#anyways sorry for the violently long tag ramble | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

smurphyse · 2 years

Text

Over Your Shoulder

Masterlist

Want to read ahead on ao3 or want to read the tags/warnings? Read it here.

Chapter 20 - Trauma

CW: Panic Attacks, mentions of child abuse, running away from home.

Summary: Jasper and Spencer ignore the aftermath of their fight and go back to the BAU. Jasper meets her BAU appointed therapist and things do not go well.

Spencer didn’t sleep.

The flash drive lurked in his subconscious like a haunted shadow, following him from dream to dream and lurching him awake over and over again.

He and Jasper hadn’t spoken much after her shower. She was still angry and he was being eaten alive by guilt. She still hadn’t asked him to leave, and he hadn’t wanted to anyways.

Jasper had quietly asked him to help her with dinner, keeping him close by as she zipped around the kitchen for supplies to make red beans and rice.

She went off on a nervous ramble about how the best way to make the dish was from scratch, and one day she’d show him how.

“Soakin’ the beans for fourteen hours is the best way, some people only do twelve, but they do it wrong…” she’d muttered, flitting around and tugging her fingers in between stirring pots and sauteing vegetables. “Fresh bay leaves in there… it’s a perfect meal, Stick.”

He had just as quietly said how nice that would be, though he dreaded the thought of ever learning to cook, let alone for that long. Southern women and their abilities to stay in a kitchen all day was astounding to him. Cooking that long and ending up messing something up would just ruin the rest of his week.

The simmering took the longest, and he and Jasper read separately on opposite ends of the couch while it did. She flipped through a copy of a John Grisham novel while he stared absentmindedly at a copy of Anna Karenina, his brain far away as it drowned in the possibilities of what lay on that drive.

What if it was something incriminating? He never thought for a moment that he would turn her in if it was, but what if it was bad enough that he’d consider it? She could be torturing, killing, doing anything on a video. She could have files on the team, on other people, incriminating evidence, and if she did, what did she plan to do with it?

The possibilities were endless, especially for someone with such a murky and varied past like Jasper.

They ate in awkward silence, they went to bed just the same.

The first time Spencer woke up, though, Jasper was plastered against his side. He was freezing in her apartment, but between the space heater she was and Booger’s fuzzy warmth on his other side, they kept most of his middle warm.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her as close as he could. Her cherry perfume soaked him in her scent as she nosed her way underneath his jaw, finding her favorite place even in her sleep.

Spencer stared at the ceiling as she slept. She was so silent, so unmoving he almost checked her pulse a few times. Somehow she was able to breathe imperceptibly, even as she was unconscious, and it frightened him to think that she might not be breathing at all.

Around four in the morning, Jasper began to twitch though no whimpers escaped her lips. Her skin turned clammy and wet as she gasped, suddenly sitting up straight and pulling herself from his arms.

“Sam,” she breathed so quietly he almost didn’t hear it, but his heart did. It twisted painfully in his chest.

She stared into the darkness of the room as her shoulders shook, but no more sounds left her. Pulling her legs into a criss-cross, Jasper set her elbows on her knees and breathed deeply as Spencer sat up behind her.

“Jazz,” he whispered as he set a hand on her back, and she jumped violently away from him, as though she’d forgotten he was there at all.

Her eyes were wide and wild as she turned toward him, her body defensive and stiff. It took a moment for them to soften as she watched him, but eventually they did and she drug herself back to sit next to him.

“Sorry,” she panted quietly, “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay,” he said. No need to tell her he had been awake anyway, “Are you alright? Do you wanna talk about it?”

Jasper stared down at her hands as she thought. They shook in her lap, and eventually she nodded and looked back up at him.

“Someday,” she sighed, smiling wearily in the darkness, “just not today.”

Spencer nodded, coaxing her to lay back down and pulling her close once more. Jasper sighed as she laid against his chest, her thumb rubbing soft circles through the cotton of his shirt.

It was quiet, and she never sang her comfort song, though her shaking told him she was frightened by whatever she’d seen in her dreams. He thought about singing it for her, but then she spoke.

“I’m tired, Spencer,” her voice came from the black, small and so pointedly alone it broke his heart.

“Tomorrow’s a new day, Jazz,” was all he said as he kissed the top of her head. She said nothing else, but Spencer knew she was awake. They both were, wide awake and holding one another in the night as their minds raced a thousand miles apart.

When her alarm went off at five, Jasper and Spencer got ready for work in silence. They were in an odd emotional stalemate. Their discussion had never been finished, and they exchanged only pleasantries as one tried to avoid the other in the limited space.

He could have left, but he didn’t want to and she hadn’t asked him to. He wanted to work this out, but he wasn’t quite sure how to do that yet.

Jasper dropped him off at his place so he could grab his go-bag and take his own car to work, but they still managed to hit the elevator doors at the same time.

Jasper fidgeted from the moment she stepped inside, tugging on her fingers and adjusting her sleeves to cover her scars, then moving to adjusting her computer bag and purse, then back again. The sleeves of her cardigan kept riding up to show the mottled lines around her wrist and her new bright pink surgery scar.

“Hey,” Spencer said, bumping her with his shoulder. She jumped and looked up at him, pulled her sleeves down again. “You don’t need to hide those from us.”

“I’m nervous,” she muttered, glancing down at her arms. “They hurt when it’s cold.”

“You should turn on the heat in your apartment, then,” he told her, but she shook her head. He had spent the last two nights freezing his ass off at her place, grateful to be snuggled between her and Booger under the covers.

“I don’t like the heat. Reminds me of Iraq.”

His stomach twisted into knots whenever he dared think of her over there, braving the desert and fighting a war that wasn’t hers. He could see her in his mind’s eye, killing and fighting and surviving on the battlefield. She was a goddess, a warrior out there… but how bad must her PTSD be if the simple act of turning the heat on in her apartment frightened her?

The shame that settled in his heart made his face swell with guilt as he thought about the files again.

He needed to know what lurked inside, hidden behind walls of encryption he wasn’t skilled enough to unearth. The little bit of pride he had in himself waned the longer they sat on his hard drive, so he moved them to a flash drive in the few minutes he’d spent at his place that morning. Regret laced with anger at himself for copying them over in the first place ate his insides like poison.

Jasper had promised to stop lying, to try harder at least to tell him things, but he could sense her hesitancy. It showed in the way her eyes clouded over as she told him half-truths about her past, the way she disappeared for a month and popped back up with no regard for how he and the team might have felt… or how much they might have missed her.

Yes, she had apologized. Yes, she had promised never to do it again. Yes, she really thought nobody cared if she was gone… but what kind of life had she lived if slipping in and out of people’s lives was commonplace for her?

Spencer had very little idea of what Jasper had done after Jack died. It didn’t seem Luke knew much of it either, and it drove him crazy. Knowing what she was hiding on that flash drive would tell him something, anything about the lies. He believed that… he wanted to believe it at least, that his deceit was a necessary evil he had to partake in just for his own peace of mind.

Here she was, nervous and frightened in this elevator and trusting him enough to tell him so.

He hated himself.

She rubbed her new scar furiously as she watched the elevator doors. Spencer reached over and took her hand, squeezing it and stopping her from rubbing all the way down to the bone.

"You're going to do great," he whispered, smiling at her. She smiled back, and the acrid shame burned him once more. The elevator doors dinged, and he squeezed her one last time, harder than before, letting go as the doors opened.

Garcia was waiting for them by the doors with Luke, jumping happily as she laid eyes on Jasper.

“Oh, I missed you!” she cried, lunging forward and dragging Jasper out of the elevator and into a crushing hug. After a moment, Jasper’s arms wrapped around Penelope and hugged her tightly back. She buried her face in the analyst’s shoulder and clung to her.

Luke had his arms crossed, doing his best to look angry, but both he and Spencer couldn’t hold back their smiles as Jasper and Garcia held each other.

“I missed you, Penny,” she murmured into Garcia’s hair.

“Tell me everything,” Garcia said as she let Jasper go, but Jasper’s hands stayed on her waist to keep her close. “Where’d you go? What friends were you visiting? How could you think we wouldn’t miss you?”

Jasper’s mouth hung open as Penelope peppered her with questions, nodding and trying to think, but Luke stepped forward and pushed his way between them, much to the annoyance of Garcia.

"You okay?" he asked softly, resting one hand on her shoulder, the other brushing back her hair.

Jasper nodded slowly, "Yeah, I'm alright."

"We'll talk about it later?"

"Yeah."

Luke hugged her tight, resting his chin on the top of her head and holding her for a moment. Jasper hugged him back and sighed, and Spencer felt an odd pang of jealousy jolt through him. As abrasive as Luke and Jasper were to one another, they were truly tender when it came to moments like this. She didn’t hold back with him, and even when she did Spencer knew they had this unspoken agreement.

She lied to Luke, and Luke let her… because he trusted her.

How did he make it look so easy?

Jasper pulled away from Luke and reached out for Garcia’s hand. She took it happily, their fingers laced together as Garcia led them to the bullpen. Jasper shot one last look over her shoulder at him, and he gave her a nod of encouragement.

It seemed to be all she needed, because she stepped into the bullpen with no hesitancy in her step, her head held high, and a smile plastered on her sweet face.

“There she is!” Walker shouted as he spotted her. He, Lewis, Rossi, and JJ were sitting at their desks, the rest of them looking up excitedly as he spoke. Jasper’s step faltered for a moment, but Penelope dragged her along as she took a deep breath, beaming at them.

“You’re alive,” JJ gasped happily, jumping up and pulling Jasper into a fierce hug. She pulled back and looked down at Jasper wide-eyed. “Are you okay? Were you all alone this whole time?”

“Okay,” Jasper grunted, putting up her hands in defeat. “I’ll tell you what I was up to if you guys just… calm down and let me talk. Then, we will never speak of this again.”

“Sounds like a conversation we should have on Girl’s Night… when we’re drunk,” Lewis snarked, leaning on one hip as she sipped from her coffee cup.

“That would be preferable, yes,” Jasper nodded, “but unfortunately I have a shrink meeting in twenty minutes.”

“Prentiss is in there talking to him now,” Rossi said, pointing up to Prentiss’ window. Two shadows were all that could be seen behind the blinds, sitting and chatting.

Jasper swallowed thickly as she gazed through the glass, and all Spencer wanted to do was reach out and cup her jaw, smooth his thumb over her cheek and tell her it’ll be okay… but he couldn’t, not with everyone watching, not yet.

He decided to sit down at his desk while Jasper leaned against her own. Luke plopped down in his chair and rolled it into the walkway of the desks so he could be a part of the conversation easier and Garcia perched herself on the edge of his desk.

“So?” Garcia asked, jumping excitedly and clapping her hands, “Tell us everything.”

Jasper’s eyes widened for a second and she bit her lip. She crossed her arms over her chest, then uncrossed them.

“I was in the UK.”

“You went to another country?” Luke asked angrily, leaning forward, and she flinched away from him. She crossed her arms again and nodded while Walker and Rossi shared a look.

“I spent a week in a motel, met some friends, thinking that might be the getaway I needed but it wasn’t doing it for me. I went to this cottage Jack bought a long time ago before we met,” Jasper’s gaze latched onto his and then sharply looked away, “It’s… actually where he proposed to me.”

Spencer scratched the side of his neck as he sat back in his chair, that painful cloud of jealousy pluming in his chest. He had pushed her away and the first place she went running was back to him, back to Jack, back to a dead man.

“Oh, of course you did. You needed your husband,” Garcia soothed, reaching out and patting her shoulder. Jasper smiled bitterly and clasped her hand over Garcia’s.

“What did you do for three weeks in a cottage?” Lewis laughed, “That doesn’t really seem like your style.”

“Like I said, Jack bought it. I fixed it up though, way back when. I haven’t been back there since he died.” Jasper shrugged and glanced back toward him. “I spent most of my time cleaning and fixing up what I could.”

“I found these old video tapes in one of the closets as I was cleaning,” Jasper smiled and turned to Luke. “They were videos Pendleton took when we were in Iraq. You remember how he used to carry around that video camera and I would take Polaroids? I forgot that when he died Pendleton’s mom sent the tapes and camera to Jack. Then Jack started carrying that stupid thing around all the time...”

“I don’t even want to know what’s on those videos,” Luke laughed, shaking his head, but Spencer’s ears perked up.

He did want to know what was on those videos.

“We could do a movie night!” JJ offered, “We can finally see Jasper and Luke in action.”

“You didn’t see enough in Desert Hollow?” Luke asked as he leaned back in his chair. “She’s a total badass. Always has been.”

“From what I remember, Jay,” Jasper scrunched up her face in apology, “It’s mostly us fucking around on base and me threatening to shove that camera up Pendleton’s ass.”

“Let us not forget marathon rounds of Monkey Ball on the GameCube,” Luke reminded her, and Jasper laughed heartily.

“Which is when I threatened to shove those controllers up Garfield’s and Delano’s asses if they couldn’t get along.”

“I can put them together on a DVD,” Garcia grinned, her big blonde hair bouncing around. Spencer knew she just loved when they all got together for nights like this, and he loved seeing the team so excited.

“None of them are marked except by date,” Jasper frowned. “I don’t know what’s on half of them. For all I know Pendleton’s mom could’ve given Jack his porn collection.”

“Ugh,” Luke snorted, laughing, “You remember how much he loved his gun? I bet it would just be him and his M-16 in compromising positions.”

Spencer scrunched up his face in disgust as Jasper and Luke giggled together. As horrifying as that thought was, he did want to know what was on those tapes.

“We could do it Thursday, after dinner when the kids go to bed,” Spencer offered through the throngs of laughter from the team.

Jasper cocked her head and glared at him, but he just shrugged. She said she wanted to tell them herself about not wanting to participate in Thanksgiving. Let her tell them, or keep it to herself.

“Oh, Thanksgiving!” Lewis chuckled, “Hell yes, perfect for a movie night.”

“I’m still bringing my sweet potato pie,” Walker said, pointing at Luke who frowned in disgust.

“That stuff is so gross, man,” he said, but Walker shook his head.

“You take a polite bite, young man, and if you don’t like it I’ll never bring it again.”

They continued their bantering as Jasper looked down at her lap and tugged on her fingers. She had her tongue trapped between her teeth as she thought, and for a moment Spencer felt guilty for pushing her.

“You don’t look too excited, kiddo,” Rossi spoke softly, reaching out and bumping the back of one of Jasper's hands. She looked up at him and smiled shyly.

“I’m not much for Thanksgiving.”

“I know you don’t like your family too much,” he offered gently, “but we’d be happy to take that spot for them if you’ll let us. Thanksgiving is about spending time with people you love, and we love you.”

Jasper’s smile was genuine but she tugged harder on her fingertips as she looked at Rossi.

"I'll be there, then," she said quietly, and Spencer was rocked with disbelief. He genuinely expected her to find a way out of it, not go just because she didn't want to tell them the truth.

Jasper stood and headed to the kitchenette, and Spencer waited a moment before he followed.

"You're a dick," she muttered as she pulled two mugs from the cabinet, handing one to Spencer.

"Why didn't you just tell them?" he asked, dumping some sugar in his mug while she filled hers with the coffee pot, patiently waiting for him to finish before filling his.

"Because believe it or not," she hissed at him, her voice full of vinegar and venom, "I care about these people, and they're excited for a holiday that's supposed to represent bringing people together with love and all this stupid family shit I barely understand…"

"Who am I to make them feel guilty for it?" she asked softly, full of hurt. Slamming the coffee pot back into the burner, Jasper shot him a pained look and stomped off toward her desk.

Spencer stared into his mug as shame etched its way into his veins and filtered across his cheeks. He'd taken it too far, pushed her too hard. She needed baby steps, and he wanted her to run straight into trusting him with everything, and he didn't deserve it.

Jasper cared about the team, wanted to spend time with them. She wanted to spend time with him , as evidenced by her staying by his side for three days without a break, even after some softness, some fights, some vulnerability.

She'd shown him more of herself in the last three days than she had the entire ten months they'd dated.

Maybe he should destroy the flash drive.

It weighed heavily in his pocket, a thousand pound weight that threatened to drag him down to his knees. She was hiding something in those files and his curious mind birthed all sorts of scenarios for what could be in them.

Old missions. Or worse, a current mission… he couldn't help but think, Is she really here to settle down, or is she working on something? Why did she really come back?

Spencer watched her laughing with his team, seemingly carefree and entrenched with the BAU. It warmed his heart to see her so comfortable, especially with JJ, his best friend. The two women were currently chatting very closely, obviously gossiping about something. He smiled bitterly to himself as they giggled together, hands moving animatedly as they spoke.

It also terrified him. They loved her too, and if she truly was hiding something dark, it wasn't just his heart that was going to break.

A war raged inside of him. What if this danger Jasper feared so much was real? What if she really was the only thing standing between the team and something terrifying?

Emily’s attempt at protecting them from Ian Doyle only resulted in her faking her death, and it almost sent Spencer spiraling back to dilaudid. JJ’s attempt at protecting them from Tivon Askari only resulted in her being tortured while the team desperately looked for her. Spencer still had nightmares about both of them.

What if Jasper was the monster she wanted to protect them from? What if she was the villain?

It weighed heavily in his chest, battling hand in hand with his unyielding love and affection for Jasper as he knew her. He had seen the truest parts of Jasper, her kindness, the depths of her pain and grief from her years of trauma, how welcoming she’d been of the BAU and their nosy tendencies.

She had opened parts of herself to them and him, but she kept so much more guarded. He could understand why, but the investigator with experience from JJ and Emily screamed that something was wrong. Something was going on, and he wouldn’t be able to let it slide by. It was too ingrained in him to let it.

“Agent Keaton,” Emily called as she opened her office door and spotted her. She smiled happily at her friend and colleague, and Spencer’s own smile etched across his face when Jasper grinned up at her. “Welcome back.”

“Glad to be back,” Jasper moved to meet her at the end of the stairs. It was clear Jasper wanted to hug Emily, but the presence of the stranger following behind her made her pause. She backed away a few steps as he approached, her eyes wide.

His short black curly hair was flecked with streaks of gray, his strong square jaw hollowed at the cheeks. His eyes were bruised underneath his glasses that were so much like Jasper’s own. He… sort of looked like Jasper with his hair and his glasses, although his skin was much more pale.

He wore a sweater over his button up shirt, dark slacks and a leather satchel over one shoulder. He stuck out his hand as he reached the bottom of the stairs, but Jasper just stared at him.

“Dr. Donnelly,” he smiled slowly, and Spencer watched as Jasper shivered under the weight of her cardigan. “I’m Dr. Abraham Fallon, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

She looked down at his hand, her body stiff and frightened. Luke flashed him a concerned look, and Spencer shrugged. Finally, slowly, she clasped his hand with hers. She tried to pull away after one shake, but he held onto her hand tightly.

“It’s, I don’t,” Jasper stammered, looking to the side to catch a glimpse of Spencer, “I got my PhD but I don’t go by Doctor. I go by Agent Keaton.”

“I thought you were a widow?” he frowned, finally releasing her hand and cocking his head. Jasper quickly wiped her hand on her pants, like she was desperate to be away from this stranger’s touch.

“I am, yeah,” she muttered. Her cheeks were turning a bright red color, and she wouldn’t look Fallon in the eye.

Did… did Jasper know this man? Or did she hate shrinks so much that she wanted to keep him at a distance? Spencer couldn’t tell, all he could tell was that she was upset, and she had that cornered look she only got after nightmares.

“I thought I was meeting with Dr. Alsted.” Jasper hid her hands behind her back, but the team didn’t miss how she tugged on them, and they all exchanged a look of worry. Something was wrong, Jasper didn’t feel safe.

“He unfortunately passed away last week. Besides, with your background I’m the person they’d want interviewing you anyways.” Fallon smiled as he spoke with a distinctly country accent… and it set Spencer’s teeth on edge. “I handle the classified operatives cases since I’m one of the few who has clearance.”

He clapped his hands together and Jasper flinched, “Shall we?”

“Sure.”

Fallon let Jasper lead the way, but she looked over her shoulder one last time as he followed her out of the bullpen.

“She looked… really upset,” Emily said, wringing her hands together. “What was that about?”

“Am I insane or does that guy look like Jasper and Spencer’s love child?” Lewis laughed awkwardly, but she looked just as worried as the rest of them.

“Maybe that’s why,” Rossi joked, and they all laughed, but their hearts weren’t behind it.

Jasper was… shaken, and Spencer had rarely seen her like that before. A part of him wanted to stand outside Dr. Fallon’s office just to make sure nothing happened to her, but he knew that would be a massive invasion of her privacy.

The flash drive weighed heavily in his pocket.

What the hell was he going to do?

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

Belle Terre, Louisiana - 20 Years Ago

Sugar woke to three taps on the window, just like she did every night. She rose painfully from the sheets, clutching her side and sighing.

It had been a rough night, her father came home drunk and high, screaming about something she didn’t understand. He’d beaten her pretty good before she managed to lock herself in her bedroom, then waited for him to tire himself out.

Sam’s mouth dropped open when he saw her face, and instead of helping her out the window, he climbed inside. He snatched a bag off her armchair and went to the dresser, tossing clothes inside and then grabbing her jewelry box and shoving it inside.

Sugar didn’t say anything, just watched. It was dangerous to speak, as the monster next door might hear and come in. Sam grabbed another big purse, one of her mother’s old ones, and stuffed her photobooks and box full of letters inside. He climbed on top of her bed and dropped the bags gently out the window and on the porch, then turned to her.

“Is there anything else you need to take?” he whispered, holding his hand out for her to take.

She shook her head, clasping her hand in his and letting him help her out onto the porch. They walked in silence to the end of the drive where his old jeep waited, already running and grumbling quietly in the darkness.

Sam tossed her bags in the back seat, then walked her around the other side. Sugar hissed in pain as he helped her up into the passenger’s side, and Sam murmured an apology before buckling her in and shutting the door.

They drove in silence for about thirty minutes before Sugar spoke quietly, “Where are we going?”

“The rez.” He made a turn, looking straight ahead, but he clasped her hand in his. “I’m never seeing you like this again, Sugar.”

“He’ll find us there, Sam!” she burst, turning in her seat to face him, but Sam didn’t slow the jeep.

“Brandon Proud Man set aside a trailer for us. It’s on the opposite side of the rez from your mom. As long as we stay quiet, mind ourselves, we’ll be fine there.”

“Sam,” she sighed, her chest heaving with pure fear and adrenaline. “You don’t know him, he’ll find us there.”

“That’s why we’re going to your mom’s house first.”

“Sam!”

“Sugar!” he yelled back, pulling the car over and slamming it into park. “Look at you! Do you wanna die in that trailer?”

Her chin wobbled as she looked at him. His warm eyes welled with tears as he began to sob. “One day, I’m going to knock on that window, and you won’t knock back. Do you know what that’ll do to me? I’ll have to spend the rest of my life without you and I can’t do that!”

“He’ll kill you and then I’ll have to live without you, Sammy,” she cried, tears flowing down her cheeks in the darkness.

“You’re stronger than I am. You always have been.”

Sam pushed the jeep back into gear, turned on his blinker and pulled back onto the road. He sighed and gripped the steering wheel tighter. “We’ll let Matthias know we’re there, you’ll see the new baby. He’ll know how to keep our being there quiet and safe.”

“You’ll keep me safe, right Sammy?” she asked after a moment, staring down at her bruised hands from defending herself from her father’s assault. “I’ll never have another bruise?”

Sam reached over and clasped her hand again, squeezing it tightly. He pulled it up to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Never again, Sugar, never again.”

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

“You seem nervous, Agent,” Dr. Fallon said as he opened the door to his office. He held it open for her, and Jasper stepped cautiously inside.

The office was cold, steel-lined furniture and slate-gray walls. Even the couch was gray and immaculate. Everything may as well have been lined in plastic. His desk was in the corner of the office, the couch and his stupid ergonomic chair separated by only a clear glass coffee table.

She didn’t want to be here.

“You don’t like shrinks, I’m guessing?” he asked, sitting down in the chair and motioning for her to sit on the couch.

Jasper sat down slowly, her back ramrod straight as she finally made contact with Dr. Fallon. His hair was short, but incredibly curly, wild and black as night… His dark eyes glittered as he watched her, and Jasper tried to control the trembling rocking through her body.

He looked so much like her father.

“I just want to get back to work,” she said quietly.

“A worthy goal,” he smirked as he set his satchel next to the chair. "Let's get started."

He pulled a notepad from his bag and set it on his lap, then began flicking his pen between his fingers. He leaned back in his chair so comfily, it made her want to run.

Her father used to do that, sit back in his big armchair and watch her. It was how she always knew something bad was coming, almost as if he were cooking up his punishment as she did her homework in the living room.

“Where are you from? I can’t place your accent.”

“Louisiana originally, but I grew up mostly in Kentucky. I understand you grew up down south as well.”

“My husband was from Kentucky,” Jasper told him, and he nodded. “Harlan.”

“That’s a rough place, from what I remember.” Dr. Fallon wrote something down on his pad as he spoke. Jasper leaned forward to see what it was, but he adjusted it before she could. “You look familiar.”

“So do you,” Jasper muttered. It was… uncanny, almost too much. She hadn’t seen a picture of her father since before she was arrested, but Jasper was sure if she went to her storage unit and found one, he would look a lot like the man sitting in front of her.

“Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so.” Only in my nightmares.

“Let’s talk about Desert Hollow,” he decided, slapping his hands down on the notepad. It made her jump.

“What about it? I got shot, end of story.”

“You didn’t just get shot, Agent Keaton. You were ambushed, shot, beaten, had your shoulder dislocated and your arm broken.” Fallon sighed and jotted something else down. “It was violent, traumatic, and it’s alright to talk about it.”

Jasper glared at him, this man who talked and acted gentle but looked too much like her worst nightmare. He was skinnier than her father, almost like a run down version of him. He held himself with much more confidence, not enraged by drugs and the effort of abusing his wife and daughter.

“You want to get back to work? This is the way to do it.”

“I’ve been attacked before,” Jasper said, crossing her arms and leaning back on the couch. She desperately wanted to pull on her fingers, something she rarely did in public. Recently she had been making exceptions in front of Spencer and the team, just to try to let them in more, and now it was biting her in the ass.

“I can see that,” he said, motioning to her arm. Her stupid cardigan had ridden up again, her scars on her wrist and forearm shining. She pulled the sleeve down and held it in her hand as she avoided his gaze.

“Just a scar.”

“And you’re telling me it never bothers you?”

“Sometimes.” Jasper shrugged, “Sometimes it does.”

“What about this time?”

“It reminded me of my father.”

Dr. Fallon cocked his head and sat forward in his chair. “How so?”

“He used to train me, or at least that’s what he called it,” Jasper sighed and looked away as the memory forced its way to the surface as she avoided looking at her father’s doppelganger. “It was just an excuse to hurt me. This time it helped I guess. He showed me once what to do if someone chokes you and they're too big for you to break free.”

“In the video you walked up Deputy Polk’s side to wrap your legs around his arm. Your father taught you that?”

“Yeah." Jasper flinched. He had watched the video? Even she hadn't had the stomach to see what happened to her in California. "He told me if it ever happened, to do that and kick as hard as I could. Guess he never really thought of someone using me as a human hammer or a desk as a nail.”

“So your father used to beat you?” he asked, and she nodded. “Did your husband ever hit you?

Jasper stiffened, her mind thinking back to the flash drive that she had moved to her keychain as soon as Spencer’s back was turned. She still hadn’t watched it, but she knew what was on it… Eli torturing her and Jack being forced into the role of the weapon. He was just another tool to be used, it wasn’t his fault.

Sure, Jack had hit her a few other times than on those tapes, but that was in training, and it was never in malice. It was war.

“No,” she lied.

“You must love your husband a lot to lie for him. I expect you loved your father like that too.”

Jasper stood so quickly that the back of the couch hit the wall. Dr. Fallon stood too, and she could swear by the look on his face… he was enjoying her anger.

“My father was a worthless junkie who didn’t deserve the wooden box I buried him in,” Jasper snarled, but she quickly deflated as she thought about Jack. “My husband was a good man, and yes, I loved him more than anything. I still do, and I don’t need your bullshit judgment when you know nothing about me or the life that I’ve lived.”

“Agent Keaton, I’m not trying to upset you.” He spread his arms in an effort to calm her, smiling softly. “I’m trying to evaluate if you are ready to go back into the field.”

“And asking me about my dead husband is how you do that?” Jasper wanted to control the grimace on her face, but she couldn’t help the natural way it seemed to set when she looked at him.

Maybe it was her trauma, or her paranoia, but she didn’t like this man and she didn’t trust him.

“We tend to marry people who are either the exact opposite or the same as our parents,” he explained, but Jasper interrupted him.

“Jack was nothing like my father. He was kind and gentle and he loved me. He supported me, and he made sure I always got home safe, well before we were together.”

She plopped back down on the couch in an effort to look more in control than she felt. Fallon slowly sat back in his chair and sighed as he got comfortable again.

“Did you have any children?”

Jasper blanched and looked away. At the end, children were all she and Jack talked about. They had bought a house, set up a nursery. He was so excited…

“We were only married for three months. We didn’t have time,” she said gruffly, clearing her throat.

“How long ago did he die?”

“It’ll be twelve years in January.”

“Yet you still have his name and wear your ring,” Dr. Fallon thought out loud, waving his pen. He tapped his lips with it and frowned. “You never wanted to get married again?”

“I’ve been busy working.”

“I heard through the grapevine that you and Dr. Reid used to date,” he smirked, and it was all Jasper could do not to bare her teeth at him.

“And I served with Agent Alvez, and Agent Prentiss and I used to have the same handler. Six degrees of connection happens a lot in our line of work.”

"What about nightmares?"

Jasper frowned, "Nightmares?"

"Are you having any? Any trouble sleeping because of the attack?"

Jasper thought back to her nightmare this morning. Jack's broken and burned body had crawled out from under her bed to tell her it was her fault he was dead, like she didn't already know.

"Not because of the attack, no," she told him.

“Then we're done here,” he said. Fallon stood and stuck out his hand, waiting for Jasper to do the same. She stood but she shoved her hands in her pockets.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

She watched him carefully, her panicked and defensive brain searching for any hint of malice or hidden intentions, but he simply smiled at her.

Maybe she was freaking out for no reason… Maybe her PTSD was worse than she thought regarding her father. Maybe she really should think about seeing a therapist, although any therapist but Dr. Fallon.

“Agent Keaton, I think you’re ready to go back to work.” Jasper finally relented and took his hand. He gripped it tight and pulled her close for a moment, “but feel free to come back and see me any time, Sugar.”

Blood rushed to her ears as she looked into those dark eyes, and suddenly she was fifteen again. Her arm shot with pain as he held her hand in his, and a boiling rage threatened to erupt from her stomach.

“What did you just call me?” Jasper asked quietly as tears threatened to spring from her eyes.

Fallon let her go and gave her an apologetic look, “I’m sorry. It’s my southern roots. I know it sounds misogynistic but I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” she growled, turning on her heel and stomping out of the office. Her breath came out in pants as she entered the bullpen. It was too bright, and everything seemed to shift sideways as she tried not to run for her life.

Jasper tore out of the BAU offices at breakneck speed, her eyes darting back and forth for a doorway, any doorway, to get her the hell out of here. She vaguely felt eyes on her as she ripped open a stairway door and hurled herself inside.

Jasper made it down three flights of stairs before she collapsed onto the concrete, her palms slapping against the wall as she began to see red. She ripped her bags from her shoulder. Sweat poured from her as her cardigan became tight, too tight!

Pulling frantically at the collar, Jasper ripped her sweater off over her shoulders, thankful she was wearing a tank top underneath. The cool concrete bled through her clothes as she trembled on her knees under the lights. They were too bright, everything was too hot, and she couldn’t see.

Jasper clocked a noise above her as the doors opened, but she couldn’t see anything but the gray-turned-red floor underneath her. Hands gripped at her shoulders and she shoved them off with all her might. Pressing her palms against her face and rubbing her hair away, Jasper began to beg.

“Don’t touch me!” she pleaded, struggling to pull away from the hot fingers that clutched her. They were going to take her back, back to him, back to her father and back to that place. “Please don’t touch me… just don’t, don’t touch me, please.”

“Jasper,” a soothing voice cut through the redness of her vision, “Listen to me, say it with me. You can do it.”

Jasper shook her head and curled in on herself, trying to become as small as possible. She had to hide, she couldn’t let him find her again.

“As I went down to the river to pray,” the voice came again. “C’mon, sweetheart, I know you can do it.”

“Don’t hurt me anymore.”

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

After Jasper left with Dr. Fallon, the rest of the team went back to their desks and offices, except Garcia, who stayed to chat with a besotted Luke.

Spencer stared at the flash drive in his palm. It was a simple black and silver piece of plastic and metal, barely weighing anything.

He wasn't sure what to do. He'd been wracking his brain for the last twelve hours.

Finally the question hit him, What would Jasper do?

Then he chuckled to himself, WWJD, she would laugh at that.

That question was the easiest one he'd asked himself all day. She would find out what was on it, no questions asked.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump, quickly closing his fist and hiding it underneath his desk. It was Penelope, smiling softly down at him, the lights behind her poofy blonde hair illuminating her like an angel.

"What's going on with you?" she asked gently, "You've been staring at your lap for thirty minutes."

"Can you do something for me and never tell anyone about it?" he asked quietly, looking around to make sure nobody was paying any attention to them.

"Anything, Reid. You know that."

Spencer took her hand in his, pressing the flash drive into her palm and closing her fingers around it.

"I need you to decrypt this."

"What is it?"

"I can't tell you, but it's important to me, and it's important nobody but you and me know about it." Spencer's eyes bored into hers, desperately trying to make her know how important this was.

"Reid," she said hesitantly, but she didn't let go of the drive. "What's on this?"

"I don't know," he admitted, "I'm not sure I want to know, but I need to. I don't want you looking at it after you decrypt it."

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" Garcia whispered, looking back at Luke, who now noticed them and watched them concernedly. "If it's something you don't want me to see, why even ask me to do this?"

"I'm trusting you with this, Penelope," Spencer told her gravely. He squeezed her hand around it again, almost hoping it would crumble in her grasp. "I'm trusting you to do this for me. I'll never ask you for a favor again."

"Okay," she relented, but she still didn't look sure. She smiled sweetly at him before heading back to her office, "I'll always do favors for you, Reid. No matter what, I'm here for you."

Luke watched him for a few minutes while Spencer tried to look busy, his brow furrowed. Spencer's stomach kept lurching, the fear of that flash drive landing in someone else's hands but Penelope's threatened to upheave his coffee all over his desk.

Finally having it off his person gave him a sense of both relief and dread. He was glad to have it gone and out of his sight, but it made the possibility that there could be something truly bad on it that much more real.

What if he found something on it that changed his view of Jasper forever? Would it be a good thing or a bad thing?

He was just about to jump to his feet and run after Garcia, to tell him to give it back so he could destroy it when Jasper burst from Dr. Fallon’s office and bolted from the bullpen. Her face was red, her eyes wide and worried as she tore open the glass doors and headed straight for the stairwell, her bags and cardigan flying out behind her.

Luke and Spencer shared a look. Nobody but them seemed to have noticed Jasper tearing ass out of the room, so they both quietly got to their feet and headed toward the double doors.

Luke hit the stairwell before him, Spencer following closely behind. A breathless panting echoed through the concrete walls and up to where they stood at the sixth floor. Spencer leaned over the railing to see where Jasper was, frantically trying to spot her big hair, but he couldn’t.

“Come on,” Luke waved at him, and they jogged down the stairs as the panting turned into tears and choked sobs, and then they began to run.

After the third flight, Jasper came into view. She was curled in the corner of the stairwell, her discarded cardigan and bags tossed carelessly behind her. Sweat poured from her, making her silk white tank top cling to her skin. She had her palms and forehead pressed against the wall as her eyes stared deadly at the floor.

Her scars stood out, bright white against her skin as beads of sweat trickled down her muscled arms. Spencer could only think that she wouldn’t want anyone to see them, and he wanted to wrap her in his arms and not let go. Luke reached her first, his hands protectively wrapping around her shoulders, but Jasper’s instincts kicked in.

“Don’t touch me!”

One of her hands flew to Luke’s wrist, twisting hard as the other slammed into his solar plexus, throwing him from her. Luke gave a surprised grunt, teetering on his feet as the force of her shove threatened to send him flying down the stairs.

Spencer shot forward and gripped Luke by the forearms, both of them watching one another with wide eyes as they tried to catch their own breath, Jasper still gasping behind them.

Jasper’s palms pressed hard against her eyes, rubbing harshly and pulling her hair away from her forehead.

“Please don’t touch me… just don’t,” she pleaded, “don’t touch me, please.”

Luke plopped down on the stairs as Spencer released him, looking lost and unsure. Spencer decided to ignore him, going to his knees next to Jasper as she curled up in a ball and covered her face.

“Jasper,” Spencer soothed, desperately wanting to touch her but he knew all too well that touching a panicked Jasper would just lead to him having a broken wrist. Or worse, being thrown down the stairs by the cornered wild animal she had become. “It’s Spencer, I’m here.”

“I went down to the river to pray,” he said quietly, tapping the floor in front of her with the flats of his fingers. Her head cocked, so he knew she heard him at least a little. “Listen to me, say it with me. You can do it.”

Jasper shook her head as she cried, her hands moving up her face to her ears. God, he just wanted to hug her and tell her it would all be alright, but first they had to get past the panic.

“As I went down to the river to pray,” he sang this time, wincing at the sound of his own voice. “Cmon, sweetheart, I know you can do it.”

“Don’t hurt me anymore,” she hiccuped, her body rocking back and forth, “I won’t do it again, I promise.”

“Studying about that good old way,

And who shall wear the robe and crown

Good Lord, show me the way.”

Jasper’s crying quieted a bit as she turned her head to listen to him, and Spencer cautiously reached out and trailed two fingers up her arm. She flinched away from him, tightened her hands around her face, but she didn’t hit him.

“O brothers let’s go down, come on, sweetheart, let me hear you,” Spencer pleaded, firming his hand over her arm. He rubbed circles into her skin and felt her relax a little more. “I don’t sound as good as you do, Jasper, sing it with me please.”

“Let’s go down, come on down,” he sang, and she began to mumble the lyrics along with him. “Come on brothers let’s go down

Down in the river to pray.”

Spencer let his voice fade out as she began to breathe normally once again, her hands falling from her ears to clutch onto his for dear life, but she stopped singing too.

“Can you talk to me, sweetheart?” he asked, but she stared ahead, her eyes far away and haunted. It was almost as if she’d aged in the last five minutes, all the years having finally caught up with her.

“I’m going to take her home,” Spencer said, turning to Luke. Spencer wrapped his free arm around Jasper and squeezed her tightly, wishing she would hug him back, but she sat wet and clammy and staring at nothing.

“I haven’t seen her like this since Jack died,” he breathed, swiping a hand down his face. “I forgot what to do.”

“I need to get her out of here, Luke, they can’t see her like this. It would just kill her, so I need you to cover for me.”

Luke stood shakily and picked up Jasper’s purse and computer bag, handed Spencer the cardigan. “I’ll tell them you went to get coffee for the team. Jasper decided to take the day off after her session.”

Spencer nodded, saying nothing as he coaxed Jasper’s arms off him. He worked her limbs the best he could as she sat limply beneath him, pulling the cardigan on over her shoulders. Spencer put her computer bag over his shoulder, then the purse.

He reached down and grabbed Jasper’s arm, wrapping it the best he could around his waist. She walked with him on autopilot as Luke went up and they went down.

Spencer got her through security and up to the parking garage. Jasper’s steps began to slow the closer they got to his car, and it was all he had to hold her up long enough to unlock his old vehicle since he had to manually turn the lock with his key.

Spencer finally scooped her up and sat her in the seat. He got to his knees and buckled her up as she stared blankly ahead.

“Sweetheart?” he asked softly, reaching up and brushing the back of his hand against her cheek. “Can you talk yet? It’s okay if you can’t. Try to look at me at least.”

Jasper’s head turned slowly to look at him, her eyes welling again with tears as they met his. Her chin began to wobble as her hands flew up to cover her face. Her cheeks began to blotch as she sobbed quietly, so Spencer stood and closed the door.

He dropped her bags into the backseat and rounded the car to his side. As he slipped into the driver’s seat, Spencer’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly.

“I’m taking you home, okay Jazz?” he asked, but she kept her head in her hands. “Booger will be there, and I’ll be there, and it’ll be alright. Okay?”

She said nothing, just cried softly as he pulled out of the garage and headed for her place. The crying stopped about halfway there and she went back to staring ahead emptily. Jasper let him lead her up the stairs and to the apartment.

He had to fish through her purse to find her keys, and when he pulled them out regret-laced panic shot through him. Attached to her car keys was the original flash drive, no doubt put there for safe keeping.

With a shaking hand, Spencer unlocked the door and coaxed her inside. Booger hopped off the couch and ran up to Jasper, nosing his muzzle into the palm of her hand, and to his surprise, she smiled.

“Smelly boy,” she whispered as she sat on the floor. Jasper wrapped her arms around Booger’s wide chest and he scooted until he sat directly on her lap, all ninety pounds of him.

Spencer set her bags on the floor by the door as Jasper buried her face in Booger’s neck and breathed in deep. Booger’s tail wagged nervously as he looked up at Spencer for an explanation, but he had none.

Stepping into the kitchen, Spencer opened the fridge and found the remnants of their dinner. He quickly made a bowl and popped it in the microwave, watching Jasper as she clutched onto Booger like he was a teddy bear.

When the timer dinged, Spencer made his way back into the living room. He put his hands on Jasper’s shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

“Come on, into bed.”

Jasper put out her arms and Spencer chuckled as he scooped her up. He kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, “Spoiled.”

Jasper clung to him but nodded against his neck anyways. Spencer set her on her bed and kissed her forehead, then headed back for the kitchen for the bowl of red beans and rice.

“Sit up please,” he commanded softly as he came back and set the bowl on the nightstand, and she quietly obliged. “Pants off?”

Jasper nodded, and Spencer trailed his hands slowly up her legs just to make sure she was comfortable with his touch again. He unbuttoned her pants and pulled them off, folding them and setting them on the dresser near her bed.

“Bra?” he asked as she began pawing at her cardigan, and she nodded. It slipped from her shoulders, so he took it and tossed it on her jeans, then helped her take off her bra.

Spencer fluffed her pillows behind her so she could sit up straight, then pulled up her covers over her lap, smoothing down the velvet comforter with his hands before he looked at her. She was already watching him, and her eyes were less sunken and dark as they were in the stairwell. They were still hidden a bit, but most of her was back in this bed with him.

Setting a pillow across her lap, Spencer put the bowl in her hands. “You’re going to eat all of this, okay?”

“Okay,” she said softly, lifting the spoon and taking a bite. He waited until she chewed and swallowed it before he breathed a sigh of relief. They were the first words she’d really spoken loud enough for him to hear well since she went with Dr. Fallon, and it eased some of the tension in his muscles.

“I have to go back to work, okay?”

“Okay, Spencer,” she nodded as she took another bite. She swallowed it and spoke quietly, “I’m sorry I hit you.”

“That was Luke,” he chuckled softly, but she didn’t seem amused. “He’ll be fine.”

“Did everybody see?” she pressed, her sweet little face scrunched up with worry. Spencer reached out and tapped the tip of her nose, but it was his turn to be worried.

“You don’t remember going into the stairwell?”

She shook her head, “I remember shaking Fallon’s hand, and then he…” she cut herself off, her mouth clamping shut as she looked away.

“What did he do?” Spencer asked protectively, putting both hands on either side of her. “I’ll kill him if he hurt you, Jasper.”

“You mean that.” Jasper smiled, her jaw trembling as she reached out and cupped his face. He nodded and her smile turned bitter. “Did I do that to you, Stick? Did I hurt you that bad?”

“No,” he soothed, rubbing the back of her hand. “You could never.”

“He looks just like my father,” Jasper whispered as a tear rolled down her cheek. “He called me Sugar, and I lost it. I had to get out of there.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Spencer moved to kiss the inside of her palm, then pressed it back against his face. His brow furrowed, “Why did he call you ‘sugar?’”

“Said it was an accident. He’s southern, it happens,” Jasper grumbled, looking away. “My daddy used to call me that. Jack did for a while, my old commander, everyone did. It was my nickname.”

“But you don’t like it,” he said, and she nodded. “Then you won’t ever hear me call you that.”

A small smile creeped across her face, and she leaned in and kissed him. “I knew you were good for something.”

“Jasper, about last night,” he started. “We need to talk about it sometime.”

“I know.” Her voice was small, afraid, so he kissed her again.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised, and he meant it. He would never cause her pain on purpose, especially when she’d been through so much. “We’re going to be okay.”

“Okay.”

“Eat that,” he said, pointing at the bowl. “I’ll be back later.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he said, and back to work he went. He looked back at her one last time, to make sure she was really there.

Booger pushed past him and jumped on the bed next to her. He watched Spencer with a serious look as he laid down at the end, as if he was saying, I’m here, she’s safe until you get back.

He believed him, and it gave him the strength to walk out the door.

23 notes · View notes

ruby-whistler · 3 years

Note

i've done some research, and i've come to a hilarious conclusion: the attitude of c!rivalsduo enthusiasts/apologists/etc towards cc and c tommy gives off similar vibes to that one gordon ramsay meme where he's comforting a child vs that "you donkey" comment or whatever LMFAO

KSDDKFHD yep pretty much

like, i don't dislike c!tommy myself, but i think everyone who does is extremely valid (as much as those who do like him) and i haven't seen a single one of those people be nothing but overwhelmingly supportive of cc!tommy unlike c!dream antis who usually dislike cc!dream's content but i guess that's another can of worms entirely.

and i don't think anyone dislikes him because he's "annoying" either? i myself don't - i don't really click with him because while cc!tommy is charming and genuinely one of the coolest people i know, c!tommy is insensitive towards others and very brash and extraverted. that's all good of course but the complete opposite of me so i can't really connect with the character in the slightest. but hey i can't even remember the last protagonist character i've liked, i usually just get helplessly attached to the villain or a side character instead, so what's new. all in all he's really not my kind of person (and don't talk to me about "loud trauma" for the love of god he's been like this before).

but when i am critical of him, it's not because he's loud or extraverted or reckless - i get messing with people and breaking rules for fun, believe me, there is not one minecraft server i've joined where i didn't immediately steal someone's ender crystals and trap their house (sorry c!dream), trust me - but it's moreso because he can be a jerk and i can see him... affect people negatively.

he's flawed, and he makes a lot of mistakes! easy to blame, easy to get angry at, and that's not - that's not his fault, neither is it inherently bad, but when i see him hurt people, my overempathy goes "get away you stupid jerk" and i just can't. i can't. i get so mad for other people when they get mistreated and it just... hurts to watch? and he's a well-written character like that for sure, dynamic and helping drive the conflict! but... he's not innocent. and that's fine, no one is, but - the way he makes others upset and doesn't even notice? the way he justifies hurting someone and doesn't care? it just - it really makes me feel distant. like i don't want to cheer him on. i just want him to get away from the person he's being toxic to.

that's the difference between cc!tommy and c!tommy - while cc does harmless bits that are funny and everyone is laughing and he's just oh my gosh he's so good at being entertaining don't get me started - c!tommy hurts people in the story, with both his words and actions.

and it's not like he (usually) does it maliciously! it just feels weird to see so many people defending his toxic behavior so violently (sorry c!tommy apologists, but the very radical ones of you are the main reason why i dislike the character) so i just. internally i feel like i have no choice than to set myself opposed to that, and it feels - refreshing in a way, to see others call that out and then see them get attacked and crave to see even more.

and i don't want him hurt! i don't want him hurt at all, no, i watched him get traumatized over and over again and as someone who went through stuff too i - i really want him to get support and be happy, at least for a moment because it's getting repetitive from a storytelling standpoint (sorry but as soon as it becomes good for the story and his own narrative to have him go through more stuff i'll support it, it's just gotten old at this point in time).

i just want some... self-awareness? and he's been gaining some! he's been gaining more, thank prime, he's - he's healing and actually getting better at this. he reflects from time to time, before he relapses thanks to being hurt again, and that's good. the reflection, not the relapse, i mean. but his past actions are really excused too much, and - i just decided to not care at some point.

that's why i don't talk about the character. i - i just don't care about him, because i can't put in the effort to try and put him together, because as long as he frustrates me i think the response to him frustrates me more? i hope i'll be able to like him more down the line. it all just feels wrong in my head, so i'll settle for not caring for now.

sorry for the ramble i have a lot - i have a lot of thoughts about c!tommy and they just came spilling out in whatever this incoherent mess is. this isn't an invite to send c!tommy crit in my inbox, but uh - be my guest. i tag my stuff, anyways, so. just. yeah, these are my thoughts, and accusations like "you just hate cc!tommy because this is his persona" rub me the wrong way when there is so much more to the way i perceive and choose to perceive the character.

if you're going to make me feel guilty for thinking critically of him, well, i'm not going to think anything of him at all. it's just not worth it.

i guess that's my thoughts on him at the moment.

#c!tommy neg #just to be sure

51 notes · View notes

elizabeethan · 3 years

Text

Steal Away: 2 / 5

When a bank robbery with his brother goes horribly wrong, Killian Jones learns to heal with the help of a fiery blonde who happened to get caught in the crosshairs.

A Modern AU

Based loosely on the movie Hell Or High Water (and so I tag @captainswanmoviemarathon)

Read on Ao3

Read The Rest

Read my Other Stuff

A/N: So this was supposed to be a one shot, but it’s, like, 24k words so I thought it would be best to split it up. I’m probably going to post one part a night for the next week or so, though.

This part is rated T as well, mostly for language and car sickness :) (I’ll let you know when we get to M hehehe)

thank you as usual to @the-darkdragonfly, @donteattheappleshook and @xhookswenchx for letting me ramble about this for weeks, and to Kay for beta-ing <3

~~~~

It happens quickly.

Her sense of humor, her taste in music, the adorable way she snorts when he hits a pothole while she’s sleeping… it’s impossible for him to avoid the feelings that stir in him. It’s almost embarrassing, the speed at which he begins to recognize his feelings, but it’s not as if he plans on sharing them at any point.

The fact is… he likes her. She’s cute, and funny, and undeniably sexy, and he knows that if she wasn’t here, he probably wouldn’t be either. He would’ve been arrested right off the bat, or shot in the bank himself, or drowning in a bottle of rum beside his brother’s grave. If it wasn’t for Emma Swan and her insistence to stay in his life, he wouldn’t be on his way to Maine to pick up the only remaining person in his life who means something.

Although, perhaps that isn’t true, because after a day on the road, he’s discovered that she’s starting to mean something, too.

He doesn’t know enough about her to dignify a crush, but he also isn’t stupid. He knows that he’s infatuated with her. He knows that he’s finding it hard to keep his gaze off of her. He knows that her stunning green eyes play off of the gold of her skin and her hair in such a way that makes his heart race. He knows that, based solely on what she’s told him so far, he’s desperate to know more.

She doesn't have a family. She spent much of her childhood homeless and running away from abusive foster placements. She was abandoned as an infant, left in the woods at only a few hours old. She’s been through hell and back, and she still manages a blinding smile.

Her ex boyfriend is the reason she’s here with him, he thinks. She says that he screwed her over and that she wants nothing more than to get away from him and from the place that reminds her of him, and Killian thinks this all happened at a rather convenient time for her. She told him yesterday, when he was panicking over his brother’s demise, that she could tell that he was there in that bank for a good reason, and he’s taken to assuming that she has a good reason to assume that.

They hardly know each other, and yet he feels as though he’s known her his whole life. He knows so little about her, and yet, he can read her like she’s an open book. The term kindred spirits feels naive, and yet, that’s exactly what they are.

“Are we gonna stop in Chicago?” she asks excitedly as she watches the Welcome to Illinois sign pass them by.

“Definitely not,” he laughs. “It’s far too north for where we’re headed.”

“What, and Maine isn’t?” she snorts, shaking her head and pointing out a bird that flies by. “What’s up there, anyway?”

Immediately, his heart starts racing and his palms start sweating at the thought of telling her the true reason for their trip. It dawns on him that, when they arrive, he would have to tell her anyway, lest he abandon her in town before he arrives at the lawyer’s office.

Of course, Emma has experienced her fair share of abandonment at this point in her life, and while he hardly knows her and shouldn’t care, he wouldn’t dare contribute to the trauma that comes with the feeling of being left behind and forgotten.

Bloody hell.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she says after a long moment of silence.

He clears his throat, drawing his focus back to the highway before him. “It’s alright, love. I just… it’s a sore subject, I suppose.”

“We share a lot of those,” she jokes, smirking at him and making his heart race. More gently, she reasons, “which means you should know by now that I won’t judge you.”

“Aye,” he agrees immediately, because he does know that. “Aye, you’re right. It’s, um… my child.”

He catches her balking, her jaw dropping and then snapping shut in quick succession before he needs to focus back on the road. “You have a kid?”

With a nod, his grip on the steering wheel tightens. This vehicle is better than the last, the clutch not sticking like the one in the truck had, but it’s so small and cramped that he doubts they’ll be able to sleep comfortably in these seats tonight. He’d best pull over soon so that they can find a place to sleep. “I do,” he confirms. “A daughter. She’s eight.”

“How old are you?” she asks in shock.

He narrows his eyes, shifting his gaze to her briefly and suspiciously asking, “how old are you?”

“I asked you first,” she says seriously, as if she truly doesn't want to disclose her age, and he begins to panic. She looks old enough, but the potential that he’s just kidnapped a minor on top of everything else begins to assault his thoughts.

“Please just tell me I didn’t kidnap you,” he begs, his heart racing.

“No,” she rolls her eyes. “I’m 23, and much more mature than you.”

With a sound that’s somewhere between a snort and a sigh of relief, he nods. “Aye, love. I’m sure you are.”

She sits in silence, staring at him expectantly, and he knows that it drives her mad when he smirks and begins to laugh. “Don’t be stupid! Just tell me how old you are!”

“I’m… I’m 31.”

“Oh,” she says, chuckling beside him. “So you’re not that much of a cradle robber. Just a regular old bank robber.”

“Oy!” he shouts in offense, staring at her in shock. “Sensitive subject. And what makes you think I’m trying to rob your... cradle?”

She snorts and shakes her head. “Please. I saw the way you were staring at my ass at that last rest stop.”

She could’ve chosen a more opportune time to say that, perhaps when he wasn’t taking a sip of coffee. It’s rather uncomfortable coming up his nose. “Love,” he says through a cough. “I’m not— that is, I meant not to—”

“It’s fine, Killian,” she tells him, giggling softly and playfully. “A girl likes to feel flattered, especially a girl who feels like a—”

Her jaw snaps shut and her eyes grow wide, the emerald catching the rays of the sun and throwing glints of gold. “Like a what, darling?”

“Like… um, like I could eat everything on the menu at McDonalds. Is it time to stop yet?”

“No,” he laughs, although he finds that he struggles to say no to her and mean it, even after such little time, and he indicates his intent to change lanes and moves towards an exit. “We only stopped for breakfast a few hours ago.”

“Well, I’m starving,” she tells him, shooting him a soft smile. “And if I don’t stretch my legs in a minute, they’re gonna fall off.”

“You need to stretch your legs? Your feet are currently on top of my dashboard. Is that not enough of a stretch?”

“Your dashboard? I’m pretty sure I witnessed you stealing this car.”

“From a scrapyard,” he mumbles, giving her a shy smile as he exits the highway. “What do you want for lunch? Or should I say brunch? It’s barely eleven.”

“We crossed time zones, you ass.”

“What do you want?” he laughs.

She hums playfully, pretending to ponder his question seriously and says, “a prime rib, cooked medium rare, with a side of garlic mashed potatoes. Caramelized onion and mushroom sauce on the steak. And some green beans, for balance.”

Shaking his head and laughing along with her, he says, “chicken nuggets and fries it is, darling.”

~~~~

“You need to pull over,” she says suddenly, breaking almost an hour of silence between them during which he was certain she was asleep. After their early lunch, he decided to keep driving, anticipating that she would take over in a few hours.

“Emma,” he sighs, “we only just stopped two hours ago.”

“I’m not asking,” she demands. “I’m telling you that if you don’t pull over,” she puts her hand over her mouth, her retching and gagging preventing her from saying anything more.

“Jesus,” he mumbles as he pulls into the breakdown lane, barely stopped and still in gear when she thrusts the door open and loses her lunch all over the ground. He can’t ask her if she’s alright because she hasn’t stopped vomiting, so he checks his side mirror and opens his door, walking around the front of the car to meet her. He stands behind the door and places his hand in her hair, massaging her scalp as she shudders violently. “I didn’t realize you were prone to car sickness.”

She groans, shaking her head and resting it against the window at her side. “I think your driving has gotten worse.”

He hums, continuing his ministrations on her scalp as she catches her breath. “Was it the chicken, love? I knew that stuff was crap.”

“No, it’s your crap driving.”

“Do you want to take over, then?”

“No, I want to sleep.”

“Come on out and get some fresh air, would you?” She whimpers as he pulls the door open a bit more, and he takes her hand to help her out and around her sick. “It’s alright, love, come here.”

She breathes deeply as she stands, and only remains in front of him for a moment before she falls forward against his chest and into his arms. “Sorry,” she whispers into his sweatshirts wrapping her arms around his waist and holding herself close to him. “For delaying the trip.”

“You needn’t worry about that, love,” he soothes, and he focuses on moving his hands along her back and hair in the same way she had his. “A few moments while you find your bearings won’t hurt. Are you alright?”

She nods against him, a sound coming from her throat that makes him squeeze her tighter. He can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, the need to comfort her interrupting any reasonable thoughts in his head. She whispers, “yeah,” so softly that he kisses her again.

“During lunch I found a small campground that takes cash. It’s only another few hours; can you make it that far? We can use the tent and the camping mat instead of sleeping in the car.”

“Luxurious,” she jokes softly, maintaining her firm embrace around his middle. “That sounds perfect.”

~~~~

She’s relentless in her jokes at his expense as he struggles with the tent. It’s dusk, and there’s a decent canopy of trees above him, and, as she points out often, he’s getting old. He struggles to see the small pieces and determine what goes where, and she’s hardly any help as she sits in the car laughing at him as she claims to be recovering from another spell of car sickness.

“You could try helping me, you know,” he finally mumbles as the structure collapses again and he’s met with her symphonic laughter.

“Need a newer pair of eyes, Captain?” she asks in good humor, standing and bounding towards him confidently. It’s almost miraculous how quickly she’s recovered, and yet her nausea seems to keep coming back.

“Very funny, love. Come and tell me where E connects to G.”

It’s impossible to ignore the way the full moon shines against her hair, almost white in the dim light of the night sky. The gentle waves flow freely as she releases the tie from around her locks, rubbing her palms over her face as she settles into the warm cocoon of the sleeping bag. She gives him a soft, gentle smile as he zips the tent’s opening securely shut, taking his place upon the ground between her and the door. “Where’s yours?” she asks, gesturing down at her sleeping bag and camping mat.

He shrugs and then nods towards her. “Someone stole it.”

Her eyes widen in surprised embarrassment and she asks, “this is yours? What about-- weren’t you and… I mean…”

Smiling as he lies down on his back, he turns his head to face her and says, “I was meant to travel alone, actually.”

Just as he thinks she’s about to match his position and lie back herself, she stirs and begins tugging on the sleeping bag until she’s out of it. She shakes it out in front of herself to straighten it and then feels around in the dark for the zipper, pulling it around the puffy fabric until it’s fully open before her. Turning towards him, she gives him another soft smile and dramatically opens it like a parachute, draping it over the both of them. “There you go,” she says with finality. “We can share.”

“You don’t have to do that, love. It’s summer anyway.”

“We’re sleeping outside, and you're taking a second, unexpected person on your trip across the country, who also happens to frequently demand pit stops. The least I can do is share your sleeping bag with you.”

“Well… thank you, lass. That’s very kind of you.”

“I just can’t part with the mat, sorry. The ground is way too hard.”

He laughs as he turns to his side, silently agreeing with her that the ground is mighty firm as he grimaces. “You can’t spare it for an old man with old bones?”

She shrugs, laughing softly as well as she rolls to her side to face him head on. “You're not that old.”

“So I'm only young when it suits you?”

“I didn’t say you were young.”

He hasn’t laughed this much in years. Before he met her, he hadn’t been so close to a woman in almost a decade. He’s forgotten how soothing the gentle touch of another can be, and he’s been hard pressed to ignore how especially soothing she is, in particular. “You do have quite the sense of humor, love.”

“All in good fun,” she smiles. He catches her gaze shooting down at the hem of the old sleeping bag, her fingers fiddling with some thread that has pulled away from its place. “Will you tell me something?” she asks in a whisper.

“What is it?”

She clears her throat nervously, continuing to avert her eyes from his, and asks, “will you tell me about your daughter?”

With a hum and a sad smile, he bites his bottom lip and nods, the memories of his love flooding back into his mind, as if he’s ever been able to prevent them. “Alice,” he says. “She’s just turned eight a few months ago. I missed her birthday.”

“Why? What happened?”

He notes the way that her fingers continue to play at the loose threads, and he matches her actions just beside her. “I was with my mother; she was dying and had no one else while Liam was in jail. I wanted to bring Alice with me, but… her mother wouldn’t allow it.”

“I’m sorry,” she says immediately. He hears a rustle against the mat her head lies on and lifts his own gaze to meet hers.

“Thank you.”

“When did you see her last, then?”

He gulps over the lump in his throat. “It’s been well over a year.”

She sighs, and he doesn’t think he imagines the minute amount of space that she closes between them. “You must miss her terribly.”

“Aye, I do. Everyday.”

“Is there… I mean, is there a reason it’s been so long? I’m not trying to judge you, I’m sorry, I just—“

“It’s alright, love,” he interrupts, noting the sudden shift in her demeanor as she realizes the nature of her question. “Her mother was rather… controlling, I suppose. I believe she used drugs and alcohol for much of Alice’s early life. I don’t have any reason to believe she used during her pregnancy, but I cared for Alice from birth when Eloise fell off the wagon. I even named her, after my ailing mother. But a few years later, she got clean and started to take over. She took Alice to live with her; became upset when I came around. And eventually, the way she would scream at me when I tried to visit made Alice upset, so I stopped coming around as much.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and he wonders if he’s taken things a bit too far. If he’s opened up to her too much. He fears this for what feels like an eternity as she lies beside him, her warm breath washing over his nose as he thinks the worst. That he’s upset her, that he’s offended her, that he’s made her think of the trauma of being abandoned herself as he describes the way he abandoned his own daughter. And his fears are confirmed when she sniffles softly before him and moves her fingers from the frayed threads to her eyes, wiping tears away.

“Emma,” he whispers into the darkness, “I’m sor--”

“That’s so terrible,” she interrupts sadly, and he bows his head in shame, knowing already that his actions are deplorable. Until she whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry… for what?” he asks in shock, speaking almost at full volume, a contrast to their whispering tones.

“You just--” she sniffs once more, “--it’s obvious how badly you want to be in your daughter’s life, and you haven’t been able to. That’s got to be the worst feeling… I can’t even imagine not being allowed to…”

Clearing his throat, he takes a risk by reaching before himself to wipe a tear from her soft cheek with his thumb, almost desperate to comfort her as she has him the entire time he’s known her. “It’s alright, love,” he whispers. “I’m going to get her back, with your help. I wouldn’t be here, on my way to her, if it weren’t for you.”

She sniffles and laughs at the same time, adorably embarrassed at the sound that escapes her, and asks, “what’s changed now? With you and her mom?”

“She died,” he answers simply. If she had begun to relax slightly into his hand, she stiffens at his words. “She relapsed, mixed drugs and alcohol… her body couldn’t handle it.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “That must’ve been hard, too.”

“Not much,” he answers too quickly. She draws her brows together in question and he continues, “I’m sad for Alice; she’s lost her mother. But she never really had her much. Eloise was never a very devout mother. It always seemed like she was in it for the image, or only when it suited her. I don’t think she ever really wanted a child.”

Emma nods gently, the small gap between them getting smaller when a gust of wind shakes the tent and she slides closer to him. “Was she, I mean, was Alice a surprise?”

“Oh, aye, very much so,” he laughs softly. “El and I weren’t ever a couple, we just met at a bar and… well, we were only together once. It was sort of a low point for me.”

“I get that,” she nods again. “Sleeping with the wrong person, I mean. Not that… I mean, not that Alice was a mistake or anything, of course.”

“I know what you mean,” he consoles in a whisper as she again worries that she’s offended him. She should know that she couldn’t possibly say the wrong thing, because despite how short of a time he’s known her, he knows that she can do no wrong in his eyes.

“Will you tell me about her? Like… What was it like when she was a baby? Was it very hard?”

He hums and nods, agreeing, “it was hard, yes; I was mostly alone. But it was so worth it.”

“It was?” she asks softly, almost insecurely and making him narrow his eyes in thought.

She hasn’t told him anything, but he isn’t a fool. He means every word of what he says to her next, and says it in hopes that he can give her solace. “Aye. As hard as life has been, I wouldn't change anything because it’s how I got Alice.”

In a move that surprises him almost as much as it doesn’t, she moves as close to him as she can and tucks her head into his chest, just below his chin, and wraps her arm around his waist. “That’s a good point,” she murmurs into his sweatshirt.

“Are you alright, love?” he asks, accepting her into his embrace and letting his hand run along the length of her spine over her own sweatshirt. He reminds himself that he doesn’t truly know her, so he can’t assume that this isn’t like her, but it feels profound.

She nods against his chest, pulling herself impossibly closer as she seems to seek more warmth and a firmer embrace. “It’s weird,” she starts, her voice muffled. “I barely know you, but it feels like you're my friend.”

“I am your friend,” he agrees with a smile. “And you’re mine. I told you I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“I wouldn’t either.”

“Of course not. I’ve been driving most of the way.”

She snorts, nuzzling her nose into the crook between his neck and his shoulder and squeezing around his waist. “Yeah, that’s why I’ve been puking nonstop.”

“Would you like to drive tomorrow, then?” he laughs.

“Sure.”

“Alright. We’ll need to leave quite early. Just another two days to go, I think.”

“Okay,” she yawns, falling asleep in his arms feeling, he hopes, as safe as he does.

~~~~

Tagging:

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor

#captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #captain swan au #modern au #cs ff au #Steal Away #steal away ff #cs fluff #cs angst #eventual smut #hurt/comfort

52 notes · View notes

dangoarts · 2 years

Text

pinned post for organizational purposes

ugh looks like i'm actually using this account ok cool

hello, am arya/mochi (she/they)

am Adult(tm) (not willingly)

i draw (lots) and write (sometimes)

am violently aroace (sex repulsed)

going to college for game design, gonna become the true epic gamer

socially awkward, may or may not respond if you message me sorri :') (depends on the thing sent and if i panic)

interacts primarily with reblogs, too dumb to like stuff like a normal person /j

only gonna have this one blog, no side accounts because i will forget about their existence, so Everything Will Be On Here

tags and comfort under cut

me things

if you're interested in my all my art stuff, check out #art stuff

if you wanna see just the doodles, check out #dumb doodles

if you wanna see the stuff i tried on, check out #actual good art

if you wanna see me lose my mind, check out #just a ramble

if you wanna see me attempt to be coherent with people, check out #answered rambles

if you wanna see other people's cool stuff, #i will think about this later -> additionally: #art tutorial

if you wanna see my writing, check out #writing stuff

this is my one brain cell described in a video

go check out my fren @currently-simping!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! they are rad and is the reason behind half of my ideas

fandom things

will switch between the mountain of fixations i have on a dime (ill)

things i posted a lot in are #deltarune, #batim/#batdr, #pokemon, and #mario tags

i posted a bit in the #cuphead, #a hat in time, #fnaf (security breach exclusive), #kirby, #pizza tower, #lethal company and #minecraft tags

#tron and #epic mickey live in my head rent free and have been since like 2010 (ill)

making #victory au for deltarune (on permanent hiatus because motivation!!!!!!!!!!! bad)

making #blotted au and #golden fins for batim (let's see how far my motivation lets me go) -> blotted au masterpost -> golden fins introductory post

made goofy ahh oc that i love dearly, check out #venposting -> his toyhouse page

since i KEEP LOSING IT, lethal company creature hcs

comfort things

i am ok with most things! am very chill and i do not care as long as it's not drama

fanart/fanworks of my characters/interpretations are one of the best things to ever happen honestly and you'll become my most favorite person if that happens, EXCEPT if it's 18+ (see sex repulsed above)

as with every other artist ever please don't repost my art and claim it as your own or use it for whatever ass backwards thing blockchains are fabricating nowadays, ik it's a cry on deaf ears for people who don't care about the ramifications of taking someone's work they put hours of their life into and yeah i'm aware of the risk i'm taking by sharing art on the internet, but this is something that i made with my own hands so i'd appreciate at least the bare bones amount of credit

i'm dogshit at replying unless it's about something specific, so a lot of messages that just say "hello" or smth one worded end up getting ignored. if it's a question like "omg did you see this thing" or prompts like "hey i also like this" end up getting responses. there's also a good chance i read the message and either forget about its existence or panic and never respond anyway

only two things that make me disintegrate into atoms is nsfw/18+ content and needles. eye contact is uncomfy but not really phobia-levels. i'm semi-ok with horror stuff, but it's a limit i'm still testing out. and ya i ship characters but i really only stick to platonic and romantic fluff stuff and i'm not gonna engage in any ship discourse if u don't like it just block it's not that hard

things i did

sketch requests, is closed atm

thas about it

#ya!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#long post

5 notes · View notes

katsukikitten · 4 years

Text

Back at it again since tumblr didnt want me in the tags the first time

Bakugou was irritable today. Not that his irritability was anything new but every little thing set his skill crawling. His forearms littered with threatening pops as he bared his teeth to anyone brave enough to look his way.

He figured the only way to get his agitation out was to hit something, anything.

So he headed to one of the two closest gyms from his small apartment to blow off some much needed steam. The local 24 hour gym that was open to the public was a no go, not just because it was always over crowded but also because he got banned after cussing out some damn extras who were snapping pictures of him instead of working out like one should. Leaving his only other option to be the agency's "gym".

When he first set foot into the sorry excuse of a gym he demanded a better upgrade for it, if they expected to keep him and Kirishima in top shape. Otherwise he would begin to look elsewhere considering other agencies were dying to have the newest upcoming pro hero in their rankings. The agency obliged, delivering his expectations and more in less than a week. Guess being in the top five really did have its perks.

The ash blonde pulls his shiny new coupe into the parking garage and finds a spot closest to the entrance. He grabs for his water bottle from the passenger seat before exiting the car, locking his black beauty as he made his way inside. He swipes his fob over the keypad before it beeps while flashing green, allowing him entrance to the back door of the basement. Walking past the long corridor of support labs that had long since closed to get to the gym. The rooms illuminated by the low light of locked computers, secrets and redesigns stowed away behind bullet proof glass.

Nearing the end of the dimly lit hall he spies harsh light flooding onto the linoleum floor, indicating that someone seemed to be collecting some major overtime. From his experiences at UA he figured each room would be filled to the brim with over eager support, eccentrically yelling at one another over specs and improvements, sharing their love of science at a volume much too high for Bakugou's taste. Shortly after his hero debut he discovered just how wrong he was about the support labs. He had needed a 2am, mid shift, costume adjustment so he came here, expecting the place to be brimming with brilliant minds only to find one person still working.

So it should be no surprise that at 10:30 at night there was one room that was clearly occupied. Still a rare curiosity takes over the hot head as he peeks into the room while passing, wondering if he will catch a glimpse of you again.

He found you odd, as you seemed to be nocturnal or better yet maybe you didn't sleep at all. No need for it as your hunger for knowledge seemed to outweigh any basic human need.

Bakugou had only seen you a handful of times, here and there in passing towards the gym at all hours of the day and night. Maybe it was just coincidence that he would find you hunched over something with this gleam in your eye as you destroyed and rebuilt the item over and over again.

He shakes his head, he doesn't get it. Doesn't get why you dedicate so much time when no one else in your department seemed to give as much of a damn as you did. Or maybe he did get it, maybe it was similar to how he pushes himself so he can be number one, except yours was just for intellectual stimulation.

After an hour and a half of throwing weights and punches around and becoming heavily drenched in sweat, Bakugou finally calls it a night. Gulping water from his water bottle before wiping at the sheen that collected on his forehead. He sighs out, before catching himself in the mirror. Smirking as he flexes, letting go a few pops. Admiring not only his improved physique but also his new hair style. Sides faded but top long, ash strands looking borderline messy, as if someone had just caught him and a lover kissing heavily in a dark hall during a house party, their fingers desperately pulling at his hair.

He reaches for the ceiling in a grunting stretch as a yawn forces its way out. He leaves the gym, switching off the lights before making his way back to the parking garage. A furrow of his brow as he notices the light to your lab is still on, maybe you had forgotten to kill the light when you left or maybe you were still tinkering away. Crimson eyes peer into the room, spying you as you begin to stretch. Your eyes latch onto his as he watches your expression go from concentrated to elated. You jump from your seat, causing Bakugou's brow to furrow more before you're flinging open the door and yanking at his wrist.

"Wow what are the odds?! Well I guess they would be around 4.64% considering you don't normally frequent this gym but I should also factor in your recent ban raising it up to.."

"Oi, shitty woman, quit the nerd talk!" He yanks his wrist from your small, delicate hands. Totally unsure of what your name is and even if he did know it, he would sooner address you with an insult than your family name.

"Ah I forget, not everyone loves numbers. But still I am quite lucky tonight." You beam up at him, hair threatening to fall loose from its haphazardly shaped bun, "You're just the man I needed to see, Bakugou."

He isn't sure why but a faint blush creeps to his cheeks, was it your bright smile that threw him so off guard or was it the way your lips formed around his name?

He sucks his teeth, looking away from you with crossed arms.

"Well I'm sweaty as fuck, so you really don't need me." He huffs but before he can turn on his heel you're clamping cool black metal to his forearms. You guide him to the door to the testing area of your lab, turning his arms this way and that to make sure your measurements are perfect as you ramble on.

"No! No! That is the perfect condition for this experiment. I've been working on your winter costume since there are deficiencies with your current one. Since you, and I'm sure you already know, sweat less in the winter there needs to be some sort of counter balance to offset the possibility of little to no stored sweat. Preventive measures could be made sure and you collect sweat from previous activities but 'stale' sweat does not ignite as quickly or as violently as fresh sweat. One could argue that using heavier and denser materials could help aid in more sweat production but this risks overheating should a mission need you inside or a rapid change in environment all together outweight any benefit. So not only are these bracers less obnoxious than your gauntlets, no offense, but they collect 56 to even 62% more of expandable sweat compared to the normal 54% all while reducing the amount needed for ignition. Sure my colleagues could say that's a marginal improvement at best but…" Heat radiates off of him in waves, pulling your eye upwards. You're met with a red hot gaze that seems to rake over your skin. An odd chill runs down your spine as you realize your mistake.

Nerd talk. And rambling nerd talk at that.

All the while Bakugou wonders why your hands are so damn cold and yet they feel good, soothing to his warmed skin. Refreshing even as it reminds him of a passing breeze in the summer or hiding in the shade from the sun.

A bit of heat rushes into your cheeks as you suddenly realize how close you are to THE Ground Zero. Someone who you knew so intimately through paper and yet knew nothing about all at the same time. You knew his measurements, the circumference of his head, his biceps, the number of inches around his thighs. Hell, you had them memorized since the big boss upstairs assigned you his costume and accessories well over a year ago. And yet you couldn't even fathom to name his favorite color or favorite food for that matter.

You swallow thickly, clearing your throat as you move on, dropping his deadly hands as you do.

"Ah, anyway, these bracers are designed to help with not only better sweat collection in both summer and winter but to aid in some stealth missions as they make no sound compared to your heavy gauntlets." You smile at him once more causing his stomach to flip before those small icy hands press harshly into his toned hot back, pushing him into the testing chamber behind diamond glass.

"I just need you to test them. I need to make sure they can withstand your heat and power." With that you shut him away, quickly trotting to the mic on the other side. Pressing the button to speak as he turns his arms over looking at the smooth black material

"Now, remember, it takes less sweat. So don't go all out!" At first you worry it falls on deaf ears before he gives a nod your way. Suddenly you are in awe of the power house that stands before you as his expression changes from utter agitation to complete determined focus, all with something as simple as a deep breath out. He focuses on producing enough sweat to ignite, calling on his quirk as if it were an extension of himself. Pooling it onto his skin, permeating the air with the slight smell of burnt sugar before he let's go a small pop.

But the medium sized explosion he had expected was anything but what was produced. Suddenly the brace on his arm explodes from the pressure as does the diamond glass in the room. Fear grips Bakugou as shards of glass go flying towards you before you flick your wrist harshly.

The deadly shards bypass you, glistening shrapnel sinks deeply into the tile floor around you like a piece of jagged art.

And yet you seem unphased, delighted even as a manic smile paints your lips before it sours. Eyes noticing that the bracer barely stood up to the challenge.

"Fuck…the density still cannot withstand the joules output or force that Bakugou is capable of…" A string of murmurs that remind him all too much of Deku as your fingers curl in the air, calling forth the failed experiment with unseen forces. The blonde long forgotten as you hunch over the workbench, going back to square one.

Crimson eyes dissect your form and actions as you pull various books and tools towards you with the influence of your quirk, hovering around the work space.

Suddenly you feel heat radiating behind you when normally you're enveloped in the cool air of the air conditioning, kept extra low in the labs to prevent overheating of parts. You look over your shoulder, suddenly remembering the Pro hero who's beginning to wonder why you're in support with a quirk like that.

"I know, I know. The last bus and train left hours ago. I'll catch them in the morning." You guess at why he's lingering as you wave him off with your hand. He's caught off guard by your statement before he notices the clock, going to open his mouth to scold before snapping it shut.

Why should he care if you work through the night? What was he gonna do? Offer you a ride when he didn't even know your name?

He sucks his teeth biting out as he leaves.

"Just call me when you're ready to test these again."

Weeks pass and it's as you never left the lab. Glued to the same spot as he tests the product every other week only for you to grow more and more frustrated with each failure punctuated by shattered bracers.

And every time he enters the lab room he learns something new about you. He can tell when or if you've left the lab for longer than a few minutes by how tidy the space is or lack thereof. A chaotic circle encompasses you filled with random items that you hope will ignite a spark of inspiration. Anything from books to thin sheets of metal and even to soft fabrics that haphazardly lay atop metal tools. Anything one could possibly imagine was probably there, sitting along-side several empty cups that once held iced coffee. He notices the bags beneath your eyes as they darken with each passing week and he's beginning to wonder if you've ever left as he leaves anywhere between 12 to 3am most nights.

Tonight is no different as he makes his way to the gym at midnight while you're hunched over his bracers. A part of him wants to tell you to stop being an idiot, to rip you from your little stool and drag you to your bed or wherever the fuck you'll sleep as the other part points out 'why do you fucking care?' So he watches silently, eyes fixated on you until he runs out of glass to look through before he locks himself away in the gym.

Bakugou puts in his black wireless earbuds before cranking his music up, tossing his phone onto a nearby workbench. He stretches this way and that, reaching for the sky as he looks at his form in the mirror, his hard earned V and bottom two abs wink at his reflection beneath his signature black tank top and his black hoodie.

His fist connects easily with the heavy black bag suspended by a large chain. The sandbag swings back and forth with a creak with each heavy handed blow. Bakugou loses time with each kick and hit thrown at the bag, each passing song fueling his desire to melt his frustration until his hair is plastered to his forehead. He lets out a steadying breath as his heart roars in his chest,he rears his fist back for a final blow backed by a bit of his quirk. It connects with the well worn leather with such force a weak link in the chain snaps as the fabric obliterates, the 200lb bag flies into the mirror behind it. Shards of reflective glass glitter as they rain onto the matted floor.

"Fuck." He huffs, stretching and turning to the opposite mirror. Sending a quick snap of his tongue out with the caption "Oops" as the background showcases the decimated gym to Kirishima. He picks up his bag, removing his ear buds to be met with the cool air of the hallway.

Your light is still on causing him to grind his teeth as his phone reads 2:45am. He's angry enough he chooses to avoid looking into your enclosure as he walks past, fearful his sharp tongue will give him away. He misses you perk up, frantically waving for him to come in before you're at the door, flinging it open to yell out much too loudly in the empty halls.

"Bakugou!" Your voice is hoarse and cracks from disuse before you clear your throat, lightly jogging to catch up to his large stride, "I've done it!"

He ignores you, lips pursed in a tight line before your cold hand wraps tightly around his wrist. Pulling him back to the lab with eager steps. He rips away his wrist with a growl and follows you reluctantly, you seem unphased by his harsh actions.

"I've finally perfected it. I'm sure this time. I was looking at it all wrong. Larger surface area does not always equate to better absorption. Not to mention the pressure for the explosions beneath the bracer is what was causing the failure in the first place. A marginal error that I should have caught earlier. This new design covers less than 15% of your skin but increases…." You ramble but it all falls on deaf ears.

Bakugou sees that your hair is so loose in its ponytail it might as well be down. The bags beneath your eyes weigh heavy on your pretty features, your skin showing signs of dehydration as it seems to have lost some of its elasticity. Your lab coat is wrinkled and your nametag, that you're wearing for once, is pinned on upside down. He commits your name to memory although he finds it odd that it must be your first name instead of your family name, then again you do hail from overseas. As the two of you walk into your lab he realizes instantly that it has become your main living space. Shards of diamond glass still litter your floor, there is no rhyme or reason to the placement of objects. Tools, and trash commingle in dangerous piles and stacks around the room. Something knits itself as it floats in the air, wavering a bit when you pause your rambling to yawn.

"Oi nerd!" Bakugou's voice is sharp, authoritative as he grips onto your wrist. Eyes still washing over the room before they land on you. Somehow you're too daft or too tired to pick up on his concern.

"Yea yea nerd talk. I fucking get it." A half snap from your exhaustion, "Just…"

You lose his grip before grabbing onto his arm, finding a mesh woven bracer somehow on that disastrous desk. It seems to be made of a soft, elastic fabric as you slip it over his thick forearm after shoving away his sweatshirt sleeve.

"Perfect, your sweat output was pretty close to max earlier. I could smell caramel from the gym. This is going to be so fucking great!" You giggle in delight as the other mesh bracer finishes itself, dropping before you frantically reach for it. He notices your faulty step, your under the breath curse and the long moment your eyes flutter. He almost bites his tongue clean off.

Again your cool hands find his burning skin as you try to keep your tired brain focused on the task at hand and not how his forearms have grown nearly a half inch since your first encounter. It's difficult not to fall victim to his intoxicating smell as you force yourself to not sway on your feet and collapse into a lovely muscular man. His heat seems to have some sort of affect on you, causing an odd affinity between you both.

"Okay all done! Please give a medium sized blast!" You encourage, shoving him into the testing chamber as he glares down at you. He isn't sure why your chaotic state is bothering him but it does. He rolls his eyes as you slam the door shut. He brings clarity to his mind, focusing on his quirk and how the sweat feels against his skin. How it yearns to be something more, to explode into a whispering flame that may catch something ablaze.

He gives in, just a little, giving it what it wants, igniting it with a simple thought. An explosion he would have considered large if he were still at UA but since all he's done is grow these past five years, earning him the number 3 rank, it comes to no surprise when the glass shatters yet again.

Except this time you're too entranced with the smoke clearing, of seeing if your baby you've slaved over has made it through to comprehend the sharp threat. You notice the flying glass a moment too late, flicking your wrist to change the trajectory from what was supposed to be your entire body but your arms are grazed by the razor sharp shards. You grit your teeth, cursing to yourself calling forth a first aid kit.

But nothing shows up in your peripheral except for a looming presence. One you give your back to in order to find the first aid kit with your gaze, when was the last time you ever had to look at something to summon it?

Damn it, how could you be experiencing quirk failure from exhaustion right now? Sure it took a lot of brain power for your quirk but it takes weeks of no sleep for a failure plus you had been eating...your eyes glance around the room. You hadn't been eating, or so it says from the lack of any sort of plate or take out aside from your iced coffees with the added protein and carbohydrate shots your body needed to process your quirk with ease.

Fuck, guess it really was quirk failure. You bite your lip, unable to find that damned kit hoping the hot head wouldn't catch on to your short coming.

Vermillion eyes watch crimson spots bloom across the white fabric of your coat. He grinds his teeth, searching for the first aid kit only to find it knocked beneath a shelf. He rights himself, stalking your way with a grimace just to stop in his tracks. He watches you slip your oversize jacket off of strong shoulders, toned arms adorned with several thin slices that weep red, but what has really caught his attention was that body con dress.

Sticking to you like a second skin, but looking somehow comfortable at the same time, he wonders for a moment if you've made it yourself. It's similar to the fabric used to make his shirts, breathable, soft, always smelling a bit sweet like you when they are fresh from the lab. His hand twitches as he can imagine how supple your curves would feel in the delicate yet sturdy material, palm already too familiar with the soft sensation. Red catches his eye once again pulling him from the trance that is your body. He sneers at the cuts as he grabs onto your cold shoulder, shoving you into your chair so he can work on you. You look up a bit shocked with a pinch of anger mixed in and a dash of hurt pride. He takes no notice as he wraps bandages tight around your arms, your eyes locked onto the bracers. The smile on your face cannot be helped as you stare proudly at your work, it was able to withstand so much power and remain not only in tact but unsinged. You grab onto his wrist turning it this way and that, a pen and pad float near by as you take notes. Bakugou cannot hide his astonishment as he watches the invisible hand borrow your neat yet rushed script as it is unable to keep up with your thoughts. You pull the bracers from his arms, fabric begins to tear itself thread by thread before spooling itself, wrapping around wood as if it were a snake. He pulls away, eyes hard as he talks himself out of whatever the stupid "heroic" side of him is saying. He takes a step back and with it taking his warmth. You shiver but you are too busy to notice, teeth chattering ever so slightly but you're too busy studying. He growls to himself.

Suddenly you're enveloped in a dizzying sweet smell and warmth, it is then you realize that Bakugou had shoved his hoodie over your head. Slinking your arms into the holes to move the hood of the sweatshirt back, quickly realizing the material is not damp as you had once thought. It's warm from his quirks use, material dry as a bone, reminding you of pulling your favorite blanket fresh from the dryer just to wrap yourself in it as rain taps on the window of your apartment.

Subconsciously you snuggle into it, opening your mouth to state how much work you have to do but instead you have to stifle a yawn.

Had the cold of the lab always kept you awake, were you starting to actually feel the weight of your work only because you were warm?

"I think it's time for bed, nerd."

He places his hot palm on the back of your neck in a power move as he speaks. He enrages you and entices you all at once as your face snaps up to meet his gaze, your own eyes burning holes into him. He smirks down at you, deciding in this moment that he really likes you.

"I'm taking you home. Get your shit." He squeezes your nape as a warning. He isn't taking no for an answer.

"I'll take the bus and train in the morning, three hours is child's play." Hitting his hand away, trying to return to your work. He scoffs in response.

"You sure are oblivious for someone so smart. Tomorrow is Saturday." He crosses his exposed arms, unable to hide his smug smirk as realization washes over your stunning features, "That means the bus won't be in the business district til 10am."

"I think I'll be okay." You say after a moment of silence, "I've waited longer. Or I could walk..."

"Will you?" He retorts, "Your office says otherwise."

You follow his gaze, your entire office in disarray, as if a bomb went off.

You guess in a sense one had gone off. Biting your lip as you mull it over, eyes finding Bakugou's file shuffled across your desk, spying your own hand written cliff notes.

Stubborn your script reads, you sigh admitting defeat as you wave your hand over the file. It tidies itself, papers folding neatly back into the Manila folder before you snap your fingers.

Bakugou watches items soar around the room, books fighting and bickering over their order, pens and pencils long forgotten in corners of the room race back to their place on your desk. Papers flutter and fall into the trash or shredder in defeat as plastic cups sink into the plastic bin in the corner. The diamond glass follows suit as your own hands grab onto the bracers, giving them a gentle squeeze before you access an invisible drawer on your desk, hiding away your project before pushing it back. Wood flush against wood as if there were no drawer at all.

A question burns on the tip of Bakugou's tongue, it dies in his throat for now as a new one is born.

"That Kirishima's faceplate?" The question comes out in the form of a bite, for some reason the thought of his more likeable friend coming in here as often as Bakugou has set his blood boiling.

"Ah yes, I just got this assignment from the big boss. Kirishima's new unbreakable breaks his faceplate everytime. Otto had it before me, which was odd. He is more of a reverse engineer. Taking an unknown material and figuring out how it works." Your eyes linger over the empty office across the way, "But he's been out and Kirishima can apparently no longer be on the back burner. Especially now that I've finished with the company's top hero."

His heart melts just a bit as he watches a smidge of pride form in your dazzling eyes. He scoffs to change the topic.

"Come on, shitty woman." He guides you to the parking garage.

Once there he acts out of character. At least what you would believe to be out of character as he holds open the door to his car for you, waiting for you to step in.

"What?! I ain't fucking kidnapping you but I ain't letting you weasel out of this shit either." He growls, waiting impatiently by the door. You step in as he gently shuts the door behind you. He steps in himself, the engine purrs to life as you give him your address.

"That far out? And you were gonna fucking walk?" He laughs, "Hell no, never again. You'll call me before you do that next time."

"I don't have your number asshole." You grumble to yourself but he grabs your unlocked phone from your hands, plugging in his number and calling it.

"There now you do." He locks it and puts it in his cup holder, demanding your attention. No longer can he keep that burning question to himself, "Why are you on support?"

It puzzles you for a second before you realize he means it as a compliment to your quirk and not an insult to your intellect.

"Oh that's easy. Being a hero wouldn't benefit me, it's too restrictive. I'm more of a…." You ponder on your words, vigilante was wrong, you wouldn't take justice into your own hands for the sake of others and villain was too strong, "Chaotic neutral. My moral compass is pretty grey and being in this lab benefits my need for knowledge."

Bakugou glances your way, respectful of your honesty while your eyes become heavy watching the street lights blur, the hum of the engine pulling you deeper into relaxation. There was something about a car ride that took you back to your childhood days in America. The outskirts of the city would quickly wind into back roads lined with corn stalks that scrapped the sky.

The street lights slowly became fewer and farther in between as the black coupe took you further from the heart of the city, soon more stars began to dot the sky. You see just the tip of his zodiac constellation, it stirs a question within you.

"So why do you want to be a hero?" You keep your eyes focused on the backdrop that lies beyond the tinted glass, missing Bakugou's knuckles turn stark white.

He doesn't speak and that's answer enough for you.

It took him an hour to get to your side of town, an hour. One you had said you would walk, one you mentioned you had walked before. He pulls up the sidewalk by your building, turning to you.

"We're here…" His announcement turns into a sigh as he sees your slumped form. Head limp but thankfully not leaning on the glass as you're snuggled into his hoodie. You're murmuring how you need to update your measurements in your sleep causing Bakugou to roll his eyes. He pulls away to parallel park. He debates, should he wake you?

No, who's to say you wouldn't attempt tor eturn to your work? He sighs, pocketing your phone and pulling the lanyard out of your purse that has, what he assumes,your house key on it.

Katsuki's blood runs ice cold in his veins as realization sucker punches him square in the chest. He had NO fucking idea which apartment was yours. He turns your key over and over but why would that have the number on it?

"Fuck." He would have to pray your mailbox was both clearly labeled and inside. He shoulders your purse before scooping you into his arms, sure to cradle you like the princess you are.

He steps through the automatic doors, relief washes over him as a wall of mail boxes greet him. Better yet, they were neatly labeled with names AND apartment numbers.

But it is not long lived as his red eyes rake over the names, the family names, last names. He only knew your first and of course, of fucking course the Gods would laugh at him as panic rises in his throat. You had to have the most common first initial didn't you? He had spotted it six times already but none of the last names seemed out of the ordinary, if anything they were all ordinary, run of the mill Japanese last names. Nothing foreign about them.

"Fuck." He murmurs, plan B wouldn't work either, he can't just try out every fucking apartment with your first initial, how weird would that be, some guy shoving keys in random doors with a passed out woman in his arms.

"Fuck." He cusses again. Was he going to have to take you to his apartment? Fuck, fuck fuck! He couldn't do that, the press slunk around his apartment like vultures, even at this hour.

"Oh you must be the guy that's been keeping her up so late at night." A voice sounds behind him, he turns towards the sound. A smaller young man smiles at him as if he and Bakugou share an inside joke.

"Quite nice of you to bring her home, and get her mail." He laughs softly reaching for something in the desk, he approaches slowly, "But she must have forgotten to tell you she lost her key a couple of weeks ago. She always asks me to get the mail instead of paying the lost key fee. Don't blame her though."

The desk clerk, Wantanabe, rambles on as Bakugou's sharp eyes watch closely. Silently thanking the Gods' for their blessing as he watches Watanabe slide the spare key into your mail slot. He commits your last name to memory, but more importantly 5C burns into his retinas.

"...she hasn't been home in four weeks, so she has a lot of mail." That snaps Bakugou back to the present, a small stack of mail is presented to him. He stares down at your form unable to keep the scowl off of his face. The dark circles beneath your eyes seem to become darker by the second.

"Thanks." He growls through gritted teeth, snatching the mail as best he can without disturbing you. He looks for an elevator and when he sees he will have to climb five flights of stairs he wonders if this is the reason you don't come home often.

Soon enough 5C is staring Bakugou in the face. He is hesitant, even if he does bring you home safely he wonders if you would misread his actions. As the saying goes, no good deed goes unpunished. Still his hands move quickly, sliding the key into the door and unlocking your mysteries. The apartment is sizable for the area, clean at least what he can see from the light of the hall flooding in. He flips on a switch with his elbow, he expected harsh light but instead ambient string lights that line the ceiling illuminate the space in a warm light. A three chair island with a marble water fall looks out into the living room, a large sectional couch swallows the space, a TV atop a nice entertainment table while books litter the coffee table and one part of the couch. The apartment feels as if it had been warmed by the sun through the drawn curtains but not overly hot, it feels cozy really. As if Bakugou could imagine himself spread out on the grey sofa while you're curled against him, half dozing half reading your book.

The thought jarrs him, he feels too close to you now, feverish almost as he rips your key from the door, shutting it softly before placing the lanyard onto the kitchen island. He spies a hall and passes a full bath, then a freshly vacant guest room to see a final door closed that he assumes is the master. He flips the switch and again light snakes around the ceiling washing the room in this comfort. He can understand the soft yellow lights considering you spend forty plus hours beneath harsh, bleaching white lights. He pulls back the comforter as best he can and lies you down gently. He removes your red bottom heels and praises the Kamisama when he sees you do not have on tights not that he would remove them anyway. You snuggle deeper into his hoodie, smiling as you do, dreaming of whatever little scientist's dream about. Katsuki imagines it's all math, measurements, molecular structures, nerd shit. You begin to murmur in your sleep.

"...gotta update his chart…"

"Fucking nerd." Bakugou smiles to himself, you look peaceful even as your mind races with reminders. Another snuggle deeper into his hoodie, he goes to reach out to push hair from your face and stops himself.

"What the fuck am I doing?" He growls aloud, he doesn't know you. Barely figured out your last name and that was by both chance and stupidity on the desk clerk's. He heads for your bedroom door, stopping with his hand gripping the handle. He peers over his shoulder before killing the switch, flooding your room with darkness.

He shuts the door and with it the odd ache that's growing in his chest.

#bakugou x reader #bnha bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x you #bnha x reader

301 notes · View notes

the-girl-who-cried-wolf · 2 years

Note

9, 11, 30, 33, for the ask thingy (bonus 13 cus im struggling with writers block rn and it sucks)

- random anon

hello random anon!! thanks for the ask 💜 as expected, i rambled. i would say sorry but i literally knew this was going to happen. so. i hope you wanted detailed answers...

9. Least favorite trope to write.

this is a hard one! i can't think of any that i actively dislike, but ig...enemies to lovers?? i LOVE reading it, but every time i've tried writing it, it turns out horrible and i never post. so. maybe i'm just too soft for that trope, idk, but its hard to write. thats literally all i can think of-

11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

well. i doubt any of this will make any sense, but lets dive into the terrifying depths of my Writer Brain anyway...

most times, fics start with An Idea. its usually just a random thought i've had, which could be anything from an outfit i would love to see a character wear to the Deepest Darkest Feelings of a certain canon moment - it's varied and fucking wild - and then, i just think. for a few days or weeks maybe, depending on how long i intend the fic to be, i have this fic idea growing in the back of my mind as i start to build up the beginning of a plot, and i outline some goals and things i want to achieve when i write this fic. (i picture it as a little timeline running of into the distance with tags stuck on the Important Plot Points, with relevant words and images, but that's just me. its weird, i know, bare with me.)

once The Idea is settled and some semblance of a plot has been mentally sketched out, i open a doc and just start writing. for longer fics, i may keep a doc for planning - writing down scenes that are in my mind, or random visuals and lines that i think of, and sometimes even song lyrics that i find inspiring for the fic, etc - but for shorter fics, i just dive right in and get writing.

(sidenote: i've found that the process is different for longer fics vs shorter fics. obviously. theres a lotttt more planning for long fics, and i usually end up making a playlist and a pinterest board for them to keep the ideas coming as i write. short fics usually get smashed out in a few hours, probably at midnight, then i edit a little and post. im kinda lazy with editing and rewriting tho. rip.)

now, we come to the writing itself. i like to set aside a fair amount of time for writing, like, i dont just randomly write a line every now and then - i make time for me to sit down for a hour or however long i've got, and focus on writing. i follow the hazy map of plot points in my mind, and i fill in the blanks as i go. if im completely honest, i dont plan a lot of shit. i just blurt words and sometimes it comes out nicely.

i think that pretty much covers it. other than obsessively editing and rereading over the long fics, or scanning the shorter ones a little, i post it and move on <3

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

oh god. this is...hard. ill just throw some random lines in without context or explanation bc im crazy. here goes-

- He tries to muster some kind of smile in response as he tugs his headphones down around his neck, Led Zeppelin blasting out the speakers freely now, but he must fail terribly because Calum’s smile slips from his face, just like the batter that drips from the spoon he’s holding, landing in the mixing bowl underneath. It melts smoothly into the rest of the mixture and disappears, and Luke stares at where it landed, wishing he could bring it back. (x)

- Luke’s lingering hand tangles back in Calum’s hair. Soft strands of it threading through his fingers and Calum’s eyes fluttering shut like a butterfly’s wings, then gently pushing his head up into Luke's hand as he rolls over a little more, searching for just a little more of the warmth of Luke’s body against his. (x)

- And he’s gone. But she’s still there. The world has suddenly and violently stopped spinning, but she’s still there, smiling at painting in her mind, of a spinning girl. (x)

- He opened his eyes, and for a second, the silhouette of a boy still stood in front on him, a spark in his eyes and hope in every breath. Wishing for a bright future, planning for great and marvelous things that would never come to pass. (x)

33. Do you listen to music when you’re writing?

as a general rule, yes. i like blocking out the rest of the world and listening to music that fits the fic im writing, because music is always my biggest inspiration. for many fics, especially longer ones, ill make a playlist that suits the vibes which i can then listen to whenever i write that fic. but sometimes i write without music just so i can focus better, and not be distracted by the music, which helps me make more conscious word choices and structural/grammatical choices too.

13. How do you deal with writers block?

ahh writers block (derogatory). sigh. honestly, i dont think there is a cure for writers block, but staying open to inspirations is one suggestion i can offer. listening to music, watching the world around you, consuming media you enjoy...all that helps your mind take in ideas, and even if you can't seem to write anything out, it's good to keep your mind open and filled with something. and with writers block, i would say to NOT make yourself write if you dont feel like it. that takes the enjoyment out of it and makes it seem like a task you have to complete, which it isn't!! writing is here for you to have fun!! you just have to wait it out until you want to write again, and in the meantime, take in all the inspiration that you can.

thank you sm for asking all this, i had a lot of fun writing these answers out! and i hope your writers block doesn't last long too. sending good vibes your way!!! 💜💜💜

writers ask game

#random anon <3 #ask #writers ask game #my writing

4 notes · View notes

nikkoliferous · 4 years

Text

Phase One: Thor

Since I was looking up my past live-blog of the novel and realising how annoying and repetitive reading through it all is because of my having structured it as a bunch of reblogs, I’ve decided to organize it all into one long-ass post instead. In case anyone else wants to read it in the future. Or in case I decide to re-read it. Because I’m hilarious. 😅

SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO

My Hilarious Yet Wrathful Overview Of Phase One: Thor, Redux

—

If your son who’s to become king requires a babysitter to not screw it all up and also the idea of him being king is stressful enough to put you into a coma, maybe, uh… reconsider doing that? Just a thought.

But you see here why Odin was so deadset on Thor becoming king, despite him being ill-suited for the role. It’s not about what’s best for Asgard; it’s about personal legacy. Thor is Odin’s mini me, and Loki is very much not. There are places within the text where Odin laments Thor “lacking his father’s wisdom” (he’s definitely inherited your humility, though, Odin!), but he hopes for Thor to grow into a “wise king” like himself. Whereas he holds no such illusions (lol, pun) that Loki will ever take after him.

now with tag commentary! #this scene is in the script and both novelizations #(though in reading this novel seems to just be a more complete version of the junior novel? #idk i'm confused because they're supposedly written by different authors but so far the text is identical) #and it drives me insane each time i read it

“Haha, I’m a warmongering piece of shit, isn’t it funny?”

I know, I know. I try to cut Asgard some slack for being such a militaristic culture because social changes happen slowly and when you live for thousands of years per generation, it makes sense that your views on things like war would be regressive. The text says Odin has ruled Asgard for tens of thousands of years (so much for taking Loki’s “give or take 5,000 years” line literally; sure, the Odinsleep would have extended Odin’s lifespan, but by that much? Idk).

Still, fuck Odin. Especially since he’ll eventually try to shame Loki for doing the same thing he’s fucking boasting about here. And on a much smaller scale too.

…is it, though?

I actually think Loki’s relationship with being the centre of attention is really interesting in its complexity and we don’t discuss it enough. I’ve said this before, but he strikes me as the sort of person who craves attention but also wouldn’t really know what to do with it if he had it. He craves it as a result of neglect, because he’s never been shown recognition or validation. This is why he seems to revel in it in Stuttgart, even in (or maybe especially in?) his brainwashed state. But he also frequently comes across as pretty introverted and has horrible self-esteem, so I think on another level, sustained, genuine attention would make him feel kind of uncomfortable. Loki seems to believe that in order to be loved or respected, he has to literally be Thor, though. And Thor has always been the centre of attention, so for Loki, attention is synonymous with respect.

I find Loki’s relationship with wanting attention especially fascinating because I too both crave and fear it. As a borderline, I need it. When no one is paying attention to me, I lose my sense of identity. I feel as though I literally cease to exist. It’s excruciatingly painful. And yet, I have no authentic sense of self; I’m just a chameleon, and the closer people get to me, the more likely it is they’ll see behind my mask. They’ll realise it’s all a show and that I’m actually no one. And then they’ll leave. I can’t help wondering if that’s how Loki feels sometimes too.

Wait, what? You mean goat. His horns are shaped like a goat’s. This is a ram:

This is a goat:

This is Loki:

Do you see now? They’re like a goat. Not a ram. Not a cow. A GOAT.

This book was written before Ragnarok was a thing, so it may be unfair to connect the two, but it still seems worth noting that it was Thor who reduced Loki to being no more than a trickster to begin with. “You could be more,” my ass. Loki’s problem has never been that he was one-dimensional; it was always that the people in his life, including Thor, refused to see any other dimensions to him. Which makes those words particularly cruel—as if they aren’t cruel enough already, what with the physical torture and all.

Always happy to have cause to point out that

Loki was on Thor clean-up duty their whole lives; he certainly was not trying to kill Thor.

People like to point to Loki’s attempted genocide of the Jötnar and attempted(-ish? lol) conquest of Earth as proof that he’s some kind of violent maniac. But in a little place I like to call reality, Loki was historically far less aggressive and bloodthirsty than his peers.

Question: why is one conqueror evil and the other is righteously entitled to ruling over the Nine Realms?

Asgardian exceptionalism FTW

I can’t even begin to imagine what would lead you to expect such a thing, Odin. 😂

Uh, ‘cause it is?? And also their planet is MELTING without it??

This is all only within the first two chapters, btw. Lmao

—

“Looking for answers,” my foot.

YOU WOULD THINK SO, WOULDN’T YOU??

#i mean unless you knew heimdall #he only commits treason on days that end in y

—

What’d I say? Thor clean-up dutyyyyy

Just wanna remind everyone that this

is why he’s smiling during this scene

because it makes me laugh every time. 😂

—

My heart breaks every time I remember that second excerpt because literally ALL OF IT happened to him when he survived falling through the wormhole. My poor boy. 😭

But also of note… Loki gets cold (and also does not like being cold). This interests me because 1) as many are aware, the prevalent headcanon that Loki has a low body temperature irritates me and 2) it possibly(?) lends weight to the theory that he may not be fully Jötun, whether by virtue of his birth or Odin’s spell.

Haha, look at this Feminist Icon™ trying to take credit for his female friend’s accomplishments! Truly inspiring.

#for some reason the ragnarok lovers have somehow decided that thor is both a feminist and lesbian icon #whatever that means 🤷‍♀️ #and i'm still trying very hard to figure out why #is it literally just because he *says* he respects women or whatever in that dumb rambly conversation with valkyrie?

Ooh… you were so close to getting the point, Volstagg. So close. Take your tongue off Odin’s boot for just a couple minutes longer.

Also, the author just forgot the name of the Casket. How did this book get published? 😂

JUST LOOKING FOR ANSWERS, HUH?

Because fuck Loki, amirite? He, uh… he’s a prince too, you know.

Also… Fandral, you dweeb 😂

…am I reading too much into this, or did Odin just literally forget that Loki exists?

On the other hand, the author also seemed to forget Loki existed for most of this chapter, so who knows. 🤷‍♀️

lmao @ Jane immediately trying to convince herself she’s too rational to be attracted to a stranger

Honestly, though, big mood.

Just your periodic reminder that Thor’s sycophantic friends KNEW Loki was right and decided to throw him under the bus anyway.

Just as I’ve always said: That was it. That was their ENTIRE rationale. That Loki *could* have done it, therefore he must have. Please tell me these people have nothing to do with Asgard’s justice system.

…lol, jk, Asgard has no justice system.

Ok, first of all, no.

Second: thank you, Fandral. You’re a self-absorbed cad, but also evidently Thor’s least stupid friend.

Thirdly, how…? First, it was, “Loki arranged all this because he’s jealous of Thor.” Now they’ve suddenly jumped all the way to, “All of Asgard is in danger.” What exactly does Sif think Loki is planning? He’s gonna, what… assassinate Odin and then sell Asgard to the Jötnar?

—

Please stop hurting me.

Just so there’s no confusion: this one sentence explains everything Loki did for the rest of the movie. It explains how a person who has been historically non-aggressive suddenly transforms into a warmonger. To prove himself a real Asgardian, like his brother and father and grandfather.

—

…why did Odin fall into the Odinsleep in two completely different scenes in this book? I’m super confused.

Also, we really need to talk about how cruel it is of Marvel to keep forcing Loki to prove his loyalty again and again and again when he’s been doing so almost literally since we met him. And by “we need to talk about it”, I mean I need to tie Kevin Feige and co. to a chair and spend a minimum of five hours lecturing them on how poorly they understand their own fucking character.

Let’s just be clear here: they’re talking about Loki. They’re saying Loki, their LEGITIMATE king, is an enemy of Asgard, based on evidence so paper-thin it’s practically invisible. Just… please, let that sink in. Take a moment to appreciate how utterly fucked up that is.

I’m sorry (not really), but Thor was so much funnier before Ragnarok.

This scene has always kind of bugged me. If Odin removed Thor’s powers, how come he can still control the weather? Confusing.

So what exactly was Thor’s plan anyway, before he realised he couldn’t lift Mjölnir? He was just gonna call on Heimdall to help him commit treason AGAIN, show up on Asgard against the expressed command of his king, and… Odin would just shrug and be like, “You got me, son! I guess I can’t keep you down. Welcome home!”?

…I mean, I guess that more or less is what happened in the end, but it’s hard to imagine it would have still gone down that way without all the stuff that happened with Loki. Idk.

#look what i'm saying is... thor is not exactly a thinking person #no one on asgard is a thinking person #except loki but he's crazy now so he's also thinking somewhat poorly lol

Cool, Thor. Now imagine feeling that way for ONE THOUSAND YEARS and develop a little fucking empathy for your brother.

But you won’t.

You’ll brush off his feelings of worthlessness as “imagined slights”. 😒

Nice that somebody knows how the royal line of succession works, I guess…

That sound you hear? Yeah, that’s just my heart breaking. NBD.

First, they mislabelled it the Casket of Eternal Winters. Now it’s the Cask of Ancient Winters. Author must have been thirsty when they wrote this. Lol

Look, not to nitpick, but this is not the recommended procedure when you see a storm that you don’t believe is of supernatural origin coming. I’m just saying. Lol

Uh… ‘cause he is?? And your pals are committing treason AGAIN, Thor, so it technically is responding to a threat to Asgard. Just FYI.

Anyways, this is an important point that doesn’t get made often enough. People want to act like Loki illegally usurped the throne somehow, but even without the deleted scene that explicitly shows Frigga passing rulership to him (a scene which is, for some reason, entirely skipped over in this book, but whatever), understand this: Loki could not have controlled the Destroyer unless he was legitimately King of Asgard. The fact that he’s able to do so is irrefutable proof that his rulership is valid.

lmao you little shit

So… here’s my issue with this scene (and with Thor as a character): He always assumes that Loki’s acting out specifically to hurt him. That Loki’s entire life and thought process revolves around Thor. He does it in this scene, he does it in The Avengers… it’s just a chronic thing with Thor. Everything is viewed through the lens of Loki inexplicably hating him.

But that’s… just not accurate. Yes, Loki harbours a lot of jealousy towards Thor. But that’s not what’s happening in this scene. Loki is not trying to kill Thor here because he wants him dead; he’s doing it because Thor (and his friends) are getting in the way of Loki completing his ultimate goal. Loki tried to solve this problem non-violently, by lying about Odin being dead. It’s Thor’s friends who all but forced his hand by going behind his back and trying to bring Thor back to Asgard against Loki’s (and Odin’s!) direct orders.

For all the humility he’s learned in the past few days, this entire speech is still really all about Thor. About assuming that Loki’s doing this for personal reasons, because he holds a grudge against Thor for some unknown reason. This is implicit in his request to “take [my life] and end this.” It never even occurs to him that his friends are traitors to the Crown and Loki, as King of Asgard, is perhaps justified in pursuing them.

It also needs to be acknowledged that Thor’s apology here is hollow, even if it’s ultimately coming from his heart, because he has no idea what he’s apologising for. “Whatever I have done to wrong you” is not an apology. An apology addresses specific hurtful actions taken and commits to not repeating those mistakes in the future. Thor cannot commit to not repeating the hurtful things he’s done, because he doesn’t know what he’s done. Despite his best intentions, what Thor is doing here is actually kind of manipulative. He’s not addressing any substantive issue between the two of them; he’s just trying to talk Loki down. And it ultimately fails not because Loki doesn’t care or because he wants Thor dead, but because it doesn’t actually change anything.

Finally and only semi-relatedly, we should maybe at some point talk about the fact that Loki, who is stated to be a master tactician, has displayed a weird pattern of hardly ever being as lethal as he could be. He freezes Heimdall in place instead of killing him outright; he backhands Thor with the Destroyer instead of incinerating him; he, well… *gestures vaguely at almost the entirety of the first Avengers movie* Anytime the violence is even a little bit personal, he seems to hedge. Odd behaviour for somebody who’s supposedly super evil.

I’m sorry, I know I’ve pointed it out at least a hundred times before, but I just can’t encounter this scene in any form without taking a moment to appreciate how underrated and hilarious it is.

I also genuinely wonder how many Ragnarok stans who have accused me of having no sense of humour, have failed to laugh at moments like this one. Kinda feel like if you need to have the comedy spoonfed to you in the form of ass jokes, maybe you’re the one whose sense of humour is lacking. 🤷‍♀️

Let’s be super clear: this is not what happened. Loki did not betray Odin; he was betrayed by Odin. He did not open Asgard to its enemies; he attempted, misguidedly, to destroy Asgard’s enemies. And he most certainly did not commit suicide out of a sense of guilt.

I’m not saying Loki did nothing wrong, nor am I saying he feels no regret for the lives he has taken. What I’m saying is there’s no indication that he believes he betrayed Odin or Asgard in the process. Which makes perfect sense, because he didn’t. Everything he tried to do was for Odin and Asgard. It was misguided and horrible, yes, but it can hardly be classified as a betrayal.

The insurmountable burden on Loki is not that he did terrible things, but that no matter what he does or how hard he tries, Odin will never look at him with anything but contempt. Consider once more these passages from the very beginning of the book, at Thor’s coronation:

—

Consider that this book goes to great pains to point out that Odin favours Thor because Thor is a warrior like him. And yet even when Loki embraces that, even when he acts more war-like than ever before, Odin rejects him— just as he always has.

There is a reason why this moment is the last time Loki will ever call Odin his father. Because he realises once and for all that, no, nothing he tries will ever be good enough; no, Odin won’t ever look at him with pride. That is Loki’s burden. That is why he lets go.

The epilogue is really just two pages of making me want to vomit.

There’s your party where Thor and a certain subset of the fandom insist that Loki was mourned. There’s barely an indication here that anyone even perceives his demise as a negative thing.

“[Sif] could see Frigga thought [Loki was dead] as well” also contradicts the tie-in comic for TDW, so I don’t know what the author is on about there. Unlike the majority of Marvel comics, the tie-in comics are canon to the MCU, so it’s a bizarre statement to make.

COULD YOU SMEAR THE DEAD* ABUSE VICTIM A LITTLE HARDER, PLEASE? Fucking hell.

No matter how many times I encounter this scene, in whatever format, I still fail to become desensitized to how disgusting it is. I realise there’s a good chance that whatever version of events Thor has been told was twisted at best; but how you can look at a man whose son has just committed suicide under any circumstances and say there will never be a better father than that guy, is utterly beyond my capacity to understand.

And Odin’s “you’ve already made me proud” line just feels like extra salt in the wound because, again, Loki let go because he realized Odin would never say those words to him. And yet they come so damn easily when it’s Thor.

Fuck this entire family so much. I think I hate them more than Loki does. Sometimes I wonder what he would think about that. How he would react to knowing that not only is he actually loved, but that he’s so loved that people are genuinely furious at the way he’s been mistreated. That there are people who regularly devolve into full-on rants because they just can’t contain how much anger they have towards the people who hurt him. I think he’d have a hard time wrapping his head around that concept, tbh.

Anyways, to end on a not-completely-depressing note, I’m still waiting for someone at Marvel to explain how Loki knew what Thor said in this scene after plummeting into a wormhole. ‘Cause he references this conversation as Fauxdin at the end of TDW. So like… ?? Did he steal Odin’s memories before he erased them? Because that would be… kind of neat, actually. And very clever. Not entirely ethical, of course, but it’s Odin, so fuck ethics.

WELP, THAT’S IT. Thanks for following along with my dumbassery, hope you enjoyed yourselves. Lol

#phase one: thor #loki meta #thor meta #odin's a+ parenting #frigga's b+ parenting #topic: thor and loki's broken relationship #loki #thor #heimdall #lady sif #the warriors 3 #jane foster #ragnarok cinematic universe #mcu #topic: asgardian hypocrisy #topic: asgardian militarism #topic: odin's family dynamic

128 notes · View notes

luvteez · 4 years

Text

think twice before you speak

pairing: san x wooyoung x fem!reader genre + tags: smut | hard dom!woosan, toys wc: 1.6k

When San asked you “How do you feel about two at once?” with a casual airiness in his tone, making you glance up from your phone only to find him and Wooyoung staring expectantly at you, you burst into a fit of laughter.

“If this is your way of asking if I would let one of you fuck my ass while someone does my vag, consider fucking my mouth first,” you wheezed. “Plus, isn’t that idea quite a reach considering you guys are shitless scared of making me faint, hence why you always insist on doing it vanilla and all that jazz?”

Fast forward to your current predicament a few hours later, you’re not laughing anymore.

It’s rather the polar opposite. You feel like crying — fuck that, perhaps the tears are already welling up and just waiting to stream down your face. The toy isn’t even big, doesn’t stretch your walls out in the slightest. But with your legs spread apart and Wooyoung changing the intensity of the vibrations every few minutes, you’re forced to the edge in record time.

Desperate apologies leave you without a pause but neither him nor San are fazed. Instead, they both watch you with a malicious grin as if you were their prey, relishing how worked up you are. How you struggle to keep your legs planted to the bed whenever the dildo vibrates more. How you’re at the brink of letting those tears loose whenever your release gets denied. And they haven’t laid a finger on you yet.

"But baby, you said we're too vanilla." Wooyoung pouts, yet his voice is dripping in glee. "As if we aren't worth your pussy. But it's okay, we understand. You seem to have much more fun with your toys anyway. Look, San, she's shaking so much and it’s just a fake dick in her!"

"No no no— hnngh..." you drawl. Wooyoung bumps up the toy to its highest intensity with a single swipe on his phone, making you whimper. "No, don’t wanna... d-don't wanna cum like this."

San lifts a brow. "Oh, so now you want us, eh?" There isn’t even an ounce of emotion in his voice. "Too bad, baby, because you're not worth our cocks if you're so close so fast because of a fucking toy. Bet you'd come immediately the second I'm buried in you, and then you'd beg like a little bitch for me to stop because it's too much for you even though I haven't had my fun yet."

Wooyoung gasps, feigning shock. "Really? That's so mean!"

"I promise I won't—" your brain no longer knows how to form a proper sentence as soon as San snatches the phone away from the other’s grasp, setting the toy to the lowest setting, "—gonna be good and n-not complain and do anything you want— f-fuck—" suddenly, he amps it up again and you choke, desperately trying to clutch more of the sheets in your fists, "—wanna be stuffed by you—" both guys would feel sorry for you, but seeing you blabbering barely comprehensive words as you’re slowly losing it makes their dicks stir, "—p-promise won't cum before you!"

"That's a bold statement," San comments coolly. He shares a look with Wooyoung before he switches the toy off completely. "M'kay, deal. You better keep that promise though, because trust me, you won't like the consequences if you don't."

You nod eagerly, and that’s the most enthusiasm you’ve shown so far. It doesn’t last long though. The sigh that threatened to slip past your lips turns into a yelp when San pulls the toy out and manhandles you on all fours all of sudden. You faintly register the sound of a foil packet ripped open, but before you can act upon that, Wooyoung has made his way in front of you, tilting your head up with one hand on your chin.

"Open up, baby," he orders impatiently, lightly slapping your cheek with his dick, tip already glistening in precum. A smug grin makes its way on his lips when he leaves a stain on your skin.

In that moment, San thrusts his cock into your throbbing heat in one swift movement, stretching you to the point where you feel you’re going to tear. You arch your back and cry out of pleasure from taking him up to the hilt. Wooyoung is relentless and takes the first opportunity to shove his shaft in your mouth, turning your moans into choked, desperate gasps for air. The rough treatment from all sides has you reach your breaking point. Sniffling, the tears finally stream down your cheeks and mix in with the precum.

You don’t know what you expected when your eyes meet Wooyoung’s. Whatever it was, it wasn’t the same cold and sickeningly smug look that hasn’t left his face ever since. He doesn’t look affected in the slightest. Doesn’t bother to wipe away some tears. Doesn’t bat an eyelash when he says with a voice devoid of empathy, "You said you wanted me to fuck your mouth? Gotta earn that first. So put that tongue of yours to work, that's the only thing you can do anyway."

By then, San has settled for a slow pace, pulling his cock out until his tip barely grazes your folds, and then rocks back in deeply. The combination of his actions and Wooyoung’s words has your eyes turning white and blood rushing through your veins.

In between trying to breathe through your nose and not rutting your ass against San, you eagerly suck on the other’s cock. Wooyoung isn’t as long as San, but his girth definitely compensates for it. His dick is thick and lies heavy against your tongue. You lap around his tip, the taste of precum prevalent on your tastebuds. His breath hitches as he throws his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. Slowly, his hands make their way to your head, loosely threading through your hair.

San progressively grows more aggressive with his thrusts. His breaths are labored, an attempt to keep his voice at bay. But once in a while, an airy whine escapes his throat. He’s fucking you deep and slow and when he’s buried in you balls-deep, that one thrust slams him against your weak spot.

The force of it makes you lurch forwards, choking and moaning against Wooyoung’s dick. From there on, he’s a goner.

Whatever ounce of self-control Wooyoung possessed is now thrown out of the window. He suddenly has your hair in a vice grip, blunt nails lightly digging into your scalp. You’re about to pull away for a second to swallow the spit and precum collected in your mouth, but then he forces his length deeper into your mouth, legs growing weak when he feels your gag reflex activating. Your muffled cries and tears down your face and drool spilling from the corner of your lips make the entire thing even better, and the praises and curses flow out of him like a waterfall in the midst of loud, high-pitched moans.

"Fuck, so good... y-your mouth..." Wooyoung’s cock twitches, his end coming soon. "Shit, I'm gonna—!"

“Me too— hhngh,” San pants, hips stuttering as his pace starts to get faster. The violent snap of skin against skin reverberates throughout the room along with vulgar groans. Your stomach churns and you feel like you’re slowly losing touch with reality as you sense your own orgasm approaching.

Wooyoung is the first to come, spilling his release in your mouth. He’s abusing your mouth as he fucks himself through his orgasm, not giving you any chance to swallow. He moves so wildly that bits of his cum spill past your lips and dribble down your chin, some pooling on the mattress.

Not long after him, San shoots his load into the condom, fingers gripping your hips so hard that they leave bruises behind. He groans, followed by a ramble of curses that you only catch when you strain your ears. All the while he’s getting down from his high, he moves a hand down to your clit, rigorously rubbing the bundle of nerves. It’s the thing that sends you over the edge, and your cunt clenches around his softening cock like a vice.

Both of them pull out at the same time, chests heaving, hair disheveled, lips busted. Wooyoung runs his thumb across your bottom lip, and you swiftly swallow his load before your tongue darts out. Retreating his finger, he shoots you an exhausted grin, and then he collapses on the bed.

"Shit, baby, you really kept your word.” San looks at you with a sense of pride, and then he’s off for a moment to get rid of the condom.

"The fuck have we been doing the entire time? We should've gone freakier way earlier!" Wooyoung throws an arm over his eyes, the light too bright for him. San comes back just in time and still catches what his friend said.

He looks irritated for a hot minute, and then he bursts into laughter from the bluntness. “Woo, please don’t ever say it like that again.”

"Well, at least better late than never." you shrug amusedly. “However, i still want my post-session cuddles.”

“And those you will always get.” San smiles mischievously before he drops his body weight on you, effectively crushing you. You grimace, playfully hitting his chest to get him and his nasty post-sex stench away from you, but he doesn’t budge and clings onto you like a leech. “You asked, I delivered!”

Wooyoung throws himself into the bunch immediately after, laughing at your desperate attempts to break free. You huff, taking a mental note to always run for the bathroom the next time you do this.

“Oh my god, you two are the worst.”

#oya my 'aesthetic~' concerning formatting will be a lil different #ateez smut #choi san smut #wooyoung smut #jung wooyoung smut #san smut #luvsmut

772 notes · View notes

httpsaiki · 3 years

Text

Don’t You Forget About Me (TsukiYama)

This is just pure angst, it caused me great pain to write. TsukiYama is platonic, but I wasn’t sure how else to title/tag this.

TW for angst and death

WC: 3977

Yamaguchi is missing. —————————————————–

It can all come to an end in an instant. Who would’ve imagined it would take missing person posters and search parties for Tsukishima to come to that conclusion?

College students don’t just disappear for no reason. Especially not tall, strong college boys who could easily defend themselves. Especially not Yamaguchi Tadashi.

Yamaguchi Tadashi, the light of so many people's lives, where have you gone? He was someone Tsukishima never thought would disappear - having been in his life for so many years. He couldn’t imagine life without the smaller, green-haired boy. It had never crossed his mind that he'd have to spend even a day without hearing Yamaguchi go on, telling him about his day, or being called “Tsukki”, much to his own annoyance. The irritated expression that the nickname caused never seemed to prevent it, anyway.

He missed the sound of him calling that nickname, running up to him with slight enthusiasm to share whatever news he had. It had been weeks since he last heard it. He had always tuned Yamaguchi’s rambling out, if even he listened, it was never truly his full attention. Tsukishima wished now he’d listened better. Maybe if he had, Yamaguchi would be here right now. They’d be at one of their homes and Yamaguchi would be beside him, telling him all about some silly thing his classmate did or what happened in today’s lecture. If only he was, Tsukishima thought bitterly to himself. Oh, what he’d give to hear about Yamaguchi’s day right now, some sense of normalcy back to his life. He knew he’d listen with all his attention, focused on every syllable that Yamaguchi tells him.

The guilt and regrets ate him alive. It was his fault, he knew it. If only he hadn’t-

“Tsukishima!” The voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “You’re doing it again, snap out of it.”

Tsukishima’s head turned slowly to the source of the voice, not having the mental energy to match a name to it right now. The orange hair was familiar, it didn’t take any more than that for a name to pop in his mind. Hinata Shouyou. Oddly enough, someone that he’d kept contact with after high school. He didn’t understand why they kept in as close contact as they did. Maybe it was being on a volleyball team together for three years, or something about his aggravatingly bright and cheery personality, but they kept in touch. Of course, Hinata knew about Yamaguchi’s disappearance and likely about Tsukishima’s suffering as well.

He took this chance to take in his surroundings once again, delaying his reply to Hinata’s words. The police station, such an ordinary sight to him now. The old desks and creaky chairs. It wasn’t kept as up-to-date as he imagined it would be. He’s visited countless times over the past two weeks, talking to officers and being interviewed by more detectives than he cared to remember. He always found himself apathetic as can be during those times, it was easier to just be unfeeling and not entirely present. He was still more than willing to respond to questions and help out with the investigation in any way he could. Mainly because he did not want to be counted as a potential suspect. Tsukishima internally grimaced at the thought, as if he’d ever intentionally do anything to hurt Yamaguchi. Now, he was seated near the entrance, just having come out of yet another exhausting discussion, asking the detectives the same questions he had every day since his disappearance. He knew most of these cases closed within the first twenty-four hours, so why hadn’t they found anything yet?

“Doing what?” He asked, he knew what Hinata meant by the question, but it was far easier to play dumb. His voice was completely monotone and yet it sounded harsh and venomous. Hinata visibly reeled back, only a flinch but enough for Tsukishima to take notice. “Sorry.” He apologized, it was still cold, but not nearly as vicious as before.

“Spiraling,” Hinata stated simply. “Don’t put all the blame on yourself, Tsukishima, it won’t help.” Hinata had a point and Tsukishima knew it. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to ignore that fact, though. His hands came up to his temples, long fingers rubbing them slightly in an attempt to relieve the tension. “I just want him home and safe,” Tsukishima’s voice was low, quiet, and soft. A complete contrast to the way he was speaking before.

"I know, we all do. We’re all worried." Hinata spoke, glancing nervously towards Tsukishima. He never got a reply, receiving only an icy glare instead. There was only one thing on Tsukishima’s mind, nobody truly understood how he felt during all of this. Everyone around him was sympathetic, trying to be understanding and attempting to help. However, no other person was feeling the pain like he is, and nobody else felt the shame corrupt them like he currently was. He knew not another soul wanted Yamaguchi back as badly as he did.

He forced his thoughts to halt. This isn’t about him, it’s about Yamaguchi. Who cares how he feels while his best friend is out there, still missing? With that, Tsukishima stood and left without another glance in Hinata’s direction. That didn’t stop his friend from noticing his sullen, pained expression that seemed permanently etched into his features. Hinata followed out the door shortly after, but by the time he got outside Tsukishima was nowhere to be seen.

The sound of his keys trying to force their way into his door snapped Tsukishima out of his thoughts yet again. Realizing he was putting the wrong key into his door, he switched to the right one, swiftly unlocking the door and entering the apartment. To say it was untidy was an understatement. It was overwhelmingly messy, he hadn’t bothered to take much care of it ever since Yamaguchi went missing. He sighed, picking up some clothes and throwing them into a laundry basket.

One sweatshirt caught his eye, it certainly wasn’t his. It had the name of a college printed neatly on the back, but it wasn’t that which grabbed his attention. No, the last name stitched into the arm, Yamaguchi. Of course. Of course, it had to be his, he must’ve left it here the night- No. Tsukishima still refused to think about Yamaguchi's last moments with him. He stared at the hoodie for just a little longer before giving in and slipping it over the t-shirt he was currently wearing. He felt bad for wearing it without permission, but it was the only way he felt he could have his friend back, even if it was only a little.

He looked around the apartment once again, seeing it was somewhat cleaner than before. It was now, he realized, just how empty it felt. Most nights, especially ones like these, Yamaguchi would be over. He basically lived at Tsukishima’s place, sleeping there more nights than at his own apartment. Tsukishima could see Yamaguchi on his couch, hunched over notes and cramming for some upcoming quiz. Or maybe he’d be seen in the kitchen, laughing at something stupid while he makes hot chocolate, the TV on in the background. He had such a nice laugh. Despite everything that had happened the last two weeks, Tsukishima still half expected him to wander out of the guest bedroom, waking up from a nap and stretching as he mumbles a small, “Good evening, Tsukki,” before making himself comfortable on the couch and opening Netflix. Yamaguchi had always been a welcome guest, Tsukishima could only wish he’d told him that all the times he got the chance.

Tsukishima walked into the kitchen, freezing for a moment, realizing Yamaguchi really wasn’t there. He peeked into the guest bedroom as well, seeing only an unmade bed and a black backpack sitting, leaned on the corner. He couldn’t bear to look at it anymore before turning around and walking straight to his bedroom. The thought of eating right now repulsed him. Sleeping wasn’t much more appealing, but at least he wouldn’t have to force himself to stomach something. It was too early to sleep, only being 9 p.m, but the exhaustion that overtook his body overtook any will power he had to stay awake any longer. So he slept.

Tsukishima stirred from his sleep, sitting up in his bed before looking over at the clock that sat beside him. 9 a.m, huh? He slept a long time. His body felt rejuvenated and oddly energized as he slipped out of his bed. The world looked just a little brighter today. Maybe it was the sun shining, just barely visible from behind his blinds or maybe it was the sweet smell of pancakes that overtook his senses. Wait, pancakes? Who was making-

“Tsukki! Get up, silly, I made breakfast!” Yamaguchi’s head peered its way into Tsukishima’s bedroom, peaking past the door frame. His hair was messier than usual, signaling that he woke up not that long ago as well. Tsukishima’s heart jumped upon seeing his face. There was no mistaking it, that’s really him. “Oh, you’re awake. Come eat!”

“Yamaguchi? It’s really you?” Tsukishima called out, disbelief evident in his voice.

“Who else?” He asked sarcastically, a small giggle coming out after he spoke, “C’mon, I’ll cut up some strawberries to go on the side. Oh! Do you have whipped cream? I couldn’t find any.”

Tsukishima opened his mouth to answer, but before he could he felt himself shooting up in his bed again. He blinked, his room was suddenly pitch black, the only light was a faint glow coming from the clock that was next to him. It read 5 a.m, how he wished it would say 9 instead. How badly he wanted to go back to that dream. Tsukishima sighed, tears welling up in his eyes as a sob escaped his mouth before he could stop it. A hand came up, covering his mouth in an attempt to prevent any more sound from coming out. It was in vain, however, as loud, violent sobs took over his body. He shook as he cried, removing the hand from his mouth to cover his eyes. The tears wouldn’t stop coming, even when his sobs were reduced to mere whimpers. This was the first time he allowed himself to feel Yamaguchi’s disappearance. That dream was vile and yet it was everything he wanted right now.

Tsukishima clambered lazily and clumsily out of bed. Falling onto the floor with a small thud. He pulled his blanket off his bed, wrapping it tightly around himself after he reached to grab his phone. He promised himself he wouldn’t do this, and yet here he was, giving in to his desires. He knew it would only hurt more, but he needed to hear Yamaguchi’s voice.

After staring at the screen for a moment, making sure he was as mentally prepared as he could be, he opened the phone app. There was no point in calling him, that was something Tsukishima had learned quickly. Yamaguchi’s phone was currently in the black backpack that sat in the guest bedroom. Tsukishima tapped on the button for voicemails, quickly calling the service to replay some of the old ones that Yamaguchi had left him. He didn’t take his eyes off the screen as he listened to the voice that fell from his speakers.

“Hey, Tsukki, I hope your practice is going well! The fact you didn’t pick up means it probably is. Anyways, uh, I’m gonna be a little late coming over tonight. We were assigned a group project and I need to drop by my partner’s house to work things out. I don’t know if we’re getting started or not, but I still wanna work out who’s gonna do what. I’m still coming by your place, though! Don’t you forget about me!” Yamaguchi laughed, “Okay, bye-bye! I’ll see you later tonight!”

The voicemail ended there. If only those last few words were true.

“Don’t you forget about me!” Yamaguchi was joking when he said that, Tsukishima was sure of it, but those words still repeated in his head, even minutes after he heard them. How could he ever forget about someone like him?

He clearly remembered the night that he had received that voicemail. Yamaguchi was, indeed, late that night. It wasn’t any trouble, all they did was binge a TV series and chat about their days. It was nothing out of the ordinary, it happened most nights for them, whenever school wasn’t too busy. It was peaceful and good at relieving stress for both of them. Just casually watching whatever stupid show is on with the person most important to you. He missed putting on purposely bad television with him, just to make fun of it until the early hours of the morning.

Tsukishima considered listening to another voicemail but thought better than to do so. He should save them for another night like this, where he needs nothing more than to hear Yamaguchi’s cheerful voice. He knew he’d need them again.

He thought back to the last time Yamaguchi didn’t sound cheerful. It was the last night they saw each other. Yamaguchi was visiting, as per usual. School had been particularly rough on both of them, each having their personal struggles, academic struggles, and a need to let out their frustrations. Yamaguchi was tired, that much was evident on his face. Tsukishima wasn’t having the greatest time and took some of that out on Yamaguchi. The argument that broke out between them was loud and brutal. It escalated to the point Tsukishima just wanted it to end, insulting Yamaguchi in an attempt to shut him up.

The heartbroken expression on his face was enough to send Tsukishima into another wave of tears. It was like it was ingrained into his eyelids, he saw it every time he blinked. The last thing he remembers was Yamaguchi, tears falling rapidly down his face, sprinting past him out the door. He didn’t even turn to grab his things.

Tsukishima was too proud to run after him, Yamaguchi never returned.

He curled in on himself, the guilt becoming overbearing once again. It was too much, he felt physically unable to handle his emotions. He cried for the second time that night. He was unwilling to go back to sleep, afraid of the cruel yet welcoming dream would come back to him. Eventually, his crying tired him out so much he couldn’t resist the call of sleep. He slept sitting on the floor, still in Yamaguchi’s sweatshirt. Luckily, he didn’t dream of anything. Just a heavy, unfulfilling sleep.

The next morning he was woken by a phone call from Hinata. Still irritated at himself for last night and everything that had happened, he answered the phone with a curt hello.

“Tsukishima? You alright? Did I wake you?” Hinata’s concerned voice asked him.

“Of course I’m not fine, Hinata, they haven’t found him.” Tsukishima had to stop and take a breath, he couldn’t be crying over the phone with Hinata listening. “And yes, you did wake me. What is it?”

“I was just going to invite you for lunch - I think it might do you some good. Kageyama agreed to come, he’s worried too.”

Tsukishima wasn’t sure how to feel. On one hand, he had two of his friends trying to help him through this. They were doing their best and they must be having a hard time too. On the other hand, the thought of leaving this spot on his floor, having to walk past the places he could only wish Yamaguchi would be pained him.

“I-I’ll come.” His voice was as unsure as his thoughts, but he knew it would be a good chance to try and take his mind off things.

“Don’t you forget about me!” The simple statement rang through his head once again. It was so meaningless at the time. He never knew such a small, insignificant joke would haunt him in this way. He wasn’t going to forget, no. He was just meeting with friends, not moving on.

Tsukishima’s internal reassurances caused him to miss whatever Hinata had been saying.

“-so we’ll meet you there. Does that sound good?” Hinata rambled into the phone.

“Sorry, meet me where?” Tsukishima prayed his friend wouldn’t notice that he hadn’t been paying attention the entire time.

“The café we normally go to, the one down the street from your place?” Hinata’s voice was calm, it sounded more comforting than usual. Tsukishima found this strange, usually, he found his voice to be annoying. It seemed Hinata was trying to help more than Tsukishima realized. He was internally far more grateful than Hinata would ever know.

“Right. Thank you.” He didn’t even mean to thank him, it slipped out. He hung up the phone before he could get a reply. Reluctantly, Tsukishima stood from his blankets, realizing he’d need to shower and get ready before going out. As quickly as he could, he stumbled into the bathroom. Still half in a daze, he washed his hair and slipped into clean clothes. The apartment was way too quiet for a Saturday afternoon. There was no quiet TV in the next room, nor was there the sound of a soft, gentle voice mumbling as Yamaguchi was reading over his notes. He’d always found the murmuring annoying, he now didn’t understand how he ever did.

Standing in his bedroom doorway, Tsukishima took a deep breath. He was ready to leave, but the hard part came now. A knock at his door startled him. Hinata and Kageyama weren’t supposed to pick him up? It’s far too early, anyways. The knock came again, this time harder.

“Coming,” Tsukishima called out, his feet yet to move. He shut his eyes and made his way as quickly as he could towards the door. Without looking behind him, where he knew certain disappointment would await, he opened the door.

A familiar face was at his door, the lead detective on Yamaguchi’s case. The detective began speaking, asking if he could come inside and recommending Tsukishima take a seat.

The detective inhaled sharply, choosing his next words carefully, “We found Yamaguchi,” he started, but Tsukishima interrupted frantically before he could finish.

“Where! Where is he?” Tsukishima cried out.

“He’s dead.”

And at that very moment, Tsukishima’s entire world stopped. Dead? Yamaguchi Tadashi, dead? There’s no way. Not his best friend of so many years, not the man who’d gotten him through so much. There’s no way, it’s impossible. No. No. No.

“You’re wrong!” He yelled, his voice had never been so pained, so desperate, “It’s someone else! It has to be! Tell me it’s someone else!”

“The DNA match checks out, so does the appearance. I’m sorry.”

The detective left soon after, he had no more business there. Tsukishima didn’t move, hardly blinking nor breathing. He could hear his heartbeat racing in his ears. It was painful. Why did his heart get to beat? Why his heart and not Yamaguchi’s? He didn’t notice when Hinata and Kageyama walked in and sat in front of him. The tear stains on Hinata’s face would’ve given away that they knew as well, had Tsukishima looked at him. Kageyama tried to keep strong for the other two, but looking into his eyes would give away that he was hurting too.

“Tsukishima?” Hinata called out gently, kneeling in front of him while resting a hand on Tsukishima’s knee, trying to get a look at his face.

“He’s dead, Hinata. Gone.” Tsukishima’s mouth moved without him realizing it. It was as if life was on autopilot, he felt completely numb. Hinata said nothing, but opened his arms, inviting his friend in for a hug. Tsukishima leaned in, once again without even realizing his actions. Hinata held him as he cried.

The funeral hurt him even more. Having to see his body there, dressed up to look nice, it was a sickening sight. He sat, watching friends and family members tearfully say their goodbyes. He was among one of the last to say goodbye, wanting to delay the reality of the situation as long as he could. The fact he was not coming back hadn’t truly dawned on him yet. It was a realization he knew he’d make soon and he feared the day it would come. Akiteru came along, and he wasn’t sure if his brother's presence was to support him or to attend the funeral itself. Chances are it was a mix of both.

Tsukishima was of course asked to speak, and there was no way he could refuse. He stood up, looking at the group of people before him. Some were crying their eyes out, others were just glassy-eyed - trying to remain as strong as they could. Yamaguchi really had an effect on people. Tsukishima blanked for the entirety of his speech, letting his thoughts spew out of his mouth without thinking. He had no idea if anything he said was making sense nor did he have any idea what he was actually saying. All he knew was the only thing fueling him at this point was raw emotion.

It was scary. Not something he was used to.

Once the ceremony ended, Tsukishima was back on autopilot. He knew he needed to move on in life. What he didn’t know, however, was how he would manage to do so. Yamaguchi was always there through the big changes. He’d always been Tsukishima's rock, the one consistent thing no matter what.

Everything felt bleak and empty. On particularly bad nights, he’d still half-expect to see Yamaguchi in his living room when he came home. He considered moving out, but he knew he’d regret it. It was the last place he had memories with his best friend, the last place he was seen alive.

Alive. Tsukishima had grown to hate that word. He felt the same way he did the day he found out about his best friend's death. It was unfair, he felt he should’ve been the one to run out. Maybe if he had he’d be dead instead of Yamaguchi, or maybe they’d both be fine and happy. Either option sounded better than the life he was currently living. He had his other friends, sure, but none of them could come close to comparing to his best friend.

The apartment haunted him, but there was no way he could leave. The bed in the guest bedroom still hadn’t been made, despite it being well over a month since anyone had slept in there. The black backpack remained untouched, leaning on the end of the bed. That was Yamaguchi’s room and Tsukishima refused to meddle with it. A part of him hoped every day that he’d come back. He just wanted to pull him in for a hug and apologize. Even if he wasn’t forgiven - and he believed he shouldn’t be - he just wanted a chance to tell Yamaguchi everything he’d meant to him.

Sometimes he got the chance to, in his dreams. Those always turned to nightmares. Yamaguchi never forgave him, it always resulted in him running away, turning us back from Tsukishima and claiming how he’ll never forgive him. Tsukishima knew that was unlike Yamaguchi, but having to witness it, night after night, was more than Tsukishima could handle. One phrase never failed to come back-

“Don’t you forget about me!” Yamaguchi’s voice rang through his head once again, it was becoming a normal occurrence at this point. It was haunting, yet Tsukishima welcomed it. Even though it terrified him, even though he hated being reminded of the death he felt he caused, it was such a comforting voice. The words reminded him that he hadn’t forgotten. He made one last promise to himself, one that he intended to keep.

“I won’t,” Tsukishima whispered.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #tsukishima kei #kei tsukishima #yamaguchi tadashi #tadashi yamaguchi #tsukiyama #angst #haikyuu angst #tsukiyama angst #haikyu #my writing

25 notes · View notes

sadaboutniall · 3 years

Photo

Without Fear

masterlist | tag | wattpad

hiya! since tomorrow is thanksgiving I thought it would be better for everyone if I posted this week’s chapter today! hope you like!

Chapter Two. February

give me moonlight, and a smile from you that I can // that I can barely believe — dancing under red skies, dermot kennedy

It comes on slow, the way waves lap up against the shore late at night, when there aren’t many boats out to disrupt them. Over and over, bit by bit, it settles in. The first wave of it bites at Lu’s ankles when her toilet overflows at 6am, leaving her standing in her socks in the bathroom, soaking wet, worrying about the water leaking into the shop below, while Ruairí meows in concern from his spot atop the sink. Frantic, Lu calls her dad, and it goes to voicemail twice before she remembers it’s 1am in New York.

Accompanied only by a YouTube tutorial and the rising sun, Lu manages to fix the mess, shower, and start the day all on her own. Her dad calls back five hours later, and Lu feels like she’s lived a whole lifetime between then and now.

The second wave of it has more venom. She sleeps in on a Sunday—the only day the shop is closed—stirring around 10 because Ruairí is relentless, screeching in her ear, kneading at her belly, desperate for something to eat. Mindless, she feeds him, freshens up his water, makes herself a cup of coffee, pulls out a pastry leftover from Siobhan’s bake the day before, and settles into a spot by the window of her flat, overlooking the sea, all before thinking to take a look at her phone.

Even if she goes 12 hours without looking at her phone, Lu finds she doesn’t miss much these days—she left home on a whim, without a ton of fanfare, and knows full well that she isn’t putting in the effort she should to keep in touch with friends from home. She also knows that’s why she left.

So, most mornings, she wakes up to a few messages in the family group chat, a message or two from her best friend Georgia, and not much else. This morning, it’s different.

208 texts. 12 missed calls.

Lu’s stomach sinks like a stone. Her whole body heats up at once. Her hands start shaking and her heart starts hammering, all before she even manages to swipe open a single notification.

She doesn’t even have the wherewithal to cycle through possibilities. Her brain, hitting overdrive from the start, has no question that it’s bad.

In WhatsApp, Lu finds that her family group chat has 206 messages. She has one separate text from her dad, and a final separate text from her brother. Nothing from her mom.

Shaking, she swipes open her dad’s first. On the counter, Ruairí is sniffing at a banana.

Hi, love, his message says. Figured the number of messages in the group chat is overwhelming. We’re at the hospital with Sam now. All is well, the appendix is out and he’s resting. Mary’s with us, she got back from Honduras yesterday. Good timing. Give us a call when you get a chance.

From her brother, Lu finds a selfie. He’s in a hospital bed, gown around his shoulders. He looks pale, dark circles around his eyes, but he’s okay—he’s smiling, giving the camera a thumbs up. Underneath, the message says I lived, bitch.

Relief coursing through her, Lu lets out a shaky laugh. It’s scarily on-brand for Sam to pull out a meme at a moment like this.

Slowly but surely, Lu’s heartbeat slows to its normal rate. As it does, she scrolls back through the messages from the night before: her brother raising the alarm that he had a pesky pain in his side, their mother, a doctor herself, urging him to get it checked out. There’s a moment where Sam says the doctor is sending him home, and another where their mom urges him to demand an ultrasound, just in case. He does, and they find the appendicitis. Lu shudders to think what would’ve happened had her mother been the one sleeping soundlessly an ocean away.

It’s five am in New York. Lu figures they’re all shattered. Rather than call and risk waking everyone up after what was surely a late, long night, Lu shoots off a text to her dad, asking him to call her when they wake up and sending lots of love. She turns her ringer up all the way so she won’t miss anything else. She feels a million miles away.

####

On February first, Lu wakes up in a cold sweat. It’s still dark outside, but that doesn’t mean much in a place where the sun doesn’t rise until nearly 9am. Still, Lu doesn’t even need to look at a clock to know it must be early: perched on the pillow next to her head, Ruairí is snoring gently, dead to the world, not yet ready to demand breakfast.

Heart hammering, Lu gropes around the bed until her hand closes around her phone, cold. She squints, then sighs, as she checks the time.

4:45am.

Lu is no stranger to waking up mid-panic attack. Sometimes, it feels like choking—like she can’t get a breath down deep enough, to pool in the bottom of her lungs. Other times, it feels like an unavoidable urge to get up, move, get as far away from the space she woke up in as physically possible. Right now, it feels like a stomach ache, period pains, itchy skin, her body trying to tell her that something, somewhere, is going terribly wrong.

Logically, she knows it’s not. She holds her breath, five, four, three, two, one, and checks her phone as her heart jackrabbits away. Nothing out of the ordinary: her mom texted a picture of her glass of wine with dinner to the family group chat, her dad reported the score of a soccer game, her brother sent that he’d managed to run a full two miles today, his furthest since the appendectomy. Everything is fine.

Except for Lu.

There’s no use trying to go back to sleep; Lu knows herself better than that. Heart still working overtime despite reassurance, she slips out of bed as gently as she can, praying that she won’t wake Ruairí. She’s silent as she gets dressed and silent as she tiptoes out of her bedroom, out of the apartment, and down the stairs. The morning is still and dark, but you can hear for miles and miles on Inis Mór, and as she begins her walk the soft, familiar sounds of tractors roaring to life, cows mooing for their breakfast, sheep and goats bleating, remind Lu that she’s not the only one—that others are here too, alive, beginning their day, pushing on. Home. And underneath it all, there is, always, the sound of the waves, constant, crashing against the shore.

####

Lu doesn’t get a chance to nap. She walks, balancing on the edge of the cliffs that overlook the Atlantic, breathing in the sea air and thinking about how the water here, crashing, violent against the cliffs below her is the same water that once lapped up on the shores of Long Island, of Coney Island, of the Rockaways, of home. Seagulls swoop, low and graceful, over her head, over the ocean, and Lu thinks that if she asked her dad to drop a floatie into the Atlantic for her it just might make it—just might wash up here, on the edge of the Earth, the way she has.

She walks and walks—you can walk all the way around Inis Mór and back in under five hours, but she doesn’t have that kind of time. She walks along the cliffs, the white, blinding, otherworldly geology of the Burren, through the grass and the mud and the cow shit, until she’s back at the cafe, windows glowing golden against the rising sun, condensation clinging to them from the inside. Siobhan is pulling pastries out of the oven when she opens the door around 6:30, and Ruairí, curled up on the counter, looks at her, bitter.

Siobhan smiles, “There you are. No worries, pet, I’ve fed him his breakfast.”

She wobbles through the day, exhausted from the panic, the walk, the lack of sleep. She messes up at least two orders—gives Mrs. Duffy whole milk instead of skim, drops Mr. Kennedy’s sandwich on the floor while she’s bringing it over to him—but, as always, no one bats an eye. They touch her arm gently, lull “oh, it’s no bother, darling, we’ll make it right, now,” and the cadence of their laughter carries as she does exactly that. There’s no venom, no rush, nothing to give Lu the adrenaline she so badly needs to make it through the day.

Somehow, she almost forgets that it’s Niall’s first day. But all of a sudden it’s twelve hours later and he’s bustling inside, bringing a rush of cold air with him. The door swings shut behind him and Lu, who had been curled up at the cushioned window seat with Ruairí on top of her in a moment of quiet, jumps. The cat’s only just forgiven her for this morning, and her movement causes him to stalk off in anger. She sighs after him.

“Oh, no,” Niall laughs a little, “sorry, did I interrupt something?” He looks soft and sweet in his dark jeans, his hat pulled low over his forehead. He’s shedding his puffer jacket to reveal a navy blue cable knit sweater and his cheeks are flushed from the cold. His eyes, bright and blue as Lu remembers them, find hers. He smiles.

“Yeah,” Lu just about manages. “He just forgave me, you totally ruined it.”

Niall barks out a laugh, head thrown back, shoulders hunching up. “What did you do?”

“Forgot to feed him breakfast this morning,” Lu sighs. “Siobhan did it, but he held it against me anyway.”

“Ah, well,” Niall shrugs. “I’d be mad too, if I were a cat.”

“S’a good thing you’re not, then,” Lu smiles. “I’m not here to feed you.”

Niall’s still giggling. Lu wonders if he ever stops.

“I’m thinking I might make him pupcakes or something as an apology…” Lu is rambling a bit now, but she’s so tired, and Niall’s so cute, and nothing is real here, anyway. “I know they’re for dogs but I can’t imagine they’re bad for cats? I bet he’ll like those—honestly, I bet he’ll just like knowing I slaved over a hot stove for him. It’s like he can tell, you know?”

It wasn’t meant to be that funny, but Niall is fully cackling, crinkles by his eyes on full display, one hand clutching his tummy. “You’re funny,” he says between laughs. “A bit looney, me da would say—hey, Lu, looney, Looney Tunes. It all makes sense.”

“Isn’t ‘looney’ offensive?” The banter with him comes so easily, Lu doesn’t let herself overthink it. “Think we’re supposed to stop using it.”

“Ah, well,” Niall’s pulling his guitar out to tune, now, “You’re in Ireland now, love. All good nicknames are a little offensive.”

####

The night is mostly quiet, a dozen customers at the most, which Lu thinks is probably good for Niall’s nerves. He’s just as stunning as he was the night Lu first met him, pulling out an arsenal of covers ranging from Bruce Springsteen to Post Malone, somehow making them all work for his voice, for the vibe, for everyone, but he’s shaking—she can see it when he pushes his hair off his forehead, or when he drops his pick on the floor between songs, laughing awkwardly as he bends to grab it. Even with the mistakes, the dropped pick, the few stumbles over lyrics, he’s endearing, engaging, all-consuming. Lu’s meant to be working, but she can’t find it in her to look away.

From her spot at the counter, Lu watches how Niall keeps his eyes trained on the window across from him. He doesn’t seem to be looking for anyone or anything, but Lu suspects it’s easier than looking his audience in the eye—despite the fact that she can see for herself just how captivated they are. It shouldn’t take an hour and a half to drink one coffee and eat one slice of chocolate cake, but that’s how long old Mr. Kane spends in the shop anyway, eyes closed, listening to Niall play.

For two full hours, Niall keeps the shop warm and alive. Everyone is so captivated that Lu barely has to work after all; she leans up against the counter instead, cradling the mug of hot chocolate that Siobhan made her before she left for the night, and taking him in. She barely knows him, and yet.

Lu has seen plenty of nervous first-timers performing in front of apathetic crowds—it was practically her job, after all. She’s also seen more than her fair share of world class performers stunning crowds that want to eat them up, keep them on stage forever, bottle their energy and carry it through the rest of their lives. Working in the music industry, even just as an assistant, for five years turned her hard and jaded, made her feel like she’s seen the seedy, rough, rude underbelly of it all—but she’s never seen anyone perform like Niall before. His unadulterated, all consuming love for music is tangible, even from across the room. This is now Niall communicates. This is how he understands the world. This is how he sees life. Half of Lu feels lucky to hear it—the other half feels sick knowing that his talent is wasted here.

It almost makes her sad to have to close up at 9. Niall’s good about it—he’s designed his set to last exactly two hours, finds a climax in the middle with “Dancing in the Dark” and tapers his song choices toward a slow but steady ending, letting everyone know, without having to say it, that it’s time to head home. Lu doesn’t even have to ask him if he knows how to play “Closing Time.”

Mr. Kane is the last to leave, sticking around a little after nine to shake Niall’s hand and tell him he had no idea how talented Maura’s son is. He talks about Maura—Lu assumes she must be Niall’s mom—while Lu slowly, quietly begins putting dishes away. She likes the routine of this already, Niall’s quiet voice, his booming laugh, his warm presence keeping her company while she settles down for the night. It’s something she could get used to. It’s something, the first thing, she thinks she could miss, if she left.

Niall masterfully leads his conversation with Mr. Kane toward goodbyes, shaking his hand again as he shuts the door behind him. Lu looks up from where she was rinsing a cup to watch as Niall watches through the window to make sure Mr. Kane gets in his car. He waits for the car to start before turning around, leaning his back up against the door, dragging a hand through his hair, and letting out a long sigh.

“Alright?” Lu asks, gentle. Niall’s got his eyes closed, his head back, neck exposed to her. It’s thick and littered with freckles, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. In her chest, Lu’s heart does something funny. She presses her thighs together, tight.

Niall opens his eyes halfway, exhaling a little laugh as he meets Lu’s gaze. She hopes he can’t tell—how could he?

“Yeah,” he says then, standing all the way up and shaking his head. “That was mad.”

“It was amazing,” Lu counters. She gently places the mug back into the sink, bracing her hands against the edge. Part of her is afraid of what she’ll do without something between him and her. “They were so into it. No one could look away from you.”

Her cheeks flush, and Niall catches it. The corner of his mouth pulls up in half a smile as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Ya think so?”

“I know so,” Lu presses her lips together, but it doesn’t do much to prevent her smile. “‘Dancing In The Dark’ was my favorite one; it’s perfect for your voice.”

“Thanks, Looney Tunes,” Niall hums, making his way back over toward her. “Can I help ya clean up? I wash, you dry?”

“Oh,” Lu stills. She’d half forgotten about the dishes still left to clean, the floor to sweep, the leftovers to toss, the counters to wipe down. Her mind stumbles over the best way to go about this: it would be rude to keep him, but, God, she wants his company. She realizes, with a slight swoop in her belly, that she hasn’t felt homesick in two hours. She needs him to stay. “I actually—I have a dishwasher. I just like to rinse everything before I put it in.”

Niall smiles. He comes around the counter to stand next to Lu at the sink, knocking his hip against hers. “Sensible,” he says. It’s quiet. Just for her. “I’ll rinse and put ‘em in. You’ve been stood here all night. What else do you have to do?”

“Uh,” Lu feels like her whole body is vibrating. Her mind turns over itself like an engine that won’t start. “Sweep the floors, wipe down the counters, lock up.”

“Alright,” Niall is so close that Lu can smell his aftershave. Warm, soft, mixed with sweat from his nerves and the smell of his skin. “Let’s do it.”

####

taglist: @missy14us @antisocialsocialclub5 @coconutdawn @ficnarry @bopbopstyles @okaaayniall @theresnooneheretosave @niallgolden @tinyfelthat @adoremp3 @thelifeofbo @crocodileniall @niallsguitarthings @kara-246

Join the tag list here.

#one direction #1dff #one direction fan fiction #niall horan #niall horan fic #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan imagine #niall #without fear

44 notes · View notes

burgerkang000 · 3 years

Text

Email for better love lives

I HAVE A NAME FOR THIS ONE YAAAAAY

im doing the read more thing, cuz u know scrolling ugh

@beyoncesdragon @aixy-hpsa (if anyone else wanna be tagged, let me know!!!)

This is a Yunho fic!

enjoy?

You met San at a compulsory public speaking class, where only you both had to attend for grades; it was filled with nerds who came voluntarily. And your bond begin with bored out glances at each other and loud sighs exchanged. And after that you guys hung out a lot, went to get coffee while doing homework, caught rides with each other, and waved whenever your paths crossed.

You met Yunho when San wanted you to meet his friends that he wouldn’t stop talking about, which made you slightly jealous; you yearned for a bond like that. You pushed that thought away, nothing good comes with jealousy. And while San and his friends would go about their own business, you would stick to the side-lines, not knowing what to say or do, even though they try their best to include you.

Yunho would be the one to keep you company, actively telling you about his day and attentively listen when you were asked about yours. He would also help you study and take you out to grab coffee when San would be too busy.

Anyone would be a fool to not fall for Yunho, with his smile that make his eyes crinkle at the corners, teeth on display, fluffy hair. Who wouldn’t fall for him, at least you could keep it inside, and no one had to know.

“Look at Yunho in this picture, he looks so handsome” San shows you the pictures from your quick break before the exams to the arcade. You take a glance, damn. You know that the moment you open your mouth, you’re screwed.

“Hmm”

“I don’t like it when you’re vague”

“Yes Yunho is cute” That’s all you plan on saying anyways, but you had to panic, because what if San thinks you’re not commenting on it too much and picks up that you’re crushing on Yunho? Ok, so you were overthinking.

“Too cute that it’s impossible he exists, I mean I see him every day but it’s not like I believe he’s real, there is a limit to being cute and all. I mean a recreation of a Greek god- I mean he should be a Greek God himself-”

You were cut short by San’s exploding laughter and as you voice your confusion to him, he still laughs until you violently shake him-

“Yah! Why are you laughing?”

He finally calms down enough to tell you-

“Just say you have a crush on him”

You open your mouth to deny-

“Admit it~” He says scrolling through his phone again.

You huff out, San was your best (read: only) friend, it wouldn’t hurt to tell him, so you nod the tiniest bit, and San grins from ear to ear.

“I mean, I didn’t see it coming, but when you started rambling off like that, it was obvious.”

You sigh.

“You tell this to anyone, I will personally murder you”

“Sure sure”

And after that, he thankfully let you change the topic.

Ever since then, whenever you’d meet Yunho, right after that, you’d whip out your phone to text San; something vague like-

“He’s wearing a red sweater”

“He dyed his hair blue!”

“Kill me”

And then you’d go home and text San about how a person; a human, cannot simply be so beautiful, and ramble off about him.

“But sir, I don’t have an email” You tell the professor, who has just asked to submit your assignment by mail.

“Don’t whine to me, and make one, is there a student your age without email? How do you have social media accounts?”

“I don’t have them” you reply

“Just make one, it’s extremely useful, and won’t take much of your time” He said, in a brushing off manner, guess he doesn’t believe you.

You nod and sigh as you leave to the next class. If you can’t whine to your professor, you can whine to Yunho. Who listens to the whole thing like the god damn angel he is, and as you open your phone to create one, he gently coaxes it out of your hand, asks you if it’s okay if he creates one for you instead and when you nod he turns his attention to the phone, while you’re just dumbly staring at your hand, where Yunho’s hand made contact with yours.

“Look, I sent my self a mail using yours, lets chat on mail for a while, you can get used to it” He says, you nod, and talk for a while, and then Yunho had to go. You wave at him while he leaves and you text San.

“What’s your mail?”

And when you finally get it, you send him a mail.

URGENT: JEONG YUNHO TOUCHED MY HAND, I REPEAT JEONG YUNHO TOUCHED MY HAND, MOM COME PICK ME UP PLEASE.

I MEAN HE WAS FABULOUS TODAY TO, IF IT WASN’T OBVIOUS; HIS HAIR WAS SO SOFT I CLIKED A PIC, LOOK:

[Image attached]

DO ME A FAVOUR, WHEN I DIE, SIT ON THE VERY SAME CHAIR HE’S SITTING ON, LOOK AT THE SAME DEIRECTION HE’S LOOKING AT AND BURY ME THERE, WHILE YOUR AT IT PRINT THIS ON MY GRAVESTONE.

WHEN I DIE PLEASE TELL HIM I LOVE HIM IN THE OTHER WAY.

BYEBYE

Later that day you get a reply from San saying that you’re too dramatic and an email from Yunho, which you didn’t think much about the time. He was the one who wanted to talk in mail, so you open it and-

And you realise you accidently send it to him too.

*cue freak out*

“So I must have send it to him too-” San blinks at you for a while and then-

Laughs at your face saying random things like

“This is gold”

“Nonononono”

“Never in my life- never”

At this point, you think he’s just spewing English vines that he’s been watching a bit too much to be considered healthy. And now you’re overcome with sadness, and as soon as he notices, he starts apologising and you bow you head, you think you look like a rag doll, and then cry. And san runs circles on you back, occasionally tucking strands of hair behind you ear and wait till you finish.

After a good while of snot- running type of crying, puffy eyes and ringing ears, you start to ramble, a habit that got you here in the first place.

“I don’t think I’m ready for rejection, I mean I was perfectly fine watching him from the side-lines. Heck I would watch him get married and I’d probably say nothing, like I’m not dying inside, proceed to get married, I’m crying tears of happiness-”

“What makes you so sure that he’s going to reject you?”

“I don’t know ok? But this isn’t a movie, he sees me as a friend and I had to go and catch feelings for him.”

San sighs.

“So, what’re you going to do now?”

It was hard, but you finally managed to blackmail San to help you avoid Yunho situations.

“And how long do you plan to do this?”

“Until my plane ticket and Visa to Alaska are approved and I change my name to Veronica Fall”

He looks at you, and the look speaks for itself, you’re being dramatic. You raise your arms in mock surrender and flop on top of the bed.

“Tomorrow everyone is hanging out, Yunho will be there, you coming?”

You pointedly grin at his cheeky expression, and he mimics the way you had surrendered just a few moments ago.

You stare at the response you had given to all the missed calls from Yunho.

I’m busy

Sorry, I was showering

I’m going to be busy for a while.

And you watch as the three dots move, and then stop and then move again, you feel as if your heartbeat moves along with those dots, stopping when it disappears, and then finally a response.

We need to talk, I gave you your time, and it’s not fair.

You feel like this is a new side of Yunho you haven’t seen, an assertive one. And you realise, just because you’re a coward, doesn’t mean that you can leave Yunho in the dark, even though you have fears of Yunho leaving you, getting awkward; deep down, you know, that Yunho, he’d never treat your feelings as something useless. And that makes you feel more in love.

And who knows unrequited love may not be so bad, maybe, just maybe; for Yunho it might not be so bad.

Fine

After sending the last text, you get up to clean the place, take out boxes littered about, and books and papers all lying about that you haven’t cared to put away. You do the dishes, and tie your hair into a pony, you’re distracting yourself from the real problem of facing him, for now you let yourself do it; later, you can scream at yourself.

And a right when you reach for the broomstick that you had tucked in deep behind the storage room; you hear a knock at your door.

You don’t think much about it, until you open the door. Low and behold; Yunho was standing at the doorway, a determined look on his face and he walks past you into the house.

You can’t help but think; geez, come on in. But you’re just salty.

And he opens his phone and shows it at your face, too close to read, practically in between your eyes, its touching your nose too. And you’re the dramatic one.

“Explain; explain this email, that was, I figure, supposed to be sent to San, explain why you’ve been avoiding me and my calls, and wherever I go right after I replied to this, I’m not going or letting you go until you do.”

And his voice cracks at the end bit, but you don’t notice, you’re in a bubble of thinking; thinking how to phrase this, just overthinking; maybe.

And moments which feel like hours pass, and you decide to do this the ripping off the band aid way. But it turned out more like the ramble it off way

“I like you? No, no that came out wrong… I love you? Yes, I’m pretty sure I love you, and don’t worry I know you’re not into me that way-”

And you don’t know what really happened; there was a hand on your face, right under your nose, and he was right in front of you.

“Sometimes, everything you say is nonsense.” He breathes, you open your mouth to respond, and he applies more pressure with his palm, to keep you quiet. You can’t help but think of the way your lips mouthed at his palm, not the time; not the time at all.

And then he continues.

“You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that, the moment I got that email, it took me a few minutes to understand, but when I did, I already pictured our five adopted cats, not gonna lie”

Your eyes widen in shock, did he just indirectly say he like you back, in the form of cats? This is why you fell for him in the first place.

“Did I creep you out? I must have creeped you out, forget I said that.”

And you laugh behind his palm, and he slowly removes it, moves it to your shoulder, drags it down the length of your arm, and interlocks it with your hand, a sweet smile on his face, the contagious one, so it’s only law that you smile back, teeth and all, since you can’t hold it back.

“We should go on a date.”

“That; we must.”

You were on one of your many dates, too wind up in each other to not notice the others who also wanted to hang out with you, you totally kept the news from San; you and Yunho are in this together, so he needs to also be comfortable with telling San, after a lot of thinking, you both settle on letting them find out, which may take years to get in their daft heads, but for now, you both have put fate in them.

San caught on way too quickly, the moment you enter the café and sit down, he says-

“So you’re not moving to Alaska? Or is your husband; Yunho moving with you?”

You blush and look down-

“Look, I can explain-”

And he breaks into a wide grin,

“I’m happy for ya”

You and Yunho were scrolling through many of the messages you have send to San; the ones fawning over Yunho, as much as he likes to get you flustered, he himself also gets flustered, so it’s a win-win situation.

“They haven’t caught on yet” you suddenly say.

It’s true, other than San none of them have caught on yet that you both have been dating, and that’s kind of weird, since it’s been almost a whole year.

But it’s not like you’re gonna sit them down and tell them. You and Yunho have a better plan.

Well you have a better plan.

“-and they walk in on us!”

“…..”

“Or not?”

“No”

You end up inviting them over for dinner, and as they take their first bites, you happily chirp in that you’re dating and Yunho adds that you’re moving in with, leaving everyone to choke on their food, except San, who had a cocky expression, which soon turned into a choking fit, who’s cocky now?

And Wooyoung looks up, and goes “Wait, you’re serious” and continues choking, this time on nothing.

48 notes · View notes