the witness. Pointed with his free hand. “Yes! We were! And as my favorite legal assistant has just pointed out,” Miles giggled. Oh he loved that sound. “Your testimony directly contradicts the evidence.”

“Thank you.” The defendant’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. “You truly saved me.”

Miles studied him from behind his legs. Eyes catching on the brilliant fabric of the magicians cape. He pressed his hat to his chest. “I was just doing my job.” Bowed.

“Yes!” Magi laughed. The light caught on the glitter on his cheeks. “Take a bow!" Ah. That was… “You’ve put on a magnificent show.” Removed from his sleeve an entire bouquet of flowers. Handed it to him. “Truly. Thank you.”

He accepted it. They were beautiful.

He knelt. “And for the legal assistant and his indispensable aid,” Pulled one more beautiful flower out and presented it to him. “Here.”

Miles reached out. Took it. Inhaled.

Sneezed.

Sneezed again.

Magi covered his laugh as Miles sneezed once more. “Oh dear.” Pulled out a colorful handkerchief for him. “My apologies.” Took the flower back and made it disappear as Miles blew his nose. “I didn’t realize you were allergic.”

Allergic.

He dropped to the floor. Pulled Miles to his chest.

“Oh Miles. That’s why you didn’t like Flora. She always had flowers on her.”

And he was just allergic enough to be irritated.

What a fool he was.

“… Father.” Miles was tapping him. He forced open his eyes to Miles signing at him. “Why are you laughing?”

He received an invite to Flora’s wedding not a month before. They seemed very happy together.

That could have been us. If only I’d know about your allergies.

Father? He repeated.

“Because I’ve been very silly. And caused you unnecessary pain.”

(I’m not a very good Father at all am I? I keep messing up.)

“… Oh. You want another handkerchief?” Magi asked. “Here you go.”

Cloth touched his face. He opened his eyes to Miles very seriously wiping the tears from his face. Just like he would for Miles. He let him finish his very serious work.

Miles dropped his hands. Considered him from where he stood in the nest of his knees.

Raised his right hand and signed, “I love you.”

Oh Miles.

“I love you too.”

#gregory edgeworth #gregory edgeworth week #flower prompt #miles edgeworth #miles canon pollen allergy

20 notes · View notes

sofya-fanfics · 3 years

Text

That Wonderful Part Of You

I'm sorry for the mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. I hope you like it.

Summary : It was the first time Natsu saw Juvia fight. To tell the truth, it was not the first time, he had seen her fight with Gray before, but he had never really took notice of her. But this time it was different.

Disclaimer : Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima.

AO3 / FF.NET

Natsu, Lucy, Gray, Juvia and Happy were surrounded by several mages. They had been hired for a mission. The client had specifically requested them. And what was supposed to be an easy mission, to find an item stolen a few days earlier, turned out to be more difficult than expected. The thieves were a dark guild and the stolen item was a very rare magical item. Gray managed to freeze two mages, Lucy summoned Leo and Aries. Natsu looked around and grinned :

‘Let’s go Happy !’

Happy spread his wings and grabbed Natsu's jacket. They flew off and charged at the three mages.

‘Roar of the Fire Dragon !’ Natsu shouted.

The flames enveloped the mages. Happy put Natsu down, the dragon slayer was smiling, proud of himself. He looked around, wondering if there were more mages to fight. He saw something that caught his attention. Juvia was fighting the last mage left. She used her magic to surround her opponent with water and hurled him away. It was the first time Natsu saw her fight. To tell the truth, it was not the first time, he had seen her fight with Gray before, but he had never really took notice of her. But this time it was different. He actually saw her. Her way to use her magic, her determination and the strength in her eyes. He knew she was strong. Almost as strong as Mirajane and Erza. But Natsu felt like he was seeing a goddess. Once she was certain that all the mages were defeated, she dispelled her magic.

‘Juvia, that was awesome !’ Natsu said.

Juvia looked at him and thanked him. Her face lit up and she ran towards Gray. She clung to his arm, asking him if he was okay. Natsu frowned, wondering why she always had to rush at Gray.

‘Are you all right Natsu? You make a bit of a face.’

Natsu looked at Happy, who was flying next to him. He nodded and looked once again at Juvia.

A few days later Natsu saw Juvia again. He was going to the river, which was near his home, to fish. Usually Happy accompanied him, but this time he had decided to stay with Carla. Natsu had an evil smile. Too bad for Happy, he will keep all the fish to himself. Suddenly he heard the sound of the water, like a storm hitting the river. He kept walking and saw Juvia, standing in the middle of the river, fighting an invisible enemy. She was training and the water was around her. Natsu approached and walked on a twig. The water around Juvia fell into the river and she looked at the dragon slayer. She was surprised and did not expect anyone to see her training.

‘Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt,’ Natsu apologized.

Juvia shook her head, telling him he was not bothering her and got out of the water.

‘What you do with water is really great !’ Natsu enthused.

Juvia blushed. She looked away and mumbled a ‘thank you’, not knowing what to say. It was rare for someone to compliment her on her magic. A huge smile lit up Natsu's face. An idea crossed his mind and he hoped Juvia would agree.

‘What would you say if we train together ?’

Juvia frowned, wondering where that idea had come from.

‘Juvia doesn't think this is a good idea.’

‘Why ?’

‘Natsu and Juvia's magic are the opposite. Fire and water don't mix together. They are too different.’

‘On the contrary, it's an advantage. It will help us.’

Juvia hesitated. Natsu was not completely wrong. And she knew that if she refused, he would ask her over and over again until she gave in. She had seen him do it with Laxus and Gildarts. She sighed and accepted. Natsu threw his fist in the air in victory.

‘Great ! We start now !’

Juvia opened her eyes wide.

‘What ? Natsu, wait !’

She barely had time to react and formed a water shield when she saw Natsu rushing at her. They trained until nightfall. The following days, Natsu and Juvia were at the river to continue their training. Sometimes Happy would join them. Natsu was eager to see Juvia. When he was with her, he felt like she was bringing him a breath of fresh air. He had not felt like this for a long time. It was strange. He had never paid attention to her before and now he enjoyed spending time with her. Their magic and their character were opposites, but that was what he enjoyed.

******

It had happened one day without him noticing it. Juvia was lying in the grass at the end of their training. Natsu collapsed next to her, exhausted and Juvia laughed.

‘What's the matter ?’

‘It's just that Juvia has never had so much fun while training.’

A huge smile lit up Natsu's face.

‘Me too.’

Exept with Happy, he had never had so much fun training. With time, he had gotten to know Juvia and he realized how fantastic she was. He looked at her and was captivated. She was out of breath, her cheeks rosy and her hair disheveled from fighting with him, but her gaze was bright. He found her beautiful. His gaze fell on her lips and he wondered how they tasted. Natsu blushed and his heart was racing in his chest. He was attracted by Juvia and had a furious urge to kiss her. He stood up. He refused to meet her gaze.

‘I've got to go.’

He ran off. He heard Juvia calling his name, but he did not look back. He stopped after several yards. His heart was beating extremely fast and he knew it was not for running. He put his hand on his chest. What was wrong with him ? Why was he reacting like that ? It was Juvia. He had never felt this way for anyone before, not even for Lucy. He tried to calm down, telling himself that he reacted like that because of the situation. He sighed in relief. It was just that.

He saw Juvia the next day at the guild. He apologized for leaving so suddenly the day before and was reassured that she did not blame him. Everything was going well, until Gray arrived and Juvia's full attention was on him. He glared at them. What the hell did she see in Gray ? He would never understand. And that annoyed him. Lucy and Wendy sat down at his table. The Celestial Mage frowned.

‘Are you all right Natsu?’ She asked.

He muttered that he was fine and clenched his hands. He wanted to throw it in Gray's face and take Juvia with him. He opened his eyes wide, realizing what he was feeling. He was jealous. He realized that what he had felt for Juvia the day before was not fleeting feelings. He apologized to Lucy and Wendy and left the guild. He needed to be alone. He had to see things as they are. He had fallen in love with Juvia, but she did not feel the same.

******

Juvia and Natsu were sitting on the ground. Their training was over and Natsu enjoyed spending those quiet moments with her. He felt at ease. He had managed to convince Happy to stay with Lucy so that he could spend some time alone with Juvia.

‘Can I ask you a question ?’ He asked.

Juvia nodded.

‘Why do you love Gray ?’

Juvia opened her eyes wide and she blushed.

‘Because he stopped the rain.’

Natsu frowned, not understanding what she meant. She explained.

‘The rain has always accompanied Juvia. She was the rain woman. She ruins everything. Family walks, picnics with friends, romantic outings. People hate the rain and they hate Juvia. But when I met Gray-sama, the rain stopped thanks to him.’

‘It's ridiculous.’

Juvia's gaze darkened and Natsu realized he had hurt her. He tried to redeemed himself.

‘The rain brings a lot of good things. the smell of the forest, rainbows, flowers. Without rain there would be no life. Why would you want to remove that wonderful part of you ?’

Juvia's heart skipped a beat. It was the first time someone had said such beautiful words to her. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. Natsu started to panic. He thought he had comforted her, but his words had the opposite effect.

‘I am sorry !’ He said. ‘I didn't mean to hurt you.’

‘No, Juvia is happy. No one had ever told her she was wonderful. Thanks Natsu.’

Juvia smiled and despite her tears, she was radiant. Natsu had never seen anything so beautiful. He was more and more in love.

******

Without her realizing it, Natsu had become an important part of Juvia's life. They met almost every day and what started as a simple training, had grown into much more. They talked, they laughed, they were having fun. And when Natsu was not around, Juvia was bored and she could not wait to see him again. It was strange, she thought. It was Natsu, so why did she want to spend more time with him, rather than Gray ? Why did she feel sad when she was not with him ?

It had been raining all day, but Juvia was not responsible of it. No one in the guild blamed her, but she still felt the need to apologize. And when she went to see Gray who was sitting at the bar, she felt her world was falling apart.

‘What a gloomy weather,’ he said.

‘Gray !’ Erza snapped.

She motioned Gray to look behind him. Juvia could not move, she felt like Gray had just froze her blood with his magic. Gloomy, sad, depressing. Juvia had heard these words all her life. But she never thought she heard Gray saying them. She heard Natsu's voice ringing in her head, ‘Why would you want to remove that wonderful part of you ?’ Juvia put her hand to her heart. She realized that Gray had never said anything like that to her.

‘Juvia,’ Gray said horrified. ‘I am sorry. I...’

Juvia smiled and she tried not to cry.

‘You don't have to apologize. Juvia understood. Gray-sama never thought the rain was wonderful.’

Before Gray had a chance to say anything, Juvia left the guild. Natsu, who had seen everything, quietly left the guild and followed Juvia. She was fast and Natsu had not seen where she had gone. But something told him that she had taken refuge by the river. He took the path he knew by heart and found her sitting by the water. The rain was torrential. He was soaked, but it did not matter, Juvia was sad and he would be there for her. He sat down next to her. They were silent for several minutes until Natsu broke the silence.

‘There's nothing gloomy about you.’

Juvia opened her eyes wide.

‘You heard ?’

He nodded.

‘Gray is an idiot not to see that life is more beautiful when you're around.’

‘You are always there when Juvia needs it.’

She came up to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Natsu timidly put his arms around her and seeing that she was not pushing him away, he hugged her. Juvia felt the heat wash over her and realized that it was Natsu's magic. She snuggled up against him, allowing herself to be wrapped in his warmth. She felt good. The rain gradually stopped.

******

Juvia was spending more and more time with Natsu. Besides their training, they often went on missions together. Their combined magic was incredible. With the dragon slayer, Juvia trusted in herself and in her magic. She had accepted the rain which had made her suffer all her life. She realized that Gray was not meant for her, but that did not stop her from being his friend. As for Natsu, what she felt for him was different from what she had felt for the Ice Mage. It was love. True love.

******

Juvia and Natsu had gone on a mission. They had to fight with members of a dark guild. The two mages succeeded to beat them, but Natsu was wounded in the battle. Juvia approached him, worried.

‘Natsu, you are hurt.’

‘It's nothing, it's just a scratch.’

His arm was bleeding. It was much more serious than a scratch. Tears rolled down Juvia's cheeks. She tore a piece of her skirt off and wrapped it around Natsu's arm.

‘Idiot !’ She sobbed. ‘You idiot ! Juvia was so scared. She wouldn't stand it if something happened to you.’

She tied the fabric and threw herself into Natsu's arms. He put his good arm around her. He could not think anymore, all that mattered was her. He kissed her hair, her cheek, her lips. At first, he was hesitant. Natsu, then, expressed everything he felt in the kiss. Juvia kissed him back just as forcefully. He realized she felt the same as him.

Their magic was opposite, but he had given his heart to Juvia and Juvia had given hers to him.

The end

#navia #natsu X juvia #navia fanfiction #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #natsu dragneel #Juvia Lockser #fanfiction #My writing

53 notes · View notes

nekoannie-chan · 3 years

Text

An unusual holiday part I

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word count: 604 words.

Summary: You and Steve tried to forget everything work-related during your holidays, which you had planned for a long time, but you’ve never thought unusual things will happen.

Warnings: Some horror stuff will appear.

A/N: This is my entry to @mariekoukie6661’s 600 Follower Challenge with the destination prompt:

“Japan.”

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Main masterlist.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish: Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @saiyanprincessswanie @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown

It was supposed to be a quiet holiday, away from all the missions and responsibilities that came with being an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., however, neither you nor Steve expected strange things happen.

You walked unhooked, the journey from New York to Narita had lasted about fourteen hours, even though you had slept on the flight you felt your eyes dry; instead, Steve looked fresh as he had slept at home.

"Doll, I thought you were excited...”

"I am, but I never thought such a trip would be so exhausting," you replied.

After passing the checks and collecting your luggage, you saw a tent, you came up and bought a couple of onirigis, it was still an hour before the bus that would take them to where you would stay left off.

"Are you hungry?” Steve questioned, missing, had less than three hours to eat on the plane.

"No, but in case I get hungry.”

You looked at your watch for the third time, the trip to the station closest to your stay was supposed to last less than half an hour, but it had been more than an hour, you didn't know what had happened, you also had no way of communicating with your friend who was waiting for them.

"In the end, it wasn't a bad idea to buy them," Steve said when he saw you take out one of the onigiri to eat it.

However, you didn’t find something that would have caused the traffic jam, the only thing that had caught your eye was a girl who looked a little strange at one of the crosses.

"You're finally here, I was already worrying!” your friend exclaimed as soon as she saw them get off the bus.

"I don't know what happened, we got caught up in a traffic jam," you explained.

"That's weird.

You and Steve were confused, but it didn't matter, you started walking to the house where you would stay, you had to learn the way very well so you could go back every time you go out. After your friend left, you started unpacking, a crack in the wall (probably as a consequence of some earthquake) caught your eye, for a moment you seemed to see something in there... although that didn't make any sense, that wasn't possible.

"Y/N, what do you want to do?” Steve questioned. You were startled to hear it.

"I saw a small restaurant near the station we could go there, then to the supermarket to buy groceries, I think we should take a bath first, the flight affects me.”

"You're right, it's not the same as travelling on the Quinjet.”

"It would have taken us less time to get there, but the reason for this holiday is we have to forget about work and all that stuff for some time.”

After bathing, you went to the restaurant you mentioned, Steve was completely confused with the machine at the entrance to order the food.

"Then tomorrow we will go to Shinjuku skyscraper, the day after tomorrow to Ikebukuro.”

"I've heard that in Shibuya you can buy the kind of clothes you like, I think you'll be like crazy shopping when we’ll go, although I don’t know if you need enough space in your bags for everything you buy," Steve said as you waited for the food to take away.

"Very funny Steve, but the best thing is that you'll carry all my stuff…”

You looked away, you were almost certain that someone or something had peeked out from the ceiling...

"Are you all right?” Steve asked with a notorious concern.

"Sure, this is delicious.”

#Minnies600challenge #steve rogers x reader

22 notes · View notes

rantingcrocodile · 3 years

Text

There’s something that I think about quite often that I would like to share.

It feels like, to me, the media was inundated with the most minor of feminist points that existed to add a little more context to a bigger picture, but instead of providing the full nuance, it was turned into easy weaponisation against feminism. It also feels like that happened before the big influx of TRA talking points, thinkpieces and news through the media. And I can’t quite help but wonder that even if some overlap exists, whether that happened on purpose.

Does anyone else remember the wildfire spread of the term “manspreading”?

It’s a real thing that happens. Men take up more space and expect women to shrink back. But it was always supposed to be part of a greater context that showed men, in general, thought lesser of women, and their misogyny is so ingrained that they even spread their legs on public transport thoughtlessly because they didn’t consider that women were equals as far as personal space was concerned.

It wasn’t that manspreading was some horrific issue on its own that needed to be stamped out, it was more that manspreading was a small, easy to spot symptom of a much bigger issue: that despite legislation and supposed cultural change, men automatically prioritise their own comfort and will steal space from women without even noticing it. Something that they wouldn’t do to other men. The point was about destroying patriarchy so then smaller symptoms of things like manspreading didn’t happen - as well as teaching women that even their space is being eroded, and even some education for men that didn’t know it was a problem to be more mindful of, if they actually cared.

In the press, it wasn’t fully explained, and because of that, manspreading alone, without context, was seen as a huge, feminist issue. That turned into a whole swathe of people reacting with, “If all that feminism has to worry about is men spreading their legs to make themselves a bit more comfortable, then clearly nobody needs feminism” and “if feminism was needed, feminists wouldn’t need to grasp at straws like manspreading.”

There’s a lot of this narrative still around.

Of course, this happened with a backdrop of “feminists” who tried to appeal to men supporting feminism by saying, “feminism helps everyone!” because a lot of people won’t get involved in activism or even care about issues if they aren’t directly involved in it, since otherwise, it’s not their problem.

Actual discussions of patriarchy melted back into hyper-focus on smaller symptoms. That’s not to say that those symptoms aren’t important, because all of it needs to change, but it’s common sense to know that rape culture is much higher on the list of priorities than the likes of manspreading.

Then, the “feminism helps is for everyone!” opened the door to intersectionality, which has only eroded class consciousness even more. Woman is woman is woman, even though individual groups of women face unique brands of misogyny that need to be recognised. Instead of understanding that, the patriarchy looks on in glee and can erode feminism down further and further by tokenising individual groups of women and pitting them against each other.

So not only is there suddenly an issue of the public having the idea that feminism is utterly pointless, the feminism that does exist is then carved into smaller pieces with incessant in-fighting that stops what we actually need: women supporting women.

In this vacuum, TRAs rose to prominence.

The feminists spoke out.

But the feminists don’t actually have any real misogyny to worry about.

But actual feminism is for everyone.

But any feminism that’s generalised and not focused on the most oppressed minorities within feminism is white feminism and therefore bad feminism.

But trans women are the most oppressed of all.

I wonder how it came to this, and then I remember frowning at articles about manspreading and mansplaining that lacked context and nuance, the men that scoffed that they were proof the patriarchy didn’t exist if that’s all it was, and the women rolling their eyes saying that feminism was out of touch, those things weren’t big deals and they were fine.

And looking back, seeing that, seeing where that path has lead us... is it a surprise if there’s a suspicious glance?

When money is involved, corporations and big business will do anything they can to undermine and redirect, so they can make as much profit as possible.

Is it that much of a stretch to wonder how long this project has been going on, when the TRAs make corporations as much money as they do?

#crocodilian ranting #radfem

2 notes · View notes

vaire-gwir · 3 years

Text

Some Cat and Wolf fanfic I had in mind pt.6

Or: I lost a Friend on ao3.

I really can’t let this one go, every time I’m ready to resign myself to the fact that I won’t finish it, I have to write another chapter.

It’s winter again, and for the first time in a while, Lambert dreads the coming of spring. He refuses to go to Kaer Morhen cause he knows he won’t find peace there, so he decides to remain south. Eskel being the good and worried brother he is, finds him eventually. I wanted the reunion to be so much better than this, but I can’t seem to write anything happy lately.

Be kind, english is not my first language and there’s a reason why this blog is called fillingless pie, keep that in mind.

****

Lambert was passing through Velen when he decided he was not heading north.

Something about this place gives him the chills. He's never been here with Aiden, they spent plenty of time in Novigrad and Oxenfurt, but they purposely avoided stopping in Velen, mostly because no one was paying them enough to face ghouls, mercenaries, and religious fanatics all at the same time.

The stained statues, dripping with fresh blood and caked with the remnants of old sacrifices, creep him out. Their empty eyes seem to follow him around, everywhere he looks there's a shrine or a wooden sculpture of some kind, and he can feel their silent judgment.

Lambert has never been religious, not before being a Witcher and not after, especially not after. If there were Gods, it's hard to accept they grant powers to certain people only to have them play with formulas and tweak mutagens until they could create a bunch of monsters to hunt other monsters. How did the Gods allow things like Witchers to happen?

A long time ago Aiden told him he didn't believe in the Gods because they're a useless device to instill fear, they demand sacrifices and tributes but do nothing when it comes to helping a miserable bastard out. They turn a blind eye to starving communities while rich Lords thrive and get wealthier by the day.

<i>So much for justice, right? We're told to not anger them, but no matter how hard folks try, they still never answer people's prayers: I've heard poor farmers begging for their fields to be fruitful, and yet all they got was a scorched square of land and starved, I've listened to innocent mothers pleading for their children's lives and yet they had to bury them, I caught children praying for their father to return from the war and all they got was a bloodied sword in his stead.

If the Gods were listening, they wouldn't allow that, don't you think? If they allow all this to happen, either they don't care about us or they're not really there. I'd rather believe they're not there. </i>

The icy wind howling between the trees surprises the Witcher and tears him from his dark thoughts as he instinctively pulls his cloak tighter. Lambert hadn't noticed how winter silently crept up to him, soon everything will be blanketed in snow, and he should have made its way up to Kaer Morhen weeks ago to retreat to the old keep and wait for spring.

For the first time in a long while he dreaded the coming of spring. He had nothing to wait for this year, spring sounded as lonely as summer, as sad as fall, and as bitter as winter.

And now it was too late, he told himself, the passes would already be covered in snow and it was too dangerous to climb up the Killer in this weather, it was a treacherous path even in summer. It was a pointless risk to take considering that he could find half-decent work pretty much everywhere, he told himself it all depended on how picky he was.

And if he's lying, well, no one is here to call him out.

Because truth is, Lambert doesn't want to go home this year, home is gone and stone walls are no different than the bricks and rocks of any other village.

He won't find comfort or safety in Kaer Morhen, there's nothing he can do there besides chasing shadows around every corner. He's not bringing another ghost to the party, the old castle is already too full of them.

Home was just a word. Somewhere to let his guard down and stop feeling like he was constantly out of place. It was acceptance, understanding, safety. It was the chance to feel something else besides anger and disappointment.

Home was that room at the inn north of Kaedwen where Aiden waited for him at the beginning of every spring, the first time they met there, as soon as Lambert picked up the trail of Aiden's scent his heart started beating so fast he was worried everyone else could hear it and by the time he got to the front door his hands were shaking like a blushing maid.

He felt so stupid and happy and relieved to meet his lover again, he almost couldn't believe Aiden came all the way there for him.

Home was that clearing in the forest out of Redania where they spent the night huddled on the same bedroll after they were kicked out of a tavern, a petty argument turned into foul words and by the time they were forced to leave Lambert had never seen Aiden so annoyed and upset.

Anger was his thing, it looked out of place in his green eyes. Lambert wanted so bad to go back and set the whole place on fire on principle, cause they don't deserve it, they didn't do anything wrong, and he would have done so, consequences be damned.

But Aiden said that people rarely get what they deserve and curled up on his side, burying his nose in the crook of his neck and asking Lambert to stay. Suddenly nothing was more important than holding him close.

Home was the empty house by the river where they fucked until sunrise, the cave where he told Aiden he loved him for the first time, the room at the palace in Beauclair where he was so jealous he almost screwed up but Aiden forgave him anyway. That was home, Aiden was home.

But Aiden was gone. Spending the winter between forgotten walls and frozen gardens is no different than spending it anywhere else if you don't care for the coming of spring.

And he has no way to explain to his brothers what has happened. He’s not going to face his makeshift family knowing they’ll smell the stench of despair right off of him miles before he reaches the keep. He'll have to tell them what happened, there will be questions on their lips, and he doesn't have any answers.

The wasteland surrounding him seems to reflect his mood so well, possibly because he has a different understanding of emptiness now: it's not only in the absence of things that were there, it's also in the impossibility to go back to a previous state, as if the shape of what's missing was still occupying an invisible place, so it's not truly empty, it's full of the shadows of those things that are gone.

And maybe going back is not the point.

Spring is not as alluring and promising as it was before, the rain is not refreshing, the sun less warm, the shadows are always stretching long in front of him, they don't offer relief but only fear.

But it was not spring that was alluring and promising, it was the chance to see Aiden again that beckoned him out of the keep, to kiss him, to tell him any stupid thing that crossed his mind, or just to sit in silence.

The rain is still the same, but it won't cling to Aiden's eyelashes anymore, it won't fall on his face, it won't trace imaginary patterns on his shirt when it drips from his curls.

The sun is still as warm as before, but its bright rays won't dance on Aiden's skin in the morning mist while they're sleeping, and it all seems a bit pointless now if he can't have it with Aiden.

Lambert doesn't find it fair that nothing on the outside has changed. His whole world collapsed and he almost expected the real world to start crumbling too.

Nothing will change in two weeks or in two months, it's not a new season that will make him whole. Days are still slipping from his hands, and nights are filled with the same nightmares he had months ago. He'll still be empty and lonely in spring, just like he was in winter, just like this scorched earth has always been.

Before meeting Aiden he had always lived life like that, without holding any expectations or hope, accepting things as they were, his only defense against the world was his anger. But he's not the same person he was before, much like a snake that sheds its skin can't wear the old one again no matter how much it misses it.

No, he won't go to Kaer Morhen this time. Every inn, every tavern, every empty house can be almost like home, cause when it's dark and he's weary and he can't bother to scrape monster's blood off of his skin, he can pretend that Aiden is getting food downstairs and he’ll be back in a few minutes, he's talking with their employer, burning a body, getting supplies, he'll be back, he just has to wait and behave.

And when the illusion holds, he can breathe easy again for a few minutes, cause he knows he’ll wait until the end of times if it means he gets to see bright green eyes and a cheeky grin emerging from the doorway.

It's not a permanent solution, but he lives by the rule of whatever helps you sleep at night, one more lie won't make any difference.

It's exhausting, searching for Aiden's face in every single person he sees, but that doesn't mean he knows how to stop doing it. Just like he doesn't know how to stop seeing the damn cats.

All of a sudden there's an abundance of felines everywhere he goes, nobody owns them, nobody sees them, but even in the middle of all this ruin, he has seen a gray cat jumping out of the rubbles. Its green eyes seemed almost out of place, too bright, too full of life, too clear. Beautiful things don't belong to ruin, almost in the same way Aiden didn't belong to him.

The cats will follow him all the way to Kaer Morhen, his madness will chase him wherever he goes.

He can already imagine the peaceful, repetitive life of the winter days at the old fort disrupted by his silent confrontation with a nonexistent cat, and his brother, his perfectly sane and normal brothers, as normal as they can be, even Geralt's bard, and Vesemir, all watching him while he trails after an invisible animal.

That would be something to explain.

Lambert is still carrying Aiden's medallion with him, he can't bring himself to leave it behind after all this time.

He vowed he was going to burn it, throw it in a river, bury it in the middle of a nameless forest, but it's still in his pocket, the weight of it anchoring him to reality when he's drifting through the nightmares. It doesn't burn as much as before, or maybe he's familiar with that slight physical pain by now.

Some things are easier than others to get used to. Loss is not one of those things.

And if the Wolf wasn't so lost in his own thoughts, he'd notice the pack of ghouls moving in circles around the ruins of what once was a village, but his mind is not keeping up with his body, it's still focused on the gray cat amidst the ruins, and the creatures pounce before he can even figure out they're there.

Rookie mistake.

***

In the end, it’s Eskel that finds him in spring.

Lambert is investigating a shipwreck along the Pontar river, near Ban Ard, the fourth in a month. He's sure it's sirens he's dealing with, but he hasn't found a single clue yet.

The first rays of dawn greet him on his spot at the end of the bay and the first thing he can think of is that Aiden would have liked it here. He clenches his fists so tight that the dark leather creaks audibly, frustration and disappointment settling in his veins like a snake.

Maybe that's why his mood is darker than usual, a sleepless night out on the shore in the middle of winter will do that to anyone.

Maybe it's because he's not eager to go back to the inn, the maid swore they never let any animals in, and yet there was a ginger cat on the windowsill of his room when he entered and his stomach flipped every time its green eyes moved in his direction.

It's the same maid that greets him when he gets back to the inn, she's tending to the animals as she say "there's another one" when she sees him, "I sent him upstairs, he said he knows you? I figured...well, I don't want to get in trouble."

Lambert stares at the entrance puzzled: it's a bit too early for Witchers to be this south. He used to be the first to leave the keep as soon as the snow melted, the others always stayed a bit longer. Unless it's not a Wolf.

He doesn't know many other Witchers that well though, he has vague memories of his brief encounter with the Caravan, he has seen a Bear in Kaer Morhen a couple of times, and once while they were out on a hunt he saw Eskel talking to a Viper. He wouldn't say he knows any of them.

As he walks through the tavern, a familiar scent finds his way into his senses: beneath the leather and the steel he can smell amber, and sandalwood, with a hint of something raw, welcoming, citrus and apples, it's a warm scent, one he knows very well, he used to wake up to that scent on his pillows.

Eskel always smells inviting to him, like sitting at the table when you're hungry or waiting for a cake to come out of the oven.

How weird, the only two people he ever loved in his life were nothing alike: Aiden smelled like the sea, or the crisp clean blankets drying in the first rays of summer, fresh, spicy, promising, tempting. Eskel was comfort and quiet, reassurance and furs that have been left to warm by the fire draped over the bed.

He stops in front of the door, unsure, for too long. His mind is having a hard time figuring out why Eskel is here, did he happen to pass by, why is he not in Kaer Morhen, what if something happened...

The door opens not even a minute later, and a blur of red and black armor surrounds him distracting him from the questions crowding in his mind. He finds himself enveloped in a tight hug, strong arms circling his shoulders, pulling him closer, muttering something he can't focus on.

When he was younger he used to think that Eskel was the safest place he could find, it's funny how some things never really change.

He’s worried, Lambert can tell something is bothering him, but for some reasons he looks almost...relieved? That's a first, he finds it hard to believe anyone can feel that way when they see him.

"How did you...What are you doing here?" Lambert's confused expression doesn't hide his reluctance in breaking their embrace.

"Lambert, we thought...I was worried." Eskel doesn’t ask why he did not come home or what happened to him, he clutches him for a moment longer, silently grateful he finally found his brother.

Fear is a big part of the winter months. Concern and worry sat in their chest like a stone every time they walked through the frozen courtyard. It's something every Witcher experiences, it comes from not knowing how many of those they left the previous season they'll find the next one.

This year, winter had been an ordeal for Geralt and him, Vesemir kept saying they shouldn't worry too much, but it's impossible to do so when they have no idea of what happened to their brother and the list of things that could have gone wrong is endless.

It's tough, they already have so little, that the idea of losing it is unbearable. Whoever makes it to the castle first is bound to spend at least two awkward and anxiety-filled weeks waiting not so patiently for the others to finally, finally show up. They all know what it's like to lose a brother.

"It's early. You should be in Kaer Morhen," Lambert says trying to avoid his eyes. He sits on the end of the bed as if putting some distance between them could help him explain his brother's presence.

"I left as soon as I could. Asked around in Ard Carraigh and a friend told me a Witcher was looking at the shipwrecks along the Pontar, figured it was worth checking out." Eskel stares at him intently to check that the younger Wolf is not wounded or recovering from some injury. The fact that he doesn't find any doesn't settle his concern.

"It's sirens," Lambert adds scowling. It didn't make sense for Eskel to be here this early, not for such a shitty contract. First job of the season was usually a big one for them, but he must have had a reason to travel so soon just to take a look into this.

"I'm not here for the sirens," Eskel interrupts, his voice low as he crosses his arms over his chest. He leans on the small table in front of the bed and Lambert can see the way he's staring at him, he has that focused frown on his face, the one he always gets when he's engrossed in a book or when he's trying to plan the best course of action before a hunt.

It makes him nervous enough to start ramble: "I can't find anything cause of course those fuckers disappear as soon as they feed and I have no idea where their nest is, but I'm on it, and I know it's sirens, you shouldn't worry about that. No point in coming all the way here at this time of the year, I can handle a couple of bloody fishes, and the sailors..."

"I'm not here for the damn sirens! I'm here for you!" Eskel snaps. Lambert immediately shuts up and lowers his eyes to the floor, the room falling into a tense silence.

Eskel sighs. He sees Lambert fidgeting on the spot, legs bouncing slightly, fingers torturing a frayed thread on the blanket underneath him, unable to settle. Eskel hates himself a bit for putting him in that position.

"You didn't come home." Eskel keeps his voice soft, trying to mask his concern. He used to be the one to help him calm down, relax and unwind when he was on edge, he shouldn't be making it worse.

"I spent winter south before. Things happen." Lambert shrugs as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

He was surprised when he met Eskel outside of Beauclair an early fall afternoon of some years ago. It was always nice to run into your brothers on the Path, that brief moment of respite was worth all the hard days of traveling.

Lambert felt almost sorry for lying when he said he couldn't stay long because he had a contract. Almost.

In all truth, he was just eager to go back to Aiden, their little room seemed better than an entire palace. It felt natural, almost too easy, mentioning that he had a good job here and he wanted to spend the winter in town. He couldn't tell the real reason why he was so keen on remaining here, but thankfully Eskel didn't question him.

The memories of those peaceful and carefree days together still cling to his mind, gnawing at his inside in painful bites.

He doesn't know that Eskel thought happiness and quiet suited his brother so nicely he secretly hoped to find him in the same frame of mind next time they'd meet.

"Exactly. Things happen, usually not nice things to us Witchers." Eskel sighs and rubs the lower part of the scar on his face out of old habit. "Do you remember that year I got held up on elf business and I was three weeks late?"

"Of course I do, some of the worse three weeks of my life," Lambert mumbles. He didn't think it could get any worse than not knowing if one of the most important people in your life was alive or not. Now he knows it can get worse. Knowledge hurts more than doubt.

"You said I should never scare you like that again or you were going to kill me yourself." Eskel grins at the thought, the memories of Lambert clinging to him well into the night and muttering every now and then <i> don't ever do that again</i>. "Can you imagine how I felt when you didn't come at all?"

Lambert keeps his eyes trained to the floor, unable to look at his brother. He never thought Eskel would miss him like that, he's not someone others usually miss. He's more like the type of person others can't wait to get rid of, the sooner the better.

Fear of losing someone is etched into their souls from the first trials, when they have to deal with the horrible truth, many won't survive.

Lambert remembers being in his room with tears still stinging in his eyes, trying to be strong, telling himself he made it through the woods and it would be easier now that the trials were done. And when he thought the worst was over, he quickly discovered it only just begun.

Every year the apprehension and dread only ease when they're all finally together in the main hall. Lambert has been in the position of waiting for Eskel or Geralt to arrive, every day being a torturous collection of wasted hope.

That's why Eskel's words hit him differently. He should have known better.

"I...I had something going on...I'm not...I didn't think it was a big deal." Lambert knows he doesn't deserve his kindness or patience.

He's always been a selfish bastard, and the fact that they're here in this room, and he's trying to come up with some excuse for his stupid behavior is proof enough.

"Why not? Do you really think you're not important to us? To me?" For a split second, Eskel wonders if maybe his brother didn't want to be found. He wasn't accidentally late, he hasn't been held back like they all thought, he consciously decided to not go home to them.

For reasons unknown, Lambert didn't think Kaer Morhen was safe for him anymore. And that hurt.

"Lambert, did something happen?" Eskel silently moves to sit next to him on the bed, his hand laying on his shoulder. His senses scream at him that there's something different in his brother's frown, in the way the lines on his forehead seem more pronounced, in how he seems to be so blank.

Lambert was always the only one of them to express everything in extreme, be it something he was passionate about or the anger that seemed to torment him at times. He was rarely measured or composed, he was everything or nothing, no in-betweens.

That's what's different in him now. There's no fire in his eyes, no mounting feelings waiting to explode, it's like something was taken from him.

He doesn't know what's wrong with his brother, but something is off. He's hurt, not in a visible way, but it's there, like a cut you can't see but it keeps bleeding.

This type of wound, he doesn’t know how to heal. He can’t give Lambert some Swallow and let him sleep it off, there’s no injury to stitch or bone to fix, yet he can see his brother is bleeding and broken.

#aiden x lambert #the witcher fanfiction #lambden #the witcher fandom #witcher lambert #witcher aiden #the witcher #the witcher fic #I lost a friend I lost my mind #lambert x aiden #witcher eskel #quarantine writing

10 notes · View notes

stones-x-bones · 3 years

Text

Funerary Wrongs || Solo

TIMING: Current SUMMARY: Bex attends her mother’s funeral. CONTENT: Parental death, Child abuse (in the form of memories), Domestic abuse, Homophobia, transphobia mentions (both these two are marked for which sections they’re in in order to be skipped if needed), Heavy Alcohol use

---

Bex did not attend her mother’s funeral.

The idea of it made her sick, to be standing among people who could actually mourn the loss of such a monster. She could not fake a sorrow she didn’t feel. There would be whispers, rumors, stories about why she didn’t attend. Some would say it was because she was looking after her father. Some would say it was because she resented her mother. And some would say it was because she orchestrated the death. None of them were entirely wrong, she supposed, but she cringed every time she heard the whispers as she signed all the appropriate documents to make her mother’s death official. They had no idea her mother was a monster.

Bex stood at her mother’s grave later that night, staring down at the headstone. Odell Ohpelia Oxendine. February 23rd, 1979- July 31st, 2021. Mother, Leader, Lover. Non ducor, duco. Bex sneered at the inscription. None of it was true. Odell loved no one, led nothing except a vindictive life, and she certainly was no mother. Still, Bex set the bouquet of roses down in front of her “mother’s” grave and wondered if it should be changed to “aunt” or “legal guardian”, and if it was possible, even, to get it changed. It was at her discretion, after all. She owned all the power of attorney now. It was the opposite to how her entire life had been up until this point.

When Bex was five, she remembered sitting in the living room with a cup of tea in front of her. Her first time with real tea in real company-- visiting ambassadors, who were looking for legal representation, after a mishap at a luxury hotel they were staying at. Bex didn’t remember what had happened, but she knew it had been bad, looking between the faces of her mother and father, and the other couple that was sitting across from her. They had a child, too, about her age. A boy with dusty hair and tan skin, who was looking at her curiously. He, too, had a cup of tea in front of him that he hadn’t touched.

“Why are you wearing a dress?” He’d asked. Bex did what she was taught and didn’t move or look over at him.

“Because I like them.”

“But aren’t you a boy?” He’d asked, and it hadn’t been cruel, like so many other times to come in her life, but curious. “My dad said boys don’t wear dresses.”

Bex shrugged, but kept looking at her cup. “I don’t know,” she answered, “I don’t think so?”

The boy was quiet. “Oh,” was all he said, and after that moment, he’d called her a girl and she’d liked it. He even let her be the wife when they played “house” later.

Her mother had noticed, and later that night, she’d sat down with Bex on her lap and refused to look at her. Her voice had been soft, though, and Bex remembered it had felt nice, her mother’s hand combing through her hair, nails gentle on her scalp.

“You can be whatever you want, darling,” she had cooed, “but if this is what you want, then you must promise me something.”

Bex had looked up at her with anticipatory eyes.

“Promise me you’ll always be good for me. This is so much to ask of a mother, but I’ll do it for you, if you can do that for me.”

Bex was a child. She hadn’t known better. She’d nodded, enthusiastically, and the next day, her mother had bought her an entirely new closet of clothes and pulled her from her current school to be put into a new one, and she had also made Bex promise to behave only like a girl. To make sure no one knew her secret, otherwise they would hate her, be mean to her, and be mean to them, as well.

Bex had nodded in agreement. She didn’t want anyone to hate her or her parents. She didn’t want to be the reason people hated her mother.

(Transphobia tw)

Bex was not ashamed of herself anymore, not really. She was proud to be trans. But, sometimes, she still paused outside the women’s bathroom and wondered if someone inside would look at her and know. Sometimes, she’d stop and hear her mother’s voice in her head, chastising her, telling her no one could love her, not like this. So she had to keep it secret, until she could be a real girl. Her mother had taught her to be shameful, and she had believed her.

But it hadn’t been true. Just like everything else her mother had told her, it wasn’t true. Bex had always been a girl, and no one ever questioned her when she went inside, dressed in her floral skirts and low cut tops and tights. Bex had always known she was a girl, and she’d fought-- the only thing she’d fought for-- for the chance to be her true self. And her parents had relented, because what else could they do? It wouldn’t do for them to have a son who misbehaved and acted out. Much better a daughter who was complacent. And Bex had been proud of herself, despite everything. But still, sometimes, she hesitated. Because fear remained. It would always remain.

(Transphobia tw END)

It was nothing compared to the first time she’d awoken from a night terror, screaming in her bed. She’d curled into a ball under her blankets and cried until the housekeeper had come inside and pulled them back and shushed her. Something had happened, Bex remembered, because the housekeeper was looking around with shock and horror on her face. And in the morning, when her mother had come to wake her, she’d found an already awake Bex trying to put a shattered lamp back together.

That was the first time she’d been punished. She’d only been six. Her mother’s anger had manifested in acrylic nails raking across her face, digging into her shirt and flinging her onto the floor in front of her bed, a cold demand on her tongue. “What did you do?”

“I-I-I don’t know! I had a nightmare and then I woke up and it was like this! I just had a n-nightmare and--”

Bex didn’t get to finish. That was the first time she had picked out an outfit to cover up the bruises. That had been the first time Bex had learned how to put on cover up to make her black eye look normal.

She’d only been six.

She’d only been a year older when it happened in public for the first time. They’d been at a store, a big store, and Bex had stopped to look at a doll she wanted. She had pretty rosy cheeks and long black hair, just like Bex, and the next thing she knew, she’d lost her mother. Bex had fallen to the floor in panic and wailed, crying out for her. Her cries had shattered an entire row of glass candles and cracked the nearest window. Someone nearby had gotten a bloody nose, and the doll she’d wanted began to crumple. It was almost half folded in on itself when her mother had rounded the corner, a crazed look in her eye, and scooped Bex up, racing out to the car with her.

Bex hadn’t had time to be happy to see her mother. Hands at her throat made her quiet, a palm sliding across her cheek. Nails digging into her jaw as her mother held her head still and made sure Bex was looking her in the eye when she said, “If you ever do that again, you won’t be leaving your room for a week. Do you understand me? Tell me you understand me!”

“I understand,” Bex had croaked. Her mother had lifted her by her arm and thrown her into the car before snapping at the driver to take them home. She’d have to finish shopping tomorrow.

Bex had hidden in the backseat, curled up small. And when they’d gotten home, she’d raced to her room and hid in her closet, stuffed in the corner behind her jackets. She’d heard her mother come in looking for her once, but she’d given up quickly and slammed her door. Locked it.

That was the first time she’d learned being small and unseen was safe.

Bexley looked at her mother’s gravestone again and noted how polished it was. They’d bugged her about specifics-- what kind of rock, what color, how big, how wide, what shape-- but Bex had deferred all of those decisions to someone else. The family attorney. She hadn’t wanted to think about it, but, now, she wished she had. She would’ve picked something tacky for her. This headstone was too nice, a smooth, white granite that looked like a pearl among the other headstones. They were all of her ancestors. The plot of land reserved for her grandmother was still empty, waiting for her body-- as was the plot of land for her father. But both of them were beyond legal sanity, one with dementia, the other with a magically jumbled memory.

Behind her mother’s grave, up the hill, Bex spotted the mausoleum that held the bodies of the first Oxendine’s in White Crest. Beckley and Finneus. Her middle name-- her name-- was taken after her, the first Oxendine in White Crest. The true matriarch. She’d started the family business and built the manor and established herself as a town resident before she’d even married. And when she had, to a traveling man with political riches and a duke from England, she’d kept her name and made him take her own. And from there, the name had been passed on through the women of the family. They were revolutionary.

Bex didn’t know why her mother had kept her middle name. She’d found her original birth certificate, signed by an Odette Rosenberg (with no name written under the father’s section), and found that her name had been something completely different. River Bexley Rosenberg. It had a ring to it, she supposed, but she wondered, now, just how many names she had had. River, Oded, Odelia, Bexley. And who was she, now? An Oxendine? A Rosenberg? Or something else, someone else?

Who was Bexley?

She didn’t know.

Her hands skated over the cool tomb of her great-great-great-and many more greats, grandmother.

“Why did you do it?” she asked the dead rock. “Why did you make the first deal?”

Of course, no one answered. There were no answers for her here. Of course there weren’t. This place only left her with questions and open wounds.

Unlike her parents, who had always been careful, after those first few times, to never leave a trace behind on her.

She’d been nine when she’d been called into the main office, and two concerned faces had greeted her.

“Please, Odelia, have a seat,” the principal had offered, pointing to the chair in front of his desk. Bex had sunk into it stiffly, hands folded nervously into her lap.

“A-am I in trouble?” she asked. She didn’t think she’d done anything to get herself in trouble, but maybe one of the kids had said something, or one of the parents had found out and told the school they were uncomfortable. It had happened before.

“Oh, no, no, sweetheart, no, we--” the younger man exchanged a worried glance with the woman standing next to him. Bex recognized her as the counselor. Her face looked soft, sad.

“No, honey, you’re not in trouble. We just have some--” she’d contemplated the word, and Bex had waited, perfectly still-- “concerns.” She moved around to Bex’s chair and kneeled to her eye height, looking at her with something Bex had never really seen before. “Some of the other kids have noted that you seem to...come to school with a lot of bruises sometimes.”

(Transphobia tw)

Bex recalled how, just a few weeks ago, a boy had tackled her to the ground, wrenching at her shirt, cackling the whole time and asking her what she was really hiding under her clothes. If she was really actually a girl. Instead, he’d seen the bruises and he’d immediately jumped up off of her and shouted, “I didn’t do that! It wasn’t me!” before the mediator had come running over and pulled her up and away and led her off into the nurse’s office.

Funny, she thought, how they were concerned about the bruises, but not the boy who had tried to tear her shirt off.

(Transphobia tw END)

“It’s nothing,” Bex had said back quickly, just like her parents had told her to say, “I’m just really clumsy. I fall a lot, especially at home. We have a lot of stairs. My mom says it’s because of my health, I don’t have good balance. It’s why I’m sick all the time.”

The two adults exchanged a look again. The woman reached out and put a hand over Bex’s, who looked down in shock and confusion. “Honey, it’s okay. You’re safe here, you can tell the truth. Do your mom or dad get mad at you a lot?”

Bex looked from the woman to the principal, and back. Was this a trick?

“N-No. She just likes things d-done a certain way. And sometimes I mess up. But it’s okay, because she loves me.”

The concern on the woman’s face grew and Bex scrambled. Had she said something wrong? “It’s okay! It’s okay! They don’t hurt me! They just need to teach me a lesson and sometimes I don’t get it so they have to make sure I understand! It’s okay!” And she’d started sobbing and she didn’t know why and the woman-- the counselor-- had pulled Bex into a tight hug but all Bex had done was cry.

The next day, social services had shown up at Bex’s house.

The day after that, Bex had been pulled from yet another school. This time, they sent her to an all girl’s Christian boarding school up North. “Maybe,” her mother had said, “you’ll learn some values, and how to appreciate all you’ve been given.”

Bex hadn’t learned anything there, except that she was supposed to be ashamed of herself, and that she might like kissing girls.

(Homophobia TW)

Bex had really had no reason to believe her mother wouldn’t approve of her liking girls. So when she’d come home, giddy and smiling, after kissing one of the girls in her class-- they had been friends for a while and her name was Jess and Bex liked her freckles and her red hair-- her surprise was palpable when the news was met with shouting. Her mother was suddenly asking what she’d done wrong, how could she have let this happen, why was she being punished this way. She asked Bex why she was doing this to her, did she want to hurt her? Was she trying to hurt her? All she’d wanted was for Bex to be good for her, why was that so hard for her to understand?

Bex hadn’t known what to say. She’d said sorry. She’d apologized over and over and over again, groveling at her mother’s feet while her mother kicked and kicked and hit and with each strike told Bex she couldn’t be that way. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow it. She wasn’t going to let Bexley ruin her reputation. She was wrong, she was bad, she was wrong, she was wrong. She was wrong.

Bex hadn’t gotten out of bed for a week after that.

Her mother told the school she was sick. The housekeeper brought her regular meals and helped her to the bathroom while her bruised and broken ribs healed. It would be almost a decade before her mother hurt her this bad again.

The dumpster had been worse, Bex thought, remembering the feel of it as her head made contact with solid metal.

(Homophobia tw END)

Bex looked across the grounds to the manor, which sat atop a hill surrounded by a grove of trees. The perimeter wall, built of old brick and rod iron, looked pristine, outlining the property as if it were a cut out. It looked so wrong against the crop of trees, jagged stone against gentle forest. She wanted to burn it down.

Or, at least, have it demolished.

Unfortunately, she still had to go through everything inside. She couldn’t just have it all destroyed, as much as she wanted to. There were legal things, important things, maybe even nostalgic things that she wanted to keep. Plus, some of her clothes were still inside. The small box of trinkets she’d dug up as a kid, when she’d been out in the gardens, pretending to be an archaeologist. Fingers full of dirt, stuck under her fingernails, the most freeing feeling in the world at the time. Sometimes she didn’t even mind the aggressive baths her mother gave her after, scrubbing at her dirty skin and staring at her with a cold silence of disappointment.

Bex stood on the front stoop now, staring up at the ornate doors, doors that had stood for almost three centuries now. Placed a flat palm against the cool bronze metal of the embossed decor on the panels. Detailed designs that were supposed to show off the family’s wealth, but to Bex, they were just shapes. They’d always just been prison bars.

She pushed through the door and stepped inside and heard her footsteps echo. The house creaked and moaned around her, reminding her that it was haunted-- not by ghosts, but by memories. And there, a new one, at the foot of the staircase. The blood stain was gone, but Bex could remember exactly where it was. She could remember exactly what her mother’s dead body looked like.

Bex walked past the spot where she’d killed her mother and up the staircase. When she reached the top, she waited, but no one came. The house was empty. She went down the hall to the right.

The door to her father’s study was open and she slipped inside, heading to his desk. She opened drawer after drawer until she found what she’d been looking for-- personal records. All the records they’d kept of her, medical or schooling or otherwise, and tore them to shreds. She ripped drawer after drawer out of his desk and threw the folders around the room. Finances, receipts, client files, she decorated the room with them and screamed at them and at what was left of her father in the office. She took his cane from the wall-- the same cane that had whipped her back countless times-- and snapped it over her knee before throwing the pieces into the unlit fireplace behind his desk. She tore books from his shelves, the personal library of law resources they’d amassed over centuries, and tore pages from them, shredding them like confetti and throwing them up in the air.

They fell around her like ash.

She wrenched open the cabinet in the corner-- his liquor cabinet-- and grabbed whatever bottle hit her hand first. A fifty-year-old bottle of whiskey. She let it pour down her throat and let it burn and relished in it, before she turned and held the bottle upside down and let it pour out onto the floor and mess of papers on the floor. When it was empty, she shattered it against the fireplace wall.

She yanked out another bottle, vodka this time, and took a large swig before she stumbled from her father’s study and back down the hallway, tipping paintings that hung along the wall and smashing sconces with the angry magic that boiled beneath her skin.

Her mother did not have a study in the house, she hated it almost as much as Bex did. Well, had hated it. You couldn’t hate anything when you were dead. Instead, her mother spent her time in the lounge, watching old movies, reading old books, or going over cases and papers. Bex remembered the first time she’d seen her mother sitting on that ugly, green couch, pouring over some case that was going to net them a large pay increase for the company. She had awoken from another nightmare, this time containing the damage only to the mirror in her room and the lamp that had already been shattered once.

She stood in the doorway, which was only partially cracked, and called out to her mother in a quiet, raspy voice. Her mother hadn’t looked up from her papers, but had beckoned Bex to her with just a hand. Bex scurried inside and climbed up onto the couch next to her mother and wondered if she would be scolded again. Instead, her mother had set the files aside and pulled her into her lap, leaning back, curling the child against her chest. Bex stayed perfectly still in her mother’s arms as she stroked her hair and Bex listened to her heartbeat. It never faltered.

“I wish you were better,” her mother had sighed, languishing, “I wish you were mine.”

Bex hadn’t known what it meant at the time, but she did now.

She took another long sip of the vodka before she jabbed the letter opener she’d snagged from her father’s study into the green upholstery and ripped. Again and again and again, until couch cotton spewed from it like blood from a wound and the chair was no longer recognizable as such.

Bex continued a little further down the hallway until she reached the end, and she reached a door that she’d never walked through. In all her twenty-one years, she’d never walked through the door to her parents’ bedroom. She hesitated and wondered why, as she looked at the pale wood, pristine as ever. Took another sip and waited for the wood grain to turn into prison bars, but they never did.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It looked almost identical to her own room, save for the larger bed, and the two bedside tables on each side. Bex blinked, and in an instant, she saw the future her parents had always wanted for her, sleeping beside a man she did not love, living in a world she did not want, and living a lie that she could not tell.

Bex was sobbing by the time she made it over to the bed and crawled onto it, vodka sloshing onto the manicured comforter. She took one last sip before she sank onto the bed and curled up, cradling the bottle. They had stolen her life from her and created the holes inside of her that she did not know how to fill. They had deprived her of love and happiness and everything in between. They had created a prison for her and kept her locked up and isolated until she’d turned into an obedient, quiet machine.

They had ruined her and yet she missed them.

She missed them so much.

When Bex fell asleep that night, curled up in her parents’ bed for the first time, it was not Odell and Daniel Oxendine who she imagined wrapped around her, comforting her through her grief, because it was not them she missed.

It was the parents she never got to have that she missed. It was them who she wept for.

---

When Bexley would wake the next morning, it would be to too many missed calls and texts.

Where are you?

Are you okay?

Bex, I’m worried.

Please just let me know you’re okay?

And many more. She didn’t read them all. She sent one reply: i”m oKY. Homr soon

Sun bled into the room from the window above the bed and Bex lifted a hand to block it out as she turned to look around the room. It was no different in the daytime than it had been last night, still as stiff and wooden as the doors that stood between each room.

When she moved to sit up, her hand knocked the still partially full bottle and she glanced down at it through a haze. Blindly grabbing for it before downing the rest of it and leaving the bottle in the middle of the bed as she crawled off and stumbled towards the bathroom. Her cheeks felt crusted and stiff and her eyes were so dry. She splashed water onto her face and hoped it would soothe her, but found it only relieved the numbness on her face but not the rest of her body.

When Bexley looked up into the mirror, her mother’s face greeted her.

Bex leapt back, throwing the towel she’d been holding at the mirror as her back hit the wall. Memories began to flash in her mind, things she knew weren’t her own. She cried out, clutching at her temples, pressing so hard she could feel her knuckles turning white. “GO away!” she shouted to nothing, to no one. The mirror cracked. “Get out of my head!” The sink split, water sprayed from a busted pipe onto the floor. “You’re dead!” The shower doors began to worble, groaning as if under pressure. “You’re dead!”

The world shook around Bex, she didn’t care to contain the tendrils of lilac that leaked from her and snaked around the room, burning its essence into the tile, the wood, the glass. She could feel her soul trying to separate from her body, trying to escape the pain, the grief. “You’re dead!” she screamed again. She wanted to fly away and disappear into a plane where none of this existed. She almost let herself.

Then, a familiar voice whispered in her ear, “I’ll never die, as long as you’re alive.”

Bex slammed back to reality and turned fast enough to hear her spine pop as her fist made contact with the solid tile of the wall, snapping under the pressure, knuckles splitting. The sudden shock of it pulled her back to the moment, pulled in her magic, and she stared at her bloody knuckles as they dripped onto the immaculate, white floor. The red stood out against the pearl colored tile and Bex watched, memorized, waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal. It never would, but, eventually, it calmed enough for her to take in a large gulp of air and not feel so dizzy.

Slowly, as to not make anything return, she stood, braced against the wall, blood smearing up the side of it. She made her way over to the cabinet next to the sink and pried it open, cradling her bleeding hand to her chest, grabbing the first roll of gauze she could find. She picked the towel up again and wet it in the water leaking from the burst pipe before wrapping it around her hand to staunch the bleeding.

Hand still cradled to her chest, she made her way out of the bedroom and down the hall, back to the study. Feet crunched on crumpled paper and broken bottle bits as she grabbed another bottle of whatever was inside-- more vodka, premium, top shelf brand this time-- and unwrapped her hand. Poured some of the liquid over it, whimpering and flinching, but containing herself enough to clean up her knuckles as she drank from the bottle. She just needed to stay numb for now.

She moved, almost mechanically, from the study back down the hallway to the staircase, where she sat on the bottom step and stared at the spot where her mother’s bloodstain should have been. She stared until the shadows crept up the stairs and bit at her feet and she realized she’d told Mina she was going to be home soon. Soon had come and gone.

Bex looked down at the bottle in her hands, then to the floor. Once again, she lifted it, took a sip, then held it upside down over the spot where her mother’s dead body had lain. Sometimes, she could still see it there. The alcohol trickled onto the floor and splashed onto her legs.

“I think I was supposed to write a speech about you,” she muttered over the sound of trickling liquid. “You know, like how people get up during a funeral and go up front and talk about the deceased. They’re s’pposed to be nice,” she slurred, “talk about what the person did in life, how they touched everyone around them. How they’d be missed ‘n shit.” She tipped the bottle more and more as it emptied, the expensive liquid now running down the tile as if racing to escape. “I don’t think I coulda faced them, though. All those people. All those people who thought you were, like-- good. A good mother, a good lawyer, a good citizen.” She hiccuped. “But you’re not-- weren’t. Any of those things. You were-- I dunno what you were. You were the opposite of all of those. Or-- the sideways of all of those. And even though I knew that, I still loved you, you know. I think I still do. I don’t know how to stop. You were the shittiest mother a girl could ask for, and you’re not even my real mother, but I still love you.” It was quiet, then as the bottle was empty and Bex had stopped talking.

Silently, she set the bottle down on the last step and stood up. She scrunched her brows as she looked down at the spot, as if still looking at her mother’s body. “I think that’s what I learned from you, ultimately,” she decided out loud, “I don’t know how to stop loving someone. Even you.” The house groaned around her, as if it, too, were crying. “Even a monster.”

And then Bex wrapped her still bleeding hand and hailed a cab to the ferry, and went home to her loving girlfriend and loving guardian who had always been more of a mother to her than Odell.

And on her way back, she only wondered, once, if this was all worth it.

#solo #funerary wrongs #domestic abuse tw #child abuse tw #transphobia tw #homophobia tw #odell #parental death tw

3 notes · View notes

dirt-wins · 4 years

Text

I said that I was going to post a fanfic but never did, so here it is.

See you after class.

I'm sorry if this turns out bad or if there is mistakes. This is the first fanfic I have ever made. This is a collage au. The first part is a little slow but it picks up later on. I usually write horror stories not romance, but I'll try my hardest!

Usopp pov:

I woke up to the sound of my alarm. I always set my alarm early to paint. My recent work was of a vase with dead flowers because Luffy didn't take care of them. We would sometimes buy flowers. I wasn't particularly good at gardening but I still liked it. My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Luffy snoring.

"Luffy get up your going to miss school!"

The boy lay there unmoved.

"Lazy jerk." I mumbled.

Then an idea shook through my head.

"If don't you get up I'll eat breakfast without you!" I shouted.

This got Luffy's attention, he darted around the room, getting ready left and right. Eventually he stopped in front of me.

"Usopp I'm hungry give me meat!" He wined.

"How about we go out somewhere today?" I said.

"Ooh how about we go to where Sanji works!" Luffy stated.

"Sure I'll finally get to meet this Sanji guy." I laughed.

Time skip to the diner.

Usopp pov:

We finally arrived at the diner only to be greeted by Zoro and Chopper. They seemed to be deep in conversation.

"Hi Zoro!" Luffy said happily. Zoro turned slightly. Chopper on the other hand turned really fast. Chopper looked really red. What were these two doing?

"Oh hi Luffy. Zoro said bored.

"Don't forget about the great and mighty Usopp!" I exaggerated. Chopper waved slightly while Zoro didn't seem to care. How rude.

"Law and Nami are inside waiting, come on." Zoro said.

"Really tra-guy is here!" Luffy shouted.

Luffy darted inside.

"Well I'll leave you two to talk." I stated.

Note: Chopper is a human in this au. I read a cute fanfic that had Zoro x Chopper. I won't add the ship if people don't like it.

Time skip they are seated at a table.

Usopp pov:

I was seated next to Nami and Law. Being trapped in between people sucked. I sat there on my phone as to drown out my anxiety. When a tall boy with blond hair walked up. He had peculiar twirly eyebrows. A fancy black suit. He holds the menus with soft warm looking hands. I couldn't help but stare at the boy. Is he this Sanji guy?

"Hello Luffy, Law, and of course my Nami swaaan!" The man stated while placing the menus down. When he mentioned Nami he seemed to turn into a human noodle. Did this guy even notice me?

"Sanji remember when I wanted you to meet Usopp well here he is!" Luffy said while pointing at me. Sanji's eyes turned to look at me.

Sanji pov:

I stared at the boy between Nami and Law. He looked uncomfortable and worried. I noticed the long fuzzy hair tied back into a ponytail. His skin was dark and smooth. He has an oddly long nose. The clothing he adorned was a pair of tight shorts and a baggy shirt. He has a big brown bag with art supplies hanging out. I notice a cute little keychain.

"Nice keychain what is it?" I asked.

"Oh um.. It's our school mascot..Sniper king." Usopp nervously said.

"That reminds me Sanji said he was joining our school" Law stated. Everyone was shocked. Why did no one tell me?

"Law why didn't you tell us we said no more secrets remember." Luffy wined. I felt bad for Law he had to be told to follow rules because for Luffy of all people. Somehow Law didn't mind.

"Yeah I'll see you guys I'll see you all at school tomorrow. I can't wait to be with my Nami swaaan!"

Time skip to school.

Usopp pov:

I dashed through the halls. Eating at a restaurant made me late. While running I spotted only a few people still by the lockers. The typical make out couple, the people getting bullied, and of course the bad kids. I made sure to grab my stuff quickly. I have science first hour. My teacher Ivankov is going to be ticked if I'm late. I grab my stuff quickly. Kuma one of the seven student counsel leaders came up to me.

"I can transport you to class if you like."

Kuma liked to make sure everyone gets to class on time. He's a little bit of a good kid unlike most other student counsel members.

"Uh..sure Ivankov is going to kill me if I'm late. I say awkwardly. Kuma uses his devil fruit power to send me to class.

Note: Yes devil fruits exist in this world. So does haki. Also I thought the seven warlords as student counsel members was hilarious.

Time skip to after school.

Usopp pov:

I saw Luffy on my way to theater club. He was leaning against a locker not too far away from Law. Man those two have gotten close lately. I started to approach them.

"Hey Luffy I have theater club today are you taking the bus back to the dorm?" I asked.

"I'm staying with Tra-guy! Isn't that cool!" Luffy replied. I was surprised Luffy got Law to agree.

"Okay well I'll see you at school tomorrow then." I laughed. I bet I seemed happy to Luffy because he just smiled and waved, while I walked away. In reality I was upset. I hate being alone, I can never sleep. I started to pick up pace how could Luffy leave me alone? Nevermind I already knew the answer, he is extremely dense. At least theater club would take my mind off of things. Speaking of which I spotted the auditorium doors. I walked in only the club leader looked up. The boy walked over he was super tall. His pink coat covering most of his body. This was Dolflamimgo, one of the seven students counsel members and the leader of the theater club. Sadly he and Brook are the only ones that talk to me in the whole club.

"Are you ready for drama, action, and a new era of theater! He shouted. I sat down on the ground next to Brook and wait for the club activities to start while completely ignoring Dolflamimgo.

Time skip to parking lot.

Usopp pov:

School clubs have ended so the halls are crowded again. I walk fast so I don't get to close to anyone. Until a girl bumps into me knocking something out of her hands. The girl has long black hair and shining blue eyes. She leans down to pick up what she dropped. I lean down to help.

"Why are you helping me I'm the one who bumped into you?" She asked.

"I the mighty Usopp decided to help you that's why." I exaggerated.

"Well that is very kind of you Usopp. My name is Robin and I wouldn't hang around me if I was you. I'm called a monster for a reason. Robin said kindly. Suddenly a string of arms lifted the pot of flowers off the ground. I was shocked I have never seem a devil fruit like this before.

"Cool devil fruit, I admit I am a little scared but to assume you're a monster is just plain rude. I also couldn't help but notice the flowers. Do you like flowers?" I asked.

"Thank you your words are very kind and yes I do like flowers after all I'm in the gardening club." Robin said.

"Usopp would you get to moving we're trying to leave school!" Nami shouted. I turned. Nami was behind me with a girl at her side. I started to recognize the girl it was Vivi one of the cheerleaders and Nami's girlfriend.

"Oh hi Robin sorry for yelling." Nami added. Robin smiled, she didn't seem to care. We all ended up walking out together.

"Where are you all going if you're not busy you should come to Ace's party" Vivi asked.

"I'd like to go to this party it sounds fun" Robin laughed.

"You know I'm not good at party's." I said.

"Don't be such a bore Usopp, Vivi asked so your going!" Nami retorted. When Nami wants you to do something you have to do it.

"Fine I'll go." I replied.

"Good we'll see you at eight." Nami said. I spotted my car.

"I'll see you at the party bye!" I shouted as I ran to my car.

Note: I hope you liked it also the story isn't over. If people seem to like it I'll make more. Also yes I am working on a part 2.

#one piece #fanfic #story #sanuso #vinsmoke sanji #usopp #sanji x usopp

23 notes · View notes