#and feel free to ask questions outside of ask prompts too (although I’m still accepting ask game asks too :D)
Note
OH I’m SO here to ask questions!!!!
(Any of what you’ve written)
16. Is there any written scene that you think about a lot?
CABNET MAN
18. How many chapters do you plan to write ahead before publishing?
22. Will this fic include more angst or more fluff?
Because of my severe Skybound problems. (And some rather horrifying Cm fanart I saw.)
7 What are your plans for Nadakhan?
And maybe along the same lines.
9. Is there anything in the fic you're not so excited about writing?
Pushing it with a lot of questions but if you like answering. I have quite a few of my own.
fic ask game!
16. Is there any written scene that you think about a lot?
Gonna go ahead and answer with a not-Cabinet Man one cuz the other questions are about cabinet man HAJSHDKH
In the Bruiseshipping fic I’m working on I wrote this moment that’s lived rent free in my skull I love gay people
Cabinet Man questions!
18. How many chapters do you plan to write ahead before publishing?
Quite a lot! I at least want to get through most of the initial Prime Empire stuff, and start planning/writing snippets of other arcs as well. I’ve had this AU bouncing around in my skull for so long (coming up on a year now??) that I really want to put a lot of time and thought into it before I start posting it!
Also I’m. Very shy shdkdhdkdh so I wanna make sure everything’s good for my own sanity
22. Will this fic include more fluff or angst?
I think it’ll be a healthy mix! I myself am a huge angst enjoyer so it will have it’s moments but I like when a fic has those moments balanced well with fluff, character relationship moments, positive character development, etc. Plus not everyone enjoys a ton of angst and I want it to be accessible for people who want silly fun times as well!
7. What are your plans for Nadakhan?
As always:
On a serious note though, I’m gonna be reworking him a bit so he’s actually. Well written. I hate hate haaaaate the forced marriage plot and think it’s kinda really stupid so his motivations for everything are going to be more “you destroyed my home realm you fucks” as to why he ends up going after the ninja
Also in my opinion he goes from “interesting villain with a compelling backstory” to “one note creep” really fast in the show so HDKDHDKHF he’s getting an overhaul for my own sanity
Me aggressively rewriting Skybound like I can fix it I can FIX it
9. Is there anything in the fic you’re not excited about writing?
A lot actually and most of it is because I still have to plan everything out HAKAHSKSH
My biggest issue right now is figuring out how to balance the seasons that won’t have a ton of changes in their actual events. Like Hands of Time happens pretty much the same as canon and I’m unsure of exactly how to make that interesting without just rewriting everything. I’m having a similar issue with most of the Ice Chapter of Secrets of the Forbidden Spinjitzu and the Oni trilogy. I’ll figure it out but I’m not looking forward to actually trying to write that stuff out haha
There’s enough stuff I AM excited to write that outweighs that though!! It gets me motivated to write even the things that I’m not looking forward to as much
#ALSO THANK YOU FOR ASKING SO MANY QUESTUONS UHUHU I love talking about my projects :D#and feel free to ask questions outside of ask prompts too (although I’m still accepting ask game asks too :D)#cabinet man AU#Ninjago#fanfic#spinjitsu screams#ask#ask game
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
Have An Evil Day
No prompt this time, just a sequel to ‘Welcome To Evil-Mart’
Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a fun job.
But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.
I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it. They didn’t give me any trouble.
I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.
I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.
We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.
I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.
And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.
“Lockdown protocols,” I told Sam quietly. “On my authorisation.” That takes a minute or two, though, so I went over to talk to Superdyne. “Sir, I have to ask how you even knew where to find this place.”
He smirked at me. “I have my ways,” he said smugly. He’d either bribed or beaten someone, that was my guess. “So this is where the villains shop? We all thought you went to Wal-Mart.” He laughed, like he thought it was clever.
“Yes, so you all say,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel like pretending he was the first person to make the bad joke. “My next question, sir, is what made you think it was a good idea to come in here.”
He spread his hands. “I’m one of you now!” he said happily. “I’m a bad guy! So now I guess I shop where the bad guys shop!” He looked around, frowning a little. “Although I was expecting more weapons and explosives. A… more villainous atmosphere. I didn’t know Evil-Mart had fresh produce.”
“I don’t advise buying herbs here unless you’re a magical practitioner. Some of them have… unusual effects.” A lot of our produce is normal stuff, but some of it not only isn’t legal, it doesn’t exist anywhere else.
“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But the bright lights and the bakery?”
“We have excellent gluten-free breads. In many ways, Superdyne, this is just another store. We have sales, we mark down the breads in the afternoon, we even have a PA system.” I pulled out my handset, and thumbed the button that tied it to the PA. “Attention, shoppers,” I said in my most soothing Customer Service voice, which made him grin. “Evil-Mart wishes to inform you – “ The countdown on my handset reached zero, and I turned to look at the entrance as a huge blast door thudded down. That was the last part of the sequence – staff outside the area were already in lockdown and security were on their way. I smiled, and continued almost without a pause. “- That we are in lockdown at this time, due to the presence of Superdyne in the store. Please remain calm, and be advised that security are on their way to deal with the problem. If you have a personal grudge that you wish to address with Superdyne at this time, he is standing near Register Six with a stupid expression on his face.”
He was staring at me, stunned. “But… but…” he stammered, and damned if he didn’t look puzzled. “But I’m one of you now!”
“No,” I said flatly. “You were always evil, that’s true, but you’ll never be one of us. And for the record, I’m one of the people with a personal grudge. All those henchmen you’ve killed and maimed had families, asshole… and they all shop here.”
He swung at me, then, but I spent years in hench training. Even someone super-strong can be dodged, and once I slammed my cosh into his groin a few times his punches got a lot more aimless. Around then, Tiger Ty came over the register, claws out and snarling, and I figured I should stand out of the way.
About ten minutes later, I turned on the PA again. “Clean-up to Register Six,” I called, in the same special voice. “Category 7, class three. Shoppers, please be advised that lockdown is now lifted but Register Six will be closed until clean-up is completed.”
Hunter, who’d been working Register Six, came out from underneath it. He looked a little green. Well, he was still in his teens, this was probably his first fatal mobbing. “What’s Category 7?” he asked in a shaky voice. “I haven’t heard that before.”
“Biohazard.”
“Oh. Class three?”
“Send three people. He was a juicy one.” I stepped away from a spreading puddle of blood. “Run and get a couple of caution signs we can put around this mess.” I eyed it measuringly. “And one of those fifteen-gallon plastic tubs with a lid, I’ll damage it out.”
He eyed the mess. “Are you sure that’s big enough?”
“Yeah, the average human is only about seventeen gallons by volume, and I’m not going to put all the blood and mush in there, just the big pieces.”
He gulped. “Ah. Yes, ma’am.”
I called after him when he ran off. “One of the black tubs, not a clear one!” Which honestly should only be common sense, but you can’t count on a flustered teenager to have common sense.
We frown on killing customers at Evil-Mart, up to a point… but when a particularly murderous super-hero walks into our store, well, that’s something else. I’d have to fill out a ton of paperwork, though.
I had to chase off one of Doctor Malign’s minons and two members of the Genetic Reign before the clean-up crew arrived, both of whom urgently wanted samples. In the end I scraped a few pieces of liver and unidentified organ into two of the bags we use for possibly-contaminated money just to make them go away. (They’re good customers, and it was just going to go in the trash anyway.)
By the time the clean-up was done, all the big pieces were boxed up, and I’d finished the paperwork, my shift had been over for twenty minutes, and I’d been asked to come up to the boss’s office.
“Listen, I have no issues with how you handled the situation, I want you to know that.” Mr Trent leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “It was quick, it was efficient, and… given your personal history with Superdyne, not to mention mine and that of half of our customer base… richly deserved.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. It came out too meek, and I cleared my throat and straightened up. It’s hard not to be intimidated by Mr Trent, when you’re in the same room with him. It’s not his fault, and he does his best, but even under the strictest control his fear-inducing powers tend to unsettle anyone who gets too close. We all know he’s not doing it on purpose and we try not to show our reactions. “Do you have any orders regarding the remains?”
“Doctor Order wants them.” He rubbed his chin. “Get someone from the pharmacy to prepare samples for him, please, including brain tissue. He’s our primary supplier, and we can’t offend him. As for the rest… as you know, I’m retired, and I don’t usually participate in the Endless War.” One of his hands dropped to his left thigh. His prosthetic leg is some of Doctor Order’s best work, but the injury that led to his retirement had been brutal even by our standards. “But this is different. Superdyne came here. To our place of safety. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”
I nodded. “Do you want the remains dumped somewhere public? Some kind of dramatic display?”
“No. Something more direct.” He rubbed his chin again, then tapped the intercom on his desk. “Iris, please send up Miss Fedorova from Marketing and Mr Levy from the warehouse.”
“Yes, sir,” Iris responded, and he clicked off the intercom again.
“The three of you worked together very well, during the food poisoning incident,” he explained. “And I believe they can assist us in a satisfactory conclusion.” He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you should wait outside until they get here. I can tell I’m unsettling you.”
“Sir, I know you’re not – “
“Not doing it on purpose.” He sighed. “I do appreciate how hard you all work to make me feel… accepted, I really do. But I’m very annoyed right now, which makes control more difficult for me, so I think we’d both be more relaxed if you waited outside while I do my meditation exercises.”
I waited outside. When the three of us went into his office again, the miasma of low-level fear was definitely a bit lighter, and he smiled. “All right. Now, this conversation is going to be very confidential, and I will remind you all of the agreements you signed when you were employed.” We all chorused agreement, and he nodded. “Good. Now, this is very much a secret, even among Evil-Mart staff, but we do have a few online clients who are… ah… on the other side of the fence.”
Ms Fedorova blinked. “What?”
Knuckles sighed. “We ship to a few heroes,” he explained. “The ones who are… less homo than sapiens, if you get my drift.”
I didn’t, and from her expression Ms Fedorova didn’t either. Mr Trent spread his hands, drawing our eyes to his fingers. Which as a rule nobody looks at, because there’s fourteen of them, with four joints in each finger, and we know he’s self-conscious about it. “The less… purely human ones,” he said quietly. “One of the reasons I created Evil-Mart was to give those who can’t pass for human, like me, a place to be… people. To have dignity. So that the obligate carnivores weren’t reduced to living on pet-food or scavenging for scraps, so that those with complex metabolisms could get the supplements they need so that people who are still people, for all their outward differences, could shop in safety. There are a great many more monsters, demigods, abominations of science and other non-standard persons among our set than among the heroes, and I wanted to meet their needs, as well as selling weapons and Lair-away-from-home sets and so on.”
“And there are a few heroes who order from us for that reason,” Knuckles added. “The ones who can’t get medications to suit their metabolism, or need to eat things that you can’t get easily anywhere else.”
I nodded, because that much I understood. We have some very esoteric ‘dietary supplies’ that start with fresh, healthy, well-treated and disease-free prey animals frozen whole (from mouse up to calf and goat kept in stock, larger sizes by pre-order, halal and kosher certified where possible) and end with human blood (rejected blood bank stock mostly, we have an arrangement), and human flesh and organs (sourced from hospitals, morgues and crematoriums, guaranteed no murder, at least not by us). “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I’m surprised we ship to them, though.”
“Oh, they don’t know we know. It’s all assumed names and secret bank accounts.” Knuckles grinned. “But Mr Trent has all our online customers identified before we ship. And for the ones who don’t have any other options, well… we let it slide.”
“I can see why you don’t want that to get out.” Ms Fedorova tapped her chin. “What does this have to do with disposing of the body? I was planning to set up a really ghoulish display in a public place somewhere, I already have some sketches.” Marketing for Evil-Mart is… well, it includes more than designing our sale flyers.
“No. We’re going to deliver them to a hero… one of the ones who owes us… and make it very clear that just because someone decides to admit he’s a villain, that doesn’t make him one of us and it doesn’t entitle him to union services,” Mr Trent said flatly. “I want to make it crystal clear to all of them that a heel turn does not mean their sins are forgiven, or that we will accept them as anything other than a very brief amusement.”
Late that night – we were all on overtime, but it couldn’t be done in daylight – we wheeled a cart down the run-down hallway of a shoddy apartment building. “This is a terrible address for a hero,” Ms Fedorova muttered. “Are we sure he lives here?”
“I deliver here a couple of times a month.” Knuckles was pushing the cart. “I’m sure.”
“Okay.” Ms Fedorova cleared her throat, coughed once or twice, and suddenly her voice was deeper and her very faint Russian accent was as thick as pea soup. “This is intimidation tactic,” she said, grinning toothily. “Do not act surprised.”
I knocked on the door, but let Knuckles do the talking. “Delivery, Mr West,” he called, using the fake name the guy had been giving.
It worked… the door was unlocked and opened almost immediately. “I scheduled the order for next – “ the mark said, and then we were pushing inside, slamming the door behind us.
“Do not be alarmed, Mr… Dinoid, is it?” Ms Fedorova said, folding her arms. “Evil-Mart is knowing all along your real identity. But you are needing to eat, and we are not turning down regular business, so we make no trouble.”
Knuckles rolled his eyes behind her back at how much she was hamming it up, but I waved a hand. Let her have her fun. So Knuckles started unloading the boxes onto the table while she talked. “First, your Budget Bunny Box. Your favourite, da?” The next box, smaller, plunked down. “Two fresh chickens, halal certified, healthy and having lived good life, gift for good customer.” Knuckles dumped the plastic tub on the floor. “And mortal remains of Superdyne, with note.”
Dinoid was staring at us, but that made him shift into a combat stance, his long claws spread. “The… Superdyne’s dead? And in there?”
“Well. Most of him. The big pieces.” Ms Fedorova shrugged an impressively Russian shrug. I hadn’t even known that was a thing, but when she did it, it was obvious. “You must understand, when a mob tears a man apart, it is hard to find every little piece.”
“I’m pretty sure Doctor Malign and the Genetic Reign took off with doggy bags,” I said, as if I hadn’t handed them over myself. “And Doctor Order probably has some of him too, by now. So looking out for clones would be a good idea, I don’t know if that’s in the note.”
Insofar as that reptilian face could show readable expressions, he looked shocked. “Why on earth would… why? He changed sides? And why did you bring him to me?”
“We know your address, we know you don’t want to turn us in because we’re the only ones who can supply your meals, and our boss wanted us to make this very clear.” I indicated the note. Since Ms Fedorova was hamming up her Sexy Russian Supervillain act, and Knuckles was very obvious Muscle, I figured it was on me to be the Reasonable One. “He might have stopped being a hero, but that didn’t make him one of us. That didn’t make him acceptable to us. Our boss wants it made very clear that your failures shouldn’t expect to be accepted by us… or even spared by us.”
He shifted slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. “I… see. I understand why you would reject Superdyne. He was notorious for killing and maiming people on… your side. But I know other defectors have been accepted. Philomel, for example.”
“Philomel was child of villains. She is young, she is rebellious, she sides with heroes for a while.” Ms Fedorova shrugged. “Is understandable, da? The young do foolish things. She comes home, all is forgiven.”
He nodded slowly. “Tenebrous?”
“That story I don’t know.” Ms Fedorova glanced at me.
I nodded. “Tenebrous was just a kid. He was twelve when Varide recruited him. Nineteen when he broke with the guy. Varide put a kid into combat, left him with massive PTSD, then ditched him when he had a breakdown and went too far. Mx Frantique at least made sure he had a safe place to stay and some therapy.”
“It’s happened a few times.” Knuckles rested his elbows on the cart’s handles, his inhumanly big, strong hands dangling. “But there’s a process. A system. If someone’s sponsored by a villain in good standing, like Frantique sponsoring Tenbrous, they can be accepted. Nobody gets to just choose to join. Especially not a smug, entitled prick like Superdyne.”
Ms Fedorova suddenly leaned forward, scowling. “And why are you called Dinoid? You are not dinosaur. You are clearly monitor lizard. Golden monitor, I think.” She reached out and prodded his arm. “And not healthy, either. Look at colouration! You do not keep environment humid enough. Are having trouble with shedding, da?”
Now we were all staring at her. “You’re a lizard expert now?” Knuckles asked.
She shrugged. “What? Is hobby. Mamma’s little Varanus Acanthurus are pride and joy. Sadly, cannot keep larger monitors in city. Is unkind.”
Dinoid ran a hand over his head slowly. “Not many people realize,” he said slowly. “That’s why I order from you guys. I used to get frozen… food… from a pet supplier, but then I got contacted by someone who told me there was another option.”
“Is good thing. Those pet suppliers, they are rogues. They do not keep animals healthy, can get diseases or mites from those things.” Ms Fedorova sniffed. “I would never buy from them. My babies would get sick.”
He actually chuckled, then, seeming to relax a bit. “You’re not wrong. After… this happened… I got really sick a couple of times before I figured out what to eat, and where to get it. And even the reputable suppliers don’t always have the healthiest stock.” He opened his mouth wide, making a gagging noise. “You have no idea how bad that ‘reptile food’ is. Eating whole animals may be a little disgusting, but it’s nothing to some of that stuff.”
“I believe it,” I said emphatically. “There’s a reason Evil-Mart has such an extensive pet-food line. The horror stories we hear from some of our customers… well, you’d believe it, I bet, but most humans just look confused.”
Knuckles nodded, and spread his hands. “People who can’t pass for regular humans… or even for people, the way most normies see it… are a lot more common on our side of the fence than yours. That’s why we delivered to you. We figured you really needed it.”
“Does he order from the pharmacy?” Ms Fedorova was around behind him now, examining his back. “He is having calcium deficiency, am betting. He needs nutritional supplement.”
“I take a nutritional supplement,” he said defensively.
“The one for normal-sized lizards is not enough for man-sized monitor/human hybrid,” she said firmly. “Check pharmacy section next time. We are having excellent selection of supplements for hybrids, and chart to tell you how much to take for body-mass.”
He looked back and forth between the three of us. “You people are… not what I would have expected from an evil supermarket.”
“We may be… morally challenged,” I said, shrugging, “but we’re not heartless.” I looked around his tiny, shabby apartment. “Unlike some of your lot. I thought you were on a team. Why are you living here?”
He ducked his head. “I couldn’t live at the base,” he said, his tail drooping. “My… I made people uncomfortable. And the stipend isn’t much.”
“Isn’t much? With the merchandising deals they have?” Ms Fedorova sounded shocked, and the accent had dropped back a lot. “I know for a fact that if the accountants ever got hold of their books they’d owe more in back taxes than… well, than Evil-Mart would if our illegal product arm ever got discovered. And we pay our taxes on the legitimate stuff scrupulously.”
Dinoid blinked rapidly, though I couldn’t tell whether he was more surprised by her suddenly dropping her act or the idea that Evil-Mart pays taxes. “You do?”
“Of course. Not under that name, of course, there’s a shell company.” She sniffed. “All villains do. Al Capone, you know. We’re not getting caught that way again.”
Knuckles and I both nodded when he looked at us, and he shook his head. “Huh. Makes sense, I guess.”
“It does.” I looked around again. The place really was crappy. “I know it’s a personal question, Mr… West, but under the circumstances I’d like to know… how much is that stipend?”
He looked down at the floor for a while, then cleared his throat. “Uh. $1100 a month.”
We all stared at him. Ms Fedorova’s mouth fell open. Knuckles looked shocked, and I was horrified. “$1100 a month?!” I asked, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “For risking your life on a superhero team?! I have teenaged cashiers working part-time who make more than that!”
He looked almost as startled as we did. “For working a cash register?!”
“Evil-Mart pays pretty good.” Knuckles shrugged. “But that stipend is disgusting.”
“You are being exploited,” Ms Fedorova said, sounding really aghast. “That is terrible. Why, baseline henchman pay is twice that, and there are danger bonuses and…” Her voice dropped suddenly. “You don’t have a union, do you?”
“A union? Of course we don’t have a…” He trailed off. “You mean you do?”
“Of course we do. An extremely well-armed one.” Ms Fedorova folded her arms. “Henchmen And Allied Industries has represented us for generations. The last time a supervillain executed a union henchman for failure, he was boiled in oil… literally. On camera. Oh, of course some of the less reputable villains just pick up small-time trash from the streets, untrained rabble from the gangs and so on, so they can treat them as disposable, but we union members are skilled workers, with rights and protections. I bet you don’t even get overtime.”
“Of course not. Crime happens when it happens, and we have to…” He trailed off. “You guys get overtime?”
“We’re getting double time and a half for this conversation. And an extra day off.”
His eyes widened again. “Really? Wow, that’s… even when I was working a regular job, before this, I didn’t get pay like that.” He looked down at his hands and bared his teeth in what looked like an unhappy expression. “And now I can’t work anything but this kind of job. People don’t like having a scary dinosaur in their restaurant.”
There was a long pause.
“You can cook?” Ms Fedorova asked carefully.
“Yeah. I worked in my parents’ restaurant before… this.” He gestured at himself. “They were killed when we were attacked, and I was… changed.”
We all looked at each other. “After you’ve returned Superdyne’s remains to whoever you consider appropriate,” I said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down my number, “I’d like you to give me a call. Evil-Mart is always hiring in the bakery and deli, and I mean always. Most bad guys aren’t great cooks. We don’t know why, it just seems to be one of those things.”
“You want me to join the bad guys?”
“I want you to work in a bakery. Villains and henchmen need to eat, and so do their families. Nobody’s going to ask you to rip superheroes in half, just maybe make a sandwich that won’t give anyone food poisoning.”
“That’s a regular concern?”
“Six months ago the three of us ran Evil-Mart’s physical store completely unassisted for most of a day because the only people who weren’t down with food poisoning were the ones who’d had the vegetarian and kosher meals.” I shuddered at the recollection. “Trust me. Someone who can cater staff functions without a major disaster would never have to live in an apartment like this working for us.”
“And we get full benefits, including dental.” Knuckles was shaking his head. “I bet you don’t even get hospital.”
“What hospital would take me? I always figured I’d go to the zoo and talk to the vet if – “
Ms Fedorova actually put her arms around him. “You,” she told him firmly, “are going to resign your terrible exploitative job, and then I will personally sponsor you to the union immediately. I have a spare room. You will like it. Humidity and temperature can be set just how you like, and Mamma Yelena will take you to real doctor expert in health of hybrids.”
“Those exist?” he asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed.
“Yeah, the Genetic Reign has like three of them,” I said sympathetically. “Listen, you can take some time to think it over, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of exploitation just because you don’t look human. Nearly a third of Evil-Mart’s staff can’t pass, and they’re treated just like everyone else.”
Superdyne’s dramatic demise got a lot of news coverage. Apparently it came as a real shock to the ‘good guys’ that there were some monsters even the superest villains wouldn’t embrace.
Dinoid no longer exists. Ismail Jameel works at Evil-Mart, and has expanded our fresh food lines a lot already. He’s a nice guy, and after Ms Fedorova told everyone how disgustingly he’d been exploited by those so-called ‘heroes’, he was welcomed with open arms. Literally, in at least one case – he’s dating someone from the warehouse, I’ve heard, though I don’t know who. He says we should rename the store, because we suck at being evil.
But evil is a really relative term. It can mean the blackest depravity, or a moment of viciousness, or even just ‘people on the other side’. Evil-Mart is called that because everyone, at least everyone on our side, is welcome. Plus, we all think it’s funny that the least-evil megacorporation is called ‘Evil-Mart’. What can we say? Bad guys have a sense of humour too.
Have an evil day!
#welcome to Evil Mart#good is not just good#evil is not just evil#people are complicated#and so is retail#tw graphic#tw gore#tw violence#tw murder#it's a supervillain story#supervillain shit happens#you are now warned
7K notes
·
View notes
Text
Title: Are you having nightmares?
Summary:
"Levi, are you having nightmares?" Hange's tone was more serious. Her brown furrowed,
"I'm fine."
“Well…” Hange hummed. “You can have nightmares and still be fine right?”
“No. I don’t think you can.” Levi kept his own message subtle. He glared right at her.
One hand on her chest, Hange seemed to have gotten the message. “Me?”
“Now that we’re on the topic of nightmares. Are you having nightmares?”
Levi and Hange seem to be having nightmares and Levi tries to get to the bottom of it.
Written for Levihan Week 2021, Day 5: Fairytale
Link: AO3
Notes:
@levihanweek Day 5: Fairytale
I don't know if this is still accepted because it's also so late but I really am hellbent on completing the prompts. I'm still recovering from jetlag and the ten day quarantine and the domestic verse prompts are really just me dealing with some major baby fever.
Hange had a unique way of hiding her true feelings. She was an open book yet an enigma with the exact same breath. And she had always been one, Levi had known her long enough to be sure. The fact that there were so many parts of her he still didn't understand, despite having known her for almost half his life, had been particularly glaring the past few weeks.
Or maybe, Levi was just thinking too far into it.
Levi could have sworn though that something just wasn't right. He had the heavy eye bags, the unshakeable fatigue of almost sleepless nights. In the mornings, he had the bombardment of bustling sounds and soft lights which seemed to contrast annoyingly with his own discomforts.
"Levi, you okay?" Hange asked over a plate of breakfast eggs and basket of bread. Her mood, her approach towards him were just like those of every other morning before.
But Levi had seen too much to be able to stomach it too easily. No, are you okay? He would have liked to ask.
Hange though seemed more occupied with mixing her eggs and rice than with observing whatever expression was on Levi's face (which he could have sworn were heavier than usual) and the sluggish way he was navigating his breakfast.
Without warning, her attention shifted to him, abruptly enough to make Levi jump. "Levi?" Hange waved one hand over his face.
He was lucid enough to see that coming at least. He leaned away from Hange’s touch. "I'm fine. I should be asking you the same thing."
"Hm?" Hange cocked her head innocently to one side. "I'm fine too."
Does your throat burn? Are your eyes swollen? Just a quick look and a quick listen and Levi was sure, Hange was fine, perfectly healthy.
The ordeal every single damn night though was telling another story. And Levi was starting to doubt his own memories. Had he been dreaming?
Loud screams. Fatigue shouldn't have been this vivid if they had just been dreams. Just to be sure of it, Levi pinched himself.
His high pain tolerance, his nonchalance with pain turned out to be an utter inconvenience. Pinching himself had done nothing to wake him up.
It wasn't a dream right? He turned to his son propped on a high chair, still too young to be of any use in that little game of dream versus reality.
"Levi?" Hange asked.
"Yes? What?" If there was anything loud enough to have pulled him out and into reality, it had been his own voice.
"I said I'm leaving for work now."
"See you," Levi mustered weakly.
That day, he didn't accompany Hange to the front door.
***
For his age, Luke had a good handle of words, enough to express the most simple desires. Reading and Comprehension-wise, he was miles ahead for his age bracket and Levi attributed to the time Hange had dedicated to reading to the young boy. If Levi were to be completely honest though, he didn't think a child who barely brushed past the age of one should have been playing more than reading.
Still, there was a convenient pile in the living room right next to the bookshelf. When Levi gathered them in his arms and started to reorganize them on the bookshelf, he found himself the victim of one of his son's whims.
Luke appeared next to him then, pulled at one of the covers with a dragon on it and held it in front of Levi.
"You want me to read it?" Levi asked.
Luke didn't nod but the glimmer in his wide-eyed eyes was enough of an affirmation.
Levi was painfully free not in a hurry to do anything in particular and for once, he didn't have much of a reason to tell Luke 'to wait until dark, until mommy comes home.' In that brief moment, in that silent conversation between father and son, Levi started to notice, he had never read that book to Luke and he wondered why the hell he had never bothered to.
You're his father. Levi scolded himself as he caved into the large pleading eyes of his son.
He settled on the sofa, then he plopped his son right next to him. He held the young boy’s small delicate head onto his lap. Snug and settled, he started to feel for the pages of the book. His eyes landed on the front page for just a second, taking in the red dragon smack at the center.
With nothing else to think about, Levi became a little more aware of the sawdust in his mouth. He was prone to getting so easily self conscious of his voice and he had a strange desire to please his one year old son. He had seen Hange read that book to Luke so many times before.
At that age apparently, most kids seemed to get attached to certain books and that was Luke's favorite. But despite the long hours he spent with the boy, Levi was still a stranger to the plot of the book.
So he started slowly. “Once upon a time, there was a red dragon that lived on top of the hill…”
His voice was naturally soft and Levi suspected as he saw the eyes of his son flutter, that his tone may have been too monotonous.
He started to hear Hange’s voice in his head. She had a way of speaking with a natural cadence. She had a melody, a distinct up and down, then a cadenza to it which probably made the whole reading process a little more engaging for the young boy. Although Levi had never picked up what the story was about, he did immerse himself in whatever melody Hange seemed to sing every time she read aloud.
Levi tried, but he couldn't seem to replicate it. Around the third page, the boy’s breaths evened out, he lay limp on Levi’s lap. They never got past the part where the young dragon left his village in search of his new power.
Levi wasn’t too interested in the plot anyway. One hand cradling his son's head, the other propping his knees up, Levi carried him into the bedroom and tucked him into bed, not giving a second thought about the storybook beyond the need to put it neatly back on the shelf.
***
It didn’t happen everyday but Levi could have sworn, it happened at least thrice a week.
He wasn't good at making accurate estimates though, especially sicne those nights happened too quickly. They happened in blurs. And during those nights, Levi was too busy slipping his hands in between her sides and her arms and he pulled her closer.
The few nights before that, he attempted to wake her but whatever possessed Hange seemed to overpower her. He would try to wake her but it never proved successful. Hange was dead asleep every damn night it happened. Overtime, Levi learned to just play silently, be a good and patient partner and get her through whatever that strange recurring nightmare was.
That consisted of loud nights, screams, short breaths and the occasional long one. Hange let out screams, howls, something Levi had sworn he had never even heard of, even in the middle of the battlefield, bombarded by death after death.
Occasionally, Levi heard a crack in her voice in between screams, followed by some ragged breaths.
It soon became routine and Levi could only do so much. Eventually, her screams deadened into murmurs, then a tranquil silence. Without the trashing, Levi would tighten his embrace. When the sun started to rise, Hange would look back at him and ask him if he were okay. During those moments, Levi was certain, the worst was over. If he were lucky, he had time to fall back to sleep.
One particular morning, when Levi came to his senses again, Hange had turned on her side, her face inches away from him.
She seemed peaceful, calm and just a little amused. Her brown eyes wide, the crinkle and her dimples just a little deeper. She chuckled lightly. “You can let go now.”
***
It was the weekend and Hange was reading that damn book to Luke again.
“Oh no! What happened to the dragon!” Hange asked in mock horror.
"Mommy! What happened?"
“I don't know...” Hange muttered, with over exaggerated confusion. She never gave Luke any freebies when it came to simple questions.
The two were curled up on the sofa again and Levi was in the middle of reorganizing the books on the shelf, and occasionally eavesdropping. When in the middle of doing something as complex as solving his own puzzles in the house, he couldn’t focus on too many things at once.
He did however, pick up the few times Luke roared followed by a laugh from Hange.
“There! That’s it,” Hange said. “The dragon got a new special power…” She was a bundle of pride. She prattled on for a few minutes longer after that.
Having lived with her for years and having worked with her for many years before that, Levi had gotten accustomed to just tuning her out. And everyday he was getting better at tuning his own son when he was starting to sound like Hange when he ranted.
Luke was screaming too, and Hange was laughing. Within the walls of their small apartment, the sounds echoed, bouncing off the walls. Then they rang in his ears.
Levi probably lasted a second, before he gathered the books and started thinking up an excuse for an escape. “I’m going out to the balcony. It’s dirty,” Levi said, his voice a little out of his control.
“Sure!” Hange had stopped her laughs and her and her storytelling only long enough for that, and somehow, that had Levi’s blood slightly seething. He spun around quickly taking in the balcony just outside.
There were unwelcome visitors but for the first time, Levi was welcoming them. And for the first time, Levi was thankful some birds had made a toilet out of the balcony.
At least there was some excuse to clean and leave those two alone.
***
It was one of those nights again. And it just so happened that it had only been a few hours since that lazy afternoon cleaning bird turd on the balcony. Never would Levi have thought that he’d miss the lazy part of that day, even if it involved a pile of birdshit.
If it meant Hange would just stop screaming, if it meant not having to process the weight, the stress, the prickle at his neck.
There was a ringing in his ears. It reverberated. The pain, the discomfort or maybe just the heart wrenching sound was making his eyes water.
Hange was screaming again. It was as loud as every other day before. Levi slipped his hand underneath Hange's side, one under her her free arm, positioned his hands right under her chest and pulled her close. He gritted his teeth. He let out breaths, stayed stiff as she trashed under his grasp.
"I'm here," he murmured. He shushed her soothingly but she probably wouldn't hear it over the sound of her own screams or under the trappings of sleep. Just in case, he buried his face on her neck. He took in her strong scent and willed himself to hold on, and if his body and the sounds allow him any asleep then so will it. If they didn't, so be it.
By some piece of magic or miracle, time moved quickly. He could have dozed off for a second. And maybe Hange had calmed down.
The first sound he processed was the song of the morning birds then the soft even breathing next to him.
A few minutes of flitting in and out of sleep later, Hange spoke up. "Levi…” She struggled weakly out of his embrace. “I have to go to work."
***
"Levi, are you having nightmares?" Hange's tone was more serious. Her brown furrowed, her eyes narrowed. She could have been worried or Levi could have just been another one of her experiments. Most likely, both.
Her own question did have Levi thinking. He could have sworn Hange had been the one having nightmares. Maybe her screams at night were just his own nightmares. Hange had a tendency of playing with his mind though so he stuck with less cooperative answer. "I'm fine."
“Well…” Hange hummed. “You can have nightmares and still be fine right?”
“No. I don’t think you can.” Levi kept his own message subtle. He glared right at her.
One hand on her chest, Hange seemed to have gotten the message. “Me?”
“Now that we’re on the topic of nightmares. Are you having nightmares?”
Hange looked up at the ceiling, seeming deep in thought. “Not really…Why are you asking that?”
Did he tell Hange he had dreams she was screaming? Was that something he should have been worried about? When too many questions were running through his head, Levi chose to bend down and focus on his breakfast, use that brief reprieve as some opportunity to organize his thoughts, maybe find a way to explain the screaming, the need to comfort her in his dreams and then the impulse to hold her close.
He stayed mum for a second too long.
“Might be late for work! See you later.” She was out the door before Levi could even process what the hell had happened.
***
Levi was stuck with Luke again. While still reflecting on Hange’s strange behavior, he would have preferred to be alone.
Children though were a piece of work twenty four seven. He fed the kid, bathed him, dressed him and when he thought it was over, Luke suddenly asked him to read that damn book again.
Three pages into it, it didn’t look like Luke was going to fall asleep anytime soon.
“Keep reading daddy!”
No. Levi was tempted to say it out loud. It was easy not to give into temptation though. There were too many things he could occupy himself with.
Like what’s supposed to happen next? Levi thought to himself. There was something about the dragon going on a journey to discover his true powers. Then his trusty fairy friend coming along with him. It was difficult to do everything at once: read aloud, take in the drawings in the picture book, watch Luke while the young boy pranced around the room and while doing all that, making sense of the plot.
So when Luke asked some question about the story, Levi would just answer ‘yes.’ Once or twice, Luke called told him he was wrong. At the least, Levi was grateful that his son was smart enough to comprehend the plot of a book Hange had read to him endlessly.
A few more pages until the end, and Luke started to roar. The sound bounced on the walls, flew across the room and somehow, Levi found himself jumping at the sound. What the fuck.
Luke was much faster than Levi then. The young boy was skipping around the living room faster, then he started to march, his strides wider. He screamed louder.
“Daddy, do you see the fireball?”
What. Levi raised his eyebrows and nodded. He didn’t see a fireball but he could at make the playtime a little funner for the young boy.
“If I scream louder… it gets bigger!” Then he roared again, louder. He bent forward, pointed his ass back as if that had done anything to make it louder.
He was a toddler. How much louder could he get?
“Do you see the fire?”
Levi nodded. “Yes.” No, he didn't see a fire. It didn't seem right either to kill a toddler's imagination.
“Daddy scream too!”
Levi didn’t concede at first.
But Luke was persistent. “Please!”
He couldn’t bring himself to say no either. He took in a deep inhale, opened his mouth then let out an exhale.
He tried to put some voice into it. He could have sworn he did. Then he started to think, maybe he didn’t.
Luke’s disappointed pout was evidence enough. “Mommy was louder than that..”
***
“Hange, I finished that book.” The words came out of his mouth before he could even why he had decided to say it in the first place. Late at night, during a bout of silence, with his partner being a generally laid back person, Levi didn't think too much anyway about watching his mouth.
Hange looked up at him, the tea cup stopped just inches from her mouth. “Which book?”
“The one you’d read to Luke.”
“Which one?”
“The fairytale book.”
“Which one?”
”The one with the dragon,” Levi said. He sat in front of her with a huff, shaking away the trappings of sleep. It had been a notably exhausting day and it was just one of those few nights that Levi was considering retiring to bed a little bit past midnight.
”Ah yeah, that’s Luke’s favorite.” Hange cupped her tea cup a little tighter, a playful grin on her lips.”It’s fun reading it huh?
Levi didn’t bother to answer that question.“It's an annoying book. Especially if you consider the fact that towards the end, our child starts roaring.”
“Hey, it’s an inspiring story and I think it can teach kids a lot,” Hange said defensively. “A dragon on a quest to find his true powers, defeats a lot of his enemies and he finds out, the fire has been in him all along and all he has to do is let out a loud scream!"
Levi put one hand up instinctively when he spotted Hange taking a deep breath. "You seem invested.."
Hange shrugged. "Well, when you read it enough times, you start dreaming about it."
The key word was ‘dream.’ Soon after, Levi had managed to figure it out for himself. “Wait, wait. You're dreaming about…”
“Being the dragon,” Hange said matter-of-factly. “Like those dreams where I go on that journey, and I meet the wizard and he tells me, the power has been with me all along. And all I have to do is---”
“The power has been with me all along!” The dragon became excited. He inhaled… Then let out a long loud scream.
That was around the time Luke had started screaming. Levi didn’t memorize the story but he was still at least certain enough of that development.
“So in that dream… did you…Scream?” Levi asked.
Hange snapped her fingers excitedly. “Of course, In the story, that’s the only way to breathe the fire right?” she asked, as if she had assumed that Levi had read that book thoroughly.
Levi paused for a moment, and attempted to recall those excruciating episodes. In retrospect, it was easier to notice, Hange’s screams that night weren’t what anyone would have called bloodcurdling.
“Those were pretty vivid dreams…” Hange recounted.
“Very vivid dreams?” Levi corrected. Just like my dreams of you screaming. He had little to no energy though to amend his own response. The more Hange talked about the story, the more excited she seemed. The more she talked about the fire power and the indispensable scream, the more Levi was convinced that her own dreams weren’t a scream.
It all ended with some final confirmation with a soft scream from Hange, similar to the same roar Luke would do in the living room.. When Hange was mimicking the motions of breathing fire that night, it rang heavy, it seemed desperate as if she was running away from something. With the right frame of thought and the right hints, Levi could have sworn Hange had been laughing in between screams.
Laughing. Then screaming, like she was breathing fire. “Hange, how vivid are those dreams?”
“Very vivid.”
“Like...”
“Like…” Hange hummed. “I really remember screaming... Or at least in my dreams. Why?”
“Nothing.”
“You've been having nightmares too right?”
“Well it turns out they weren’t fucking dreams,” Levi grumbled.
“What?” Hange blinked, a confused look on her face.
Levi pushed the chair back and stood up. “Let’s go back to bed.”
“Hey, I’m not yet done drinking.”
“Then hurry up. I’m going to bed.”
That was an empty threat. Levi wouldnt’t have left Hange or retired without cleaning out the tea cups and saucers on the table.
And it looked like Hange saw through it. She smirked playfully. “You serious? You're sleeping this early?”
His eyelids heavy, his mouth trembling in frustration, Levi gathered his own saucer then Hange's. "I haven't been sleeping well these past few nights."
"You're really having nightmares huh? You wanna talk about it?"
"After I've slept enough," Levi said coldly as he brought the dishes to the sink. “We can talk in the morning.”
Hange was persistent. "But you might sleep better if you talk about it right? It doesn't make any sense that you're going to bed and you're gonna risk dreaming about it again."
"I'm. not. having. nightmares." Levi raised his voice over the sound of the water running and the sound of the scrubbing of saucers and cups. "I just said I'm not sleeping well."
There was a pregnant pause. "You wanna see a doctor?" Hange asked hesitantly.
"No. I'm fine," Levi said.
"If we don't talk about this, we won't be able to find a way to fix it." Hange was annoyingly matter-of-fact about it.
But then, Hange usually got the hint. Both of them could usually talk in hints and details more than in actual conclusions and they would also stumble upon some sort of resolution. Maybe the truth was just so farfetched, or maybe Levi's own speculation was just too out of this world that Hange hadn't figured it out for herself.
Then he lost confidence in his speculation. If a genius like couldn't figure it out, then maybe it wasn't true? "Maybe you wanna try not reading that book first?"
"The dragon book?" Hange asked, Of course it was the dragon book. Hange seemed to be stalling and late at night, she seemed to have caught the exhaustion that had been plaguing Levi.
"Yes, that damn fairytale you've been reading to Luke."
Hange looked up, seeming deep in thought. It looked like with time, she was able to put two and two together. A few seconds later, she spoke up. "Am I... screaming in my sleep?"
The cups and saucers cleaned. Levi put them on the tray to dry, looked back at Hange and nodded slowly.
"And that's why you've been holding me in the mornings," Hange continued, a look of utter comprehension in her face. She could have been explaining a new discovery to one of the government officials.
"Yes," Levi answered, his tone firm. Hange's own revelation had been enough to take some of the weight off Levi's shoulders. "Let's go to the room."
When they had settled on the bed, turned off the lights, Hange was still speaking. She was sitting up on her side of the bed and she didn't look like she was in a hurry to sleep any time soon. "And that's why you've been looking so tired lately. God, Levi I was so worried about you too."
Levi mumbled something but he didn't bother to figure out what. He was in and out of sleep already. It was Hange and her loud domineering voice which still managed to tear into that in between state.
"What now?" Hange asked. "If I sleep now..."
"Sleep..." Levi murmured.
She got that part at least. "If I sleep, I'm gonna end up screaming again."
"Baby steps, don't read that damn book." Levi mumbled louder and he hoped it was clear enough for her to understand.
"But Luke---"
"Sleep."
"Levi..."
"Sleep."
Hange could have protested for a few more moments after that but Levi didn't remember the rest of it. The next time he awoke was almost an hour later, once again to loud screams then ragged breaths. To an excuse to slip his arms around her once again and bring her closer to him in one tight hug.
"Baby steps," he whispered just to himself. Baby steps.
74 notes
·
View notes
Text
Gardenias and roses
He realizes, after he's back in Nurmengard, looking down at the skull in his hands, that he doesn't mean to hurt Newton.
The purpose of looking for him was to make sure the magizoologist didn't interfere with plans again; Gellert just wanted to threaten him, nothing more. However, Newton noticed him and fought him thinking the dark lord had come to hurt him and his creatures.
That was not the case. Gellert marveled at Newton's dueling skills and saw, mesmerized, as the redhead managed to escape from him on a dragon the size of a small mansion.
Fortunately, Rosier is not there to hear him chuckle or to see him smile like an idiot. A gentle steam is getting out of the skull's eyes and Gellert stops himself from using it to try to see something about Newton.
He shouldn't be thinking about him at all.
***
In the blink of an eye and with a fierce expression on his face, Newton disarms three wizards. Gellert tries not to stare, but the truth is that the man looks sexy like that.
It's the first time the dark lord sees something close to anger on his freckled face. But he supposes it's because the men were hurting those mooncalves.
He shouldn't be there; Newton clearly doesn't need him and Gellert doesn't have the time (or a good reason) to worry about a magizoologist that has ruined his plans twice.
Grimacing at himself for acting foolishly, Gellert stays a little bit more just to see the way Newton's reddish curls turn almost into golden under the sunlight.
He knows there'll be more freckles on that creamy skin by the end of the week; the place is sunny and Newton doesn't seem to mind to spend more time outside.
It's time to go.
***
The smell of roses starts following him everywhere by the beginning of the next month. Gellert narrows his eyes, turning around to see if there's a flower shop nearby, but there are only cafeterias and a book shop.
As something sweet fills his nostrils, he walks down the street to the book shop, using a mirror to confirm his transfiguration spell worked. He can't be seen there as Gellert Grindelwald; Newton's brother will probably be at the book signing and he can't risk it.
Although part of him would like for the magizoologist to recognize him.
One of the women inside must have some sort of perfume made of gardenias or something, because the flowery smell is getting stronger.
Newton is nervous, Gellert can see it and can't help but rolls his eyes at the situation; the man can treat a full grown dragon like a kitten but can't handle a group of people.
He'd like to say he finds it irritating, but it's actually adorable.
As if he knows he's been watched, the magizoologist looks up at him and smiles, those eyes stare directly at Gellert's for a couple of seconds...
Suddenly, Gellert feels something in his chest and he coughs; Newton looks away and Grindelwald convinces himself the man didn't recognize him.
He stays for a couple of minutes.
***
The cough gets worse; Rosier offers to fetch one of the healers, but Gellert is sure there's nothing to worry about.
He decides not to pay too much attention to it until, one night, he coughs petals: there are roses and gardenias all over the bathroom sink in a couple of seconds and Grindelwald looks at himself in the mirror only to confirm his fear in both his eyes:
Hanahaki.
The dark lord is going to die because he gave his heart away without hesitation to a wizard with freckles and no sense of self preservation.
And he's proud enough not to beg for love; he doesn't want Newton to pity him... He wants it to be sincere... He wants everything from him.
It's too late to stop himself from loving him, so Gellert tries not to think about the disease and pretend in front of his followers that nothing is going on.
The problem is that he feels weaker as the days pass; Rosier asks him about it but the dark lord doesn't want to talk to anyone because he's stupid enough to let his heart break.
He's such a fool he worries more about what the sickness means instead of the fact that it's killing him from the inside.
Newton doesn't love him.
Gellert coughs again and the gardenias that get out of his lungs are so pretty it almost seems like they're harmless.
***
He collapses after he gets rid of the last wizard in the room, he's still awake so he sees as Newton gets himself free from the magic chains, takes the wampus and kneels next to him.
Feeling grateful Newton is the last thing he'll see, Grindelwald smiles at him before passing out.
But he doesn't die; he wakes up in Newton's living room. The magizoologist is leaning towards him and touching his forehead so kindly, Gellert would like to kiss his hand.
But he doesn't, he can't.
Instead, he coughs and Newton puts all the petals in a bowl as his face twists with concern.
He knows.
"You should talk to them," the magizoologist mumbles, already working on a potion.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Grindelwald says stubbornly.
"The person you're in love with... I'm sure they'll–"
"No," Gellert shakes his head, trying to fight another cough. "He won't love me. I'm not good enough for him."
Newton looks surprised for a moment, but Grindelwald is not sure if it's because he admitted it was a man or because he said he didn't deserve him.
"The potion I'm going to give you is enough to make you feel a little bit better for a while. At least until I find the ingredients for the other one. If I do it correctly, it could get rid of the disease compl–"
"No," Gellert mumbles, surprising even himself. "I don't want to stop loving him."
Newton's expression softens then; he's looking at him like he's never seen the dark lord before and Grindelwald's heart beats so fast it makes him cough again.
"Take this one at least." Newton insists and Gellert knows can't say 'No' to him.
In the morning he feels better, but just a little; he doesn't cough so many petals now, but he's still weak.
Newton asks him to stay with him for a while and Grindelwald is masochist enough to accept the invitation.
He helps Newton around the house, feeding his creatures and realizes that domestic life is not that bad after all. In fact, he would have loved to spend his days with his magizoologist...
But that's impossible now.
"Perhaps you could write him a letter," Newton mumbles one day, shyly, looking at him with a lovely smile as Grindelwald carries Dougal in his arms so the creature could relax. "So he knows..."
"I don't want him to feel guilty," the dark lord admits, putting the demiguise on the ground and waving a hand, prompting Dougal to go keep an eye on the occamys.
Looking at him with concern, Newton nods but doesn't say another word.
The potion must be stronger than he thought, because Gellert feels better the next day. He has more energy to help Newton inside the case.
"You should let me try with the other potion," the redhead mumbles shyly, surprising him for a moment.
"I can't."
"Is he worth dying?" The magizoologist whispers, almost like he doesn't want the dark lord to hear his question.
Grindelwald turns around then; the moonlight is coming right through the window and into the room, falling all over Newton's back, making him look almost ethereal.
He's never looked more beautiful.
"Yes," he sighs, with all the honesty and sincerity a dark wizard in love like him can feel.
However, the warmth feeling in his chest vanishes as soon as he notices the tears falling from Newton's eyes.
"Are you alright, Liebling?"
"I don't want you to die," the magizoologist admits with a sob and even if he doesn't love him, Gellert can't help but beam when he realizes that his beloved at least cares about him.
"It's okay, Newton, I–" the dark lord stops as soon as he takes a step closer to the magizoologist. He takes a deep breath to...
A deep breath; he hasn't been able to do that since he got sick, even the potion Newton gave him had its limitations...
He takes another deep breath. He doesn't cough, he doesn't feel like his lungs are going to explode anymore... He doesn't smell roses or gardenias...
"Newton?"
The magizoologist looks up, his green eyes are glimmering with something.
"Do you love me?"
The redhead blushes adorably and Gellert wants to pull him closer to him, but he doesn't because he needs to make sure first.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I know you're in love with someone else, but–"
"Liebling," he cuts him off by cupping Newton's face in his hands. "I'm not sick anymore."
Confused, the magizoologist frowns.
"But how? Did you..."
Grindelwald leans to kiss him on the cheek and Newton's blush spreads quickly down his neck.
"Oh... Oh," realization hits him suddenly and a couple of emotions appear on his face at the same time. "Why didn't you tell me? You could've die–"
"Newton, my love. I promise I will let you scold me for this later, but right now I'd like to kiss all the freckles on your body."
Looking back at him with desire, Newt takes a step closer and kisses Grindelwald on the lips.
***
Patreon
71 notes
·
View notes
Text
Closer | Bucky Barnes x reader
I wrote this for @mariessecretfantasies’ 500 follower challenge, took me forever but it’s done!! congrats on 500 love, although I bet (and hope) you’re well past that now.
my ‘prompt’ was a song, specifically Closer by Nine Inch Nails… so it’s filthy. purely filth, no plot. don’t say I didn’t warn you. special thanks to @evnscvll for the proofread!
warnings: SMUT of course, mild(?) dub con, d/s dynamics, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal sex, anal sex (and the prep is...not that good), ass-to-mouth (i’m literally blushing as I type this oml i’m so sorry), mentions of blood, slapping, spitting, degradation, semi-public sex, pain kink, and some other generally unhygienic behaviors… this isn’t a dark fic per se but it’s got 0 fluff. not even one ounce of fluff detected. definitely no aftercare lmao. ain’t nobody got time for that.
word count: a bit under 3k
He couldn’t drink anymore-- well, he could, but he couldn’t get drunk, so there was no use. Couldn’t get high on any drug, either. Pain didn’t affect him the way it did other people. But everybody has their vice, their way of hurting themselves to feel something when they can’t feel anything else. You were his, and he was yours.
You couldn’t even remember now how it started. There was definitely alcohol involved, but past that you weren’t sure what had compelled you two to stumble into bed together. Even at the time you had realized it was irresponsible and probably not worth the trouble, but it seemed inevitable in some weird way.
That was how it always felt, actually. Like tonight, when he met your gaze from across the bar. His eyes were so dark, demanding-- it made you shiver even though it only lasted for a moment before he looked away, pulled into conversation with Bruce. But you knew what it meant.
Didn’t matter anyhow; it was a big party, the whole crew and nearly all of the Tower staff were crawling the halls. There was no guarantee of privacy at a time like this.
You were chatting with Wanda when you felt a hand slip around your arm, pulling you back into somebody’s form-- of course you knew it was him, you could tell by the roughness of his skin, the smell of him, the way he pressed against your back…
“Can I speak to you privately for a moment?” Bucky requested with poorly-suppressed irritation, his lips almost pressed against your ear.
“S-sure,” you stumbled over your response. You got the sense that there wouldn’t be much speaking, but you couldn’t turn him down in front of these people without giving yourself away.
And that was how you ended up in a broom closet, pressed against the wall with his tongue dominating your mouth and his hands somehow feeling like they were touching you everywhere all at once.
“Buck, wait,” you managed to murmur against his mouth as his lips crashed into yours.
“Tired of waiting,” he growled in reply. “Turn around.”
You didn’t even think to question it, just obeyed his command blindly as he slammed you into the wall and began pushing your dress up, pulling your underwear aside.
“Not here,” you groaned.
“Shut up,” he hissed.
The absolute second that his cock was free he was shoving it between your legs and fucking you with unmatched speed and ferocity. It nearly burned, the way it forced you open, but it was exactly what you needed. You arched your back to accept his length more easily, your head falling back in pleasure. He responded by grabbing your hair and pulling it until your back arched even more.
“Oh god, Bucky,” you whimpered. In response, he slammed his hand over your mouth and fucked you even harder, as if it were punishment; he didn’t like when you said his name in times like this. He didn’t want to think about who he was, or who you were, or what the two of you were doing. He just wanted to feel you and nothing else.
Funny how a man who’d been unwillingly brainwashed actually craved the chance to forget.
His other hand moved from your hair and slipped down between your legs, roughly rubbing your clit as your hips bucked and thrashed in response. He held you still through it, biting down on your neck hard enough to make you worry about the skin breaking. But he knew by now that you liked the threat of pain, which is why he slipped his left hand down from your mouth to your neck. The sound of your breath halting to silence was so perfect that he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning.
Already your vision was spotting into darkness, starting at the corner of your eyes and moving in. As you lost your connection with the visual aspects of your reality, everything else became stronger, and it felt like you were somehow seeing better than ever.
He stopped thrusting and leaned closer to your ear. “When I let go of your neck,” he explained quietly, his voice dark and rough, “get on the floor on your hands and knees.”
He released his grip and your lungs sucked in air faster than they could handle, making you cough and sputter a little. Still, you turned around to begin following his instructions. You got a better look at him than you had before. His eyes were so blown out that they were nearly black, watching you with hungry rage. Or maybe it was raging hunger.
You felt his gaze follow you as you stepped around him, bending down and getting on the floor. It was cold and a little bit gritty, both of which made you shudder. You became aware of the wetness which had leaked from your opening, smeared over your thighs and made an uncomfortable patch on the edge of your panties. You didn’t have to worry about that much longer, though, as he kneeled behind you and ripped them off.
“Buck, I need those--”
He slapped your ass, with the vibranium hand. It was so hard that you perceived the sound before your body processed the pain. As you lurched forward, your squeal of pain tore and cracked in your throat, so much that you could barely recognize it as yourself.
One hand slid your dress up further, admiring the warmth and smoothness of your skin, two fingers running along your spine; the other guided his cock to your pussy again.
You weren’t quite ready, not exactly wet or warmed up enough for this angle. You were sure this was the most your body could take, if not a little bit more. The way he pushed into you-- ignoring the resistance of your inner walls, your skin breaking out into goosebumps, your arms and legs quivering-- put you entirely at his mercy. Just as you were about to cry out in response to it all, he roughly shoved three fingers into your mouth: flesh, sweaty and dirty, tasting slightly of scotch and gun oil. They pushed your cheeks out from the inside, stretched your chapped lips until they cracked and you tasted blood. You swirled your tongue around them anyways, ignoring the way it caused drool to lewdly drip down his hand and your chin.
He smiled, in a twisted way, as he looked down at you. “You need it so bad, don’t you?”
You nodded feverishly, groaning around his fingers and letting your eyes flutter shut.
He used the hand on your back to guide your movements, watching your body as it swallowed his length to the base. He could tell you were struggling with his size, and he was almost impressed with your fortitude. Unfortunately for you, it only made him want to push you further.
Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he grabbed your arms at your elbow and held them behind your back, using them to keep you upright as he slammed into you. Each thrust made your knees scrape on the concrete, and your shoulders were twisted into an awkward position that made your muscles burn, but you didn’t care. All it did was add tinder to the flame of pleasure.
Tears stung the back of your eyes. You always cried when he fucked you like this, and he either didn’t care or didn’t notice; it was just so intense, you couldn’t stop yourself. You would probably be bleeding when he was finally done with you, and you would definitely be sore (on the outside and inside) tomorrow.
“Gonna cry, bitch? Can’t take it?” he hissed. You always got wet when he talked like that. Then again, you got wet whenever he talked at all.
Your voice came out hoarse and cracked when you spoke. “Harder,” you barely managed to grit out through your teeth.
Instead what he did was pull out and flip you over, slapping you straight across the face. There was nowhere to hide from him now, with your legs spread and your clothes torn to shreds, so you didn’t even try to suppress the moan when he hit you. He grunted and hit you again, spinning your face the other way. You wanted to ask him to hit you again but he just shoved himself inside you again, putting his weight on your neck as he wrapped a hand around it. You couldn’t moan but you could arch your back; he pushed down on your stomach until you couldn’t do that anymore either, and it forced your g-spot to push right into his cock. You would’ve screamed if you could; it felt so fucking good, too good, too much all at once.
Who could say how long that went on for? It didn’t feel subject to time or space, it all just felt like sensation-- sensation which washed over you until you didn’t know how to experience anything else. So often our bodies feel like machines, slaves to routine. A body which must rise in the morning, rest in the evening; a mind which must toil over the past and worry for the future. Now, you didn’t even know your own name-- you didn’t even understand what a name was for. Your only purpose now, and your only goal, was to feel.
That was what you craved about this: the chance to forget about everything else.
At some point you were pulled back into reality by the way he was manhandling you, tossing you back onto your knees and pulling your body flush with his by your hair.
“Beg me to let you come,” he growled, but you couldn’t even think long enough to put a sentence together, let alone actually get it out. He bit down on your shoulder and you whimpered in pain.
“P-please,” you sighed-- it came out so quiet that even you could barely hear it. His teeth sunk in deeper; you tried to say it again but it was caught in your throat.
He pulled your head to the side by your hair, and slapped the half that was exposed. “Beg me to let you come,” he repeated, slower, “you dumb fucking whore.”
“Please… please, let me come,” you mumbled.
“Louder.”
You hesitated, about to remind him that the hallways outside probably had people passing through and someone might hear you, but your hesitation was rewarded only with more violence as he hit you again-- even harder than the last time. You yelped and bit down on your lip.
You hadn’t realized how weak you were until he let go and you instantly fell to the floor, your hips held up by his hands but your face pressed against the cold cement.
“You can come,” he decided, almost flippantly, as he fucked into you deeper and harder. It seemed like he knew your body better than you did: he made you come faster, for one, and he saw it coming sooner as well. It was slightly embarrassing, but then again, you were on your knees in a broom closet so that was sort of beside the point.
It seemed to hit you all at once, and with no sign of stopping. You reached up to claw at the wall but it did nothing to keep you stable as shocks reverberated through your body. You were about to space out again when you felt the metal tip of his thumb press against your tighter rim.
“W-wait,” you gasped, but he pressed in further and your words were lost to a whimper.
“Oh, you can’t play innocent with me, sweetheart. I know you want me to fuck this little ass. Go ahead, say it.”
“F-fuck my ass, please,” you begged. It sounded shameless, but there was certainly shame (and fear) tingling in your gut.
The thumb pushed in all the way, and before you could deal with the way that felt, it was replaced with two fingers. You hissed from the sting, but willed your body to relax as you fell back into that headspace and simply let everything happen to you.
The transition from two to three fingers was barely noticeable. But you definitely noticed when he pulled everything out of you, guiding the head of his cock higher up. He moved your hips closer as you went limp in his grasp-- a drooling, mindless fuckdoll who, apparently, spread your legs for him whenever he wanted. It was some undefinable mixture of demeaning and liberating.
His cock pressed against your opening, and when it finally pushed past the tightness with a nauseating pop, you bit your lip.
You almost felt prideful when you heard him moan; he was usually pretty quiet. How you managed to feel any sense of achievement or value when you were face down in a broom closet getting fucked up the ass… that was a different issue.
He didn’t give you much time to adjust as he picked up his speed, fucking you so much gentler than he ever did but still rougher than you were expecting, somehow. Each time he was buried all the way inside, you felt like you were miles beyond your body’s limits, fuller and wider than was possible. It made you wet, uselessly.
When he moved faster, his balls slapped against your pussy and you could hear how much you were loving this, even as disgusting and painful as it was. He leaned forward to push your face into the ground and fucked you harder. The new angle pushed him even deeper, opened you up even more brutally, and you couldn’t suppress a cry of pain.
“How’s it feel, huh?” he taunted.
“It hurts,” you told him with a voice much whinier than you intended, but you weren’t exactly complaining. And you definitely weren’t asking him to stop.
Not that you were worried that he would. If anything, it only inspired him to push you further as he grabbed your hips tight to slam you back onto his cock.
He didn’t announce that he was close, but you could just barely tell based on the way your hazy brain couldn’t ignore the rapid increase in his thrusts. A broken growl was your signal that he was filling you with come but you were too numb to feel any difference. He kept fucking you through it, only stopping once every drop was inside you. When he slowed to a stop you sighed with relief, wincing a little as he pulled out and trying to ignore the lewd way that your hole flexed and constricted. You felt his come leaking as it dripped down over your pussy, down your thighs and onto the floor.
The smell in this cramped space was inescapable, and putrid, and only now did you really become aware of it.
“Don’t just lay there,” he scoffed as he stood up, “come over here and get on your knees.”
At this point, you were so well-trained that you were obeying his words before you’d even processed them or taken the time to question what his intentions were.
You looked up at him with watery eyes as he stroked his cock right above your face. He was looking at you with the most uninterpretable expression… cold eyes, tightened jaw, lips curled into a grimace.
“Clean me off,” he demanded, shoving his softening length into your mouth, “come on, clean my cock off.”
You grimaced but did as he asked, sucking and licking as it slid down your tongue and back into your throat. Didn’t take much of him for you to start choking, considering his size.
“Breathe through your nose,” he offered as a solution, but you had been trying to avoid smelling or tasting it. You didn’t even want to think about it.
You even took the time to lick his balls clean, too, and they tasted like your own arousal, bringing back some memories which managed to disturb you in spite of their recentness. When he was satisfied, he pushed you back onto the floor by your throat, and you swallowed thickly.
As per usual, he said nothing as he stuffed himself back into his jeans, or as he made a hasty exit. When he shut the door behind him, you were left there used up and tossed aside; dress ruined, mascara smeared, panties torn, come seeping out of you, gasping for breath. You had no plan for getting out of here without everyone seeing you; you had no plan for getting out of this sick, addictive cycle with him. In the meantime, you would sit in the empty room and wait for the blood flow to return to your numbed extremities, wait for the aftershocks of arousal and orgasm to subside, and let yourself bask in the comfort of the dark.
#maries500challenge#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes smut#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan smut#sebastian stan x y/n#bucky barnes x y/n#winter soldier smut#winter soldier fanfiction#winter soldier x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Relief
This isn’t a Holiday prompt request, since I have a bunch of other WIPs I thought I would take a break of those and finish up others ones. So there maybe some back and forth, we’ll see :)
This was a request I got on Wattpad on my Alucard Comfort fic a couple months ago and it was mostly done so...
I don’t know too much about Hector’s character but I hope I did him some justice.
Fandom: Castlevania
Pairing: Hector x GN! Reader
Word Count: 2,359 words
Warning(s): Kinda sad, comforting Hector, fluff
Enjoy ~
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
It has been roughly 4 months since you met the white haired man.
The moment you met him you felt the urge to get near him. Although he was beautiful, it wasn’t his high cheekbones or smooth skin that called you. It was the distant look in his blue eyes, an ocean of sadness. You felt his loneliness from across the room in just one glance. You asked for his name and he hesitated for a moment, like he was contemplating whether or not wanted to be seen more than he had been. ‘Hector.’ Is all he responded with, and the gentle sound of his voice made your soul ring. You smiled and introduced yourself.
Surprisingly enough, he talked to you that night at the bar. Nothing too deep, just menial conversation about your interests and places you’ve both traveled to. But in that short time together you knew it was more than just a ‘talk with a stranger at a bar’ situation.
‘We should meet again.’ you said forwardly. Hector’s eyes studied you for a moment, before responding. ‘I guess that wouldn’t be too miserable.’ You smiled, not just at his words but at the glimmer of something in his eyes that didn’t seem to be there before.
3 months into your meetings, you and Hector had gotten more comfortable around each other. Getting accustomed to your daily presence, one afternoon while the two of you were out on a stroll he asked,
‘Would you care to accompany me home?’ Smiling inwardly you respond casually,
‘Sure.’ With one word you continued your journey in silence, observing the world around you. Following his lead you saw in the distance a lone cottage, made of stone with a smoking chimney and a small garden in front filled with small purple flowers and berries.
Opening the door, you are welcomed with a wall of warmth melting off the cold from outside. Entering the quant space you took a moment to look around as he walked into the kitchen. Having taken off your cloak you drape it on the back of a chair, as you took a seat by the fireplace. He emerged with some water for you both and sat across from you.
That night was the start of what you two came to be.
Hector offered his bed to you that evening. In the middle of the night you got up to get some water. Wrapped in a blanket to fend off the crisp air, you see Hector on the couch under a thin blanket. The fire had died out a few hours before, cooling the room significantly. Forgetting the water you circled around him and crouched down in front of his sleeping face. Taking a moment you took in his being. Laying there, defenseless. Completely free of tension -besides the few shivers that raked through his body - clenching the blanket closer to him. You gently nudge his shoulder a bit, making him stir till he woke in a surprised manner. Sitting up, letting out a deep huff.
‘What’s the matter?’ He asked Eyes squinted, trying to focus on your face.
‘Come lay in your bed, with me.’ You said.
‘N-no that isn’t necessary.’ He stutters a bit, taken aback by your request.
‘You’re shivering out here and two bodies are better than one for gaining warmth.’
He sees that you wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. Sighing a bit he stood up and followed you to his room.
The room was dark, the only source of light came from the moon in the sky. Nothing sat in the room but a bed, a trunk and a small desk with a pile of books next to it. The warm bed called your name once again as a chill ran down your spine. Jumping under the sheets as you were before, you looked over to the forgemaster as he tentatively got under the blankets next to you. His back towards you, a big birth - despite the small size of the bed - between the two of you. Sighing a bit you moved closer to him, wrapping your arm around his broad shoulders. You felt his muscles tense a bit from your touch.
A long moment passes.
Silence.
He turned around in your loose grip. His eyes bore into yours. Swimming in his gaze you saw his intensity but you also saw fear. Not the kind of fear you have when there's a monster before you. But the fear you feel when presented with a moment that may change everything, uncertain if for the better or worse.
‘You don’t have to be scared.’ You told him with your eyes.
A wave of compulsion washed over you, leaning forward you gently placed your lips against his. Stunning him, but he didn’t pull away. He kissed you back, deepening the kiss between you.
You both knew that this was the beginning of something between you two. A new chapter in both your lives. Uncertainty waved in the air, but neither one of you paid it mind just enjoyed the shared moment of warmth.
From that night onward everyday was filled with adventures and errands and nights spent listening to the sound of his voice. Telling stories about his life before you, as you fell asleep.
~~~
“Is this what it’s like?” He asks. You stop stirring the pot of food to look at him. His question perplexed you. Coming out of nowhere, unsure of what it was pertaining to. Hector is resting in the armchair by the fireplace beside you, book in hand, just staring at you in thought.
“Is what, like this?” You ask with a chuckle as you put the lid on the pot.
Hector looks down running his free hand through the back of his silver locks. His gaze not meeting yours again. You sit on the couch in front of him, waiting for his answer.
“Having a family.”
His three word answer made your heart hurt a bit. Walking over to him you sit on his lap, draping your legs over the arm of the chair. Resting your arm on his shoulder as you gently stroke his hair, looking at the side of his face. His gaze, still not meeting yours. You bring your other hand up to cradle his cheek in your palm slowly drawing his eyes up to yours.
His face painted in embarrassment. Eyes glistening, sadness threatening to seep out.
There’s that look again.
That uncertainty in his cerulean eyes. Debating whether or not he should continue. Biting his lips together he looks down at the space between you.
“I ask because ~” he paused, taking a deep breath. “I never had a real family.” His words come out in a rough whisper.
“Why do you say it like you’re ashamed?” You ask with a slight laugh. “Because of what I did.” He responds, somberly. You stopped smiling, knowing you can’t laugh him through this one.
This one was serious.
Not unlike the time he told you where he was inside himself after the death of Dracula.
“What do you mean, ‘what you did’?” You asked, hesitantly.
He shakes his head, peeling your hand off his neck. Lifting you off his lap as he stands.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” He says.
Before you can say anything Hector rushes out the front door. Leaving you to stand there, looking at the old wooden door, shocked and saddened by the events that just transpired.
A few hours had passed. The sun had already made its descent from the day and Hector still hasn’t come back.
The cottage was silent, nothing but the cracking of the fire and heavy pants of Cezar. The undead pug, keeping you company in your newly shared bed. Your head rests upon the pillow, stained with drying tears. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ you asked yourself. Turning to Cezar, scratching behind his remaining ear. “What about you Cezar, do you know what happened?” The pug just barks in response.
‘Well it was worth a shot.’ you thought.
Wrapped in the blankets and Cezar nestled beside your chest, beginning to drift to sleep you hear someone at the front door. Opening your eyes you sit up, waking the pup. That’s when you heard heavy steps coming closer to the door of the bedroom. You turned over, pretending to be asleep as you heard the door creak open.
The mattress, shifting from his weight on the other side.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers.
“I’ve been too much of a coward to show you all of me. Afraid of what you would think if you knew who I was. Who I am.” His words, a low hum as if he is talking to himself.
You turn over to see his back. His face planted in his palms. Your movements make him freeze.
“You’re awake.” He says. His voice, shaky.
“And you came back.” You said, sounding more surprised than intended.
“Yeah…” He lets out a half-hearted laugh.
There’s that silence again, a long stretch of time as you both hold your breaths.
“I should’ve told you this sooner. That way I wouldn’t have wasted so much of your ti~ ” You cut him off.
“Don’t say that you. You‘ve never even come close to being a waste of time to me.” You say, hoping he believes your words to be true and not just a pretty sentiment to make him feel better.
Sitting up to prop yourself against your extended arm you say, “Whatever it is I’m sure it’s ~”
“I killed my parents.” He interrupts. Blurting the word out to make himself finally say it. “I-I killed my parents.” He repeats much quieter this time, almost to himself.
You take a second to swallow what he just told you. Fiddling with the sheets in your fingers trying to think of something to say but you don’t know what to say. So you stay quiet.
“It wasn’t out of malice, if that makes it easier for you to look at me.” He says. His words coated in worry.
Worry of what you will say. What you would call him. And most of all what you will do.
Will you leave him? Like everyone always has. He wouldn’t blame you.
Another moment passes in the tense silence. He sighs in acceptance that you are through. He gets up to leave but you grab his hand from behind. Your soft touch sparked against his skin. Looking down at you, eyebrows furrowed.
“Stay.” Is all you said. Just one word glued a few pieces of his world back together. He sits back down, this time facing you.
“Why? After what I said, why would you want me to stay?” He asks
“Cause you haven’t told me the whole story.” You say.
He looks in your eyes curiously. “Y-you want to know… why does it matter to you?” He questions as he shakes his head slightly.
“Because you said it wasn’t out of malicious intent, so there had to be a reason. Right?” You offer a small curve of your lip.
Looking at you through his lashes. He says a soft “Ok.”
Clearing his throat. Hector then went on to tell you about his home-life as a child, if you could call it that.
The retellings of how his parents would treat him and their greed. The images he painted made your stomach turn a bit.
“At the time I felt I needed to. Like I had no choice.” He says, his words somber.
Reaching out you pull Hector towards you. He willingly falls into your embrace. His head resting on your chest. Soothingly combing your fingers through his silver strands, he holds your free hand in his.
“Even still now I don’t know if I would do anything differently.” He sighs, being thoughtful with his choice of words.
“I have no remorse for what I did.” He lets out an airy chuckle. “Y/n, have I become the very people I grew to despise.? The ones I’ve set my life out to rid the world of?” You think about his question. With confliction rising within you.
“Hector I’m not blind to the fact that you have done less than savory things and others might disagree but…” You pause, retracting your hand from his to guide his chin up to meet your gaze.
“That doesn’t make you a monster.”
Those words rang through his head, pulling a tear from his sockets. Coming from you it was everything he needed at that moment. For years battling with the idea that he is no better than the people who take and hurt others for their own gain, now settles a bit.
He kisses you. The idea that you were just being gentle with him didn’t go unthought about, but that didn’t matter to him. What did matter was you. Someone in his life that wants to be there. What did he do to deserve such a blessing? Was it by chance? And if so, will is this only be a fleeting moment in both your lives. Here one minute and gone the next?
Or could it be the stars aligned. Some cosmic deity put you together knowing he needed someone. Needed you.
Whatever it is, whatever put you in his arms. He couldn’t think of anything else but, “Thank you.” He says. Tears stinging his eyes. Looking up at you with his tear stained cheeks, his large hand cupping your cheek.
“Thank you.”
Those being the only two words he could speak. Saying them like a prayer. Leaning forward you connect your lips to his. The wetness of his cheeks touch yours. Wrapping your arms around his neck, holding him closer.
You fall back to the matters. He hovers above you, his fingers playing with your soft locks. His eyes looking at you with certainty. Certainty that you are real. That you will love him. And that you will be his forever.
In that comfortable silence he lays his head against your chest once again. Your fingers stroking his hair as he listens to the steady tempo of your heart beat and drifts to sleep.
Peacefully~.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
I hope you enjoyed reading this lovelies :3
💛 ~
MASTERLIST
#castelvania#castlevania fic#castlevania hector#hector#hector x reader#castlevania x reader#x reader#x gn reader#fluff#kinda sad#request
141 notes
·
View notes
Text
All-Nighter (Ethan x f!MC)
Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende)
Word count: 2.9K
Warning: Language and alluded sexual situations
Premise: He’d do anything for her, even fly across the country on moment’s notice.
A/N: If Ethan had gone to Vegas to spend a full night with MC. Crack and fluff. Sorry!
12:26 am
Ethan had never understood the appeal of Vegas. The city, crawling with gaudy exhibitionism, reckless gambling, and rowdy party-goers, had always seemed a tad tasteless to him. Even in his med school years when his cohort planned a trip to sin city, Ethan had preferred to find solace in an overpriced drink at a bar off the strip and not dancing against strangers in a stuffy nightclub.
Now, he had been convinced (albeit too easily) to take a six hour flight to a city he would much rather avoid.
His phone pinged with a notification from her, reminding him of the adult rated texts that had inspired his impromptu trip.
Miss you. Wish you could see me in this dress.
Seconds after, a picture came in and Ethan almost dropped his phone on the concrete.
And finally, she sent one final, maddening addendum: Or out of it.
It was lucky for Ethan that he was already in the same city as her, one an elevator ride away from ripping that tempting thing off of her.
I'm outside, he texted back.
More than anything, he wanted to give in to the burning need to just have her in his arms.
------------------
12:48 am
As Ethan waited outside the casino she mentioned in a previous text, however, the flashing neon lights making it almost difficult to distinguish that it was nighttime, he held a different doctor in his arms. A very drunk Dr. Lahela had haphazardly collided with him only seconds earlier, throwing an arm around him after recognition hit. Ethan was still unsure if the gesture was out of comradery or to maintain his balance.
“Ramseyyyy,” he called out with a suave ease that was admirable in his current state.
Before Ethan could answer, Varma and Sienna Trinh appeared at his side. The former looked just as intoxicated as Lahela, though she was doing a much better job at maintaining her balance and dignity. Sienna, however, looked sober, or sober enough to figure out why Ethan was there for she threw him a knowing smirk.
“Dr. Ramsey,” she greeted casually over the noise of the busy boulevard. “I forgot Edenbrook sent you here because of our contract with Panacea.”
It was a feeble excuse to explain his presence to the other two. It didn't matter because neither of them was listening anyway. Ethan doubted they ever questioned why he was there in the first place.
Lahela's arm gripped him tighter as he swayed. “Dr. Ramsey, you have to come with us to the Sugar Factory. They have this drink called the fish bowl. It's exactly what it sounds like except full of candy.”
It sounded like a drink straight out of his nightmare.
“Lahela, tell me why—”
To his horror, the young surgeon's face lit up as he started singing. “Ain't nothing but a heartache.”
“Tell me why,” an equally drunk passerby added.
“Ain't nothing but a mistake,” Lahela continued as others laughed and joined in. By the time they were finished, all three residents laughed hysterically while Ethan remained unmoved, silently wishing he had stayed in the blissful quiet of his apartment in Boston.
He was reminded of why he had left the comfort of his home to venture into the wild five minutes after the group had departed for the aforementioned Sugar Factory. His eyes found her as soon as she stepped out into the street, clad in the sinfully short dress from her picture. The effect it had on Ethan felt like a punch.
Lilac spotted him too, her face alight with a combination of surprise and unrestrained elation. Before either of them could stop what was about to happen, she rushed into his arms. On instinct, he lifted her off her feet, their lips meeting in a kiss charged with promise.
“Hi,” she greeted breathlessly when he carefully set her down.
“Hi,” he returned, sounding just as affected.
“I had to come out here to make sure you were really here. I can't believe you actually came,” she all but exclaimed, voice laced with giddy happiness. It made his stomach leap pleasantly, inspiring a foolish grin he didn't care to fight back anymore.
“Me neither,” he confessed.
“Well, I'm glad you did. I like this spontaneous Ethan Ramsey who flies across the country on a whim.”
That admission sent a thrill through his body. He realized he'd do anything to see that winsome smile each time, even if it meant dropping everything and rushing to her side hundreds of miles away.
------------------
1:32 am
“Eight, six, seven,” Lilac was saying over the roar of the fountains and the Celine Dion song. “Five, three, oh, nine.”
She waited for a hint of recognition, but as
she had suspected, the drunken frat boy did not understand the reference. Instead, he tapped the number into his phone and flashed her a sloppy smirk. “I'll call you later.”
Ethan appeared at her side after he was gone, shaking his head at her with a smirk.
“Your drink, Jenny,” he said, offering her a cup that looked to be more ice than drink.
Lilac laughed as she accepted it, her body gravitating to his side at once. A rush of dizzying joy almost overpowered her every time she realized she didn't have to fight that instinct here.
“Funny. That's the name I gave him too,” she said taking a sip. “He was insistent and drunk beyond comprehension. I thought it'd be easier to give him a fake number.”
“You gave him a song,” Ethan commented with a laugh. A rare, taunting grin illuminated his face, rendering him the handsomest man she had ever seen. “And you could've just told him you have a boyfriend.”
She arched an intrigued eyebrow, already moving into his embrace. “I have a boyfriend, do I?”
Ethan's free arm encircled her, casting a glow of warmth over her body. It could have been the small amount of alcohol in her system or this newfound energy that crackled between them, still fizzing with longing but considerably lighter than in the past months.
He nodded in mock seriousness.
“And is he the jealous type?”
Ethan genuinely scoffed at that, his fingers aimlessly caressing her bare back. It made her skin blaze where he touched her. “Jealous of what? A sweaty frat boy crass enough to hit on a beautiful but evidently uninterested woman? Believe me, there's nothing to be jealous about.”
“Case in point,” she laughed, raising herself to kiss his nose.
Ethan laughed too and took advantage of their sudden proximity to press his lips against hers, their kiss sweet and just as dizzying as the many desperate, passionate ones they had shared. When they parted, that fiery, striking gaze of his remained locked on hers, making her thighs quiver.
The song in the background reached its final notes as the jets of water disappeared into the dark pool glittering in front of the lavish hotel. The crowd began to disperse but Ethan and Lilac remained on the sidewalk, basking in a content lull, his arm securely around her and her cheek pressed against his chest. She knew without asking that he was enjoying this small allowance of being a real couple just as much as she was.
At last, her eyes fell on the replica of the Eiffel Tower across the street. In the span of a second, she wondered what it would be like to be in front of the real one, safely wrapped in Ethan's arms.
“I wonder how it compares to the real one,” she wondered out loud.
“I've never seen it but I'd wager it's not a true representation.”
For some reason, she found that surprising. “You've never been to Paris?”
“I've been for work but my time was spent doing just that. I didn't venture out much into the city to sightsee. To be honest, I didn't understand the appeal.”
The pause that followed suggested he wanted to add more but he remained silent. When Lilac pulled back from his embrace to look at him, she found those piercing blue eyes studying her intently.
“I know what we should do for that date you teased in your texts,” she said when she finally found the words.
It was Ethan's turn to arch his brow at her in interest. “I thought this was our date?”
“Yes, but we're in Vegas. There's so much to do at this hour. And besides, you promised me all night in one of your texts.”
The crooked smile he gave her along with the wicked glint in his eye should have been illegal. He leaned in and whispered darkly, “That's not what I meant.”
Five words and she was all over him, kissing him in ways that were inappropriate even for Vegas. They broke apart and Ethan looked at her expectantly.
“So what's this idea for our date?” he prompted when Lilac merely stared at him, lips still burning from his kiss.
“Oh, right. I was thinking since we were both two giant nerds who powered through med school and never traveled—”
At this, Ethan shook his head, amused.
“—we could each pick something to do here in Vegas that feels like traveling to somewhere remote.”
“But instead we'll be in a loud casino, surrounded by obnoxious crowds and exposed to secondhand smoke?”
Lilac rolled her eyes which made him laugh.
“Fine, I'll do it. But you pick first.”
---------------
2:17 am
As they glided through the clear waters, Ethan had to admit he could see the appeal in the faux gondola ride. Even if it was romantic, the critical part of him dwelled on the fact that the canals of Venice did not smell strongly of chlorine. He almost voiced the cynical observation out loud, before he remembered this was her idea and the last thing he wanted was to offend her. Although, he was certain Lilac would only laugh and playfully shove him.
But Lilac was not taunting him, which should have been his first indication that something was off. She wasn't even marveling at the painted ceiling of the casino or making snide comments about the high end shops at the edge of the water and the people who shopped there. Instead, she pressed firmly against his side, her nails digging into his shirt.
“Are you okay?” he murmured.
Lilac plastered on the weakest attempt at a smile. Ethan only waited until she dropped the act and said, “Is it weird that the water is freaking me out?”
Ethan considered that. “Are you afraid of open water?”
Lilac shook her head. “No, or I would have never suggested this. But once we got in and started moving, the water just looked terrifying?”
Ethan gave her reassuring smile. “We can get off if you want.”
Again, she shook her head with a brave determination that made his stomach flutter. She was entirely too adorable, even without trying.
“No, I'll be fine,” she said through a steadying breath. “I'll just refrain from looking at the creepy water. And I'll try not to think about what we'll do if this thing flips over.”
“Rookie, the water is three feet deep. If we capsize we can just...get up on our feet.”
Lilac's eyes moved to meet his at the words. They stared at each other in the golden glow of their surroundings, their expressions unreadable. The silent seconds stretched until they both dissolved into hearty and borderline hysterical laughter.
Ethan tried his best to sober up first, but when he was close to regaining his composure, he would meet her eye and then they'd both continue to laugh relentlessly. He was aware that they were drawing curious looks from the people observing from the bridges. Even the gondolier cast them a questioning look but said nothing.
Ethan didn't care.
It was the happiest he had felt in weeks, amidst everything that had happened.
They finally sobered and Lilac sighed, much more at ease than before. When she settled against Ethan, it was with her hand softly pressed against his chest, directly over the heartbeat that pounded fiercely for her.
------------
3:31 am
The plan had been to go dancing at the Egyptian themed casino, much to her companion's dismay. In the end, she won against his protest and Lilac was feeling particularly proud of herself for talking Ethan Ramsey into going to a nightclub. Then again, she hadn't missed how his eyes occasionally traveled along the expanse of her plunging neckline or how his fingers trailed along her exposed back whenever he held her. A lot of the credit was owed to the dress.
Which is probably why they never made it to the nightclub. Instead, they hastily detoured to the penthouse suite the leeches at Panacea paid for, their hands and lips on one another for the majority of the journey there.
Thirty minutes after ensuring they were truly alone, the miraculous dress lay pooled on her bedroom floor, completely forgotten. Meanwhile, Ethan moved against her in ways that made her scream out his name. As they both reached the peak, Lilac leaned in to whisper exactly what she wanted him to do.
With a grunt, Ethan obeyed wholeheartedly.
“Your turn,” she panted minutes later as she rolled off of him.
“As you wish,” he said, the words interrupted as he too struggled to catch his breath. “Although you know I prefer it when you take the lead.”
She laughed. “No, your turn to pick a place to go next.”
Ethan flipped on his side, offering her the sexiest grin. God, she was really thinking about sleeping with him again, mere minutes after the first round.
“I thought I picked this one,” he teased, his voice thick and heavy in ways that made her center pool with heat.
“We both picked this one,” she argued before she kissed him.
-------------
3:47 am
Ethan only pretended to consider their next destination. The truth was that he knew the answer since the moment she suggested it in front of the fountains.
They only had to leave the bed, a feat that was more challenging than it sounded.
Lilac, far more determined than Ethan, even got as far as slipping back into the lacy black underwear he had removed with his teeth earlier. The deliberately coy smile she sent his way when she realized he was staring, however, had his hands on her hips in seconds.
“Fucking hell, Lilac,” he murmured against her mouth as he pulled her on top of him for the second time that hour.
----------
4:59 am
After a third failed attempt to get out of bed, which resulted in both of them making good on the promises they made in their earlier texts, Lilac sat up in bed to look at him full on. She gave him what was supposed to be a stern, admonishing look, but she knew it was half hearted because he looked at her with such adoration that she broke a smile.
“No more distracting me. You're not getting out of picking, Ramsey.”
Ethan's eyes remained fixed on hers in the darkness of the room, his expression betraying no hints of amusement. Outside, the sky began to glow with the first rays of orange and pink, the promise of the sun's arrival setting the inky blue sky ablaze.
She frowned, noting the lines of exhaustion on his handsome face. “Are you tired? We can just stay if—”
“We're already here,” he said quietly. “The place I pick.”
“Bed?” she asked with a startled laugh. “Ethan Ramsey, you are almost a romantic.”
“Almost?” His mouth betrayed a hint of a smile. “I'm offended, Rookie. But no, as wonderful as we are in bed, that's not my choice.”
Ethan didn't elaborate, the small crease between his brows suggesting he was deep in thought. Every so often, his eyes flickered to hers, holding her gaze briefly before they moved away just as quickly.
“I'm not—” he started, stopped, and tried again. “I'm not good at this kind of thing.”
A slight flush colored his angled cheekbones, so endearing that she couldn't help but kiss him. In all honesty, she wasn't any better at any of it either, only suggesting the date idea as a clichéd way for them to spend time together in a faraway city. It hadn’t been her proudest moment but had Googled ideas the moment he said he was outside.
Nervous energy filled the room in their shared silence.
“The only place in the world I give a damn about is by your side, Lilac,” he said at last, the words quiet but powerful enough to make her pulse clamor like bells.
Ethan scratched the back of his head at her silence. “I was also hoping this goddamn penthouse had a balcony. I would've picked that as my date because of Miami and the first time we—”
Lilac interrupted him with a kiss, the force of it over balancing Ethan and sending him into the pillows. She didn't care that their kiss was unceremonious and far from romantic. All she was aware of was the growing, urgent need to kiss this cheesy, romantic, brilliant man. He laughed against her lips, strong hands steadying her on top of him.
“You're so much better at this than you give yourself credit for,” she informed him when they broke apart.
“Good,” he said, lifting his head to kiss the curve of her neck. “I was worried there was finally something I didn't excel at.”
------------------
A/N: Meanwhile, her friends are still partying somewhere on the Strip, begging Bryce to quit drinking while he’s ahead. Those fish bowl drinks are no joke.
Holy shit that was 3K of nothingness. If you made it this far, thank you!
This was loosely based on my experience(s) going to Vegas, although I don’t remember most of it. Again, those fish bowl drinks will destroy you lol.
Thank you to @aestheticartsx for your help with this mess!
P.S. Sorry about the dress in the pic not being the exact same one. I saw some that were close but the wrong color. Others were too crazy with that neckline. Ethan would’ve just dropped dead lol.
___________
New Tags: (Hope I didn’t miss anyone!)
@openheart12 , @takeharryandgo , @ethandaddyramsey, @trappedinfandoms, @aestheticartsx, @aworldoffandoms, @paulfwesley, @myusualnerdyself, @rookie-ramsey, @ohchoices, @colossalpainintheass, @enmchoices, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker, @choicesfanaf, @openheartthot, @octobereighth, @nazarihoe, @utterlyinevitable, @kites-in-our-skies, @maurine07, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @doilooklikeiknow, @snesdudes, @kingliam2019, @perriewinklenerdie, @cinnamonspongecake, @choicesstan1, @queencarb, @ethxnrxmsey, @missmiimiie, @jens-diamondchoices, @adamsdumortain, @mrsramseyy, @apphia12, @kalogh, @lucy-268, @binny1985, @queenbirbs, @honeyandsunfl0wers, @newcolonies, @lilyvalentine, @rigatonireid, @interobanginyourmom, @parkerattano, @custaroonie, @nikki-2406, @lilypills, @chasingrobbie, @nooruleman, @angela8756, @lonely-mxxnlight, @ruinedbypixels, @shadynaturehilariouscookie, @shadynaturehilariouscookie, @tsrookie, @mvalentine, @professorkingslay, @drakewalkerfantasy, @casey-v, @helloblueeyedcat, @mysticaurathings, @blossomanarchy, @thegreentwin, @togetherwearerapture, @rookieoh, @ramseysno1rookie, @rookiemarsswiftie, @natashajaniphil, @mysticalgalaxysstuff, @hatescapsicum, @choices-lurker, @kiara-36, @junehiratas, @danijimenezv, @macy-ray85, @adrex04, @canigetanawwjunk, @sanchita012, @overwhelminglyaquarius , @scorpiochick8, @skylarklyon, @starrystarrytrouble
Interest in this fic:
@udishaman, @a-crepusculo, @khayy19, @mercury84choices, @jlynn12273, @fireycookie
#open heart#ethan ramsey#ethan x mc#playchoices#my writing#ethan ramsey fanfiction#ethan ramsey x mc#open heart fanfiction#choices fanfiction
300 notes
·
View notes
Note
Billy having the bust appendix episode?
so i combined these into one thingy??
also the latter, uh, it's. like?? i played w ur prompt, dude, chose to focus more on the concept of "not lasting" w susan and max tho bc if i write neil for too long it'll inevitably turn into another murder fic.
ao3 link
content warnings: referenced/discussed abuse, brief suicidal ideation
“Day four of fever, fella. That’s no fun.” Susan sets the thermometer aside with a frown and brushes the back of her hand over his cheek.
Billy blinks slowly at the touch. It wasn’t that long ago that he would’ve pushed her away. He hasn’t exactly enjoyed having the Stomach Flu From Hell for the better half of the week, but he supposes if there was ever a time to get sick, it’s now. Because these past few days have been the last few days he’s ever going to get with Susan and Max. He can use being sick as an excuse to let them get close like this. He can let himself let them close without feeling defensive or embarrassed because after tonight, he’ll never see them again.
“I feel better,” he mumbles as she brushes his fringe back, pad of her thumb gingerly lingering over the nick in his brow. “Really, Sue, s’not as bad today.”
And it’s not. Today’s Wednesday and he’s been feeling shitty since Sunday night, sluggish and nauseous with a nagging stomachache. He managed not to puke up Sunday dinner until Monday morning, although he didn’t actually make it to the bathroom. Susan scrubbed it out of his bedroom carpet even though Billy told her to leave it. Max stayed home from school to keep him company, which really…genuinely meant a lot to Billy, considering skipping school meant sacrificing some of the little time remaining with her friends. And she did it to just to hang out with his sweaty, grouchy, probably contagious and definitely less sociable self.
His stomachache got worse throughout the day but he hadn’t said anything about it to anyone. Didn’t say anything on Tuesday either, even though by evening it hurt so fucking bad it was like there was an invisible knife carving into his guts, blade twisting so terribly the only thing that helped at all was curling into a fetal position. Billy was almost frightened, actually. He doesn’t believe he’s ever felt worse than the torture he went through Tuesday, not even at his father’s hands.
But he couldn’t say anything. Not with everything going on. He wouldn’t do anything to possibly compromise the plan. Couldn’t let himself do anything that could delay their escape. So he sucked it up and kept his mouth screwed shut, endured in silence.
The relentless agony of nonexistent knives twisting through his guts kept him up all night. Then very early this morning, just as the sunrise’s first rays began to lighten the sky, the pain subsided. Billy still feels uncomfortable and he’d probably hurl again if he got a whiff of goat cheese or canned sardines, but it doesn’t compare to the misery of last night.
“How about I put the kettle on? Ginger tea is good for stomach bugs.”
“Nah.”
“What about chamomile?”
“No.”
“Peppermint?”
“Stop, Sue. I don’t want tea.”
“Please. You’ve barely kept anything down all week and you’re sweating like a turkey at Christmas. You’ll feel even worse if you get dehydrated, Billy.”
Susan retracts her hand with a fretful noise in her throat and turns to the door. With a sudden spike of panic that she’s— she’s leaving —he frees an arm from the blanket and grabs her wrist. Susan jumps as though she’s touched a hot stove. Billy immediately lets go. He wasn’t thinking.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Susan, I just…”
Chewing her lip, she nods down at him. She carefully sits on the edge of his bed, one leg folding on the mattress, opposite foot still on the floor. She takes his face in her chilly hands and Billy heaves out a sigh.
“I wish things were different,” she murmurs. “If the, uh…if the p-place Max and I are going accepted boys your age, you’d be coming with us. I promise I’d take you with us if I could.”
The shelter doesn’t allow male children over age twelve, Susan had informed Billy the night she told him they were leaving. She’d said it apologetically, eyes sorrowful like the look she’s giving him right now. She’s said it like it scraped her throat on the way out, tragic and grave as though she were reading him his own obituary.
It was the oddest thing Billy couldn’t begin to comprehend. He wouldn’t go with them even if going with them was an option. And never had he ever expected it to be an option. He doesn’t understand why Susan is looking at him like that.
“I just grabbed you. I shouldn’t have grabbed you.”
Susan’s face twitches like he’s the one being weird, like it isn’t she who’s looking at him with all these things he never wanted from her.
“You didn’t hurt me, Billy, just startled me a bit. I’m as skittish as a doe and of course today is…it’s a big day.”
“…what time?”
Susan spares a glance to his door. Still shut. Neil’s getting ready for work and he wouldn’t dare enter Billy’s room right now anyway. Wouldn’t risk catching whatever Billy has. He’d sent Susan in the bathroom Monday after Billy had barely stumbled out, wan from the latest round of purging, in drill sergeant mode and demanding that Susan bleach every contaminated tile.
“Noon. I want to drive in the daylight. Max is staying home from school. I told your father she caught your bug.”
Billy raises a brow.
“She didn’t,” Susan clarifies. “But he didn’t question the excuse. She’s sleeping in, I think it’s best to let her sleep in. It’s a big day.”
“Big day,” Billy repeats quietly.
Susan’s hands are still on his face, gentle and cool. Billy feels hot. The past few days he’s felt too cold or too hot, no in between. He’s either burrowing under the blankets to ward off the icy chills or laying on the bathroom tile to ease the sensation of roasting in his skin.
“I’m going to make you some tea, okay? You don’t have to drink it, but I’d appreciate it if you did. Fluids are important, Billy.”
Susan slides her hands off and Billy wonders if perhaps that’s the last time she’ll ever touch him. She leaves his room. Quietly closes the door behind her. Billy rolls onto his side and wraps his arm around his stomach, wondering if he should’ve let her closer before. If he should’ve let Max closer too.
Maybe it’s better he didn’t. Maybe losing them would hurt more if he did. And it does hurt. Even when the minutes tick down to the time they will exchange their final goodbyes, he’ll never say it out loud, but it hurts. It’s going to gut him when they go.
But it’s good that they’re going. And it’s good that he’s not. Billy ensured early on that Susan knew never to act like his mother. And Susan never seemed particularly passionate about trying, maybe there was even some relief for her that Billy had shut down every feeble attempt, that she never had to claim him. Billy never asked for Max either. The responsibility of a little sister. The pressure of having to set a good example for her, more reasons for Neil to be pissed at him whenever he inexorably failed. Max thought he was cool when they were younger, then there was that really rough patch after the move, and now things are better.
Things are probably the best they’ve ever been between him and Susan, between him and Max, and he’s going to miss them. Billy wants them to leave. Billy wants to be left. But the separation, the severing, the knowledge that he will never see them again pounds his heart like brass knuckles. He’s never going to watch Susan take another spider outside in a tissue, humming her weird little singsong. He’s never going to have to groan and roll his eyes over being Max’s designated chauffeur to the arcade, the park, the monster movie matinee.
He’s going to be alone with Neil.
Susan brings Billy a ceramic mug of steaming tea. She feels his forehead and probes at the sides of his neck, humming in concern. He would never let her fawn over him without a fight on a normal day. He’s only receptive now because he knows they aren’t going to be in each other’s lives anymore. He doesn’t know what to do with the fact that he kind of likes the fawning, but maybe he wouldn’t— maybe he wouldn’t like it at all if she wasn’t leaving, maybe the leaving makes it special. Or maybe it’s easier to think of it that way than to wonder if it would’ve been better to have this kind of relationship all along.
Billy watches the steam rise from the mug. He doesn’t touch the tea. He’s exhausted and he finds himself drifting, dozing off…
When Billy blinks his eyes back open, he’s dismayed to find his stomach hurting again. It might actually be the stomachache that wakes him up. Either the stomachache or Max in the doorway, hand on the knob.
“Are you awake?”
“I am now.” Billy begins to push himself up on his elbows, pauses when his gut lurches.
So much for that plan.
He settles back, and rolls onto his side, tucking his knees up to his chest under the blanket. Some of the pain abates. This position is still the winner.
“Are you okay?” Max rests her hand on the mattress, cocking her head to the side. “Do you need the trash can again?”
“Nah.”
“Okay…My mom’s loading up the car.”
“Yeah?” Billy really hopes she isn’t here to ask him to help. If she does, he will, but just the idea of rolling out of bed sounds like a grandiose effort.
“Yeah. Can I hang out for a little bit?”
Something thick rises in his throat. “Sure thing, shitbird.”
Max climbs onto the bed and over Billy, jostling him enough to make him queasy. She sits at his back. He can’t see her but he feels her hand settle on his shoulder.
“Your room smells like gym socks and barf,” she remarks, scowl audible in her voice.
“When you catch this from me, your room’s gonna smell the same way,” he mutters. Only after the words have left his lips, does Billy really realize what he’s said.
Max’s bedroom here on Cherry Lane isn’t really her bedroom anymore. Susan’s putting her belongings in the car. The next time Max gets sick, maybe it won’t be in a bedroom of her own at all. Or it will be her bedroom in a house far away from here. It’ll be a room Billy will never go in and he’ll never have the opportunity to tease her.
“I’m kinda nervous about the shelter, Billy,” she admits, voice quiet and unsure. “I was nervous when we first moved to Hawkins too. But this is a different kind of nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous,” Billy mutters. “You’re gonna be safer there than you are here.”
“Supposedly,” Max huffs. “You know Neil’s going to be pissed when he finds out. What if he comes after us?”
“I won’t let him,” Billy declares, meaning every word.
“Could you really stop him?”
Billy curls a little tighter in an effort to ease the pain spreading through his stomach. It’s beginning to be more than a nuisance but he’s doing his best not to be distracted. Max needs him right now. This is the last time he’ll ever be an older brother. That’s more important, that’s the thing he needs to devote his attention to. He never asked for the job and he hasn’t been exceptional at it, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try to soothe his soon to be ex-sister’s worries with her small hand shaking ever so slightly on his shoulder.
He cranes his neck back to meet her eye and flashes a winning grin he hopes looks less forced than it feels.
”Let’s put it this way, he’d have to kill me to get to you.”
Instead of being reassured, Max looks spooked.
“I really thought he was going to, you know. That night.”
Ah, that night. Billy knows which. He was feeling pretty ballsy, feeling strong and bold after a good workout and a couple of beers. When Neil got in his shit that night, for the very first time, Billy threw a punch.
He remembers thinking that things would go in his favor if he could just get Neil to the ground. That’s the last thing he remembers, actually. Thinking that. And maybe it really would’ve gone in his favor if he’d gotten Neil down. But he didn’t.
Billy doesn’t actually remember what happened. But it definitely wasn’t that.
“He wouldn’t really go that far, Max. Neil talks a big game, but I’m all he’s got and he knows it.”
Max doesn’t seem convinced in the least.
“I think that’s what made Mom decide we had to go,” she says quietly. “That night.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Billy says, tone sharp.
Max glowers, clearly disagreeing. Billy matches her stare.
“…I wonder if there will be other kids my age,” Max murmurs eventually, changing the subject.
Evidently neither of them want to argue their remaining time together away.
If there are kids her age, they’ll be girls, like Neil always wanted. No boys over twelve permitted stay. Billy shifts his head back, eyes sliding from Max and off to the wall. He’s starting to feel Tuesday night’s painful sort of nausea. Like his guts are going through a meat grinder.
“It’ll suck if I’m just surrounded by adults the whole time. However long that’s gonna be…Mom wouldn’t say.”
“Maybe she doesn’t know yet, Max.”
“Maybe not. She’s trying to keep her cool but I can tell she’s nervous. Even more than me and I can’t let on that I’m nervous at all, not to Mom, because then she’ll really flip her lid. She tried so hard to convince me everything will be okay at the shelter. She’ll feel like a failure if she knows I’m scared and Neil’s already made her feel a failure over and over. I won’t do it too.”
This is the last conversation they’re ever going to have. This is the last time they’re ever going to talk to each other. Max is on the precipice of another massive move to somewhere new. All the secrecy and uncertainties surrounding it make it all the more of a transition and Billy’s last job as her older brother is this conversation. He’s trying to focus on it, on her, but the pain in his stomach is growing more insistent.
“Billy?”
“Hm?”
“Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?”
Billy curls his fingers in the bedsheets and silently begs for it not to get any worse. Not now. Max is leaving, Susan is leaving, fuck it— his fucking family is leaving and he can’t do this right now.
“…uh…yeah. I’m gonna get out of this Hawkins dump as soon as I can. And I bet you and your mom will find somewhere for yourselves better than this dump too, without Neil steering the wheel…how about, five years from now, we meet up in Cali? At least you and me, Sue can come too if she wants.”
Billy doesn’t think she would. Things have been better between him and his stepmother, yeah, but. He knows what he is. And Max— Max too, really. She thinks she’ll want to see him again now. Things have been better and maybe there’s even a part of her that still thinks of him as her cool big brother, but when she gets some distance, she’ll get some perspective and neither of them will want anything to do with him anymore. By then he’ll just be one more ugly part of an ugly life, the wayward offspring of the enemy.
By then he’ll be nothing but a reminder and no one wants reminders.
Max hums thoughtfully. “Yeah. We could do that, right? I always wanted to go back to San Diego…”
She squeezes his shoulder and Billy shuts his eyes. It’s getting harder to ignore how awful he feels. His whole body sagging with the overall illness laying him low. The torrent of nausea washing over him even though he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have anything left to puke up. The vengeful reprisal of the invisible knife, carving into his guts with a silent wrath.
“…does that sound good? …Billy?”
“What?” He blinks rapidly.
“The zoo, sick brain.” She huffs a little and gives his shoulder another squeeze. “In five years, let’s meet up at the zoo. In the gift shop where you stole the lion keychain.”
“Hey, you remember that.”
“You stole a gag giraffe toy for me too, the squishy one. When you squeeze it, the eyes pop out.”
“Pfft, yeah…I said, ‘look, it’s your mom’ and slipped it in your backpack.”
“I still have that giraffe, Billy,” she continues, voice determined. “I’m bringing it with me. I’ll look at it every day so I don’t forget our meeting place.”
Billy doesn’t really feel like talking anymore. He just wants to shove his head under the pillow and sleep it off, sleep it out. Wake up when his stomach isn’t being stabbed and his heart isn’t being strangled.
It’s a shining fantasy, that’s all. A fuzzy, glowing thing that will never happen. He’s just playing along for Max’s sake.
“What day, Max?”
“I was thinking the Fourth of July. You dad always made sure the fourth was the biggest Hargrove household holiday.” Billy can hear her roll her eyes. “Neither of us will ever forget that date, not even in five years.”
“Okay,” he agrees. “Sounds good. We’ll meet again at the San Diego Zoo gift shop in five years, on the fourth.”
“Pinky swear?”
Moving makes the pain worse. Any movements, even small ones.
“Nah. My hands are all sweaty and contagious, you don’t wanna touch ‘em.”
“It’s fine.”
“I’m not getting you sick, Max,” Billy states firmly. “You’ve got enough going on.”
There is a pregnant pause.
“I really do,” she says eventually, her tone wary. “I hate Neil. But leaving him means leaving you and my friends, and going somewhere with a bunch of total strangers who have their own Neils who might come after us.”
“That’s not gonna happen.”
“It could! Stranger things have happened! Stranger things happen all the time!”
Max smacks her hands together and does something with her arms that shifts her weight and in turn, shifts the mattress. The minute movement multiplies the knives and the stabs, and Billy agonizes, grinding his molars against a hiss as those knives in his gut twist so hard he’s already seeing fireworks.
“What’s wrong?”
It hurts so bad. This isn’t the flu. Billy doesn’t know what it is, but it’s definitely not the flu.
“Billy?”
Christ, is he dying?
“Hey.” The back of Max’s hand rests against his cheek, smaller and warmer than her mother’s was, fabric bandaid under her knuckles now protecting that scab she wouldn’t stop picking at. “Geez, you’re burning up. Are you dying?”
He’d gibe back at her if he wasn’t seriously evaluating this possibility. He momentarily considers telling her that he is, that it’s so fucking bad it’s like knives. Then he blinks and Susan’s here, half-in-half-out, one foot over the threshold of his bedroom, the other still in the hallway.
“Time to go, Max.”
Max inhales sharply above his ear. Billy composes himself. He clears his throat and does his best to keep his voice steady.
“You heard her,” he mutters. “Get your ass outta here, lemme sleep this off.”
Abruptly, Max’s weight flops over his torso, arms squeezing. She’s hugging him. She’s hugging him and the pain is so bad it’s blinding. Billy traps a scream between his teeth, burns with shame as the tears spring to his eyes. He can’t bring himself to uncurl enough to push her off. He can’t bring himself to uncurl enough to hug her back.
“Germs,” he manages to grate out, hoping it’s enough.
Max’s arms unlatch and she climbs down from his bed. Billy’s head spins with reeling pain and nausea as she trots across his floor for the final time. She stands at her mother’s side, no longer his responsibility.
“Bye, Billy.” Max’s lips twitch in a sad smile, her hand raised in a halfhearted wave.
Susan steps aside to let her through and lingers for a heartbeat, frowning at him.
“I hope you feel better, Billy…”
“Your tea was bitter,” he gripes even though he hasn’t taken a single sip.
Susan’s eyes sharpen. She sees something, Billy isn’t sure what. Her lips part but he speaks first.
“Please get out.”
So he can cry. So he can scream. It hurts, he hurts. His stomach, his heart. It’s horrible, he’s horrible.
Susan bobs her head and obliges, making herself scarce. Billy hangs onto the sound of steps getting further away. He doesn’t let the tears fall until he hears the door close and then he’s smashing his face into his pillow to smother his sobs in cotton stuffing. Forces himself to stop because crying’s making it worse, much worse, his shoulders are hitching and moving is anguish.
Something is so very wrong.
Billy can’t even think around its wrongness. Last night the pain was sharpest in his side but right now it feels like his whole stomach is burning. He shifts even slightly and his stomach burns with white-hot pain but he’s so cold everywhere else.
Billy lies still and curled and quiet, impatiently waiting for it to get better. If he doesn’t move, it should get better. Curling like this helped last night and then this morning, the pain went away.
Will it go away again if he just keeps waiting?
He’s already waited so long.
Will it come back even worse?
Could it get worse?
That’s a stupid question, everything can get worse. If there is anything Billy has learned in his life, it’s that there’s no real rock bottom. It can always get worse.
That shove will turn into a slap. That slap will turn into a punch. That punch will multiply into many punches. The opposite arm will lock around your throat so those punches can keep pummeling the breath right out of you and the night you think you’re gonna punch back—
No such thing as bad as bad gets, no limits, maybe if he really is dying, it’s for the best. Maybe dying is the best goddamn thing that can happen to you in a world where invisible knives slicing into you and screams shriveling like dead leaves—
(everyone leaves, doesn’t matter if it’s autumn)
—behind your chattering teeth could very well be the least of your suffering. It hurts so bad he can barely breathe.
Billy forces himself out of bed anyway. He always gets up even when he doesn’t want to, but today he’s outstandingly bad at it. His organs must be pureed from all the silent stabs and his legs buckle under him. His hands fly out when he falters, ceramic mug knocked off his nightstand.
When the tea spills on him, it’s cold and Billy’s confused because it’s supposed to be hot tea. Then he’s confused at his own confusion because no fucking shit it’s cold now, it’s been out for hours.
How many hours?
When did Susan put the kettle on?
How long has Susan been gone, Max in tow?
It feels like an eternity but Neil isn’t home yet, so Billy knows that’s not true. He has no idea what time it is, but he knows he’d know if Neil was home. Neil makes his presence known. Neil doesn’t set foot in this house without immediately staking claim to everyone’s attention.
Everyone?
There is no everyone anymore. Just Billy and Neil now. Billy got out of bed with the intention of finding his keys. Driving himself to the hospital. Because it’s been hours, how many he isn’t sure, but enough of them to mean he needs to go to the hospital. Go to the zoo?
No, he— he can’t go to the hospital.
He could make himself get up. Demons slice their claws through his stomach with every chill that wracks his frame and garble their guttural taunts right into his ears but he could get up. He could but he won’t, he knows better.
If Billy goes to the hospital, they’re going to call Neil. It’s a small town. Someone will know who he is even if he pretends to be too out of it to say. Someone will know he belongs to Neil and then Neil will be called. Then Neil will find out even sooner that he’s been left, and he’ll get mad, and Billy doesn’t know what he’ll do with the anger but it won’t be good.
Max and Sue need as much time as they can get, as much distance between him and his dad as possible before he finds out. He’s going to find out but they got a head-start and Billy won’t sabotage that. It’s better for him too, in case Neil decides to turn the rage his way. Neil takes responsibility for jack shit, he might even decide it’s Billy’s fault they're gone, because he got left behind to blame.
Billy could make himself get up but he won’t. He just pulls the comforter off the bed and over himself on the floor. It’s so bad he could writhe but that too, would make it worse. He’s waiting to watch a demon claw its way out of his stomach, like that scene in that one movie he watched with Max.
It wasn’t the last movie he watched with Max. Billy doesn’t remember the last movie he watched with Max, the last movie he’ll ever watch with Max. He’s never going to see her again. If he dies here on the carpet, he supposes he’ll never see anyone again.
Crying about it won’t help. Crying doesn’t solve anything.
Something is making a horrible yowling sound. There’s a stray cat in the neighborhood, it must be right outside his bedroom window. Or else it got inside somehow, it sounds so close. Its cries sound so wretchedly human.
Billy isn’t a brother anymore, he has demons twisting their pitchforks in his stomach, he’s too cold to catch his breath, and his cheeks are very wet. He doesn’t have any time or energy to chase around a stray cat, to stop it from making a mess.
Billy does not die on the floor. When his father comes home at first his yells are angry and then his yells are fearful. He calls an ambulance and cradles Billy close until it comes.
Billy loses himself in the whirlwind of activity that follows. He gets poked and prodded and jabbed, and someone blessedly takes his pain away but Billy doesn’t know who because everyone’s faces blur until they all look the same. He has too many white blood cells and not enough hydration.
Dehydration, that’s deja vu. But it’s not Susan talking about dehydration this time even though he wishes it was. He wishes it was?
Yes. No. She needed to get out. Max needed to get out. Billy has too many white blood cells and not enough hydration, and his fever’s so high they might as well bake cookies on him and— and if his mother were here, she would like that one, yeah, he definitely got his dry wit from her. Sardonic snark is right up Mom’s alley. But she had to get out too, everyone has to get out.
Except Billy. He’s fine. Well, he’s not fine, apparently he needs surgery, but he doesn’t need to escape. One day he will, but he doesn’t need to. It’s not a necessity. No matter what Max saw That Night he doesn’t remember, Neil would never kill him.
Neil would never, ever kill him. Billy is his only legacy. Piss poor legacy from Neil’s standpoint, sure, he’ll never let him forget it. But nonetheless, it’s the only one he’s got. Billy may blow his brains out when he gets bored of his twenties (if he even makes it that far) just to spite the bastard because he doesn’t want to be his good-for-nothing piece of shit legacy, he never asked for that.
But now is not the time to begrudge all he didn’t ask for, now is the time to count backwards.
“Dad?” Billy calls into the quiet nighttime of the room, blinking fuzzily at the figure slumped in the chair beside his bed. His throat feels like sandpaper, he swallows with an effort and tries again. “Dad?”
Neil stirs this time, eyes brightening, alert on Billy. “I’m here. Do you need something?”
Billy pauses. “M’sick, right?”
“Sure as shit you’re sick,” Neil huffs, eyes narrowing. “Almost lost all three of you in the same day.”
The words bounce around Billy’s skull.
“Susan left me,” Neil continues slowly, anger shimmering like hot coals underneath the veil of weariness. “All her stuff is gone, she took Max too. I don’t expect you knew anything about that?”
“No, sir,” Billy denies. “I thought they went shopping.”
“No. They certainly didn’t go shopping. They cleared out and left us behind. No explanation, no letter, not even a note.”
So it’s ‘us’ now, huh?
Billy widens his eyes, does his best to seem surprised as he attempts to sit up. Then he really is surprised, first at how awful of an idea that is, and then at realizing the blanket covering his hospital bed is one from home. One of Neil’s, fleecy and worn.
“Grabbed a few things from home. Needed something to do to keep my mind busy. You were on the operating table twice as long as they told me you were gonna be, Bill. Scared the hell out of me.”
“…why?”
“I’m told your appendix ruptured before they opened you up and that complicated things…you’re gonna be here for a little while, bud.” Neil gently rubs his shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
He answered the wrong question. Billy wasn’t asking why it took longer, he was asking why Neil was scared. But he doesn’t correct him. He swallows and hopes Max and Susan are safe. He wonders just what time they got to wherever they were going. Susan never shared the location or ever alluded to the distance from Hawkins. He hopes there were no mishaps along the way, no flat tires or fender-benders, or murderous traffic in backed up lanes.
“Not a baby,” he mutters. “Not gonna bitch about a stupid stomachache.”
At that, his father raises a brow. He gives a shake of the head and his hand leaves Billy’s shoulder. He makes a low noise in his throat that almost sounds like approval and covers Billy’s forehead with his hand. The heel of his palm is calloused and Billy knows he’s been hitting the bottle when the unmistakable scent of warm beer wafts over his nostrils.
“Well, it’s just us now, tough guy. You need to speak up if something’s really wrong, capeesh?”
He said it again. Us. They’re an us once more. Billy tiredly lifts his hand, bracing his elbow on the mattress to give his father’s forearm a squeeze.
“Yes, sir.”
#my fic tag#billy hargrove#neil hargrove#susan hargrove#max mayfield#anonymoose#i hope ur down w the combo#if not i'm open to writing smth else but pls don't be rude
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lakota: Ch 1
yoongi x jungkook (yoonkook) 3-chaptered fic
Prompts used:
The stars have been watching you your whole life, as you laughed and cried, loved and suffered. Today, you’re finally going to do something that none of them can bear to watch. They blink out, the whole night sky turning dark, just as you’re about to do it
When I was younger, I liked to think that at night, there were creatures that came from the stars to walk around on earth, watching over the people while they slept. You suddenly awake and find one standing in your garden.
It’s 3 am. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says “do not look at the moon.” You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending “it’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.”
Word Count: 15.5K+
Chapter 1: Ego
Next Part
The garden was empty. The starboy stood alone, waiting….
The night’s presence was unpredictable. Some were scared of the suspicious dark whilst others anticipated night to fall in order to leave their homes and bask in the nightlife. Yoongi was the latter, always preferring night to day, always staying up past dusk into the late hours just before dawn. To him, night meant quiet. Night was peace. Night held the stars and the stars held him.
The first time Yoongi met the boy was when he was young, about nine-years-old at the time. Yoongi had a nightmare that spurred his body to automatically wake up and set his mind into a frenzy. He couldn’t go back to sleep no matter how hard he tried. His entire being was now awake. Young Yoongi chose to glance out his window, deciding the best way to lull himself back to sleep was through his favorite pastime activity: stargazing.
His mother always said Yoongi was born amongst the stars and that’s why he had such a desire for night. Yoongi always went along with it, teasing that that was the reason why his skin was so pale and alight — because he was a star meant to be in the nighttime sky. His mother would always smile and joke back that the sun was his mortal enemy.
Yoongi felt connected to the night, the stars, the moon. He wished for people to be awake at night instead of the day because it was so much more beautiful and serene. His bedroom window overlooked their garden, a pond located in the center that always acted as a mirror to the sky that held the abundance of stars in its reflection. However, that night was different from before. Instead of the serene sight Yoongi was used to seeing, there was a boy reflected in the pond’s depth. Yoongi was awestruck as he watched on, the boy’s ringed fingers gliding over the top of the water, barely creating ripples as he seemed to admire the glass-like reflection as well. Finally, the boy’s eyes snapped up and Yoongi felt all the air leave his chest in one breath, accidentally fogging his windowpane and therefore his line of vision. By the time he smudged away the remnants, the boy was long gone, a single ripple in the pond echoing to the edge of the bank was the only indicator that Yoongi wasn’t hallucinating the whole ordeal.
The boy would return though, every night thereafter to be exact. And Yoongi would always wait for him, despite the boy insisting that it was breaking rules and shouldn’t be allowed (although every time Yoongi asked exactly what rules were they breaking, the other boy never knew the definitive answer). After about a week of stargazing in silence with one another, the boy offered one simple word: “Jeongguk”. That was enough for Yoongi to accept.
After that, Yoongi began sneaking Jeongguk food from whatever he could find in his pantry without waking his mother up. Jeongguk always nodded in thanks and the two boys ate in silence while watching the nighttime sky. More weeks went by before Jeongguk started pointing out constellations that Yoongi had already studied and was well-versed in, but regardless, he still listened diligently to the young boy with his brown-and-blue-hued hair and his slightly protruding front teeth. When Yoongi finally worked up the courage to ask the boy where he came from, the latter appeared to shut down and only measly pointed to the starry sky. Yoongi was confused but didn’t question him any further; something in his gut told him that Jeongguk was being honest in some way.
Eventually, the boys began talking more once they grew comfortable with each other’s presence, they even began playing games during their late hours spent together: tag, hide-and-seek, even UNO. Jeongguk was always better at the games and despite Yoongi’s constant complaints, he always enjoyed the way the other boy’s eyes would fiercely light up; it reminded him of the stars he liked to look at so much.
~
“Yoongi, where do you think you’re going with a slice of bread?”
“I… I’m gonna go feed the ducks in the garden?” Yoongi stuttered. His heart was racing, not expecting to be caught dead in his tracks by his mother at midnight. Is Jeongguk going to think I bailed on him? What if he leaves?
“Is that so? What about the missing chocolate animal crackers that have been disappearing for the past couple days? Are you feeding the ducks that?” His mother questions, an eyebrow raised, arms crossed.
“No, no! Of course not! Sometimes I get hungry myself! I need a snack for myself! It’s a win-win, Mom! The ducks get fed and I get fed. Who doesn’t like that?” Yoongi expresses, the piece of bread in his hand going soggy from how sweaty and clammy his palms are. Jeongguk is waiting for me. He’s probably hungry….
“Min Yoongi, come here,” she beckons and waits for Yoongi to oblige before continuing, “Honey, is this the reason why you’ve been sleeping in school? I’m getting really concerned about you. It’s starting to affect your grades, Yoon.”
Oh no, not the guilt. Anything but the guilt. Yoongi can’t stand the look on his mother’s face. It leaves him completely devastated.
“Yoongi, baby, look at me,” she tilts Yoongi’s face up to look at her. Tears are already swelling in Yoongi’s eyes. He can’t handle his mother’s disappointment. “Now, why are you crying?”
Yoongi can’t explain himself, the tears coming down in puddles and rivers. He can’t stop himself no matter how tight his mother hugs him or how rapidly she wipes them away, they just keep coming like a dam that’s been burst. He’s full-on sobbing within a few moments and his mother picks him up and cradles him, shushing him and gently scratching his back. A light melody brushes past her lips as she whispers a song that Yoongi is all too familiar with. It’s their favorite and they both know every single lyric. It instantly eases and silences Yoongi. His mother begins strolling to her room, Yoongi still in her arms, and soft lyrics still on her tongue. That night, Yoongi falls asleep in his mom’s bed, listening to her gentle voice, and a piece of soggy bread still clutched in his small fingers.
~
“Jeongguk, I’m really sorry for last night.” Yoongi apologizes, eyes averted down to where Jeongguk is circling his finger in the water of the pond.
“S’kay.” He curtly replies, still focused on his minuscule movements.
“Are you mad at me?”
“No,” Jeongguk replies, finally glancing at the other boy. “I can’t expect you to meet me every night. That’s asking for too much. You need your sleep, Yoongi.”
“You sound like my mother.”
Jeongguk smiles. Yoongi takes the opportunity to pass him a slice of bread (a new and fresh piece, not the one from last night) to which Jeongguk smiles even further, bunny teeth making a brief entrance. The boys spend the rest of the night in quiet bliss, just simply enjoying being around the other.
~
As Yoongi grows older, he begins to enjoy the night for different reasons. He discovers places that glow like a personalized rainbow, filled with people similar to him, that play music that Yoongi can sway his body too. It’s intense and fun and Yoongi feels intoxicated every time he steps through the nightclub’s doors, addicted to the way his heart leaps out of his chest and his eardrums pop with the rippling bass that he feels all the way down to his toes. He loves the atmosphere. He loves the people that always stare and he loves it even more when they approach, their rosy lips desperate to formulate and enunciate the syllables of just his name, and their fingertips that ghost over every part of his body in just the right way to make goosebumps form along the base of his neck. He loves it when they’re confident and arrogant and hungry to get his attention because the best way to get his attention is through his liquor intake. When Yoongi gets his free drink and sits back, thighs spread to invite this stranger — who, of course, may have potentially sore feet or legs (Yoongi is doing them a favor) — to have a seat, he receives even more attention. Yoongi discovers things about himself whilst tucked away in the dark corner of the nightclub. Yoongi can’t get enough of it all. The night is one of pleasure, fun, secrets, attention.
Yoongi always begs Jeongguk to come along. But the other boy always declines, opting to sit by the pond and eat snacks in silence. He’s taller and more fit than Yoongi now; however, he still acts the same as when they were nine. Yoongi isn’t sure how he feels about the development.
Some nights, all Yoongi wants is the harmonious peace that Jeongguk offers. Other nights, he just wants an escape; he craves something loud and energetic, a fun distraction that’s away from rules and feelings. Nights that are away from Jeongguk.
~
Yoongi realized earlier on that he had developed feelings for the quiet boy who held the galaxy in his eyes and an appetite that could put an entire animal farm to shame. Yoongi fell helplessly into his cute antics, competitive nature, his peace, his calm, his serene. Jeongguk was everything that Yoongi wasn’t. Jeongguk was warm and safe. Yoongi was cold and gaudy. Jeongguk was the quiet ripple of a pond and Yoongi was the blaring bass of the nightclub. Jeongguk was the soft pastel that filled your home and Yoongi was the striking chrome that blinded you.
It was only a matter of time before things spiraled.
His grades and sleep went to shit. He lost connection with himself. He destroyed himself, shattered every bone that supported him, burst every vein that led to his heart, and crushed the skull that kept his mind afloat. Yoongi lost himself within the maze of his own and he couldn’t find the way out.
How do you fall for a temporary person?
Yoongi needed permanent, stable, steady. He began believing that temporary was the only thing he deserved so he found a way to make it permanent. People come and go, temporary, but the attention always remained on him, permanent. If he was nothing then at least for a few moments to someone he was something worth seeking. He was someone worth approaching and getting involved with. He had potential for permanent despite the circumstances of temporary. And eventually, when the first one left with not only their presence but their attention, temporary, the next one would come and offer up their services to him, permanent.
Yoongi lost touch with not only the world around him but the universe within himself.
“Yoongi, we need to talk.” His mother’s tone was soft, gentle, kind. It made Yoongi feel absolutely sick.
Yoongi didn’t want anything to do with the sickly sweet that spilled into his bloodstream and threatened to poison him. “I can’t right now, I gotta—“
“Now.” His mother’s voice had an edge to it now, the paper clutch between her fingers getting crushed slightly from her tight grasp. Yoongi knew exactly what that paper was-- the school’s attempt to inform his mother how much of an academic failure he was.
There was no fighting, no arguing. It was straight to the point and Yoongi found himself actually desperate for a command. It meant he didn’t have to think for himself. It meant he didn’t have to think at all.
“Yoongi, what’s going on? Your grades are in the gutter. You look like a walking corpse. What’s going on?” Her voice was wavering throughout her questions, eyes trained solely on her son who twitched under her stare.
“Mom, it’s nothing—“ he started.
“Bullshit! Don’t you dare try to lie to me now, Min Yoongi. What do you need?”
What do I need? I need to go away.
“Mom, seriously, it’s nothing. You know how it is, typical teenager things. We’re emotional. It’s nothing I can’t handle on my own.” Yoongi’s composure was cool, stiff, as if he’d rehearsed this a million times.
“Yoongi,” his mother kneeled in front of his sitting form now, head on his lap and tears running down her face. Yoongi was stuck to his place, eyes glued to the precious being in front of him that was in pain because of him. She was in pain because he was in pain. Yoongi’s hands shook as he attempted to lift her back up, to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness for making the person he loved the most upset.
She refused and remained in her position. She repeated herself, “Yoongi…. Yoongi, my baby, what’s happening? You're not the person I know you are. What happened to my Yoon? Where’s my precious starboy? The boy who had excitement in his eyes and enjoyed the world around him, where is he? Why is there a hollow shell sitting in front of me? What's going on, Yoon? I’m here to help and guide you but I can’t even find you anymore.” By the end, his mother was sobbing and his jeans were soaked and his hands and pupils shook from shock.
“Mama…. mama, I’m so sorry.”
~
Yoongi stopped visiting Jeongguk for a while. His mother always consoled him during the night, making sure to keep an eye on her son so he didn’t leave the house in the darkest hours. He was finally able to catch up on sleep, he began caring about school again; however, none of that really mattered to Yoongi. There was still something missing. A part of him was gone and he felt confined, trapped, suffocated. He was still a walking shell, as his mother described. He was yet to be Min Yoongi — whatever the hell that meant.
Yoongi missed the drunk and the high, missed the nightclub and the attention, missed the serene and Jeongguk. Yoongi missed who he was. No matter how badly he wished to go back, he couldn’t. That Yoongi was just a naive child who didn’t know any better. Yoongi is old enough now to understand pain and loneliness. He feels tainted.
It wasn’t long before his night escapades began again. It was the only thing that made him feel alive throughout his stages of numb. Some nights he would go out to the town and find temporary fun, other times he would lay side-by-side with the boy who’s plagued him every night, whether physically or mentally in his dreams. Jeongguk’s eyes gave away his concern but he never prodded Yoongi to open up, always waiting until Yoongi was willing to admit what was happening in his life. Jeongguk would listen with his full attention and Yoongi soaked up every minute that Jeongguk’s focus was solely on him.
Yoongi’s feelings for the other boy kept expanding and he found himself going out less and less and becoming more accustomed to meeting Jeongguk every night, much like how he used to when they were younger. Back then, Yoongi was able to stay awake much longer but now he’s constantly tired and has to physically force himself to keep his eyes open with the younger-looking boy. He eventually fails though, every single time, with his eyes and mind drifting in the quiet serenity that Jeongguk always brings with him.
His mother wakes him up every morning from the garden, eyes no longer filled with concern but with humor and delight.
“You look happier now.” She comments soon after it becomes a regular occurrence.
Yoongi can only smile as he shoves another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
“I don’t know what changed and I’m not going to persist if you don’t wanna talk about it but,” she trails off, deliberately being considerate of her choice of words. “I’m happy to see that shine in your eyes again. I know it’s not entirely the same but it’s a start. I’m really happy.”
“I’m getting happy again too, Mom.”
“I know I said I’m not gonna pry but—“
“Mom! No!”
“Is it a special someone?”
Yoongi almost chokes on his cereal. He considers it for a brief moment, wondering if it’ll get him out of this embarrassingly awkward situation.
“Maybe.”
“Oh! I just knew it! Tell me about it!” She squeals in delight.
“He...I don’t know, Mom. He’s a star.” Yoongi blunty states, recalling what Jeongguk once told him when they were children.
“He’s an idol?”
“No! No he’s literally a star!”
“Wow, you must think really highly of this boy to compare him to a star.” She comments, eyes wide as a smile slowly creeps on the corners of her lips.
“No! Ugh!” Yoongi groans, feigning frustration at his mom obviously not taking him seriously. He isn’t actually upset though, a hidden smile crossing his face as well before he bursts into chuckles that soon turn into a fit. His mother joins in alongside him and when they’ve both settled down, they can’t stop sharing warm grins.
A few months later and Yoongi’s mother casually drops she was surprised that he was so open to admit to her that he was crushing on a boy.
“Why were you surprised?” He questions.
“I know it’s not a common sight or idea present at your school. Plus we’ve never really discussed anything regarding ‘sexuality’ so I know you don’t have a lot of exposure to it. To me, that means I did a pretty damn good job at making you feel safe enough to tell me right away without any hesitation. It’s a hard feeling to express, Yoon, but I’m glad it seemingly came easy to open up to me.” She admits openly, getting a little tongue-twisted in explaining her exact thoughts.
But Yoongi understands. He understands that it’s not always easy for kids to admit their attraction when it goes against the heteronormative standards that everyone is raised in. Yoongi doesn’t recall feeling scared or ashamed to tell his mom about his feelings but he’s not sure he’d feel comfortable admitting to it to some people at his school.
“You know, mom, I’m not gay,” Yoongi starts. “That label doesn’t feel quite right to me. I’m still figuring me out but thank you for being so understanding and loving… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’re thanking me for being a decent parent who loves her child regardless of their sexual preferences…. there’s no need for that, you silly boy.” She breathily laughs, arms opening wide to encase Yoongi in a warm hug. “My sweet Yoon, I’ll love you regardless.”
Yoongi’s eyes get wet of their own accord and it isn’t long before he leaves dark spots on his mother’s sweater from his tears. Yoongi is lucky, he knows. There isn’t an adequate way to describe his feelings as anything other than warm, safe, loved.
Permanent.
“So… do you still have a crush on this boy?”
“Mom!”
-
That night, Yoongi is waiting out in the garden for Jeongguk. He wants to see the boy descend from wherever he comes from. He wonders if the whole “star” thing is bullshit but deep down he knows the answer already. An hour soon passes with Yoongi distracting himself by playing with the ripple of the pond. It’s only when he sees Jeongguk’s reflection in the water that he realizes he missed the boy’s grand entrance.
“Fuck!” He curses, agitated that he missed the ordeal.
Jeongguk smiles, probably confused about why Yoongi is already cursing. “You beat me here today. What’s the occasion?”
Yoongi feels heat flush his cheeks. “Does there need to be one? Maybe I just wanted to see you.”
Now it’s Jeongguk’s turn to blush, his mouth coming together in a small pout and his eyes expanding and dilating to the point Yoongi could mistake it for the clear pond. Jeongguk quickly sits down, hiding his face from Yoongi by turning his head to the ground and feigning interest in the grass.
They sit there for a while, both silent but content in being next to one another. Yoongi finds himself staring at the other boy in awe, always taken aback by how naturally pretty Jeongguk looks.
“You know, I came out to my mom today,” Yoongi starts. “She took it really well. I’m— I’m really happy right now.”
Jeongguk smiles. “I’m happy you’re happy. She seems wonderful.”
“She is.” Yoongi is cheesing right now, “You’d really like her, I think.”
“If she’s anything like you then I have no doubt I will.” Jeongguk admits, facing Yoongi before tucking his head back down.
Yoongi feels the heat spread to his cheeks once again but his grin only gets wider. He stares at the boy still, his hands shaking in his lap as he contemplates his next move. Finally, he decides to be bold. His hand snaps up to gently grab hold of Jeongguk’s face, wordlessly tilting it up so he’s forced to look directly at Yoongi.
Yoongi had to scoot closer in order to reach the other boy so now they sit in front of each other, legs touching, Yoongi’s hand gripping Jeongguk’s chin, and eyes never leaving the other’s. Yoongi’s pupils are moving as fast as they can to scan every inch of Jeongguk’s face while he’s this close. He counts every star in his eyes, keeps track of all the little moles sprinkled on his face, delicately rubs the scar on Jeongguk’s cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. He wants to remember every little detail about the boy he became so enamored with, the one he can’t get out of his head, the one he anticipates and expects every single night. Yoongi is used to bottling his feelings up or tucking them away into the dark recesses of his mind so he doesn’t have to deal with it; however, tonight is when the cork has been pulled, the glass bottle shattering, and with it, all his ignored feelings towards the boy from the stars.
Yoongi can’t look away, is scared too. He’s scared by his own emotions. Jeongguk doesn’t realize just how much power he holds over him, unknowingly has Yoongi wrapped around his pretty little finger. Yoongi can’t breathe.
He wants to let go, to run away, but he’s frozen to his spot. He wants to climb in Jeongguk’s lap, throw his arms around his neck and mold himself to the boy, but once again, he’s frozen in place.
Letting go feels too hard, too much, too burdensome, too final. Yoongi is sick of suppressing his emotions. He wants to feel it all, no matter how much it hurts. It’s why he doesn’t back down from Jeongguk’s stare.
Jeongguk keeps his stare, albeit his pupils wide in shock. “Yoongi….”
And that’s all it takes before Yoongi is pulling Jeongguk in closer to himself by his chin. He tugs him until their lips barely brush, waiting for the star to express his consent. A few beats pass, their breaths both ragged in anticipation as their mouths still don’t quite touch. Their eyes are both half-lidded but retain their eye contact. Yoongi is unsure how much time passes — could be seconds or an hour — but he loves seeing Jeongguk in this dazed state. He traces every curve of the younger boy with his eyes, keeps his fingers gently enclosed around his chin as he feels barely-there stubble, becomes intoxicated on the warm and shallow breath that leaves Jeongguk’s parted lips that are so damn close to meeting his own.
Finally, Jeongguk releases a low whine, long eyelashes meeting the plump swell of his soft cheeks as he closes his eyes and his arms clumsily wrap around Yoongi’s neck to pull him forward to finally finally finally connect their lips.
Yoongi groans, the anticipation leading to adrenaline rushing through his veins straight to his heart. His eyes close, his hearing filled with only that of his heartbeat which soon becomes white noise as he focuses so intently on the boy who’s been his safe haven for years now. The boy who held stars in his eyes and who was a direct descendant from the nighttime sky that protected Yoongi through his worst times. Yoongi’s lips are rougher than Jeongguk’s but the other doesn’t seem to mind as he presses even more into the older, just as desperate for this touch, this connection, this kiss.
It starts with just a harsh press of mouths against one another, both boys just hopelessly wanting to feel the other. Jeongguk’s hands seek refuge in the raven strands of Yoongi’s hair, blunt fingernails scraping against his scalp. Yoongi groans, hot breath fanning Jeongguk’s mouth as he presses the younger down into the plush grass of the garden. His slim fingers grip onto Jeongguk’s hip bones, thumb slowly pressing circles into the upheaval of his body. Yoongi watches Jeongguk’s reactions, watches as the younger’s eyelids barely open and his lips pout, desperate and anticipating Yoongi.
Yoongi doesn’t give in right away, just continues admiring the boy beneath him. Jeongguk’s fingers are now entangled in Yoongi’s hair as he whines and begs. “Yoongi… Yoongi please. Please.”
The noise that rises from Yoongi’s throat is inhuman, as he listens to the pretty boy’s pleas. He can’t resist any longer.
His body bends forward, pressing warm open-mouthed kisses against Jeongguk’s throat, his teeth delicately hovering over his bobbing Adam’s apple. He finds his way to the spot just below his jaw, teeth finally digging into flesh as he bites and marks what is his. Jeongguk’s cries are pretty and addictive and Yoongi wants to hear more as he licks the wound and trails his pink tongue up to Jeongguk’s earlobe. There, his bites are gentler with more kisses intertwined in the mix. Jeongguk is moaning now, the gentle noise reverberates and echoes throughout Yoongi’s body as he presses their chests even closer together.
“Yoongi—Yoongi. I—“ Jeongguk can’t even form sentences, just breathlessly begging Yoongi to kiss the spot he really wants. Yoongi smirks, wanting to tease him more but deciding against it as he’s also waited so long for this moment. His parted lips seek Jeongguk’s own, his upper lip now encased between Jeongguk’s soft and plush ones. They only stay like that for a few moments before Yoongi is turning his head in order to deepen their kiss, deepen their connection. His tongue gently traces Jeongguk’s bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth, teeth grazing it as he snaps it back in place. Jeongguk groans once more, his grip on Yoongi’s hair almost painful as he tugs the older boy impossibly closer to him. His legs have now opened to fit Yoongi comfortably between them and Yoongi can’t help but feel as if they were the perfect mold together.
Their kiss continues, slick noises and gasps filling the space as their tongues intertwine and teeth occasionally clash as lips are tugged and sucked on. Yoongi feels eternal, permanent. He wishes this moment would never seize.
However, the night sky watches on as the two boys continue displaying their love in the company of the bright moon and twinkling stars.
Stars and mortals were not meant to fall in love.
—
The next night rolls around and Yoongi is desperate to see Jeongguk again, wanting nothing more than to reaffirm their feelings for one another as words escaped them the previous night. However, Jeongguk does not show up that night. Or the nights that follow. And neither the moon or stars make an appearance during that time as well.
—
Months have gone by since that fateful encounter where Yoongi and Jeongguk expressed their desire for one another in the inky depths of the night. The world has changed permanently after that night, the moon and stars ceased existing — as well as Jeongguk. He never came back. And Yoongi fell apart.
Everything he confided in, everything he trusted and loved was ripped away from him with no explanation. Everything he believed to be permanent was nothing more than temporary and his spirit broke when the golden beams that accompanied the night darkened. The serenity that Jeongguk brought disappeared indefinitely and Yoongi has long forgotten the feeling of peace. He can no longer quite remember how many stars were in Jeongguk’s eyes or how the scar on his cheekbone felt under the pad of his thumb. He can’t remember the warmth of Jeongguk’s mouth or how blue his hair was. Yoongi has forgotten, much like how he was forgotten.
He becomes numb once more and now his mother’s pleas no longer move his heart. He doesn’t feel guilt or sorrow at her dejected gaze as he continues cruising through the motions that is his temporary existence.
He crawls back to the sanctuary of the nightclubs as they are the only lights in the dark night sky. There, he meets Jimin who comes closest to making any sort of spark ignite within Yoongi but it’s not enough to reclaim Yoongi’s broken heart. But, Jimin feels good pressed against him. He’s so warm and pretty that Yoongi can’t help but to keep his eyes fixated on him throughout the night. It doesn’t help that Jimin seems to be just as frequent of an attender as Yoongi. They both seem to find refuge in the dark corners of the nightclub, desperately seeking any sort of comfort throughout the unknown. As the world flips over twice due to the literal disappearance of the moon and all the stars that accompanied her, Jimin and Yoongi’s mouths mold together in order to find normalcy.
It becomes a common routine for the two of them to meet tucked away from the bright lights and chaos of the night, clinging to any form of warmth they can find within another body. They don’t speak much, only seeking physical intimacy as they escape each of their own heartbreak and ignore the outside world that seems to also be breaking. Yoongi can feel Jimin’s hurt through his kisses just as he’s sure the other can feel his own pain. They openly use each other and neither seem to mind as they each picture someone else standing in their place. Yoongi wishes it was Jeongguk’s collarbones he’s marked while Jimin imagines a man named ‘Taehyung’ that he’s sitting in the lap of; however, they both know their wishes are for naught.
So they continue to kiss. And it was easier to stay like that. It was easier to hide the lonely in a mask of affection. It was easier to kiss someone else than to crave it from the one their hearts desired. It was easier to pretend that their hearts didn’t belong elsewhere together than it was to face the truth of their abandoned love alone.
Perhaps that is the true definition of heartbreak.
~
It’s been eight months since the moon vanished from the sky and on this particular night, Yoongi doesn’t feel like going out. Instead, he curls onto the window ledge as he looks out into the garden. The sky is entirely black, its inky depths looking endless and sending slight goosebumps down Yoongi’s body. He wonders if Jeongguk is somewhere out there in its vast expanse, wonders if he’s looking down upon Yoongi.
The television plays in the background, the news channel the last thing that was on. It’s become redundant and Yoongi can’t even be surprised by the stories as he listens to the reporters who have been covering similar cases throughout these eight months of empty night skies.
Once people discovered that the moon and its twinkling stars had disappeared, it wasn’t long before mayhem spread throughout civilization. Some places were overrun by the people and anarchy spread. Regardless, chaos was evident anywhere you went as no one could explain the sudden change. Cults grew in size and took control in certain areas as they spread the idea of sacrifices to appease the supposed Moon God. What once started as a mere conspiracy theory to be ridiculed quickly spread to the masses the longer the moon failed to reveal itself. Yoongi’s area hadn’t been taken control of by these people but it didn’t mean there weren't people with this ideology present throughout his city. It was dangerous as they were willing to slaughter anyone in order to make the moon reappear — it’s why his mom was so against Yoongi going out anywhere at night and is what caused him to always sneak out in order to find solstice in Jimin at the nightclubs.
The reporters are discussing another murder that took place but Yoongi zones out, continuing his silent stare at the dim world. Gentle and familiar hands wrap around his shoulders as his mother sits beside him on the window ledge. She keeps her embrace around Yoongi tight, kissing the side of his head as he continues looking out.
“Hi baby.”
“Hi mom.”
“Thinking?” She asks, her head now falling onto Yoongi’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” he breathes out as his mother’s presence comforts and soothes his wandering mind.
“Bet it’s just as dark in there,” she lightly pokes him in the forehead, “as it is out there.” She jokes as she now motions to the black sky.
“Maybe just a bit,” Yoongi sadly smiles, his head now falling upon his mother’s as they sit in silence looking out into the abyss of the night.
His mother is the first to break the stillness. “It’s late, you know. Why don’t we go to bed? I’ll even allow you the privilege of sleeping with me like you did when you were younger.”
Yoongi chuckles, nodding slowly in agreement as he remembers the night he slept with his mother after getting caught sneaking Jeongguk a piece of bread. Jeongguk. The memory feels painful when Yoongi remembers that specific aspect of it. He misses Jeongguk. He wonders if Jeongguk misses him.
Yoongi shakes his head. He wouldn’t have disappeared without a trace if he truly missed him. No, instead Jeongguk gave the mere impression of being permanent until Yoongi was used to him before he ran away into temporary. With him, he took everything Yoongi once loved: the night, the moon, the stars. Yoongi hates him. He wonders if maybe he made Jeongguk up as a way to cope with his loneliness. He wonders if all things in his life are only temporary and if it will continue being that way.
His mother nudges him, waiting for him to get off the windowsill so they can go to sleep together in her room. She jostles him out of his reverie — Yoongi is quite thankful for that, not wanting to further spiral into the thoughts that’s consumed him for the last eight months — and follows her to her bedroom.
He feels young again as he lays down on the opposite side of his mom. Such a trivial act felt so comforting to him when he was a child, but now, he can’t seem to feel permanent in any facet of his life. He craves so desperately for things to go back to the way they were but he knows that is just him being wistful and naive. Maybe he was thinking like a child.
He imagines what will happen when the moon and stars return. Maybe they won’t ever. Maybe he won’t survive long enough to witness their return. Maybe he’ll be the next sacrificial lamb in that damned cult’s crazy plan—
“Yoon.” His mother’s word is stern as it is light. “You’re thinking a lot. You look like you’re gonna shit yourself when you think so intently and I swear to God if you shit on my clean bed I’ll—“
He smiles, tilting his head up to look at his mother as she is already beaming at him. He can only shake his head, playing with his fingers to distract himself. “We’re dealing with the apocalypse and you’re concerned about if your bed sheets are clean or not? Talk about not having your priorities in check.”
She snorts, pushing his head to the side as a gentle way to reprimand him. “Shut it. The world isn’t ending.”
Yoongi attempts to remove her palm from his cheek, except she is much stronger than she appears as he fails at his plan. “How are you so sure of that? Has this ever happened in your lifetime?”
Instead of the immediate ‘no’ that Yoongi was anticipating, his mom remains quiet. A few moments pass before she finally speaks, “Once. It wasn’t quite like this though.”
With her sudden change of thoughts, Yoongi is able to easily remove her grip from his face and he sits up, still holding onto her wrist as he waits for her to continue.
“Yoon… I haven’t ever really told you about my parents, did I?”
Yoongi shakes his head, his fingers subconsciously squeezing his mother’s wrist a bit tighter.
“Hm,” she hums, collecting her bearings as she thinks. “Well, it’s quite similar to our own living situation except instead of a single mom, I grew up with just my dad.”
“What happened with your mom?” Yoongi’s voice is quiet, curious about the answer.
“She had to leave.”
Yoongi is confused but doesn’t pry, just waits.
His mom continues, “She left shortly after giving birth to me. My dad always talked about that night as I grew up. The night she left was when the moon and the stars disappeared. But that time, it only happened for a night or two. Never eight months. But we survived then, so we’ll survive now.”
A few beats pass. Yoongi thinks. “Are you implying it disappears when someone important leaves us?”
“I didn’t say that. Did someone important leave you, Yoongi?”
His eyes widen, realizing his mistake, realizing he never mentioned that Jeongguk disappeared or that he even really existed to his mom before. But he’s been found out. So he comes clean. “Yeah. Yeah, he did…. Did you ever see your mom again?”
She shakes her head as a ‘no’. Yoongi feels his heart break just a little further.
It is when Yoongi is about to turn over to his side and let unconsciousness consume him when he hears her whisper. “The reason I know the world isn’t ending is because the stars are made to watch and guide us. Even if we can’t see them they haven’t abandoned us. They’re still watching over us.”
—
Two more months have passed since the moon and stars have disappeared. The country is filled with cultists and Yoongi can’t even bring himself to care in the slightest, still desiring the warmth of another human being to hopefully bring him back down to reality.
He hasn’t thought about Jeongguk recently, only focusing on living day by day. He tries avoiding the news as well as getting killed in the streets. He doesn’t like being alone in his room at home so he escapes whenever he gets the chance to. Jimin is always quick to welcome him into his home, into his bed, into himself. Jimin is warmth and distraction and Yoongi craves him more and more.
-
He wakes up to his phone vibrating underneath the pillow. He groans, untangling his legs from Jimin’s and rolling out his stiff shoulder as he unlocks his phone to check who would be texting him so late at night. Jimin sleepily mutters, rolling over to face the window but continues dozing soundly. Yoongi grins at the sight of his puckered lips and squished cheeks before averting his attention back to his phone.
It’s littered with dozens upon dozens of messages — some from text, some from missing calls, others from news sites. Yoongi is confused as he quickly tries scanning the text from his too-bright screen. A headline instantly sticks out to him: “The Moon is Back!”
Yoongi feels his stomach drop.
He opens his Messages app, instantly flooded with texts from random numbers all telling him that the moon is back and he should look at it right away. He feels queasy as the messages continue coming in before he rapidly texts an old friend from school.
Yoongi: Hoseok, have you heard about the news? Is it true? Is the moon really back? What’s going on?
He decides to read some of the articles while he waits.
The Moon is Back! We’ve all been desperately waiting for this day to arrive but is it as joyous a reunion as we all hoped?
...
Reports coming in from our field agents are all indicating that the sight of the blood moon is incredibly dangerous! We here at the station have been told to tell you all that you should NOT look at the moon. We repeat, do NOT look at the moon. It is imperative that you do not go outside; instead, close your blinds and stay far away from the windows until sunrise.
Yoongi gulps, his fingers visibly shaking as he continues holding his phone. He wants to know if it’s true. If the moon is really back. If the stars followed suit and are also glistening in the depths of the black sky he once loved. If Jeongguk has also returned.
It’s a subconscious plea, a masked question that Yoongi is desperate to figure out. Is he finally back?
But from the news reports, the moon doesn’t seem quite like it was before it disappeared. A blood moon? Yoongi feels hollow. He knows that his moon, his stars, his Jeongguk, have not returned, else this uneasy feeling wouldn’t be so prominent in his entire being. He was silly to have hope in the first place.
Hoseok doesn’t reply to his texts and Yoongi can’t shake the gut-feeling that’s telling him there’s something wrong. He quickly dresses, trying to remain as silent as possible so as not to disturb the peacefully ignorant Jimin. As he approaches the younger’s open blinds, he makes sure to avert his eyes to the ground so he doesn’t see the apparently dangerous moon. But even as he closes the blinds shut, Yoongi notices the reflection in the window pane. There, he sees it. Sees the blood-like red moon that is perfectly full as it sits comfortably in the jet sky. Sees not a single star or cloud beside it.
What’s going on? Where’s the stars? Where’s my star?
It looks menacing and Yoongi shudders the more he thinks about it. Something is definitely wrong.
Yoongi leaves Jimin’s place, popping the hood of his hoodie over his head and tilting his head down to focus on the ground and avoid the temptation of looking at the sky as he rushes back to his own home. Shortly into his departure, he hears it. Hears the hysteria and the mania and the panic and the bloodshed.
First, the sirens alert him. They start far into the distance and make Yoongi believe it is merely the ringing of his own ears but the sound cuts the distance quickly as if to mock him. They blare everywhere and all around him yet nowhere near him all at once. Yoongi can’t keep his bearings about him. Can’t distinguish the different tones of the sirens as there are too many each encasing on him. Is that a cop? Is it a fire? Is it the tornado or hurricane siren? What disaster is it trying to alert him of? They all pound at his eardrums in blaring rhythms that leave the boy all types of discombobulated. It is when the screams and the laughs and the shouts begin is when Yoongi forces himself to sprint.
Next, Yoongi can smell the fire, the smoke, the flesh. It penetrates his nose, forcing him to smack his hands to his face to try to shoo it away but it is too late. It has already burrowed far into his nostrils and made a home deep within the pits of Yoongi’s mind. He can't get rid of the stench as it consumes him fully and burns away at his nose until he is choking and gagging trying to rid him of the sense. He falls victim to it, especially as he passes a burning building. He can smell the brick as it burns, the thick coarse smoke as it suffocates him and seeks refuge within his lungs, desperately clawing at his lungs to make them as black as it is. But the smell of flesh burning is something that Yoongi can’t handle. He drops to his knees on the hard cement as he hurls and gags and vomits everything he had inside his stomach and then some. It’s too much. Especially paired with the screams of those that fall victim to the unrelenting flame. He hears them. He smells them. Yoongi is so fucking scared.
Every muscle within his body is screaming, aching, crying. He shakes with tremors that could be mistaken for an earthquake and the noises he produces as he tries getting everything that went inside him out: the smoke, the burning flesh, the sirens, the screams, the wails, the hysteria, the fear. He wants it all out, gone. Instead it has him in a chokehold and is easily dominating him. Yoongi can’t win. It hurts. He’s scared. He’s crying. And vomiting. It’s not stopping. What’s going on. Whatwhywhywhywhy.
His vision is clouded by his tears as they cling and clump to his eyelashes and blind him. His nose is slick with tears and mucus and snot. It burns from the foul odors wafting all around him and it won’t dissipate no matter how hard Yoongi blows and covers it with his hoodie sleeves. His mouth is strewn with his spit, his vomit, his own blood. He doesn’t know how the copper ended up there but he’s sure he bit himself hard to bring him back to his senses. He feels so utterly helpless. Then, he hears them.
He hears the people he’s heard about on the news for the last ten months.
The cultists who demand and seek out innocent blood in order to appease a fake god to falsely bring the moon back. But Yoongi knows that they are much much much worse now since the moon has returned. The moon that is soaked with all their spilt blood.
He hears their deranged laughs, their sickly chuckles. Can practically imagine their heads coiling back and their tongues darting out of their slack jaws as they find joy in killing for sport. Monsters. He realizes that all the burning buildings, all the dead bodies laying in the street, all the sirens and the screams before him all stemmed from these fucking lunatics. Their wails echo around him. They’re so close. Yoongi is their next target. He needs to run. He needs to go.
Yoongi’s body moves on his own accord. He doesn’t feel in control of his own limbs, instead, the adrenaline acts as his trusty guide and his brain only focuses on the gruesome carnage that rests all around him. He steps on corpses and motionless blobs that were once living, breathing people. He wants to vomit again. He wants to hunch over and just scream and cry and puke and sob and blame this damned moon and stars for cursing him, cursing him into such damnation. Instead, he continues running as fast as he can to put as much distance between him and the wreckage. Despite not looking at the moon, Yoongi knows that the entirety of the sky is now red too.
His legs don’t quit no matter how much they ache and burn. Yoongi runs as fast as he can away from the city and into the hopeful shelter of his more isolated home. But as he approaches the quaint building, his heart plummets and the safety he so desperately sought is cruelly ripped away from him. In front of him, his home lays raw and bare and broken. The windows are all busted, leaving a glittering mound of broken glass everywhere. The front door is completely horizontal as it was ripped away from its hinges. There are missing chunks of bricks scattered about and Yoongi dreads approaching even closer to the scene. But there in the open doorway, he sees his worst nightmare come to fruition.
Yoongi no longer hesitates as he glides over the broken glass, too consumed with the sickly sight of deathly crimson staining the entryway of his beloved home to care about getting pricked by the sharp edges. He follows the trail of blood further into his house and his knees wobble and bend and shake and he quickly drops to them, having to forcibly crawl his way to the ending of the bloodied path.
His mother. His beautiful mother who was Yoongi’s only family, his only home, his only permanent now lays at the end of the trail and Yoongi is crying as he grabs hold of her barely-moving form.
“Yoon?” Her voice is weak and gravely and it takes her eyes too long to focus on Yoongi’s.
“Mama… mama what happened…? Please. Please, you'll be okay. You’ll be okay, okay? Don’t worry, mama, I’m here. I’m gonna fix you, okay? Please. Please, you’ll be okay.” Yoongi is a hysterical mantra, desperately attempting to console himself, probably more so than his mom.
She smiles. Yoongi hates the sight.
“Yoongi, I’m so glad you weren’t here.” Her hand cups his cheek and he feels ill at the sight of her azule veins. They shouldn’t be so prominent. Her skin is too pale.
He’s hiccuping, rocking their bodies together as the sobs continue to rack through his body in immense and violent waves.
“Hey, Yoon. Let me tell you a secret,” Yoongi is shaking his head, not wanting to hear anything. He doesn’t want to hear things that sound like a goodbye. He can’t. Nonetheless, his mother’s soft voice persists. “Way back when, when you told me about your crush, I knew what you meant. I know he’s a star. Wanna know why I know? Wanna know why I knew that the stars are meant to protect us?”
Yoongi’s all-types of muddled but he distinctly remembers the conversation his mother is referencing from a few years prior:
“Is it a special someone?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh! I just knew it! Tell me about it!” She squeals in delight.
“He...I don’t know, Mom. He’s a star.” Yoongi blunty states, recalling what Jeongguk once told him when they were children.
“He’s an idol?”
“No! No, he’s literally a star!”
“Wow, you must think really highly of this boy to compare him to a star.” She comments, eyes wide as a smile slowly creeps on the corners of her lips.
“No! Ugh!”
He’s so confused. She knew that Jeongguk was an actual star? How?
Her smile only grows bigger. “Yoon… my sweet starboy, I didn’t tell you everything about my childhood but—“ she coughs, blood staining her lips and Yoongi is about to pick her up to take her to the first aid kit in the bathroom but his mother stops him. “My mother, too, was a star. She fell in love with my dad and that’s when I was born. She had to leave to go back to where she came from because apparently it’s forbidden for stars and humans to fall in love. That was when the moon and stars disappeared, sorta like how they’re doing now.”
He’s blank. He doesn’t know how to process her words. He’s stuttering and tripping over anything that attempts to form a coherent thought. A soft yet firm grip on his shoulder snaps him out of his reverie, his body tensing at the sudden contact.
His head swivels to look at the intruder but his mouth instantly dries and drops at the sight before him. Jeongguk stands before him, slightly crouched over to peer at his dying mother. The sight of the boy brings back every moment that Yoongi shared with him, playing like a slideshow before his very eyes: the night he first saw Jeongguk out his window when they were boys, sharing bread with Jeongguk, playing tag and Uno with Jeongguk, sleeping beside Jeongguk, opening up to Jeongguk, kissing Jeongguk. It all slaps Yoongi in the face and he feels the biting sting as all the memories come to the forefront of his mind after forgetting about Jeongguk.
“Is this the star you fell in love with?” His mother’s voice is much more frail, yet somehow sounds blissfully light and relaxed. Yoongi looks back down at her in his arms and his tears pool out even more. “It’s gonna be hard, Yoongi. I know baby, shhh, it’s going to be okay in the end. I know.” The smile never leaves her face, even as the light in her eyes fades out and her hand falls limp beside her body.
Yoongi wails and screams and sobs as he clutches her. The one person who remained permanent despite all his stupid bullshit. The one person who loved him unconditionally and provided for him in every way imaginable. She was home. Now she is gone. He squeezes her body tight, falsely hoping that just maybe if he squeezes hard enough she’ll come back together again. He knows his efforts are futile but he can’t help the attempt. She looks so peaceful and beautiful despite the bloodied marks littering her body and still dripping blood. His own hands are filled with the crimson liquid but he still clutches tightly to her limp body as he screams his sorrows into the maroon of the night. Jeongguk lingers behind him, allowing Yoongi to yell his throat raw as he wraps his own arms around Yoongi’s shoulders to consolidate and ground him.
So, Yoongi continues his wails well into the night, letting his body tire to the point he collapses on the spot.
He was never actually a starboy. It was his mother who was interconnected with the nighttime sky and it’s beautiful mirage of stars that decorated it. She was a product of an ill-fated love between those that are supposed to overlook and protect and those that admired them from a safe distance away on Earth. She was the first and only byproduct of star and mortal; the original stargirl. Her DNA was littered and interwoven with the galaxy and it was only right that her untimely death brought back the return of the night sky’s occupants. However, they were angry. They were angry at what they witnessed from their positions up above. Stars and mortals were not supposed to fall in love but the stargirl shared their same blood and genetic code. One of their own was murdered by the ones they were supposed to watch over.
Those reckless and inhumane humans that were so adamant for the moon to return that they were willing to cross an unthinkable boundary of spilling innocent blood were now the ones being killed for sport by the moon and all its stars. They sought revenge for the murder of the stargirl, sought the mortals’ blood that dared spill the blood of one of their own. The humans’ sacrifices to the moon were for naught because now the moon was punishing them by making them the sacrifices and using the stainage of their blood to color her red.
The blood moon was an act of revenge. It was to make the mortals mad with lunatacy in a salvageable attempt to have them atone for their crimes. Those that witnessed the moon in all its crimson glory were filled with the inexplicable urge to commit self destruction and thus paint her a deeper hue of vermilion.
The stargirl has died. One of their own has died. The first and only mortal star has died. And now Yoongi is the only one left with a mere fraction of stardust littering his veins.
~
Yoongi awakens groggily. Everything hurts and he just wants to roll over and go back to sleep. His eyes are swollen, his throat is raw, his legs ache from the soreness that spreads throughout the entirety of his body. His hand naturally reaches up to bristle the hair out of his face but the sight of scarlet has Yoongi halting his ministrations. That’s when the events of last night hit him at full force.
He jolts awake then, physically flinching at the sight of his hands covered in his mother’s dried blood. He chokes and spittles but there’s no tears left in his system to release. His body shakes and it takes him a few minutes to be steady enough to stand from his bed. When did he get into his bed?
He stumbles but eventually makes it to the living area where the stain of blood still lingers but the body that caused it is nowhere to be found. He’s surely lost his mind. He wanders the empty and barren house, checking every room for Jeongguk or his mother. However, he finds neither.
He calls and shouts for them, albeit reopening the wounds in his raw throat and causing a cascade of coppery liquid to flow in its wake. No one responds. The house is empty. He’s all alone. Yoongi feels so fucking lonely. Every step he takes around the beaten house echoes and creaks and it reminds him of how hollow he feels inside. He was hoping that last night had been nothing more than a nightmare or a fever dream or a cruel figment of his imagination but he knows that the emptiness he feels within is too real to be caused from a dream and the blood that still lingers on the floor is too prominent to be a hallucination.
There is no more blood moon, no more Jeongguk, no more of his mother, no more of his home. Yoongi is officially left all by himself.
What now?
~
Eventually Yoongi calls Jimin, hoping for his safety after the night of the deadly blood moon. Fortunately, the younger one picks up and thanks Yoongi for closing his blinds but still scolds him for even daring to step foot outside.
“You’re lucky to be alive, you know?!”
Yoongi doesn’t feel lucky. He kinda wishes he wasn’t alive. Regardless, he doesn’t want to upset Jimin. “Yeah, I know.”
“I’m serious, Yoongi! Apparently if anyone looked at the moon they went all crazy — even more so than usual — and would just kill themselves. All Bird Box-esque. So many buildings burnt down because people just lit themselves on fire after they looked at it. It’s fucking crazy!”
“You’re lucky your own building didn’t burn down. God knows you would’ve probably just slept through it.”
Jimin laughs. Yoongi always did love the sound of the melody. He likes Jimin’s voice. Thinks it’s unique and special.
“You’re probably right. I was knocked out until dawn. Didn’t wake up for anything!” Jimin laughs once more.
Yoongi’s voice is very even compared to Jimin’s. He doesn’t feel well enough to express varying degrees of emotion despite the crazy circumstances. “Have you talked to Taehyung? Is he all good?”
Jimin’s end goes silent for a few moments. “Yeah, he’s all good. How about you?”
“What?”
“You know, Min Yoongi, there’s a lot of things you don’t actually know about me—“ it reminds Yoongi of his mother’s last words. It hurts more. “But I’m an excellent people-reader. I can tell something happened. Is it Jeongguk? Or is it something else?”
Yoongi doesn’t answer. His breath hitches and he can already feel the onslaught of sobs about to wrack through his body again.
Jimin’s voice is hushed, comforting, warm. It is a voice that can be a home in itself. “Come, Yoongi. Please come over.” Despite the appearance of begging, Yoongi knows that the added ‘please’ is more for his own sake rather than Jimin’s. It is to make Yoongi feel like he is doing Jimin the favor instead of the other way around. Regardless, Yoongi accepts right away. He’s desperate to leave this cursed and empty household. He craves the warmth of another human being to empty his sorrows into.
~
A week passes by with no sighting of Jeongguk or his mother. Yoongi also hasn’t returned home since initially going to Jimin’s and luckily, the latter has yet to kick him out. There’s also been no more sightings of any moon or stars — the one night being it’s only appearance as it demanded retributions. According to the news that Yoongi has watched, it is exactly as Jimin explained in the phone call: looking at the moon made you lose your mind and kill yourself. Many people died throughout that night and a bunch of destruction also occurred. The government has been working on cleaning it all up but there is still the stain of blood covering the streets. Yoongi shudders.
Despite the single night of the deadly moon, the cultists are still present — though their numbers have dwindled significantly. Yoongi figured it was them that killed his mother that night before probably ‘offering’ themselves to their sacred and fake moon god.
A nudge on his head snaps Yoongi out of his thoughts. He looks up to see Jimin already staring at him. Jimin. They’ve definitely grown closer over the course of these months and despite their constant cuddling and affection and kisses shared, Yoongi knows that there’s no romantic feelings that linger. Since the week he’s lived here, they both verbally agreed they were probably platonic soulmates who gave their hearts to another. Jimin loves Taehyung and Yoongi loves Jeongguk. They both are aware and agree. Yoongi loves having Jimin. He’s scared to lose him. Scared to lose something he’s beginning to see as permanent.
“Yoongi, don’t you think you should visit your home?” Jimin asks, gently stroking Yoongi’s hair.
“Aw, are you tired of me already? Kicking me out? Is this because Taehyung has been stopping by?” Yoongi pokes fun at the younger, pouting his lips in the cutest way he can muster.
Jimin chuckles, gently pressing a peck to his jotted out lips. “You know I don’t mind you here. Hell, you do the dishes and my laundry so I can’t complain but— but maybe you should try to find some closure. And the only way you can really do that is be there. I don’t want you there that long, it’s still too dangerous especially since your windows got smashed in and you would need to put the door back on the hinges and—“
“Jiminie,” Yoongi cuts off his rambling, interlocking their fingers. “I know. I know I need to. I’m just… really really terrified. I don’t wanna be alone.”
Jimin’s smile is small and sad. “Taehyung and I can come with you. Can probably help you clean the place up a bit but—“ he stops himself. His eyebrows are creased and his next words are uttered gently. “We would probably leave at night to give you your time and space.”
Yoongi doesn’t want that. He doesn’t wanna be alone at any point, let alone inside that wretched place. But he knows Jimin’s intentions are pure and he doesn’t want to intrude any further than he already has. He’s positive Jimin wants a night alone with Taehyung and doesn’t want a guest to bother them. It’s normal. Yoongi is rational. He knows. He also knows this would probably help him cope.
So despite all his doubts and fears, he nods his head along anyway. Thus the next day, he sits in the backseat of Taehyung’s car as they drive to Yoongi’s (destroyed) childhood home.
Taehyung and Jimin take the initiative to clean the carpet of the blood and they task Yoongi with sitting outside until he’s personally ready to step inside. Yoongi knows he will never be fully ready so he forces himself to at least work on reattaching the door to its original position on its hinges. Afterwards, he takes to boarding up the windows so no psychopaths can come inside. He easily loses himself in the work, wanting nothing more than to distract himself from his real purpose at being here. By doing so, the time goes by quickly and before he realizes it, the sun has set. In its wake is the familiarly empty black sky that Yoongi has grown accustomed to over the course of these ten long months.
Jimin and Taehyung give him lots of smiles and warm hugs and reassuring words and gentle forehead kisses before they get ready to depart. Yoongi isn’t ready to be alone. He’s scared. He doesn’t wanna be here. He hates this place. He hates the world. Why must he suffer through this—
“Hey! Look!” Taehyung, ever the observant one, points at the sky.
Jimin follows his lover’s gaze and his mouth drops open before transforming into the biggest grin Yoongi has ever seen on him. It makes his eyes crease shut. “Yoongi, look at the sky!”
Yoongi does. He doesn’t see anything.
His confusion must be evident as Taehyung delicately takes hold of his cheeks, tenderly forcing his gaze to face a certain direction. Yoongi’s breath hitches. He sees why Jimin is so love-struck over the other boy. Taehyung is easily the prettiest boy Yoongi has ever seen. He’s wondrous, analytical, observant, yet so incredibly expressive and in tune with his emotions. When he speaks, his voice is naturally deep and alluring, forcing you to listen to his every word. His hair falls in dark golden tufts and is so fluffy that Yoongi just wants to rub his cheeks against it. Taehyung also has such large and delicate hands that they make everything he holds appear small. He’s beautiful. And when he stands next to the shorter Jimin who’s pink hair stands out in the crowd and who has a voice that is higher-pitched and who also has such smaller and chubbier hands, they somehow look perfect together.
“Do you see it, Yoongi?” Taehyung’s rich voice sends a ghosting breath over the shell of Yoongi’s ear. Yoongi, who was obviously focused on the boy and not the conversation, can only blink. Taehyung chuckles and Jimin vibrates in excitement as he waits for Yoongi to understand.
Taehyung cups his jaw a little rougher now, more determined to get Yoongi to see whatever the hell it is they’re so adamant about. He points up, some distance away. “Squint. It’s pretty far in the distance, but you need to squint.”
Yoongi does as he’s told and then he’s finally hit with the realization of why they’re so excited. He rubs his eyes. There’s no way—
“Are those…? Are those stars?”
Taehyung and Jimin nod excitedly at him, like little puppies.
“Only a small handful.” Taehyung answers.
“But it’s enough! This is a good sign!” Jimin chirps.
“I don’t know. Last time we saw space activity, it killed thousands of people.” Yoongi, ever the pessimist, sighs.
Jimin smacks the back of his head as Taehyung gives him a light noogie. “Ah! Yoongi! You need to have more positivity. Maybe they’re beginning to return!”
He shakes them off, still staring at the barely-there twinkling of the stars. He wonders….
Shortly thereafter, the couple leave him alone at his still-broken house. Yoongi stares at the home. He remembers once finding such joy in being home. He would run home from school, always excited for night to come so he could rush to the garden to meet Jeongguk—
The garden.
Yoongi almost forgot about the garden. He makes his way around the back to where his place of sanctuary used to lay, mostly using it as an excuse to avoid going inside the house of his mother’s murder for as long as he possibly could.
The garden lay untouched, preserved in the exact manner that Yoongi recognized throughout the entirety of his life. The only noticeable difference is that the water of the pond held no reflection of the nighttime sky. Nevertheless, Yoongi found comfort in its rippling tide as he stared at his own reflection. He looked tired. He suspects that’s what growing up does to someone. No longer was he that naive young boy who didn’t understand mayhem and believed love was made up of nothing more than sweetness. He ruffles his hand in the water, thus botching and temporarily erasing his judgemental reflection. He stays like that for a while, tucked away in the quiet of the garden whilst hunched over in the serenity of the pond. He almost wonders if it’s an oasis, hidden from the harrowing and apocalyptic world of anarchy and violence.
Yoongi’s eyes drift slightly in the pond’s reflection, noticing an enticing gleam. He can’t comprehend what it is he’s looking at until his earlier interaction with Taehyung and Jimin surfaces in his mind.
A star.
Yoongi is looking at the reflection of a single, lone star swimming in a sea of empty darkness. He can’t believe it, yet he refuses to blink in fear of it disappearing. He doesn’t even turn around to truly look at it in the sky, opting to watch its reflection in the water.
However, a familiar face soon comes into the pond’s surface. A face that Yoongi has forgotten in all the ten months it’s been away. A face Yoongi only merely glanced at a week ago behind a veil of his own tears.
“Jeongguk.” His voice is hoarse as it croaks the name out.
The boy sits beside him, reminiscent of their childhood antics. Except now, both boys have grown up and experienced a gruesome war. They’ve both changed. Neither can go back to who they once were.
The two sit in silence for a long time, only looking at one another through their watery reflection of the pond’s surface in exchange for words. The quiet that once brought Yoongi peace, comfort, and warmth seems nothing more than a cruel and bitter visage now.
The laugh that escapes him is hollow, dry, and forced. “What the fuck are you doing back here? Here to take more shit from me?”
Jeongguk’s eyebrow twitches. “I didn’t--”
“Bullshit! Fucking bullshit! Why would you do that? How could you do that to me?” Yoongi is crying again, his voice breaking every so often through his frustration.
Jeongguk grabs hold of him, gently shaking his shoulders to force Yoongi to look at him. But Yoongi is hurt and he can’t reason anymore.
“Why did you leave me?” He all but whispers, his soft tone needing to be carried by the wind in order to reach the other.
“Let me explain.” Jeongguk’s voice is calm, even, undisturbed. And it pisses Yoongi off to no end.
“Explain?! What the fuck is there to explain? You fucking left! You vanish off the face of the earth with no explanation for months!”
“Yoongi--”
“You took everything from me!” His shout is sudden as it reverberates into the ever abysmal night. He stands now, desperately wanting to look down at the boy who has caused him so much pain, so much heartache. He wants to at least once be the one on top, standing above his sorrows.
Jeongguk stares, his eyes widening slightly. Yoongi hates how small Jeongguk’s reaction is. He still feels small, still feels incapable. Why is he the only one upset?
“As soon as I trust and confide in you with my truth, you fucking left! And you took the moon and stars with you. You took the only thing I considered stable and permanent and had it all disappear right alongside you. And if that isn’t bad enough,” Yoongi sucks in a gasp, desperately trying to stop his tears of frustration from falling. “You come back after ten months, not for me, but to take my dead mom away from me? What the fuck is that? Star, deity, otherwordly being, grim reaper -- whatever the fuck you are -- you had no right to take her away from me. You have no right to even be here now. You’re a fucking--”
Throughout Yoongi’s rant, Jeongguk had stood up with a fire in his eyes, his fists clenching in anger and finding refuge in the collar of Yoongi’s shirt. He balls the fabric tight between his inked fingers.
“Shut the fuck up!” Jeongguk’s teeth were bared, forehead muscles taut as he stared down at the shorter boy. He had inadvertently lifted Yoongi up off the ground in his anger. “Not everything is about you, Min Yoongi! I know you’ve gone through shit but you think I wanted to leave you? You think I wanted any of this? That last night before all this shit happened, did I ever once give you the impression I wanted to leave you? You don’t know jack shit of what happened to me and what I’ve been through because you’re so fucking blinded by your own damn sorrows. If you want to throw a fucking pity party for yourself then be my guest.”
Yoongi’s nostrils flare. Jeongguk’s once midnight blue hair seems red in his tinted vision. “And how am I supposed to know anything about you when you don’t tell me?! When you leave for months on end?! What am I supposed to think?”
“I was asking you to hear me out--”
“Why should I now? Why should I care what you went through? You left--”
“I didn’t want to!” Jeongguk, ever the stronger of the two, had now forced Yoongi to his knees. Yoongi felt like a damned ragdoll. His fingers tried prying Jeongguk’s own hands off his shirt to no avail. Why was he so weak?
“Let go of me!” Yoongi knows he looks like a pathetic little kid. Sobbing and in hysterics as he resigns himself to his demeaning position on the ground at Jeongguk’s feet, the latter gazing down at his crippled and withered state. It’s always been like this, hasn’t it? Yoongi can’t remember much of the time when he was the stronger of the two. Can’t remember when exactly their roles reversed and he became so damn pathetic and weak.
“You humans are all the same! You are all so fucking focused on yourselves and refuse to see anything else. ‘Oh boohoo~ Oh woe is me~’ that’s all you can fucking say! You don’t know shit about anything that isn’t yourselves. Selfish! That’s what you all are. You’re entitled! You don’t know half of what the world around you consists of. You don’t know about struggles or beings that aren’t immediately in front of you. You’re selfish and short-sighted. You want everyone to stop what they’re doing for you to cry about your own problems but can’t even acknowledge the bigger picture.”
“Shut up! Shut up! Let go already!” Yoongi is flailing, one hand meekly trying to unclasp Jeongguk’s vise-like grip on his shirt and the other attempting to push his body away.
Yoongi has never seen Jeongguk look so angry. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like this new Jeongguk who now knows rage and anger. He feels a sense of fear climbing up his nervous system as it leaves a trail of raised bumps all along his arms.
Yoongi recounts the time in their youth when this garden was one of tranquility for each of them. When they could sit in silence and be happy in each other’s presence. When did they become so enraged at each other? Are they mad at one another? Or are they mad at the world around them? The world that put them in this position and brought nothing but sorrows into their lives.
Jeongguk’s rant eventually seizes and Yoongi belatedly realizes that the other boy also has tears streaming down his face. His grip on Yoongi loosens and his legs wobble until he also slowly descends to the ground in resignation.
Selfish. Entitled.
You are selfish and short-sighted.
You can’t see anyone but yourselves.
Yoongi stares at Jeongguk. He looks upon the fellow broken boy sitting in front of him and wonders why he didn’t see him before. Yoongi spots the dark eye bags that hang underneath Jeongguk’s once starry eyes that have now lost their spark, sees the dried maroon pearls that glide up his now-pale arms and are accompanied by varying spots of sickly yellow or blue and black. Where did he get so many cuts and bruises from? When did he become so tired and worn down?
Perhaps Yoongi is selfish. He only now looks upon Jeongguk after being forced to. A sinking feeling falls into the pit of his stomach and closes around his throat. He realizes how much he didn’t pay attention to the one person who gave him everything. Realizes how gray his own mother’s under-eyes looked or the few white strands that were beginning to take over her roots. How much she tried to get him to open up and how much he was away. He didn’t even care enough about the one person who was his home. He only cared about himself and his own problems. Yoongi is selfish.
Yoongi is selfish and he hates this revelation about himself. He doesn’t want this part of himself. He’s angry at Jeongguk for bringing it to light and he wants to grab the navy-haired boy and yell in his face, yet at the same time wants to fall into his arms and find escape and refuge like he used to as a child.
But Yoongi knows that things aren’t the same as they were when he was younger. Expecting Jeongguk to be his refuge is asking for too much. So he ends up opting for doing neither of his desired actions, instead keeping the distance between them present.
They’re both hiccuping from their wails, both droopy-eyed and flushed cheeks. He’s never seen Jeongguk look so old and tired. He knows it is the same for him.
They both grew up. They both endured shit no one could dream of. They are no longer children who can mindlessly play tag and eat slightly soggy bread beside the pond. Yoongi knows pain and hurt and loss and heartbreak. He knows that love is no longer just a senseless parade of rainbows and gumdrops and all things good. Love is an everwinding battle that can take every fibre of your very core being and still manage to tie the knot of the rope draped around your neck if you weren’t careful. Younger Yoongi lost himself in a maze and expected those around him to rescue him. But this was real life. Jeongguk was not a prince. Yoongi is not a damsel.
But he was selfish.
So, he wipes the tears from Jeongguk’s face without saying a word more.
~~~
There is a bright light. It is blinding and it hurts Yoongi’s still-closed eyes. No matter how much he twists and turns, the light doesn’t dim. He dejectedly awakens, not truly ready to leave the comfort of unconsciousness. His head hurts along with every muscle and joint scattered throughout his body. Yoongi looks around. Sees the pond, sees the sun slowly ascending into its home in the sky, sees his battered house. He doesn’t see Jeongguk.
He sighs. This is nothing new.
As much as Yoongi would like to stay outside, his dry throat and insistent bladder tell him otherwise, thus Yoongi enters the one place he firmly considers hell-on-earth.
The floorboards continue to creak under his weight. Yoongi has never noticed just how old the house is, probably because there was always someone else there to create noise. Now, it is barren and empty and every sound Yoongi makes echoes off the walls as if to mock him.
Despite the bright rays of light streaming inside, it is still so cold. Yoongi has a trail of goosebumps creeping along his arm, licking just underneath the nape of his neck. A chill drapes over him like a cloak and he thinks he feels a sickly hand closing around his throat. He swallows. Moves deeper into the building.
The boards on the broken windows don’t do much to ease Yoongi’s anxiety, merely serving to reaffirm his suspicions that he wound up inside a horror movie. He wonders if this is the part where the killer strikes. Yoongi looks down at the floor. Jimin and Taehyung did a good job at removing the bloodied stain, but the memory of the sight will forever be ingrained inside Yoongi’s mind, branded onto his memory, and seared in his retinas. He realizes that the killer already did.
Another chill claws at the back of his arms and he can’t stop the shudder that ripples throughout his body in waves. He realizes that there is a draft and the prime suspect is his shitty job at fixing the windows. The multiple gaps in the board are now obvious as the light of day shines through them and he sighs in dejection. He runs his fingers over it, feels the bumps in the wood and allows the edge of his fingernail to get stuck in the darkened knots that are scattered on the surface.
Yoongi takes a look around the beaten place. The boarded windows, the broken banister, the furniture still in a disarray, and dust still lingering in the air from the week the house was abandoned. It feels like a still from a horror movie that Yoongi never signed up for. He hates it. It reminds him of his mother. He can almost see the scene of her murder play right before his eyes, no matter how much he shuts them close.
He wonders how she felt when she heard the door break open. Did she think it was him coming home? Or maybe the shitheads broke the window first. Was she standing in the kitchen sipping her nightly tea like she always did? The one that she claimed made her fall asleep faster? The tea held a hint of a citrusy tangerine smell that also encapsulated her. No wonder he always liked tangerines -- they smelt like the late nights he used to spend with his mother. Or maybe she was already asleep, having already given up on Yoongi returning at all for that night. Did she run out to greet the attackers empty-handed? Or perhaps she held a TV remote -- Yoongi remembers how she would sometimes act like she would throw it at him when he got into trouble as a kid. Did she fight back at all? Did she at least fuck them up in the process and make them regret ever stepping foot inside his house? He looks around at the furniture scattered all over. Yeah. There’s no way she didn’t fuck them up at least a little bit. Yoongi smirks. The change of his mouth’s position allows for the salt to graze his lips. He realizes he is crying once again. How long was she in pain? Did she call out for him?
“Yoongi, I’m so glad you weren’t here.”
Yoongi’s face scrunches.
“Selfish.”
Yoongi is selfish because he’s glad he wasn’t here either.
He wonders if he could have even prevented anything. If he could have stopped them. He doesn’t think he could have. He thinks he would’ve died right alongside her. He he--
Yoongi is scared of dying. He really is selfish.
His legs feel weak, his torso feels too vulnerable, and despite no one being around, he feels too exposed. So Yoongi sinks to the floor, curling in on himself like a little ball and sobs into his knees until he has nothing left to give.
“Yoongi, I’m so glad you weren’t here.”
Selfish.
“Come try this tea! I know you’ve been having trouble sleeping too!” Tangerines. Selfish.
I’m glad I wasn’t here either. Selfish selfish selfishselfishselfish.
Yoongi is so goddamned selfish.
-
Yoongi cries himself to sleep. He wakes up eventually when the sun is a little higher in the sky and is just about to start its descent back to the ground to rest. He doesn’t feel like existing at the moment. He’s so tired.
Nonetheless, he stretches out his limbs to lay flat on his back as he stares up at the ceiling. His thoughts wander of their own accord. To himself, to Jimin and Taehyung, to his mother, to Jeongguk.
Jeongguk. Jeon fucking Jeongguk. The boy who walks amongst the stars yet still would touch down on earth to meet Yoongi every night.
He wonders if he ever really loved Jeongguk as much as he thought. Does he still love him? Or was it that naive childhood love that consumes his entire small head and blinds him in believing in such a thing as ‘soulmates’? Did that same puppy love transfer over the course of years because it was all Yoongi had known? Yoongi doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what love really is. He loves his mom. He loves Jimin and Taehyung. He loves Jeongguk. What differentiates all of those? He really isn’t sure. He kisses Jimin. He kissed Jeongguk. What’s the difference? Is Jeongguk just a close friend? Is the only thing that defines romantic relationships physicality? Love is confusing.
He wonders if he loved the thought of Jeongguk. The version of Jeongguk that only existed inside Yoongi’s head. The version that retained his childhood innocence and never expressed anger. The version that knew only good and thus was a figure of peace for Yoongi. Was Jeongguk ever really that? Or did Yoongi just assume he always was?
‘Selfish. Entitled. You don’t know jack shit.’
Yoongi wanted a safe haven so desperately that he projected those feelings onto the first person that never caused conflict or confrontation. It is why he became so frightened during Jeongguk’s outburst the previous night. Yoongi’s version of the starboy never had a morsel of rage built inside him. How foolish of him to think. He wanted a prince or a knight in shining armor to come and rescue him from his overarching emotions and responsibilities and worries without ever expecting that knight to have problems of his own. Yoongi realizes he really doesn’t know jack shit about Jeon Jeongguk, the boy that he was supposedly in love with. But if this wasn’t love, why did it hurt so badly when he left without a word?
He takes another look around the desolate house, smiles -- more like grimaces -- just a little bit.
Yoongi thinks that this state of the house represents him. It represents all of his inner thoughts and turmoil. No matter how much he tried boarding up the windows of his mind, it wasn’t good enough. Despite his best efforts to keep a lid on all of his emotions, it still seeps through the cracks that were masked by the night. When the sun rises, everything comes to light. And Yoongi is still left alone.
He sighs again. Looks around the house. Thinks. Recalls.
He feels nostalgic, seeing the photos on the wall. Of him, of his smiling mother. He misses his childhood self. In childhood, there were no worries or concerns. He was naive and allowed to be an idiot sometimes. He remembers how much more confident and curious and selfless he was.
Selfless.
That’s right. At one point, Yoongi was selfless. He was curious about the boy in the garden and made the effort to visit him every night, food in hand to share. He remembers letting Jeongguk win games because of how wide his smile would be. Yoongi didn’t have worthless pride at that time, he just liked smiling with other people.
Where did that version of himself go? When did it disappear?
He’s disgusted with his current self and how much he allowed a gap to form between him and those he deemed his closest allies. Perhaps he did want a pity party.
Jeongguk is right. He is human. He is selfish and entitled. And he does need an explanation from him.
~~~
With the sun’s kiss upon the earth, an inky screen fills its place within the sky. But it is not always as dim as one makes it out to be. The good thing about darkness is that it is more noticeable when light breaches and permeates its surface; it shines through more clearly. With night, the fluorescent glow of the moon and stars against the midnight backdrop can still guide weary travelers to their destinations.
“Oh how the tables have turned. You’re actually waiting for me?” Jeongguk’s smile is very small and hesitant, the starboy clearly not wanting to disturb the rising tide.
Tonight, it is Yoongi waiting for Jeongguk in the garden in order to greet him first.
Yoongi’s mouth upturns slightly. “It seems only fair.”
Jeongguk’s steps are light as he wanders a little bit closer to the sitting Yoongi, intentionally keeping a bit of distance between them. Once Yoongi has made no intention of reprimanding Jeongguk does he inch just a few more steps closer. They remain in silence.
Finally, Jeongguk plops down just a little ways away from Yoongi on the ground. When he fails to say anything, Yoongi groans and punches his arm.
“Stop being weird.”
Jeongguk rubs his arm. “‘m not being weird.”
“Yes you are. We fought. That’s what people do.”
Jeongguk pauses for a few beats too many. Yoongi looks at him. Sees Jeongguk mouth the word ‘people’ in silence before settling on: “I don’t like fighting.”
“Yeah, well…”
The conversation reaches a null, neither knowing exactly what to say or how to break this weird tension. So they sit in silence, much like they did in their youth. Except now the silence feels overbearing and heavy on Yoongi’s shoulders.
Yoongi looks over at Jeongguk. He is looking down at the pond while he fidgets with a rock in between his slender fingers.
“I don’t like fighting either but,” Yoongi is whispering, his voice quiet and delicate, “the best part of fighting is being able to make up afterwards.”
“Is that what we’re doing? Making up?” Jeongguk asks.
“Is it not? You don’t wanna make up with me? Why not?” Yoongi pouts, opening his eyes widely, exaggerating his emotions once he sees the small smile dotting Jeongguk’s features.
“I don’t wanna fight. It hurts.”
Yoongi ponders over this for a few moments. “Jeongguk, I won’t promise we’ll never fight again. But I promise that the reason we’ll ever fight in the future is because we both just care about the other.”
Jeongguk glances at him, mulling over his words. “You’re saying people fight because they like each other?”
Yoongi’s eyes widen in horror. He’s not good with words. “No! No, that isn’t what I mean! People fight and argue and disagree on things. That’s all normal. Sometimes people fight because they genuinely don’t like each other but -- what I’m trying to say is -- that isn’t us! That won’t be us! Nevermind, I don’t know.” Yoongi sighs in frustration. “Sometimes we won’t agree on stuff, but I want you to know that I’m trying to think more about how other people feel and not just about myself. So know that I care for you, even when we fight.”
Jeongguk nods, his smile widening a bit. “Okay.”
And like that, both boys silently apologize to the other. Jeongguk knows that Yoongi is trying to get better and more aware after what he said during their fight. They weren’t actually mad at one another persay, they were mad at everything. The world, their situations, their problems, themselves. It’s all they can do but to adapt, overcome, and grow. Yoongi thinks he’s finally doing as much.
So the two boys sit in each other’s presence like they did in their youth. They don’t always have to speak to feel comfortable; however, as Yoongi looks up at the very few stars that litter the once hollow sky, he has to ask about his mother.
Jeongguk lets out a shaky breath as he pushes the hair from his face. It takes him a few moments to gather his thoughts to answer.
“What she told you that night was true. Long ago there was a star who fell in love with a human. Once they had a child, the star had to go back to the sky. Your mother was that child. She is a star -- well technically only half but I guess that’s not important but -- yeah. It’s customary for stars to live amongst their own, even in death.” Jeongguk is twiddling with his fingers, the hem of his shirt, the split ends of his hair, everything. Yoongi realizes he is bad at words too. “She is a star who belongs with the other stars -- that’s just how it all works. It’s home. Except...well, it’s not really much of a home anymore.” That last sentence is quiet as Jeongguk mutters.
“What do you mean?”
Jeongguk laughs bitterly, flopping to lay on his back so he can look at the sky. He nods his head up in the same direction. “Up there, it’s anarchy.”
“Anarchy?”
Jeongguk looks back down to Yoongi, grabs hold of his hand to play with his fingers now. The smile on his face feels fabricated, as if holding immense guilt or self-deprecation. “What would you do if I told you that you and I may have accidentally started a war?”
#Sorry annoying tags#yoonkook#min yoongi#jeon jeongguk#park jimin#bts au#kim namjoon#kim taehyung#star!au#star!jungkook#angst#fluff#happy ending
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
I want to give you your grin
this was written for the prompt Crook/Aftermath of loceitweek2021, so the last chapter will be posted on monday ♡
summary:
After Thomas chose to go to the wedding, Janus has a lot of work for his plans to work out, and that includes getting Logic on his side. Logan currently is constantly being left out. He is trying too hard (and failing) to make himself fit in with the others, so he will try anything to feel useful.
Janus decides to take advantage of this (and Logan's denied feelings for him) to get away with his scheme, but what neither of them expect is actually falling for each other in the process.
warnings: emotional manipulation, Logan is very insecure. let me know if i should add more.
Read on AO3
Chapter 2
| Previous | | Next |
words: 2169
The following day, Logan was called to a conversation Thomas was having with Patton. They quickly explained to him that Terrence was going to be in town this weekend, since he had some unexpected time off, and he really wanted Thomas to go help him with a project. However, Thomas had agreed with Logan before that he would use his free time this week to catch up with revising a script the team needed on Monday, and to make a meal plan for the following week so Thomas could practice his cooking and avoid ordering takeout every single day.
Logan was surprised that they wanted to hear his opinion before making a decision, so he made an effort to come up with a fair solution for everyone.
Thomas could meet Terrence on Saturday. He would need the entire morning to get ready, probably, since usually several hours are required for Thomas to motivate himself to go outside, and he would also need time to recover his energy afterwards. So the entire day would be out of the question for work. That meant he could look for recipes and make a simple plan on Friday after work, go buy the necessary ingredients on Sunday morning, and revise the script the rest of the day.
“Well,” Logan started, before being interrupted by Deceit appearing next to him.
“You’re going to tell Terrence that you two can hang out for a couple hours but you’re otherwise occupied and do not have the energy for anything else.” He said with determination.
Patton started to protest but Deceit interrupted again.
“What? I thought you were the one so keen on “keeping one’s word” and “not going back on your commitment”?” He said, with a hint of disgust as he put air-quotes around Patton’s words. “Or are other people more important than the promise you made to our friend Logan, here?”
Everyone was looking at Logan now. Patton began stuttering, maybe wanting to apologize, so Logan tried to reassure him before the conversation got more complicated.
“I don’t mind, actually. I was going to propose an alternative that would free our schedule for Saturday so Thomas could meet Terrence for however long he finds it necessary.”
“Oh, right, because he is so full of energy these days to work on his own job, his personal life and doing other people’s work for them in his free time.” Deceit replied, sarcastically.
“Hey, he doesn’t want me to do his work for him!” Thomas objected. “He just said he needed help with something.”
“Yes, sure, he is definitely only here in town by chance and not making excuses to take advantage of the fact that you don’t seem to have the word “No” in your vocabulary. Logan agrees with me, don’t you?” Deceit turned to him with a raised eyebrow.
Logan had to look down to avoid everyone’s intense gazes on him. “I... well... Thomas does know that word, it’s actually one of the first words he learned as-”
“You’re avoiding the question.” Deceit was clearly irritated, and Logan couldn’t endure his disapproval for some reason, but agreeing with him would upset Patton and that would be counterproductive, as well. Thomas needed a decisive Side to come to an agreement, he needed Logan to have an answer for him, but what answer did he want? Maybe they should just skip the meal plan and try again next week, or-
“Logan, are you okay?” Patton’s voice was gentle.
Of course Logan was okay. This is his job. He was just struggling slightly to keep his breathing steady. “I- I’m sure I can come up with some arrangement, if you give me time. Maybe if- We could try asking first what is it Terrence needs and decide depending on-”
“Oh how sweet,” Deceit drawled, narrowing his eyes. “And I can tell Morality would be just thrilled to let Terrence know that Thomas’ support for him is conditional.”
Patton seemed conflicted by the accusation, but didn’t deny it. He looked expectantly at Logan, as if pleading for his support, but Logan was at a loss.
“Logan,” Thomas chimed in, “it’s okay, I don’t have to make a decision yet. I haven’t opened the text and I can call him later.”
But Logan knew taking longer to think would only prolong those judgemental looks in both Morality’s and Deceit’s eyes, and he couldn’t take it any more. His face was starting to hurt from the clenching of his jaw.
Still not looking anyone in the eye, he muttered “No, Thomas. You should do as Deceit said. He’s right, you’re going to be tired next week and won’t work properly if you don’t take time to rest and get adequate nourishment.” He didn’t look up, but he knew Patton well enough to imagine the defeated frown on his face. Still, he was used to it, and it was more bearable than whatever sensation Deceit’s disfavor was making him feel.
Janus smirked, proud that his plan had worked. Now he just had to finish convincing Logan that this was the correct decision and soon he’d have him wrapped around his finger. He was pleasantly surprised by how easy it had been, but it was true that Logan has had to put up with the other’s neglect far too long, he only needed a little push in the right direction.
“Okay fine.” Thomas said, cutting the awkward atmosphere that had just been created. “I am going to tell him that I’m a little busy but we should meet to hang out and maybe play video games and he will probably get the hint and not insist on the thing he wants me to do?”
Patton smiled widely at him and nodded. “Yeah! I’m sure he’ll understand and no feelings will get hurt in the process! And Logan said we could still free Saturday so you can use the extra time after returning from Terrence’s to relax.”
“Yes, perfect!” Thomas exclaimed with the same excitement. “Thank you, all. I’ll go text him back now.”
Janus groaned silently. Baby steps, he repeated mentally, getting Logan was the focus right now. Logan looked up at him shyly, and Janus couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Logan blushed slightly and turned away, and Janus’ expression turned sharp and smug again.
A moment later, everyone was back in their rooms.
Logan evaluated once more the day’s lessons. It didn’t go as bad as he had expected, he could finally take note of positive results, he just had to make sure he knew the right causes of this success.
What went differently today than all his previous attempts? Other times he has come up with new arrangements so whatever Patton, Roman or Virgil’s new proposals can be taken into action without interfering too much with his previous plans, and they seem to accept it in the end but still become upset with him, or not acknowledge his efforts at all. This time, Deceit seemed happy with Logan’s final decision. He would never act based on emotions, but the way Deceit looked at him after sharing his opinion felt... right, somehow. Like he wasn’t alone, and the sides of the debate were more balanced.
Of course, this was only a hypothesis, other factors could have influenced this discussion greatly and Logan would have to continue verifying his theory. He wouldn’t dare openly contradict Deceit, however; the distress caused by Deceit’s contempt wasn’t something he was looking forward to experiencing again. But he could try agreeing with him on occasion, and test if it helped Thomas find more satisfying conclusions.
Now he just had to make sure Thomas finished his work on Friday, and postpone the meal plan for Sunday, instead, just in case things went well and Thomas saved enough energy.
✩ ✩ ✩
Thomas, as he normally does, strained himself more than he was asked to, and two days were required for him to feel satisfied with the work he had done for his friend. Luckily, Logan made sure Thomas finished his more important task with the script on Friday. The rest of the week Logan just had to verify that the food Thomas ordered wasn’t too unhealthy or expensive, and the following weekend he was able to buy fresh ingredients to do some actual cooking.
As days passed, Logan was faced with more decisions to make. He should be able to ponder and reach conclusions without problem, but he found himself constantly... distracted. Thomas’ inconsistent diet and sleep schedule was probably impairing Logic, although he noted that the distractions most of the time came from the selfish Side that was joining their discussions more and more often.
Perhaps the strong feelings Patton, Roman and Virgil had against Deceit were affecting Thomas and, by extension, also Logan. That could explain why he was alert to every action the other made; it must be Thomas’ feelings because Logan didn’t have feelings, let alone have any strong emotions for Deceit for him to perturb his work like this.
However, solving this problem wasn’t in Logan’s control. Dealing with feelings was not his department, and the conflict the others had with Deceit was something they would have to fix on their own. In the meantime, Logan just had to adjust.
Adjusting was easy, honestly. As the Side that represents logical thinking, he was used to constantly adapting to his surroundings. He just had to keep Thomas focused and under control until the day of the wedding. After that, Patton could take over and deal with his emotional conflict.
One of the tasks in Logic’s to-do list was getting a gift for the bride and groom. Logan thought a household appliance would be suitable since Mary Lee and Lee would be moving in together, but he had to argue with Roman at the mall, since he wanted to go overboard and spend more money than Thomas should. Deceit joined them to suggest they buy something as cheap as possible, and then use the rest of the money Thomas brought to get himself something. When Logan agreed that Thomas could use new kitchen supplies, since he would be cooking more often, Deceit smiled at him.
After that, it didn’t take long to compromise, and they agreed on getting a detailedly decorated memory box, for the pair to save items as souvenirs of significant events, or so Roman explained. It was significantly less expensive than anything Logan had in mind, and they all thought the sentimentality made it a more adequate gift. When Logan made a comment about how sappy feelings finally had a use, Deceit laughed.
Later, Deceit led them to other stores, to find something for Thomas to buy with the rest of the budget. He suggested an elegant set of wine glasses, and Logan couldn’t argue the fact that they counted as kitchen supplies. Once they made the transaction and walked back out of the mall, Deceit held Logan’s hand, and offered him to test together the wine they bought to match with the glasses set.
Logan agreed, of course. It had been a long day.
As days passed, Logic’s list of tasks was being smoothly completed. Deceit came up with suggestions that made the others angry or upset at the beginning, but Logan found merit in them, and since there were now two of them, it became easier to convince the rest. Or if the opposite situation occurred, Logan wasn’t as affected by it, because at least it was the two of them losing or being shut down, unlike most of the time, when he was on his own.
He found that even if Deceit’s ideas weren’t what he usually would support, it was easier to endorse them. The arguments ended sooner, and Thomas reached clearer conclusions, either strongly in favor or (the more common case) strongly against Logan and Deceit’s position.
Furthermore, Logan found Deceit’s approving gestures motivated him, and made work more pleasant. He wasn’t used to physical touch, but he didn’t have to worry about initiating any, because Deceit would pat his shoulder or hold his hand when they advocated for each other. Deceit smirking at him made him involuntarily smile back. He didn’t know why this happened, but he knew smiling sent signals to the brain to boost one’s mood, similarly as with the other affectionate expressions, therefore, he wouldn't complain.
One time, Virgil was particularly irritated about Thomas’ decision to go alone to the event, and intended to take it out on Logan for prioritizing other things over finding a partner. Deceit stood between both of them, and confronted Anxiety about his constant indecision.
At that moment, Janus was facing Virgil, but he could notice in the corner of his eye how Logan blushed at the protective gesture. He was able to swiftly calm Virgil down, but was slightly distracted by the feeling of heat on his own face, the image of Logan’s flustered expression not leaving his mind. He was definitely pleased with the progress he had made.
| Previous | | Next |
#logan sanders#janus sanders#loceit#sanders sides#deceit sanders#logic sanders#loceitweek2021#ts#i want to give you your grin
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
so about norman’s ethics
The thing that a lot of people don’t understand about Norman is that he doesn’t believe in the like, political sentiments that he acts on in the slightest. Yeah, this doesn’t make it ok that he did a bunch of shitty stuff, but it’s a misconception to say norman like, genuinely believes fucking eugenics are a good thing.
And yet, he decides to act on the idea to degenerate and genocide the demons and seems not to understand why Emma wouldn’t agree with him. People’s explanations of this seem to be pretty much one of two minds, either:
His morals are corrupt: Norman wants all the demons dead because what they did makes him think they’re all bad and don’t deserve the respect humans get, which is understandable but still wrong, or
His morals are intact but he ignores them: Norman feels bad that he’s doing a bad thing and does it anyway because he can’t find a better way out, which honestly makes what he did worse, though Tragic.
The second one is more accurate, but still doesn’t completely explain his ideas.The truth is that, in my opinion, he just barely understands the concept of morals in general, and what’s ‘messed up’ is simply his priorities. That sounds like I’m saying he’s a twisted cycle path but I swear I’m not, it’s just like him having low empathy. This is another, autism thing, and it’s another thing that I have, so I’ll try to explain it as best as I can?
Personally, I understand and try to follow sociatal expectations for moral things like, you know, do not kill people and what not. Because it’s bad or... whatever. And although I can cognitively understand the reasons why people think so, I don’t value it in the same way. Obviously I wouldn’t kill a person, there’s no need for me to in a world like this, and it would be inconvenient and probably make me feel bad despite not understanding why it is bad. But I’ve known from a very young age if I had the power and reason to kill someone, I absolutely would, no questions asked. Not even the necessity, just a logical reason. Most of the time this means nothing and isn’t applicable in the real world, because most of the people around me would be negatively affected by it. But it means nothing to me personally, and if prompted I could change at the slightest reason.
This is what I think we’re dealing with in Norman’s situation.
Norman, in grace field, has no reason to violate any intagible laws of right and wrong, in most cases, until the escape arc happens. Yeah, I do believe Norman probably lied significantly more than the average child, because he didn’t see any reason not to, but I doubt it hurt anyone bad, they lived in, well, basically a neverland. He’s just a slightly off white little man. But when he is faced with a risky and dangerous situation, he might look Correct on the outside but the closer you look the more you realize his actions are directly impacted by the situation around him, completely independent of any internal moral compass.
Ray wants to only escape with those three, because although he feels extreme guilt for being the way he is and completely understands it’s a selfish and terrible thing to do, he’s too cynical to accept any other options. Norman initially agrees with him, because Ray explains the risks. Emma then insinuates she wants to bring the other kids, giving ideas as to how. Norman then switches to Emma’s plan because he believes it can be achieved and he wants Emma to be happy, not because it would be wrong to do otherwise. At the same time, he later ships himself out, without much consideration to the others’ wishes against it, because now that it’s gotten impossible to have both, Emma’s and Ray’s safety is more important now than their happiness. Though he can understand that they’d not like that, it’s not that important to him in the long run. He will choose the path that offers them the greatest chance, if the one his friends want isn’t good enough.
When he was shipped out and taken to lambda, what happened is he was put in a situation where the stakes become much higher. There’s a different kind of situation, and the idea of simply running away from the demons is obviously not an option. When he escapes, and basically adopts the lambda kids- now he’s surrounded by people with the opposite morals and ideas as Emma. These kids want revenge, they would be happy to kill the demons, their ideal situation involves that and trying to reach any compromise would be unsatisfactory. The overwhelming majority of the kids agree with killing the demons, and that idea makes him seem stronger and gives him more certainty and control over the situation, even if it’s difficult and hurts him personally, making him a “Bad Person” to Emma.
Norman harbors no personal hatred towards the demons, nor any specific desire to kill them. He just doesn’t see any viable reason not to, and killing them provides both him and the people he cares about with a more beneficial situation. Emma is now the minority, and even though she provides an idea that could work, Norman, after seeing so much pain and suffering, is no longer willing to take the risk for her, like he was in grace field. He is incapable of understanding why she values a sense of right and wrong more than the actual statistics of how well one or the other could work- yes, they had different experiences, but she lost other people because she decided to take risks, and she still believes in it? It simply doesn’t fucking compute.
An important aspect to consider is that it still does make him feel bad not to follow a more traditionally accepted route. He might have low empathy but he’s not an emotionless robot. Not understanding morals doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a concience, though it’s much more ambiguous and generally equates to any other thing, such as the actual convenience, details, or certainty of a plan. It’s not of any more importance, and he is in a situation now where it’s inconvenient to pay attention to, more so than in grace field. So not following a Nicer route does take a toll on his Feelings TM, same as it takes a toll on his literal body, but that’s a sacrifice he’s fine with, it’s a sacrifice that’s significantly smaller than the chance that someone he cares for could die.
Generally, most Lukewarm Takes on Norman can be disproven with this idea (pretty much anything that insinuates he would see the demons as less or like, he’s doing it because they did awful things to him, understandable but hey this isn’t tokyo ghoul and he’s not that kind of character), though everyone is obviously free to have their own takes and I doubt Shirai took his autistic coding into consideration, so it’s obviously my own idea.
Although Norman’s actions have correlation with Ray’s before, Norman isn’t disregarding his physical needs and trying to sacrifice himself out of any idea that it would make up for what he did, he’s doing it because it gives him more control over his own situation, he values his own well being less than his family’s, and he doesn’t understand why it would be Bad to do so. If we’re really digging deep, it’s likely he doesn’t want to have to experience any real consequences for his actions. He understands that they’re Bad, but this isn’t important to him, more than anything else. He doesn’t want to see Emma’s disappointment because it would complicate things.
After Emma and Ray, well, complicate things, ie face him and force him to see there are real consequences to his actions past Ambiguous Moral Obligations (ex. “you’re Taking Advantage the lambda kids” means nothing until he sees that it’s stopped them from being able to grow as people and forgive, “you’re neglecting yourself” means nothing until there’s an idea brought up that could fix him, “you’re trying to kill so many fucking people” means nothing until he sees that it’s hurting the human kids.) and that there’s a valid flaw in his personality past that- that it’s not a strong but a cowardly move, he can move forward and attempt to change things, possibly give himself a fucking break.
In that situation, with other solutions that Emma and Ray have opened up actually seeming to work, he no longer finds it necessary to Be Terrible and hurt himself. This makes him feel better, because he doesn’t want to be Incorrect, it’s just a difficult thing for him to understand, when most other things come to him naturally. I think in the future he can be more cognizant of the fact that he’s more suceptible to doing generally, unacceptable things, and vows to lean more on Emma and Ray so he doesn’t end up going down the wrong path again, because to him they all look the same color.
Yes, this is my long ass way of telling Shirai why the fuck did you let Norman be a CEO. That’s a terrible fucking idea, he’ll become capitalism, guys?! Don’t let him do that. He needs to be in a job where like, he can use his skills without having to make Ethical Decisions like... an engineer or something. Computer scientist. IDK. Just not a fucking CEO, not in a management position for anything.
Honestly, it’s difficult for me to even use the alignment chart because I don’t understand morals enoughto put anyone in the Evil category because the idea of ‘evil’ doesn’t exist for me. So yeah, I’m projecting, but in conclusion I just have a bone to pick with anyone who wouldn’t call norman lawful neutral.
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
The daring date
This was prompted by an awesome anon! Enjoy some long overdue Allen60!
Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Allen60
Allen sat in his office, absent-mindedly staring through the blinds. It has been a week now and still he hadn’t gotten used to the new face in the force. The new familiar face. A RK800 unit, dubbed Sixty not to confuse him with his exact twin in the building next door. To be honest, the SWAT Captain had no idea what to think of the android. Normally he would at least try to keep his prejudices against them at bay. They were people now and Allen had no problems accepting the fact once he had spoken to a few of them. But this specific one… He simply didn’t trust him and still searched for reasons to get him out of his team.
The official file for the bot was spotless. But of course, rumours had spread still and being part of the raid on Cyberlife tower, the SWAT team could confirm them. Sixty had threatened Lieutenant Anderson and would have without doubt killed him, had the android not been shot himself. Right in the middle of his forehead. He was supposed to be dead - every human would be. But no, he was repaired and deviated and thrown into society. Deviancy was supposed to be the wondrous medicine to every wrong an android could possibly commit. But Allen wasn’t so sure when androids had had a certain programmed freedom even before deviation and this specific android had still decided to shoot Hank when there must have been other possibilities to fulfil his mission. And who said androids weren’t capable of committing crimes, just like humans? Who said that Sixty, just because he deviated, wasn’t still loyal to Amanda or a certain belief? And now he was infiltrating SWAT, possibly trying to gain their trust just to betray them later. He knew he had no evidence for his theory, but his gut had proven themselves to be correct almost every time, so Allen would keep an eye on the new android. Who knew, maybe-
‘Captain?’
He looked up to the door, where Frank had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Without knocking, as always. ‘Err… Yes?’
‘You joining game night this evening?’
‘Whose turn is it?’, he asked caught off guard.
‘Jensen’s! I think he decided on starting with poker, but I haven’t asked.’
‘Yeah, I’m in. I think I can manage 7pm.’
‘Great! I’ll let him know.’
Allen sighed, as soon as he was alone in his office again and decided to try and do some actual work today. In all his paranoia about the new android, he had almost forgotten it was the last Friday of the month – game night. He usually enjoyed them. It was one of these team-building exercises that actually worked as it wasn’t obligatory. Although normally most attended them. The SWAT team really was a team, working atmosphere good enough pulling rank wasn’t necessary most of the time. Allen really hoped the android wasn’t invited. But he guessed not. As in many other points, his team was pretty uniformly suspicious of the RK800 too.
-
It was raining as he parked his car in front of Jensen’s house later that evening. He was a bit late as it seemed, but he was greeted with enthusiasm nonetheless and a coke was pushed into his hand. Most others were already sitting at the table with beer and other beverages and someone hastily gave Allen his seat and poker chips as he was clearly loosing already. A few pleasant hours and rounds later that was a thing of the past as most of the other players were too drunk to remember the rules or keep up a pokerface. Allen had already driven quite a few into surrender and at some point, as if on a hidden signal, they decided to stop playing. What unfortunately meant they settled on the incredibly uncreative idea to play truth or dare.
Allen sighed, regretting his decision to stay sober tonight, but played along. It could still be fun after all. It started quite simple with everyday questions and mostly silly chores to do on dare. Unfortunately, it didn’t stay that way.
‘Are you single?’, was the first question in the truth-category, Allen sighed deeply over.
‘Why? Are you searching for someone?’, he returned hoping to embarrass the man and be able to skip answering. The other’s laughed, but the one that had asked him just shrugged. ‘Yes, actually, but you’re not my type, no offense there.’
It continued on and Allen felt relatively save, having passed the first awkward question. When it was his turn again, he groaned and demanded “truth” again. He could live with his team knowing intimate details about him. He didn’t like giving them blackmailing material in the form of videos or pictures of him doing something ridiculous though.
Unfortunately, his team had other plans: ‘Come on, you picked that so often already. Choose dare, come on. Would be unfair!’
He rolled his eyes, but caved in quickly as others joined the chorus. ‘Fine. Dare.’
‘Oh, I actually didn’t think you would allow us’, the other chuckled. ‘I have nothing. You got something guys?’ Oh no.
Everyone talked over each other, but it was one, Allen would have guessed Jensen himself, who screamed louder than everyone else: ‘Go on a date with the new android!’
It went dead quiet immediately, but soon they were laughing at Allen’s shocked expression. ‘No. No way!’, he protested, but the rest of his team instantly shook their heads. ‘You have to now! No going back on that!’
‘I… Fuck, fine, I will ask him on a date, you lunatics. But that’s it, if he says no, that’s out of my hands.’
‘Deal.’
-
Monday came far too soon, and Allen sat in his office once again, watching the android. He swore then and there to never attend another game night ever again. But well, better to get this over soon else they would bug him for weeks. He guessed the chance of the android agreeing was close to zero anyways. The whole week he had never seen him near any other member of SWAT if it wasn’t needed for work and seldomly speaking more than strictly necessary with his colleagues. He would just go there, ask him and then the android would decline and go on with his business. Simple as that.
He approached Sixty’s desk and the android immediately looked up, seemingly preparing to stand up. Allen gestured to remain seated and he relaxed but nodded at him in greeting. ‘Captain. Anything I can do for you?’ His voice eerily sounded like Connor’s, maybe with a little less intonation.
‘Err… yeah, weird question maybe, but are you free tonight?’ God, this was embarrassing.
‘Oh. Sure. Planning a mission?’
‘Uhm… No, actually it’s rather personal.’
‘Personal?’
‘Dinner?’
‘Oh’, the android blinked, face unmoving. ‘Sure, what time?’
Fuck. Allen had not expected the android to actually agree. Shit. That was bad.
‘At seven?’
‘Fine with me. Where?’
‘Err… I’ll send you the address.’
‘Okay. Looking forward to it.’
Allen turned around and grimaced as soon as he was out of sight of the android. He glared at Jensen who was barely containing his laughter and entered his office to remain there for the rest of the day. Fuck, now he had to come up with a place to go on a date with the murder bot.
-
He drove up to the sole restaurant in all of Detroit that served both android and human food. He had been lucky to get a table for today. He still didn’t know what the hell he was doing here, but well, worst case he would have to be here for a few hours and call it done. He saw the android already waiting at the entrance and tried to at least fake the polite smile.
‘Hello, Sixty.’
‘Hello, Captain.’
‘Err… Allen’s fine’, he commented. Shit, even his team didn’t call him Captain unless outsiders were around, or it was a work issue. ‘We’re not at work after all.’
‘Okay, then hello Mr. Allen.’
‘Uh, yeah, okay, let’s go in.’ Awkward.
They entered and were shown their table. The waiter spared them any more small talk, taking their orders for drinks and handing them the menus.
A few minutes passed as they both chose their food, but after that they had to wait again until the waiter would come back. And the silence that caused was as uncomfortable as it could get.
‘So…’, Sixty spoke up in the end. ‘What exactly is this?’
Allen’s shoulders sagged a little. ‘Do you want the honest truth?’, he sighed in defeat.
The android nodded, and Allen answered: ‘We played truth or dare. They dared me to ask you on a “date”.’
The android huffed with a humorless smile. ‘Well, it’s nice being a part of something I guess, even if it means being part of a joke.’
Allen frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Okay, here are your drinks, what can I get you?’ Allen flinched, he hadn’t even noticed the waiter appearing. Sixty wasn’t as bothered, ordering for himself and Allen caught himself to follow short. Once the man was gone again, the android sat up.
‘I mean that I know you and your team could do well without me.’
‘That obvious, huh?’, Allen asked, embarrassed about their sentiment being this obvious.
‘I mean, In the last week I barely spoke to anyone and no one even approached me.’ Sixty shrugged. ‘But that’s fine, I get you are close with each other, going on dangerous missions. I guessed as much as I got assigned the job. I hope I can prove my worth to you in action.’
‘I’m sorry’, Allen mumbled in all honesty. ‘It’s just…’
Sixty waited for him to continue, but nothing came. ‘Just what?’
‘It’s hard to trust you when all we know about you is that you held our colleague at gunpoint and the only thing keeping you from pulling the trigger was getting shot.’
The android smirked. ‘Yeah, I get that. I could explain to you how I was under Amanda’s full control that time, being ordered to stop Connor by any means necessary, or be permanently deactivated myself. But I guess it wouldn’t change a thing, am I right?’
He smiled sadly at Allen, who couldn’t help but feel like a total asshole. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s fine, really’, Sixty reassured him. ‘I guess it just needs time of us working together for you and your team to realise I won’t suddenly go full terminator on you.’
‘So you were forced to nearly shoot Hank?’
‘I mean, I was forced to end the revolution or die. I had to stop Connor for that. And Lieutenant Anderson was his weakness. His partner and only emotional support in this world. I guess if you ask if I was forced to kill him, then no, I wasn’t. But it really is a question of how far you are willing to go to protect your own life when you have only lived for a few hours at that point and don’t know what that even means yet.’
Allen stared at the tablecloth, trying to process what he’d just heard.
‘I don’t plan on holding the Lieutenant at gunpoint ever again, if that means anything’, Sixty carefully stated then. ‘Or put my own life about anyone else’s for that matter. I’ve learned my lesson staying with New Jericho, listening to all these android’s life stories and learning what life could eventually be.’
Allen looked up into the android’s eyes, realising to what extend he had misjudged him.
‘What made you chose police work then?’, he asked with honest interest.
‘Honestly? It was a heat of the moment decision. The DPD was hiring and I knew Connor worked with them. I thought maybe that would make it easier for me. Following my initial purpose and living with people that accepted him despite his crimes.’
‘Crimes?’
‘Well, he was a spy for Cyberlife initially before he switched sides. And he did kill at least two humans at Cyberlife tower. If you think about it, he actually did worse things than I have. But maybe I misjudged that.’
The waiter reappeared with their food, giving Allen time to make a decision.
‘I will talk with my team’, he stated as he had disappeared again. ‘I believe we all fell for prejudice here. I’ll tell them to give you a chance.’
Sixty eyed him lifting a brow. ‘Captain, do you really think this is necessary?’
‘Yes, I think so. I don’t think you should be held accountable for something you couldn’t control.’
‘I…’ The android looked at what looked like blue pudding in front of him. ‘Thank you, Captain. That really means a lot to me.’
They began eating mostly to play down the serious talk, but the silence really didn’t help making the whole thing feel less awkward and unnatural. Allen thought about what to talk about with someone he basically knew nothing about, but only one thing came to his mind. He tried to find something more fitting, but ultimately, everything was better than the silence.
So, he spoke up again: ‘Okay, let’s stop talking about work for a while. Let’s talk about you, if you want, of course. What do you like? Any hobbies?’
That seemed to catch the android off guard. ‘I like… music?’
‘Really? What kind of music? Favourite genre?’
‘Err… No. I haven’t listened to a lot yet. Any recommendations?’
Allen chuckled, knowing this was a dangerous question as he liked to ramble. ‘Oh, were to start? I have a whole list…’
‘Just give me a song, I will listen to it.’
‘Right now?’
Sixty tapped his temple. ‘Android, remember? Can listen to it in my head.’
‘Okay, not how you are supposed to hear music, but fine.’ He continued to list off a few of his favourite songs and stopped after he thought to have supplied the android with the essentials for now. Then he continued to eat, coughing when Sixty spoke up again: ‘Okay, I listened to them.’
‘What?’
‘I can listen to them simultaneously. I liked them.’
Allen stared at him. ‘Okay, that really isn’t how you listen to music.’
‘Then teach me: How do humans listen to music?’
‘One song at a time?’, Allen begun, not having imagined to ever need to explain that. ‘And normally coming from a speaker.’
‘Inefficient’, Sixty commented.
‘But-‘
‘If you hear one song at a time, you will never have listened to all of them in your whole lifetime.’
‘I mean, it’s true, but-‘
‘And you never get to see the similarities in between them. Analysing all the small changes in frequencies and subtle differences in between genres.’
Allen sat there staring. ‘Okay, I think we enjoy music on a very different level then.’
Sixty laughed. ‘I guess so, yes. But humans are inefficient at most tasks, so I don’t blame you.’
‘Thank you?’, the SWAT Captain tried, but couldn’t help but smile too.
‘Okay then, what else are androids so much better at?’
Sixty smirked. ‘I have a list. It’s alphabetised.’
The evening was actually quite fun after its initial difficulties. Sixty just seemed to need a jump start to get over his hesitant demeaner. Once they had initiated their personal talk, he ended up unveiling he was actually a quite cocky person, sure of himself and almost stubbornly ambitious. But despite that, he really seemed to care for others, wanting to use his strong suits to help those that needed it. Somehow, despite Allen’s previous impression of the android, he ended up liking him and wanting to get to know him better than possible in one evening.
Unfortunately, that very evening was about to end as it got late and already was dark outside. They paid for their respective meal, although Allen jokingly stated his co-workers had specifically asked him to take him on a date. Sixty just laughed and told him they wouldn’t have to know every detail.
As they exited the restaurant, the android turned to him before entering the automated taxi he had called. ‘And? Enjoyed your dare?’
Allen huffed. ‘Actually, I did. Obviously, this wasn’t a date, but it was nice getting to know you. I’m looking forward to work with you and… Well, if you want to do something like this again, I would be up for it.’
‘Really?’, the android asked. ‘I made it to the second date?’
Allen closed his eyes and sighed somehow not knowing what he had expected. ‘Be careful what you wish for, I don’t want to know what they decide to task me with next games night.’
Sixty smirked and opened the door of the taxi. ‘Maybe next time I will be there to decide myself.’ He winked at the Captain and entered the car, leaving Allen standing in front of the restaurant confused.
But somehow intrigued, too.
#detroit become human#dbh#Allen60#Captain Allen#RK800-60#Sixty#Sixty walking up to the dude who dared Allen: Am I a joke to you?#The anon said Allen has fun I said Allen has to listen to traumatised android backstory#I can't write fluff without angst I guess#but they have fun too I think#Sixty listening to like 40 songs at the same time#Ahhh human music - I like it
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
2. “I love you, but please stop whatever it is that you’re doing.”
Also on AO3 if that’s more your thing
“Ah, it’s so good to be home.”
About time, too. Ren has probably been waiting for me to come home for the past several hours. Wait, no. He likely was waiting from the moment I left. I had been needed for a case outside of Tokyo for a few days. I’ve grown to genuinely enjoy my work now that all my cases are not ones I fabricated. Even so, I can’t help but miss being home with the love of my life. The apartment itself is nothing special. Surprisingly, I had been the one to suggest the arrangement. Sojiro didn’t need the hassle of housing us and Morgana in Leblanc’s attic and Futaba in his home. Ren, of course, fervently agreed to the idea. It may not be much, but it’s ours. That’s what matters.
Opening the door, I find the lights out. I turn them on, seeing neither the cat-not-a-cat nor the cat-like boy who long ago stole my heart. Strange...there doesn’t seem to be anyone here. “Honey, I’m home,” I call out to the empty room. If anything is going to draw attention, that phrase will do it.
At that moment, I can hear frenzied movements from the other room. I can guess the source of the noise. Sure enough, Ren comes barreling around the corner and nearly tackles me with his hug. So much for being home alone...not that I really wanted that. “Akeppi!” Ren says, beaming. He’s clearly ecstatic that I’m home. He’s never been the type who could wait patiently for my return home from these trips. There have even been times where he would impulsively come find me, if only just to see me again. “I missed you.”
“It was only three days,” I chide.
“I missed you,” he repeats emphatically. He leans on his tippy toes, pushing my bangs to the side so that he can kiss the top of my forehead. That kiss is soon followed by another. And another. He moves so that he’s back to having his feet entirely grounded before kissing the skin between my eyebrows. More kisses quickly join that one as he leaves a trail of them down my nose. I cover his mouth with my hands before he can keep going with whatever this is. Instead of letting go of me to push my hands away from his face, he keeps holding on. Priorities, I suppose. He says something into my hands that vaguely sounds like, “Hi, Akeppi.”
“What are you doing?”
Another muffled response. “Loving you.”
“Look. I love you, but please stop whatever it is that you’re doing.”
“Aww...” He tries to say more, but this time I cannot make it out. Reluctantly, I move my hands away from his mouth to let him speak freely. At least he doesn’t attempt to resume his actions. “But I wasn’t done, Gowo.”
“Goro.”
“Gowo!”
“Gor-oh, forget it,” I sigh, knowing he’s stubborn enough to keep this up for hours. He once spent an hour meowing at me because he wanted a kiss that I had refused to give him. This, in comparison, would pose little challenge to his persistence. “What do you mean you weren’t done? Done with what, may I ask?”
“Kissing you.”
“You’ve been kissing me.”
“I wanted to kiss you more. I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“You’re being so overdramatic,” I say while rolling my eyes, but the effect is ruined by the smile trying to break through my outward annoyance. He’s clearly exaggerating. It’s endearing. And I suppose it wouldn’t be Ren if he wasn’t being as dramatic as he possibly can. “As I said, it’s been three days.”
“That’s basically forever! Come on, please?”
I ponder his request for a few moments. It’s clear that he really wants to kiss me. Even his eyes plead with me to let him keep going so that he can make up for three days of lost affection. I just can’t say no. “All right, fine.”
“Yay!” The huge grin now on his face makes my acceptance more than worth it.
He wastes no time as he gives my nose one final kiss. I expect him to go for my lips next, but instead, he starts to leave at least half a dozen kisses on my cheek. One comes quite close, but then he moves on to the other cheek. Why? Is he...teasing me? I know he wants to kiss me there, and I surprisingly want him to as well. Just kiss me on the lips, damnit! “Ren, that tickles,” I say as he starts kissing my neck instead.
He pulls away to look at me, shifting his embrace so that my arms are caught in his hold. The mischievous glint in his eyes is what makes me realize the mistake I just made by telling him that. His face is back at my neck in an instant, leaving a trail of quick, little kisses. I try to push him away, but there’s only so much I can do with my arms pinned to my sides. Once he reaches my throat, I can’t hold out anymore. My chest heaves as I start to laugh. I can feel Ren’s lips quirk into a hidden smile. “I think I’ll stick around here for a bit.”
“Ren, don’t-”
He doesn’t give me a chance to finish. He’s back to assaulting my throat with his affection. His gentle kisses coerce my laughter once again, rising to hysterical giggles as he continues. “Aww, look at you,” he coos between kisses, “being so cute.” Tears spring to my eyes. He notices, of course. “You’re crying. And your laugh? It’s adorable. Just like you.”
“Stohohop!”
He surprisingly does just that, although he doesn’t let go. It gives me a chance to catch my breath. “Why don’t you laugh like this all the time? I could listen to it all day.” I only shake my head in response, still too out of breath to give a comprehensible answer. “I love your laugh. And you’re smiling too!”
“Hey, I smile,” I retort.
“Not like this.” His doting smile has my heart skipping a beat or two. He’s so beautiful. That smile alone makes me feel like I’m falling in love with him all over again. “If I won’t see it again, then-”
He doesn’t even finish his sentence, going right back to covering my neck with kiss after ticklish kiss. It doesn’t take long for the giggling to return with a vengeance. I can feel more than hear him laughing as well, though his laughter is much more controlled. Even if I’m still trying to shove him off of me with no success, I find myself...wanting him to keep going?
Yes, I’m enjoying this.
I don’t know how much time has passed before he finally lets up. At some point, I stopped trying to push him away; my arms wrapped around Ren and his embrace are the only ways I’m still standing. Something tells me it’s the same for him. We stand there for a few minutes, simply enjoying the other’s company. Ren is the first to break the silence, saying, “I love you, Akeppi~”
“I love you too.” I don’t often say it in words, but I mean it every single time. Ren allows my arms to be free, opting to put his own around my waist. And now he finally decides to kiss me where I wanted him to earlier. “About time.”
“Hmm?” Shit, I hadn’t meant to say that aloud. “What was that? I didn’t catch that.”
“Nothing.”
“Did you want me to kiss you?”
“You have no proof one way or the other.”
“No, I don’t,” he admits a little too easily. He has some trick up his sleeve if the coy smile on his face is any indication. “I...guess I just won’t kiss you again.”
I stare at Ren in stunned silence. Surely, he’s bluffing. However, when I search his face for any deception, I find nothing. He fully intends to do exactly as he said. Normally, I could just wait it out until his constant need for affection wins out. I can already tell my normal plan won’t work this time. It’s been three days. I would never admit that I’m just as touch-starved as he is. My resolve likely won’t last even an hour.
Damn menace.
“All right, fine. I did want you to kiss me.”
I can tell he’s trying to hold back a cheeky grin as he asks, “Do you want me to kiss you again?”
“If you want to-”
“No no,” he interrupts, refusing to let me evade the question. He’s determined to get a direct answer out of me. “Do you ��want me to kiss you?”
I sigh. This will get me nowhere. “Yes,” I mutter.
“Huh? Did you say something?”
“Yes,” I repeat louder even if I know he heard me the first time, “I do.”
“Okay. Why don’t we cuddle? Then I can give you all the kisses you want~” he adds, already leading me to our bed. I gladly follow behind him. It’ll be nice falling asleep in his arms tonight. I’m more than happy to be back here with Ren...my home.
Prompt source
#akeppi writes#p5#persona 5#p5r#persona 5 royal#goro akechi#akechi#ren amamiya#akira kurusu#akeshu#shuake#writing prompts#serotonin#just pure serotonin#this is likely the only time I will ever be able to write pure fluff
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
Endeavor x Reader 18+
Title: Temptation
Rating: Explicit/R-18+
Words: 2761
Warnings: phone sex, public masturbation, slight daddy kink
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25758232
A/N: This is not a new fic. I actually wrote it sometime back in 2017 but I never uploaded it outside of Tumblr. I was only recently able to retrieve it from my previously nuked blog so figured I’d go ahead and post it here. : /
♥♥♥♥
Whether because of his age or due to his stubborn ass personality, Enji was not a big fan of texting. He much preferred to make phone calls or, better yet, speak to someone in person. Try as you might to convince him otherwise, it proved to be a hard habit of his to break. Although you couldn’t really blame him for being so stuck in his ways, not when they’d served him so well over the years, you likewise had your own method of getting things done. Texting was your main source of communication these days and you’d long since accepted that he just wasn’t going to get on board with it anytime soon.
Thats why you were so terribly shocked when your phone buzzed and you glanced down at the screen to see a message from the flame hero himself. This was so unlike him and concern that there was some kind of problem washed over you before you could rationalize it as being something mundane. Fearing the worst, you opened the text only to balk incredulously.
Come to my office.
Surreptitiously glancing up at Best Jeanist, you offered the blonde a reassuring smile when he shot you a questioning look. This was so not the time for Enji to start getting demanding.
I can’t right now. I’m out on patrol with my boss. Maybe later?
You waited expectantly for some kind of response, but it was just dead silence on his end. After about three minutes and your text still unread, you slipped your phone into your pocket with every intention of getting back to work. It went off again not even thirty seconds later and you heaved a tired sigh. Once more fishing out your cellphone, you disinterestedly looked over the new message.
I’ve been thinking about you.
Your eyes bulged before you could catch yourself. Suddenly feeling quite flustered, you quickly glanced around to make sure no one was reading over your shoulder before carefully constructing your reply. No one knew about your relationship with Endeavor and it would have been disastrous if it came out like this. It was a PR nightmare just waiting to happen.
Oh ~? I can’t wait for you to tell me all about it! I’ll be done around 5
This time Enji’s reply came much quicker and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling at the thought that he was starting to get the hang of it.
I want you now. Not later.
Too bad he was using his new found texting skills to get you all hot and bothered while you were at work and your boss was standing not even five feet away.
You were halfway through typing a firm but gentle reminder that you were a pro too and you couldn’t just drop everything to come blow him under his desk when you got another message from him. Blinking in surprise, your eyebrows shot up when you realized that he’d sent you a picture. You didn’t even really give it much thought as you clicked on it, and suddenly your screen was filled with … the front of Enji’s hero costume. The crotch to be exact. And boy, was he hard.
Blushing like a school girl, you hurriedly tapped the picture away. Another text was waiting for you.
See what you do to me?
You gasped for air, swinging your head up to find Best Jeanist approaching you. Panic was quick to set in but, thinking fast, you rushed to say that you were going to use the restroom and without even waiting for a answer, you took off in the opposite direction. It was suspicious. It was incredibly suspicious, your behavior. He’d no doubt ask what that had been all about when you returned and you sure hoped he bought whatever petty excuse you managed to come up with before then.
Halfway down the block, there was a fast food restaurant which is where you decided to slip into. You refused to meet any of the employees eyes as you made a bee line for the bathroom where you promptly locked yourself into one of the stalls. Gripping your phone in a white knuckled grip, you jabbed at the screen rather aggressively and brought it up to your ear. Enji answered on the first ring.
“I’m so glad that you’re finally catching up to this century, but you can’t send me stuff like that when I’m at work!” You snapped, almost immediately regretting your choice in words. You were flustered and anxious though, and your panties suddenly felt uncomfortably damp, so you didn’t even try to take it back.
To your surprise, Enji actually had the decency to fall into stunned silence for a brief moment. Then he growled through the receiver and you could practically see his teeth clamping down on that pouty bottom lip of his. “Watch how you speak to me, woman. I wont warn you again.”
That certainly took some of the bite out of your scathing mood. “Look, I’m sorry but …” You tried to reason with him, noticeably calmer. “I’m on patrol with Best Jeanist right now. You can’t ask me to just drop everything like that.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
You choked in disbelief. “W-wha -”
He cut you off with a vehement huff. “Where are you?”
“In a restaurant. In the bathroom.”
“Good.” You caught the sound of rustling on the other end. “I felt like a damn fool taking that picture. This is much better.”
Your gaze darted to the stall door, still locked. “Enji, I can’t -”
“You will.” A tense puff of air filtered through the line, and you were sure he had his straining cock in his hand now. “I’ll even take you out to dinner tonight instead of just breaking you over my desk. Now be a good girl and start playing with yourself.”
Static electricity shot up your spine, making you shudder. A soft moan escaped your parted lips. Enji didn’t miss it, he never did, and he chuckled in satisfaction. The sound alone made goosebumps erupt across your skin and before you realized what you were doing, your free hand had found your breast. It was small and delicate compared to his massive, callous rough palms, but it was so easy to imagine. So easy to dredge up the most recent memory of how it felt when he fondled your tits. Your nipples responded quickly, pebbling against the inside of your bra, just aching for some real attention.
“This is risky …” You murmured, your voice a little lower. Huskier.
Enji snorted. “Maybe for you.”
You flushed red hot at that, swaying on your feet. He was right. You were the only one doing this out in public where anyone could walk in without warning while he was safe in his office. Your breath hitched even as you rushed to unfasten the top of your costume with one hand. It was a struggle, but with jerky motions you finally managed to free yourself and you yanked your bra down under the swell of your chest.
“E-Enjiiii …” You keened into the phone as you pinched your left nipple. Tugged it, gave it a twist. Nothing could compare to his rough ministrations though.
A pleased hum drifted into your ear, followed by a deliberately slow inhale. “Not like that. You know better.”
You screwed your eyes shut and leaned back against the stall door, groaning. “Daddy!”
“Thats it.”
Enji sounded so self satisfied and you could practically envision him reclining into his highbacked leather chair, spreading his legs wide as he languidly stroked his cock with his hand. Maybe he was alternating between showing the head some special attention, slowly rubbing around the slit at the top, or perhaps he was reaching down to give his heavy balls a nice squeeze. God, there were so many possibilities and somehow not knowing exactly what he was doing made your knees go weak.
“I’ve been thinking about that pretty little mouth of yours all day.” He spoke slowly, almost sensually, truly stoking your fire. “I wanted you to come crawl under my desk and suck me off while I work on this mountain of paperwork. Be my little cock warmer.”
Your vision started to blur. “I want to, daddy. I want your dick in my mouth so bad. I wish it was you touching my nipples right now.”
He groaned, quietly. “Those perfect little tits of yours. Maybe I should have you squeeze them together so I can fuck them instead of your mouth.”
“Why not both?”
He issued a rumbling chuckle. “Smart girl.”
Your nipple was starting to get sore and tender, so you switched over to teasing the other one. “What else do you want to do to me? Please tell me, daddy.”
Enji made a thoughtful sound, as if he were in no rush to hurry this up. He probably wasn’t, in all honesty. “Well, first I want to take you over my knee and give you a nice, hard spanking for talking to me the way you did earlier. You know I don’t tolerate that kind of behavior.”
“And then?” You were quick to prompt him for more. Eager to hear his gruff voice saying filthy, humiliating things directly into your ear. “After you’re done spanking me?”
“Then I think I’ll play with that pretty pink asshole of yours for a while. You know how much I enjoy that.”
Its true. He was rather fond of fingering you after your behind was blistering red and sore. “I like it too …” You whimpered as you tugged on your nipple a little too hard.
“I know you do.” Enji’s voice dropped an octave, taking on a more carnal lilt. More predatory, hungry. “And I’ll force my fingers down your throat when I’m through. Make you clean up your mess. You’re such a messy girl, you know that?”
“Oh, god.” The words forced their way out of your mouth and you abandoned your chest in favor of fumbling with your pants. “I am, I really am, daddy. I’m so sorry.”
He moaned, clearly enjoying the needy desperation in your voice. “Thats what I’m here for. To keep you in check. Are you touching your clit yet?”
Practically tearing your jeans right off, you crumple them around your ankles and drop into a squat right there inside the stall. “Yes, daddy. I’m so wet, god. I wish you were here. I want you to fuck me in this bathroom so bad.”
“Next time. I promise.” His breath catches in his throat and you knew he was stroking himself faster now. “For the time being, I want you to dip those sweet fingers into your cunt and imagine its me stretching you out. Getting you ready to take me.”
“I’m always ready for you.” You practically sob, sending jittery fingertips skirting across your labia. You pause just long enough to smear your arousal, coating yourself with it, before slipping one digit inside your pussy. Its not nearly enough though and you quickly add another. You clench down on yourself tight. “Oh! God … please! I need you. I need you, daddyyyyy.”
Enji scoffs, sounding quite put out even in the heat of the moment. “Stop that whining. If you would’ve just done as I said, I could be fucking you right now.”
You’re so close to wailing in outright distress. “But -”
“No buts!” He barks at you. You were astounded to hear that familiar heat creeping into his voice even in this situation, when he was in the middle of jerking off at his own desk. “You had your chance. These are the consequences. I trust I don’t need to give you a refresher course on what that means?”
“No …” You pout up at the wall, still a little whiny but notably less so.
“Good. Now,” He pauses. Lets the anticipation hang in the air while you continue to thrust your fingers into your body. “I want you to rub your clit. Hard and fast. Do you understand me? I’ll know if you don’t do exactly what I said.”
Sucking in a haggard gulp of air, you pull out of your cunt and focus instead on that tight cluster of nerves with sharp, quick circles. The delicious friction leaves you openly groaning in the public restroom like you’ve forgotten where you are. The threat of being caught seemed like a distant memory though and it was hard to care about reputations or PR when you just felt so achingly good rubbing one out with Enji over the phone. Somehow the thought had never occurred to you before, so the resulting rush was nearly palpable. You could feel it scorching your veins with its intensity.
“Thats it. Such a good girl.” He sounded incredibly hot and heavy all of a sudden. “Who owns that tight cunt? Who does it belong to?”
“You! You do! Its yours, daddy, all yours!”
“I wonder how soaked your panties will be by the time you get to my office.” Enji somehow manages to sound thoughtful, like he’s working out an equation in his head. “Maybe I should tell you not to put them back on when you’re done. That bastard Best Jeansit will probably be able to smell you from a mile way, regardless.”
Trembling under the force of your quickly mounting orgasm, you strain your legs a little further apart. You just couldn’t seem to put enough pressure on your clit, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. “I - I’m close … I’m so close, daddy …”
“Then do it. Come for me, baby.”
You moaned in response, far louder than you should have, and the pace of your hand reached a frenzied speed. Teetering right on the edge, balancing precariously on your heels in a dirty bathroom, you just needed one little nudge.
Its a deep, low grunt from Enji that finally pushes you over the precipice into oblivion. The guttural sound echoes inside your ears for an eternity while you spasm. Throwing your head back with a strangled scream, you slam against the door so hard that the bolt rattles, and you don’t even have the wherewithal to be concerned about someone hearing you anymore. Not while your gushing pussy is on fire, ineffectually contracting around nothing and all you can do is ride it out to completion.
The orgasm is so intense that it leaves you momentarily shaken. Disoriented. Leaning heavily against the door, you almost drop your phone as you slowly stand up on shaky legs. Your pulse is still excited and jumpy but almost immediately you can feel the blissful high of endorphins swarming your body. You feel almost giddy.
“Wow, that was … actually kind of nice. Did you come too?” You ask, sounding out of it and a little loopy. You were sure to be on cloud nine for the rest of the day.
“No.”
The answer is so blunt and to the point that at first you’re not so sure you heard him correctly. “What?”
Enji sighs as more shuffling can be heard in the background and you wonder what he’s doing. “I think I’ll save it for later. That rude mouth of yours needs to be filled up with something, doesn’t it? Be here at five on the dot or don’t bother coming at all. Oh, and don’t put your panties back on. Throw them in the trash for all I care.”
And just like that, the line disconnected.
You stood there, stunned and feeling quite foolish with your pants pooling around your ankles. Twenty six minutes according to the call log. That was an awfully long bathroom break. Jeanist would definitely have some questions for you. But before you worry about that …
Smiling mischievously, you pull up your text log with Enji and open the picture again. The sheer girth of his engorged cock was really straining against the synthetic material of his costume, weighing heavy in the tight confines and leaving a rather mouthwatering outline on display. Overall, it left very little to the imagination and you wished you could make it the background on your phone. Sadly, you knew you couldn’t.
You gave his cock one last, longing look. It must have taken quite a bit of willpower for him to edge himself like that if he was this hard at the start, you mused. This certainly pointed towards an extra fun evening awaiting you when you got off work and your pussy tingled with residual excitement.
You saved the photo anyway, confident that you would still find some use for it.
83 notes
·
View notes
Text
My Babysitter’s a Vampire
Benny x Reader Oneshot
Love Positions Don’t Work On Me
Prompt: The Reader has a crush on Benny. When Benny cooks up a love potion for him and Ethan to get girlfriends he doesn’t understand why it doesn’t work on the reader.
Tick tock tick tock tick tock the loud clock droned on as you waited for your class to end. It was almost your favorite time of day. Lunch. Lunch was the time when you got to hang out with your friends and talk to the boy you liked. He was in your friend group, but you could never tell him you liked him. You were afraid to ruin what you had and plus that crap destroys friend groups. You just had to keep it a secret. It wasn’t a very well kept secret. It seemed like everyone knew you had a crush on Benny except for Benny. I guess it was kinda like Ethan’s whole thing with Sarah. He was always so incredibly obvious, but she didn’t notice or maybe she just didn’t care. No matter how hard you try you feel like you’re being too obvious. At least that’s what Erica and Sarah tell you. RING the ring of the bell ripped you from your thoughts as you grabbed your books and headed to your locker to see Benny. Your lockers were right next to each other. You stopped dead in your tracks when you got close enough to see Benny and Ethan at Benny’s locker with Sarah and Erica. Sarah was strangely hanging off of Ethan and to make things even stranger Erica was kissing Benny. You were furious. How could she do this to you?! She was supposed to be one of your best friends. You ran to the bathroom and proceeded to lock yourself in a stall and try to hold in the sobs. You knew you weren’t Benny’s type and that he could never possibly like you back, but you were furious at Erica for hurting you like that. She knew how much you liked him. Plus she could have any guy in school. She always goes for the jocks and the populars. What was she doing kissing this idiot? My idiot. Then the confusion set in. Why was she kissing Benny? Why was she even talking to him in public. Then the realization set in. That idiot! He used magic to get Sarah and Erica to date him and Ethan. You were pissed. You had to find them. You rushed out of the bathroom and ran into Rory. “Hey (Y/N)! How’s it hanging?” He asked. “I’m sorry Rory I don’t have time to talk right now” You apologize. “Do you know what Benny and Ethan did to get all of those bodacious babes to follow them around school? I tried to ask them, but Benny just said they had mad skills and-“ “Wait what do you ALL THOSE bodacious babes?! Are you saying it’s more girls than just Erica and Sarah?!” You ask. “Yeah! I didn’t believe it either. I saw them in the cafeteria. They had girls swarming them” He said in surprise. The anger bubbled inside of you. “I’m going to kill him” You say rather calmly as you walked away from Rory and head into the direction of Benny’s next class. Lunch was over now so you had to find him in the middle of English class. “So I’ll catch you later?!” Rory yelled down the hall at you with a voice crack. You didn’t respond. You were too angry. Dating somebody else? That would be one thing. But using magic to take away the free will of every girl in school to get them all to fall in love with you? He was so dead. They were both dead. I have no doubt that Ethan was part of this idiot scheme too.
When you got to his class you saw Erica making kissy face through the window on the door. She was obviously trying to get Benny out of class so they could fool around in the bathroom. When he didn’t come out she gave a pouty face and walked away. That was surprising. You walked up to the window next. You sent him a text saying CODE BLUE: Meet me outside now! “I really need to go to the bathroom. It’s kind of an emergency.” Benny said to his teacher who obviously didn’t want him leaving class. She sighed. “Fine. Hurry” His teacher said in an aggravated tone. Benny left the classroom to meet you in the hallway and you pulled him to the side. “What’s wrong is everything oka-“ You cut him off by punching him in the arm. “Ow! Hey! What did I do to deserve that?!” He yelled in a sort of hushed tone. “You’re such an idiot.” You say in a stern voice. “I thought you were in trouble. You said ‘code blue” He questioned you. “Yeah. Code red is trouble. Code blue is for BENNY IS A DUMBASS.” You yell at him. “I can’t believe you used your magic to get every single girl in school to fall in love with you! How could you do that?! How could you be that ridiculously irresponsible and rude?! Think about what you did to all of those girls!” You lecture him. “HeyHey Hey- I was just trying to help Ethan okay. You know he’s liked Sarah for-like-ever” He tries to reason. “First of all I love Ethan, but Sarah should have her own free will to decide on her own who she wants to date and secondly that doesn’t mean you should have forced every girl in school to fall in love with both of you!” You continue to lecture. “I dropped the bottle I didn’t mean to-“ He stopped talking and you could see the wheels turning. “Wait a second. If every girl in school is in love with me, why aren’t you? It even worked on Erica, but you’re just mad at me” He asked. The wheels were turning and sooner or later he was going to figure it out. “(Y/N)....are you...” he trailed off for a second. Oh no. He knows I like him. “A lesbian?” He asked. That is not what I was expecting. “I mean it would explain a lot considering you’ve never had a boyfriend and-“ You cut him off again. “Will you shut up! I’m not a lesbian and even if I was that shouldn’t even matter” You say not knowing what else to say. You weren’t a lesbian, although you were an ally. “You can tell me. It’s okay. I’m your best friend” Benny said sincerely as he put his hand on your shoulder. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat as you looked up at him with his perfect smile and his stupid brown hair. “You have to get back to class. I have to go...” You trailed off as you turned away from Benny and walked down the hall. “(Y/N)! Wait!” He started after you. “I just can’t do this right now” you said quietly as you walked away. A single tear slipped down your face, but he couldn’t see it because your back was to him.
RING the last bell of the day rang and you were out for the day. You just wanted to go home and forget anything ever happened. You stood at your locker packing up your things when you heard your name being called “Hey, (Y/N)! Wait up!” You heard Ethan’s voice through the crowd of students. “What do you want Ethan?” You were still mad, but you were angrier with Benny considering he was the one who actually created the spell. It was probably his idea too. “I just wanted to say that I totally respect you and whatever you’re going through. Ya know I have a cousin who’s gay” He said trying to be supportive. “For the last time I’m not a lesbian!” You exclaim, shutting your locker and walking out of the school. This had all gone way too far. You knew what you had to do. It was time to pull out the big guns.
You stood in front of Benny’s front door. You pressed the button and heard the doorbell. The door opened to see the sweet face of Benny’s grandmother, a sweet old woman with magic powers, totally capable of kicking anyone and everyone’s ass. “(Y/N)? What are you doing here? Benny is supposed to be at Ethan’s. I thought you three would be hanging out there” She questioned me. “Benny is at Ethan’s, but Benny is also being an idiot so that’s why I’m here” You explain. “When isn’t he my dear?” She joked. You laugh a little. “Come on in. I’ll make you a snack” She offered. You gladly accept and sit down in the living room. She brings you a sandwich and a glass of lemonade. “Thanks Grandma” You smile. You loved Benny’s grandmother. Your own grandparents lived out of state so you were never close with them. “So what have the boys gotten themselves into this time?” She asked, obviously a little tired of their bullshit. “Benny made a love potion and now every girl in school is in love with them” You sigh. She gave me a sad look. She knew. Grandmas always do. “Don’t worry my dear. They’ll get their’s” She smiled. “What do you mean?” You ask. “The Earth must stay in balance. When you knock it out of balance, it will knock back. As much as those girls loved them, they’ll hate them just as much” She laughs. “Oh my god” You grow to have a horrified look on your face. “What’s wrong my dear? Don’t you want them to pay for what they did?” She asks. “Erica kissed Benny! Like she KISSED HIM! She barely even likes him on a normal day! She’s gonna kill him” You explain with worry. “I gotta go!” You say rushing out of the house and over to Ethan’s.
When you arrived at Ethan’s house you saw angry girls all over his lawn. The martial arts club had baseball bats and hockey sticks. You start to fight some of them off. “I am so sorry that I told Ethan you were a lesbian! Please don’t kill me!” You hear Benny scream. “I’m not a lesbian!” You exclaim putting your fist out, punching and successfully knocking out the president of the martial arts club. That’s when Erica and Sarah drop down. “You’ve gotta be kidding me! You two just had to magically seduce the two strongest beings at our high school, didn’t you?!” You yell at them. “Nobody is killing Benny, but me!” Erica argues. “And nobody is killing Ethan, but me!” Sarah adds. “Well too bad because neither of you will be killing anyone” You inform them. You then pull out the UV lightsaber the boys made to fend off the girls. They won’t go anywhere near the light and as long as they stay away nobody gets hurt. It’s like a bug zapper for vampires. Sarah and Erica started hissing and you knew you needed a plan quickly. “I have an idea!” Ethan says almost on que. “Well I’d love to hear it!” You and Benny both yell at the same time. You get a little blushy, but the boys can’t see because they’re standing behind you. Next thing you know you’re being pulled into some cage that Ethan bought online from some movie or something. “Are you sure this will work?” You ask. “The eternity cage is impenetrable!” Ethan exclaims. “And so is the prop...I hope...” Benny adds. The three of you migrate to the center of the cage where Sarah and Erica won’t be able to touch you and you decide to wait it out in close quarters. Benny and Ethan were pretty close, but Benny was on top of you. He had one arm wrapped around you. You don’t even think he noticed. It seemed like second nature to him, but you didn’t mind. “How long do you think this is gonna last?” You ask. “Well they loved us for 6 hours so I’m guessing they’ll hate us for about 5 more” Ethan guesses. “Awesome” You state as more girls flock to the cage. You press close into Benny as you leave one arm extended with the UV lightsaber. He wraps his arm tighter around you. “I’m sorry” He says quietly. “For what? Telling Ethan I’m a lesbian? Even when I’m not even a lesbian?” You ask him. “Well no, but I’m sorry for that too” He apologies. “What I meant was I’m sorry for getting you into this” He adds. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean to drop the bottle” You acknowledge. “Why are you in this?” Ethan asks. “What do you mean? I care about you guys” You tell him. “No, I mean why are you in THIS? Why weren’t you loving us in school and now hating us on the other side of these bars?” Ethan asks. You know the answer, but you just don’t feel like explaining. You’ve gone through all of this with Benny. You can’t lose him now. “I don’t know. Maybe I just spend so much time with you guys that Benny’s magic just doesn’t effect me like that” You spill out some stupid answer that you know isn’t true. Thankfully the boys believe it. Eventually you dose off in the cage in Benny’s arms while Ethan mans the UV lightsaber.
You wake up the next morning to see Sarah and Erica in front of the cage with Benny’s Grandmother a key...the key to the cage. You forgot you were locked in. You watched the boys beg to get out and eventually the girls let them out on one condition.
You were sitting on Benny’s front porch with Sarah and Erica while Benny’s Grandma was in the front yard with a lawn chair. You were drinking lemonade as the boys washed Benny’s Grandma’s car. The four of you were taking full advantage of the boys as payback and it was kinda funny although you did feel a little bad for them. They spent the night in a cage with girls wanting to tear them limb from limb surrounding them. You thought they’d had enough. “Hey, Benny I think we’re out of lemonade. Why don’t you come inside and help me make some more” I offer. “Yeah, sure” He puts down the sponge and heads inside with you. The kitchen is a little quiet until Benny breaks the silence. “So why didn’t my spell work on you?” He asks. “And don’t say you’re immune to my magic because that’s not how it works” He adds. You knew you had to tell him. No lie in the world could get you out of this. “Benny...” He looked at you with interest. “Love potions don’t work on me...because you can’t make somebody fall for you...who already likes you...” You tell him. You start to sweat and your blush becomes uncontrollable. “Wait you-“ “Yeah” You cut him off. “How long?” He asks. “Since like forever...” You tell him. “Since we met in middle school...” You add. He begins to smile. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He asks. “Well you were always all over other prettier girls and-“ He cuts me off. “(Y/N), no one is prettier than you” He tells me. “What?” You ask. “(Y/N) you are the funniest, smartest, bravest, most beautiful girl I have ever met” He confesses. “Really?” You ask. “Yes” He smiles and leans down to kiss you. You smile into the kiss. You pull away. “Benny! Where’s my lemonade with extra plasma?!” We hear Erica yell. We separate and laugh. We then get back to making the lemonade.
#benny weir#benny weir x reader#mbav#mbav benny#my babysitters a vampire#benny weir oneshot#benny weir imagine#benny weir fanfic#benny weir fanfiction
293 notes
·
View notes
Text
Into The Unknown
Yennefer has never been particularly fond of djinns but she doesn't entirely hate them until they cause trouble for Jaskier a second time... day fifteen of whumptober.
A/N: last whumpskier fic, getting halfway is enough for this year !! today’s pairing: yennefer/jaskier | prompts used: possession / magical healing
-
Djinns are far more trouble than they’re worth.
Rinde had been a good example but Yennefer doesn’t truly accept it as a concrete truth until she comes across another one that also causes a small disaster. Or rather, until Jaskier comes across another one.
She hadn’t actually meant to run into him but she’s not complaining when she hears him start playing a song he’d written about her because, well, it’d simply be rude to ignore that gesture of good faith. Not that they need anything as flimsy as good faith to keep them together.
“You look absolutely ravishing, my dear,” Jaskier drawls as he settles beside her.
She smirks. “I know. Shame I can’t return the compliment.”
And for once, she almost means that. He seems to have taken a leaf out of Geralt’s book and dressed himself entirely in black and white, a bright shirt nestled in between dark breeches and an even darker doublet that matches his pointed boots.
Any other time, she might have just been teasing because she won’t lie when she says he can pull the look off just as well as their mutual friend, but there’s something wrong with his outfit, something that has her on edge.
“Have you taken some sort of potion?” She asks, wondering why he seems to be radiating chaos.
He just winks. “Something like that. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” And with that, he slips away, slotting himself into a conversation a few tables away.
Yennefer stares after him for a moment, shocked. That’s not the way their reunions usually go and she most certainly will not stand for being left behind. Briskly, she follows, grabs Jaskier’s arm, and pulls him outside with a glare. “Are you drunk? Or have you perhaps lost those stupid marbles you keep yapping about?”
Jaskier lazily grins at her. “None of the above, Yennefer of Vengerberg. I’m simply enjoying the options that have been made available to me.”
A horrible feeling settles in her gut; he never calls her by her full name unless they’re trying to bamboozle someone into doing something for them and he always vows that she is his best option. “What have you done recently that involves chaos?” she demands.
He chuckles. “You haven’t sensed it yet? My, he might have been wrong about your power after all…”
“He?” Yennefer echoes.
Jaskier points at his own forehead before raising an eyebrow. As she watches, he blinks and his eyes darken from familiar blue to brown, to black, to all but a pair of empty voids.
She gasps but before she can do anything, he winks and smoke fills the air around her. By the time she stops coughing enough to curse, he’s gone. Both him and whatever it is using him as a puppet.
A quick round of questioning inside the tavern tells her Jaskier has spent the last week entertaining a vast range of people in a vast range of ways and she almost winces when she finds out because she knows the stupid bard will feel awful and apologise far too much when he’s back to normal.
It’s not particularly hard to follow the trail of chaos but it is painful when she remembers that Jaskier’s strange morals are going to give him an extremely hard time over the broken hearts, small fires, impossible promises, and handful of slaughtered animals that he’s left in his wake.
She finds him at the edge of town, running his tongue along a dagger.
“Who are you and what are you doing with him?” Yennefer demands immediately, waving her hand and sending the dagger flying into a nearby tree before Jaskier loses his tongue.
Jaskier smiles at her but it’s all wrong, cold and crooked instead of his usual warm expressions. It doesn’t help that his eyes are still awfully empty. “Ever so direct, I appreciate that. And he does too, he’s truly quite devoted to you…”
A strange mix of anger and affection rushes through her blood at the words but she doesn’t dwell on it, raising an eyebrow as chaos crackles along her arms. “Get out of him before I make you.”
“We both know that’s going to be rather agonising,” he says, but then his eyes glint. “Unless of course, you don’t. Haven’t you figured out what I am yet?”
She hadn’t, but she catches sight of Jaskier’s hands again - of the blackened fingertips and tendrils of what look like smoke running along his fingers, past his wrists and up his arms - and it’s abruptly all too obvious.
“Of course I have. I’d recognise the work of djinns anywhere,” she hisses.
Jaskier smiles, pulling another dagger out of nowhere and twirling it in his hands, something that would be beautiful if he were in control of himself. “Then you know that forcing me to leave would be interfering with a wish and might lead to… well, consequences.”
“I don’t care what he said, this can’t be what he meant,” Yennefer scoffs.
That awful smirk returns as he holds the new dagger against his own neck, her magic doing nothing to cast it aside this time. “Oh, it wasn’t him. Just an interested party.”
She’s going to murder whoever it was when she finds them.
She doesn’t particularly want to force the djinn out of him because he’s right - she doesn’t know what could happen if things turn sour- but she can’t let this go since she has no idea what the wish was and how badly it’s going to hurt Jaskier if she lets it play out.
“We’ve done a lot of singing recently but I think I’ve had enough of his voice, haven’t you?” Jaskier asks, his expression full of innocence as he presses the blade into his skin without even flinching.
“No!” she yells, freezing the djinn’s intentions by stopping Jaskier’s hand, cursing when she’s met with more resistance than she’d expected.
“One of us is going to kill him!” Jaskier shouts, but his voice is deep, layered, not his own.
“Over my dead body!” Yennefer snarls back, tugging on Jaskier’s presence and pushing against the djinn, letting herself scream as she fights it, forcing herself to keep going even as Jaskier’s screams join her own.
She doesn’t stop until she sees his eyes fade from nothings into the blue she’s grown rather fond of over the years, until she feels smoke dissolve around them as the dagger clatters to the floor. Unfortunately, Jaskier also slumps to the floor.
Pushing aside her own desire to do the same, she hurriedly kneels beside him, cursing again when she sees his newly-acquired necklace of blood. His eyes meet hers, wide and terrified as he coughs up red, spluttering on the liquid that spills over his lips.
“Oh no you don’t,” Yennefer hisses, placing her hands around his neck.
He panics initially, his hands weakly scrabbling against hers, but the shock in his expression melts into sheer relief as she starts willing his skin to heal. She can tell it hurts because his hands tighten around her wrists and a soft, broken whimper escapes him but, like before, she simply keeps going.
It takes longer than she’d like for her to undo the djinn’s damage but when she’s sure he’s not going to bleed out or lose his voice, she pulls her hands away, wasting a little more magic getting rid of the blood on her hands because for reasons she doesn’t care to decipher, she hates the very sight of it.
Jaskier groans when his neck finally finishes weaving itself together and Yennefer has one of her rare moments of regret because although the bard will never complain about her magically healing him, she knows it can sometimes hurt to undo an injury just as much as it did to acquire it.
“I’m so sorry,” Jaskier rasps eventually, and Yennefer’s almost surprised to see he’s crying.
She slips her hand into his, gently squeezing. “You don’t need to be, not for this.”
“But I-”
“Don’t argue with me,” Yennefer interrupts, but not unkindly. She doesn’t have enough strength to sound bitter anyway.
Jaskier sighs before letting his head fall back on the floor as he lifts his free hand to his neck, a small sob slipping past his still-stained lips. For all the emotions he cycles through, he doesn’t cry often, and Yennefer despises it when he does because it hurts her too. Gods, she really hates all these feelings sometimes.
She shifts, pulling his head into her lap and brushing his tears away with her thumb. “It’s okay, Jaskier, it wasn’t your wish.” It wasn’t your fault.
He squeezes her hand, curling into her with a jagged sigh. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice nothing like it usually is but still beautiful purely because he still has it, because the djinn’s master had failed to take it away from him, from them.
They’ll deal with the rest of the chaos later because neither of them want to move and good company can often be a surprisingly skilled healer.
-
so yeah, it’s been fun but life is busy and i’m gonna end this lil series here !! i have a lot of WIPs to work on anyway :p
-
thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier
#whumptober2020#no.15#possession#magical healing#the witcher#fanfic#yennskier#yennefer x jaskier#yennefer of vengerberg#jaskier#hurt jaskier#jaskier whump#djinns#canon typical violence#protective yennefer#soft yennefer#hurt comfort#my writing#fanfiction#whumpskier
25 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
cophineendgames
DELPHINE Is Not Dead
zhangyixin626-blog
Ellen_Zissing
starstruckeaglestranger
Без названия
koi0boi
🫀The Viscera System🫀
ankeaziy
ankeaziy