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hoaqins-funk-house · 3 years

Text

Springtrap

Yandere

Male Reader

Part 1

Sitting in the black swivel chair, you spin once or twice before coming to a stop, grimacing at the feeling of sticky floors beneath your shoes. This place is brand new, how the hell are the floors sticky?

Actually, on that note, how is everything so covered in dust?

Sighing, your mindless fidgeting comes to a stop as the phone, just as dinky as the walls around you, begins to ring. You pick it up but put it back on the table, eyes drifting to the laptop and swing-out tablet. When you flip the former open, you note the four buttons, each relating to something you would have to reset when it comes time to. The latter has cameras that are scattered around, including a separate tab for vents. There’s an option to block off vents, which sends a chill up your spine as you glance to the big ass one at your side.

You decide to block that one off for now.

Humming, you familiarize yourself with the layout of the place, deciding to ignore the shadows that crept through your vision.

Your unenthused eyes scan and take in everything. The replicas (you had seen the originals, and they were permanently stained with both the smell and color of pizza sauce and lawsuits) that were in and around the office, as well as the little bobbleheads that sat on your desk of the animatronics, which were, for some reason, human? You boop the one who you assume to be Freddy, hearing the familiar squeak.

A small smile comes to your lips.

It was at this time that you realized you had completely ignored the man on the phone, but you couldn't really bring yourself to care.

The little drawings that were put up were authentic; not just anyone could recreate what a child's mind spits out and decides to draw.

That Freddy looks a bit fucked up.

The posters were cutely designed, and after getting the gist of what everything was and how everything works, you were on your phone the rest of the night.

When six strikes, you casually leave, giving the building a quick once over as you leave the doors, locking them behind you.

If every night is going to be like that, this is going to get boring.

He’s stuck.

This suit traps him like a rabid dog, eager to stay gripped onto his neck.

Still, things would be changing soon.

He can feel it.

He can feel it as a fresh breeze, the first in many years, hits his nostrils, sending a wave of euphoria through his system. The bloodied musk that hung in the dank room was not a pleasant one.

He can feel it as his body accepts this new host, more and more, until soon, quite soon, he will become one with his vessel.

Just as the animatronics before him did.

He ponders.

Why was he being freed from this prison of his own design?

Is he being taken somewhere?

…

Will there be a night guard to terrorize?

A grin takes to his broken lips as he ignores the pain and blood that comes from them. Oh, a night guard! Truly, that will be a sight!

He can't wait.

For now, however, he must play dead.

My, that voice that shouts with excitement from behind him…

It sounds so familiar.

"Bring the truck around!" He calls. "I found one, a real one! It's got the rips, the weird colors, and what I am going to assume is pizza sauce! Ohohoh man, I hit the jackpot with this one! Fazbear's Fright needed something, and here it is!"

His congratulatory tone made the man within the suit want to throw up. Finding him was nothing to be happy about; he is despicable, incapable of redemption, and an awful being.

And you know what?

That's just the way he likes it.

So to have someone happy to find him, especially for their own purposes?

He won't let it stand.

Yeah, if this place has a nightguard, he'll kill them without mercy before burning the entire thing to the ground.

Might as well make it fun for himself.

As light peeks through, clearly originating from a flashlight, he feels his pupils shrink, resisting the urge to let out a groan as his weak eyes ache from their decades of being in the dark.

"Whoahoh! This one looks gnarly!" The same man as before speaks, probably referencing the organs and tendons that were showing. "C'mon, let's get it up!"

His grin only grows as two people lift him onto a dolly, beginning the move.

Goodbye, saferoom.

And hello, Fazbear's Fright.

Humming, you walk into the building, skimming over the decorations once more before noticing something.

The papers that had fallen onto the ground from before, they had dirt on them. Not surprising on its own, but when they were in the shape of tire tracks?

You decide to follow them, using your memory of the cameras to guide you through the building, which was already rather linear anyway.

Entering the last area, you could see a rather dilapidated animatronic suit, with organs visible and its fur matted with blood. Real blood. The old Springbonnie suit was nearly green from how old and dirty it was.

Your eyebrows raise. "Is that guy just stupid or did he knowingly bring in a suit that has a dead body in it?"

Honestly, you didn't care. "Eh, whatever. It'll probably start moving when I start my shift… I've heard those rumors about the other locations." You turn, stretching, unaware of the eyes that followed you or the head that turned your way.

Damn, does he want to kill this one?

Well, he can think it over more soon. After the merge.

He grins again, feeling his uneven, gouged skin begin to flare with pain.

You exit the room fully, making your way back to the office with all the urgency of an ADHD-riddled person doing laundry.

Which is to say… not much.

You fall into the chair, cursing as the thin mesh cushion does nothing to protect your tailbone from the metal frame of the chair. The phone rings not a moment later, you picking it up and laying it on the table again, eager to ignore it just as you had done before. You stretch again, arms raising above your head as you begin to flip through cameras, finding the rabbit in the same spot it was in before.

You yawn.

Hopefully it starts moving soon, or else the entire reason you took this job would be unfulfilled.

You were bored, and you remembered this place from the times you had gone with your younger brother, who was now in his early twenties. You, however, were 28 years of age, with nothing better to do than 'investigate' the Fazbear's Fright that opened up. Still, if that rabbit has a corpse in it, it should make things more fun.

As you lazily flip through your cameras, you set it down and look to the side, seeing a rather dirty looking man with an eyepatch and fox ears. To his confusion, before he could lunge at you, you reach out and swipe a hand through his chest. You continue to swipe forwards and backwards, the incorporeal man stuck standing there until you leaned back.

"So, you're a ghost."

His mouth opens as if to retort, but he just gives up and leaps at you, you not even looking at him anymore. He closes his mouth halfway through the jump, and with an unsatisfied sigh, he disappears.

You continue flipping through the cameras, checking in on the rabbit a couple of times before shoving the tablet out of the way, opening the laptop to have it ready and sitting back in your chair.

You glance towards a shifting figure in front of the window, the hat and bear ears telling of who it is. He limps along, eventually falling beneath your view before seemingly phasing through the wall and leaping at you. You stare passively as he does so, him not completing the jump to instead stand in front of you, confused.

For shits and giggles, you wave your hand through his chest once or twice.

"Why… aren't you… scared?" He croaks, voice ruined from years of no use.

"Oh, was I supposed to be scared?" You genuinely ask. "Uh, sorry. If you do it again I promise I'll hyperventilate."

"Don't try to… lessen your survival chances…"

"Okay. My bad."

He sighs, and after annoyedly rubbing his face, he disappears.

You flip out your cameras once more, finding the screen obscured by static and a small error in the center. Lazily, you reset cams.

When your screen clears, you check the rabbit. He looks… strange. Like his body is evolving in front of your eyes.

To be honest, you don't give enough of a shit to watch a potentially world-changing discovery if it looks that gross. You aren't paid enough to, anyway.

At this pay grade, you even coming into the damn building is volunteer work.

You check your phone for the time, seeing a cool time of one in the morning.

"Aside from that science experiment gone wrong happening in the back room, it's still really damn boring."

However, it's still not boring enough to watch that transformation or whatever. That corpse (well, at this point, you kinda doubt it's dead) can do whatever the hell he wants with that suit. It's his body, not your business.

After another fifteen minutes of staring at a wall, you check the cameras to the sound of loud clicks and pops, now seeing a heavily scarred man with 1.5 rabbit ears in place of the suit. He takes one step out from his original spot, body heaving forward before he lifts himself up, looking up at the camera with a grin.

"Huh. That's new." You say, watching him jolt forward, continuing to take steps before relearning how to walk smoothly.

It only takes him a moment to rocket off.

"I doubt that's good." You mumble, beginning to flip through the cameras to follow him before playing a sound in the room behind him, making him pause. He turns, walking back with a confused expression.

Continuing to flip through cameras, you watch as the man, who you'll dub Rabbit Guy, wanders, seemingly having lost his focus. Hearing a sound to your left, you pay no heed to whoever it is, instead waggling your hand in what you would assume to be their torso.

"You're strange…" They say.

"Uh-huh. If you'd excuse me, I am currently working on keeping Rabbit Guy the hell away from me." Your voice is monotonous but sincere; you aren't trying to be sarcastic or mean, just trying to tell them the facts.

Glancing to the side, you see that it was a child, so you were waving your hand in his collar. "Oh, my bad. Does that… make you guys uncomfortable?" You ask, retracting your hand.

"No, we can't feel it."

"Huh." You blandly respond, playing the sounds to lead Rabbit Guy back to where he started, before resetting sounds as you weren't able to play them anymore.

It seems like Rabbit Guy is getting progressively more and more annoyed at being led back, if his attempts to move fast enough to avoid the sounds or block out his ears meant anything.

His body was responding to the sounds, not him.

It was then that he disappeared, so you check vents, finding him in one that led directly to the room beside your office.

You block it off, much to his annoyance, before yawning and sitting back as any thumps you hear from inside the vents come to a stop.

You find him standing in the room where he had entered the vent, irritated as he glares at the camera. Preemptively, you reset all, thankfully right as cams and sound go out.

Sighing, you lazily check through cameras, brows slightly furrowing as you look for him. He was completely gone, not in vents or in rooms. It really is unfortunate how many blind spots and shadowed areas there are.

When you hear the thumping of the vents, you search through them, only finding a stupid knick-knack laying on its side halfway in your sight.

Looking to your side, you peek into the vent, leaning down to see if anything was there. Your gaze meets Rabbit Guy's.

"Shit." You say, quickly switching cams over to this one and holding down the seal button.

Your eyes shift back to him, finding him way too close for comfort. As you lift your finger to let the gate close on the vent, the man (who was crouch walking) catches it, forcing it back up. You hear something grind that definitely shouldn't be grinding, and you have a feeling that that vent cover just might be broken.

Getting out of the vent, he stands over you, waiting for some sort of plea or… literally any response at all.

"So, you, uh… come here often?" You ask, leaving him genuinely at a loss.

"Wh- was that a pickup line?" His rough, baritone voice catches you slightly off-guard.

You weren't expecting something that was pretty much a zombie to have such a good voice, or a slight british accent for that matter. "Was it? Shit, more people've flirted with me than I thought."

"Really? That's all you can come up with before your death? I'd hate for those to be your final words." He lightly teases, leaning against the wall with a mean grin.

You look up at the ceiling with a vague smile, his eyes widening momentarily. "To be honest, of any place to die, I'd much rather have it be in a place where I know I'll reach the front pages than in some random alley."

His grin falls into a frown as he watches you turn to him, the smile still on your face. It feels strange.

He feels strange.

Why does a random night guard make him feel so…

So… comfortable?

You were calm, collected, not making any sudden moves or even attempting to exit the chair. Theoretically, the perfect prey, but not a satisfying kill.

If he even wants to kill you, that is.

“What’s your name?” He asks, watching as you spin to face him in your chair. You would be taller if you stood, but he would still have a few inches on you.

“Y/N. You?”

“I’m… William. Or, rather, I was, when I was well and truly human.”

“And now?” You ask.

“I don’t exactly have a name.”

“Can I still call you William, then? Well, if I live long enough to do so?” You ask, eyes moving up to meet his. Looking up at him like that… He wishes the hot feeling in the pit of his stomach would go away.

“...Fine.”

“I mean… are you going to kill me?” You ask, face not shifting as he glares down at you.

“I won’t kill you on the first night, you need to give me more entertainment.” At least, that’s what he told himself.

“Oh, so we’re both here for the same reason.” You blankly say, his face contorting from a glare to confusion once more.

“You’re here… for entertainment?” He slowly asks, answered by your nod.

“I’m certainly not here for the pay. This place gives like half of minimum wage but I can’t complain about it because the other part is supposed to come from tips. Somehow.”

“How do you even live?”

“Well, right now I’m on an paid leave due to some unfortunate deaths in my family. To be honest, I never really cared for any of them, but hey. I’ll take any chance for a break I can. Then I got bored.”

He huffs out a laugh. “So you went to another job on your break?”

“Listen, getting a month off leaves a man with little to do when capitalism has left me with no hobbies. Besides, this gives me a great excuse to continue avoiding people.”

His lips curl into an amused grin as he leans forward, lowering his head to be eye level with yours. "Well, you won't be avoiding me." He practically purrs, you averting your eyes at the tone he uses.

Why would he say it like that?!

His golden eyes follow you as you close the laptop's screen, enjoying your reaction. You…

He'll keep you around.

You're entertaining and friendly. Open, and… warm.

He wonders.

You're human, and fully alive. He's a revived corpse who merged with his vessel. You probably are very warm compared to him.

When he comes back to his senses, he notices you slowly raising out of your seat, hand outstretched towards him.

Well, might as well take the chance.

He grabs your wrist, looking down at you unimpressed. You quietly huff, falling back into your chair and forcing him to move away from the wall in order to not dislocate your wrist.

Well, his hypothesis is correct. You are very warm.

He feels the tightening in his gut, not wanting to let go but knowing that he will have to.

You, however, don't actually care either way. You begin your attempt again, this time with your left hand. Slowly raising out of your seat, you actually manage to stand fully up before he notices again, grabbing your other wrist.

"What are you even trying to do?" He asks, a light sneer on his lips.

"Well... uh, I was trying to… boop your nose? If you're bonded with one of the original suits, then I figured either you or Fredbear would have the sound effect."

He lets out a few short laughs, his sneer replaced with the same amused grin as before.

"I'm afraid neither of us have the sound effect. That only came about with the second and third generations of animatronics."

You hum, interested.

His eyes quickly scan over you, taking in your form. This position, practically holding you hostage… Needless to say, he didn't dislike it.

Still, he releases you as he catches you glancing at what he assumes to be a phone. Things have advanced quite far since he was trapped.

You turn it on quickly, checking the time. “Well, we have around an hour and a half before my shift ends, so…” Pausing, you check the time again. An hour and a half?

He steps closer, you glancing back up at him before leaning back as he leans forward, looming over you. “Tomorrow, you best make this more fun for me. I’ll greet you, but then I’ll head to the back. Try and stop me from getting in.”

“Uh, sure. Are you still planning on making the punishment for loss, uh, death?”

His eyes narrow in coordination with a widening grin. “That’s for me to know. You either figure it out, or you don’t. It all depends how well you play.” His gruff voice slightly echoes in the mostly empty building, you nodding in response.

“Oh, cool. Can I tell my brother about you?” You ask suddenly, him quirking a brow as he stares down at you, easily at least half a foot taller than you. He was always tall, but now that he’s in this new form, he grew to be somewhere from 6’6 to 6’8. You sit down once more, exacerbating the height difference.

“Feel free to. Just know that if he ever comes around here, he won’t be alive for very long.”

“I doubt he will. He’s always preferred Foxy the most because he has taste, but-”

“Taste? For liking that liability-strewn fox? You like him as well?”

“To be honest, I never really liked any of them more than the other. I was in my emo phase when I went to see them, so it was practically illegal for me to like anything. But Foxy had sharp teeth and a wicked lookin’ hook, so… I guess I did.”

He hums, clearly slightly annoyed.

“Are you jealous that I liked the fox more than the rabbit that isn’t even the same generation as you?”

“I really should kill you.” His irritated expression shows the truth to your statement.

“It’s okay, I’m willing to call Springbonnie my favorite.”

Now, William was confused. Your tone… you weren’t joking. You were being genuine about something as stupid as this? What is with you?

“You’re very confusing. I think you joke, and then I listen to your tone and you’re genuine. But still, I wouldn’t mind if you did so.”

“It’s not nearly as confusing as how time passes in this place. It’s been like ten minutes since I met you but the clock says like three or four hours have passed.”

“What? Really?” His brows furrow as he steps closer, finding another excuse to close the distance between you both as he leans over the chair, seeing you pointing to the screen. “How strange…”

“Yeah. It doesn’t seem like tomorrow’s hunt will last for six hours, then. Thankfully.” You sigh.

“What, do you not want to feel like my prey for six hours straight?” He grins, leaning over further until his arm rests on your shoulder.

You shiver. “Why do you have to say it like that?”

“Because it makes you react, obviously. It’s entertaining to watch you squirm from something as simple as... the tone of my voice.” Of course, in order to prove his point, he does exactly what he did before, lowering his voice a few pitches and upping the growliness of it.

In covering your eyes, you also cover your cheeks, which have gained a slight flush. “William, I am begging you. Please, please, please, stop talking like that.”

And, naturally progressing, he was left somewhat stunned by the sound of your pleading tone. There’s just something about it, especially as you say his name, that makes him want to…

...makes him want to chase, and capture, and possess forever.

You as his prized prey, and him as the hunter.

“I’ll use it when necessary.” He vaguely answers, watching your head droop.

“I’ll take what I can get.” You concede breathily.

He chuckles, hearing the chime of a bell, signifying 6 in the morning. "Well, I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, then. Don't keep me waiting."

"Asshole. I won't." You turn your head away from him, hiding the flush on your face, and stand up, stretching. "See ya, William."

He hums, eyes tracing your form as you stretch. It was a nice view, watching the button up shirt crease around your back as you stretch, clearly hinting at the muscle beneath. His eyes did drift lower once or twice, and that's how he figures out that damn, you have a really nice ass!

You begin to walk out, and he follows you with his eyes, watching you turn past the replica Freddy husk and unlock the door, exiting into the fresh morning. His eyelids droop, gaze slipping up as his lips curl into a wide grin.

“Y/N… I won’t kill you. Especially not when I’m presented with such an ample opportunity to make this into something so entertaining.”

Well…

Is that the only reason?

Of course, he knows it isn’t.

His grin falls, leaving him coldly leering at the aged panels above him before his sight shifts back to the room around him. As he exits the office, he glances at the stained and shaded glass of the door, not allowing much, if any, light in. He turns away, heading back to where he was originally.

As he walks, he lets his form shift, feeling his body grow to his previous monster rabbit self, the creaks of his metal joints loud in the silent building.

He ignores any shadows that creep in the edges of his vision, the specters traversing without sound.

“This is going to be… boring.” His voice, far rougher than before, comes out unfeeling and croaky. As he returns to his previous position, slouching over once more, he decides to use his old tactic to pass time; inflicting enough pain on himself to fall unconscious. It doesn’t matter if his dreams are infested with darkness, nor how much he suffers in them.

It was better than the boredom of sitting in one position with an unchanging environment.

He begins forcing his muscles to flex and strain within the suit and pull against the beams they have welded to, making him grit his teeth before the searing pain fades away, along with his vision.

Goodnight, Y/N.

“Yo.” You greet your brother, the man tiredly yawning as he ruffles his hair.

“Heya, Y/N. What’re you up so early for?”

“Well, I got bored and got a night shift job at this dinky little horror attraction opening up next week. I decided to tell you about what happened there before I head off to sleep.”

“You got bored during a break from your job so you… got another job?”

“Y’know, William said the same thing.” You say, your brother narrowing his eyes at you.

“A coworker?” He asks.

“Eh, not quite… he is the reason I stayed up to talk to you, though.”

He hums, walking around the couch you were splayed on with your shirt half unbuttoned.

“So, to begin my tale, you remember Freddy’s? The pizzeria with the animatronics?” You question.

“Yeah?”

“Well the horror place I went to is based off of that; it’s filled with replicas and a few actual things from the pizzerias of the past, but something came in tonight that was… different.”

“Which was?”

“An animatronic. One of the originals, Springbonnie. Granted, the suit was ripped to shit and covered in enough dirt to be green, but it was authentic. It even has the dead body! Well - not so dead body, but still visible.”

“Did you call the cops?” He asks, worried.

“Hell no! I’m not paid enough to give a shit about what could-or-could-not-be a dead body. Either way, he transformed into a human, which was rather odd, but-”

“Just to be clear, this rabbit had a dead body inside and transformed into a human, and you don’t question it?”

“No. Continuing on, he got into my office and then we talked for a bit, I learned that his name is William, time passed really weirdly, and then we struck a deal where I have to keep him out of my office or I'll maybe die.”

“You’re still going back there?! And ‘maybe die?!’”

“Yeah, he said the knowledge about whether or not I die from losing the hunt was ‘for him to know.’ I didn’t question it further.”

“You know, Y/N, sometimes it feels like I’m the older sibling. You’re fucking stupid.”

“I’m well aware.”

He leans over the couch, glaring down at you. “Then wisen up and quit that damn job.”

“I’m good. William is good company.”

“He threatened to kill you!”

“And? He hasn’t. Yet.”

“You infuriate me, gayboy.” He says, stepping away from the couch.

“Cool. I’ll sleep here for now, when you get back from work I’ll definitely be up.”

“Whatever.” He waves his hand at you, ignoring the middle finger pointing his direction from behind the couch’s back.

---

Part 2

also a lot of the stuff i write from now on may be male reader inserts lol

heres my springtrap design

here's the updated design lol

#springtrap #springtrap x reader #william afton #william afton x reader #afton #fnaf #fnaf x reader #fnaf 3 #yandere #yandere fnaf #yandere springtrap #five nights at freddy's #yandere x reader #x reader #male reader #male insert #reader insert #fnaf springtrap #gay

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bandaigaeru · 3 years

Text

comfort place - yang jeongin

→genre: friends to lovers →synopsis: comfort can manifest itself in many forms. some find it in the fantastical world of the arts. others find it in sports. but, for you, comfort is a person. →word count: 6.5k →pairing: jeongin x gender neutral reader →warnings: drunk jeongin, mentions of puking

“Why are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“That,” your eyes go wide as you nod at his stature. He’s hunched over your trash can. Blue gloves shield his hands as he digs.

“Oh. I think I lost my earring or something.”

“And your first instinct was to search my trash can?” you quirk an eyebrow. Perhaps you should mention that this isn’t just any trash can, it’s your kitchen one. Full of discarded, burnt ramen and your roommate’s weird protein shakes that will clog your drain otherwise.

He nods, as though this is the most normal first step to a lost earring. Yang Jeongin is many things, but being questionable is one of his strongest traits.

You slip behind him to get to the fridge. Water bottles line the right half, more commonly known as your roommate’s side. You reach for one.

“What are you doing on March twenty-fifth?” he asks, arms deep in your trashcan. He’s really going to endure this conversation without a single shred of his pride disappearing.

You try not to look at him as you glance at the calendar. Two weeks away, the small square for that Saturday reads “NATIONALS” in large red letters.

You hum to yourself. “Dog sitting.”

“What?” he looks at you, eyes squinted in confusion, “Why?”

“Danceracha’s going out of town for the dance contest. I told you this.”

He exhales a deep, surrendering sigh as he straightens his back and plucks the gloves off. He shakes his hands in the cool air before starting for your sink. The calm stream of water trickles out. “Man. That sucks.”

“Why?” you question. Your fingertips draw marks of condensation along the plastic.

“I was gonna invite you to a party,” he mutters. A pout comes to his lips. For a moment, your heart drops. He looks the same as when you met him. All those years, long with memories but short in quantity, whizz past you.

“Party?” you repeat.

“Yeah,” he nudges the water stream off.

Parties and Jeongin don’t mix well. History has proven this.

“Whose party is it?” you start for the living room, knowing he’ll follow.

“You don’t know him,” he says, his voice never once fading because, indeed, he’s on your tail.

“Okay, but what’s his name?”

“Chan. Actually,” he hesitates, “you might know him.”

As you sink into the couch, chipped leather scratching your legs, you glance at him. His eyebrows are scrunched into his thinking stance. Then, his features light up once he finds the answer. “Do you remember sophomore year’s biology class?”

You nod.

“Remember when that senior came in to make fun of Mr. Lee?”

Again, you nod.

“His best friend is Chan. You probably saw them in our freshman yearbook for spirit week. They dressed up as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum for Twins Day.”

Your mouth forms into an acknowledging part. “Got it.” In fact, the recurring image instantly pops into your head. You can thank all the hours spent staring at it with stifled laughter for that.

“So what’s the party for?”

He shrugs, “Some college achievement shit.”

“And you got invited?” you laugh. Jeongin barely made it out of high school. He took one harrowed glance at the local campus and nearly cried. You don’t blame him, though. That place is stressful. Even as a freshman you can say this.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m cool, you know? I don’t need to be in academics for them to know that.”

“Sure,” you nod.

“I’m serious!” His lips quirk up in a defensive manner that sends a spark through your chest.

Among other things, Jeongin is confusing. Questionable and confusing. These are the words you say when someone asks you what he’s like. Because seriously, why does he always do things so infuriating yet endearing?

He runs a hand through his hair as he unlocks his phone. His thumb works quickly to swipe through a message log before he tilts the phone so you can see. “See?”

The conversation in question is short, a maximum of four texts. The details blur as he snatches his phone back as quickly as he showed it. Again, infuriating.

“Are you planning on going alone, then?”

This question makes him freeze. He stares at the wall wielding a mounted TV, whose black screen reflects the image of him by your side, shoulder to shoulder. A small smile tilts his lips. “I guess. People want me there. So I’ll find my niche.”

See? Endearing.

You have no doubts that he can find a place to fit in. He did it in high school and he’ll proceed to do it in the future. That’s just how he is. Plus, maybe he can allow someone else to feel safe too. Like he did for you.

ii.

High school is a demon with a comforting smile. When you’re forced to transition, they tell you it’s all fun. Sunshine and rainbows, if you will. What they don’t tell you is that luck will always make it so you don’t get any of your friends in your classes. And this, with your contradicting lunch shifts, will slowly force you out of the friend group you had stuck with since elementary school.

Perpetual tears are stocked behind your eyes. Waiting for the perfect moment to fall because let’s be honest, any minor inconvenience could push you over the edge. Stress does that to you.

In third period of your second week, your math teacher announces that she’s decided on her seating chart. She makes you line up against the walls as she grabs her reference sheet, lined with the images of desks, names scribbled atop them. “Jeongin,” she says, pointing to a desk in the front row.

A boy a few feet away from you steps out from the crowd to claim his desk. He’s wearing an oversized maroon hoodie whose back is marked “Yang” in white letters.

Your teacher stops at the seat next to him. She glances at you and your heart drops. “Y/N,” she points to a desk.

Sitting up front is worse than the incessant plagues of high school drama. All eyes permanently burn into the back of your head, even when not a single soul acknowledges you.

As you try to settle into your seat, back a little stiff from trying to shrink yourself into a tiny marble, the boy beside you leans over. “Hey, you okay?”

For the first time, your eyes lock. His remind you of the innocence of childhood, that blank yet full gaze. You nearly melt, but instead, your back loosens.

“Yeah. I just don’t like sitting in the front,” you chuckle awkwardly.

He smiles. Not one of the pity ones, but a real toothy smile. “Aww. Me neither, I always feel like everyone’s watching me.”

Finally, a person who gets it.

“But I just have to trick myself into not caring,” he says, glancing at the whiteboard. Shadows of poorly erased marker line the corners.

Abruptly, after his serene gaze, he jumps back to you. “Do you like coffee by any chance?”

Despite the initial shock of the question, you say, “Yeah, I do.”

As it turns out, his family owns this huge coffee shop right next to the bookstore you used to frequent. His mom was rather happy to see a new face. On that day, she accepted you as family.

And math didn’t turn out to be so hard that year.

iii.

The apartment grows quiet after Jeongin inevitably has to leave. Your roommate’s dog comes trotting out from his room. His nose is upturned, scouting for a soul to give him attention.

“Come here, Kkami,” you pat the empty spot on the couch beside you. He runs the rest of the way. Instead of resting on the couch cushion, he prefers your lap. This pickiness he obtained from his owner.

Hyunjin’s anything but a bad roommate. He does the dishes, sweeps when he finds a large puff of Kkami’s fur traveling your hardwood like a tumbleweed, even brings home coffee when you have a huge study night ahead of you. However, when it comes to you and Jeongin, your mutual hangouts on weekends, he has a very specific need. And that’s to be around you two as little as possible.

He claims it’s because he can’t stand third-wheeling. Jeongin refuses to understand this concept. “If we’re not dating, it’s not third-wheeling?” he’d said, numerous times.

Hyunjin won’t budge on the subject.

The tune set as Jeongin’s ringtone, chosen by him, plagues the air. You reach for your phone, placing a protective hand on Kkami’s side to prevent him from falling.

“Hello?”

“Problem: What would you do if your brother told you he got a girlfriend?”

You squint at your reflection in the TV between scene transitions. It looks odd without him beside you. “Which brother?”

“Guess which one would make me more dumbfounded. Hint, it’s not the older one.”

“Your younger brother got someone before you?” you snicker. Jeongin holds his pride in his individuality. Losing to a younger brother with something like this is hilarious.

“This isn’t funny! Should I be a serious big brother and talk to him or should I just seethe in silence?”

“Neither. Leave him alone.”

He does something akin to a whine. “But-”

You stick up a finger, though he can’t see you as you interrupt, “C’mon, Jeongin. He’s a teenager. Let him be.”

Sometimes, it feels like he’s the outsider and you’re the true, reasonable sibling.

He sighs. You imagine him pushing his hair out of his eyes and staring up at his ceiling. All lost in the possibilities that lay before him, since you and him both know he won’t listen to you.

“Can I hang up now?” you ask, glancing at the front door.

“Are you gonna abandon me for your significant other too?”

You scoff as the front door opens. “You’re ridiculous.”

Hyunjin steps into the apartment. His hair is damp with sweat and lays jagged in front of his eyes. You raise a hand to wave.

“It’s a real question, though. You know whoever it is will be jealous of me.” Now, you know, he’s just prodding for a reaction. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“Yes, Jeongin. I would one hundred percent drop you for some person who offers emotional stimulation,” you monotonously chide.

Hyunjin gives you a curious look as he passes. You would think he’d be used to this by now.

“Okay but,” Jeongin’s voice grows low as he settles onto his bed, “would you really? Tell me you won’t.”

“I won’t,” you press your back deeper into the couch. It’s not like you’ve had many romantic opportunities since meeting him. Jeongin, though also needy, is more interesting than anyone else you’ve met. He’s a shiny emerald among a sea of charcoal.

“Good,” he says, and you can tell he’s smiling. The image of his little dimple indenting makes you mirror the sentiment.

“Now can I hang up?”

“Fine,” he sighs.

Through a laugh, you manage, “Goodnight. Love you.”

“Love you too.” And then the line goes dead.

iv.

“Are you sure you don’t like him?” must be a trendy replacement for ‘good morning.’

“Who?” you ask, rubbing your eye as you start for the cereal cabinet.

“Jeongin. Who else?” Hyunjin says. He sits at the kitchen table. A plate of freshly heated blueberry waffles sits before him.

Without turning to him, you say, “I’m sure.”

It’s a reflex, really.

He exhales in the most exaggerated way possible to grab your attention. His eyes are cold with the hunger for an answer. A real one.

“I don’t like him,” you say slowly, allowing each word time to sink into the air.

The thought has surely crossed your mind. It’d be unrealistic to say you’ve never pondered the great possibility of being in love with your best friend. But ultimately, you don’t think you are. Sure, you’d take a bullet for Jeongin. Just not in the ‘wow I’m madly in love with you’ kind of way. You tell yourself it’s in the ‘you’re going to do so much good for the world’ kind of way.

“Fine,” Hyunjin admits, picking up one of his waffles and taking a caveman bite.

Most of breakfast is quiet as you sit opposite him, staring into your bowl. Your milky reflection takes you off guard a few times.

“You know,” Hyunjin says after a while, his voice raw and a little croaky. He has to bring a hand to cover his mouth as he clears his throat. “You should get him to stay with you while I’m away.”

As you look back up at him, he adds defensively, “I’m not trying to play Cupid.”

You shrug, “He probably has other plans.”

Yet when you text him a few hours later, he jumps on it. “It’ll be like a sleepover! Don’t you miss when we did those?”

You did, but you don’t admit it.

The week of nationals arrives too quickly for your mind to process. One minute, you’re studying for an upcoming exam and the next there’s a knock on your bedroom door. It doesn’t wait for a sound before opening.

“Hey, I’m leaving.”

Hyunjin’s dressed in black sweatpants and a black hoodie, which covers his messy hair. Perfect for his night of sleeping on the bus. A duffel bag packed and puffy hangs off his shoulder.

“Good luck,” you smile up at him.

“Thanks. Don’t try sneaking into the venue with your rat like you did last year,” he returns the smile.

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea,” you rush to defend yourself.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right. You still played into it.”

“And we got to support you as your lovely friends.”

“You were the only people cheering during the contemporary dance,” he mumbles, stepping back into the hall.

“To be fair, we couldn’t realize because we were so involved!” you shout to match the increasing distance.

“Right!” he calls, a laugh shaking his words.

Studying is now a failed mission. Every time you glance at the words printed on the textbook’s glossed pages, they just blur together until your mind drifts to Jeongin. When is he coming over? He said he’d be here by seven. It’s roughly a quarter past. He has a key, so it’s not like you have to be free when he gets here.

When you succumb and close the textbook, you hear shuffling in the living room. Shortly followed by Kkami’s familiar barking, which he only pursues when someone’s here.

The feeling of a generously excited puppy fills you as you follow the source.

“Hi,” you smile.

Jeongin has treated himself to a coffee. He must have just worked a shift.

“Hi,” he hands you the paper cup.

“Oh, is this for me?” you take it. It’s hot against your palms.

“Yeah. It’s hot chocolate. Thought you might want it.”

He drops his backpack, likely stuffed with potential party outfits, by the couch. He stands and scans your face as you take the first sip of the drink. The sweetness takes over and makes you shiver, but the warmth minimizes the shiver to nothing. Surely enough, this is his mother’s hot chocolate.

“Thank you,” you say, looking into his eyes. The living room light has speckled his eyes with stars.

“Of course.”

A moment passes of just looking at each other. Not a single word. You’re not even sure if you’re remembering to breathe.

It breaks when he glances at the TV. “Movie time?”

Settling on the couch doesn’t take long. He sits close enough to you, resting his head on your shoulder. He’s done this for as long as you remember, but why does it feel so close all of a sudden?

He chooses the movie. A tradition you’ve established ever since you accidentally chose a movie so repulsively awful you had to take a break from watching movies at all. The teasing was barely bearable.

Even now, when someone says something similar to that movie, you shiver.

“Are we feeling sci-fi?” he asks.

You almost shrug until you remember where his head is. “I don’t care,” you say instead.

He chooses a romance movie, his safe pick.

And he falls asleep not even ten minutes in.

Hyunjin’s question returns to you in neon lights. Certainly, this tight feeling in your chest couldn’t be akin to liking someone. When you like someone, there’s always a telltale sign. There’s a bright moment of realization. That’s never come for you. Even now, all you can do is question. Question. Question. Question.

vi.

Jeongin’s party outfit is the most conspicuous thing ever. A light blue tee from middle school that has all his classmate’s signatures on the back. Black jeans with holes at the knees. You can’t tell if he’s going to a child’s party or not.

He catches your tilted gaze, matched with the furrowed eyebrows, and huffs. “Would you rather I get puke on a good shirt?”

You blink. “I’d rather you not puke on yourself.”

A noise close to laughter bursts past his lips. “Ha. Funny. I won’t reach that point. I’m thinking people puking on me.”

You nod. Jeongin’s a lightweight, from what you know. But hey, if it helps him sleep at night.

He departs after a long phone call with Chan. He offers a little wave as he opens the door. “I’ll give you live updates.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I will.”

And indeed, he follows through. Selfies bombard your phone every three minutes. One is taken with Chan, but it’s so shaky and dark that they look like blobs with highlighted cheeks.

These only make you more confused. Maybe Hyunjin was right. But you don’t want him to be. Nothing makes you feel more foolish than catching feelings for a friend who is just that. Friend. That painful, heartbreaking word.

You open Hyunjin’s message log, prepared to reach out and ask if he can help you break down what you’re feeling, but his contact transitions to consuming your entire screen—perfect timing, he’s calling.

“Hello?”

“Guess what?” His voice is drowned out by external shouts.

“What?”

“We took second place!”

“Congrats,” you smile to yourself, leaning against the couch arm.

“It’s all thanks to Felix’s freestyle. That surprise category threw us off, but he really came through,” he rambles. He tells you about all his points and each error, which ultimately seem mundane but apparently make a difference in his detail loving mind.

“Anyway, I just wanted to call. See how you’re doing, you know.”

“I’m doing good,” you nod as though to convince yourself.

“How’s Jeongin?”

“At a party,” you say as your phone buzzes again. Another selfie. This time, he’s in a lonesome bathroom and posing in the mirror. A peace sign that surrounds his eye. That stupid dimple makes your heart jump.

Hyunjin giggles at something on his end and says something not aimed at you. He quickly returns to his serious tone with, “How are you really feeling? Don’t bullshit me.”

You stifle a laugh. Resting your head on the back of the couch, you glare at the ceiling, “Confused.”

“About Jeongin?”

He slips into a quieter place. You sigh. Why are your hands shaking all of a sudden? “Yeah.”

“Well,” he starts, “I pushed you into thinking about it for a reason.”

“He doesn’t like me like that.”

“How do you know?”

“Because friends don’t like friends like that.”

“But you like him like that, so doesn’t that ruin your statement?”

You sit in the silence for a minute. “I guess so.”

His breath is amplified and you can hear each inhale and exhale. “You’ll probably just brush this off, but I think you have a shot.”

You nod. “Sure. A shot at going to the moon maybe. A shot at Jeongin liking me? No way.”

“Look, pessimism isn’t gonna get you anywhere. If you’re too much of a pussy to talk to him, I will. But not because I want to, because it’s terrible seeing you sulk,” he mutters.

A round of applause for your roommate.

“Just give me some time. I still don’t know if I like him,” you glance at the dog, who’s cuddled up on a pile of blankets. Why can’t your life be that simple?

“Not trying to force you or anything, but I think you know the answer to that.”

He’s probably right. It’s not like you can retaliate anyway. There’s a distant knock before he says, “Sorry. I gotta go. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

The following silence is truly suffocating.

vii.

That party changes everything.

Jeongin stumbles home, each step a potential path to faceplanting. It’s this exact stumble that forces him to trip over a box.

The noise draws you from sleep. Through squinted eyes, you stare at him as he tries to regain his balance. His arms are splayed out, searching for a stable support beam.

“Jeongin?” you whisper, though you know it’s him. Who else would be drunkenly returning home at, you glance at your phone, three in the morning?

“Y/N,” he gasps. Your voice prompts him to follow it.

As you stand, he finds his way through the narrow path between couch and coffee table. He throws his arms around you.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, words meshing together.

“I missed you too?” It’s only been six hours.

He holds you at arms length, palms resting on your shoulders. “I love you,” he slurs, eyes drunkenly taking a long blink.

“I love you too?”

“No, like, I really love you. ‘The moon is beautiful’ type of stuff,” he nods.

You’re not sure what he means by this. But it doesn’t matter if you try to question him, because he continues.

“I think about the future a lot,” he says, hands falling to his sides before he falls onto the couch. “Nothing’s ever consistent. But you’re always there.”

“That’s-” you begin.

He wasn’t finished. “I think our wedding would be nice.”

Now, he goes silent as you stand there in shock. He thinks about that? How often?

The moment your lips part to ask these things, a light snore escapes his lips. You grab a blanket from your room, the Totoro one he loves, and you gently cover him. You lean over his face. His cheeks are a little swollen, as are his lips. You push his hair away from his eyes before going to your room. You’re careful not to make a noise as you shut the door.

He’s gone by the time you wake up. For the first twenty-four hours, you shrug it off as a painful hangover he’s just sleeping through.

Most hangovers don’t last a week, though.

One time, sitting beneath a sky littered with stars, Jeongin released a deep breath. “Do you think we’ll ever stop being friends?”

Jeongin’s not insecure about many things, as his philosophy is that if one person finds something unattractive, there’s a hoard who will think otherwise. But this topic is an exception.

“Unless you do something unthinkably terrible, no,” you mumble. And you truly meant it.

So, Jeongin: You haven’t done anything unthinkable.Why have you disappeared?

Life without Jeongin has been incredibly boring. It’s prompted an imminent heartache. Attending class is a lame option considering your bed is so much more comfortable. You never knew missing someone could form a black hole in your body, consuming each grain of energy.

Hyunjin’s the only reason you’re eating. Since he knows you’re not up for any meal, he brings you snacks and another bottle of water—to add to the mountain of empty bottles on your desk.

“Do I need to go break his ankles?” Hyunjin asks one day, nearly a month after his tournament.

You shrug. You know he’s joking, but laughter doesn’t seem to bubble up. It’s lost in the dark cave that is this confusing state.

“I texted him today. No response yet,” Hyunjin adds.

You nod. You got the same treatment, but you stopped trying a while ago.

“Have you gone to the coffee shop? To see his mom or something?”

You shake your head. “No point in it. He doesn’t tell her much. Plus I don’t want to pin her against him or anything.”

Hyunjin sighs. He doesn’t know what else to say, or offer, or do to help you. Not that you’re a lost cause, but he’s starting to lose the ounce of hope he had. To him, you’re too good for this. Telling and convincing you of that is a difficult task.

When he leaves you alone, you cry again. At this point, your eyes hurt when you aren’t crying. But hey, at least you’re sleeping nice. The desperate need to escape can do that to you.

viii.

You tell Hyunjin your conclusion at dinner—something he’s finally tricked you into eating. “I think I love him.”

He nods. “Yeah. Didn’t we already establish that?”

You push the noodles around. “I didn’t want to admit it.”

“Why?”

Averted gaze set to the ramen, though his remains scalding. “I don’t know.”

He reaches across the table to regain your focus. He knows the noodles aren’t that interesting. “That’s okay. Look, we can go beat his ass if you want. Or we can hunt him down and hold him hostage-”

He stops when he sees the small hint of a smile turning your lips up. One of his own appears, and in his mind, he’s breaking into a congratulatory dance. The crack in the sadness is exposed, and it’s slowly breaking further. All that’s next is revealing the ravine of happiness.

After dinner, you sit on the couch and decide to watch a movie. Unlike Jeongin, he gives you movie pick. It reminds you of the bitter taste that’s overcome your mouth since he up and left.

Halfway through the movie, some shitty one Jeongin and you watched a few months ago, Kkami barks at the couch. He looks between you and the crack behind it as if to say, “Hello? Get my bone!”

You glance at Hyunjin, who also waits for you to get up and retrieve the dog’s lost bone. Normally you take turns with this task, but he seems to have forgotten it’s been his turn for the last five times.

With a muted sigh, you pull yourself off the couch. Hyunjin doesn’t even bother to pause the movie. Jeongin wouldn’t do that.

You lower yourself to look into the dark tunnel. With a blind hand you swipe against the floor. A small object connects with the palm of your hand. You drag it out. A small metal earring glares back at you. You drop it in the pocket of your hoodie—which was a gift from Jeongin as you drifted into adulthood. You return to the bone search with a sting in your eyes.

ix.

Happiness is a fragile object.

At the same hour that Jeongin had said the unthinkable, your phone buzzes loudly against your side. Ultimately, this brings you back to the post-sleep daze as you trudge to answer it. Looking at the contact is the last of your concerns.

“Hello?” Your voice is raw. A long gulp of water would be kindly appreciated.

“Hey, Y/N, right?” This is a voice you’ve never heard before. You pull back to look at the contact and, unsurprisingly, there isn’t one. All that stares back is a string of numbers, unique to this person.

“Yeah?”

“Hi, sorry for the late call. I’m Chan-” you nearly hang up out of defensive instinct, but you let him finish. “I kind of need a favor right now.”

“What kind of favor?”

In the background, there’s a loud retching noise. “Um, so Jeongin, right?” Chan nervously laughs.

“We’re not really-” you start.

He interrupts, “I know. But he’s been talking about you nonstop. He’s really a wimp, you know. Actually, I guess I’m not really asking for a favor. I’m doing you a favor.”

You know where he’s going with this. “I’m sorry, Chan, but I don’t think that’s a-”

“Hush,” he says before his voice distances.

“Y/N? It’s Y/N?” the familiar, slurred voice asks.

He wasn’t going to give you an option. Deep down, you’re kind of grateful for that.

When Chan returns to the phone, he says, “I can send you the address. We’re on the first floor, so it shouldn’t be too bad. I would offer to come pick you up, but I’m babysitting.” At these final words, he laughs.

You consider waking up Hyunjin to take you—he’s the one with the car—but you think against it when you realize it’s only a five minute walk.

Despite the daytime weather that is clear sky and sun that hugs your skin, the nighttime

version is a little less welcoming. Indeed the air is breezeless, but it’s a bitter cold. Grabbing a hoodie would have been smart, but alas.

Chan opens the door with a smile. “Hi, come on in.”

He points to a closed door, “Jeongin’s in there. He should be decent. Just a little pukey.”

You follow his directions, while he starts for the couch. At least he’s allowing privacy, you think. You knock lightly on the door. After a long trial of waiting with no response, you slowly push the door open.

His cheek is resting on the cold porcelain of the bathtub. Through dazed and squinted eyes, he looks at you. “Hi?”

“Hey,” you say, stepping into his space for the first time in over a month. Despite the stain of puke on his shirt, you realize that he hasn’t changed much. What physical changes can someone go through in a month? Well. Everything.

You appreciate your mind for allowing his appearance to never leave. Otherwise, you might have looked at him just now and been disgusted. Because it’s Jeongin, and because of this weird tugging feeling in your chest, you don’t. In its place, you look at him as though he holds the world’s most valuable object.

He tries to sit up, nearly falls on his face, but manages. “Do you hate me?”

“No. I don’t think so,” you squat next to him. The familiar weight of his head meets with your shoulder.

“I shouldn’t say this,” he laughs. His mind is going a mile a minute, but his lips refuse to go at an accompanying speed. “I love you.”

You stare at the top of his head. “I love you too.”

“Really?” he lifts his head. He seems to search your eyes for the similar sparkle his hold.

“Yeah,” you nod. You decide to save your cheesy comments until the morning. No point in wasting them if he won’t remember this when he wakes up.

“Did you know that I,” he says, trying to lift himself to his feet. He leans a little too far on a foot, prompting you to rush and steady him. “thought you and Hyunjin were dating for the longest time.” He laughs again.

You squint at him, “Is that why you disappeared?”

A drunk smile finds his lips and his cheeks glow beneath the bathroom light. “Guilty.”

“You’re stupid for thinking it’d ever be anyone but you,” you whisper, glancing anywhere but him. You could say this to the mirror too. Stupid for thinking it could be anyone but him.

He’s ridiculous. Ridiculous enough to allow his smile to drop a little as he leans closer to your face. “I’m going to kiss you,” he whispers.

You watch as he leans a little bit closer. Bit by bit. You even close your eyes at one point. At the last minute, when his breath begins to mingle with yours, he pulls away. “No. Let me brush my teeth first.”

You watch in a stunned silence as he stumbles to the living room. “Do you have a spare toothbrush I could use?” he asks Chan.

Chan responds quietly with, “Yeah, under the sink.”

You beat Jeongin to it, offering him the packaged toothbrush.

“Thanks, love,” he says.

Questionable Jeongin who calls you pet names. You like it, though you’ll try your hardest not to admit it. That’d only feed into his questionable choices.

Minty Jeongin has sobered up a little bit. Instead of kissing you immediately after rinsing his mouth, he stares.

“What?” you prompt.

“Nothing.”

And then he leans in and kisses you. In all honesty, it’s exactly how you imagined kissing him. There’s no stereotypical sparks. It’s just Jeongin, whose lips happen to be on yours. That’s enough. Afterward, though, you acknowledge that Cloud 9 is beneath your feet.

Chan drives you and Jeongin back to your apartment after a difficult talk and one final puke. (The puker looks at you when he feels it coming and asks, “Can you hold my hair back?”)

As you’re helping Jeongin out of the car, Chan leans back in the driver seat and glares a strong eye at Jeonign, “Run away again and I will beat your ass.”

Jeongin chuckles. “Right. Catch me first.” As he says this, he throws his arm over your shoulder for stability. Though, he’s sober enough to walk on his own now. The occasional stumble, sure, but he’s not in dire need of someone to guide him.

You take it as his way of saying he plans on staying.

However, when you make it into the apartment, you don’t bear right to the couch.

Keeping him close will prevent him sneaking out and running away again. That’s a thing of the past, and you’ll make sure of it.

He doesn’t even complain.

“Don’t puke on me, please,” you whisper as you climb into bed. He follows shortly after. Arms naturally find your waist as he pulls you closer to him.

He hums. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dreamless sleep takes over you, but the entire time you’re aware of his arms and his proximity. In a way, it’s better than dreaming.

It’s even better when you wake up before him. His lips are a pretty shade of pink and for a moment you forget about his eventful night. You press a light kiss to his cheek.

His eyes don’t open, nor does he stir. He’s in that beautiful, drunken sleep. You try not to laugh at the thought of his hangover to come. God, he’s going to be so whiny.

You try to slip out of his arms, but the death grip only becomes tighter. He whines a little, mutters something like, “Don’t go.”

After a few more minutes of just staring at the sleeping boy, boredom takes over. Yeah, staring is nice and all, whatever, but it reaches a certain intolerable point. Ten minutes is that point.

You nudge him, “Jeongin, let go. I need to go to the bathroom.”

“No,” he mutters, burying his face deeper into the pillow.

“Jeongin.”

“What?”

“Let go.”

His eyes finally open. They hold a small sense of surprise, which prompts you to tease, “What? Do you need a breakdown of what happened? Were you seriously that out of it?”

“No. Well, a little,” he stumbles over the words.

“What do you remember?”

“Puking,” he winces as he laughs. There’s that signature headache.

“You don’t remember kissing me?”

Wide eyes stare back at you. His lip shakes as he tries to force words out. “What?”

You laugh quietly. “Yeah. You did that.”

“I’m sorry,” he sits up. His vacant arms feel cold.

“No it’s okay. You only kissed me because I told you I loved you,” you sit up to match him.

His head turns to look at you. Tufts of hair stick up in an oddly symmetrical way. “Really? Since when?”

You nod. “Yeah. Time frame is unknown, but I think the feeling might have always been there. So you wasted a month of your life hiding.”

He tips his head, “Hey now, I had a valid reason.”

Your eyes squint at him. “It could have been avoided if you answered my texts. Or Hyunjin’s. Or if you checked your voicemail. Or-”

“Okay, I get it,” he nods, leaning in to shut you up. He presses a quick kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t say how weird it feels to kiss his best friend—but he’s incredibly excited to get used to it.

“It’s fine. I think. My grades kind of tanked,” you comment, glancing at your desk. The tower of water bottles still stands. Somewhere buried beneath them are your abandoned papers.

“Because of me?” his voice is soft, as are his eyes as he fights back the sting of tears. Of all his intentions, this wasn’t one of them.

This look pains you. “Kinda. I thought I had lost my comfort place.”

In order to disguise his tears, he pulls you into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be good to you. We can make latte art together at the shop and stargaze at stupid hours. Whatever you want.”

You laugh into his shoulder. “Is that a promise?”

He sniffles. “Yes. I love you. That’s the second promise.”

xi.

Hyunjin’s reaction is lackluster. A forced gasp as he waves his hands in surprise. “Wow. I totally didn’t give Chan your number or anything,” he says.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. He called me trying to drop him,” he points at Jeongin, “on me.”

“And you didn’t want to get out of bed?” Jeongin asks, bringing his mug of freshly brewed coffee to his lips.

“No,” Hyunjin sticks a finger up in defense. “Kkami wouldn’t let me move.”

What he means is: Yes, I didn’t want to get up but allow me to use my dog as a ploy.

You and Jeongin share a glance to confirm this thought. You burst out laughing.

“Do not tell me you’ve developed a couple's telepathy already,” Hyunjin whines, throwing his head back as he begins to pace the kitchen.

Jeongin begs your stare again. He wiggles his eyebrows to pseudo-communicate.

“I’m going to retail therapy,” Hyunjin sighs, dragging his keys off the counter before starting for the door.

A loud fit of laughter fills the air as the door shakes in its frame.

“He’s so overdramatic,” Jeongin manages, wiping a stray tear away from his eye.

You allow this time to watch him intently. All of his details flood over you with definitive clarity. His skin has gotten its first film of tan now that spring is in full swing. A change of season which you had missed out on together. It’s okay, he’ll take you to see the cherry blossoms next year.

“Oh, I found your earring, by the way,” you say when he catches you staring.

“Really? Where was it?” On instinct, he brings his hand up to his right ear. The lobes are not blinged, but it’s still worth checking.

“Behind the couch.”

He gapes at you. “How’d it get back there?”

“How would I know?”

You allow a silence to lay upon you as his face twists to think. All at once, it lights up again, “Ah. It was probably when we had that wrestling match. I didn’t have the back on because my ear was itchy or something.”

Interesting Jeongin. Questionable Jeongin.

Yang Jeongin is many things. Home. Comfort. Love. Above all else, he’s a friend. Who you happen to kiss from time to time.

#posted on april fools because surprise haha #also because i don’t think this is my best but eh #yang jeongin #jeongin x reader #jeongin imagine #jeongin oneshot #stray kids oneshot #skz oneshot #stray kids jeongin #stray kids imagine #skz imagine #bandaigaeru

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cheri-translates · 4 years

Text

[CN] Kiro’s Entwining Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an incredibly s p i c y date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Valentine’s 2020 Collection: Gavin // Lucien // Victor

The date begins with MC watching a live broadcast of an annual award ceremony, which announces that Kiro has won the grand award.

MC grabs the congratulatory card and present she prepared, heading out to decorate Kiro’s house for a mini celebration party.

Along the way, she receives news that for some unknown reason, Kiro was absent from a product launch that he was supposed to be a spokesperson for.

She enters Kiro’s house using the keys Savin gave her and starts decorating.

After a while, Kiro enters the house looking melancholic, with Savin nagging behind him. Savin tells her to keep an eye on Kiro to ensure he gets proper rest and not exert himself.

After Savin rushes off to deal with the press, Kiro explains that he is unable to move his neck and back.

Kiro: I just finished dance practice and heard Savin calling me at the door. I turned my neck using too much force and couldn’t move my neck afterwards. The doctor said it’s a sprain.

Saying this, he despondently grabs a pillow and hugs it to his chest in a state of utter devastation.

Kiro: [pouting] I wasn’t even doing any big movements.

Even so, Kiro is happy that he gets a day of rest.

He suggests that they slip out to visit an interesting shop nearby. While Kiro’s puppy eyes cause MC to hesitate, she refuses so Kiro can rest. Despite his unwillingness, Kiro rests on the bed. She sits on a chair next to the bed so she can watch over him.

He grabs my fingers and plays with them restlessly. It feels ticklish. I try to draw my hand back but he refuses to let go.

Kiro: I can’t sleep. When you spend time with me, I can’t bear to close my eyes.

Kiro’s words soften my heart. Due to our busy schedules, it has been a long while since we last spent time alone together.

MC: When we’re less busy, let’s go to the interesting shop you mentioned, okay?

Kiro: Yes, let’s!

The corners of Kiro’s lips lift. As though discovering a new form of amusement, he patiently plays with my fingers one by one.

His fingers are soft and smooth. I experience a strange palpitation whenever our fingers meet. I avert my gaze, the outer rim of my ears turning red.

Kiro: Miss Chips has very soft fingers.

MC: [blushing] They’re all right…

I’m unable to control the acceleration of my heart rate. In order to loosen my hand from his, I grab the phone off the bedside table and hand it to him.

MC: Since you don’t want to sleep, I’ll let you use your phone.

Looking as though he can’t bear to let go of my hand, he takes the phone and sees that the screen is filled with tons of notifications.

Kiro guesses that his fans are worried about the sudden cancellation of the product launch and decides to post something on his Weibo account to dispel their concerns. He tries but fails to take a selfie in his injured state, so MC helps.

On the screen, there is an incredibly adorable combination of Kiro lying on the soft bed, his messy golden hair, and the teddy bear next the pillow.

Kiro: Why is my hair so messy?

His eyes widen, dismay written all over his features. I reach out and tidy his messy hair, suppressing the urge to mess it up even more.

Kiro obediently leaves his hair to me, a smile appearing on his lips.

MC: It’s going to be perfect this time.

I look him over, satisfied, and snap three consecutive photos of Kiro before showing them to him.

MC: Don’t you look very handsome now?

Kiro has a look of satisfaction as he starts typing, reading his words aloud.

Kiro: “Even though I can’t move, it’s because of this incident that I can have an afternoon of leisure”…done!

Comments start flooding in after mere seconds:

“Does such beauty truly exist?”

“Oh my god, I can lick this face for a lifetime.”

“I’m there, I’m that bear!”

While he’s overjoyed at the compliments, he reads on:

Kiro: “Just look, it’s obvious he has put on weight again”…I definitely did not gain weight, it’s just the angle!

In a huff, Kiro readies himself to respond to this comment with a retort. I hurriedly take the phone away from him.

MC: You should rest and not respond to these comments! Let me read them to you instead.

Kiro: Since you put it that way…

With a “hmph”, he gives up on the idea. I clear my throat and begin reading the comments.

MC: “Congratulations to Kiro for winning the award! Please rest well today! To commemorate Kiro’s face, I danced a Waltz of love!” Haha, what an expression. “My heart is in critical condition! Hugging… my husband… feels like a 100 meter sprint.”

I pause when reading the words “my husband”, feeling my face heat up. Kiro smiles as he looks at me, his eyes brimming with contentment.

MC: The next one says, “Who took the photo? Why does Kiro…”

…have such a sweet look in his eyes?

I look at the photo I had taken - Kiro stares into the camera with a sweet look in his eyes, like a little bear hugging a honey pot.

Kiro: MC? Why have you stopped?

Kiro curiously sneaks a peek at the screen, but I react immediately and lift the phone so he can no longer see it.

Kiro: Very suspicious… why aren’t you letting me see?

Kiro gets even more excited, stretching out his hand for the phone.

Kiro: Ouch!

He groans and falls back onto the bed. I get a fright, no longer caring about the phone. I immediately check on his condition.

Half of his face is buried under the covers, the corner of his eyes brimming with tears. I carefully touch his arm.

MC: Are you okay?

Kiro: [groans]

MC: Is it very serious?

I start panicking. Seeing that my guard is down, Kiro uses this opportunity to pull me onto the bed with him.

Kiro: [laughing] Did I scare you?

He laughs while reappearing from under the covers. It is only now that I realise he was joking, and I let out a sigh of relief.

At this point, MC remembers that she prepared a present for Kiro. She retrieves and gives it to him. He opens it excitedly.

The box is filled with small stars folded using fluorescent paper. In the middle of these paper stars is a golden-coloured glass bottle with moving sand.

Kiro: This is so pretty…

He carefully shakes the bottle, and the gold-coloured sand slowly drifts, reflecting sunlight.

Seeing him engrossed with it, I drop him a hint.

MC: The bottle itself isn’t the main thing. There’s something in it.

Kiro: Is it a drink? Or perfume?

Kiro twists the bottle open, and a faint pine tree scent wafts into the room.

Kiro: This is… a scented bottle?

MC: Nope. This is a special essential oil I had an expert masseur make during a shoot. I heard that it’s effective for relaxing one’s muscles. I didn’t expect that it’d be of use now!

Kiro: Essential oil…

Kiro recalls that the shoot involving essential oil took place when the list of shortlisted candidates for the award was just announced. He is surprised that MC had prepared the gift so far in advance.

MC: …That’s because I knew you would definitely win! And even if you didn’t win, it could be used to comfort you.

There is a smile in Kiro’s eyes, and he takes my hand in his, such that my palm faces upwards.

MC: W-what are you doing?

Kiro: I want to try this gift.

A drop of oil lands on my palm and he rubs it slowly, spreading it across my palm evenly. The pine scent permeates the room, and the fragrance of fresh flowers soon follows. The liquid is quickly absorbed into my skin, and my palm seems to heat up.

Kiro holds my fingers gently, then brings himself closer to them. He sniffs my fingers lightly, his lips curling into a smile.

Kiro: It’s a nice smell. It’s a scent I like.

MC: !!

I am taken aback by Kiro’s sudden breath on my palm, and my heart beats at an unnatural rhythm.

Kiro doesn’t let go of my hand. He picks up the black ribbon resting on the gift box, taking his time to wrap them around my wrists.

His gaze shifts to me, his vibrant eyes making me forget how to react, and I let him continue.

Kiro: And like that, it’s done!

After saying this, he holds my wrist and pulls me closer, planting the side of his face on my palm before gently leaning into it.

As his soft golden hair brushes against my fingertips, my fingers involuntarily tremble. My palm is coated with his body temperature.

He tilts his head slightly, pressing his lips onto my palm, as if branding me with a permanent kiss.

Kiro: Actually, you are the best prize and gift to me.

Sunlight streams in from between the curtains and onto his eyes, giving me a clear view of the gentleness and adoration in them. My heart feels like it has melted into a puddle. At the same time, his transparent emotions cause my heart to heat up.

MC: I… how about I give you a massage…

I feel like biting my tongue after the words leave my lips. What am I saying!

Kiro: Sure!

Before I can change my mind, Kiro has already agreed without hesitation.

Kiro: Do I need to take my clothes off for the massage?

Saying this, he shrugs off his jacket, and both hands start pulling the ends of his t-shirt to reveal his sculpted abdomen.

MC: Wait!

Heat floods into my brain and I immediately grab the bottom of his shirt to pull it back down.

Kiro: I don’t need to take them off?

Kiro blinks, looking at me innocently.

MC: I’m just giving it a try. If you remove your shirt, it’d be easy to catch a cold.

With an “ohh”, he lets go of his shirt, his face betraying a hint of disappointment.

MC: …Go lie down on your stomach.

While Kiro obediently turns to lie down, I place my hands on my chest to calm my rapidly beating heart.

MC begins the massage, applying what she learnt from the massage expert

She does it gently and Kiro is on the verge of falling asleep

She calls Kiro’s name to check if he’s asleep, and he snaps out of his daze

Feeling bad for disturbing him, MC continues:

MC: …You can sleep if you want to.

I speak gently. Noticing that a strand of hair near his eyes makes Kiro slightly uncomfortable, I reach out to sweep it away.

Kiro: But I don’t feel like sleeping anymore.

He blinks, his voice slightly nasally and coquettish.

Kiro: I felt too comfortable just now, so I almost fell asleep.

He grabs hold of my hand. In a playful manner, he gently pinches my palm twice.

Kiro: Thank you, Miss Chips.

MC: No need to thank me. It just shows that my technique is not bad, right?

Kiro: Mm, this is a great present.

His eyebrows are curved upwards and he smiles softly.

Kiro: I like the feeling of you touching me.

He interlaces our fingers together, then hooks my thumb with his.

Kiro: I realized that humans, like animals, like to be touched and have their hair combed through.

MC: Is it because it’s very comfortable?

Kiro: It is really very comfortable. If that person is a loved one, her hands and body temperature would have an even more addictive effect.

A warmth emanates from our joined palms, and I can feel myself starting to sweat.

MC starts ruffling Kiro’s hair, and they banter for a while.

Kiro: I feel very happy whenever you’re by my side. Although sometimes, I do think of being a little closer to you.

Even before I pick out the hidden meaning in his words, I instinctively seek to change the subject.

MC: My massage techniques are quite mediocre though. I’ll introduce you to the masseur another time.

Kiro: I don’t want anyone else.

Kiro pouts, turning to face me.

Kiro: I only want my Miss Chips…

His voice trails off, and I am rooted to the spot. I am leaning over him, face-to-face with Kiro. Just a slight lowering of my head would be enough for me to kiss him.

Our breathing becomes ragged, and the initially peaceful atmosphere in the room seems to turn into boiling water.

Although Kiro doesn’t speak, I can feel his quickening breaths on my face. His grip on my hand tightens.

As though being in this position is too dangerous, I come to my senses and straighten up, putting distance between us.

Kiro sits up, his hand still on mine, giving me no chance to escape.

MC: We…

Kiro: I have not finished unwrapping my gift.

His words leave me frozen.

MC: What present?

Anticipating that I would respond this way, he laughs.

Kiro: My present… is you of course.

His voice carries an evident smile. I look into his blue eyes, which hide within them the expansiveness of the sky.

A black ribbon appears in his hands, and he wraps them around his fingers, the colour of the ribbon striking a sharp contrast against his pale skin.

MC: …Why do you say that I’m the present?

He doesn’t respond. His abrupt silence leaves me not knowing what to do. Before I repeat my question, he suddenly hooks the ribbon over the back of my neck, and my heart skips a beat.

MC: W-what are you doing?

Kiro: Make a guess?

He arches an eyebrow. His usual playful expression is replaced with a sudden sexiness.

He resumes his work with the ribbon while I remain kneeling on the bed. He slowly pulls me closer to him. Although he isn’t exerting much strength, I can’t help but give in to the tug of the ribbon.

Our breaths mingle and we can no longer tell them apart.

Kiro: Since this is a present for me, I will open it very, very slowly.

He says this languidly, curling his words with the tip of his tongue, ending his sentence in a low voice.

At this moment, the ribbon has become a string encircling my heart, letting it beat only for him.

Kiro is unwilling to stop here. He takes one end of the ribbon into his mouth and bites it firmly, the corners of his mouth lifting with a certain look.

The light descends onto the bridge of his nose, the clear lines of his jaw, spreading to his Adam’s apple. He oozes hormones of a different kind than usual.

His free hand rubs my thigh gently, and the sound of my skirt ruffling is especially clear.

Such unobstructed physical contact feels like fire, setting every inch of my skin ablaze. My body involuntarily trembles.

My breathing becomes increasingly ragged as he continues his upward motions. My heart beats rapidly, and my mind is completely blank, only remembering to shout his name.

MC: Kiro…

Kiro: It is time to receive my present.

The corner of his mouth is raised as he slowly releases the black ribbon on my neck. The ribbon slides down my body. I look into his wide eyes and let down my defenses. In a moment, the distance between us is barely visible.

Kiro: Miss Chips, you are a gift sent from heaven, a gift that I have awaited for my whole life, a gift that is most precious to me.

His gentle voice disappears into the space where our lips meet, melting into a quiet whisper.

Unlike his gentle tone, his kiss resembles a storm, forcefully entering and occupying all available space, leaving not a single crevice untouched.

The temperature rises sharply between our intertwining lips and tongue. Our exchange of breaths strips away all my senses and thoughts.

The almost inaudible sound of water echoes in the quiet room. The arm encircling my waist pulls me even closer against his body.

All the blood in my body is set ablaze, engulfing the little rationality I have left.

Suddenly, there is the sound of a door opening in the living room, followed by a conversation between Savin and the assistant.

Savin: Kiro should be resting. You can head to the kitchen to wash the ingredients for our hotpot later.

Assistant: Sure, but isn’t this a little too much…

I snap out of my daze after a few seconds and realise the situation Kiro and I are in.

MC: They’re back!

My panic completely dismantles the earlier atmosphere, and I muster the strength to tear myself from Kiro’s arms.

Even before I shift to the edge of the bed, Kiro wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me backwards.

We both fall onto the bed, a tangled mess of sheets beneath us. The teddy bear has fallen off the bed.

Kiro holds me tightly from behind, and my back is pressed against his chest.

Sweat soaks the fabric, which clings to our closely connected skin, bringing with it an intimate and sticky feeling.

I feel his scorching breath on the nape of my neck. It weaves through my sweat-drenched hair, lingering on my skin.

The sound of footsteps outside grows louder, causing me to tense up. I open my mouth to speak, but can only let out an inaudible gasp.

Kiro’s lips are pressed against the back of my ear, and a low and raspy voice follows.

Kiro: There’s no need to be nervous. The room is locked.

🎁

Phone Call

#mlqc #mlqc kiro #love and producer #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #sunshine boy has grown up

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

Well This is Strange and Unexpected [Toshinori x Reader] [Part 2]

<- Part 1 | Part 3 ->

Summary: Toshinori struggles with your unfavorable opinion of his heroic alter-ego, but tries his hardest to impress you on a second date! Now… how do people date again?

4,537 words | SFW

“Wh-wh-what are you saying? You don’t like All Might?”

“I am just so tired of how everybody loves him! ‘I got the All Might special-edition action figure.’ ‘Well I got his autograph,’” you parrot in a mocking tone. “Whoop-de-friggen-doo. And he’s such an annoying showboat—like, I appreciate the crime he stops, but half the time he’s just striking a pose in front of news cameras shouting some dumb catchphrase. Go catch a bag guy and quit bragging about it! But you know what pisses me off most of all—all the swooning and fangirling. Why are so many women even into him?! All those beefy muscles are so ugly, he’s like an upside-down stack of potatoes! Who likes that?”

Toshinori is just staring, slack jawed, at you. Like you kicked his puppy.

“Sorry for going off like that, I shouldn’t tear apart something you obviously like.”

Is what you should have said.

Instead, you inhale, and, “Another thing! He’s not even edgy, or interesting—there’s no depth there, he’s just… all powerful and perfect? It’s so boring! All flash and no substance. If I was going to root for a hero, it’d be someone like Eraserhead. So dark and gruff, never putting himself in the spotlight, letting the work speak for itself.”

“I… I’ve gotta go.” He stands robotically and walks toward the door. Oh, shit. Your heart sinks.

“Wait!” you run after him and grab his arm. “I’m sorry. I was being mean. It’s just, All Might stuff is everywhere and it feels like I can’t escape it,” you laugh. “But if you’re a fan, that’s OK. I won’t make fun of him. I really am sorry.” He finally turns around to face you.

“I meant the phone call. I gotta go. Emergency.” He holds up the glowing screen.

“Oh.”

He smiles and pats you on the head. But he’s more subdued than he was a minute ago, and there’s a pain in his eyes when he looks at you that wasn’t there before. He probably did take it really personally when you insulted his hero. Idiot.

“Do you really think All Might is ugly?” he asks quietly, gathering his things by the door. “There’s nothing appealing about him at all?”

“Like I said, you’re my type.”

He lets out a quiet, almost melancholy breath of a laugh. He turns to you, and wraps his long arms around you, pulling you into a gentle embrace. It’s not a particularly passionate hug—his touch is so light, he’s barely making contact at all—but he’s tall enough to rest his chin on top of your head.

“You’re a strange one,” he whispers.

You close your eyes and breathe him in. He smells a lot like iron and convenience-store floor, actually, could be a lot more romantic. But you feel content so close to this scarecrow, with his soft bangs hanging down and brushing your skin. You almost let out a whine when he finally pulls away.

“So, will I see you again?” You ask, nervous about the answer. He couldn’t have been that serious about that All Might stuff, right? But if you chased him off, at this point, it might break your heart.

“Definitely.” A wide grin splits his whole face as he strikes a heroic pose. “My debating skills cannot be defeated! Next time, I’ll convince you All Might is the greatest hero!”

“Oh my god, get out of my house.”

****

Toshinori couldn’t believe it. Today of all days. First he wore himself out doing hero work in the morning. Then USJ was attacked and he pushed past his limit to rescue his students, nearly died, and once again reduced the amount of time he can remain in his muscle form. On top of all that, now, today of all days is when a couple of everyday bullies decide to hassle him.

He just had to go for a walk instead of getting a cab straight home. Had to stop to pick up medicine, even though it was already getting dark. Were such simple things really so hard for the number-one hero now?

He would laugh if it weren’t so pathetic.

It wasn’t like this had never happened before. Every once in awhile some delinquent singles him out, expecting a weak target, but even in his weak form, on a normal day, he would easily dodge and evade them, quickly diffusing the situation.

But today. Today he was done. He had already gone beyond what he had to give, and gone beyond that again, and he was out.

There were plenty of witnesses in the store, but nobody was going to stop to help, just pretending they couldn’t see. He was practically invisible in this form. Nobody cares what happens to some creepy, worn-down old man. It’s better this way, anyway. What kind of hero would he be if someone got hurt rescuing him?

This was really going to happen. He was really going to have his ass kicked by some random jerks. How had he fallen so low?

Then you appeared.

There was nothing he could do to stop you from putting yourself in danger: he could barely move. That kick caught him right in his weak spot, the old wound Nomu had already agitated earlier that day. A sickening, warm gurgling of fluids squished in his lungs, making each breath a battle against the encroaching darkness.

Run away. Just run away!

You obviously weren’t a hero, you didn’t have any training, that was clear in the way you carried yourself. But you were brave. Brave enough to piss those guys off. You just kept telling them off like you had no sense of self-preservation, until—he saw one of them about to throw a punch at you, and his nostrils flared in anger. He would have to—have to force himself to transform, no matter how it would hurt him, no matter how many people would see. He couldn’t let this happen—

Then you did something his pride would never have let him consider: you just started shrieking.

It worked. You saved yourself, and him, though it was even more humiliating than letting himself get beat up. There he was, suffocating on his own blood where anyone walking by could see what a helpless weakling he was… and now there was a girl bawling loudly on that same floor, drawing everyone’s attention to the intensely embarrassing scene.

Time to crawl into a hole and never show his face again?

He had to hand it to you though, you knew what you were doing. You forced all the silent spectators to admit they were paying attention—forced them to get involved. You had the heart of a hero, all right.

Everything after that seemed to happen so fast. Losing consciousness, learning that you had risked your well-being once again for him with your quirk. The shame he felt, seeing you suffering the same symptoms he was. Then suddenly, you were asking him out?

He was used to getting attention all the time in his muscle form, but in his true form, he was so invisible he could transform into All Might in public and nobody ever noticed. Like there was nobody standing there before All Might magically showed up.

His head swam dizzily when you said that he was your type. How could you be serious? But it seemed you were, even though he had been nothing but helpless. Even though you were coughing up blood because of him. What in the world were you seeing?

You were so boldly affectionate with him—though every time you did something unreserved, you started turning red and shaking, like you were acting with your heart before your head could talk you out of it. Even his hideous scar, and the frustrating health issues he doesn’t like to burden others with, you accepted without even a moment of disgust or fear. You reached out and touched it without thinking, and then blushed. It was so cute.

Being adored and praised as All Might was easy to brush off, but this? He had never had someone pressed against his body so affectionately as this drained husk. As the thing he was slowly becoming, permanently. There was at least one person who still saw him. He could get used to that feeling—that warmth in his chest.

Then his phone rang—that custom ringtone he recorded himself! For a moment, he thought you were putting it together: the blond hair, two long bangs, the eyes, the voice.

But no, instead he got an even bigger shock. You don’t like All Might?!

How can he go out with someone who doesn’t like All Might? He is All Might!

Obnoxious? Ugly?? SHE PREFERS AIZAWA?!?!

Nope. That’s it. That is more than he can take.

But then there you were, pulling at his arm with those puppy-dog eyes, apologizing. You didn’t mean anything against him. You just didn’t know. You couldn’t know. He can’t blame you for having an opinion about a public figure. Even he had to admit his public persona could be a little… much.

He checked the caller before dismissing it. It was Nezu, so it probably was important. Not exactly a lie. It’s a shame to leave early, but he didn’t want you to know how shaken he was.

To be honest, he’s been starting to resent All Might a little, himself. He used to be that brawny, handsome hero, but now… now it’s just a mask he puts on. A flashy act for the crowds, and they eat it up, while his real self is overlooked and treated like a punching bag. Of course he resents it, just a little.

It’s actually kind of tickling that you prefer him this way. Pretty soon, it’s all he’ll be.

But he is All Might, too! If you only knew him better, you would realize how awesome he is! After all, All Might is the same person you had a wonderful evening with, laughing and watching movies—the same person you wanted a second date with. Yes, he’s sure you would like all of him if you got to know him! He’ll win you over!

****

“Next time, I’ll convince you,” he said. Next time.

After 15 minutes, you get a text from Toshinori’s number. “Oh good, did he make it home safely?” you wonder.

It’s a short essay about All Might.

Ping!

Another text from Toshi. Also about All Might.

Ping!

Did you know crime rates fell by over 20 percent since All Might debuted?

Ping!

His confident demeanor isn’t just showboating, it’s about instilling confidence in—

Ping!

Look at this video of All Might rescuing puppies! PUPPIES!!

You shake your head and laugh, a warm smile on your face. Hero fanatics may be annoying, but Toshi is kind of adorable. It’s so wide-eyed and innocent how much he loves—

Ping! Ping! Ping!

Yeah, never mind, it’s annoying. You text back a single message:

lol.

You can practically hear his internal screaming from across town. You snicker. He was right, you are a little devious.

*********************************************

Toshinori was as busy as he said he’d be. After the flurry of texts, it was over a week before you heard from him again. You thought he might want to watch the U.A. Sports Festival together, since he was such a fan of hero stuff (and All Might would be involved this year—eye roll), but he said he had too much to do.

You wondered if that was true, or if he could hear your eyes rolling through the text message. Maybe your snarky response to his hero obsession had spoiled things, and he’d keep on making excuses until you took the hint.

But a day later, he called back (yes, called—who does that?) and apologized so vehemently, you knew he meant what he’d said all along. He was just busy. But he was going to have some free time over the next week, and wants to see you again!

He shows up at your door with a bouquet of pink, white, and periwinkle flowers in his hands, wearing an oversized blazer and tie. It’s like he’d watched an old Fred Astaire movie to figure out what people on dates are supposed to look like.

“Aww, Toshinori!” you clasp your hands under your chin. “What did I say about marriage? You’re not here to propose, are you?”

He looks down at himself, then at your casual attire. “I overdid it, huh?”

“You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

“I’ve been told it’s a problem of mine,” he scratches the back of his head, giving a lopsided grin.

“No, it’s adorable!” You take the flowers, brushing your fingers against his, and bury your nose in the fragrant petals. You look up at him with a sultry, playful gaze. “Though… I might need to change into something more formal now, or it’ll look like I hired you.” A fountain of blood shoots from his mouth.

You drop the bouquet and throw your arm under his shoulder in case he falls, the other hand instinctively placing itself over his scar, the source of his affliction. He jumps back with surprising agility, as if evading an attack.

“Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t use your quirk on me again. I’m much better today—the bleeding is always going to happen, so don’t push yourself.”

You hold your hands up in surrender. “OK. I wasn’t going to. Probably. I definitely won’t now. It’s really a regular issue?”

He nods. “I’m sorry if it bothers you.”

“No, no, I was just curious.” You take his hand and lead him inside. He explains his condition, while you find a vase for the flowers. He takes off his jacket and tie, folding them over the arm of the couch. With just a white button-up, he immediately comes down to a more casual level, better matching your outfit. He throws his arms wide to ask, “What do you think?”

You think he looks slender and gorgeous, and just disheveled enough that you want to comb your fingers through his hair, and just dapper enough that you want to undo one more button.

“Perfect!” You throw finger guns at him, “Just a couple of slobs out for a date!”

****

Unfortunately, he has a reservation at a fancy restaurant. Very fancy. One of those places where the floors are marble and everyone wears black. Now you feel way under-dressed, and wish he’d warned you that’s why he was dressed so nice. You don’t even want to look at the prices on the menu.

You had hoped this date would be more exciting, considering the first one started with a brawl. That was a real ice-breaker. Here, the atmosphere is so quiet and formal, you’re almost afraid to speak, and a tense silence builds between you. Toshinori doesn’t seem to be having a great time either.

“You’re barely eating anything,” you note him lethargically picking at his plate. “Do you not like the food?”

“No, I just can’t eat much at once, so…”

“But the portions here are really big! Why would you want to come here?”

“It… seemed like the kind of place you’re supposed to go for a date!”

“Are you kidding?” you shout, half standing up from your seat, too loudly for the restaurant, whose more dignified customers glare and scoff. You sit back down and cover your face with your hand. And you just start laughing. A quiet chuckle at first, but soon you can’t even contain it, your shoulders wracking, and your head tossed back.

“Wh-what’s so funny?” Toshi looks scared.

“I hate it here!” you spurt out, still laughing. “This is the worst! It’s way too stuffy, and you can’t even eat the food.”

“I hate this place too! I just thought women like this sort of thing.”

You sputter and howl, slapping the table. “What are we even doing here?”

“We’re getting the bill!” He calls the waiter over, who is happy to shoo you ruffians out of the fine establishment.

****

Out in the fresh air and sunlight, you feel like you can finally talk to each other. He apologizes for being too old-fashioned, and, frankly, having no idea what he’s doing. You link arms, and decide to go for a stroll around the city, stopping at a street vendor for pork buns, which Toshi can eat one at a time at his own pace.

However, out in the city, All Might’s unsettling grin was inescapable, watching from every billboard and gift shop. It’s not long before Toshi starts on his favorite subject: prying into why you are the one person on earth who doesn’t adore him. You would be just as happy to let it go, but since he insists, you wind up in a heated back-and-forth.

“…and he’s always like ‘Detroit smash!’ ‘Texas smash!’ but it’s just a bunch of punches.”

“Th-that’s not true at all! Detroit Smash is when he punches downward to create a shockwave, and Texas Smash is when he punches so hard it blows villains away, and—”

“Yeah, that’s just a bunch of punches.”

Choking noises escape his throat. His entire world has been destroyed. Good job.

He hangs his head with a defeated sigh. “So, you really hate All Might.”

You squeeze his arm. It hurts to see him so down, even though it’s silly that he cares so much. “It’s not that I hate him. At the end of the day, I’m glad he’s running around saving lives. The problem is hero culture in general. There’s so much focus on their ‘brand,’ on their market value. I guess I can’t even blame individual heroes for grandstanding, considering their income depends on their popularity, but honestly—they’re public servants, the same as the police. Did you know the police are still responsible for stopping more crimes than heroes, when you take into account all the non-quirk-related crimes they handle, and the detective work used to locate villains in the first place? But you don’t see their faces all over posters, and commercials, and t-shirts!” You point your finger in a random direction, and it lands on a perfume ad in a store window with Uwabami’s face. Amazing, not All Might this time.

“And your hero All Might is the worst one, with that dumb flashy smile, and big inspiring speeches, like he’s gotta make sure everyone knows he’s the greatest.”

Toshinori has been listening silently this whole time, deep in thought. From the solemn frown he was wearing, it seemed some of what you said hit home. But at that last part, he raises his piercing blue eyes to yours.

“You’re wrong… All Might’s smile isn’t about his own ego. He smiles so that people in trouble know everything will be OK. So they don’t feel scared. As long as the hero is still smiling, you know he’s going to win in the end. Being the symbol of peace isn’t about him, it’s about giving the world hope!”

Your heart flutters. It’s not so much the words he said—you’d heard the same line a million times—but the fire in his voice as he said it. Naive as they may be, you can’t help but admire his convictions.

He catches the smile in your eyes, and gives you the biggest, doofiest, triumphant grin. You try to think of something cynical to say to burst that bubble of optimism. You can think of a few: People shouldn’t be symbols, they should be people. That smile is so forced; it’s obvious he’s hiding pain, and you’d rather face the honest truth, no matter how hard, than have hope that’s a lie.

Eh. Maybe you’d tell him later. Right now, you just want him to keep smiling.

“I know!” He rubs his hands together. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you—this way.”

“You cannot take me to a hero museum for a date!” you grimace.

He laughs, grabbing your hand and leading you, “Don’t worry, it’ll be good!”

****

The sun is orange in the sky over the ocean, painting the clouds with striking purple and yellow streaks reflected in the waves below. A warm breeze blows your hair back, ruffling Toshinori’s long bangs, and swaying the spiky parts like a field of barley.

“Wow,” you breathe, leaning over the railing of the boardwalk. He leans next to you.

“Better than the restaurant, huh?” he nudges you with his elbow.

“You could’ve at least chosen one of those fancy restaurants where the dishes are tiny, instead of a place you couldn’t eat!”

“Yeah, I really bungled this date thing,” he laughs, hand on his forehead.

How soft would his hair would feel if you twined your fingers through it right now, you wonder? The urge to grab him, and smash your lips against his coils inside you like a spring. But… you’re not sure if he would want that. He’s just so cute!

He offers his arm in a gentlemanly fashion, tipping his head at you. You take it, and stroll together down the steps into the sand and along the beach, the sounds of crashing waves and sea birds like music around you.

“You know, this whole beach used to be covered with trash until about three months ago.

“You know, this whole beach used to be covered with trash until about three months ago. This was never publicized, but it was cleaned up by an aspiring hero who was inspired by All Might. Not everything heroes do is for fame and glory. Sometimes it’s just about helping the community.”

“Then how did you find out about it?”

He blanches. “Huh?”

“If it was never publicized, then how do you know who did it?”

A bright red river ejects from his lips, and he doubles over, hacking. That’s one way to change the subject. You rub his back as he recovers, but instead of helping him relax, he grows rigid and more on-edge.

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t do it, if that’s what you’re thinking. You have no idea how much it hurts to see you in pain because of me. Promise me you won’t do it again.”

“I…” You almost swear you weren’t going to. That you won’t, ever again. But… “No. I wish I could tell you that, so you can relax around me and not worry, but I’m not going to make a promise I can’t keep. If you passed out again, or if you were suffering in unbearable agony, if… if you were dying… I would use my power, with or without your permission. There’s no way I could let you die, not if I can do something about it.”

“Young lady…” he purrs, stepping in closer, “I like your spirit, but… I don’t want you sacrificing yourself for me. I don’t want anybody else putting themselves through hell trying to be a hero for me.”

There’s a tug on your heart, and before you can stop yourself, you’re up on your toes, hands around his neck, your lips on his. He breathes in, frozen for an agonizing moment. You pull away, bright red, stammering apologies. Then his palm is cupping your jawline, thumb tracing tender circles over your hot cheek. He lowers his forehead, knocking it gently against yours, the side of your nose rubbing against his. His breath, so close, catching. Your eyes close. He angles his head, and kisses you back.

Eventually, you pull away, breathless. Your hands grip his narrow shoulders. “Listen. I appreciate you not wanting me to hurt myself for you. But you can trust me. If I decide to take some of your pain away, it’s because I decided to—get it?”

His face says he doesn’t. You pick up a seashell and toss it into the waves.

“Let me explain. The person this quirk is most dangerous to is its user. The hardest lesson to learn about it is how to say no.

“I was young when All Might debuted, and I loved him back then. His whole noble hero thing—always putting others first, always answering a cry for help, no matter how much danger he was in—I admired it. I wanted to be like that. And when other kids learned that my quirk could take away their scraped knees and bruised elbows, I was in high demand. I don’t think they meant to be selfish—they probably thought I was more resilient to pain as part of my quirk, but I just wanted to smile through it like that dumb bastard on TV. So I just kept taking, and smiling, until I was hooked up to machinery in a hospital bed for two weeks, barely hanging on.”

He grabs onto your hand and squeezes, almost so hard that it hurts. A pained look etches his face. “I’m sorry, I never meant for…”

“Calm down, it’s not like it’s your fault,” you laugh.

He flinches.

“I don’t blame All Might, either. It was my own stupid mistake. That’s how I learned you don’t emulate heroes! Noble sacrifice isn’t. That. Noble.” You poke his chest with your index finger to punctuate each word. “When you have something to offer the world, it’s important to know your limits, and to set boundaries. Because once people learn you’re willing to sacrifice yourself, they’ll take, and take until there’s nothing left.”

Toshinori touches his scar reflexively, fingers spreading protectively, pensively over the destroyed flesh. Then his hand clenches into a fist. “I understand… but still… if someone’s life is at risk, I can’t sit around and do nothing. Someone has to stand up and help, even if it’s dangerous. Someone has to be a hero, so everyone else can live happy lives!”

A smile spreads slowly across your lips. Partly a smile of admiration, from the vestiges of your youthful heart that still loves heroes… and partly the sly smile of a villain just before they dive into a victorious monologue.

“You’re right. That’s why I can’t do nothing if I see you in real trouble. If I decide to use my quirk to ease your pain, it’s not because you asked me to, or because I feel obligated. It’s because I want to. It’s because I weighed the risks, and decided. It hurts me to see you in pain, too, you know.”

His lower lip trembles. Before you know what’s happening, his hand is circling your waist, pulling your hips against his narrow ones, his mouth on yours. His lips are thin and chapped, but warm, making up for their lack of substance by softly giving way as you press against them, parting against yours. You let out a muffled moan. Your hands run over his back, exploring every jagged vertebrae and defined shoulder muscle hidden under his baggy dress shirt, finally coming to rest at the base of his neck, stroking the edge of that soft yellow hair you had longed to feel.

“Are you… using your quirk?” he pants.

“No.”

“Ah. Then this just feels really good.” He holds you tighter.

#Toshinori Yagi #toshinori x reader #all might x reader #bnha #all might #angst and fluff #toshi and reader are both huge dorks #my writing

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desperationandgin · 4 years

Text

The Beat My Heart Skips (Market Price One-Shot)

Rating: General Audiences

Also Read On: Ao3

Summary: Jamie attempts to surprise his pregnant wife with the foods she craves.

A/N: From a prompt @smashing-teacups sent me like 8 months ago! This is also my dear BFF’s very BELATED birthday fic. ilu so much <3

I adjusted a little but I hope the spirit of the prompt lives on!

The Beat My Heart Skips

The texts from Claire had started at two in the afternoon while he was at Lallybroch, deep in planning the next few weekends’ worth of farmer’s market details.

Burgers for dinner? 😘

He’d replied he would pick them up from her newly-declared favorite place for burgers, and promised chips to go along with them. A half-hour later, the next message arrived.

thinking more about the pork rolls we had the other night.

He’d replied:

Instead of the burgers?

Think so. Sorry. Baby’s picky 🤷‍♀️

It made him smile, swiping to the home screen only to see the latest in his growing collection of photos featuring Claire’s belly. The bump was only clearly visible when she was unclothed, but it was there, a swelling proof of life, and he’d found he could stare, stroke, and murmur to that growing roundness for hours on end. He’d finally responded with a quick dinna fash and assumed that would be the end of it.

He was wrong. The next messages had come in rapid succession, mildly alarming until he could read them.

I think pizza would be better

Remember the burritos we had at Mazama?

Jamie, I don’t know what your child wants…

Kebabs??

Would you like to contribute an idea?

Thumb hovering over the phone, he’d tried to decide if he should pick one thing from her list, or offer something completely different. He’d decided, in the end, to go with a solid favorite.

Thai noodles, Sassenach?

The three telltale bubbles had appeared, then dropped, then appeared again before another text came through from his wife.

That sounds good too.

It was the ‘too’ that convinced him of what needed to be done.

You only need to be prepared with an appetite when I’m home. 5p. No later.

Now, he’s sitting in the passenger seat of his sister’s mini-van while Jenny drives.

“How many places is it, total?” she asks, glancing over.

Scrolling on his phone, he counts aloud. “Six. No, seven. I need more ice cream.”

“Alright, weel, we have to be strategic about it. Ice cream last, obviously. Then I’ll just drop ye back at yours and both of ye can come over tomorrow for Sunday supper. We’ll finish the plannin’ then, ye get your car, all done.”

Jamie looks over at his sister, impressed. “Thought it all out, have ye?”

“If you take a pregnant woman hot, fresh food that’s been left to steam in its containers only tae go soft and damp, she’ll throw it at yer heid. Trust me.”

He snorts. “Should I ask Ian?”

“He’ll no’ bring me soggy chips again, I’ll tell ye that much.” Jenny pats her own very round belly. “Learned wi’ the last bairn.”

Suitably impressed (and making mental notes he never knew he needed), they make a plan beginning with pizza and ending with a very quick stop inside a corner shop for two containers of Neapolitan. By 4:45, Jamie’s outside of his home, hands loaded with takeout bags. Leaning down into the open car window, he holds up his bounty.

“Thank ye, truly. I owe ye, Jen.”

She waves him off. “Ye’ll babysit soon enough.” Her face softens, though, and she meets his gaze. “Da would be proud. Mam, too.”

Lowering his head, Jamie swallows, but when he looks up again, there’s a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I always hope, but hearing it from you, especially, is important.”

“Why me?” she asks as he steps back.

“On account of ye bein’ the wee ball-buster in the family,” he teases fondly, thanking her again before watching her drive safely away. Juggling bags and keys, Jamie lets himself into the house, calling out.

“Sassenach?”

“In here,” she calls from the living room, and he ducks into the kitchen.

“Stay there, I have a surprise for ye. And dinnae try to peek, ye’re no’ verra sneaky anyway,” he says in return. As he sets everything up along their counter, buffet style, he can hear her moving about.

“I assume this surprise is in regards to food,” she deducts.

“Always kent ye should ha’ been a detective,” Jamie smirks, able to hear her huff from the other room. “I’m almost done, ye can bide a second longer.”

“One,” she says pointedly. “Your child is starving.”

“I’ve noticed ye tend to refer to the bairn only as mine when ye cannae make your mind up about something.”

Her voice is closer when she speaks. “That’s because you’re stubborn,” Claire retorts, standing directly out of sight.

“Oh, am I the only one?” he asks as he finishes by propping the pizza open. “I always thought ye were a relatively patient woman, Sassenach, until I got ye wi’ child.”

“I am bloody patient! It’s the only reason I haven’t stepped foot into the kitchen to throttle you yet.”

He can’t help but laugh silently for a moment, drawing it out a few seconds longer before finally poking his head around the corner only to come face to face with her. “Alright, a nighean. Ye can come in.” Stepping aside, he watches as she enters, taking in the sight of her realizing what she’s seeing.

“I figured we could make a good go of it, and now we have plenty for tomorrow,” Jamie explains.

Claire stares at the bounty in front of her in stunned silence before looking up at her husband. “You went to all of these places?”

“Aye. Well, me and Jen. Ian was home and she was desperate to get out of the house for a bit anyway. So she drove me around, and now you and the bairn have whatever ye’d like. Including more ice cream.”

Too moved for a moment to say anything, she simply blinks at Jamie, afraid to open her mouth because she’s sure she’ll cry.

A good thing, then, that he knows to step forward, reaching out to rest his hands at her hips. “I wanted ye to have whatever you wanted, Sassenach.”

That does it: the flood gates open (because hell if she has any control over her hormones anymore) and she finds herself cradled to his chest. “I cannot believe you,” she mumbles into his shirt affectionately, arms looping around his waist.

“I do try to keep ye guessin’,” he murmurs into her hair, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

“Do you also plan on helping me eat all of this?” She pulls back after placing a soft kiss to his chest before getting a plate and trying to decide what to attack first.

“Oh, aye, I’ll be eating plenty. I’ve been eying a burrito since we picked them up,” he promises, having no intention of letting his wife eat alone. Pointing out the different varieties as she picks and chooses, he loads a plate for himself and takes it to the living room, settling with her leaning against the arm of the sofa sideways, legs across his lap.

Bringing a forkful of noodles to her mouth, she pauses to look at him. “Thank you, Jamie. For indulging me.”

Balancing his plate with one hand, the other squeezes her calf. “I figured if ye’re going through all the trouble of making a person, Sassenach, the least I can do is feed ye what ye want.”

When she smiles, it’s as though his entire soul flares with warmth, and it’s difficult to take his eyes from her.

Which is why he sees it the instant all color drains from her face. What happens next requires zero communication as she sits up, he takes her plate, and her legs swing from his lap. Within thirty seconds, she’s in their bathroom bending over the toilet, vomiting. Wincing in sympathy, Jamie simply stares for a moment at the two plates full of uneaten supper in his hands.

Putting the dishes on the coffee table, he rises and makes his way to the bathroom to join her, reaching out to hold her hair out of her face. “I’m sorry, a nighean.” Jamie’s always very aware that he’s the one who did this to her anytime she’s miserable, and it makes him regret being quite so boastful about it.

When her stomach finally calms, he stands with her and leans against the doorframe as she rinses with the mouthwash that is now a permanent fixture on the countertop instead of tucked away in the medicine cabinet.

And then he watches as she begins to cry, confusion making his forehead furrow, wondering what this new mood swing is and how to handle it. Reaching out for her, he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her in an attempt to soothe as he rubs her back. “Dinna weep, lass,” he murmurs, more concerned as she clings to him tightly.

“Fuck, Jamie,” she manages, sniffling when she finally pulls back, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand.

“Likely no’ right now,” he tries to tease gently as he lifts a hand to stroke her cheek.

She doesn’t even react, simply chooses to ignore him and move on even as tears brim on her lashline. “I can’t eat any of that food right now.”

“I realized it soon as ye got up from the couch,” he points out, kissing her forehead.

“But you went to...Christ, how many places was it?” she asks as new guilt washes over her in an irrational wave. “And Jenny was with you,” she laments.

He doesn’t know how to fix this, exactly, and so he simply guides her by the hand to their bedroom to avoid the smell of various foods in the front of the house.

“Mo nighean donn, why would Jenny be put out? She’s been pregnant a dozen times, she kens how it goes,” Jamie points out gently.

“It was so thoughtful of you. I wanted to be able to enjoy your effort,” Claire admits as his arms encircle her.

“Ye still can when ye feel like eating. All of it will still be there, Sassenach. Doesna matter if we eat it this evening or tomorrow.”

“You aren’t annoyed?” she asks, knowing the answer but needing to hear it.

“Only at yer hormones, but no’ at you,” he promises with a kiss to her knuckles, over her wedding ring.

“Well, I’m annoyed at my hormones too,” Claire exhales, recovered now from the bout of tears but not the nausea as she lies down on the bed properly. “When your aunt called, she said being sick all the time is the sign of a boy.”

“Should ask Jen, she might have some light to shed on it, havin’ had both,” Jamie suggests as he lays propped on his side and pushes his hand under her shirt to lightly stroke her stomach.

Closing her eyes, she concentrates on the feel of his touch rather than the vertigo. “Do you want to find out what we’re having, or let it be a surprise?”

His fingers still for a moment before continuing as he ponders her question. “I never considered it. Does it matter to ye, for decorating and buying things?”

“Not particularly. There aren’t very many things that can truly be left a surprise in life.” She can’t help smiling at the idea of it, of not knowing until their child is in their arms.

The look on her face makes it clear her mind is set, and Jamie drops a kiss to her abdomen. “We’ll leave it a mystery then, Sassenach.”

“We’ll have to pick a name for either scenario,” she points out, taking deep breaths in and exhaling slowly as she wills away her symptoms. When Jamie doesn’t respond right away, she cracks one eye open only to find him lost in thought. A hand lands in his hair, gently scratching his scalp. “Where’d you go?”

He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. “I’m here,” he promises with another kiss. “I was only thinking...if it’d be alright wi’ ye...we could name the bairn after my da.” When he chances a glance up at her, his eyes are suspiciously damp.

If ever there is a key to getting her nausea to dissipate, it’s the sight of her husband’s vulnerability. Her hand shifts from his hair down his face to cradle his cheek. “Brian,” she murmurs, nodding her agreement. “And if it’s a girl?”

He’s quiet, ghosting his lips across her skin now, trying to will her hormones to settle for a while.

“Hmm. Weel, there’s always, simply, Brianna,” Jamie suggests.

Claire tries it on her tongue, adding a second name. “Brianna Ellen Fraser. Or Brian Henry Fraser. What do you think?”

Scooting up on the bed now, he pulls his wife close, needing to kiss her ring again, to say a silent prayer for the love of this woman. “That ye’d honor my parents that way, Claire-” It makes him more emotional than he would have ever imagined, the way his wife’s heart shows itself.

“I thought, since we’re having - what was it, ten by your last count? - since we’re having ten children, the second could be named after my parents,” she suggests, knowing it will happen now that she’s said it.

“It’ll no’ be ten if ye feel like this every time,” he says with equal parts concern and frustration that his wife simply can’t eat when she’d like.

“Jamie,” she murmurs, gliding her thumb across his jaw. “This amount of illness is normal. And it’s getting somewhat better. Today was unfortunate,” she allows, a hint of apology in her tone.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach,” he assures her as he sits up, leaning down to drop a kiss to her forehead before finally standing. “Now we have plenty for breakfast and lunch. If ye dinna mind noodles before ten in the morning.”

She chuckles, the waves of nausea somewhat less turbulent. “If my stomach can manage, then so will I.” But she already knows the noodles will never make it to morning. She’ll be awake at three in the morning, eating when her hunger finally kicks in.

“I’ll go and put everything away, then we’ll see if ye’ll do wi’ a bit of light reading,” he offers. He’ll also quickly eat while he isn’t in front of her.

“Reading in bed?”

“Aye, I’ll no’ make ye move,” he promises, reaching out to cradle her cheek before stepping back.

“Then you’ll know where to find me when you return,” she says lightly with a small, fond smile.

“Which is exactly where I want ye to be, incidentally.”

She chuckles, waving playfully at him to go. “I’m looking forward to reading your next pick.”

Before he can make it out of the room, she calls him back.

“Aye?”

She takes a moment to look him over, still in his jeans and button-down from the day, curls askew and his scruff just past its normal length.

“I’m very madly in love with you, you know.”

When he smiles he ducks his head, and the way his ears turn bright red makes her want to laugh in sheer delight of him.

“That’s verra good, Sassenach. On account of I happen to be mad wi’ love for ye myself.”

“You’d better go, before you say something very Jamie Fraser and make me cry,” she warns with a more playful smile at the end.

He can’t help doubling back, this time to kiss the soft round apple of Claire’s cheek before nuzzling it with the tip of his nose.

“I’ll bring ye back a ginger ale.”

When he finally leaves her to rest, Jamie puts everything away in record time - except for the noodles. He places them in a separate container and sets it in the fridge with a sticky note on top.

For the bairn xx

#outlander #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #outlander fic #my fic #market price

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music-es-vida · 4 years

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SOULMATE AU - LUCAS/DOYOUNG

CHAPTER FIVE

The next day at school, you decided you wanted to find out for sure if you and Doyoung were soulmates.

No matter how much you tried to dismiss the thought, the flash of neon green you saw on his wrist the week before kept reappearing in your mind. So you decided you’d ask him at the end of the day, instead of avoiding him- like you wanted to.

Around the last class of the day, Doyoung fell asleep- like he normally did, because the classwork was so easy and he always finished it early. There was this group of guys in his class who always made fun of him that saw this as a perfect opportunity to play a prank on him.

“Johnny, look who’s sleep.” Haechan says, pointing across the room at Doyoung. “We should draw on his face with a permanent marker or something,” Johnny suggests with a mischievous smile. “No- we should draw over his soulmark!” Taeyong says, and Yuta laughs, nodding in agreement. “That’d be hilarious,” he says, taking out some of his different colored sharpies. Yuta was a bit of an artíst, so he was always ready with the art supplies.

There was a sub in today, and he had stopped caring about what the class did as soon as he finished handing out the packets. Now he was just absentmindedly scrolling through his phone at the teacher’s desk as the other students talked and did whatever they wanted, so the guys knew they’d definitely get away with this.

The guys walked over to Doyoung- who was still knocked out, even though it was pretty loud in the classroom. “Man, this guy can sleep through anything.” Johnny laughs. “Wait, let me test it.” Haechan says before drawing his hands back, and then swiftly bringing them together to clap into Doyoung’s ear. “Haechan! You’ll wake him up!” Taeyong complains, but he was wrong. He didn't even move.

“..Are we sure he's even alive?” Taeyong jokes with raised eyebrows.

Yuta picks up Doyoung’s left hand so they could see what his soulmark looked like before coloring over it.

“Woah- his is neon green too, just like all of ours..” Yuta says, and the others are just as shocked. “What does that even mean?” Johnny wonders, and they all just shrug. Each of them had different marks, but they were all the same shade of neon green. It was almost like they were connected somehow..

That didn't stop them from drawing over Doyoung’s though.

They each took a turn, drawing on his wrist. They decided to turn the music notes into a purple devils face- kind of like the emoji. “Now this suits him.” Haechan laughs, and the others agree before sitting his hand back down and walking back to their desks.

This kind of stuff happened to Doyoung on the regular, but he didn't really mind. He didn't see it as bullying- more as them just joking around with him. He’d get over it.

After the last class finally ended, you went out to the area by the fountain, where you usually found Doyoung reading under a tree.

He wasn't there today.

“Hmm. That's odd,” You mutter to yourself, turning around. Then you see him. You both almost bumped into each other again, but this time you both stopped before that could happen. “Almost made it a third time,” you joked, and he gave a half-smile with a nod.

“I was looking for you.” You say, but he wasn’t really listening. He looked disheveled, like he was in a rush to be somewhere or something. “Oh, you were?” He eventually answers, fumbling around with his textbooks and things, looking for something.

“Uh yeah.. is this a bad time to talk? I could just text you later..” “Are you asking for my number?” He asks. “No-” “Because I can’t even find my phone right now..”

You watched him continue fumbling around, looking for it, and offered to hold his things for him. “Thanks.” He said, dropping like 5 textbooks into your arms. “Oof-” you grunted, trying to hold them up. “You're way stronger than you look,” you laugh, already struggling to carry the textbooks.

As he searched his backpack and pockets for his phone, you noticed his left wrist.

“Purple?? ..It's purple! I can't believe I really thought-”

“Ugh, I can’t find it. I think I must've left it inside or something.” “Maybe I should call it, and if somebody found it they’ll pick up and tell us where to find them,” you suggest, and he nods, taking your phone and typing in his number.

As he holds the phone up to his ear and the number dials, you get a better look at his soulmark. “A devil?!” You gasp in shock. “What?” He furrowed his eyebrows at you. “Oh- nothing.” You quickly shake your head. After like 5 rings, someone finally picks up the phone. “Hello?” “Hey, who is this? I need my phone back- this is Doyoung.” “Yeah, I know who this is,” the high pitched voice on the other ends laughs.

Doyoung immediately recognizes the voice. “Haechan? How did you get my phone,” he rolls his eyes. “You were sleeping in class and didn't even notice me take it.” He teases. “Where are you? I need my phone back… Hello?” He takes the phone away from his ear to look at the screen. “The brat hung up on me.”

“You know who stole it though?” “Yeah, I know who did it.” He sighs, taking his books back and handing you your phone. “Do you need help getting it back?” You ask, but he shakes his head. “No, I’ll get it myself.” He says, walking off in the direction of the dorms. He seemed irritated today.

“I can't believe I actually thought I saw neon green on his wrist when it actually was dark purple!” You say to yourself as soon as he was gone, hitting yourself over the head with your hand. You were confused. You had been so sure you’d seen green that day. “I guess I just see what I wanna see sometimes..” You sigh, a bit disappointed. It would’ve been nice to not have to search too hard for your soulmate.. Even though you were wary to meet him, it eased your mind that he could’ve been right in front of you the whole time.

“I wonder why his soulmark is a devil though,” you wonder, concerned about what that said about his character.

You looked around to see where he went, and caught a glimpse of him turning a corner, and decided to follow after him. Even though he said he didn't need any help, you were still curious to see who stole his phone. Whoever it was seemed to annoy Doyoung a lot. You could tell by the look on his face.

You jogged across the grass to follow him and as soon as you caught up, you saw a group of guys sitting on the steps of the dorm entrances. “Ah, that explains it,” you nod to yourself. You recognized them from being in a few of your classes, but you’d never spoken to them before.

Doyoung was walking over to them.

“There's our bunny!” Johnny says with a big smile on his face. “Don't call me that.” “Why not? Don't you think the name is cute?” “Haechan, give me my phone back.” He says, reaching out for it. “Do you think he's seen his new soulmark yet?” Yuta whispers loud enough for only his friends to hear, and they all start laughing.

As you peeked around the tree you were hiding behind, you wondered if Doyoung really didn’t need help. To you, it looked like those guys were ganging up on him. “You want it? Go get it.” Haechan says, throwing it across the field. It landed on the pathway, a few feet away from where you were hiding, bouncing a few times before coming to a stop. “Oh no-” you winced, watching it slide across the ground.

Doyoung runs over to go pick it up.

“Oh, that’s cracked for sure..” Johnny makes a face. “That wasn't necessary, Haechan..” Taeyong says, raising an eyebrow. “Relax, it's not his actual phone- it's just the case. I wanted to see how he’d react.” Haechan replies, and the others nod, with an ‘oh’.

You turn your gaze from the guys, over to Doyoung, who looked like he was the one who’d just gotten broken. Which was understandable, because his phone was probably like part of his body- like phones were to everyone. He just stared down at it for a moment, but eventually realizes it was just the case.

“Oh man, I think he’s crying.” Johnny says, standing up.

For some reason you suddenly felt the need to step in, so you walked around the tree you were hiding behind and approached them. “What is wrong with you guys? How could you just break his phone like that?” You ask, glaring at each and every one of them.

You probably should’ve been intimidated to approach these guys- they were much bigger than you, but you didn't care.

“Relax Y/n, I didn't really throw the phone. It's right here.” Haechan chuckles, holding it up in front of your face. “Where did she even come from?” Yuta asks with a laugh, and you roll your eyes. You swung around to see Doyoung walking back over with an even more annoyed expression on his face than before.

“So you’ve got her defending you now, huh? What, are you two soulmates or something?” Taeyong teases, leaning back onto his elbows.

Doyoung doesn't respond, but snatches his phone out of Haechan’s hand. “We’re not soulmates.” You say, shaking your head, thinking back to what his soulmark actually looked like when you’d caught a glance at it a few minutes ago. “But I couldn't just stand back and watch you guys bully him.” You cross your arms.

The others laugh, and Doyoung’s face heats up. “This is cute.” Johnny says, looking down at you. “Bunny’s got a little guardian angel.” “He doesn't even deserve one though, look at his wrist.” Yuta points out with a laugh.

Doyoung finally notices it, raising his eyebrows. He assumed they did this too while he was sleeping. “You guys are pathetic. Ganging up on him like this—” “Y/n, it's not that serious. They're just joking around.” Doyoung says, to your surprise.

You didn’t realize he dealt with this stuff all the time. He was used to it.

“Yeah, it's all just jokes.” Haechan smirks. “I said I didn't need your help, and I meant that.” Doyoung says, furrowing his eyebrows a bit. “Uh-oh, they’re fighting..” Johnny continues instigating. This whole thing was so entertaining to them.

You raise an eyebrow at Doyoung, as if to say ‘oh really?’, before shrugging and walking off. “Alright then.” You didn’t understand why he was annoyed that you had just tried to help. “Ooo, you better go after your friend. She seems mad.” Taeyong says, with a fake concerned look on his face.

Doyoung frowns, turning around to see that you were already gone. “..I barely even know her.” He mutters, before walking past the guys to get to his own dorm room.

Doyoung immediately went to the bathroom to wash off what the guys drew on his arm, but it wouldn’t come off. “Of course,” he sighed, “They used permanent marker..” he made a face, turning the water off.

It would come off eventually, but probably not for a while. As he was drying his arm off, he wondered if you’d seen his actual soulmark, or if you thought his was one that had been drawn on.

“I don’t remember ever showing her my soulmark, so how could she know if we match or not--”

“Yo, dude! Hurry up in there, I gotta go!” Doyoung’s roommate- Mark, said as he started banging on the door.

…

When you got back to your car, you called your mom and told her everything. You felt like it was finally time to talk to her about this mess. You put the phone on speaker and talked to her the whole ride back home.

You told her about Doyoung, and how you both were into music and had a talent for singing. You told her how you thought you two had the same soulmark, but how you turned out to be very wrong.

You told her about how strange Lucas was acting a few days ago at the restaurant.

You even told her how you were a bit disappointed Doyoung wasn’t the one after all. And she just listened to you intently, trying to figure out how to respond.

By the time you’d finished telling her about everything, you’d arrived home, and she suggested continuing the conversation once you got inside.

“I’m glad you finally came to me about all of this, Y/n.. The thing that shocked me the most is how you said Lucas was acting the other day.”

“I know right.. What if his soulmark changed to match mine? What if I was the one all along, and he just didn’t realize that yet?” “I.. don’t think you should worry about that. If it happens- it happens, and you’ll have to deal with it then, but most likely that won’t happen, because of how rare that is..” “I know.. I know.. It was just a thought.”

“So this Doyoung guy.. Did you want him to be your soulmate? You said you were disappointed that it wasn’t him..” “I think I was just grateful to have found him- for the short time I thought he was my soulmate, and that we had something in common. I don’t think I actually like him..” You explain, and she nods. “I see..”

Suddenly a text from your dad came in on your phone.

Your mom saw the message too, as your phone lit up, and you quickly picked it up off the table.

“Mom, is it alright if I go see dad for a few hours? ..He told me he wants to get to know me.” You hesitantly ask, studying her face to see if she looked okay with it.

She didn’t.

“If that’s what you want, then I don’t have a problem with it.” She says, contrary to what her facial expression was saying. “Are you sure?” “Yes, but just be careful, Y/n. I don’t want you to get too attached and then just end up getting hurt. Understand me?” She asks, and you nod. “I’ll be as cold towards him as possible,” you smile, and she laughs. You said it jokingly, but you meant it.

When you didn’t trust someone, your usual instinct was to just give them the cold shoulder. If they kept trying to speak to you- even after dealing with that, you knew they were genuine.

You texted your dad that you were on your way, and he sent his address, so you could meet him there instead of at the dealership.

It was only 20 minutes away.

“My whole life he was only *20 minutes* away, and never thought to come check up on me?”

You wanted to be happy that you were finally getting the chance to spend some time with him, but that one thought kept bugging you so much.

“What if he has ulterior motives? If he wanted to get to know me so bad, he would’ve come and found me years ago..”

“Maybe he’s just doing this out of guilt..”

The whole car ride over, you kept thinking up scenarios of how he could just be using you for something, but in the end you always came up with nothing.

There was nothing you had that he needed.

There was no way he could take advantage of you. Maybe he really did just want to get to know you. You hit the steering wheel with your fist, frustrated you couldn’t come up with a reason to hate him- besides the fact that he left you, which he apologized for. He was simply just trying to make up for that now.

Before you left the house, you’d texted Lucas that you were going to meet up with your dad again, and he sent two thumbs up in support, saying to call him afterwards if you needed someone to talk to about it. Lucas grew up without his mother, so in a way he understood what you were going through, but your situation was still different from his.

The GPS eventually failed you, dropping you off in the right neighborhood, but not showing you which house it was. It was a cute little neighborhood. The houses were well spread out, each had their own front and back yard. It was quiet.. And kid-friendly. It made you wonder how life would be like if you’d grown up here, instead of in a tiny apartment.

Eventually, you found the right address, and parked in the long driveway. When you got out, you saw a basketball hoop, and a bunch of other toys in the yard. “Either they run a daycare, or they have kids..” you sighed to yourself, not prepared to (possibly) meet siblings at all.

You hesitantly walked up the steps of the porch, and rang the doorbell. It was the kind with the camera on it, so you avoided looking at it because you knew they could see you. “Of course they have a Ring Doorbell.. This place is so boogie.”

Almost immediately, the door swings open to reveal a blonde haired woman. “Hi! You must be Y/n, I’m Melody,” she hugs you, “I’ll call your father down. You can go wait in there,” she says with a friendly smile, gesturing to the huge room to the right.

You gave her a fake smile back, thanking her before slowly making your way into the living room. You wanted so much to hate the woman your dad left you and your mom for- you’d spent your whole life blaming her for what happened to your family, but she already seemed so nice that you just couldn’t.

“Wow.. this place is pretty nice.” You said to yourself in awe, looking up at the ceiling, the furniture, everything- all the decorations, the wallpaper. Everything was just so nice. It looked like one of those model homes you visit, but never end up buying. “This place makes my house look like an unfinished basement.” You laugh to yourself, and hear someone chuckle behind you.

You swing around to see your dad had come into the room. “Hey Y/n,” he smiled, giving you a hug. Unlike with Melody, you actually hugged him back. “Hey dad. This house is so nice! This whole neighborhood is cute.” You say with a smile. “Yeah, it’s pretty comfortable here.” He nods, gesturing for you to sit down on the couch with him.

“So, I don’t know where to start-- um.. Just tell me about yourself.” He says, and his eyes light up as he says it. He seemed really genuine about this. You were trying to be skeptical of everything, but you decided to let your guard down just a little bit. You told him about your hobbies, things you liked to do with your friends. You told him about Lucas- since he was your only close friend. You told him how you and your mom spend the weekends playing board games every Saturday night.

You told him a lot, and the whole time he just smiled and nodded, really listening. Eventually he told you a bit about himself, and turns out you both were alike. He was musically inclined as well, and could basically play every instrument out there. At one point, he took you into the basement (gorgeous looking room), so he could show you how well he was at playing pretty much everything. Any instrument you could think of was down there. There even was a recording studio.

It was a wonder he wasn’t famous yet, with all that talent.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were having a really great time here with him, and could definitely see this becoming a regular part of your life now.

It got late, and you told him your mom wanted you back before it got dark, so he walked you out to your car. Before you could leave, though, he asked you a serious question. “Y/n.. I want you to move in with us. We have an extra bedroom- it’s huge, you’d love it, and we really think it would be a great way for us to get to know you better. Is that.. Something you’d want?” He asks, a bit nervously.

You are so stunned that you can’t even answer. You end up just shaking your head, wide-eyed. “It’s okay- you don’t have to decide right now. Think it over. Discuss it with your mom, of course. I wouldn’t want her to think I’m taking you away from her.” “O-okay.. I’ll think it over.” You eventually stutter out, and he smiles. “Get home safe, okay? Text me when you get home.” He says, walking back onto the porch.

He watches as you drive away before heading back into the house, and you feel like screaming. All sorts of thoughts were filling your mind- “What if I *do* move in with them? Will I have to transfer to some crazy private school? What if I end up being a burden to them? What will mom think? I can’t believe I’m even considering this. Will she think this is betrayal? I can’t abandon her like he did..”

You were so distracted that you didn’t even see the deer jump in front of your car.

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angelofarts · 4 years

Text

Of Crochet and Comas Part 1

I crochet. I do not knit. Knitting is an inferior art form. I crochet. I am complex.

“I am full of it,” I muttered to myself, staring at the words on the screen. The thing is, when your whole personality is this one thing you do and you can’t actually tell people it’s what you do, what do you tell them? Do you play the sympathy card? Do you make something up? Do you ignore the paper in the hopes that it’ll go away, knowing at the last hour you’ll play both the previous cards at the same time to scrape a pass?

Yeah, inevitably I end up on option 3.

I pushed away the laptop, leaving it on the scrunched with the blanket on the end of my bed, half buried under my duvet. No matter how many times Mom comes in and eyes it sadly, or Dad shakes his head at me, I refuse to give it up. That blanket is mine, no one else’s.

“Going to the hospital,” I called to my mom who was in her office as I found a clean t-shirt.

“Is it visiting hours?” she called back as I sniffed the armpit of the shirt. Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly clean, but it was clean enough for my purposes.

I swung out of my room, scooping my backpack up. “Yeah, they let me in whenever,” I told her as though she didn’t already know this. She looked up at me, her eyes out of focus, and swept her fringe back. Defying the laws of gravity, it immediately sprung back into a frizzy mess.

“Okay, ride safe,” she said vaguely, turning back to her spreadsheet. “Take your phone and your backpack. Get some homework done.”

I nodded, even though I knew she couldn’t see me, and left through the passage leading to the back door. My bike stood there, the patches that weren’t orange rust peeked through with dark grey. An archaeologist had once offered me fifty bucks for it, convinced it outdated several of his finds, but old Raptor was mine until I got my license and could upgrade to the equally crappy and significantly more expensive rusted car sitting in our driveway.

The hospital wasn’t far away, and yet I somehow managed to get flipped off four times, honked at six, and almost hit twice. Regardless of the fact that I was in the right lane, one of the drivers tailed me a block, yelling obscenities. I merrily waved my middle finger back at him until he drove past, obviously deciding some kid on his bike wasn’t worth ruining his afternoon for.

At the hospital, I chained my bike up to the stand in front of the visitor’s entrance and hiked my backpack further up my shoulders. The air conditioning hit me, and I winced – despite cycling here and it being winter, I’d forgotten anything practical for the day like a sweater or hat or scarf, instead standing in my jeans and tee like normal.

“Hey Aaron,” Nurse Nancy called from her station. “Good to see you.”

I felt a goofy grin split over my face. “Nancy my love, how have you been? Keeping our affair a secret, I hope? I’d hate to have to become your sugar daddy when I have no sugar to provide.”

Nurse Nancy, a woman probably old enough to be my grandmother, gave me a good natured chuckle and tsked as she waved me past towards long term residency. I clutched at my chest dramatically as I staggered through the swinging doors.

Entering the ward, I waved at the nurses and some of the residents who were out for the morning. Bert, an old man with a heart condition, was reading in the common area where he first taught me how to cheat at poker. Lizzie, a middle aged woman with some sort of hormone malfunction was next to him, yelling at the politicians on TV. She was the reason I was passing history – the woman was a walking library.

Not a lot of the residents are permanently in long term, since most medicines can be administered at home, but Bert and Lizzie had no one to help them take the meds, so they had been a staple of this wing for the four years I’d been coming in.

Closer to my destination I ran into the younger crowd – teenagers my age who had to come in for a month or so at a time for some or other condition. Lisa I knew had cystic fibrosis and came in whenever she flared up, although you wouldn’t say she was chronically ill from how put together she always looked – long blonde hair always tied back, always in real clothes when the others would spend days in pyjamas. Richard had Crohn’s disease, and you could always tell when he came in from how much weight he’d lost or gained. There were others – diabetics, cancer kids, a whole host of them who somehow had managed to find a society within themselves, one which I, as an outsider, was very much not a part of.

Finally, I reached the last door and propped it open, to the familiar, rhythmic electronic beeps of the heart monitor and the gush of air in and out of the respirator.

“Hey bro,” I whispered softly.

My brother, Kenzo, didn’t reply, not that I expected him to. His chest artificially rose and fell as I softly dropped my backpack to the floor and sat in the visitors chair next to him.

Kenzo was the one who introduced me to crochet, back when we were kids. I, at four, had less than no patience for the wool and stick my mom was trying to show us, but he took to it like a duck to water, and within three weeks we were both going at it. Anything to be like my big brother.

Just a year separated us, but it was a year that made a difference. Kenzo was the model student, the popular sports star who somehow was genuinely nice to everyone. One year he found out who didn’t have Valentines, and anonymously sent fifty crocheted roses to the girls and guys (He’d made me help of course). One year he raised money for charity through selling scarves. He was Mr Perfect, as far as our peers were concerned.

I didn’t have the same sheen on him – bathing together until you’re three does that to a person – but even knowing the crappy stuff he did, like the brief stint of shoplifting before I threatened to turn him in, or the time I caught him and our neighbours smoking pot in the back garden, I couldn’t deny that he was a good brother. Until the day he wasn’t.

Until the day he ended up here, in a coma, because of me.

I bent over to open my backpack. “Here, I made you something. Winter is getting cold, and you need some protection I bet.”

I emerged with a hunter green hat, one I knew would suit his colouring because it suited mine. The green clashed with the dark brown of my hair, bringing some colour into my pale cheeks. I pulled it onto his head carefully and tucked it around his ears the way he used to like it.

“Looks great, bro,” I said softly, leaning back. “How are you still hotter than me though? Hardly seems fair. If you take Nurse Nancy away from me now, I really will have to call mutiny.”

“Nurse Nancy?”

A curious voice had spoken from the door, and I bolted upright, kicking my bag under Kenzo’s bed. At the door stood a girl, about my height, with pale skin and auburn hair, clutching a bag.

“Sorry,” she said immediately. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I only came to drop off this blanket and I didn’t think there would be anyone in here because there’s never anyone here when I come past and when I heard it I stopped because you never know who could be here talking to their family and I don’t want to interrupt but then you mentioned Nurse Nancy and she’s my aunt and she’s married to my Aunt Ellen so I hate to burst your bubble but I think you might need to find a new girlfriend.”

She finally stopped to draw breath, after the most impressive babble I’d ever heard. I waited a beat to make sure she was really done.

“You should offer your lung capacity to Lisa.”

Red began to bloom in her face, spreading from her nose to her cheeks and down her neck. Now that I was paying attention to her clothes, rather than her words, I could see she was dressed in a button up shirt, cardigan, and a pleat skirt. Her shoes (leather brogues) were neatly tied and polished to a shine. Throw in her dark blue lace tights, and I couldn’t help but feel like she was a time traveller from the 1940’s.

She let out a laugh, and to my humiliation, I realized I’d said the last of my thought out loud. It was my turn to flush, although it wasn’t nearly as spectacular as hers.

“Tesha,” she introduced, holding out a hand.

“Aaron,” I replied, taking it and giving it a limp shake.

“Are you Kenzo’s brother?” she asked curiously as she set down the bag she’d had slung over one shoulder, patterned with birds. “I come in here often, but I’ve never seen you here before.”

I nodded. “They gave me free reign since he’s a coma patient, so I’m not usually here in normal visiting hours. Which begs the question – what are you doing here?”

“Christmas in July,” she said cheerfully, pulling out a woollen blanket in deep burnt orange.

“It’s May,” I countered, raising an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes as she set the blanket over Kenzo’s legs.

“Don’t be a buzzkill. Time is meaningless, so presents are eternal.”

I snorted as I fell back in my chair. “I should use that line with my teachers to get extensions.”

She smiled and tucked the blanket down gently. “There you go, Mr Kenzo. Looks just as good as I’d expected.”

If this was a magic story, Kenzo would have woken up then through Tesha’s kind action, or her sheer force of personality and charm. This isn’t though, so naturally I noticed at that moment that the blanket was knitted, and let out a derisive snort.

“What?” Tesha asked defensively, her eyes flashing slightly.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “It’s just that Kenzo doesn’t like knitted stuff, especially not machine knit. But I’m sure it’s a nice blanket, really.”

Her mouth started to pinch. “This,” she said very clearly, “was not machine knit. This was hand knit, by yours truly, and you are a snob and not very nice. I’m leaving now.”

With that, she swirled around and left with a little “hmph.”

I got up to chase after her, not sure if I was going to apologize to her or further mock the institution of knitting. When I got to the corridor though, I saw that she’d disappeared, no doubt to engulf someone else in her snobbish, “superior” items.

“Whatever,” I muttered to myself, turning towards the bathrooms.

On the way there, I ran into Richard, who uncharacteristically stopped to talk to me.

“Dude, did you do something to piss off Tesha?”

My face flushed again as I quelled the urge to push past the dark teen in front of me. He had a disease, he was basically skin and bones, he had no contribution towards me sticking my foot in my mouth…

“No,” I snapped. “She’s being a snob.”

Okay, so much for being nice to sick kids. I try to be nice to the teenagers here, knowing that if circumstances had been different it was very likely that I would be one of them, but it was difficult when none of them usually acknowledged my existence. Between their cold shoulders and the tip toeing I got at school, I was getting rusty with appropriate social interactions.

Richard snorted loudly. “Yeah, right.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

He shifted in his wheelchair, and his jersey slipped down one bony shoulder. “Tesha is a saint. No way she started it.”

“Were you there?” I demanded, pushing into the bathroom. It was mean of me, but I let the door swing closed before he could follow, knowing it was near impossible for him to enter.

When I emerged, unfortunately he was still there, but now talking to Lisa. I snuck past them and back to Kenzo’s room to wait out my time in the peace of my brother.

#writing #spilled ink #writing about crafts #of crochet and comas #pandemic writing #its just for fun #please dont judge me

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once-upon-a-deacon · 5 years

Text

You Mean the World to Me

WC: 2288

Warnings: Cheating

A/N: This is inspired by the song "You Mean the World to Me" by Freya Ridings. I heard this song and absolutely fell in love with it.

You looked at the blond sitting next to you and studied his profile. His features were sharp and angular while somehow remaining soft. His hair was resting on his forehead and you resisted the urge to push it out of his face. The sides had been shaved but the top was left long, and it often fell into his eyes. "You're staring." You hadn't realized he was eyeing you out of the corner of his eye.

"Sorry.."

"What are you thinking about?" He asked

"Your hair has gotten so long. Maybe it's time for a trim?" You tried.

"Yeah...soon, maybe."

This is how things had been lately. Conversations were short and generally one sided and there was always tension in the air.

"Ben...are we...is everything okay?"

He turned and looked you in the face. "Things are fine. Why?"

You found it difficult to look at him, so you focused on your hands in your lap, instead. "It's just...ever since you came back from filming, things feel different."

He shrugged and went back to looking at his phone. "'S fine."

You sighed and decided not to push it. "Um...what do you want for dinner? Should we go out or would you like me to make something?"

"Sorry, I'm going out. Joe wants to meet up for dinner and drinks." He didn't even look at you when he spoke.

"Oh...okay." You whispered. Standing from the couch you were sitting on, you stood awkwardly and looked at him. With a sigh, you decided to escape the tension and retreat to your room.

You grabbed your favorite photo album and sat back against the headboard of the bed. Flipping it open, you felt a burning in your eyes and quietly scolded yourself. "Don't be silly. There's no need to cry!" The album was pieced together in chronological order, from the beginning of your relationship to the newest picture taken about two months ago. You ran your hand over the first image and sighed. You and Ben had been together for three years and some days you couldn't believe how fast the time had gone. Six months ago, you were certain you would be together for as long as both of you lived. But now...you weren't sure what to expect.

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The sound of the door opening woke you up. You had fallen asleep without realizing it, with the photo album still in your lap. You looked up to see Ben standing in the doorway. His eyes were on the album and they looked sad. "It's time for me to go. I have to meet Joe in a half hour."

You nodded your head and stood up. "Do you know what time you'll be back?"

"It'll be late. We're going to the bar after dinner."

"Okay...I'll see you when you get home, then." You placed your hand on his cheek and for the second time that day, you felt a prickle in your eyes. He leaned into your palm and closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, letting out a quiet sigh.

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A large clap of thunder startled you awake. It took you a few moments to adjust to the room around you but as soon as you did, you realized you were alone. You glanced over at your alarm clock and sighed; the power had gone out from the storm. Grabbing your phone, you saw that it was 2:43 am. There was no word from Ben, but you did see a text from Joe waiting for you.

Motzy Stick 2:00am

Hey, is your power out, too?

You wondered how Joe would know that the power was out at his place when he was supposed to be out with Ben. Your finger hovered over the 'call' button for a few seconds before carefully pressing it.

His answer was quick, "Hello?"

"Hey Joe. I just got your text. Did Ben decide to crash at your place after dinner and drinks? I figured he would have come home since you only live down the street..."

"Ben...? I haven't seen Ben at all this week. I've been home going over a script. The storm knocked the power, though." His words made your stomach turn and there was a tightening in your chest. All week...he hadn't seen him all week. But Ben had been out at least twice this week, both times he said he was with Joe. "(Y/N) ...are you okay?" You barely registered his voice on the other end. You numbly hit the end button and stared at the dark screen. Tears threatened to escape, and your breathing became shallow.

It took everything in you to keep you on your feet as you slowly made your way into the living room and threw yourself on the couch, not even bothering to turn on a light. Drawing your knees up, you rested your head against your legs and gave into the burn behind your eyes. Joe's words floated around in your head. You felt silly, angry and hurt. Part of you had known Ben had lied about being with Joe. You didn't want to believe it...but you knew.

It wasn't long before you heard someone outside the door fumbling for keys. You were so exhausted from crying that you didn't even raise your head from atop your knees. You heard Ben open and close the door quietly, unable to see you due to the darkness of the room. He sighed and dropped his keys into the bowl inside the hall before flipping the switch to the light.

A sharp hiss left your lips at the sudden intrusion of light. Your eyes and head were sore from crying.

"(Y/N), what are you doing up?" Ben questioned. You sighed and finally raised your head to look at him, not bothering to wipe the new wave of tears his voice caused.

"Joe called." You stated bluntly. Panic flashed in his eyes, but he was quick to reign it in. "Yeah, I just left his place." He lie was effortless.

"Ben..." you sniffled and looks him square in the eye "please don't lie to me anymore."

With a sigh, he sat on the couch and turned to face you. Suddenly feeling restless and claustrophobic, you stood up and began pacing. "How long, Ben? How many?"

"I don't...I don't know. A few months? Just one person. That's it."

You scoffed "Oh that's it, is it? That makes it better because it's just one person?!" You stopped pacing and stared him in the eye. "Why? When did I stop being enough for you?"

"(Y/N), no." He stood quickly from the couch and walked towards you. You stepped back but he continued his advance, raising his hands to hover above your arms. With a gulp, he laid his palms against your upper arms. You closed your eyes and swallowed the lump in your throat, allowing yourself to enjoy his touch one last time. With tears in your eyes you stepped out of his grasp and looked at him again.

"I thought...Ben, I thought you were it for me. I'm sorry that you didn't feel the same way. I know I don't let you see, but you mean the world to me. I know that I can be pretty mean...But you mean the world to me." *I know I haven't always made it easy and I know I'm not as open as you'd like. I'm sorry. I hope she can give you what I couldn't. I'll be back in the morning for my things." You turned away from him and tried to bite back the sob that threatened to break free.

"Please, (Y/N/N), please don't go. You were enough, it was me, I was the one not good enough. Please, you don't have to leave!"

"Go to bed, Ben. You've been drinking and you just need to sleep. Who knows if you'll even remember any of this in the morning."

"Stay. Stay with me, please come to bed with me."

You looked at him with a sad smile on your lips. "No, Ben. I'll be back in the morning." You laid your hand against his cheek and ran your thumb along his cheekbone. "I'll always love you, Ben Jones." He took a quick breath in at your use of his given name.

As soon as the door shut behind you, you raised your hand to your lips and bit into the back of it as a sob ripped through you. You wanted to scream and to curl up into a ball and give up. Instead, you pulled your phone out and dialed the first person you could think of.

"Hello?" You were worried you had woken him, but his voice held no hints of sleep.

"Joe..." was all you could get out before your body was wracked with sobs.

"I'm on my way." His voice was gentle, and you had never been more thankful for him than you were in that moment.

It only took a few minutes before you saw him round the corner. He stopped upon seeing your tearstained face. "(Y/N)?" He called to you like he was talking to a scared puppy.

"Please Joe...can we just go?" You walked pass him without waiting for an answer. He turned to walk beside you but didn't ask questions, knowing you would talk when you were ready. The 3-minute walk back to his apartment felt like it took an entire eternity. As soon as you stepped through the door, your legs gave out and you fell to your knees. Joe was right there beside you, his arms around your torso, just hugging you as you wept into his shoulder. When you felt like you couldn't possibly cry anymore, he helped you to the couch and went to heat up some tea for the two of you.

Once the tea was done, he sat beside you and gently took your hand in his. You stared down at them, feeling numb. "You don't have to say anything. You can stay here as long as you need. I have an empty bedroom, even has its own bathroom." You looked at him "Ben...he...he's been seeing someone else. For months, he said." It was hard to feel anything beyond numb. "He's so drunk, I don't suppose he'll remember much of anything. I told him I'd be back to gather my things in the morning." "You can stay here. We'll work on finding something more permanent later. For now, this is your home, okay?" You looked at Joe and knew you'd be crying again if you had anything left.

You were startled by the sound of his phone ringing and quickly saw "Ben" flashing across the screen. You looked at him with panic etched across your face.

He gently patted your hand and then put the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

You heard muffled talking through the phone and Joe turned to look at you. "She's safe, Ben. No, you can't talk to her. Go to bed and we'll be by tomorrow." With that he hung up the phone and helped you stand. "Off to bed for you as well, dove. You need some rest." You sighed and nodded in agreement. "You'll get through this. You aren't alone."

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

The next morning came too quickly and you woke up feeling hungover and your body ached. You wandered into the attached bathroom and stared at your reflection. Aside from your red eyes, your face was pale and your eyes were dull. You sighed and splashed some cold water across you skin. Deciding there wasn't much to be done, you quietly made your way to the kitchen. You were surprised to find Joe already there preparing breakfast and tea. "Good morning." You stared at the food and grimaced, not sure your stomach could handle it. "You're going to eat, if I have to force feed you myself." You sighed and gave him a small smile. "Okay, Joe." Your voice was raw from a mixture of tears and lack of use.

"After we've eaten, I'll walk you over and we'll pack your things." You froze at his words and closed your eyes. "Hey..." he said gently, resting his hand on yours, "It'll be okay. I'll be right there the whole time."

After breakfast you and Joe made your way to the only home you've known for the last two years. As soon as you walked in, you knew Ben wasn't there. It was too quiet. You looked around and were saddened to realize it already felt less like home. You saw a piece of paper resting on the dining table and hesitantly picked it up.

"(Y/N),

I'm so sorry. I understand if you decide to leave. I can only hope I'll come home to find you here waiting for me. I ended things with her. You ARE enough, so much more than enough. Please just know that I love you. I will always love you and I'll be here when you're ready for me. Please forgive me...

-Ben"

It only took you a couple of hours to collect all of your things. Before you left, you placed your favorite photo album on top of the letter that Ben had written you, hoping he would understand what It meant for you leave it behind. With one last look around you sighed and closed the door on the life you used to know. The life you were sure was your forever. You turned to Joe and blew out a breath. "It'll be okay. You don't have to do this alone. I'm here."

#ben hardy #ben jones #roger taylor #ben hardy x reader #ben jones x reader #roger taylor x reader #joe mazzello #romance #love #heartbreak

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years

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A Flame For A Cabbage (Part 13)

Azula pushes her stall down the vacant streets. She is the only one outside, she is the only one with the sense not to panic buy toilet paper. What she does not know is that the toilet paper has served its purpose. The streets are vacant because the void has taken its annual sacrifices and those who had not been possessed and driven to leaping into its swirling depths are not yet awake because it is 3:15 in the morning. This is when Azula starts her day. It is not when normal people start their day. No less, Azula finds that she is more productive when she rises at 3:15. Her mother had once said that it is another sign that she is ‘literally Satan but with a top knot and cute clothes.’

She finds herself what she believes is an optimal place to set up her stall. It is a shady spot nestled between a cafe and an inn with a lovely maple tree. She picks out a cabbage and smiles. Today will be different, she will have her sales.

She spies her first customer and holds out a cabbage. “Has your toilet paper saved you?” She begins.

The man shakes his head.

“I didn’t think so.” She replies. “See, I tried to tell you, but you did not listen. Luckily for you, I am a generous person. I am still going to allow you to buy a medicinal cabbage.”

The man seems to recoil but he reaches for his pocket. She thinks that he is going to draw out a few copper pieces. Instead he draws a single square of toilet paper and wipes his nose. “No thanks.”

“Good morning.” Azula greets a woman. She thinks that it is the soldier who had abolished her cabbage stand the morning before so abruptly drops her sales pitch. She is not usually one to run, but she is also not one to carelessly put herself into a losing situation. She hustles to pack away her stall. She thinks that she will have better success elsewhere anyhow.

“Halt!” The soldier shouts. “Merchant! Get back here!” The woman is waving something at her. She picks up her pace.

.oOo.

“Father, I have important news.” Sie begins.

“Sie, I am trying to organize my rock garden, you know that I always organize my rock garden at exactly 5:30 in the morning.” He picks up a plastic flamingo, this one is electric blue in color. He strokes it lovingly, the shade reminds him of something important to him. Something that he has lost long ago. Tenderly, he sits it by the rest of the blue flamingos. He moves onto the next one, a standard pink lawn flamingo. This one he puts at the center, for it is the flamingo of the day. This is how he organizes his rock garden. There are no rocks in his rock garden. There is no war in Ba Sing Se. There is no God in the Fire Nation.

There are only flamingos in Ozai’s rock garden. There is only the false illusion of safety in Ba Sing Se. There is only Iroh’s unwavering wrath in the Fire Nation.

As Ozai picks up a flamboyant green flamingo with sunglasses, the Pterodactyl of the West screeches in his cell.

Sie does not get to inform his father of the news.

.oOo.

With her stall once again erect in a new, slightly less comfortable location, Azula decides that she is going to have to take a more direct approach. She looks at the charred body next to her and recalls that this is not normal for the Fire Nation. She also notes that it is, in fact, bad for business to have a body laying around so she quickly pushes her cabbage stall over it.

That ought to fix it. If you push it under the bed or shove it in to the closet then you cannot see it. And if you cannot see it then the mess is gone. No one can see the corpse. So the corpse is not there. It can fade from existence as though it had never been a part of it all. Such is the nature of things. Object permanence is meaningless. It is like time which is also meaningless. Time is not only meaningless, but also a social construct which is why Azula does not have a problem being awake at 3:15 in the morning, because it is actually 5:30 (which is still questionable early). But not for Azula, because Azula believes that it is 3:15 and therefor it is 3:15. Now if you were to ask Ozai, he would say that it is 5:30. And if you asked Zuko, he might say that it is 1:00 in the morning and ask you why you are waking him so early. If you asked Iroh what time it is, he would tell you that he is in a jail cell so time is twice as meaningless as it was before and so he does not know what time it is. So you are best not asking the time at all because, really, how are you to know who is correct? Just who has decided what time to go with anyways?

While the unimportance of time as it pertains to a person was being discussed, several customers have came and went. Each of them hilariously rejecting the socially inept cabbage merchant’s offers.

Azula grows increasingly frustrated. “You are going to buy a cabbage.” She informs the first person she sees. “It is not debatable. You are going to…” the man walks away from her as though she is nothing and no one at all. She is left to ball her fist and wave it at him in a silent display of frustration.

Jet’s words echo in her mind. And maybe he is right, maybe her business will crumble... It could be that the height of her luck had been on the wall all of those days ago. Azula wanders back to her stall, picks out her favorite cabbage of the day, and hugs it to her chest.

She isn’t feeling so well. It is not the illness that plagues the Fire Nation streets. Nor is it the virus that is currently making a mess of a different dimension entirely. It isn’t the black plague either. It could be seasonal allergies--yes, she thinks that it is seasonal allergies. But it is also something else. Something… Emotional.

She is feeling sad. The merchant isn’t sure that she has ever felt sad before. Has she ever felt anything save for pride and determination, and more recently, angry and frustration?

Azula pulls her keens up to her chest and hugs the cabbage closer. A single tear escapes and slips down her cheek. The wind stirs up her hair and rustles the leaves of her cabbages. She can practically hear them whispering, “it’s going to be okay, Azula.”

She is skeptical. But there might be hope yet. She takes a deep breath, she has never done this before. Never.

She puts a, ‘out for lunch, back in 15’ sign on her cabbage stall and heads for the Fire Nation prison.

.oOo.

“Father, I still have news.” Sie tries again. This time Mai and TyLee are standing behind him because they need some screen time. But they aren’t going to do anything particularly important.

“Not now.” Ozai says. “I have important things to do.” Such important business consists of inspecting his toothbrush, bristle by bristle. This is something he routinely does after he organizes his rock garden.

“But father, this is important.” Sie speaks. He can wait, for Ozai is on the last three bristles. But upon that task’s completion he sits upon his throne and seems to stare directly into the flames around it. Sie knows not to interrupt Ozai when he is peering into the flames, seeking out divine wisdom. Mostly the fire simply crackles and shrieks incoherently like a thousand voices from the ninth ring of hell as fires tend to do. But occasionally the fire will crackle and tell Ozai that his beard is pretty. This makes Ozai blush but in a very manly way.

Mai, growing impatient ages up a year. And then one more after that.

Sokka remains the same age though. As do June, Toph, Aang, Katara, Zhao, Haru, Azula, Jet, Ozai, Zuko, and Lo. But Li. Li is not exactly 83 while her sister is only 82. Teo, in his wheelchair also ages a year. And Earth Kingdom Azula is suddenly 8 years old again and her adoptive mother weeps in despair. We cannot be sure of TyLee’s age. Even TyLee doesn’t know TyLee’s age.

“Father?” Sie coughs.

The man only narrows his eyes and concentrates harder on the fire as a good Fire Lord does. Sie shakes his head sadly. Things have been weird between he and his father these days. Ever since he got home. He thinks that his father resents him for some reason but that does not make sense for he has been the perfect daughter. “Father the Earth Kingdom is planning an invasion.”

“Hmmm…” Ozai says taking a sip of his coffee. “Nope.”

“Wh-what do you mean, nope?”

Ozai turns away from the fire but only for a moment. “Nope, there will be no invasion.”

“But there is going to be an eclipse.”

Ozai shakes his head.

“Yes.” Sie inists. “The Earth King…”

Ozai plugs his ears and says, “la la la la, I can’t hear you.”

“Father…”

“There won’t be an invasion because I forbid it.”

“Father,” TyLee starts.

“He’s my father, not yours.”

“Ooohhh, I thought that his name was father.”

Sie shakes his head.

“Sie’s father, TyLee begins again, “we were told that…”

The Fire Lord raises a silencing hand. “If you speak without permission even once more, I will teach you the same lesson that I taught my son.”

Sie shudders violently, not a day goes by where Zuko doesn’t talk about the horrors of calculus derivatives and trigonometry. His face still bears the scar given to him with The Math itself punished him for his wrong answer. Not that Ozai hadn’t summoned The Math in the first place.

“Please no.” TyLee squeaks.

“But father, we should be making preparations…”

“Preparations for what?”

“The invasion.”

“What invasion!” Ozai roars, and with his rage the fire flares. “There is no invasion. I already said ‘la la la’.”

Sie, fearing punishment and The Math, backs down. He clenches his teeth and hopes that he is wrong about the eclipse. “Come on, TyLee. Mai.” He beckons for them to follow. Boredom satisfied, Mai ages down a year again. The others do not.

“Ozai!” Greets a chipper and cheerful high-pitched voice. “Did you trim your beard!? It looks hella fine!”

Ozai smiles. It is the only time that is black and vile soul sees even a faint pin-prick of light and goodness.

#Avatar #Azula #Cabbage Man #Ozai #Mai #TyLee #Fanfiction

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thelibrarbian · 5 years

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What’s Sans doing, anyway? (Takes place between chapters one and two, the night after Papyrus leaves)

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Rating: G

Pairing: none (platonic Edgepuff in the background, but this chapter focuses more on UT!Sans)

Tags: Phone Calls, Sans Being a Worried Brother

Word Count: 1257

Not based on any prompts, not part of the 12 Days of Papcest

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Read on Ao3 (link above) or below the cut.

Chapter 4 - Interlude

Sans prided himself on being able to sleep anywhere, at any time. The occasions on which either Papyrus, or Toriel, or Frisk, or some random person had found him asleep in the most unconventional of places were too many to count. It was almost like its own kind of magic: no matter where he was, he only needed to close his eyes for a minute before he dozed off.

Tonight, Sans couldn’t sleep.

It was close to midnight and he was still sitting in the living room, bleary-eyed, slumped into the couch, staring at the TV without paying attention to the program, his phone next to him on the armrest. He had considered calling his brother about a dozen times since he left, but always held himself back. Sans didn’t buy the movie night excuse for one second, but it was clear that Papyrus wanted some time away from him. So much so that he had left for an entirely different universe.

Groaning, Sans buried his face in his hands. In hindsight, it had probably been a bad idea to leave Papyrus in the dark about the Royal Guard. (Actually, there were a lot of things that he probably shouldn’t have left Papyrus in the dark about.) Welp, no use dwelling on that now. The damage had already been done.

Sans grabbed the phone for the umpteenth time to check for any missed calls or messages. Nothing. He didn’t even know what he expected. His brother was probably busy having fun – if not watching a movie, then cooking, or playing board games, or doing whatever else with the tall, edgy skeleton he had befriended. At least, that was what Sans choose to believe, instead of contemplating everything that could have gone wrong in that dangerous alternate universe where Papyrus had run off.

(It didn't help that for a long time now, time had been steadily progressing forward in both their universes; the time loops – or ‘resets’, as Frisk had called them – were a thing of the past. If something did go wrong... there were no more do-overs.)

Sans fiddled with his phone. Should he send a text? Could he send a text without coming off as overprotective? Usually, doing nothing was his favorite pastime, but now he grew more and more restless with every minute spent not doing anything. Just checking in can’t hurt, he decided and typed out a quick message.

u ok bro?

He was about to hit ‘Send’ when the phone suddenly sprung to life.

Sans almost dropped it when the ringtone started to blare from the device, and scrambled to keep it from hitting the floor. One glance at the screen told him that it was indeed Papyrus calling.

“hey bro.” Sans tried to sound nonchalant as usual, despite his racing soulbeat. Why was Papyrus calling? Had something happened? Was it even Papyrus on the phone and not somebody else calling to tell him that–

“HELLO, SANS!” The cheerful tone of what was definitely his brother's voice dispelled the worst of his fears. “I AM SURPRISED YOU ARE STILL AWAKE! I HOPE YOU HAVEN’T BEEN STAYING UP FOR MY SAKE – I WILL BE STAYING HERE FOR THE NIGHT! WHICH IS WHY I CALLED TO LET YOU KNOW!”

Sans relaxed back into the couch. Everything was fine, of course it was. Papyrus was just having a sleepover. While Sans might not be entirely on board with his brother's choice of friends, this was much preferable to the more… unfortunate scenarios his tired mind had come up with.

“AND THERE’S ALSO A... SMALL PROBLEM.”

And with that, Sans was back to worrying again. “yeah?”

The long pause before Papyrus spoke again did nothing to reassure Sans. “WELL... HOW TO PUT IT... SANS, PLEASE DON’T FRET, BUT–“

If Sans hadn't been fretting before, he certainly was now.

“–WE MIGHT BE EXPERIENCING SOME MINOR, UM, TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES??”

“whaddaya mean?” Sans’ voice came out as more of a croak.

There was another pause before Papyrus said, in a smaller voice than usual, “THE MACHINE ISN’T WORKING.”

"wait, what?" Sans took a minute to process that. “you’re stuck in that hellhole?” he finally blurted out.

“IT’S NOT A HELLHOLE, SANS, DON’T BE RUDE!” Papyrus actually sounded offended on behalf of the alternate universe.

“i'm coming over.” Before his brother could protest, Sans had already taken a shortcut to the basement and was typing coordinates into the machine.

“SANS, I DON'T THINK THAT WILL WORK,” Papyrus commented through the phone. “LIKE I JUST SAID, OUR MACHINE IS OUT OF ORDER AT THE MOMENT, SO I'M AFRAID YOU'LL BE–”

“unable to connect,” Sans muttered, staring at the blinking line on the display screen that proclaimed the same message. His hand fell back from the control panel and hung useless at his side.

“WELL, YES. BUT WORRY NOT, BROTHER! WHILE I WILL ADMIT THAT THE SITUATION IS… LESS THAN IDEAL–”

“‘less than ideal’?” It wasn't like Sans to get worked up about anything, really, but this was about Papyrus, and he couldn't just let his brother brush off the danger he was in. “paps, you're stuck in a world of murderers and–”

“HEY, NOW YOU'RE BEING UNFAIR!”

An exasperated huff came through the speaker from a distance. “Hand me the phone, Creampuff.”

“WHAT? NO, I-”

A brief scuffle was heard before Fell’s voice came through the speaker much more clearly. "Comic. Calm down, and listen."

There was a commanding tone to the words that made Sans shut his mouth almost immediately. It was probably a skill that came with being second-in-command of the Royal Guard; Sans had heard this tone from Fell before. He still didn’t like it.

“The machine on our side is currently nonfunctional due to a power outage,” Fell continued. “There is no damage to the machine itself, as far as we can tell. Once the power lines are repaired, Rus will be able to return. Understood?”

Sans nodded automatically, not even thinking about the fact that this was a phone call and Fell wouldn’t be able to see his response. So… this wasn’t a long-term or permanent problem with the machine, then. Good, but it didn’t change the fact that Papyrus was stuck there now.

Fell sighed. “Your brother is not in any danger. I will– hey!” Another scuffle could be heard.

“AS I WAS ABOUT TO SAY BEFORE I WAS SO RUDELY INTERRUPTED,” Sans could almost hear Papyrus glaring at Fell, “THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO NEED TO WORRY! JUST THINK OF IT AS ME BEING ON A SHORT VACATION!”

“you never take vacations,” Sans pointed out, but the fight had already left him. There wasn't anything he could do, anyway.

“WHILE THAT MAY BE TRUE – IN THE HYPOTHETICAL SITUATION IN WHICH I WOULD, HYPOTHETICALLY, TAKE A VACATION, THERE WOULD BE NO NEED TO WORRY!”

That didn’t do much to reassure Sans, but it did manage to draw a dry chuckle from him. “alright. guess i’ll just leave you to your ‘vacation’ then, heh. try to come back in one piece, ok?”

“BUT OF COURSE! I WILL SEE YOU SOON, BROTHER.” With the tone Papyrus used, it sounded like a promise.

After another exchange of ‘see you’s and ‘take care’s, the line went silent. Sans let out a sigh and sank back into the couch, dropping the phone on the cushion next to him.

It would be fine. Papyrus was a grown adult, a capable monster, and this wasn't his first time in that dark alternate universe.

He would be fine.

He would.

#theWIPproject2019 #undertale #undertale fanfiction #papyrus #sans #undertale papyrus #undertale sans #underfell papyrus #spicypasta #my writing

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okimargarvez · 5 years

Text

FEW HOURS IN LUKE ALVEZ’S MIND - 2

Original title: Few hours in Luke Alvez’s mind.

Prompt: Luke’ POV, memory of war.

Warning: quote of 12x1.

Genre: comedy, family, angst, friendship.

Characters: Luke Alvez, Penelope Garcia, BAU team.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot.

Legend: 🔦🐶.

Song mentioned: none.

Few hours in Luke Alvez’s mind- Masterlist

GARVEZ STORIES

Part 2

I spend the whole weekend immersed in sheets, photographs and damn memories. Most of the data held by BAU on Cullen doesn’t tell me anything new, nothing I didn’t already know. After all, it was I who caught him on the fact and brought him to justice. I even read my report, written a few hours later. It doesn’t even seem so obvious that I was in a state of shock at that time.

Roxy tries to distract me anyway, but this time neither she can help me.

That's why when I finally hear the sound that announces that it's Monday, I get up almost joyfully, I collect everything, throw it in my bag and I almost seems to be lighter, when the plane begins the take-off phase.

This time I am not fascinated by the size of the building, nor by the number of offices, doors and stairs that go in every direction. However, without knowing why, I contradict what I had said last time and decide to entrust myself to the elevator. When the doors open, what my eyes see is an intense stain of pink, white, blue and obviously yellow. Even Penelope notices my presence, because she turns her head slightly in the opposite direction to mine. Is she not happy to see me, or maybe she has some problem?

-Hey.- it comes out with a low and almost whispered tone. With her distant way of doing, she manages to put me in awe and almost in embarassament. What a ridiculous thing! She almost seems to swallow in returning my greeting, lowering and raising her head quickly in a military gesture.

-Good morning.- once again the tone is flat, aseptic. After a moment of sighs, I decide to throw myself. Perhaps she behaves like this only because we don’t know each other well yet. And I intend to immediately remedy it.

-How... how was your weekend?- I dare to look at her, hinting a smile, but the blonde is still statuesque, impassive and looks not interested to reciprocate or even just to consider me. I finally give up, looking back at the elevator doors. The journey is looking a lot longer than the other time.

-I don’t really discuss my personal life with my co-workers.- she decides at the end to say, with a way of doing as if telling an obviousness and only my being a stranger to her team, makes me so stupid that I don't know already. But her voice is so serious and hard that I find myself again intent on staring at her, nodding unconsciously.

-Really?- I sound a little too incredulous, with my tone, but how can I think she is telling the truth, after seeing how she behaves with Reid?

For the first time, she looks at me, but it is only a moment and I don’t even have time to cross her eyes. -I keep it real a low profile, here.- and the fact that she added this adverb of place as a specification, inevitably pushes me to ask myself in which other places she behaves differently. But it's none of my business. Although that opinionated air pushes me in the opposite direction, to investigate lands that will surely turn into quicksand. While I'm thinking about what to say, she starts again to talk. -If you must know, I hung out with my boyfriend- while she makes her proclamation she turns voluntarily towards me, and I do the same -who is super hot, and awesome and totally in love with me.- every detail that she adds to the dose increases but paradoxically makes her speech seem even more unjustified. She raises her eyebrows and seems to want to provoke me. And I accept the challenge, amused by her attempts to look cold and by the desire to keep me at a distance anyway.

-That’s cool.- she stops looking at me, I don’t. I smile in a rather incredulous way, that if she turned towards me, she could be mistaken for a joke towards her. Not knowing how to get out, I shoot the first bullshit that runs through my head. -You guys go out, or ...?- I scrutinize her reaction from the corner of my eye.

-No. We stayed in and he helped me with some fingering techniques.- she announces, relaxed, then, realizing the shocked way in which I am looking at her, she hurries to add details that clarify what she really meant. -For my clarinet, which I practice and he helps me.- but now the mind has started towards unknown shores. And her attempts to make the double meaning less apparent, her embarrassment, and the way she is passionate about defending her cause, her red cheeks, make it all funnier. -And this conversation is making me uncomfortable.- I nod, aware I still have the serial maniac look on my face. She hears a beep, looks down at the phone -And I’m sorry, I must go, Agent Hotchner needs me.- she tries to show herself professional and a moment later she is saved from the elevator opening, but her voice it is too acute (and perhaps partly even pained) because the effect she hopes can work.

I don’t know why, I cry out: -Uh, I made lasagna.- perhaps to continue our challenge that ended with my victory by abandonment by the adversary.

And without looking back, stiff, she responds with a dry -I do not care.- resigned, shaking my head, I decide to finally come out of the elevator in my turn.

-A Tempe, in Arizona, was found a guy who wandered aimlessly, with an object around his neck... a weird object...- the photograph shows what looks like a shaft with the space to insert the wrists and a kind of collar, which in part makes the victim seem crucified -... but above all he had these signs on the body.- this is instead a human chest and there are only three letters incised: BAU.

-He definitely wants to get our attention... and it's working.- JJ expresses her opinion for the first time since the meeting began. A fist bangs on the table. I realize that it was Hotcher, the big boss who seemed so calm.

-It's a provocation!- Rossi exchanges a look with the blonde sitting next to him, there seems to be something I don’t know, but who doesn’t even know Tara.

-Wheels' up in twenty minutes.- and said that, Hotch stands up and leaves the room, very nervous.

Fortunately, Rossi had hinted at the possibility of having to leave Quantico suddenly, so I have with me a bag perfectly suited to the occasion, with everything I need. The only thing I regret is not to have alerted Roxy, but I can call Jessica to go and keep her company.

The jet is not quite as I had imagined it. It's definitely better. Equipped with all the comforts. Everyone sits down, they seem to have almost permanent seats. We don’t have such resources at the task force. I try not to be too amazed. I find my place and start to reread the file for the umpteenth time. Now new sheets have been added concerning the case of this boy found in the desert.

Spencer's exclamation, sitting right in front of me, attracts my attention. -Off of bubble gum?- I ask incredulously. -For real?- it seems strange enough to me, but apparently it's not.

-We've seen the use of aerosolized drugs before.- Spencer begins to explain in the tone of a professor. The others raise their eyes to the sky, JJ chuckles. -One called scopolamine puts you in a catatonic state. The other, sevoflurane, is used during dental surgery. It puts you in a suggestible, almost hypnotic trance.- too many complex terms, even if I understand where her wants to go. I did chemical studies before joining the rangers. But I'm a bit rusty.

-And because it's used in dental surgery, it tastes and smells like bubble gum..- the blonde who sits next to him continues in his place. I nod, not completely convinced.

Rossi draws a picture from the file and shows it to me: -And that's why we think the unsub is this guy.- he says with a decisive tone. It doesn’t take long to recognize him.

-Mr. Scratch. Peter Lewis. He was one of the key players in the breakout.- I say aloud. It is certainly not for him that I am willing to move temporarily to Quantico. I want to take that bastard to catch Cullen.

Rossi seems to have read my mind. -Looks like you get to hunt a fugitive after all, just not the one you thought.- it also seems to ask me without saying it explicitly, if I'm still willing to help them, even if the monster we have to chase is not what I wanted. A moment of silence. I can feel everyone's eyes on me. I sigh.

-But I'm bumping on two things.- I start to list. -Number one Peter Lewis should be doing everything he can to stay hidden.- I don’t wait much to do the other And number two If he's going to surface again, why would he copy another guy's style?- that of the Crimson King, who led me to be on this jet now.

-He obviously has some agenda that's not clear to us yet. But we need to consider a more pressing problem. Peter Lewis is a math genius. Which means he plans for every variable.- I hadn’t thought about that. In Dr. Reid's tone there is almost a kind of... admiration is perhaps not the most correct term, but respect, in considering that the enemy is an intelligent person and therefore more dangerous.

- Why is that more pressing? Every serial killer thinks that.- the oldest has the courage to say. But the young man doesn’t intend to surrender.

- Yeah, but most of them operate out of compulsion and he doesn't.

He would stress test all permutations of his plan before reappearing, most likely on other victims.- fantastic perspective, to imagine that outside there are bodies (unless they were devoured by the creatures that populate these areas) of unfortunate people stumbled on one of the many, crazy insane murders that it's around.

- You think we're missing someone.- JJ rightly concludes.

- He wouldn't release Brian unless he knew we couldn't catch him.- it is the final gloss, before the computer screen, positioned so that everyone can have a correct view, it turns on (as well as all the others scattered around 'airplane) and enlighten with the figure of Penelope in the foreground, behind her other electronic devices and various confused as a background.

-Here I am. The paragon of professionalism.- she says. Why do I think that if I had not been here, on the other side of the screen, she would never have said a similar joke, which reminds me so much of the one she exchanged with me, warning me that she kept a low profile here?

- Garcia, have there been any suspicious murders in the Tempe-Phoenix area after Brian?- Rossi asks, ignoring any other question. Her eyes are not seeing us, but thousands of data. I can imagine it.

-Outside of the usual drug and domestic abuse violence, no.- is her response.

-Controll the reports of 911, complaints of people disappears, psychotic episodes, delusions.- lists JJ. The other blonde nods.

-Check 911 records, any missing persons reports, psychotic episodes, delusions.- Rossi adds.

I'm gonna check the prank phone call bin to be sure…- she interrupts the joke. The expression becomes serious and almost frightened. And it is transmitted to everyone present.

-What is it?- Spencer is the first to find the courage to ask.

-I've got a call here about a Jennifer Jareau that caller listed the address as 54321 Rossi Avenue.- fabulous.

-Wow, this guy is really baiting us, isn't he?- anger is painted very clearly on JJ's face.

-Ok, it came from a burner phone, but they left the GPS on. I'm sending you the address now.- I find it admirable that even in such a moment of great confusion, with one of the worst unfortunately again in circulation, which has directly attacked her team, she manages to keep her cool enough to be really professional. That's why all those rumors about her skill and the fact that the CIA didn’t allow her to access their files.

Rossi shakes his head -No, send it to Hotch and Tara. But let them know that Peter Lewis left the breadcrumbs on purpose. They could be walking into a trap.- he warns. The IT nods and the screen turns off.

Sometime later we land and take a car, we reach the police headquarters. After pleasantries to which they all seem accustomed (except me), we are given a room with a little blackboard, pins, maps and a table with chairs to gather. Everyone reflects on his own, rereading the documents, Spencer scribbling something incomprehensible. When I start to open my mouth and ask for it, Rossi glances at me as if to say to let it go.

Finally, the young doctor decides to externalize his thoughts. -D.I.D. is a difficult disorder to treat, but it's even more difficult for a third party to control. To succeed with this kind of experimentation, he would have had multiple failures. We are seeing that.- he seems to be too expert on topics of this kind. And this makes me think that it can have a much more direct experience than I can imagine seeing him from outside. Not that I think it's him, crazy. But someone close to him must suffer from some kind of mental illness, because the degrees can give you the knowledge, but don’t give that tone so sure. Science is after all empirical.

-Brian survived the torture, and Chelsea's mind snapped from it.- JJ adds after a moment of silence.

I feel like taking the word for the first time. -It begs the question, though... Why didn't Brian go crazy?- it’s that we are all wondering. But we still haven’t found an answer.

TAGS: @arses21434 @kathy5654 @martinab26 @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @thinitta @garvezz @shyladystudentfan @cosmicmelaninflower @kiki-krakatoa @pegasus-scifichick @ leftlamphumanfestival @inlovewithgarvaz @thatnerdygirljudy

#garvez #criminal minds #cm #penelope garcia #luke alvez #aaron hotchner #david rossi #spencer reid #jennifer jareau #tara lewis #roxy #penelope x luke #luke x penelope #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #Luke POV #the crimson king #12x01

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laallomri · 6 years

Text

[minific for #JuLance! each is about one of Lance’s birthdays and has a one-word theme]

[25th birthday. theme: proposal]

It’s half past ten PM on July 28th, and Keith and Lance are sitting on the floor in front of the couch in their tiny apartment, watching Planet Earth.

If Keith had his way, this is not how he and Lance would be celebrating Lance’s birthday. If Keith had his way they’d be at a giant party with Lance’s entire family and all their friends, even if it means Keith would use up his socializing quota for the next month.

But there can’t be a giant party, because real life doesn’t stop for birthdays, even the birthdays of boyfriends as wonderful and fantastic and deserving as Lance is. So Keith had had to settle for showing Lance all the presents their family and friends had mailed in, and calling up everyone who hadn’t already messaged Lance to remind them to do so, and spending the afternoon Skyping Lance’s mom so she can help him make Lance’s favorite dinner.

After dinner they went for a long walk on the beach, alternating between holding hands and kicking sand at each other, until finally they got tired and decided to come back home, stopping along the way to buy a bunch of garlic knots and too many bags of candy. And now they’re here, watching Planet Earth, Lance sitting with his back against the bottom of the couch and Keith sitting in front of him and leaned against his chest, with Lance’s arm around his waist.

(“Shouldn’t you be the little spoon?” Keith had asked as they sat down. “It’s your birthday.”

“Exactly,” Lance had said, then, with a gleam in his eyes that should have warned Keith, “that’s why I want to be the big spoon, so I can take my birthday privileges, like—this!”

He blew a raspberry in Keith’s neck, then another, then another, until Keith laughed so hard he snorted, until Lance knocked over their mountain of candy bags in his efforts to get a squirming Keith to stay still so he could blow more raspberries in his neck.)

It’s been only a few minutes since then, contented silence interrupted only by the sounds of them eating and their occasional mimicry of David Attenborough’s voice. Keith puts his bag of M&Ms on the coffee table next to his colorful pens. He’d bought several packs of them when they’d moved into this apartment a year ago, so he could leave a few around the space and always have a couple within reach. Drawing helps him when he feels lost or groundless, when he closes his eyes and forgets where he is; he grabs a pen and doodles on a scrap of paper, on a mug, on his hand, anything to calm him down and give him an anchor so he can remind himself that he is home, and safe, and okay.

He doesn’t feel lost or groundless now, but he hasn’t drawn all day, so he uncaps the blue pen and pokes the arm Lance has wrapped around Keith’s waist. Lance drops a kiss to the side of Keith’s neck, just beside the tie of his ponytail, which Keith takes as agreement to draw.

He makes a tiny pattern on Lance’s thumb, diamonds overlapping like snakeskin. Lance reaches into the bag of garlic knots with his free hand and takes one out; it smells good, so Keith tilts his head without stopping work on the pattern and Lance pops the garlic knot into Keith’s mouth, with an ugh at the weird insects zooming around on the screen.

They continue like that for a while—Keith doodling, Lance alternating between feeding himself and feeding Keith while commenting on the creatures on screen. Keith huffs or snickers or says what whenever expected, though he keeps doodling, diamond patterns and stars and phrases in the Galra symbols that Krolia had taught him during their time on the space whale, so many years ago: peace, happiness, love, friendship.

Eventually he runs out of space on Lance’s arm. Lance pauses the episode.

“Nice,” he says, stretching out his arm to admire Keith’s handiwork. “Do you want my other arm too?”

“Yeah.”

Lance moves the food over to his other side so he can eat with his decorated hand and leave the other one free for Keith to draw on. He resumes the show and Keith stares at Lance’s other hand, frowning a little. He thinks he should do something different this time, instead of just little doodles. He liked the symbols; maybe something like that? Though he’ll have to keep it simple, since Lance’s Galran isn’t very fluent.

Happy birthday, he writes in Galran symbols, running horizontally below Lance’s wrist.

I love you, he writes next, because even after all this time it’s still infinitely easier to write it than to say it. He’s said it aloud before, said it a thousand times, but somehow the permanency of writing it is still easier than the transience of saying it.

“Oh my god,” Lance says, and when Keith looks up he sees his nose is wrinkled. “Do you see that ant? It’s all squashed. Gross.”

The ant is indeed squashed. Keith glances at it, then back at Lance. Even with his nose wrinkled and his mouth full of the garlic knot he’d just taken a bite of, he’s still stunning, all sharp jaw and firm mouth and pointy nose and curly hair. Keith thinks he could look at him forever.

You are so handsome, he adds beneath the last line on Lance’s arm, then, because at this angle he can see Lance’s long lashes, see how they frame eyes bright and brown, Your eyes are beautiful.

He thinks of the raspberry kisses earlier, of laughing so hard he snorts, of the pleasant scrape of Lance’s scruff against Keith’s neck; thinks of waking up that morning, of seeing Lance’s face calm and open in sleep, illuminated by pale early sunlight.

You make me happy, he writes.

He thinks of how Lance’s face lit up today whenever he got a birthday message from a friend or relative, of how his happiness made Keith feel lighter as well; thinks of the diplomatic meeting they went to last week to help Allura, of how he had only had to look at Lance once for him to understand that he thought the other diplomat was full of shit; thinks of the conversation they’d had when they went to lunch with Shiro the other day, of how Lance had said “hey did you tell him about the thing yet,” of how Keith had said “the thing or the other thing,” of how Lance had said “the other thing,” of how Keith had told Shiro exactly what Lance meant, of how Shiro had laughed, startled at how they had somehow managed to communicate so vaguely; thinks of how well he and Lance know each other, like they are one soul put into two bodies, alike and different, apart and together, each their own person but so in tune they might as well be one.

You are my favorite person.

He looks at Lance again. The episode has ended, moved on to the one about oceans, and Lance’s expression as the whales come on screen is one of pure delight. He feels Keith’s eyes on him.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Keith says. He kisses Lance’s cheek, once twice thrice, tiny kisses for the tiny freckles dotting his skin. Lance smiles, his dimple flashing, then goes back to watching the whales.

There isn’t much space left on Lance’s arm. He’d probably let Keith draw on his leg, too, or shift so he could draw on his upper arms—it’s absurdly hot tonight, so they’re both wearing basketball shorts and tank tops anyway—but for some reason Keith feels like this last bit of space should count, should be the final space to be filled for now.

There’s dramatic music onscreen as a baby whale swims through the waves. Lance coos at it.

“I wish you could have pet whales,” he says. “I want a whale. Then I could ride him around in the ocean.”

“You already have a lion,” Keith reminds him, still pondering the empty space on Lance’s arm.

“That’s for space,” Lance explains. “I want a cool animal for the ocean, too.”

“Our lions can go in water.”

“Okay, Mr Mansplainer,” Lance says, and Keith doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s rolling his eyes, though he sounds fond. “I still think a whale would be cool. Or a dolphin.” He gasps, as if just now remembering something. “No! Forget all that. I want a shark.”

“You’re not very faithful to your pets,” Keith says, amused.

“My love is fickle,” Lance says solemnly, then grins, suddenly, like a light being turned on in a dark room. “Except for my love for you.”

“Corny,” Keith says, though he smiles too. “What kind of shark would you want?”

“Hm, well…”

Lance launches into a detailed comparison of all the sharks he knows, both earth and alien, rattles off facts and experiences in aquariums and his own personal opinions (apparently hammerheads are “not appreciated enough, Keith!! They’re so cool!! But everyone thinks they’re dumb cause of the way they look, which is discrimination!”). He’s done this before, but Keith loves it every time anyway and always makes sure to listen. He puts down his pen and pauses the show so Lance knows for sure that Keith’s attention isn’t anywhere else.

Lance is in the middle of talking about great white sharks when it happens. His face is bright and expressive, his free hand moving around as he talks, and he’s so excited, and he’s talking about how the most dangerous of the alien sharks they know of still isn’t anywhere near as deadly as a great white, and Keith has heard this a hundred times, but this time it feels—different—new, almost—though not new, not quite, not new but like new, like a familiar room that’s been repainted, or a favorite book he’s read after a long time, or an old recipe made by someone else’s hand.

He blinks, unsure what it means, and then Lance reaches into the bag of M&Ms on the coffee table, pops a couple into his mouth, takes out a few more, and despite Keith’s hands being free now that he’s capped the pen, Lance holds the candy to Keith’s mouth anyway and feeds them to him. Keith bites down on the candy, feels the sweetness burst over his tongue, watches Lance’s eyes and Lance’s mouth and Lance’s hand, moving through the air as he talks, and his heart jumps, and settles, and whispers, I want to marry you.

He blinks again. He expects it to feel scary, overwhelming, but the sentence sinks into him, settles into his bones, spreads through him like cream poured into coffee, the cloud bursting through the dark liquid, sudden at first then more slowly, until it overtakes him so much he can’t think of anything else.

He shakes out of it long enough to pay attention to the rest of Lance’s ramble, to respond every so often so he knows Keith is paying attention. Eventually Lance settles on wanting an alien shark species called saavmach for a pet, and Keith agrees with his choice, and they resume the ocean episode.

Keith uncaps his pen and put the tip to the empty space on Lance’s arm. He chews his lower lip for a second, closes his eyes, opens them, then writes his last sentence. He caps the pen once more and sets it on the table.

“Done?” Lance asks. He glances at his arm, surprised. “Did you just write on this one?”

“Yeah,” Keith says. His stomach flips. “I wrote some words on your other arm too, but I thought I’d practice full sentences.”

Lance pauses the show and looks again at the first arm Keith had drawn on.

“Peace, happiness, love, friendship,” he reads, then snickers. “Is that the Galran version of a Live Laugh Love sign?”

Keith pokes his cheek, though the joke makes his stomach settle a little. It’ll be okay. They’ve been teammates for years, friends for years, boyfriends for years. They’ve survived battle and bickering and the chaos of trying to cancel a cable subscription.

It’ll be okay.

Lance is looking at his other arm. His brow furrows as he tries to read the longer sentences in Galran. Keith watches him; despite his efforts a moment ago his stomach twists nervously again.

“Happy birthday?” Lance checks.

Keith nods. Lance looks at the next sentence and smiles.

“I love you too,” he says gently, then, grinning as he sees the next two lines, “Hell yeah I’m handsome! Though your eyes are prettier than mine.”

Impossible, Keith thinks, though out loud he says, “We can be tied on that one.”

Lance read the next sentences. When he looks up his gaze is soft.

“You make me happy too,” he says, then, cheekily, “but I think my favorite person is the guy who sells these garlic knots.”

“That’s understandable,” Keith says, as seriously as he can manage, though he’s pretty sure Lance sees the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Lance looks back at his arm. Keith watches, his heart in his throat, too afraid to breathe. He’s not even sure Lance will understand it. He’s not sure Lance has ever seen the word marry in Galran.

It seems like he struggles with it. Keith is pretty sure he’s already read it a couple of times; he sees him mouth the words to himself, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s reading it right or not. Keith wants to say something, but he feels like he shouldn’t, feels like he needs to let this unfold, let Lance answer on his own.

And then—

—he feels Lance get very, very still—

—feels him inhale and not exhale, feels him hold himself in place, as if any movement will change the symbols written on his skin.

“Keith,” he says, and it’s a question, and a statement, and an answer.

Keith looks at him, his heart thumping. Lance’s eyes are glittering.

“Yes” is all Keith says, then, too quickly, “I mean—I know we’re still kind of young, but—” He takes a deep breath, slides his hand to twine his fingers with Lance’s. “I love you. I don’t want to wait. Though if you want then of course we can—we can have a long engagement or not tell anyone else for a while—”

“I want to marry you too.”

Keith opens his mouth, closes it.

“I want to marry you too,” Lance says a second time, and his eyes are still glittering, and now he’s smiling smiling smiling so big that Keith’s heart can’t take it, and oh—

They lean in at the same time, so eager they bump noses at first, laughing a little before finding each other’s mouths and kissing properly, soft and sweet.

“I’m going to ask you officially sometime,” Keith says, when they break apart.

“Not if I ask you first!” Lance says, with feigned belligerence. He narrows his eyes, though he’s smiling too much for it to have any real effect. “You better watch out, Kogane. I’m gonna kick your ass with this proposal.”

“I’m sure you will,” Keith says, smirking, “when you tell me about what your plan was, after I’ve kicked your ass with my proposal.”

Lance gasps dramatically, and Keith snickers, and then Lance surges forward and blows another raspberry into Keith’s neck, and Keith almost knocks his head against the coffee table trying to escape from him, and somehow that jostling of the table resumes the episode, so they both shriek as the show starts playing again seemingly of its own accord, then cackle as they realize what happened, until they’re tangled together on the floor, snort-giggling at how dumb they are.

“Best birthday ever,” Lance whispers into Keith’s neck, still giggling.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Keith says, and he wants to say more, wants to say I love you so much and I’m so happy we’re gonna get married and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, but then Lance blows yet another raspberry in his neck, so Keith has to cancel all the cheesy romantic crap he’d planned to say, because currently he needs to take revenge on his fiancé.

#JuLance #voltron #klance #lance mcclain #keith kogane #my fics #my post #long post #100 #500

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fabulouslyphan · 6 years

Text

Happy Meals and Happy Days

"Could I get a chicken nugget happy meal please?" A deep voice asked as Dan tapped at the register. He glanced up at the customer, analysing him with a deep but quick stare. Tapping out the order methodically, he took in the strangers porcelain white skin and striking blue eyes, which seemed even brighter when framed by the black strands of hair falling gently to one side of them.

"What drink would you like?" Dan asked, finger hovering over the bright tabs on the screen. He stood up straighter as the other man considered his options, trying to judge who was taller. It was a close call, but Dan reckoned he had an inch or two more. This made him weirdly happy, considering his above average height had him taller than most people anyway.

"Just a coke, I think, please." The stranger finally decided, pulling Dan out of his trance and a card out of his peculiar looking phone case. A closer glance revealed it was patterned with Shiba Inus, which pulled a grin from Dan's sleep deprived state as he passed over the card reader.

"It'll be five minutes if that's okay?" Dan said, refreshing the till and flicking his eyes up to meet the blue tinted gaze of the man across from him.

"Yeah of course, that's fine!" A smile lit up his face like a firework on New year's Eve, and Dan could've sworn his heart stopped for a second.

"Much thank." Dan quipped, no filter on his mouth as he appreciated the customers face. "Wait no!" He corrected himself, face palming violently. A laugh broke him from his embarrassment, and he peeked between his fingers to see the man clutching his chest as he laughed, his tounge poking out minutely between his teeth.

"You just made my day ... Daniel." A quick glance at the badge pinned carefully to Dan's chest helped finish his sentence. "Thanks for that." He turned to walk away before spinning on his heel suddenly, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Or should I say much thank?" He winked, finally moving to stand in the waiting area.

Dan put together the meal, cheeks a vibrant red from his embarrassment. PJ sidled up to him, an obvious grin on his oddly stunning face.

"Channeling your inner memelord, I see? Is he cute? Scratch that, he must be if you're willing to make a meal, I know you prefer to work at the till." At this point, Dan was sure if he got any hotter he'd spontaneously combust. Resolutely ignoring PJ, he put some nuggets into a bag, pausing before placing an extra two in when PJ wasn't looking. He grabbed a pen, drawing a Lenny face onto the box, where it would be obvious to the intended audience. He finally went back to the counter, handing over the box to the customer, a peachy glow and red patch on his cheeks the only reminder of the bright colour that had graced them before.

"Thanks, Daniel." The raven haired man said, hugging the box to his chest.

"Call me Dan." He grinned, winking before he watched the man leave. Once he was out of the door, Dan sighed deeply, going back to watching the hands on the clock ticking by. The early hour of the morning had never felt so obvious.

~~~~~~~

"Voldemort, nine o'clock!" PJ called over to Dan, moving away from the till.

"What are you on about?" Dan laughed, taking his place at the till before realising what he was talking about.

"You know who!" PJ's disembodied voice carried through the almost empty kitchen easily, quickly bringing a blush to Dan's cheeks.

"Hello again." A smile made its way across his face as he made eye contact with the guy he'd dubbed 'Mystery Man' in his head.

"Hi." He replied, grinning back at him. "Could I get a chicken nugget happy meal please?" Dan nodded, tapping the respective buttons on the screen.

"Which drink would you like? A coke again?" He asked, flushing a deeper colour as he realised he'd revealed that he remembered the order. Mystery Man smirked, his eyes twinkling as he nodded, pulling his card out of a Shrek wallet this time. Dan almost laughed out loud, instead muffling it by clearing his throat as he passed over the card machine.

He went through the same process as yesterday, adding the extra nuggets and a reference to a meme in permanent marker. This happened the next day, and the next, until it had been a good three weeks of Mystery Man turning up and ordering a chicken nugget happy meal at 3am, before having a short conversation with Dan, usually referencing memes. Other than the few days when he'd been ill (or so he said when he came back) the almost-stranger, who's name Dan still hadn't managed to catch, was in there every night, 3am on the dot.

Until one fateful day, in late October. It was early evening, and for some godforsaken reason, Dan wanted chicken nuggets. It was ridiculous! He worked at MacDonalds for hours every night, living off the food there during his shift, and yet here he was, craving those bloody mcnuggets. Tugging on a black hoodie, he trudged through the streets to the other MacDonalds, having had his fill of PJ for the day that morning.

Walking up to the counter, Dan barely glanced at the bespectacled man with a quiff who stood at the counter, instead focusing on the nametag attached to his chest. Phil. A good name, he thought, before he was pulled from his thoughts by an audible gasp. His head snapped up and he visibly jumped when he realised who was stood there.

"Dan?"

"Mystery Man?" The two names spilled from their lips simultaneously, a matching look of shock plastering their faces.

"Wait, mystery man?" Phil asked, crooking his head to one side slightly.

"I forgot to ask your name, " Dan admitted shyly. " So I made it up. I was going to go with Mo, but it felt wrong." He grinned slightly as he searched Phil's familiar features.

"Well, Dan, what would you like?" Phil smiled a teasing look at Dan as he waited for his answer.

"Could I get a...chicken nugget happy meal with coke please?" Dan asked, the picture of innocence as he gazed at Phil, who had to bite his lip to prevent a laugh from bursting out. He went to pull out his card, but Phil touched his arm, stopping him.

"It's on the house." He winked, pointing Dan to the waiting area as he went to prepare the meal. Dan buzzed with excitement, his foot tapping rhythmically on the floor as he played a silent piano piece on his leg with his fingertips.

When Phil came back, he was missing his apron but had two happy meals and drinks instead. "Shall we?" He guestured to a table, bumping Dan with his hip slightly.

It was the best 'date' (or whatever you would call it) Dan had ever been on. They talked about anything and everything, laughing over bad puns and jokes with their hands just touching on the table, sipping at their drinks in between giggles. Once they were finished, Phil pulled Dan up, linking their fingers. "Mario Kart?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Dan laughed, and they walked the short distance to Phil's flat. Ironically, it was only a few minutes from Dan's, which brought an eruption of giggled from both of them when he pointed it out, the two of them feeling drunk on life.

Once in the apartment, they began to play. Dan won all of the games, his competitive nature clearly shining through. Phil found himself determined to distract him somehow, so when the moment was right, he leaned over, pressing a kiss to his lips. Dan dropped his controller, his character swerving off the road just moments before he would've won. Phil's sailed past, winning first place.

"No fair! That is cheating, straight up cheating." Dan complained, pouting at Phil. Phil leaned back over, pulling Dan's face towards his and kissing the pout away.

"Still complaining?" He asked, gazing into Dan's eyes when they pulled away to breathe.

"Not even a little." Dan said, yanking him over to connect their lips again. Soon, the Xbox went into sleep mode, abandoned as its owner found something much more enjoyable to do with his time. Or should he say, someone.

*****************************

Aaaaah thanks for reading! This is one I wrote a few months ago, and I had to redo bits but I'm quite happy with it I think. My personal life has been a bit full on recently, but there will be another fic out sometime in the next week, a prompt this time, so hopefully you can look forward to that. Once again, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!

Belle xoxo

[Don't forget, if you send in a prompt, I can write you a fanfic! Anything'll do!]

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cometkittiesoriginalcontent · 6 years

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My Life as a Background Character: My Best Friend is a Superhero

About six months ago there was a strange fog that coated the city. It was green and seemed to glow as it enveloped everything. It was hard to see more than a few feet in front of you at any time, causing several accidents and general panic among the citizens. Most people tried to stay indoors out of fear. My parents locked the door and called into work that day. Within a few hours, the fog had dissipated, leaving no trace. City officials claimed that it was a harmless gas released from a nearby factory and that there was nothing to be afraid of and life returned to normal.

About a week later; however, people in the town began changing. Those that worked at or lived nearest to the factory had begun developing mutations. Mr. Jenkins skin turned green and he started to grow a tail, Mrs. Holden could suddenly compute advanced mathematics in her head, and little Freddy Thomas could turn invisible! These new traits were attributed to exposure to the chemical and the town was placed in quarantine as they tried to figure out what had happened and just how many people were affected. A sort of vaccine was created and given to those that were exposed to dangerous levels of the toxins. Those that had already developed mutations were given a cure and returned to normal, even little Freddy Thomas, whose mom had to search the whole town to find. The crisis was averted, or so we thought.

A small faction of the population, calling themselves the irregulars, refused to get the vaccine as they enjoyed their newfound abilities. They attacked the hospitals and destroyed the remaining vaccines, claiming that life was better as a mutant. They began terrorizing the town, looting and causing mayhem. The military was called in to deal with this new threat but they were unprepared for superhuman abilities. That is when she appeared! The Dragonfly swooped in from the sky and stopped the irregulars, saving the town from their wrath. Her translucent wings shimmered in the sun as she used her increased strength and agility to take out her foes! Greendale had its own superhero! After that day the irregulars vanished, but there were still members of the community that had never received a vaccine. Sometimes these mutant citizens decide to use their powers for selfish purposes, causing mayhem and destruction in our sleepy little town. Their troublemaking never lasts long though, with the Dragonfly there to save the day!

We had all heard the story of the Dragonfly and her heroism many many times as we traversed the halls of Greendale High. She was the most interesting thing that had ever happened to any of us in our lifetime and everyone loved to talk about her. Some students were trying to turn the attention on the by claiming to know Dragonfly personally or claiming that they were saved by her once, or in the case of Bobby Fleckman, dating her. My friends and I tried to stay out of the conversation as much as possible, choosing to avoid the topic of superheroes and mutants as much as possible. My best friend Eliza hated the topic more than anyone else though. Her father was one of the mutants that did not receive the vaccine due to the irregular’s destruction, and by the time more was made the damage had been permanent. Mr. Jones now had an extra pair of arms sticking out of his sides, and was now considered a freak by the rest of the townspeople. Mr. Jones isn’t the only mutant that did not get cured, but he is one of the few that have a visible malady, making life much harder for him and his family. Eliza hates talking about all of it because it just reminds her of how horribly everyone treats her father now. I don’t blame her.

Eliza had always been close to her father, ever since her mother died when she was nine. It had just been the two of them for years, facing the world together. Whenever she speaks of him now she seems sad. She knows how cruel people can be to those that are different, and despite Mr. Jones’ jokes about having an extra pair of hands around the house now, she knows that he is struggling to deal with his new reality. So whenever mutants or the Dragonfly get brought up I make sure to change the topic or get her out of the room as quickly as possible. I’m worried about her. She has been missing a lot of school and ditching classes lately. I just wish I knew how to help.

It has been months since the Dragonfly first appeared, but she has made regular appearances since, taking down not only mutants but also petty criminals in the streets. While I avoid the topic when I am with Eliza, I can’t help but admire the Dragonfly and what she does. Like everyone, I am star struck by the idea of having a superhero in our own backyard. Whenever there is an attack, most people run as far away as possible, but I tend to hide in a nearby alleyway or store and just watch. It’s incredible to see her in action! Her wings fluttering and her azure suit shining. She is just so strong and brave, even though she can’t be much older than me. Eliza would never speak to me again if she knew I did this, but I can’t help it! She’s just so cool!

Today is Saturday and the gang and I are all at my house playing games and unwinding after a particularly stressful week. Matthew is destroying us on his favorite fighting game, Warrior Bots. His red bot was only seconds away from destroying my blue one when mom comes in in a panic and changes it to the news. On the screen is a reporter, backed by burning buildings.

“… There is still no sign of the Dragonfly. Several businesses have been robbed and set ablaze by the mutant that calls himself Flamethrower,” the reporter says, as we all stare at the screen in horrified fascination. Eliza quietly excuses herself to the bathroom, but we barely acknowledge her leaving. Mom starts to call everyone’s parents, suggesting that they all head home for the day. I head upstairs to find Eliza only to discover that the bathroom is empty and the window is open. Eliza is gone.

The next day I wait anxiously in the classroom for Eliza to appear. She never answered my calls or texts after her disappearance on Saturday. I called her dad and he said she had made it home safely but had broken her phone. When I asked if I could speak with her he said she was busy and hung up the phone. I want to be angry at her for not telling me where she went or at least trying to call me, but I’m more worried. What if something is really wrong? What if she’s being targeted by one of the anti-mutant hate groups because of her dad? It would not be the first time she has received harsh treatment because of his condition. Just last month their house was broken into and someone had graffitied the walls with anti-mutant sentiments and crude drawings of Mr. Jones getting his extra arms chopped off. Their family has already been through so much that if something like that happened again I’m worried that Eliza might just break.

She finally arrives in class, but one look at her face has me worried all over again. She has a visible black eye and several other scrapes and bruises along her neck and arms. She sits beside me with a smile as she greets me.

“Hey Annie! What’s up girl? Sorry I didn’t call or text you this weekend. Phone broke and then I just got so busy with homework and stuff! You get it, right?” She says obviously trying to pretend that everything is okay.

“ What happened to your face?” I ask quietly. She reaches up to touch the bruise and winces.

“Oh that? Yeah, when I broke my phone I kinda tripped and, whoops clumsy me! I fell on the stairs going into the house. Scraped myself up pretty badly, huh?” she says as she shifts nervously, not looking me in the eyes. I can tell she is lying, which makes me even more worried. Before I can call her out on her lies, Mr. Diaz walks in and begins class. I look over at her as she listens intently to the lecture, planning on getting to the bottom of this later.

After first period, Eliza is nowhere to be found and seems to be avoiding me. We don’t have class together again until the end of the day, but we usually eat lunch with Matt and the others. Today she sat with the rest of the cheer squad instead. I spent my time watching her as the guys all goofed off around me.

“… And then I said I’d give him my pet llama George in exchange for his sandwich.” I hear Matt say, breaking through my inner turmoil. I give him a look to show that I am not impressed with his antics.

“What’s up with you today, miss mopey? Did you embarrass yourself in front of ol’Danny boy again?” Matt teases. At the mention of my crush, I feel my face heat up as I tackle Matt and cover his mouth with my hands.

“Shut up! Do you want everyone to hear you!?” I whisper-yell as he shakes with laughter. I release my hold on him with a grumble.

“What’s wrong Annie?” He says in a much gentler tone, “I’ve never seen you this out of it before.”

“Eliza has been acting weird and today she shows up with bruises and stuff and I swear she is avoiding me! I just want to know what’s wrong.” I tell him.

“Ann relax. If something is wrong you know she will tell you on her own time. Obsessing about it is only gonna make her push you away. Let her come to you on her own time.” He says. I know he’s right but I can’t help but worry. Lunch ends and we all head to our next class. I stay behind and attempt to approach Eliza but once she sees me coming she quickly gathers her things and leaves. All except for her backpack, which she leaves sitting on the floor. I grab it and attempt to catch up with her but she is nowhere to be seen. Her bag feels weirdly heavy as I carry it with me to class. I know I should respect her privacy and leave it closed, but with how she has been acting I feel like I need to see what’s inside. I duck into the nearest bathroom and hide in the stall. I place the bag on the ground in front of me and slowly unzip it, hoping that Eliza doesn’t get too angry with me for doing so. Once the back is unzipped I peek inside to find a strange blue fabric and yellow boots. I stand and unfurl the material and have to keep myself from screaming as I stand in the restroom holding a very recognizable costume. Eliza is Dragonfly.

I shove the costume back in the bag and rush out of the bathroom. I make a beeline back to the cafeteria and put the bag back where I found it. I’d rather her not discover that I had seen what was inside. When she arrives in our shared last period she has the bag again, obviously having gone back for it. I can barely pay attention to the teacher as I stare at it imaging the secrets that it holds. My best friend is a superhero and I didn’t know.

After that day things went back to normal. Eliza stopped avoiding me and I pretended as if nothing had changed. Internally I was screaming. My best friend regularly risked her life to save the town. She had saved me before and I did not even realize it was her. It actually seems obvious now! Dragonfly and Eliza are identical �� they have the same body type, hair, skin tone, everything! I actually feel stupid that I didn’t realize it sooner. It’s no wonder she did not like talking about Dragonfly’s adventures when it was her the whole time. I keep thinking back to every missed class or canceled sleepover, trying to figure out how I missed something this monumental. I call her my best friend, but if I didn’t notice something like this can I really say that? I feel like a horrible friend.

I’m just so angry! At myself for not realizing sooner, and at her for not telling me. We are supposed to tell each other everything but she kept this from me. It really hurts. I’m also weirdly jealous. She is out having all of these great adventures while I’ve been stuck at school or home living my boring life. I could have been helping her somehow! I could’ve at least been covering for her at school but apparently, she doesn’t trust me enough… and the worst part is that I can’t confront her without telling her that I looked in her bag. Then she would really have a reason not to trust me.

A few days pass as I struggle with my newfound knowledge of Eliza’s double life. Eliza, Matt, and I are all in my room doing homework together when Eliza’s phone rings. She excuses herself to take the call. A few moments later she returns and tells us that something came up and she had to leave. Not long after she left, my mom calls me downstairs to the living room where a news report is playing on the screen. I see Eliza in her Dragonfly costume fighting a guy with flaming hair. He kept shooting fire blasts at her and as she dodged the building surrounding her would catch fire. This looks bad. I don’t say anything as I suddenly rush out the door and run down the street. I can vaguely hear Matt and my mom calling for me but I keep running. I have to make it to Eliza. She needs help. I make it to Main Street to see the destroyed buildings. People are running away from the scene as fast as possible. Some are obviously injured as they hobble their way to safety. One man that passes me looks as though he took a direct hit for the villain, his clothes singed and his face marred with fresh burns. This villain is actually hurting people. Someone tries to grab me and pull me away from the battle, but I struggle away and run into a nearby alley to hide. I had to get to Eliza and I couldn’t let anyone stop me.

I peeked out from my hiding spot to examine the damage. Main Street was burning. Everywhere you looked there were flames slowly engulfing the town, as smoke billowed up into the sky, making it hard to see – hard to breathe. I stood in my hiding spot with my shirt pulled over my face trying to filter out some of the smoke as my eyes burned. I couldn’t see Eliza anywhere and I refused to leave without her. She may be a superhero, but she is not indestructible and she is my friend. I slowly made my way out of the alleyway, ducking down to protect myself from the smoke. Dragonfly had to be here somewhere. Eliza had to be here somewhere. All around me are townspeople running and screaming as they try to escape the destruction. Never had a mutant attack been so devastating. It’s my fault. I distracted their hero just when they needed her the most. I have to fix this, but first I have to find my friend. A car slams into a building nearby and startling me out of my reverie. There. That’s where I need to go.

I slowly make my way to the site of the crash, muffling my coughs the best I can so as not to draw attention to myself. There is a small clearing ahead that seems to be free of flames and smoke. As I approach I hear the sounds of a battle. I see my best friend in her shining blue suit as she tries to talk down Firestarter, her wings bent and mangled.

“There is nothing to gain from this!” she yelled at the young mutant as he prepared another flame attack. “Look at all the damage you have caused! All of this needless destruction, all of the people you have hurt here today, they did nothing to deserve this!”

He laughed as a maniacal grin lit up his face. “Done nothin’?! These people go about their normal lives and look down on mutants like me! They act like I’m some kinda freak like I asked for this or somethin’! You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about too! Don’t even try to pretend that you don’t!” He said with a sneer. I look over at Eliza and see the conflict on her face. She knows he’s right. She has seen how they treat her father and others like him. She knows firsthand how these same people that expect her to save them would treat her if she walked around with her wings on display. I see her hesitate. Firestarter notices too and takes the opening.

Just before the flames engulf Dragonfly, something incredible happens. Another hero appears. His red suit looks hastily thrown together and crooked as if he had never sewn anything in his life. Four arms stick out from the sides, covered in red winter gloves that were probably found at the bottom of his sock drawer. He is wearing sunglasses instead of a mask, in an attempt to hide his identity. But it is obvious who has come to Dragonfly’s rescue. Mr. Jones rips the door from the wrecked car and uses it as a shield to protect himself as his daughter. He sees me and calls me over to take care of his little girl. I rush to Eliza just as he begins running straight for Firestarter, using the door as a battering ram. Eliza is on her knees, just staring at the spot her father once stood. She’s in shock, and I honestly don’t blame her but I have to get her out of here!

“Dragonfly, listen to me! We need to get out of here!” I say, trying to get her to move. She just shakes her head, looking as though she wants to cry. “He will be fine, but if you stay here it will be a distraction! He needs you to be safe. So come on! Superdad over there has got this!” she finally looks at me realizing that I know. That I know who she is and I know who had come to her rescue. She nods in understanding and I help her to her feet. We slowly make our way back to the alleyway I had been holed up in earlier.

“How long have you known?” she says looking me in the eyes. She’s covered in soot and her wings have gone limp. She doesn��t seem angry but she looks as though she could collapse at any minute.

“I have suspected something was up since Saturday when you disappeared. It wasn’t until today that I discovered the suit in your bag. I am so sorry for invading your privacy! I was so worried that something had happened! You had bruises and you were being so secretive… I just had to do something!” I find myself in near hysterics as I try to explain my reasoning. I look at her to see her response to be immediately engulfed in a hug. She shakes as she sobs into my shoulder. I wrap my arms around her and tell her that everything is going to be alright as her tears seep into my ash covered hoodie.

We hear footsteps rapidly approaching our hiding spot and Eliza pushes me back and takes on a battle stance, ready to fight to protect me. There is no need for it as Mr. Jones comes barreling down the alley, glasses eschew and costume ripped and wraps his daughter in a hug. He carefully examines her face and the cuts and bruises she sustained from her earlier fighting. He doesn’t look much better as I notice a large gash on his lower left arm. But they are both here and they are both safe now as they cry and collapse into each other’s arms. All is well.

Later as Mr. Jones and Eliza clean up at their house, he explains what happened after we left. Apparently, he and Eliza aren’t the only heroes in town as a group of the displaced mutants that used to work at the factory appeared and helped him take down Firestarter. He explained that he and some of the other had kept in touch and once he realized that his little girl was in trouble he called on them to help.

“They all love this town even if this town doesn’t love them. And I love my girl and would do anything to keep her safe,” he explained.

“But what about Flamehead?” I asked as I sprayed Mr. Jones’ cut with disinfectant spray.

“He’s being shipped off to a special research facility upstate. They are hoping to figure out a cure and fire boy should be a perfect specimen to do their research on.” He said with a smile.

Though I’m a bit uneasy about the prospect of them conducting research on the kid, I’m still happy that he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else and if they find a cure it could benefit a lot of people, including my friend and her father. I voice this thought out loud.

“They can keep their cure! I may be a freak but I’m a freak that saved people’s lives today.” He said jovially while standing and striking a pose. “Besides… these extra limbs have kind of grown on me.”

Eliza Groans and shakes her head in dismay. “Really dad? Puns?” she says with a roll of her eyes as her father laughs at his own joke.

“ Though If I’m going to keep saving the day I’m going to need a real costume and a cool hero name! How about Armistice? Get it? Arm? Or maybe Disarmament?” Eliza grabs my hand and we run upstairs as her father keeps shouting off more and more pun-filled names, laughing the entire way. My best friend and her father are both superheroes now, and they vow to protect the people of Greendale even if the people of Greendale might not always deserve it. Everything is going to be okay.

#My Life as a Background Character #creative writing #short story #original #superhero #comet-kitties #chapter 1 #dragonfly

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