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shreddedparchment · 3 years

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Spa Day

03/04/2021

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader Word Count: 7,559

Warnings: language, depression, past abuse, emotional abuse, fluff

A/N: I wrote this because I have been feeling pretty down on myself. It’s pure self indulgence to make me feel better. I hope it will help someone else and if not, I hope you at least get a smile or some entertainment from reading it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

You’re awkward, walking in. Feeling out of place.

This place was for special people. Well, people who mattered.

You’re not sure how you got the voucher. It all happened so quickly.

One minute you were sitting in Mr. Wayne’s office, twiddling your thumbs to expend some nervous energy as you awaited your firing then the next you were being shoved out his office door with a gentle but firm hand at the center of your back.

Mr. Wayne had smiled, his face relaxed and amused.

“It expires soon, so use it tomorrow,” he’d said.

“I work tomorrow,” you’d resisted, no intention of losing a full day’s paid work.

“Take the day. On me. Full pay,” As you opened your mouth to protest again, he quickly lifted his hand to silence you politely and tacked on, “There’s no use arguing with me. Now enjoy it or you’re fired.”

He’d shut the heavy wooden door in your face leaving you standing there, stunned. At a loss to think up a reason to not come here today but obviously you’ve failed seeing as you’re here.

“Good morning!” A young woman with soft to the touch looking blonde hair smiles at you from behind the modern pale wooden counter. The white marble top shines in your eyes.

“Hi. Morning,” you sputter.

“How can we help you today?”

She’s so nice. So polite. Professional. This place is super expensive looking. There’s a crystal chandelier behind you at the center of the small lobby space. Chic sofas line the wall behind you, large pots with dragon trees growing tall add a splash of color to the otherwise sterile and plain gray walls.

Despite its minimalist decor, the office exudes money.

You’re almost at the brink of following the impulse that wants to turn you towards the tinted glass door, but before you can make your escape, the receptionist’s kind voice interrupts you.

“Oh! You have one of our platinum vouchers! Lucky you,” she smiles, genuine in her glee. “Shall I take that?”

She holds out her hands, both of them and waits for you to place the thick and shiny ticket-like paper in them.

Quickly she gives it a read, turning it over and then placing it under a UV light by her computer. An image shines out from under the purple light of a shimmering diamond right at the center of the ticket.

“You’ve got the works. Was it a gift?” She looks up at you, not intending to insult you but you can’t help but feel a little stung by her assumption.

You can’t really blame her though. You reserve all of your best outfits for work. Casual yet distinguished pantsuits and skirts with matching tops or jackets.

Today you’ve chosen a simple floor length skirt. It sits snugly around your waist and hips. Your t-shirt, a simple graphic tee with the words “Touch the Radley House YOLO” printed in bold black letters.

“Uh, yeah,” you admit to the girl, wishing she’d just sign you in and let you go about your day. “My boss gave it to me.”

“Lucky, lucky. You must have a really nice boss,” she admires.

“Well, I lost his company nearly a hundred million dollars and he didn’t fire me, so…” you trail off, still lost as to why Mr. Wayne had been so adamant you take some time off and why he’d been so understanding about the Ronson account.

“Oh,” the girl says, blinking a few times as she tries to process what you just said. “A very nice boss then.”

Her conclusion brings a small smile to your lips because truthfully, Mr. Wayne is very kind. You’ve never heard him berate an employee and he’s usually only tough on his business associates. Members of his board and investors. Like Mr. Ronson.

If he wasn’t so out of your league, you’d even consider maybe letting yourself really look at him. He’s hot for sure, but he always seems so preoccupied. Like he has something he’s trying to keep buried.

Nice, but he has secrets. No one’s perfect.

“Well, we’ve got you all booked in. What you’ll want to do is head in through that door on your right, walk halfway down the hall and the lounge room should be there to your left. Someone will come and escort you to your first experience.”

You observe her vernacular. Every word she speaks is rehearsed and probably scripted to a certain point.

“Thank you,” you give her another small smile, still feeling out of place but a little more at ease.

“Enjoy!” she calls as you cross through the heavy wooden door.

It swings shut behind you silently, a soft hiss at it latches.

The hallway before you is just as simple yet chic as the lobby. The colors are less neutral, a calming turquoise with a black base and a thick silver stripe lining the center of the wall at about waist height.

The doors are pale wood, smooth to the touch. You pass several of them as you make your way to the lounge.

Inside the door to your left at the center of the hall you find the lounge room. Which actually turns out to be a locker room. Smaller than what you would have thought with only about fifteen lockers that look more like small safes. Each one has a digital keypad, a fingerprint reader, and an iris scanner.

“Sheesh…” you observe but pick one and move over to it to set up your passcode, fingerprint, and scan your eye so that you can come get your stuff when your day of relaxation is over.

Inside the locker you find a neatly folded outfit wrapped in sanitary plastic. Completely sealed.

Just in case you’re wrong about this being a spot where you can change, you look for a designated changing area but don’t find one.

With no other choice, you place your purse and keys inside the locker, then slowly begin to strip. Shoes, skirt underwear go into the locker but your nerves don’t let you remove your t-shirt just yet. Untucked from your skirt, it’s easier to tell that it’s intentionally oversized.

After another quick anxious look at the door you’d come in through, you hook your hands into the base of your shirt and pull it up...just as the door opens and a large clearly male body steps in.

You gasp, whirling around in surprise to reclothe your breasts.

Cool air blows against your bottom as your shirt also twists with your movement, but you reach back and yank it down.

“Oh, I am...uh, didn’t see anything?” The voice is deep, smooth. It puts you at ease even though you literally just exposed yourself to a complete stranger.

“No, no. It’s fine,” you tell him, voice strained with embarrassment. “It’s my fault, I didn’t know if there was a separate changing room. I just...didn’t see any.”

“Oh, um...it’s the door right across the hall. But you know what? I’ll actually just step right outside and let you finish.”

That’s so nice…”You don’t have to, I can just-”

You turn around to look at him, keeping your hands on your shirt to pull it down. One at the front. One behind.

Simultaneously, though you don’t notice, both your and his jaw drop.

It takes both of you a moment to find your voices and while he speaks, your mind is busy taking in his massive size.

He’s thick. Muscles bulking through the should-be loose wrap top he’s wearing. Like yours it’s a soft peach color, the same diamond shape you’d seen on your voucher under the UV light etched into the right breast.

With the top he wears loose pants, or somewhat loose around his knee and down to his ankles; there’s a pair of charcoal slippers on his feet. His thighs, like his arms and chest strain against the clothes he’d been given.

It’s clearly too small. You wonder if maybe this place doesn’t carry the outfit in his size. It’s very possible, considering his girth.

“Miss?”

His slightly concerned expression brings you back to yourself, now flustered because he’s caught you gawking at him.

“Sorry, I’m-you just surprised me and my brain’s a little-what did you say?”

“I’ll just step outside,” he doesn’t wait for you to respond as he backs up to the door then pulls it open and disappears through it, closing it gently behind him.

“What the hell was that?!” you gasp, angry at yourself for staring.

He’s hot! You couldn’t help it. He also looks familiar, though you can’t place the face. How you could possibly forget a face like that you have no idea.

While you change, you think about the smaller things you’d notice.

His hair is dark. Black. Curls that are carefully kept in place with hair products. His skin is a perfect pale peach. Not so pink as the clothes you’re pulling on, but it falls under the same shade. There didn’t seem to be a single blemish from what you were able to see.

A small tuft of chest hair had been peeking out of the V of the top. His face had been perfect, yes, but kind. There was a gentleness in it. The small curve of a smile had played on his rosebud pink lips. Not thin. Not thick. They were perfect.

He was perfect.

And those eyes...so blue. Like a clear spring sky. So bright and observant. There’s no way he didn’t catch you staring. Shit.

You note as you shove your underclothes into your locker out of where he might see them, that your own outfit for this spa leaves even less to the imagination than what must be the male uniforms.

Where the handsome stranger had pants, you were given very small shorts. Little more than boy short underwear in length. Parts of your bottom were threatening to overflow.

The top, while similar to the one the stranger wore, also came with a bandeau given the unique look of being wrapped around your chest when it so clearly is just one piece. You were expected to wear this underneath the looser wrap top.

Pulling it shut, you’re still tying the top closed around your waist as you hurry to the door where the stranger must still be waiting.

You open it...but he’s gone.

Disappointment floods through you. Surprising you.

You have no reason to want to see him, but you suppose you had just wanted to apologize for the awkwardness.

With a sigh you shut the door and move back to your locker to shove the rest of your belongings in just as a kind looking young woman no older than the receptionist at the front desk comes in with a smile.

“Are we ready for the diamond experience? You’re a very lucky lady!”

Even though you’re still only halfway sure you even want to go through with this whole thing, her excitement is catching and you find yourself nodding and scurrying after her as she shows you down the hall for your all expense paid spa day.

~~~~~~~~~~

You aren’t used to relaxation.

Not to this degree.

A gold facial? Full body exfoliation with sea salt and Indian kama oil? A rain massage which consisted of you being massaged with several different clays as warm water is cascaded down your body? An herbal bath with murky green water that leaves your skin feeling fresh--like mint but for your skin?

It’s too much!

You’re four hours into your spa session and you’re so sleepy you might pass out in this next one.

As you’re escorted by the same young lady who has been tending to you from the beginning, she opens the door of a long room, the outer wall of which is made up of endless glass panels that catch the rays of the sun.

As you step in, you’re assaulted by immediate drowsiness as your entire being is engulfed in slightly sticky heat.

This isn’t a sauna. It won’t make you sweat buckets. But it makes your skin dewy and your eyes droop.

“Oh, wow,” you gasp, suddenly wanting to run before you can collapse to the floor in unconsciousness.

Your escort laughs, “The hot room has that effect on all of our guests. Come, it looks like we’ve got a spot free over at the far end.”

Along this wall of glass, there are lounge chairs with soft cushions grouped in twos, separated by a lattice waterfall panel that tinkles pleasantly as it empties down into a bed of soft pebbles. On the table at the head of these seats is a pitcher of water, glasses, and a set of small handheld fans that one can use to cool off a bit in the heat. Just in case it becomes too much, you guess. Though you can’t imagine it will. The heat isn’t oppressive. Just consuming.

It’s everywhere but it’s not choking or frustrating.

“I hope you don’t mind if we put you next to one of our other single guests? Most of our diamond packages are used by couples, as you can see.”

Your escorts gestures at the chairs as you pass them and sure enough, every seat is taken with couples hiding behind large potted fan palms.

“No, I don’t mind,” you answer in single, as if you have any choice. “How long will I be in here?”

“An hour or so? If you’d like to exit early, there is a small button on the table by your lounge. Press it and I will come take you to your next experience,” she looks back and smiles at you.

You notice that you pass three spots without lounge seats and wonder silently why some of them have been removed. At the end of these empties is where the escort stops. A set of lounges in the very last spot against the wall.

“Here you are,” your escort smiles. “If you need anything, just give us a call.”

“Thank you,” you smile at her and squeeze between the potted palms.

Slightly nervous, you look for your unintended partner and gasp at the Adonis you’d thought you’d lost.

The sound draws his attention and his expression shifts from stoic concentration to soft smile, “Hey, it’s you again.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice because you’re too busy gawking again.

He’s not wearing a shirt or pants. That is, he’s wearing shorts. A lot longer than yours, reaching about the top of his thighs, but still short. Like briefs. It gives you a good view of every single muscle in his long legs and you suddenly envy anyone that’s ever had the privilege to ride that thigh.

What the fuck am I thinking?! You give our head a shake and try to focus on his face as he waits. It’s only a second too late.

“Yeah, hi. Sorry, I-” you avert your eyes and quickly take a seat in your own lounge chair to his left, keeping your eyes on anything other than the mass that is his chest.

Just as you’d thought, it’s covered in a mouthwatering line of chest hair that trailers down onto his stomach and makes an ever so subtle trail down, down, down...down...down…

He chuckles, “It’s alright. It’s only fair you get a good look too, right?”

You’re not even processing what he’s saying, unable to focus for a bit.

“You’re here alone?” It’s more an observation than a question but you answer anyway, grasping at the distraction.

“Yes,” you nod. “A gift from my boss.”

“Me too,” he turns a little in his seat so that he can look at you, but adjusting his angle so that he can still keep his legs up, one propped up as he rests his elbow on his knee. The other stretched out before him.

This draws your gaze back to him and you’re able to pay attention this time and ignore his very distracting body.

“Oh?”

“I mean, not my boss, but it was a gift from a friend. He thought I could use a nice relaxing day.”

The way he says it, sounds like you’re not the only one saddled with what you perceived was a burden or at the very least, a waste of time.

You grin, “Mine too. My boss. I saved the company I work with from a scandal and his idea of repaying me was to give me a spa day. A raise would have been more than enough.”

“Tell me about it,” the man says, smiling with stunning pearly whites.

His smile is gorgeous and you’re enamored again by how sweet he looks.

How can someone look like he can tear the head off a rhino and still look so adorable? It can’t be fair.

“Rent keeps going up and my job doesn’t pay nearly enough to keep up. At this rate I might end up having to move back to the farm.”

“Oh,” you reply lamely, piecing together where he might have grown his sculpted figure. Farm work can be grueling.

He gives you a look, assessing your response then waves his hand gently as if to swat away his complaint, “Sorry, don’t listen to me. I’ve got it better than most. You don’t need to be hearing about my problems.”

“No!” you rush to assuage his worry. “No, it’s okay. That sucks about your job. Is there no chance at a raise?”

“Not exactly, I have a uh, a hobby that keeps me from taking more work and I kind of get paid by assignment. I have a flat salary but working extra would definitely help with the bills.”

“What do you do?” you wonder, trying to picture this guy doing anything other than just looking like a God in a spa.

He could be a bodyguard? They get assignments. Construction? Personal trainer?

“I’m a journalist,” he tells you, speaking matter-of-factly as if it makes perfect sense.

You blink, then chuckle and then laugh once.

“What?” he asks, amused and smiling again as you chuckle. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “It’s just, journalist is not where my mind went.”

He doesn’t seem surprised but he also doesn’t say anything else.

The two of you lapse into silence. It’s not uncomfortable and at least you don’t feel like you need to say anything to fill the dead air.

Twenty minutes pass and you lean back in your chair to relax, sighing lightly and smiling at the immaculate aura that this stranger seems to emanate.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

The longer you lay there, suddenly not sleepy at all, the more your curiosity grows. Turning towards him, you find him already looking at you.

This startles you but in a good way. You smile and the soft curve of his lips breaks into a full toothed smile.

Both of you move your lips to speak, but before you can either of you get a word in a rustle of palm leaves pulls both your attentions behind your seats.

You sit up, twisting a little to look at who’s come, expecting to see your escort or some other spa staff.

Instead you find a woman you’d spotted laying in another spot with who you’d thought was the other half of her couple. Her waist-length auburn hair clings to the skin of her bare shoulders and sides. She’s removed her top, leaving her in her bandeau.

“Hi,” she says to your stranger-wait not your stranger. Shoot.

He looks confused but not unfriendly, “Hello.”

“My friend finally talked me into coming over and talking to you,” she informs him.

“I see,” your-the stranger says.

The girl seems to be expecting something but the stranger just looks up at her expectantly. Awkwardly.

He looks at you and you quickly turn away from their conversation, pushing yourself to the end of the lounge to sit with your hands holding onto the edge, feet flat on the ground.

You try not to eavesdrop but they’re right there.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asks her, sounded polite but not uninterested.

You can hear the woman shifting from foot to foot, probably pushing her hips from side to side. Her figure is nice. Not like yours. She’s attractive, in a conventional way. In a magazine accepted way.

Your mood sinks the longer you ponder on this random girl and the stranger. There’s an endless string of disappointments that have built you into this person you are.

Insecurities made worse by words spoken by people that should have supported you or those you thought were on your side. Affections misplaced. Kindness taken advantage of. Betrayal. Worst of all the betrayal. Some small. Some big.

You know that you should be less shaky in your self worth. You know that you’re more than the words spoken and the actions taken that brought you to this point. But how do you turn it off? How to fight the thoughts that bring you down?

It’s not something you can do all at once. You know this. And yet feeling bad about yourself makes you feel guilty because you know it’s bad and that makes you feel worse. It’s an endless cycle.

You’re fully wallowing in your own self-pity before the girl even has a chance to answer the stranger’s question.

“Well, I noticed you came by yourself and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have dinner sometime? Or maybe coffee?”

You don’t dare turn back, you just resign yourself to a lack of luck and stare out at nothing even though the view is really nice.

“Thank, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not looking for a date right now, I don’t really have the time,” the stranger says, giving her a diplomatic response.

Letting her down without letting her down.

“Oh, well,” there’s a beat of silence. “In case you change your mind, here’s my number. Call me, if you find some time?”

You hear her retreat and the soft shift of what must be a business card against the wood of the table behind the stranger’s chair.

Movement shifts in your periphery and you see that the stranger has moved to the end of his own lounge, mimicking your pose though he’s much bulkier and takes up much more space.

“That was weird,” he says, a small puff of air passing between his lips as he huffs a laugh.

“Why?”

“Well, she just came up to me, out of nowhere,” he clarifies.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the first time that’s happened to you.”

The stranger seems to pick up on your mood shift, his face etched with concern as he tries to lean forward, head tilted a little as he strains for a better look at your face.

“Actually, that never happens to me,” he says. A lie?

“How about you?” he checks, probing gently to see if he can get you to talk.

“No. Never.”

“But you’re so-”

“I’m nothing,” you interrupt, the words an automatic response as if you’ve been hypnotized into saying those words exactly. A trained response.

The silence is no longer comfortable, but thick and heavy.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I’m nobody.”

It hurts to speak these words aloud. Words that have hurt you in the past. Words that have cut you time and again. Scars left behind by those people that should have loved you but didn’t.

“No one is nobody,” the stranger counters.

He watches you, observing.

You don’t like the front row seat he has to your wallowing. You try to pull yourself out of it but the hole just keeps getting deeper.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, stealing a quick glance at him.

He’s still got his head tilted a little in pure concentration as he watches you, brow crinkled with focus.

It’s not judgement though, just intent. You can tell he’s really listening and it makes your heart flutter. No one has ever listened to you before. Not like this. Not with a deep desire to understand like he does.

He shakes his head, “Was it the girl coming over?”

You look away, feeling embarrassed, “She reminded me of someone I knew. Someone I dated.”

Nodding, he indicates that he’s listening.

You smile without humor, hurt by the memory, “He thought I should look like her. Or...he didn’t say exactly like her, but he said he wished I looked better.”

He frowns, his deep dislike for your story honest, “He doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”

“No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t like, evil or anything, but yeah. Not a nice guy,” you admit, accepting that in that case, it was definitely your boyfriend’s problem.

“But that’s not it?”

You look at him.

“There’s more to it?” he guesses.

You look out at the scenic view finally, not really seeing it but appreciating the colors at least.

“This spa day?” you begin, stealing another glance at him.

He turns to sit facing you, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped as his listening intensifies.

“The only reason I got it was because as I said before I saved the company I work for from being dragged into scandal. I also lost a bunch of money by losing the client but my boss was pretty pleased.

“But the only reason I even touched the account was because I was sorta forced to?” Is that the best way to describe what happened?

“How were you forced to deal with that account?”

“Well, I’m not exactly the best with making friends? I mean, I have had friends before. I just--I got really sick a while back and I lost most of them because I cancelled on plans a lot or I didn’t have the energy to maintain contact? Even texting felt like such a chore. Just the act of responding and-I guess they thought that I thought being friends with them was a chore, and that wasn’t it.

“I just couldn’t find the energy to try to do anything. Some days I wouldn’t even eat because I’d have to get up and make myself food and I barely got up to go to the bathroom much less make a meal.

“Anyway, I just kind of gave up and they did to and now, I don’t really have an in with people? I don’t say much and it’s not that I don’t want to talk, I just don’t have anything worth saying. Or maybe I just can’t think of anything? I don’t know. But it affects work relationships too.”

“How?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, looking down at your hands clinging to the edge of the lounge before releasing it slowly.

“It’s really just me getting in my feelings,” you shrug.

“What you feel is what you feel, even if you don’t think you should. Our pasts can affect us well into our futures.”

His encouragement helps, and you feel a little less vulnerable to share with him.

“I work in the PR department. There are six of us in total. We’re a pretty big company. Multinational big. So there’s one of us for every form of media. Since we all work for the same clients, bridging the gap, we usually spread the workload evenly.

“Or, the other five members of my team do. Sometimes they just forget that I’m there and I usually get stuck with the leftover work. I’m not one to complain, so-” you shrug. “But they forget me for other stuff too. Company dinners. Competitions for prizes in the office. Secret Santa. Stuff like that.

“It makes me feel alone.”

You chance a glance at him, and he’s still watching you but his eyes are far away for a bit as if he’s remembering something.

“I know how that feels,” he nods. “I’ve felt alone almost all my life in some ways. Luckily, I’ve made a few friends to help me see things a little differently but that loneliness will never really go away.

“I understand.”

You smile, feeling more and more at peace again with him. Calm, like he really does get it.

He responds to the shift in your expression by relaxing his own. A small crinkle forms at the corners of his eyes, a subtle curve of his lips.

Now that you’re both feeling a little better, you can admit to yourself that you were jealous. Not just because the girl was everything that you were made to think you should be, but because this stranger, gorgeous as he is, is so nice.

He’s sweet and you want that in your next partner. You want to have someone care about you genuinely. You’re a little ashamed of wanting to claim him. Do you even dare entertain the thought?

“Yeah, I think you probably do,” you smile wider, turning in your seat to face him like he’s facing you.

“Now that you know all about my depression, would you like to know my name?” you ask him, teasing a smile.

He smiles more freely, “On a first date? Isn’t that moving kinda fast?”

Your stomach tumbles, heart sprinting at his words.

“A date?”

He only smiles wider, your heart stuttering before taking off at double speed again.

You tell him your name and then bite your lip, unable to believe your good luck.

“What about that other girl? You told her you weren’t looking for a date,” you wonder.

“Well, how can I be looking for a date when I’m already on one? Besides, how many girls do you think I can come across before I find another one wearing a shirt about my favorite book again?” he asks, all sincerity.

“Your favorite book is to Kill a Mockingbird?”

His smile is blinding.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he nods, reaching out to shake your hand. “My name is Clark. Clark Kent.”

You take it and almost faint as your head goes dizzy at the soft touch of his skin.

The veins of his forearm bulge as he squeezes gently but he doesn’t actually shake it and instead seems to just hold your hand.

“Wait, I’ve seen your editorials before. You work at the Daily Planet.”

“I do,” he nods.

Your stomach suddenly falls, jealousy raking up along your ribs to settle around your heart to make it ache.

“Aren’t you dating Lois Lane? I thought-you two went to one of my boss’s parties together.”

It had been so long ago. Months and months. You remember Mr. Wayne going on about his friends Clark and Lois. You hadn’t met them, but Mr. Wayne had left to greet them when they’d arrived.

Clark’s own face falls just a tad, a small melancholic shift but it’s not deep. He keeps his smile, though smaller, and nods.

“We broke up last year,” he confesses, still not releasing your hand.

His thumb grazes against the back of it, sending goosebumps up from that point to spread along your arms and the rest of your body.

“I’m...not sorry?” you laugh, unable to help yourself because how can you be sorry about it now?

Clark also chuckles, “You know, right now, suddenly I’m not either.”

Before you can think of something cute to say, your stomach gurgles loudly, announcing to anyone close enough to hear that you’re hungry.

“Oh,” you utter, embarrassed as you finally take your hand back to rub your belly. “Sorry, I guess I haven’t eaten in a bit.”

“They have a menu here, I’ll grab us one.”

He rises and is gone before you can stop him and holy hell does he have a nice butt.

Watching him leave, you contemplate the way he used the word “us” so casually and wiggle with the pleasure it gives you.

As quick as you can, you look for any reflective surface and settle on the window across from you on which you can barely see yourself.

It’s enough though and you quickly go about fixing your hair which is surprisingly not bad even after all the treatments you’ve undergone.

A soft voice calls your name, the young woman who’s been escorting you.

“Hi, are you ready for your next treatment?” she smiles at you politely, kindly even, her body slightly bent down so that she won’t speak too loud and disturb the other people enjoying the hot room.

“Oh, um...I’m actually super hungry and I was going to order something to eat?”

The idea of being taken away to somewhere that you can’t be around Clark devastates you. You haven’t been this into anyone in so long.

“Oh okay! What would you like to order? Did you get a menu?”

The young woman gestures over her shoulder as if asking if she should go get you one.

“Actually-” but you don’t get to explain because Clark suddenly steps up to loom over both of you.

He doesn’t mean to, you don’t think, he’s just so big and he kind of naturally just looms.

“Hi,” he greets her kindly, and she flushes.

You can’t blame her. She takes a step back to put some space between herself and Clark and she’s seriously flustered. He’s hot.

Clark squeezes back by and sits himself in his seat before opening the paper menu and leaning towards you to give you a look.

You read through the choices quickly and nothing looks too crazy.

“Ooh, this one looks good,” you tell him, pointing down at the bottom of the menu.

“Should we get that one?”

“Yeah!” you reply eagerly, excited for the food.

You’re really very hungry.

“Can we get the gourmet pizza?” Clark asks, “And an order of the mini muffins? What kind are they?”

“Blueberry today,” the girl informs him, back to her composed and professional attitude.

“Two orders of those. And…”

“You don’t offer any kind of burger?” you ask the young woman looking back at her.

She smiles kindly but shakes her head, “No, sorry. The closest would be the sandwiches. We have tuna, cucumber, egg salad, and ham.”

While they sound like normal sandwiches, you have a suspicion that they’re going to be fancy in one way or another.

“Can we have an order of the tuna?”

She nods.

“And we’ll get the chocolate fondue, for desert?” Clark adds, folding up the menu and handing it to your escort.

“Alrighty, and for drinks? We can bring just plain water or perhaps some herb infused tea?”

“Do you have any sweet tea?” you wonder.

She nods.

“Two please,” Clark smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” your escort says and hurries off to put in the order.

Both of you watch her go then when you meet Clark’s eyes, he laughs, just once. Failing to keep it inside.

“Did we order too much?” you wonder.

“I’m hungry too,” Clark assures you.

“I really wanted a burger,” you lament. “I mean, this food will probably be better than some greasy burger but-”

“A burger sounds like heaven. I love greasy burgers. Double meat. Triple cheese. Lots of pickles.”

He makes a funny face, pretending to salivate over the image he’s painted and while it’s a subtle change in his expression, you can tell that he’s more prone to being serious and that makes the gesture funnier for some reason.

You laugh, shaking your head.

He laughs with you, leaning back in his lounge.

You follow his lead, then turn onto your side and shove an arm underneath your head.

He mimics your pose, drawing his long legs up a little to bend them.

“I’m sorry about earlier, with the locker room? I really didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to change in there.”

Clark’s smiles shift to a soft curve of his lips.

“I’m the one that should be apologizing,” he counters. “I walked in on you.”

“But you had no idea I’d be in there half naked, I kinda just thrust my body at you.”

There’s a beat, he looks down at your chair instead of maintaining eye contact, then, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Your neck is suddenly on fire. Cheeks, ears, the base of your belly. It all burns as your heart stutters.

As he looks up to meet your eyes again, those baby blues burning with a striking spark, something he said when you first came in here replays itself in your head.

You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, “Hey, when I came in here, I apologized for staring at your naked upper body and you said that it was only fair I get a good look too.

“Are you saying you saw me when you clearly said you didn’t in the locker room?!”

Clark averts his eyes, clearing his throat loudly before throwing himself onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

“I’m gonna have to get my friend something really good in return for gifting me this spa day,” Clark says, pointedly changing the subject.

But he has a point. This has been the best little indulgence you’ve ever given yourself and none of it could have been possible without Mr. Wayne’s generosity.

“Me too. I’ll have to make sure my boss knows how glad I am that he forced me to come here.”

Clark smiles, “What’s your next treatment? Did you pick them before you came?”

“We could do that?” You gasp.

Clark just smiles wider.

“No, I’m just going with the flow. The girl who took our order has been suggesting stuff and I’ve just been going with it.”

“I have a fresh water soak after this. You should join me.” Clark offers.

After the hot room, a swim in some fresh water sounds like heaven. And extending your time with Clark is a definite bonus.

“Aren’t we not supposed to swim for thirty minutes after we eat?” you tease.

Clark chuckles, “It’s a soak.”

Then, his voice shifts and you’re knocked breathless as he basically pleads with you.

“Join me. Only if you want to. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Your brain is buzzing with that pleading voice of his. Gentle urging that betrays his want to be with you rather than wanting to control you.

“A fresh water soak sounds amazing.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing could ever top today. You and Clark stuck together the rest of the day. It was fun getting to know him and exciting because the longer you two spent time together, the closer he sat to you.

As you dropped your spa outfit into a canvas souvenir bag that your attendee had given you at your last treatment--a couple’s massage that you and Clark had talked all the way through--Clark peeked around his own locker door, shutting it.

“So, I was thinking,” he began, moving to lean beside your locker as he towers over you, making you internally swoon with the curve of his lips.

“Yeah?” you urge him on, taking your other belongings and throwing them into the canvas bag along with your spa outfit which is also free for you to take.

“I have some things to do tonight but, how would you like to get some burgers tomorrow?”

“Are you asking me out on a second date, Clark?” as much as you wish you could sound like you were teasing, your excitement betrays you and Clark beams at your tone.

“Definitely,” he says low and deep.

Fuck, you’re totally screwed. You’re falling hard.

You really want to reach up and gently slide the curl falling on his forehead to the side lightly, but you resist the urge.

“I’d love to go out and get greasy burgers with you,” you bite your lip and Clark’s expression shifts a bit more serious but there’s a fire in his eyes, a darkening as his pupils dilate that makes your heart stutter.

“Come on,” Clark nods towards the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

He bumps into you, flirtatiously nudging you as he leads you out and you return his gentle push with your own.

“Had you been to a spa like this before?”

“No,” Clark shakes his head. “I actually don’t get much benefit at these places. It feels good, but it’s not really my thing. You?”

“I feel cleaner than I ever have,” you scoff. “But I could never afford it. Even the cheap places. I’d rather just take a walk around a park or something.”

“Me too,” Clark agrees, smiling.

As the two of you walk out into the parking lot, the cooler air outside feels pleasant against your treated skin.

In the setting sun light, Clark looks especially good and you can’t help yourself. You steal several glances at him with no worry as to hiding it.

You’re happy to see he’s doing it too.

“Oh good,” a familiar voice interrupts, pulling your feet to a stop as you search for your boss’s face. “You two met.”

“Wait, us two-?”

“Bruce?” Clark also stops beside you, eyes narrowed, a crinkle between his eyes.

You look between the two of them, confused but starting to put two and two together.

“Bruce? You-Mr. Wayne is your friend who gave you the voucher?” you realize.

Clark looks at you, his own realizations starting to manifest.

“Bruce is your boss?”

Mr. Wayne moves towards the two of you, hands shoved into his long charcoal gray coat. There’s a satisfied grin on his handsome face, a pride in what you realize must have been a carefully crafted maneuver.

Clark looks at you, a knowing smile on his face as if amused but maybe also a little irritated? Not with you, of course. Clearly his annoyance is with Mr. Wayne.

“You did this,” he accepts, looking back at Mr. Wayne with a tilt of his head.

“I didn’t do anything,” Mr. Wayne denies. “I just gave you two a free day at the spa. Did she tell you why I gave her the voucher?”

“She did,” Clark nods.

“Not every PR rep would overlook a five hundred million dollar investment in order to keep us clean from associating with a suspected illegal arms dealer. Most of them would just look the other way.” Mr. Wayne brags.

A look of understanding crossing Clark’s face and he looks down at you, smiling again as if he’s pieced together a puzzle.

“It was really nothing, Mr. Wayne, and thank you for today. I-I’m actually really glad I came. I would have hated it if the voucher expired.”

“Expired?” Clark asks, turning that confused look back on his friend. “They don’t expire.”

Mr. Wayne clears his throat and turns his full body away from you both, looking back at his shiny expensive sports car.

“Yeah, they do,” he says.

“Bruce,” Clark chides.

“We’re gonna be late,” Mr. Wayne says, ignoring Clark’s reprimand, then looks at you as he pretends he wasn’t just caught in a lie. “Do you have a ride home?”

“Yeah, I brought my car,” you gesture at a modest white sedan parked a few spots over.

“Good. I’ll see you on Monday. Clark?” Mr. Wayne urges him, then walks towards his car.

“I’ll be right there,” Clark tells him, then waits for you to lead the way to your car.

Your heart is still thrumming rapidly with the realization that Mr. Wayne went out of his way to make sure you and Clark met. A set up?

You stop by your car door and unlock it. Clark is quick to take the door from you as you open it and he holds it with his left arm as you turn to look up at him.

“I had a lot of fun today, despite the obvious premeditation of us meeting,” you scoff. “I’m glad I met you.”

You’re quickly becoming acquainted with the gentle curve of Clark’s lips, the peek of his pearly whites as he blushes and meets your eyes.

“I’m glad Bruce interfered,” he nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow for burgers?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you assure him.

After a moment of hesitation, he reaches out and places his hand on your bicep then traces the length of your arm until he can take your hand.

It sets your skin on fire. It makes you dizzy and breathless.

“You have my number,” you remind him, eager to reconnect if he has the time.

He gives you that pearly smile, blue eyes full of excitement, “I’ll call you later. Tonight?”

You nod, “Tonight.”

He waits for you to get in, shutting the door for you when you’re sitting.

You lower the window as he backs away, “Bye.”

“Bye,” he nods, then turns to meet Mr. Wayne at his car.

“What?” Bruce asks, “It’s been months. She’s perfect for you.”

“Really?!” you can hear Clark demand, more annoyed with his friend again than any consequences his actions might have brought, however positive.

“You like her, don’t you?” Mr. Wayne asks.

“That’s not the point, Bruce. Boundaries.” Clark reminds him. “Why did you lie to her?”

“I knew you were coming today, I had to get her here,” Mr. Wayne explains. “Besides, you’re-”

As their doors shut, you’re cut off from their distant conversation. You shut your window, watch them speed out, and smile to yourself at the unexpected turn your spa day took.

#clark kent x reader #superman x reader #clark x reader #dceu fanfiction #dc fanfiction #clark kent #superman #bruce wayne #batman #dc oneshot

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probablyintensemuses · 3 years

Text

Telephone

Summary: you met Bucky at a grocery store when you were struggling to reach the top shelf— enamored by him you two exchange phone numbers and begin a friendship. But what happens when suddenly your text messages aren’t going through and your phone calls drop? Did Bucky Barnes block you?

Bucky Barnes x reader (tfatws era)

Warnings: fluff, a bit or angst, platonic friendship.

You let out an exasperated groan, almost at the top of your lungs. This was the third day you had called and text Bucky with no avail—hell every time you did your messages never went through. And you didn’t want to be that clingy person, because things were hard post blip and you knew that. You had just gotten your mom and sister back after five long year’s without them, so you knew adjusting would take time and space. But this much space was ridiculous and it was beginning to bother you—a lot. So you grabbed your keys and stormed down your apartments stairs. Heading towards Bucky’s favorite place—the local Japanese restaurant that you introduced him to, where he found solace in you,Yori and Leah.

After practically breaking the door off it’s hinges you storm into the restaurant. Immediately directing your attention to the bar where Bucky sat talking to Yori and going for a swig of his beer. With your keys jiggling in your hands you approach the two men; your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you watch Bucky laugh at a joke Leah told.

Slowly, Yori turned around and shoots you a wrinkled smile before announcing your presence. “Oh, good day Y/n—won’t you join us for some sushi—it’s tuna!” Yuri beamed, pointing to the half eaten plate of sushi in front of him.

When Yori spoke up you watched Bucky still, his entire body frozen. Bucky groaned to himself, taking a last sip of his beer before pushing himself up from his seat, all while ignoring your presence.

You smiled back at Yori, delighted by his offer. “I’d love to, but I’m vegetarian, Bucky would know that, wouldn’t you Bucky?” You said sarcastically.

“Yori, lovely as always—but I’m going to go. Next ones on me!” Bucky said, stumbling out of his chair throwing down a five dollar bill for a tip and brushing past you.

You scoffed, blowing Yori a kiss before rushing after him. You raced after Bucky as he strode down the sidewalk. You had to jog as he was already a mile ahead of you—and his apartment wasn’t too far.

“Bucky, Bucky!” You called, but before you could get his name out for a third time he had already entered the battered building that was his apartment.

“Shit.” You grunted, holding your waist and taking a few deep breaths, because let’s face it you were no super solider.

Composing yourself, you push open the lobby doors sneaking past the landlord who was snoring loudly as a bug landed right on his forehead. Your nose scrunched in disgust—you told Bucky how much you despised this building and if he ever needed another place you had a two bedroom, but he always suggested otherwise. Stepping out of the creaking elevator you made your way down the gloomy hallway, placing yourself onto his welcome mat and banging on the door like a maniac.

“Bucky! Bucky! I know you’re in there! It’s Y/n let me in we need to talk!” You shouted, as you continuously slapped your hand against his door.

You took a deep breath before banging even louder. “James Bucky Barnes let me—.”

“Hey!” A voice called, startling you a bit.

Slowly, you turn your head to where the voice had come from, only to be face to face with a not so happy tenet.

“Some people have to work a twelve hour shift in two hours, so if you don’t mind visiting your booty call later that would be appreciated.” The man snarled

You scoffed, taking a step back. “Okay, whatever.”

“Thanks.” He said rudely, before slamming his door shut.

“Bucky please, I just want to talk to you. I miss you—and I was going to show you Uno.” You knock softly, whispering against his door not sure if he was going to hear it or not.

But Bucky heard every word. Actually he had heard everything because he’d been leaning against his door for the past three minutes. He felt horrible, and it was his own stupid fault that you two were right here. You were like the sibling he never asked for. You were kind and funny—always teaching him about the vast 21st century. You took him shopping and even helped furnish his once barren apartment, and when you two had a sleep over you didn’t judge him for wanting to sleep on the floor instead of in your guest room. Instead you made it the best sleeping arrangement you could—Bucky adored you, he did. But what if the darkness came back and dimmed your light, or what if you got hurt. He couldn’t live with himself. He was already suffering from ptsd, depression, and the massive guilt of killing Yori’s son—he couldn’t live a day if you got hurt on his behalf. So he cut you out, blocking your phone number and avoiding you at the places you two had loved to go together—except it didn’t work this time, as you were right outside his door.

You slide to the floor, pulling a sticky note and pen from your bag. You were a cartoonist and your favorite way to cheer someone up was to make them into one of your “2 minute cartoon skits.” On the sticky note you drew you and Bucky playing uno at his table laughing with glee and chugging beers. At the bottom you wrote ‘this could be us,’ before sliding it underneath his door. You knew he’d see it, there was no way he wouldn’t.

And surely enough he did, Bucky picked up the note between his fingers a small smile creeping on his face as he picked himself off the floor. He figured if he didn’t let you in now you’d stay out there all day—all week if it was physically possible. Bucky took a deep sigh and unlocked his door revealing you, standing there with pursed lips and scolding eyes. You pushed past him and walked inside his apartment plopping onto his sofa.

“Are you serious.” You spat.

“Y/n.” Bucky groaned, pinching his nose with his vibranium arm.

“Bucky you told me that your therapist said you needed to form and keep relationships. This isn’t helping.”

Bucky sighed, placing his hands on his hips as he held his head low. “You don’t think i know that. I’m trying I really am, I’m just—.”’

“You’re just what?” You stand walking towards him.

“I’m scared.” He whispered.

“Of me?”

“Of me.” He said softly.

“Why?” You gasped. “I don’t understand Bucky.” You said, taking his hand and pulling you both onto his sofa.

“Y/n—I’m better off alone.”

You rolled your eyes taking a deep breath, this had to be the fifth time Bucky had said this to you—and every time you proved him different.

“No you’re not! If you didn’t have me who would show you how to work your phone or play just dance.” You spoke.

Bucky chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “I still don’t understand why we can’t just dance to the music.”

“Because I like to watch the characters dance—and it’s a competition, it's supposed to be fun! But that’s not the point, the point is that you don’t need to be alone and you definitely don’t deserve that.” You said. “Bucky I know we've only known each other for a few months, but I care about you and it hurts when you push me away." You cried.

"Y/n." Bucky whispered gently. "I care about you too, but I'm difficult, my life is difficult.”

You squeezed Bucky’s hand, rubbing the top of his palm. “Then let me help you make it easier.”

Bucky nodded. Realization hitting him, he cared for you and he knew you were right. The road from leaving his title as ‘the winter soldier’ and reclaiming his old life as ‘James Barnes’ started here. It started with forming and keeping friendships and he intended on starting with you.

“Okay.” Bucky said firmly.

“Okay.” You affirmed. “So a round of uno?”

Bucky laughed, throwing his head back. “Only if you teach me the real rules and not the y/n rules.”

“Oh you love my rules Bucky.” You snickered.

“I do.” He grinned, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

“I know.”

A/N: This was a cute idea I had for a whileeeeeee, ever since I saw the trailer for tfatws and now I can really do it with more depth and added characters! This is my first character x reader! I do writing for marvel and Harry Potter so if that interest you this is the place to be! Thank you for the support🍄❤️🌈

#blackoc #angst #platonic #bucky imagine #bucky barns imagine #bucky fluff #bucky x reader #tfatws #james barnes #x reader #frienship #the blip #buckysam #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes

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xenteaart · 3 years

Text

You’re a Cat, Hargreeves

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Request 1: Hello, so Five has been through a LOT in just two weeks, so can I request something where the reader and him have a bit of intimacy but are not together yet. Then something happens that is just the last drop to him and he shows up to the reader with red and glossy eyes and collapses in her arms? She just holds him (because boy, he needs it) and after a while he manages to talk about things letting his feelings for her slip in the process. Then she can just calm him down and make him feel loved.

Request 2: Could I request a fanfic where Five has a terrible day at the Commission or in the Apocalypse and at bedtime the Reader comforts him, and he suddenly becomes the little spoon for the first time? Idk I think it would be cute to see him shy and secretly liking

!!! Note: Since these two requests have a common theme of Five being stressed as fuck and having a breakdown I’ve decided to combine them. Personally I imagine this scenario in my Commission AU, HOWEVER, I intentionally didn’t make it very specific in terms of the circumstances so you can headcanon whatever u like <3 also sorry its not the exact scenario from your requests but i hope you don’t mind me taking some creative liberty.

also both Five and Reader are in their 20s here coz otherwise i’m very uncomfortable

massive thanks to @wonders-of-the-multiverse for helping me out with wording the physicality of certain things <33333

GIF: @maxiemayfield

You’ve seen Five in many different states.

You’ve seen him anxious and spiraling, you’ve seen him furious and borderline insane; depressed and distant, lost and confused. At this point, you genuinely thought you’d seen it all but, apparently, you were wrong.

“I am just so tired.” Five whispered almost inaudibly with a sigh so desperate that it made your stomach turn.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice small as you weren’t quite sure how to act yet.

He glanced at you, and you couldn’t help but notice his eyes glistening with salty wetness that was about to spill out and smear his frustration all over his cheeks.

You always loved Five’s eyes - his huge, almost puppy dog eyes that made you absolutely lose yourself in their depth. Whenever you looked into them, you saw wisdom, maturity, exhaustion and patience, dedication and passion, all at the same time. There was a whole other universe behind his blue orbs, and you admired it endlessly. Looking into his eyes right now, however, was nowhere near as exciting and pleasant. Instead, it felt like some strange and violent ache was gripping you at the very heart and squeezing it without mercy, and you winced at the sensation as worry and concern were uncontrollably blossoming inside your ribcage.

Five didn’t grant you with an answer, too busy trying to hold back his tears and clenching his teeth proudly as if there was any point at all.

You got up on your feet and approached Five slowly, careful not to freak him out as you were giving him the time to get used to your presence in his personal space. Normally, he wouldn’t mind yet you couldn’t tell if the same rules applied to scenarios like the one taking place.

“I’m here, yeah? It’s okay, you’re okay,” you kept repeating like a mantra as you pulled Five into your embrace.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck and you instantly felt your skin getting damp. In just a few seconds Five’s entire body relaxed into yours and he wrapped his arms around you tightly, finally letting go and allowing himself to have a proper cry. He hadn’t had one in years, and, by all means, he was entitled to this breakdown.

Most of the time, Five was the one protecting you - looking out for you and leading the both of you out of dangerous and potentially lethal situations. Not that it was a completely one-sided dynamic but it was true that you tended to rely on him quite a lot in times of crisis. Five was good in crisis, exceptional actually. He made decisions quickly and didn’t hesitate to do absolutely anything it took to achieve his goals, which, unfortunately, meant that he was often forced to make choices where humanity and ethics were no longer a top priority.

Despite all that, Five always seemed in control, and even when he wasn’t, you knew he’d get it back eventually. You had placed your trust in him at all times, and only now were you starting to realize that it must have felt like a huge weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Granted, he was objectively smarter and more capable due to his superpowers but he was still human.

Hearing Five’s hopeless and feverish sobbing was unnerving, and you could only imagine what was going on in his cluttered and clearly overloaded mind as he was bawling his eyes out with such raw and genuine fury. From the lack of a better idea you simply waited for Five to cry himself out, patiently holding him in your arms and whispering words of reassurance into the air, not so much out of hope he’d hear them and listen but more as a means of letting him feel you were still there.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Five finally uttered but his words rather quickly got drowned in his weeping. You still got the message, though.

“You deserve to rest, Five,” you replied, feeling your legs start to shake from the weight of Five’s entire body leaning on your form. As much as you wanted to stay like this for as long as he needed, you couldn’t exactly go against your evident physical disadvantage. Five was a heavy gentleman, after all.

“Hey, let’s move to the bed, yeah?” it was more of a statement than a question, so you stepped towards the bed suggestively, expecting him to follow you. To your relief, he didn’t resist and followed your lead right away, seemingly too exhausted to even think, let alone disobey.

Five’s body was limp from the absence of energy, all of which had presumably gone into crying, and he could barely manage to walk on his own, so you grabbed at his shoulders to steady him.

It felt like his physical self was now merely a vehicle with no pilot to steer it, and his mind was long lost someplace else.

As you sat Five down, you caressed his cheek with your thumb, wiping away the trails of his tears whilst also trying to gently break him out of the prison of his troubled and restless brain. To your disappointment, it failed to spark any sort of response.

Right in this moment, he looked almost defenseless. Sure, he wasn’t an incapable baby all of a sudden but he was relying on you, reversing your roles and putting all of his worries and pain on your shoulders, basically asking you to carry them for him because he simply couldn’t anymore.

“Fives. Fives? Look at me, please?” you called, trying to shift his attention to something on the outside because you knew it was the looking inside that pushed him to crumble.

“Focus on my voice, alright?” you tried to keep your tone as steady and stern as you possibly could because right now you were his only bridge back to reality.

You pressed your palms against Five’s shoulders and slowly climbed onto his lap, resting your weight atop of him completely and hoping the pressure of it would manage to snap him out of his almost delirious daze.

As your hand reached for Five’s, you placed it on your chest right where your heart was beating and said:

“Can you feel it? It means I’m alive, Fives. I’m a human and a consciousness just like you. And I'm never leaving your side, no matter the circumstances. You’re never going to be alone, I promise you.”

You took Five by his chin with your other hand and softly guided his gaze upwards to meet your own, noticing his red glossy eyes finally regaining some clarity. The very peak of Five’s episode had already passed, and, as he was coming down from it, he encircled your waist with his arm and let his head sink to your shoulder with his eyes closed shut.

Still sitting straddled across his lap, you brushed your fingers through his soft silky hair and began to massage his scalp in a calming manner, trying to release some of the tension and lull him further into peacefulness. As your fingers moved a little lower, you knew you’d hit the sweet spot because Five literally purred into your skin as soon as he felt your nails gently scratch at the nape of his neck.

“How many times did I say you’re a cat, Hargreeves,” you rolled your eyes at his reaction and couldn’t resist a wide smile as you buried your nose in his hair. Five hummed quietly, and it was the only response you were going to get from him, which, to be fair, was already a big improvement so you couldn't really complain.

“How about we get you into some comfier clothes, wash your face and then you can tell me all about what’s been on your mind, hm?” you proposed confidently, still holding Five close and practically enveloping him in your warmth.

Your every movement was saturated with such understanding and care that not for a split second did Five feel like his vulnerability was making him weak or unworthy. It was quite the opposite, and with each passing moment he was beginning to feel like you were only making him stronger.

He nodded at your suggestion approvingly but didn’t move an inch, and you took it as a hint that he needed a few more minutes of sitting in silence; the bridge of his nose pressed to your collarbone as he was still finding his way back into the present.

You didn’t mind at all.

#five hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #five hargreeves x you #number five x you #tua fic #The Umbrella Academy #my fic #my writing #five hargreeves #number five

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kirisaki-daichi-scenarios · 3 years

Text

studies on an asexual haizaki

tw: aphobia (internalised and otherwise); toxic masculinity; (mild) sexual harassment and objectification of women

It starts when Haizaki’s in his first year of middle school, when he’s with his older brother, running errands for their mother (for a change).

“You see that chick over there?” says his older brother, as Haizaki chucks a chocolate bar into the shopping basket (what’s the point in agreeing to buy groceries if you don’t get a little something out of it). “She’s so fucking hot. Man, I’d like to fuck her, cum all over her- Hey, Shougo are you listening?”

Haizaki has been busy deciding whether he should get himself another chocolate bar whilst he’s at it. When his brother elbows him, he glances up at the woman in question - she vaguely looks like his teacher from a while back, with that permanently pissed off expression on her face - and then back down at the chocolate.

“I’m listening,” he replies, blatantly not.

“Guess you’re too young - has puberty not hit you yet?”

His brother’s voice twists into a mocking tone - his laugh is like that of a playground bully’s.

Without thinking, Haizaki snaps, “I’m past puberty. Fuck off. She’s just boring - I see girls like her all the time.”

His brother laughs again, and slaps Shougo’s shoulder.

“If you say so, kid,” he grabs himself a chocolate bar too - now there’s three in the shopping basket, “but, next time you’re chatting with your friends - if you have any, make sure you know how to act. Or else you’ll embarrass yourself. Sex is what being a man is all about.”

The woman looks in their direction. The older Haizaki brother makes a thrusting gesture with his crotch. Her cheeks go an angry red, and she storms off. Judging by his brother’s chuckle, Haizaki presumes that her reaction is a good thing.

That’s the thing about Haizaki Shougo; he’s a good learner, and he’s quick to adapt. Not long after the grocery store event, he gets reported to the headmaster for being overly sexual to the female students (wolf-whistling, straying hands, making ‘jokes’ that are nothing of the sort), and telling one of his female teachers that he’ll only listen in her classes if she strips for him. His mother is furious with him on the way home - he’s been suspended for a few days, and the only reason he hasn’t been expelled is that the headmaster understands that Haizaki’s at an age where his hormones are all over the place.

“’Boys will be boys!’” his mother quotes when they get home, as Haizaki stands awkwardly in the doorway, “all you boys will be is the death of me. Hormones are no excuse for your behaviour!”

Her rant almost convinces him that there’s no real reason to do what he does - his hormones (he worries) are still very much dormant - but, before he can start to contemplate his behaviour, his older brother (who is actually expelled from school - always one step ahead of Haizaki - and is probably going to drop out high school soon anyway) interjects,

“Hey, he’s growing up. You should be praising him - Shougo’s finally becoming a man-“

Their mother then starts yelling at him too, for being such an awful influence, but the diversion of her attention gives Haizaki enough time to disappear up to his room, and lock the door behind him - the way his older brother does when he’s watching porn.

Coincidentally, it’s his older brother who introduced Haizaki to porn too - not directly, but Haizaki saw it on his computer when he was borrowing it to play video games. It’s porn which introduces Haizaki to the thrilling and shivering tension that is getting off. It’s the first thing he thinks of when he gets home, chucking his homework on the growing pile of late sheets and assignments.

And he’ll watch practically anything, no matter how violent (though he stops short of brown showers; even he can’t get off to that), because, regardless of the content, he gets that feeling of release at the end. And it’s when he cleans up the sticky white liquid that he feels most like a man. Most like his brother.

The tricky part only comes when his brother starts pretending he gives a shit about his younger brother’s life. When he starts asking questions like “any of your classmates sexy?” or “who’s your favourite porn star?” Really, Haizaki doesn’t particularly care about people - he just likes getting off; even the concept of sex doesn’t massively beguile him.

But he can’t tell his older brother that. Instead, he says something about how all pussies look the same - so who cares about the girl attached - and his brother tells him never to say that to a chick, or she’ll slap him, so Haizaki says that “it’s more entertaining when they fight you”, and his brother says “you sick fuck” but laughs, to emphasis that it’s not an insult.

The only problem is that, back at school, people are starting to sleep with one another. Not everyone, but very much Haizaki’s crowd. And that makes Haizaki’s life a little trickier, cause he’s real good at talking about porn, but real bad talking about actual girls, and all he can say is that these girls are nothing like porn stars, so how could he want to fuck any of them? His companions (not many) take that as meaning that Haizaki’s into older women. And he can’t correct them, because otherwise they could get suspicious that he’s gay - and he’s not, but there’s definitely something wrong with his head, since his hormones still haven’t started acting up.

So, just to shut them, he decides he’ll fuck Kise’s girl. (If she’s Kise’s girl, then she’s definitely hot, aka definitely the type of girl he should be fucking).

And they do fuck. They fuck in her bedroom, when her parents are away, but it’s still awkward as shit cause it feels like her teddy bear is staring at Haizaki’s naked body the whole time. So, when Haizaki finally cums, when he yells out ‘fuck’, what he really means is ‘why won’t this bear stop fucking look at me’ and not ‘this pussy is so fucking tight’.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting from sex, but it’s definitely not this.

There’s something so repulsive about her face now, as he’s staring at her from the distance, like his head and his dick are connected to two different bodies.

“We should do this again,” she murmurs, running her hands down his chest.

“Nah,” Haizaki swallows, makes his voice so gravelly and uninterested (like he imagines his brother would, in a similar situation), “you weren’t good enough.”

At school the next day, she starts crying and screaming at him - which solidifies the rumours that he’s a player, and brings him a whole lot of respect from all the guys in his class, because not only does he have sex, but he’s also had so much of it that he doesn’t even care about it anymore.

“It’s just sex, right?” says Haizaki with a cigarette in his lips, in high school later on, “it’s no big deal.”

The first year he’s talking to has his eyes wide, like he’s realising just how big the gap is between himself and his senior - after all, Haizaki would never get embarrassed asking out his crush, and Haizaki would never get a hard on in the middle of a presentation, and Haizaki would never wait for his girl to say that they should ‘make love’. Hell, Haizaki never even uses the phrase ‘make love’; he just says ‘fuck’, like all the other cool guys.

What the first year doesn’t recognise is that Haizaki only doesn’t use the phrase cause he’s convinced that love and sex are worlds apart (if they’re not, then Haizaki will never love someone - and that thought depresses him, even if he pretends it doesn’t). And Haizaki only says ‘fuck’ because that’s the word his older brother used, and all Haizaki wants to be is his older brother.

But the first year better never recognise that, thinks Haizaki, as he lets a girl suck him off (staring at everything but not her face) because then he’ll see Haizaki as Haizaki sees himself: a joke.

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costellos · 4 years

Text

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮!

—asks received between Sept. 1 and Sept. 16.

anonymous asked: My all time favorite concept is cuddly Stands. Wingman Stands. The ones that figure out that I like someone and then proceed to act on it. I can just picture sitting there, beating down my feelings for Polnareff or Kakyoin and all of a sudden, my Stand just starts nuzzling into their neck and we make direct eye contact. I start trying to apologize but my Stand just keeps hugging and kissing them. I firmly believe someone (probably Joseph) would tease me about it. 😂🥺

AHHHHH I LOVE THIS!!! stands are basically a shadow of yourself sooo 👀 I think Silver Chariot and Emerald Splash would be flustered. especially Chariot; Polnareff acts suave but I like to think that the moment his flirting is returned the man just shuts down. Emerald Splash would handle it a lil better, but Kakyoin is doing everything he can to downplay the situation. you? like him? ugh, that’s unimaginable. although he’d tease you about it, that pink blush is unmistakable.

anonymous asked: Ight, concept time. Im in college for massage therapy, and we spend a lot of out lab time massaging one another (and it's soooo niiiice. My touch starved quarantined ass LOVES it.) Anyway. Now I can't get it out of my head of treating my faves to a nice massage. Ceasar and Joseph after training. Literally all of the Crusaders, especially sweet Polnareff. Using swords is tough work! Id love to help him relax. (Something tells me Joot wouldn't want to cooperate. No matter. I'll massage Star. 🥰)

omg that sounds amazing! I’m so envious.... can I come to your massage therapy class? anyway, I think all of them would appreciate it! some would be more excited than others (Joseph, Polnareff), but most would be super hesitant (Caesar, Avdol, Kakyoin) or would straight up reject you (Oldseph, Jotaro). just put those hands to work and they’d melt to your touch. they’d be in the middle of protesting and the moment u so much as pinch their shoulders they just go “hhhggghh... nice......” (Star would be your best client, he’s so happy to have any sort of attention from you 😊)

💘 anon asked: 😔😔i’m here to openly confess my love for pannacotta fugo, i’m gathering my brain cells to write you good concepts but for now, i wanna give him a hug and tell him it’s okay and purple haze isn’t that scary bc have you seen a depressed bitch’s dirty ass room before?? that’s scary purple haze ain’t nothing (ps i’m bitch)

PUT THOSE BRAIN CELLS TO WORK, GIRL. I WANT UR BEST CONCEPTS!!!

hmmm... it depends on the situation on whether or not Fugo would accept your words. if you’re just coming up to him out of the blue, I think he’d brush you off. but if you’re calming him down after an outburst and you’re persistent about talking with him, he’d be much more receptive. he’s so lost and so, so scared yet having you here, holding him, would remind him that not all things in the world are terrible. although he still doesn’t think he deserves you, he’s glad that you’re here nonetheless.

just a soft anon 💖 asked: Bro. I'm taking my fine art entrance exams tomorrow morning and I'm 😃 afraid because it's gonna be my third attempt and I can't stand the idea of spending another year of my life on prep for that stupid school. I just hope Mista would be proud of me. Ftuefhsjjagj anyway I hope you're doing ok Toya bby

just a soft anon!!! I’m so sorry about the late reply! but I know you put your best effort in your entrance exams and I’m so proud of you for getting it done and over with 💕 please let me know how you did!

Mista would 100% be proud of you! he’d be waiting outside of the entrance, and the moment he sees you come out, his face would just light up. he’d be so proud of you for finishing your exam. and even if you’re not sure of your results, he’d pick you up in a giant hug and tell you that those admissions directors would be stupid to not accept you. I hope you’re ready to celebrate by going to your favorite restaurant, courtesy of Mista himself!!

anonymous asked: Not a request but I like to think despite appearances, Risotto likes playing cute games. Imagine his s/o showing him Pitter Patter Pop and gushing over how cute his character is. (I know Pitter Patter Pop is a Jojo game BUT LIKE. THE GAME IS SO CUTE.)

LMAOOO. it probably starts as something he plays to pass the time. like, Formaggio has been raving about it for a week now, what’s the harm in downloading it? but then it turns into a minor obsession. wow. this game is pretty cute. but what’s cuter (and funnier) is seeing Risotto show you his phone and say, “[Name]. look. they got all my poses down."

anonymous asked: Concept: Going in for a hug with Polnareff except you both lean your heads the same way and accidentally kiss 😳😂 (alternate answer, i can totally see this happening with Joseph) (I've literally done this on accident before lmao)

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Polnareff would be so embarrassed! he’d immediately pull back, eyes wide and a hand over his mouth. how he’d respond after that relies entirely on you. if you’re embarrassed too, he’d try to change the subject to diffuse the situation. if you’re into it, however, Polnareff would waste no time going in for another smooch 👀 gentler, this time. and correctly!

anonymous asked: But just think GoT universe and Ris is a targaryen. Uffff he has a sword forged from the blood of his enemies and an armour of leather and steel, and he rides into the battlefield on his massive dragon Metallica, and his king's guard's leader is Prosciutto Lannister and Ris has an alliance with the northern lord bruno stark. ufffff...

my knowledge of GoT is super limited but! imagine Risotto’s skin stained with blood and dirt. his breathing heavy and rugged. his eyes vermilion, as red as the fire that burns behind him. his muscles ache and his mouth is dry, but he’s not done with battle. not yet, at least. Prosciutto watches as Risotto advances. his armor is as beaten as his king’s, and though he’s capable of assisting Risotto, he merely places a paper rolled with fine tobacco in his mouth. he knows that this this the king’s fight.

anonymous asked: I can't imagine the circumstances, but I like to imagine Risotto teasing his s/o by holding stuff over their head (for example, the t.v remote). Maybe s/o wants to watch a certain movie but he doesn't want to lmao. Alternatively maybe they'll try to wrestle the remote from his hand but he's just sitting there, chilling while his fingers won't budge at all--

omg.... yes...... I think he’d do it with a super blank expression too. like he’s amused, he just won’t show it. the most you’ll get is a quirked brow. sometimes you see the slightest hint of a smile, and you can’t help but smile yourself. you know that action is reserved for you and you only. also his just sitting there, chillin, while his s/o tries to wrestle the remote from his hand is CANON u can’t convince me otherwise.

#risotto nero #jean pierre polnareff #noriaki kakyoin #guido mista #panacotta fugo #💘 anon #anonymous #just a soft anon 💖#concepts #there's been a lot of Risotto yearning on here lately 👀#it's ok #Risotto yearning is valid

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generallynerdy · 4 years

Text

Step By Step (Bucky Barnes X Roommate!Reader)

Summary: Step by step, Bucky Barnes was learning to put himself back together. Luckily, he’s not alone. He has Sam Wilson, a bastard cat, and you, of course.

Requested by nklnnd (AO3): Since requests are open again would it be too much to ask for an after endgame bucky/reader. Like bucky is trying to piece his life back together without Steve in a new world and his roommate/friend helps him. I don't know I just love the cute fluffy domestic moments. Ps: I adore your writing. Feel free to do whatever you want with the prompt, if you like it that is, I have complete faith in your abilities! :)

Key: (Y/N) - your name Warnings: the Snap, mentions of death, depression, depressive episodes, mentions of isolation, touches of trauma, recovery process but written badly Word Count: 1,469 (nice)

Note: i hope it’s domestic enough?? I played loose and fast with the ‘step by step’ theme i just really wanted to get this done LMAO

Step One: Survive.

Returning to Manhattan after defeating Thanos was more painful than it should’ve been. Days before, he was dead, so you think he would’ve been overjoyed. But in reality, he wished he was dead again.

Loss weighed upon his shoulders heavier than it ever had. Steve Rogers, Captain America, was gone. His Steve, his best friend Steve.

Bucky Barnes was alone.

The Avengers knew this. They thought they could help him. So, they set him up in an apartment in Brooklyn with a roommate: you. They hoped you could take care of him, help him piece his life back together.

But you weren’t sure what was left to put together. To be honest, it would probably be better for him to start anew. But he wasn’t ready for that either.

“James?”

You entered his room one quiet Saturday morning. You hadn’t seen him for a full 24 hours, which was worrying. Your concerns were confirmed when you discovered a pitch black room and the shuffling form of the Winter Soldier still in his bed.

You sighed and spoke quietly, sure that his head was pounding. “Bad day?”

He didn’t reply, but he didn’t have to.

You’d only lived together for about two weeks, but he’d already had quite a few of these days. He would shut himself away from the world, from you especially, and wouldn’t come out for at least the rest of the day. Yesterday was a bad one, too. You hoped this wouldn’t become a regular occurance.

You moved to sit on the edge of his bed. “Can I get you anything?”

There was a pause before he shook his head just slightly. You bit your lip as you looked at him. You could leave him be, let him simmer until he felt better...or maybe there was a better way to do this.

“Do you want company?” you asked hesitantly.

Step Two: Don’t isolate.

The pause was longer this time, but he finally nodded.

You scooted up the bed so that you could rest your back against the wall and sit right next to him. Carefully, you pulled your knees up to your chest and pulled your phone out of your pocket, making sure that you weren’t touching him. He hummed gratefully before the two of you sank into silence.

Step Three: Let others in.

On a good day, you and Bucky would have breakfast together before you went to work. Mostly you talked about when you’d be home and how he was doing, then you’d leave.

You weren’t entirely sure what he did all day without you there, but after a muttered movie reference, you realised he was watching Netflix religiously. Once you found out about that, you realised that you probably should get him something else so he wasn’t as painfully bored.

“I’m home!” You called one day, entering the apartment.

You found him on the couch with a show playing on the TV, which he paused as soon as you entered. “How’d your day go?” he asked quietly.

“Meh, same old, same old,” you replied cheerily, flopping onto the couch beside him. “I got you something.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and sat up, his gaze questioning. Before he had to ask, you held out a small, shiny card that had his name on the back of it and some unrecognisable logo on the front. He flipped it around to look at it, but still looked confused.

“There’s this, um, library down the street,” you told him. “I figured TV is gonna get old sometime, so I got you a card for it.”

His eyes widened and he nodded. “Thanks,” he finally said, almost wistfully.

“Yeah, of course. Just let me know when you wanna go and I can show you the way there,” you said with a smile. “It’s a really nice, quiet place. I think you’ll like it, James.”

“Bucky,” he corrected. “Only one that called me James was my mom.”

You blinked dumbly a few times before nodding. “Bucky.”

Step Four: Get into a routine.

Bucky took to the library like a fish to water. He said he wasn’t much of a book guy, but he was clearly a liar because every time he went, he checked out more books than before. On weekends, the two of you would make it a group outing, but while you were at work if he found himself lacking reading material, he would make a quick trip. The lady at the front desk already knew both of your names after a few weeks and was one of the few people Bucky actually felt like talking to regularly.

It was a massive relief, seeing as he hardly ever left the apartment otherwise.

His bad days happened less and less often, but when they did happen he was content to curl up next to you in his bed as you read your own book silently. The first time he put his head in your lap, you nearly jumped out of your skin. The next few times, however, you got into the habit of running your fingers through his hair.

Step Five: Find comfort in the little things.

And then came Alpine.

You woke up one blissful Saturday morning to find Bucky already awake and on the couch. You were about to say something about how much of an improvement that was, but then you spotted a puddle of white on his lap.

It was a cat.

“Uh…” You didn’t even know what to say.

“He climbed in through my window and he won’t leave,” Bucky said instantly, his own eyes wide. “(Y/N), what do I do?”

You were shocked silent. “I...don’t know.”

“I’ve never had a cat, is this how you get a cat?” he whispered frantically.

Apparently, it was. Bucky dubbed him Alpine and he became a permanent resident of the apartment.

He was a little bastard, but the both of you adored him. He usually slept in Bucky’s room, but he was always up and about when you woke up, purring as he invaded your personal space while you attempted to cook breakfast.

A day wasn’t complete without someone shouting; “Alpine, NO--”

Step Six: Reach out.

Slowly but surely, Bucky was putting himself back together. Or maybe he was becoming someone else-- you didn’t know. But you liked Bucky as you knew him, as he was now.

Through libraries and breakfasts, cats and Netflix, the two of you became inseparable. Bucky Barnes was quite possibly the best friend you’d ever had. You would never admit that to anyone who asked, though, as Bucky nearly died under even the slightest compliment. He was still figuring out positive reinforcement.

He still struggled with Instagram and the news often gave him a headache, but his reintegration was going smoothly. In fact, he’d made a few more friends other than you and Alpine.

“And then he fell on his face like an idiot--”

The laughter from the living room made you smile as you reentered the room, carrying three specially made sandwiches.

“Sorry we don’t have a decent dinner,” you muttered as you passed them to the boys.

Sam Wilson, ever a sweetheart, just shook his head. “Hey, sandwiches are great. I wasn’t planning on any dinner, so…”

“Sandwiches are perfect,” Bucky repeated.

You sat down on the couch in between them, gently shoving Alpine aside when he tried to get a bite of your dinner. Sam snorted at the sight while Bucky rolled his eyes fondly.

“Dibs on picking the show,” you said as you turned on the TV.

“Rude,” Sam said, mocking offense. “Age before beauty, (Y/N)!”

Bucky lifted his legs to rest on top of your lap. “In that case, I get to pick.”

“Old man,” you teased, elbowing his side. “If you’re both gonna be so whiny about it, then we should make this a regular thing. New person picks every week.”

“Deal,” Sam agreed instantly.

Bucky grinned. “Only if it doesn’t mess with your work schedule.”

You waved him off. “A little late night won’t kill me.”

“Okie dokie,” he said, finally agreeing. You turned bright red when he leaned over to kiss your cheek. “You’re the best.”

You desperately tried to ignore the way Sam waggled his eyebrows. Luckily, Bucky didn’t seem to see it. He snatched the remote from your hands, citing his age once more as Sam choked on his food when you smacked his chest.

As Bucky put on some comedy, you snuggled deeper into the couch, smiling to yourself.

One step at a time had worked wonders. He was taking bigger steps every day and, to be honest, so were you. Recovery was a slow process, but it was worth every moment just to see him smile.

Step Seven: Realise you’re not alone.

Nova Tags: @hahaboop

Masterlist

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farouchelyoptimistic · 4 years

Text

HyunJi: Recharge

"Cut!" The director's voice resonates in the empty room as he finally puts a stop to the heartbreaking scene.

Claps and impressed awe filled the room as everyone crowds around Yea Ji and Jung Se after they acted the scene of Sang Tae feeding Moon Young. It was such a perfectly executed scene that it had everyone inside the room---the staff and even mere bystanders---bawl out in silent tears. It was undeniable, the scene would not have come out as exemplary if it weren't for the magnificent talent both had possessed.

Praise and accolades come Yea Ji's way as she gets on her feet. She could only smile politely and gratefully, nodding her head with a forced out smile.

She squeezes her small body through the pool of people surrounding her. Politely excusing herself, her feet calmly rushing away. She tries her best to maintain her composure, but her heart was hurting, throat aching, chest constricting. She could feel another wave of tears coming her way and she just needed to get away for another second.

She almost wanted to run to the direction of the bathroom, holding in the painful tears that started to pool in her eyes. She needed to let it out, to ease the pain blooming all over her.

That was the downside of being a method actress. She holds on to the character significantly longer than others. Sometimes, she can never get herself to let go of the character, it's emotions, feelings, behavior, pain. It trails alongside her, even if sometimes she doesn't want to. She can't escape it when she wants to, so she's learned to deal with it. She has to.

Her assistants, and a few of the staff who were genuinely worried about her trail her. They follow her, carrying mini fans, a box of tissues, and a few bottles of water. They followed cautiously, respecting the space she puts between them.

When she hastily slips inside the bathroom, they all come to a stop, contemplating what to do. She wasn't one to ask for much, she was massively independent---doing everything on her own, alone. It made everyone around her develop this thoughtful habit of asking her what she needed, or if she wanted help. Usually, she would remotely decline with a smile, sometimes she responded with a polite response.

Before the door fully closed shut, a foot stops it. Soo Hyun turns to them with a shy smile, nodding his head. He reaches for the items they had with them, gathering them in his arms before he enters. He turns to them one last time, bowing awkwardly, closing the door.

Seeing her small body balled on the cold tiled floor of the bathroom, he lets out a sympathetic sigh. He had watched them act out the scene from the corner, heart aching at the humongous tears falling from her eyes as Moon Young. The heartwarming yet painful exchange between the two actors was impeccable. Nobody could fail to notice the details they expertly carved into the scene.

As it comes to an end, he also doesn't fail to notice how Jung Se automatically stretches out a smile, relieved for finishing the difficult scene. Yea Ji on the other hand, the woman he knows too well inside and out, gave out an empty smile. He knew the difference when she was genuinely smiling or when she was forcing it out to show everyone she's okay.

He knows because when you are deeply in love with someone, you become aware of all the hidden meanings behind their smiles and the certain looks in their eyes.

He knows because when she looks at him, her smiles radiate the most genuine type of happiness. He knows what she looks like when she's genuinely happy, so he doesn't fail to notice she felt otherwise.

He squats down, setting the things on the floor right in front of her as she hugged her knees, burying her face as she sobbed.

He was aware of her acting dynamics and understood what it does to her. He also understood that it was her way of honing herself in her craft. It was what made her feel confident about the portrayal, and he respected that. He even commends her for that, fully knowing how hard it could be for her, harder than what the eye could see.

But he would be lying if he said it doesn't worry him. There were times that it had reached a point that it had affected her well being, her health. Depression had hit her one time. He even made the decision to spend a few nights with her, to watch her sleep, to ease her, and pull her back to the light when the sleep paralysis pulls her to the dark. The insomnia was also a struggle difficult to get by, sometimes making her suffer occasionally even up to now.

Seeing her like this broke him as much as it broke her. He lets out another breath, smiling as he caresses her head.

"Hey." He runs his hand on her shoulders, gently squeezing them. When she looks up at him, bloodshot eyes, and swollen lids, he smiles sweetly.

He reaches for her face, wiping her tears with his thumbs. The warmth of his skin radiates to hers, providing her with the comfort she needed. It made her heart flutter, calm down.

He takes the bottle of water, swiftly opening it and offering it to her. She shakes her head, but he insists, giving her a look.

"Come on, just a little. With the rate you were crying, you might just dry up like a prune." His failed attempt of making a joke makes her lips curve up into a small smile. He grins, helping her take a small sip. He quickly wipes her lips with a tissue before running his fingers through her hair, pinning a few strands behind her ears.

"Aigoo." He drops on his bottom as he gently pulls her aside to make room for himself behind her. He positions his legs on either side of her, arms around her. Softly, he pulls her body towards him so she was leaning against his chest while he leaned against the wall.

Her chest heaves up and down as she lets out a long breath, burying her face on the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent that gave her the comfort and the calm she longed for.

"You are Seo Yea Ji. Ko Moon Young's pain is not yours. It's only yours for a moment, but not forever. And you will never have her pain. Because you are Seo Yea Ji. You're my Seo Yea Ji." He wraps his arms around her tighter, pressing a warm kiss on the top of her head.

"Are you okay now? Hmm?" He pressed his cheek on the side of her head.

She lets out another breath, this time calmer. She nods her head slowly, eyes closed, face still pressed against his neck.

"I just need to recharge." She mutters softly, voice low.

He smiles, pressing his face more against hers as he runs his hands over her arms until he intertwines their fingers.

"I can help with that."

He rubs his thumbs over the back of hers, swaying their bodies softly side to side. He begins to hum, his melodious voice filling the silence of the room. When he begins to sing lowly, softly and sweetly, she smiles against his skin.

A grin plasters across his face when he feels the soft kiss she placed against his neck. "I love you." She whispers.

"I love you too." He whispers in between his slow song, continuing to sing for her as he held her hands, arms around her tight and warm.

He was her serenity.

Unknowing to both of them who basked in the calm of each other's hold, the staff behind the door, ears pressed against it were pinching each other if not themselves. Listening to the muffled voices from the other side made their heart flutter in awe.

- end -

#psycho but it's okay #kim soo hyun #its okay to not be okay #seo yea ji #hyunji #hyunjicouple

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bbq-hawks-wings · 3 years

Note

I read your tags— please talk about your OC, I'm curious :D

So! Tell me about " the oc of yours!" - @mintgreencase

You all are so sweet! Thank you! I can finally word vomit out her wiki-styled bio!

There's a lot but also some content warnings for neglect, physical assault, depression, and smoking below the cut.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PERSONAL DESCRIPTION

BIRTHDAY

February 12

AGE

22 (Current)

GENDER

Female

HEIGHT

159 cm (5'3")

HAIR COLOR

Champagne Pink - Dark Purple

EYE COLOR

Pale grey

BLOOD TYPE

QUIRK

Cephalopod

STATUS

Alive

BIRTHPLACE

Fukuoka

FAMILY

Adopted father (alive)

Mother (alive)

Half-sister [27] (alive)

Half-brother [18] (alive)

Half-brother [16] (alive)

Father (alive)

Keigo Takami - Husband (alive)

OCCUPATION

Business consultant

Part-time model

Pop Idol (former)

AFFILIATION

Civilian

Summary

Tamakado was born out of an extramarital affair between an unknown man and her mother who was discontent with her marriage to an overbearing, insecure, and quietly misogynistic husband. Once she discovered she was pregnant, her mother broke all contact with Tamakado's birth father and attempted to pass the baby off as her husband's. He was already suspicious before the baby was born, but the truth became obvious when her subtle heteromorph quirk and appearance were unexplainably different from her mother's innocuous quirk while her husband was quirkless. The issue was never discussed, and her parents remained emotionally disconnected from her for the rest of her upbringing, choosing instead to shower their other children in attention - particularly the first son they had after her.

She was named Tamakado, spelled only with the kanji 圭 which alone can be read as "Tama" as in a round gem or "Kado" as in a sharp corner or rough edge. She was only referred to as "Kado" by her family.

She spent most of her childhood hiding her presence and avoiding making an impact in attempts to earn her parents affection. In her second year of middle school a classmate told her she was quite pretty behind her unflattering haircut and ill-fitting hand-me-downs and wondered why she didn't focus on her appearance more. When Tamakado brought it up in hopes of pleasing her parents, her father in a tired, drunken frustration effectively told her that the only thing she and her beauty was good for was seducing and ruining men the way her birth father had done to her mother and that drawing attention to herself would continue to bring disgrace on him and their family.

Though it was initially crushing to hear, she remembered the word "mermaid" in her classmate's description and discovered the myth of mermaids who lured men to their doom to steal their jewels or eat the flesh off their bones. She decided that if the only thing she was good for was ruining others, she might as well do it on her own terms. Over her last year of middle school she began reaching out and forging connections as well as began to learn how to utilize her appearance and charisma to garner popularity; and using her sister's high school graduation and younger brother's upcoming middle school graduation as cover, she also studied hard and got accepted on a scholarship into a high school known for being connected in the entertainment industry and producing several noteworthy young stars without her parents' knowledge.

Her first year was fairly innocuous as she learned about the social dynamics and groups of the school and made connections through mutually beneficial favors, even reclaiming the nickname "Kado" as a personal brand. In her second year, she and two of her heteromorph friends created an amateur pop idol band using a motif of "cute, man-eating monster" as its selling gimmick with an emphasis on fleshing out each girl's character independently should they choose to branch off individually or add more members - of which hers was the gorgeous, "liberated," man-slaying mermaid that had originally inspired her. By the start of their third year, they were slowly getting attention and a small, dedicated following.

Tamakado had made a mistake in her naivety, though, and underestimated the cutthroat nature of the industry and, by extension, the school. In the middle of her third year of high school she was lured alone into a meeting with a rival classmate under the pretense of setting up a business favor for her band mate. She was physically assaulted and had revealing, incriminating photos of her taken for blackmail. When she attempted to defend herself to the school authorities, the school sided with her well-connected classmate, citing her blunt and "lascivious" persona as likely having caused it and offered to "help" her under NDA and contract.

Without a support network at home to limp back to, being shut out of the only industry she had connections in, not wanting to drag her friends into her problem, and without any negotiating power - she signed a celebrity marriage agreement that detailed how she was to conduct herself, when and how this relationship would be revealed to the public, when and how many children they would have, and that she basically existed to boost his image in exchange for a comfortable life. It shouldn't have been a legal or enforceable contract by any means, but she was in no position to refuse or fight back.

She didn't even know who she would be married to until she met him face to face after signing her contract alone, and even then she initially only got the name "Hawks" - an up and coming 18 year old soaring up the hero charts and on his way to being one of the best heroes Japan had ever seen.

Over the first few months of the relationship, despite not consummating the marriage and attempting to give her her own space in his home and her life on Hawks' part, she rapidly deteriorated until he worried she might actually die in her room from self-neglect. He offered to expedite a passport to allow her to escape as much as possible under the guise of "higher education" in lieu of a more permanent solution to her problem, and she spent the next several years bouncing back and forth between America and Japan before permanently returning, determined to make the best of the hand she was dealt, including finding her old friends, reclaiming and transforming her personal brand and image, and attempting to at least be friends with the man she was slated to spend the rest of her life with.

Appearance

Tamakado is a short, hourglass-figured, freckled woman with fair skin, pale grey eyes, and pinkish purple hair. She doesn't typically wear makeup, and tends to prefer a toned-down, natural fashion style.

Her Cephalopod quirk gives her several attributes of many squid, cuttlefish, and octopuses including chromatophores that can change the pigment of her skin and hair, increased flexibility and fine muscle control, and mild venom in her saliva. Her hair has the ability to curl and relax at will - from perfectly straight to tight coils. When relaxed her hair is pale champagne pink, and when constricted it's a dark purple. While she can voluntarily control this, her overall mood and level of stress can subconsciously effect it. Her chromatiphores glow under blacklight, and she blushes a soft purple instead of pink.

Personality

Tamakado takes the "kado" (rough in manner) impression and runs with it, attempting to appear confidently brash, intimidating, and abrasive to those who stand opposed to her. Among friends, this persona lifts a bit to show a much more vulnerable and unsure person who is constantly second-guessing herself. She struggles with explicit declarations of affection and speaking plainly about her own feelings. Doing this with extra attention and eyes on her is especially difficult.

Her history has given her a soft spot for underdogs and tries to use her abilities and resources to offer them a chance to earn notoriety and respect - in which she is firm but fair. She believes in leveraging connections and rewarding good performance. She doesn't like being idle and prefers to have a problem to solve or a goal to work towards whenever possible. She's shrewd and pays attention to small details like word choice and past conversation when interacting with others.

Trivia

Her favorite food is shellfish.

Because her hair has more connective tissue to allow it to curl and relax at will, her scalp is extremely sensitive and she hates getting haircuts which means she keeps her hair long even though she'd prefer the maintenance of shorter hair.

She also won't tie her hair back in any way unless it's loose, otherwise she gets a massive headache.

She has a bad smoking habit she picked up after high school and has been trying to quit for years.

She speaks English moderately well thanks to her visits to America but swears fluently.

#my oc #tamakado #she speaks

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in-class-daydreams · 4 years

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Parlay (Kuroo x Reader)| Ch. 1

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader (ft. Roommate Kenma)

Word Count: ~1,600

Genres: Fluff, angst if you squint, general buffoonery

CW: Maybe some baby swearing, but otherwise none!

Summary: (Y/N), a first-year student attending Tokyo U, is living with her best friend, Kenma Kozume. Little did she know, her life would be turned upside down after being exposed to Kenma's volleyball teammate and close friend, Kuroo Tetsurou. One wrong move, and the parlay's stakes only get higher each time.

Chapters: First | Previous | Next

“Bonnie left her spot!” the girl’s voice was bursting with sheer panic as her roommate and close friend frantically flipped between security screens to avoid what seemed to be an inevitable death. Even though she was practically draped over him, he barely registered her full weight on him.

He couldn’t play Five Nights at Freddy’s on his channel now. Everyone had already played it a long time ago and he was sure to get some backlash for ‘copying’ other streamers. Still, any self-respecting gamer should have at least played the game at some point. Unfortunately, he’d had to drag his poor roommate into it, and it turned out that together they had the combined courage of a sugar-free gummy bear.

Kenma elbowed his friend in the side. “Shh! I know!” he hissed at her. (Y/N)’s clammy hands were clamped tightly around his shoulders as she half-leaned over him to get a good look at the screen. Both of their eyes flitted around the screen, focused on scrutinizing each and every visual detail. The screens were dark and his power level was getting dangerously low. He exited out of the security screens to slam the left door on one of the animatronics. As the metal door slammed down, they caught a glimpse of the animal’s unnaturally large teeth and the murderous look in its eyes. Quickly clicking through the security screens once more, the female’s eyes landed on something disturbing. She jumped and slapped his shoulder frantically.

“Close the doors! Close the doors!” she squealed. Kenma quickly checked on the door. The duck was still at the left door and it was eating up his power supply. He was only at 3 a.m., and he was determined not to waste any more power.

The in-game clock struck 4 a.m. and his eyes flitted down to his power level. He paled at the ‘2%’ staring back at him.

“Freddie left his--!”

Suddenly the security screens went blank and game’s lights shut off abruptly. The whole game went quiet as the two roommates stared in horror. The doors raised. Luckily, the animatronic was gone from the left door, but they were sitting ducks in that powerless room surrounded by robots with murderous intent. They sat in petrified terror as mere seconds dragged on.

Just then, the animatronic bear leapt and roared right at the two players, its shrill screaming causing their toes to curl. They clung to each other fearfully at the sudden sight. Soon, the ‘game over’ screen appeared and the room went quiet once again. The pair sat in blank silence for a long moment. After a pregnant pause, (Y/N), slow and unsure, stood up off the floor and carded her fingers through her hair.

“I guess I should get to class,” she murmured barely above a whisper.

Kenma stared blankly at her. “Okay. Be safe,” he said robotically.

She tiptoed around the house gathering her school supplies and made for the door a bit quicker than would be considered normal.

“I’ll be back in about two hours!” she called over her shoulder as she tried to hasten away from the apartment as quickly as possible.

‘Went for groceries. Be back soon.

030’

She had to laugh. Kenma had started drawing those faces to be ironic and poke fun at her, but now he couldn’t stop. Oh how the turns have tabled.

Even for someone as academically-inclined as her, (Y/N) was exhausted from her advanced calculus lecture. It was a class for second-years and older, but when she’d thought she could handle it.

“Everyone thinks they’re ‘that bitch’ that can handle it early, but trust me, very few people are ‘that bitch,’ (Y/N),” her cousin had advised. Against her cousin’s advice, she’d signed up for the class anyway, thinking it’d be easy peasy lemon squeezy for someone who did so well in math in high school. Oh how wrong she was! Now she was stressed depressed lemon zest. After dragging herself through the door of her shared third-floor apartment, she was grateful to see Kenma’s cute note upon her return.

Five Nights was still running on Kenma’s laptop on the living room floor. That stupid bear’s freaky metal face grinned back at her. Rather than be stared down by an animated murder bear, she toed the laptop closed and decided that if Kenma didn’t know she’d touched his precious laptop with her “sweaty, unsanitary feet,” he couldn’t be mad at her (truth be told, he had a very hard time being mad at her at all). The damage was done, though, and the teen felt those unblinking eyes on her still.

She thought she’d heard some odd rustling down the hall where the bedrooms were.

‘Come on, (Y/N), it was just a stupid game,’ she thought.

Rather than sprint back out the front door, she decided to go to the kitchen and start on dinner. ‘Lasagna, grilled chicken, noodles.’’ She mentally ran through all the recipes she knew. They had Chinese food the night before, and fried chicken the night before that, but it had been a while since pasta night. Hopefully Kenma would come home with the ingredients she needed. She reached into her jeans pocket to text her roommate, but before she could, the rustling down the hallway happened again. This time, it was unmistakable.

Her pulse quickened and she fumbled around for the nearest weapon-like object. She wrapped her fingers around a small metal water bottle. Sure it was only about 12-oz., but it would do. She steeled her nerves and crept down the hallway pressed up against the wall like 007. The noise seemed to be coming from Kenma’s room.

“They must have known we’d both be out of the apartment! They could have been stalking us for weeks, oh my god, we don’t even have any valuables, though! What would burglars want with us anyway? We’re in college and our entire budget goes to rent and food! I can’t die over this, I’ve already paid my tuition for this semesterohgodohgodohgodohgod,” (Y/N)’s inner monologue began spiraling into hysterics as she trembled outside her friend’s door. Her legs felt like lead and her arms were frozen up close to her chest. The girl was petrified as Kenma’s bedroom door swung open and before her was a massive silhouette.

Pause. Then she screamed a seemingly impossible sound to achieve with human vocal cords and started sprinting for the door. After nearly knocking a newly-arrived Kenma to the floor, she squeezed him in a vice-like bear hug.

“Geh--you’re crushing me,” Kenma wheezed. In her rapid rambling, he could make out the words “burglar,” “murderer,” and “tuition.”

The first-year patted his friend’s back gently to get her to release him from her crushing grip. She had an unnaturally tight grip for someone of her stature. Behind her, a tall, muscular man with unkempt black hair and piercing eyes strolled confusedly down the hallway.

The Not-Burglar raised an eyebrow. Turning to Kenma he asked, “You didn’t tell her I was here?”

“I did. She’s a bad texter,” Kenma replied while peeling (Y/N)’s arms from their spot stuck to his body.

“Huh? O-oh...my bad,” she supposed she hadn’t checked her phone since before her class started. She held up a finger and reached into her pocket, “But wait! I have this for you instead!”

From her pocket, she held up a finger heart for her friend to see. The latter rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the smirking male before him.

“Well, (Y/N), this is Kuroo Tetsurou. Kuroo, this is (L/N) (Y/N).”

(Y/N) seemed to have calmed down, because she replied, “It’s nice to meet you Kuroo-san! I’ve heard a lot about you!”

Kuroo noted the radiant grin she gave him and shook her hand.

“Same here. But I didn’t realize Kenma was hiding such a cutie from me,” he smiled that smile that made all sorts of people weak in the knees.

Desperate to avoid eye contact, the smaller girl’s gaze shifted around the room nervously before finding a target, “Ah Ken-ken! Lemme help you with the groceries!”

‘K-ken-ken..? Never heard that before...’ Kuroo thought.

“It’s okay, I got it,” Kenma continued putting away groceries and ignored the pout she threw his way.

“Kuroo-san, since you’re already here, do you want to stay for dinner? I’d like to apologize for jumping to conclusions earlier,” she bowed deeply.

“I could never decline a special request from such a--”

He shut his mouth at the truly frightening look his best friend shot him before interrupting, “Don’t be a pervert, Kuroo.”

“Ken-ken, you cooked dinner yesterday. I can do it today,” (Y/N) insisted, unable to successfully nudge him out of the way. Kenma was surprisingly strong.

“It’s fine, I got it,” he stopped his preparations just long enough to give her a genuine smile that Kuroo himself had only seen a handful of times.

‘Why is this girl so special to you, Kenma?’ Kuroo wondered.

“Come on! At least let me help! Kenma~ Don’t ignore me!”

‘Now this is definitely a sight I’ve never seen before.’

After dinner, as he was saying his goodbyes and gathering his things to leave, Kuroo concluded that his best friend really had found another person that complimented him as well as Kuroo did himself. This was definitely a welcome surprise. He was happy for his friend, of course, though at first, he was puzzled as to how a simple roommate could have embedded herself so deeply into Kenma’s heart. He pondered that thought for a bit before having an epiphany just as he was on his way out the door.

“Thanks for the dinner (L/N)-san, I really enjoyed it. Treat Kenma well! He’s never had me meet a girlfriend before.”

Halfway out the door, he shot them a cocky, conspiratory grin and strolled out into the night.

A/N: And that’s the first chapter of Parlay! It’s our first fic on this blog and honestly the first fic I’ve ever been even slightly confident in, so I hope you enjoyed. We’ll be updating regularly, so feel free to shoot us a message or an ask if you want to be added to our tag-list. Thanks! <3

- Admin Mango-Chan

Hello everybody! Thank you so much for clicking and reading this story! There will be plenty of chapters with a lot more action and drama on your way! See you soon! :)

- Admin Kiwi-chan

#kuroo x reader #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #kozume kenma

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ipaintwithwords · 3 years

Text

Christmas Short Story Exchange

Wolves Without Teeth

Fandoms: Life is Strange, Life is Strange 2 Characters: Sean Diaz, Lyla Park, Daniel Diaz, Chloe Price, David Madsen (mention), Brody Holloway (mention) Tags: Post-Redemption Ending, Post-Save Arcadia Bay Ending, light angst with happy ending, mentions of depression/antidepressants, reminiscing, ambiguous/open ending, POV heavy, pretty scenery and dogs and ghosts

And I run from wolves breathing heavily at my feet And I run from wolves tearing into me without teeth

♪♫♪♫♪♫

Millions of stars lit up the vast, deep indigo canvas of the night sky along the coast of Oregon. It was a quiet, peaceful night, the kind that was made for intimate strolls and heartwarming conversations and marveling at the beauty of the ocean, hand in hand, barefoot on the shore, accompanied by the light April breeze and the soft whispers of the waves. It was made for campfires and laughter, grilled fish and cold beer, and acoustic guitar covers of songs that people don’t listen to enough on Spotify, even though they really should - it was a night made for moments ephemeral and eternal at the same time, a series of overexposed polaroid images in the sand.

However, for the young man driving under the endless rows of majestic pine trees, the night was but a spectacular backdrop for his hours spent on the road. Slightly more memorable than the day before, and infinitely longer than any other day of the past week he’s spent driving, one hand on the wheel, the other one either stroking the gentle crosswind with a cigarette between his fingers or buried in the thick, brown fur of the adolescent wolfdog snoozing on the passenger’s seat, curled up like a content, well-fed little roll with her favorite blanket between her front paws.

That night, he was holding onto the wheel with both hands. Eyes fixated on the highway, his anxiety was skyrocketing in his chest, flooding the back of his mind with dark thoughts and his head with an unbearable migraine, building up slowly but steadily, creeping into his skull, even the empty - and otherwise numb - socket of his left eye. Not that he was a stranger to headaches, but unlike all his past encounters with nasty migraines, this time he had no idea what to blame: the cigarettes, the lack of sleep, all the synthetic food he shoved down his throat the past few days, his ridiculous deadline drawing near by the minute… Or perhaps the fact that for the first time in fifteen agonizingly long years, he was back on a road he never thought will see again.

The only difference was that this time, he was on his own. There was no comforting presence beside him, no hula dancer figurine on top of the dashboard, no excited chatter coming from a kid high on adrenaline on the backseat. It was just him and the shores of Oregon, his sad music and his snoring dog (who wasn’t exactly the chatty kind, which, honestly speaking, never truly bothered him; he adopted her for the very same reason) and this stubborn, intrusive, demanding migraine that seemed to have made a cozy little home for itself in his forehead like it was meant to live out the rest of its life under his skin. And somehow, it managed to grow even stronger when out of the blue, the music was interrupted by the steady, low buzzing of his phone.

All of a sudden, violent waves of frustration crashed down over him as he took a quick glance at the device’s screen. Tightening his grip on the wheel until his nails started digging irritated crescents into the faux leather, he grit his teeth while staring at his phone, its buzzing resonating in his temples as if someone was trying to drill into his brain. The buzzing lasted for a solid two minutes before the screen would finally turn dark again and the pulsating sensation in his temples quieted down a little - only giving him a few moments of calm and quiet, though, as his phone started ringing again the moment he was about to sigh in relief.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”, he grunted loudly in anger, waking the peacefully sleeping wolfdog pup with either his hoarse voice or the annoyed dash of his hand as he reached out for his phone to pick up the incoming call and be over with it as fast as possible. He knew exactly what’s coming for him, and he was in the mood for anything but fighting with his best friend on the phone right now.

“What the fuck, man?!”, hissed a young woman on the other end of the call with a furious whisper-shout, as soon as he pushed the green button. “Are you being serious with me right now? Where the fuck are you, Sean?”, she hissed, and Sean heard a door slamming shut behind her, most likely the backyard door, to be precise, as she stormed out of the kitchen for a smoke.

“You knew I’ll be busy this weekend”, much to his surprise, he magically managed to keep his voice calm and his words collected when he answered after a few moments of hesitation. “I DMed you and I also texted the group chat yest-”

“Yeah, and I thought you’re just trying to back out of going to Walmart with us!”, his feeble attempt of coming up with explanations was met with an angry snap from the young woman. “And I actually can’t believe that we’re having this conversation? Like I can’t comprehend the fact that for whatever fucked up reason, you are actually ditching your own brother’s birthday weekend”, she scoffed, lighting up a cigarette with two impatient click-clacks of a cheap 7-Eleven lighter.

“I have a deadline, Lyla, and it seems like you’re the only person who can’t accept that”, answered Sean with a deep, resigned sigh, only trying to resist the sudden urge of smoking for a brief second before he rolled down the window and reached for his cigarette case. “I talked to Daniel about it, alright? He was the first person I called”, he murmured under his nose, shoving a crooked cigarette between his lips. “And to be honest, I still don’t understand why you guys insisted on throwing this huge ass party for him for an entire weekend... Y’all know he prefers his PS4 and pizza over twenty of us being all over him for three days, right?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was me who’s about to ruin his birthday! Fuck, man, thanks, now I can see that it was me all along”, Lyla let out a burst of dry laughter, more threatening than the sharpest blades in the world. “You are unbelievable, Sean.”

“I’m doing everyone a favor by skipping, y’know”, said Sean, sticking his hand out the window, unleashing the tiny smoke-dragons of his cigarette into the night. “‘Cause let’s be real, we both know that it’s me who’d ruin his birthday” he added with a shrug, making Lyla snort in disbelief.

“I can’t think of a single reason why his favorite person in the world would do that, so please enlighten me with your wisdom, Sean-Wise”, suddenly, her tone softened, bringing a massive lump to Sean’s throat.

“The last thing he needs right now is his useless, depressed brother”, he answered quietly, unable to resist the suffocating grip of anxiety on his neck. “And thankfully, he understands that his useless, depressed brother needs to submit an unreasonable amount of work ‘til next Wednesday, so… Yeah. We’re both doing each other a favor, to be honest.”

“Sean, I… Useless? Why would y- What do you even… Hollup for a sec” sighed Lyla, slightly frustrated, as a small voice suddenly called for her. “Yes, baby, what’s up?”, she said, words and smile warmer than the morning sun, and Sean couldn’t help but smile too when he heard her switch to Korean the next moment, most likely reaching for her daughter Hannah, and gently pushing a strand of dark, silky hair behind her ear like she always did.

“Sorry for that, Miss Thing is getting cranky because she only ate five times today”, Lyla returned to the call after a good minute, and Sean could clearly see her roll her eyes as the door shut close behind Hannah. “So where were we…”

“You were about to give me a Ted Talk on self-love because I called myself useless”, said Sean with a faint smile, before carefully flicking the cigarette butt out the window. Lyla didn’t answer immediately, at least not with words - her silence, on the other hand, was heavy with worry, a calm before the storm Sean knew too well. After all, thirty-three years of friendship teaches a thing or two about another person, especially a friendship like theirs was.

“You know, I had a feeling this is gonna happen”, when Lyla finally broke the silence, she couldn’t conceal the sad, resigned bitterness in her voice. “At least tell me where you are, man…”

“I’m in Oregon… Driving along the coast, actually”, Sean answered, giving his dog an affectionate scratch behind the ear, and making her turn her all-knowing, golden eyes from the night view on him. “Don’t worry, I’m not alone. Chestnut’s here too.”

“Dude, she didn’t even bark when she heard my voice”, said Lyla, with a very obvious and even more dramatic pout on her face. “But wait, what the fuck are you doing there? In Oregon?”, she asked, and this time, it was her confused frown that Sean could see crystal clear as if Lyla was sitting right next to her.

For a brief moment, he truly wished she was.

“I’m chasing ghosts”, when he spoke eventually, it felt as if there was someone else talking with his mouth, unseen powers forcing the air out of his lungs and his tongue and teeth to form the words that echoed for a seemingly endless moment in the car and inside Sean’s head.

And before he could even blink, the echo sunk even deeper, into the darkest pits of his scarred, hurt, lonely soul, as he found himself staring at the unmistakable silhouette of Arcadia Bay in the distance after a slight turn in the road.

He spent the night at Otter Point, in his car, right next to the very same visitors plaque he broke down at, for the first time since fleeing Seattle on that nightmarish afternoon all those years ago, to a man he just met - a man who changed everything, although fifteen years later, Sean wasn’t sure anymore that it was for the better. He wasn’t sure whether he’d still be alive at all if it wasn’t for Brody and his golden heart that night, but he was certain of one thing: that compared to all the horrible things that happened to him, to them, death would’ve been but a merciful release.

Death didn’t come for them, however, at least not in its form that’s known to most people. Instead of taking them, it decided to befriend the Wolf Brothers and tag along on their journey, from the suburbs of Seattle to the iron gates of the Mexican border - and after that, the lifeless, ashen grey walls of a suffocatingly small prison cell in Washington. It was there that night too, in Sean’s car, a worn, cherry-red station wagon just like Brody’s, and inside his head, too, buried deep under the quiet, unsteady chaos of his thoughts. It was in every breath he took, every pill he swallowed, every minute he spent awake wondering what is he even doing, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing that could make it go away, that could make death change it’s stubborn mind and to leave Sean Diaz alone, because, throughout the years, it simply grew too fond of him.

And with time, Sean just… Accepted it. He accepted being handpicked by death itself and stopped fighting it because no matter how hard he tried to avoid it, to get rid of it, to pretend that everything was fine, nothing helped; nothing but the acceptance and the handfuls of numbing bitterness he consumed at least two yellow tubes of each month for the past, God knows how many years. Of course, things could’ve been a lot worse, and Sean was fully aware of that - he knew that he was extremely privileged for being able to settle back into society relatively easily after being released from his sentence of nearly two decades spent in one of the country’s biggest federal prisons.

Frankly speaking, it wasn’t about settling back into society as much as it was about doing something he secretly always dreamed of, even before the story of the Wolf Brothers began on that chilly Friday afternoon, in a completely ordinary, perfectly average October of a past, long-lost life. In fact, if someone told sixteen-year-old Sean that everything that’s about to happen to him will eventually lead to a new life in which he is a comic book artist who gets paid for drawing the weird shit in his head, sixteen-year-old Sean would’ve probably laughed until his stomach hurt and happy tears started rolling down his cheek.

And yet, there he was that morning, on top of a hill above the Oregon coast, moderately enjoying his cheap instant coffee in the back of his station wagon (and after a glance at his peaky-faced reflection in the mirror, extremely judging his lack of self-discipline regarding taking care of his beard) while waiting for his tablet to charge fully so he can proceed with the next strips for the fifth chapter of The Adventures of the Pack. Chestnut was running around in excited circles, chasing grasshoppers and butterflies and occasionally, her tail, not particularly minding either her owner or the breathtaking view of the coast, and along with it, the quiet town of Arcadia Bay.

At first, he didn’t even think of making a stop at a seemingly insignificant place like Otter Point on his not-so-spontaneous journey - for some much-needed inspiration or for bittersweet reminiscence, he wasn’t entirely sure anymore -, but while going through dozens of maps and routes and painful memories on a sleepless night before his trip, he stumbled upon a picture Daniel sent him for one of his birthdays spent in prison. A picture from Away, to be precise, of a cozy little bonfire and four people with marshmallow sticks in their hands and tipsy smiles on their faces - a picture that kept him up awake for the whole night, with tears stuck halfway in his throat, desperately trying to fight their way through the walls Sean has built around himself. And the moment he saw David in the picture, he decided that after all the phone calls and visits and almost fatherly check-ins from the man throughout the past fifteen years, the least he can do is stopping in David’s hometown for a quick page or two on his way down South.

“Man, it must be tough being you”, Sean chuckled as he put his empty mug on the small writing desk in the corner of his on-the-go bedroom, looking at Chestnut playing in the dry dirt alongside the road with a wide, amused smile on his face. “Careful, though… I’d rather not break my neck trying to rescue you if you fall down” he added, climbing out of the back of his car with nimble reflexes, the sudden movement answered with excited bark coming from the wolfdog pup.

“Would you look at that”, said Sean with an impressed little snort, walking up to the fence and bending over to rest his arms on it, eyes roaming the endless, unbelievably blue ocean and the gentle waves washing up against the pale sands of Arcadia Bay’s shores. “Can’t decide if it’s beautiful or the most boring shit I’ve ever seen, to be honest… What d’ya think, huh?”, he raised his eyebrows, peeking down at Chestnut yelping next to him, and giving her a loving scratch behind the ears. “Come, check this out”, he beckoned to the visitors plaque next to them with his chin, patting Chestnut’s side gently as he stepped up to the laminated board, full of colorful images of the local wildlife and the town’s various attractions.

“Yeah? That’s where you wanna go?”, he laughed, as Chestnut suddenly stood up on her rear legs, front paws propped against the plaque, curious golden eyes fixated on the picture of Arcadia Bay’s imposing lighthouse. “Y’know what, why the fuck not, we got all the time in the world… At least ‘til next Wednesday'' Sean sighed, looking up from the slightly faded photograph to the actual lighthouse in the distance, peeking out from countless majestic pine trees, its bright, white light rotating with a slow and steady speed on the opposite end of the bay on top of a cliff.

There was something strange, something unsettling about the tall, robust tower that Sean couldn’t exactly put his finger on. He found himself staring at the lighthouse as if it held all the secrets, all the answers to all the questions he’s been searching for all his life - he couldn’t move, he couldn’t blink, he couldn’t even catch his breath for what felt like an eternity, even though it was but a mere moment. As if something was calling him, an invisible, eerie force locking his eyes on the lighthouse, Sean just stood there petrified, and if it wasn’t for Chestnut and her eager little woof startling him back to reality, he probably would’ve stayed there like that until sunset.

“Yeah, why the fuck not”, he murmured under his nose, shaking his head like he just woke from a weird dream as he turned away from Arcadia Bay and walked up to his car, trying to ignore the uncanny tingling in the back of his head - and the unmistakable feeling of being watched by a pair of all-seeing, otherworldly eyes.

It took surprisingly long to get to the other side of the bay from Otter Point. By the time Sean reached the lighthouse, the sun was high in the spotless blue sky, radiating its warm light so dazzlingly he had to shield his eyes with his hand as he exited the car. He parked the station wagon in a small clearing surrounded by fragrant, sky-high pine trees, at the bottom of a meandrous set of wooden stairs half-eaten by the soil, and began his short hike up to the lighthouse with Chestnut trotting by his side. The forest around them was peaceful and bustling with cheerful and welcoming Spring life; they saw busy bees and chirping birds and dancing butterflies everywhere as they made their way uphill, following the glimmering sunspots on the ground.

“Alright, same rules apply, okay? No running along the edge, it’s rocky down there”, said Sean when they reached the top of the stairs, grabbing Chestnut’s collar the very last minute before the pup could just storm off to explore the uncharted territory. “Stay… Staaay…”, he raised his eyebrows as the pup looked up at him with giant eyes full of excited sparkles, wagging her tail like the clearing in front of her was the last one on Earth to roam. “Good girl. Run along now, but carefully, please”, he said after a moment or two, as he let go of Chestnut, watching her dart off as a fired arrow with a proud, fatherly smile on his face before following the pup to the clearing.

The lighthouse stood tall on the edge of the cliff, watching over Arcadia Bay like a robust, all-seeing guardian. Seeing the tower up close, Sean felt the same magnetic energy that practically hypnotized him from all the way across the bay, only this time, he felt it ten folds stronger, as he stood there and stared at the lighthouse, tilting his head back as much as he could to take in the breathtaking sight in all its mesmerizing entirety. It felt like he arrived in another dimension where time didn’t work as it did on his own; as if a heavy, velvety curtain fell on the world, closing around the cliff and creating an odd, languid void where the pace of time just wasn’t the same. It was quiet, yes, peaceful, even, but at the same time, the air was strangely disturbed, unsettling and mysterious - and eerily inviting.

After what felt like half a lifetime of staring at the lighthouse, Sean noticed a worn bench on the edge of the cliff. He watched Chestnut sweep across the clearing, very much occupied with chasing something that looked like an azure-blue butterfly at first glance, before walking up to the bench and sitting down on it, turning his gaze towards the magnificent view of the bay below him as he reached for his cigarette case in his pocket. With the first puff of bitter smoke, he closed his eyes, and for a while, he just listened to the waves crashing against the rocks at the bottom of the cliff and the squawking of a few stray seagulls circling around the lantern room, before bringing himself to unzip his backpack and pull out his tablet and sketchbook from the messy depths of it.

He only hesitated for a brief moment before he put the tablet back in his bag, and along with it, his deadlines and professional responsibilities, settling with his trusted sketchbook instead. He preferred drawing on actual paper with an actual pen anyway, and he felt like procrastinating a little before letting his work swallow him in one bite. Flipping through dozens of pages of unfinished drawings until he finally reached a blank page, Sean started sketching Arcadia Bay with strainless ease, his eye constantly moving back and forth between the sketchbook and the view until the chaos of thin, black lines started to come together and he didn’t have to look anymore.

And this is when the time truly stopped around him, as it always did when Sean took the pen. It was just him and his vision of the world under the sun, and of course, Chestnut running around the clearing, her lanky, brown form always somewhere in the corner of his eye.

“You’re really pressed about this butterfly, aren’t you”, he chuckled as Chestnut ran across his feet relentlessly, making Sean look up from the content little wolf he’s been sketching for a while without even realizing that he started adding it to the drawing. He didn’t even notice anymore, since this was the case with many, if not most of his drawings - as if he was physically incapable of finishing a drawing without wolves in it, or for that matter, drawing for someone who wasn’t his brother.

“I mean, it’s a pretty fucking stunning butterfly if you ask me”, answered a mischievous voice beside him, completely out of the blue, startling Sean so unexpectedly that he almost fell off the bench.

“De puta madr-!!”, he exclaimed in fright as he turned his head, and the next moment, he found himself staring at a young, slim girl, leaning against the crooked fence on the edge of the cliff. “I mean, ugh Jesus. Sorry, I didn’t see you there” he added quickly, clearing his throat as he looked the girl up and down, wondering how long has it been since she got there - and most importantly, how in the world didn’t he notice her when she arrived.

“It’s kinda rare that anyone does, to be honest” shrugged the girl, stepping away from the fence, piercing blue eyes shifting from Sean’s colorless face to the sketchbook in his lap. She was tall and slender, wearing ripped jeans with a leather jacket and a black beanie, electric blue hair framing her narrow, elfish face. She looked like she was in her late teens, early twenties, maybe, and even though Sean was certain he’s never seen her before, somehow it felt like he’s known the girl for his entire life. “What are you drawing? Can I see?”

“Sure, take a look” he said, scooting over a little so the girl could sit next to her. “It’s a… I don’t even know what, that started off as a landscape sketch” he explained, scratching the inner corner of his empty eye socket and suddenly wishing he put on his eyepatch before coming up to the lighthouse. The girl, however, was way too invested in his sketchbook to even notice that there was something unusual about his appearance, and even if she did, she didn’t seem to be taken aback by it - or at least she didn’t feel the urge to stare, unlike most people Sean has met throughout his life.

“This is really cool, dude” the girl said after a while, looking up at him with a wide, impressed grin before turning her gaze back to Sean’s drawing. “Are you like, an artist or something?”

“Artist is an overstatement but yeah, I draw comics for a living” Sean answered, reaching out for Chestnut when he noticed the pup is running towards him. “This one isn’t for work though. It’s a… Gift. For my brother”, he added, his smile suddenly fading with the words, and not returning even when Chestnut wriggled her way in between his legs and placed her head in his lap, staring up at him with giant puppy eyes.

“Something gives me the impression that he’s the small one”, the girl chuckled, pointing at the younger wolf on Sean’s drawing, chasing a butterfly on the edge of the cliffside looking over Arcadia Bay, next to his bigger, scruffier, one-eyed brother, relaxing under a pine tree.

“I have no idea what makes you say that” said Sean with a faint smile on his face, gently fondling Chestnut’s head in his lap. “The older I get, the more it feels like it’s the other way around, to be honest”, he sighed quietly, feeling his entire chest harden all of a sudden as he took a glance at his sketchbook between the long nails of the strange girl next to her.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” asked the girl bluntly the next moment, carefully closing Sean’s sketchbook and putting it between them on the bench. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in Arcadia Bay before, and that’s pretty shocking considering that we’re talking about a town of 200 people where nothing ever happens…”

“Yeah, I’m just traveling. Thought I’d drive through town and check out the view from here” Sean answered, and as he pulled out another cigarette from his pocket, he couldn’t help but notice the sudden sparks of longing in the girl’s eyes. “You want one?”

“Not gonna lie, I could kill for a smoke… But no thanks. I… Can’t”, the girl gulped, watching with eager eyes as Sean reluctantly put the cigarette in his mouth. “Oh, no, it’s okay, I don’t mind. The smell’s gonna do the trick” she said, exhaling the smoke of the first huff with a strange, almost euphoric smile as Sean lit his cigarette at last.

“Oh man… You got some superior shit right there” she said, her smile slowly growing into a content, wide grin. “But anyway… As much as Arcadia Bay is the most boring shithole in the whole wide world, I hope your trip was worth it in the end.”

“Sounds like you lived here for a while, huh?”, Sean asked, eyebrows raised, to which the girl let out a sarcastic snort. “Oof. That bad?”

“There are no words to describe just how bad, my dude” the girl answered, shaking her head and wrapping her arms around her long legs pulled up to her chest. “I’ve been stuck here my whole fucking life. Wanted to leave since I was fourteen” she continued, the playful cheer suddenly leaving her voice and leaving behind gloomy shadows on her face. “Should’ve gotten the fuck outta here the first chance I got”, she said sourly, planting her chin between her knees and staring blankly in the distance, to a faraway place Sean couldn’t follow her to - and even if he could, he wouldn’t want to.

“So why didn’t you?”, Sean blurted out before thinking twice, but before he could even think of a way to apologize for possibly having crossed a line, the girl laughed out loud and dry.

“Have a wild guess, dude. ‘Cause of love, of course”, she snorted again, only this time, sarcasm was replaced with something much darker in her tone. “I was just waiting for the right time y’know. Back then, I had no idea that no such thing exists. Not for anything, not for anyone. There is just you and time, and time is nothing but a massive fucking trap, waiting for you to get stuck in it” she said, eyes darker than the coldest nights of winter. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to explode like that.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize for anything”, Sean shook his head, placing his burnt-out cigarette butt under the bench next to the previous one. “I’m just not sure I get what you mean.”

“No worries, I wouldn’t expect you to get it anyway” the girl shrugged, and the next moment, she turned her gaze to Sean, all-seeing blue eyes staring right into his soul. “You know, people hardly ever come to the lighthouse anymore, except when they should be somewhere else. And even if they come, they barely notice me. It’s nice that you did. And that you listened, too. I’m not sure where you’re supposed to be now, but I’m glad you’re here” she smiled, patting Sean’s hand with a surprisingly cold palm briefly, retreating almost immediately as he shuddered next to her.

“Yeah, I’m glad I took a little detour too” he smiled back at the girl before his glance wandered off to his sketchbook lying between them on the bench. “But I think I should get going now. I’d love to stay and chat, but… I’m ridiculously late already”, he added, a concerned frown taking over the upper half of his face, and a bewildered grin the lower, as somehow, at that moment, he realized there’s a chance that perhaps he has given into the nonsense of his own depression slightly more than he should have in the first place.

“Yeah, you probably are”, said the girl with a playful wink, standing up from the bench and stretching her long arms above her head. “Man, what a spectacular fucking afternoon. I mean, look at the Sun. Such a radiant bitch boss, for real”, she declared lovingly, making Sean laugh out loud for the first time in the past few days, or even weeks, maybe.

“Need a lift?”, Sean asked the girl as they turned their backs on the lighthouse, and started walking towards the staircase leading to the small clearing at the bottom of the cliff.

“Nah, thanks, but I’m not done here yet”, the girl said, shoving both her hands in the pockets of her skinny jeans. “Got some wandering to do, y’know… Contemplating the beauty of Spring and all” she looked at him with a somewhat shy smile, and Sean decided not to risk crossing any more lines with any more questions.

“I guess this is where we part ways then” he nodded his head when they reached his station wagon, waiting patiently next to the tourist map of the cliff. “Enjoy contemplating the beauty of Spring, I guess?”, he smiled at the girl, opening the door of the passenger’s seat for Chestnut.

“Yeah, thanks, man. You take care too, okay?” answered the girl, and the next moment, before Sean could say anything, her eyes suddenly widened. “And don’t forget to sketch up a cool portrait of me or something if you got the time, will you?”

“Stop reading my mind, a’ight?” Sean laughed, waving at the girl before sitting in his car, a sudden burst of energy washing over him as the door closed behind him. The urge to drive as fast as he just can was stronger than he’s ever felt it before, but somehow, he managed to control it, closing his eyes and leaning back on his seat for a long, silent moment before reaching for his phone. Swiping away dozens of notifications, he then opened his contacts and pressed call on the first name on top of the list - the only number he’s ever called, really.

The ringing stopped right after he pressed his phone between his ear and shoulder, and turned the car key under the steering wheel.

“Hey enano. I’m on my way.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Hey! Thank you for reading! ❤

This short story is my contribution to a Christmas Short Story Exchange we did with my best friends. (It is also my first ever fanfiction in English!) I was writing for one of my best friends who got me into Life is Strange years ago, so when we pulled each other’s names and I found out I’m writing for her, I immediately knew that I’ll work with the Diaz brothers and Chloe.

2020 Christmas Short Story Exchange Word count: 5353 | Written December 22nd-27th. I’m on AO3 now! Head over for more fanfictions. ❤

#fanfiction #Life is Strange #Life is Strange 2 #Sean Diaz #Daniel Diaz #Lyla Park #Chloe Price #Post-Redemption Ending #Post-Save Arcadia Bay Ending #under 10k #story #writing #writers on tumblr #short story #fan fiction #fanfic #light angst

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grim-faux · 3 years

Text

9 - Behind his Shadow

The temperature changed. It was a fickle thing in the massive tunnels that made up the sewer, the warm air clinging to my shoulders while small drafts drifted through my sleeves causing me to shiver. I remained crouched for several minutes listening keenly for the corridor and the thing through the grate, I’m not sure what I was waiting for. Or if I was aware that I had been waiting for some time before the small spark of a nerve pulsed up my spine.

I needed to keep moving. Whatever was there I was either following it or barely staying ahead of it, couldn’t decide which it was. Either I’d stumble into it or linger too long in one area, and that would inadvertently allow it to reach me before I had time to realize I had been hunted all along.

I wobbled as I rose to my feet and took some small steps toward the corner of the tunnel, watching the dark shades beyond the large grate with avid caution. What happened to the person that looked down upon me? The path on my right was open for exploration.

My nerves were too high strung, in the hollow quiet I startled myself back when my foot broke the surface of the water with a soft swish. I backed away and rolled my eyes, though my jumpiness couldn’t be discredited. But still, I was spooked by my own footsteps!

A plate on the wall indicated Administration Block on the right with an arrow to clarify this. I really didn’t have any options, my only comfort came that this path would not branch out into additional tunnels and I couldn’t possibly get lost down here. Given, there was a way out and my batteries would last.

Originally I had wanted to pause and wring out the excess water from my coat as best I could, but I didn’t want to stay stationary longer than necessary. It clung to me like a soggy glove, at least the sewers were warm with decay, only upside here. It was well received given circumstances.

The tunnel was dim with enough light I didn’t need my camera, I carried it beside my hip for the comfort of it. The tunnel curved and I followed it into a well-lit channel with large drain pipes beneath the floor, grated over and filled to the brim with thick runoff. The cooler air settled low, generating a murky steam that clung to everything and swirled around my shoulders as I cut through it. With no area visible to hide enemies I jogged along taking in the constructive details of the abandon sewer.

It looked like railing was installed along the side, or guardrails for the workers that had to come down when it was flooded. Support beams ran across the ceiling every few feet, but didn’t seem to help much in preventing cave-ins. At the end of the channel was another collapse, I was approaching it when a light flittered through blinding me.

A soft voice hummed out, I wasn’t sure if I should retreat now or wait. He was on the other side of the fallen debris, unless there was an access through on the open tunnel to the right. The song sounded familiar but against the echoing walls I couldn’t decide if it was ‘Father’ Martin, or one of his disciples. It didn’t sound like him….

“Till all the lambs in the church of god…”

I couldn’t make out what he was saying at this distance. He had already taken off, on the other side of the tunnel I saw his light glitter as he ran and his feet chopped up the shallow water. The song was somehow depressing. Maybe because of the ‘Father’ Martin’s Gospel of Sand, or maybe seeing the man down searching as I was for his own way out, armed with only a flashlight.

I kept to the left and strained to see through the vapor where he might have gone, the tunnel had a neighboring channel but I didn’t have any ambition to explore that side further. The forgotten corpse of Murkoffs doctors lay dissolving in the drainage gutter, even from where I stood I could pick up the heavy fumes of his bloated body.

A door waited innocently at my backside. I tried the handle half expecting it to be broken or locked, but the knob gave with no effort and I entered to find a patient hidden behind a shelf near the back. I must’ve looked shocked by his presence as he held up his arms and backed away.

“You don’t have to be scared of me. I can tell we’re the same. You still know what’s real.”

I stepped out of the room to glance around and return my eyes to the patient, before reentering and shutting the door behind. This was the first human in this place to actually comfort me, and not sound creepy about it. First person to attempt a conversation with me.

“Do you mind if I film you?” I held up my camera, keeping my distance.

“Not at all. Go ahead. I’d actually prefer it.” I raised the camera and zoomed in on him framing his head and shoulders nicely. He looked no different from the dozens of unaccounted victims, his face ruined by malpractice, scars up and down his arms. But he was fully clothed.

“The doctor’s dead, you know that, right? Dr. Wernicke.” I nodded. “Died before he even started working here.” He pinched the bridge of what remained of his nose between his fingers as though recalling some detail, or harmed by the recollections. “What kind of experiments does a dead doctor perform on living patients? That’s the question.”

“I found the obituary.”

“Yeah.” To me it sounded like he didn’t credit this fact too much. “A few of us have seen it too, a little proof he’s never been here.” He glanced at the shelf beside him and ran a finger along its metal support. “Doesn’t change what he’s done.”

“But…he’s dead, isn’t he? It’s on file.” My breath hitched when he gave me a venomous look, but it dissolved and he turned away toward a mattress abandoned on the floor behind him. He curled up on its filthy surface and turned his back to me.

The interview was over.

“The Patients know Dr. Wernicke is dead. One asks me, ‘What kind of experiments does a dead doctor perform on living patients?’ What is PROJECT WALRIDER?”

I examined the room lightly without disturbing him, and always kept my attention trained to any sort of sound he would make, pausing when his breathing wheezed or the broken springs of the mattress shifted. There was no visible aid, aside from some cracked shelving and a vent that might’ve led to better venues - I couldn’t reach it. There was only a ladder in the center of the floor leading down a short ways. I secured the camera and climbed the rungs, that familiar scent of copper whirled around me and I anticipated what would meet me.

The sewage in the drain gutter was a soft rose color, the sharp scent of death thick in the humid tunnel. It was fresh otherwise it would have diluted out by now. All the screaming I’d heard in the upper level?

I shivered as I pulled up the camera but decided not to film, instead I held it between my palms and stared into the water. What was PROJECT WALRIDER? kept ringing through my thoughts. What was the screaming I heard? What happened to those people? It could’ve been Chris Walker. Maybe I misheard them, others had expressed fears in his violent tendencies, I must’ve misheard them. But I couldn’t stop shaking. My coat was damp and cool, my nerves were shot. I needed to keep moving, keep my mind focused on what was around me.

Across from my position a plate was fixed on the wall that labeled the contrary directions to take, the Male ward to the left and the Female ward to the right. I glanced down at the river of swirling red before I set my foot on the side of the gutter and teetered, beside a metal gate. The Male ward was where I needed to be, I think. I wasn’t sure anymore, I could’ve as easily headed to the right if I thought there was a way out through the Female section but…I didn’t want to see what that area had to offer. I didn’t want��

A body flopped down from above nearly on top of me. I pivoted sloshing through the metallic froth back to the direction where the Female ward was, only to turn the bend and find a solid metal gate. I wasn’t satisfied to turn back yet, not until I took the handle and fought to turn it. The latch was solid, my only course obvious.

I switched between breathing through my mouth or through my nose, the stench sought my senses no matter what, I could hardly bear it. Halfheartedly I attempted to walk on the side of the drainage gutter out of the liquid, if only to settle my conscience. The body that impacted the cement looked torn and twisted in bizarre ways and his arm looked infected, possibly blood poisoning but I was no doctor. I couldn’t tell if he was this mangled before he fell, or whatever killed him had maimed him.

I was better off never knowing.

As I passed under the huge drain he fell from, I could see the grate above had been removed and the bright light from the upper floors descended unrestrained. Light was still my enemy, but it was hard not to take comfort in its strong brilliance.

I checked the charge on my camera as I continued into the darker portions of the tunnel, stunned to find it nearly half dead. That was a good battery, I had seen it when I put it in. Or wasn’t it? I wasn’t sure. But if I needed my night vision down here for prolonged periods at a time, it might be on its lowest functions.

It must’ve been the chill. The cold had a tendency to drain battery life fast. But, no…the sewers were at times stifling, almost unbearably so in my damp coat.

The cadence of gushing water traveled around the next corner, elevating my anxiety further. The fore sound could cloak a stew of early warnings from feet to voices, or other unnamed things. I squatted behind some waterlogged crates stacked at the edge, and glanced over them when I saw red splatters. Slowly I eased around the side and peered into a foggy tunnel muddled by failing lights, but enough visibility was there to utilize the zoom on my camera. I couldn’t make out movement, even with the running water dividing my attention. A new scene of horror awaited me.

I slipped around the boxes keeping low, and moved to the opposite side of the channel in an effort to avoid further soaking. Water spewed from a broken water valve of a large pipe connected between the floor and ceiling, I didn’t bother to check it as my eyes focused on the red splattered on the walls and floor. It looked like someone had been straining chunky human pieces from the large drainage pipes in the ceiling, the sides splattered with bright globs of black and red. It was all spilling from the rim of the gutter into the water staining it the crimson hue. Beneath the surface I could view small fish like things squirming about, as persistent as the flies burrowing into soggy guts or body parts.

I closed my eyes and swallowed, I could feel myself shaking harder as I lowered my arms beside me. This nightmare looked recent, it smelled fresh and raw. I had memories as a kid, being with my dad at the local butchers as he cut up the hindquarters of a hog. This reminded me sharply of that. Of all those times.

Maybe after this I’d turn vegan. I never was a big fan of steak.

There was no end to it as I moved through the tunnel, blood was stained up the walls, and pieces of inner organs left strew over pipes and crates lining the gutter. Each drain I passed under had blood running down its interior, more innards, or large sheets of skin imbedded with bone. A leg bobbing in the drain still had blood seeping from the stump, as the little black sewer guppies thrashed into their meal.

Finally, a full human body was laid dead in the bend of the tunnel. I didn’t care to identify his death, I continued and placed myself on the side of the gutter. The channel darkened and a cold draft crept through my coat, I was forced to use the camera to keep from stumbling on the slick sides.

Something hissed ahead of me. I sighed irritated by how jumpy I was, given I was still alone, it was just a pipe—

A thick splash sent cold beads of water through the bars. I retreated a few steps and gazed through the visor, seeing nothing but a sturdy grate where the movement had occurred. The bloated body of a Murkoff researcher was crammed against the bars, some of the skin exposed at his neck and face had been disturbed by the sudden kick in the water and floated freely from the muscles of his skull. Above, or around me there was that same sound, ball bearings rattling through pipes. I turned my camera filming wherever I thought the sound twittered though there was nothing to see, the noise sent shivers up my spin. Or it could’ve been the sudden chill locked in the stale air. Couldn’t stop here.

Need to keep moving. Had to escape. Thoughts of Chris and what he could do to me vanished completely with the presence of this ‘unknown.’ I wasn’t sure what I was running from, only that I somehow kept out of its line of sight. Dumb luck.

I entered an intersecting tunnel on my right but drew back, there was light ahead but the sounds were still present, sounded like it had filtered out of the pipe and was now crashing around behind the door in the tunnels side. The uproar grew in volume as whatever tore the room apart, shelves cracked as all manner of furniture was flung about. The metal barrier quivered and my breath came labored, I wasn’t sure if I was actually experiencing this. How did it get from here to that room?

I took small steps forward, before springing away for no real reason other than my fear of the sounds and I recalled the slaughter. I could almost hear it now, shrieking voices of the deranged as skin was peeled back and bones cracked. Then all at once everything ceased and silence saturated the calm tunnel.

It felt like I was in some sort of danger, though no visible evidence was present to suggest this notion. The air was filled with the metallic reek and rot of old sludge, I could almost pick up the soft warble of water spilling down cobblestone. I felt my heart sank as I realized it could just as easily be blood spilling from a ruined neck.

I debated trying the handle to see what was in there. The highest probability would be its displeasure with the intrusion, followed by my abrupt death. In the dark red liquid of the gutter I could see the drains grate was removed from the wall, a possible means to get away from this area. For a moment I couldn’t move, my eyes flashed to the silent door with its unassuming threat.

Quickly I zipped along the far side of the wall across from the door and gently stepped into the rosy liquid, there was no sound as I shuffled along in the cramped space in the dark. I choked on that thick oil reek as I felt about, feeling light headed with the sudden collision. My camera was also getting low on power, but I insisted on using every last bit of what it had. I still only had two more batteries, and one I was certain was on half power. My leg stung as I bore my grungy pants into the wounds with the chilled water, I shifted my weight and adjusted the camera in my hand before I could fall over. This drain lacked the curving edges I could rest my hand upon to keep my balance, as it was I could barely keep my knees and lower edges of my coat dry. I felt an immediate difference in temperature the moment I entered, the air was cold and calm causing my shoulders to ache as I trembled uncontrollably.

The small tunnel felt near endless in the consuming black, the edges of the green night vision made it more oppressive than should be possible. What was only mere seconds felt like ages, until I reached a fork. I attempted the one side that curved left, only to find it dead end at a sturdy grate. Returning to the original route, I made certain where I was headed before trying the other side.

When the patients came down here earlier, they might have removed some of these grates together for shorter routes. As long as the path was open, I was obligated to take it. Every wrong turn wasted battery life and I attempted to conserve the energy by switching the NV off whenever possible, but in the black slate of nothing I felt the patient approach of something deadly.

I crawled out into a small room, a pump station. It was drained, perhaps by the patients that came through or what was left of the staff still surviving this madness. Some crates sat stacked in the diluted blood channel, and large pipes bore down through the grates upon which I stood, separating me from a nasty swim. The thick fumes of oil and gas filled my lungs and the water I stood in had that translucent, iridescent sheen of chemical residue. Neglected machinery, yet still worked long after abandonment. Some miracle.

I put the camera away, with such nice lighting I just should. The rail ahead was within arm reach if I jumped, and climbed over rather struggle between the bars. A set of shelves at the opposite side of the room were loaded with tools and parts, and some cans of oil. Two doors on either wall indicated the only options out of this room, if they were unlocked.

I tried the one nearest to me set on the solid cement floor, its appearance almost pleasant against the cold brick. Behind the door was a wall of black, which would take me somewhere worthwhile I decided that instant. The air within felt sharp and chilled, unlike the humid sewers.

The other door may have accessed the room I was locked from, as with it something dangerous and incomprehensible. I doubted it, but decided not to risk it. Strange shuffling and scratching sounds came from the other side, I had no wish to meet its gaze and learn its nature. I slipped into the dark chill of the next channel, and shut the door.

Best leave some mysteries, my sick curiosity was going to be the death of me.

I was upon a high grated walkway, without the night vision I could feel the danger press close into me. Decay, mildew, and every manner of disease. My finger with the missing nail was in a good deal of pain, easily ignored but a frequent reminder whenever I fumbled with the cameras operations.

The path to my right was loaded with boxes, a precarious place to climb for a view if they gave out and I fell into god knows what below. When I checked over the side I could make out the walls of metal sheeting gapped for water flow and ruined by corrosion of the mountains natural minerals, the oily water rippled with garbage from the main ward. I was vaguely reminded of Star Wars, and half expected some unknown monster lurking in the depths to coil about my leg and drag me downwards to jaws lined with thousands of tiny teeth.

I laughed at this. My laughter echoing off the great expanse of this chamber, deep into the dark, lost in this hell hole. Somewhere out there a patient was laughing with me. I swore I could hear him.

Or maybe that was my echo.

My knees gave out and I slumped to them lowering the camera beside me, but never letting go of it. I laughed until my sides ached and I tasted that copper residue in my mouth once more. I had fallen to deep chuckles before I started to cough on the foul air, then I flopped to my good side and lay there snickering quietly to myself on the frigid bridge.

What an idiot I was coming to this place! “The story that breaks these bastards.” Weren’t those my exact words? Don’t quote me on that. Looks like I got what I was looking for, fuckin’ story of the century, and Murkoff’s crushing demise. They looked pretty broken to me, but maybe I wasn’t squinting right. I should get that in fine print, signed by Dr. Wernicke himself. Oh the irony he died before this place flipped its lid.

I waited till I had control again before attempting to rise, I didn’t need to buckle over the rail and make a graceless swan dive.

The path going left looked clear, but the rail was shattered to some distance. With no better option I bit down on my reservations and dropped into the water, prepared for the jolt though not taking it as well as I had hoped. I murmured to myself as my sides settled and I continued, camera held near my face as I waded through chest deep water. It had the sharp rust smell, that was more metallic than blood, the pipes around here were made of zinc I thought. Probably wrong, I wasn’t a plumber and I wouldn’t tell one how to do his job before I researched it.

I stopped and listened when I heard something that sounded like hissing, or grinding. The way echoes twisted between the distant walls….maybe it was shrieking? Maybe I was shrieking and wasn’t aware of it.

To reassure myself I touched my lips with my hand, never once considering how filthy my fingers were after I had been crawling down in the gutters. In about five minutes it would come back to me. I took a shaky breath to smooth my frayed nerves but it didn’t help at all. I tried not to bite down on my tongue to prevent my teeth from chattering, in the event something did surprise me, I’d wind up biting off my tongue.

In the dark a shape flittered by, startling me back a step. I gazed at it until my eyes told my brain what it was, just a scrap of blanket from somewhere. I hated this place. It was obvious by now.

I searched around the small channel, not sure what to make of this area. I decided not to worry about it. There were large grates, massive, separating this area from the channels I might have viewed or come through. There was no way into them. I hurried my movement, struggling to build a mental map of where I was going and prevent wasting the battery by getting turned around. The chamber was extending beyond the dividing sections and cement walls far spread enabling me from following one side without losing too much power in the process. I ventured into a small area open by a tear in the steel mesh, but found nothing other than a cluster of crates and some magazines that dissolved around my coat.

My battery was done, and I was forced to change it out. The next one was full power, good to get me out of here. Just had to find somewhere to get too.

When I returned to the area I had just left, I noted a stack of crates beneath a broken rail. It’s connector. I climbed the crates and dragged myself up onto the path, or what was left of it. A few steps and I was already splashing below in the next channel, wading along with water bubbling into my coat. I supposed I was looking for ways to get up and walk on these broken paths to reach a door or ladder, anyway to get out of here. Good plan. I had a good sense of direction on me, so long as I didn’t overthink which way I was facing. If I memorized where I came from and kept my back to the drop or path, then I could navigate across the murky waters with a good mind where the next catwalk would appear.

As I was moving the same clatter of pellets in a pipe twittered off the fences and walls. I checked the ceilings and zoomed to locate large pipes hung above, it was difficult to follow a direction consistently. I also wasn’t certain if I wanted to follow that eerie sound, I was trying to keep avoid it.

After walking halfway around the small pool I located the grated steps leading up to my next pathway. One way was the broken remains of the metal bridge, the other took a sharp right. I walked along, wrenching back when a form came into view. Just a cold body slumped on the rail, I lowered the camera to rub my face with my hand. When I pulled my hand back I held it out straight and viewed it through the NV feed of the visor. My hand was trembling like an addict suffering heavy withdrawals. I didn’t feel frightened here despite the odd sounds and the lurking threat, I was just cold. It was very cold and I was trembling.

I turned the camera back on the patient. It was a rather odd place to die, I gave the corpse plenty of space as I passed. The small detail that I was viewing murdered patients in the sewers was not missed, it could mean a number of things. They were lost down here due to ‘Father’ Martins guidance, and the big fucker had found them. Or, the remaining survivors of the staff had retreated down here, and were defending themselves from the variants. While the latter speculation seemed the most plausible, I doubted it. I had already accepted that everyone affiliated with Murkoff for whatever reason, had been killed. And nothing could change that.

The catwalk came to its inevitable end, and I was certain I heard something glide through the liquid below. It was only fair to note that at this point I was disturbed, and I couldn’t tell if my mind was playing tricks on me or if there was really something lurking below in the untold depths.

Star Wars.

The water swirled about me when I plopped in, and I took a moment to check the power on the battery before continuing. I was stunned to find it half done. What was this? I found these batteries abandoned throughout this place, had they lost most of their juice exposed the way they were?

For now it would hold, I’d worry over it later. Probably when it was too late.

I swore I felt the water ripple around my chest. Maybe my movement caused ripples that returned to me. Echo ripples? Seemed logical. I needed to get out of here before something did drag me under and drowned me. I kept walking, careful steps and slow movements, try not to disturb the surface too much. The silence grew thunderous as my heart pumped in my chest, I was completely and totally alone here in this channel.

The water burst in front of me spraying the camera as with my face with an icy sheet, it successfully spooked me into a full retreat. It was nothing I assured, after I had calmed myself and gawked back at the burbling surface. There was nothing there, no one in the water. Just…something from the ceiling. Worn brick, or that nasty shit. Fuck, a decapitated head, none of those things could consciously hurt me.

Another walkway curved overhead to the right, it felt like I had gone in a complete circle only because I didn’t trust the stability of some boxes. I could see no boxes from where I was stationed below. I grunted and hauled myself up, bringing the camera back to my face as I took the path. A few feet and I found an innocent looking door to my left, the slim crawl of light at the bottom crack. The hinges stuck and creaked as forced it open, only to meet a despairing sight.

The room was empty aside from a bare utility shelf, some plywood, and a man slumped in the furthest corner. A thin black puddle had formed under him, indicating an advanced post mortem state. At his hand was a wrinkled notepad suffering water damage, and the remains of a brown crayon.

I gave the body a distrustful glare before I stepped forward and took up the pad. The writing was mostly eligible, only because crayon was waterproof, but it had not taken well to wet paper I surmised.

“Already weak, cold. It’s still bleeding but it doesn’t hurt anymore and I almost have quiet. I can’t hear the Walrider anymore. Maybe the therapy is wearing off, I can’t remember the dreams. Said I could earn my release from this place by submitting to the therapy. Lies. Of course they were lying. It was not therapy. We were sacrificed to conjure a demon. Please, let there be no more dreams. The only hel….”

Out of habit I flipped the page over to see if there was more, but the writing had a thick crescent mark trailing off the unfinished word.

I returned my gaze to the dead man. One patient had said there were no experiments, but rituals, and had called it a ‘conjuring.’ What exactly did the experiments for Project Walrider entail?

But who did this man refer to? Murkoff, or ‘Father’ Martin. ”Accept the Gospel, and all doors will open”’ What was the therapy he referred to? The mutilation each patient bore? Too many new questions, not enough answers. Even the authentic documents Murkoff published made little more sense than the patients statements.

I recorded the note, doubting even with the descent light of the room that it would be eligible, but I went ahead and tore off the page and folded it up to slip into my notebook. My coat wasn’t waterproof, but the pocket I kept perishable items in was lined with a water repellent material that kept them safe. A bit of liquid did seep through the zipper, but it was more than my body could say.

I shut the door and resumed on the walkway, only to find its sudden end. I splashed into another channel coughing at the odd shift in my ribs, it didn’t hurt but tickled more like I had a mild cough. I waded around the perimeter but located no visible way to exit here, nor an overhead path. Off on the side I climbed out on a wide drainage chute to take a moment and exchange out the battery. For a moment I listened to the water drip off my coat and trickle into the large body below, aside from this the chamber was total silence, even the rattle of needles had faded away leaving the echoing vibrations of the solitary water rippling against metal sheeting.

The battery was a half dead one as well. Might as well use it while things felt calm, I’d have to tread cautiously and maybe give this one up early if I wandered near danger. Though, the way my batteries were dying, it seemed inevitable that I would change it soon.

With no visible exit here, I decided to backtrack. I must have missed something. An opening probably, skipped in the poor NV quality. Excuses, excuses. I chided myself for being so careless, even distracted as I was I needed to pay attention to my surroundings or I wouldn’t survive much longer. I shuddered at the thought as I slipped into the cold channel. It was just cold.

I returned to the previous pool, before had I climbed up into the catwalk with the dead patient. I scoured the perimeter over wasting precious battery life, before I decided to climb that damn drainage chute with the grate. I had missed a small opening in the side, looked like someone had kicked it out with fire. I crawled into the next channel, chamber, flow - whatever, and stepped down into water that was not quite as deep. It was freezing though, I was shaking so hard the images of the visor were not clear enough to see until I had paused to get my quakes under control.

Felt like my knees were numb, but it did ease the pain in my chest. I was going to be a female before the end of this. Damn.

I tried along the outer wall locating all the discarded papers, folders, cans, and cardboard. My pulse quickened and I was trembling harder than before, I found out why as I turned the camera. Rotted decapitated heads floating at the sides. I could see the heads due to the eyes, eyes always glowed. I hated that. Somehow my peripheral vision had picked up on them before I consciously realized it, the notion itself elicited a tiny moan from me. Across the channel I could zoom on the camera and locate more heads balanced on crates staring with vacant expressions across the black expanse. I shut my eyes and looked away.

There was a sound. Someone screaming, most likely. I continued, bumping a few items that became water logged and sunk. Bodies floated after some time. Eerie thought right there. I wasn’t paying enough attention at the moment, couldn’t bring myself to focus on where I was going. A small knot had buried into my spine like an obnoxious ache, but it felt more like stress and the cold twisting my nerves.

When I finally staggered in the water nearly dropping the camera I looked out, revaluating my position. A few large pillars supported what must’ve been the upper floor. There was a way out, somewhere to climb up on and get a better view of my surroundings.

Movement. Ripples. They could have been mine, but they traveled from the opposite side of the room far from walls, that I could tell. Something solid was down here with me.

I shuffled near the curving wall carefully, taking small steps as I turned the camera in gradual sweeps and zoomed in. Trying to find what, before it found me. I drew too near to it and picked up the dull clink of chains, and the rather aggressively way the water broke.

Chris Walker. Down here! Damn it, if there was no way out!

But as I turned the camera, up in the ceiling there beamed a light from some sort of opening. It meant nothing, probably from where the big fucker crashed in from. But it was my only chance. It was more than what I’d found so far.

I hid behind a stack of crates and peered out, as his eyes glimmered phantom like in the NV mode. Just beyond him I could make out a set of steps leading up, and a walkway. That was something, and the light source right there, it could have been where Chris plunged in from.

What was he doing down here? Lost? I didn’t care, it would be a nice change of pace if he was stuck. I doubted his fate would end in a place like this, he wouldn’t rest until he saw me dead.

“Stacked neatly side by side,” he hummed, taking a turn and wandering a ways from my position.

I zoomed out, heading in the general direction I had seen the steps. “Too good at what I do.” He must’ve been lost in recollections of his past, or a session with the doctors. It kept him distracted and that was good. “Someone’s here.” Not nearly enough.

The rings were getting smaller as he closed in on me, I was barely climbing the steps when the power in my battery began to fade. Fuck, what bad timing! I bolted up the steps rather bother with it. Chris gave a sharp snarl when he must have seen my form in the faint light. I ran, not realizing the path ended before I nearly bolted off the broken walkway into open air.

There was a ladder that would’ve extended down to the bridge, if it was still intact. The lower portion of it and much of the catwalk was torn to shreds and dumped in the water below.

I felt the vibrations of the big fucker as he stormed up behind me.

I jumped down into the water and wadded away. He did much of the same, only he seemed to have an easier time charging through the froth after me. My camera was depleted, but it did punch a small hole of perception in what was otherwise a black wall. I was in a mad hobble to keep out of his grip, and he was catching up.

A very insignificant memory came back to me, way back from my child hood. When the kids in my old neighborhood got together Saturday nights to play outdoor games, like kids my age used to do many moons ago, we would often play tag. I had many fond memories of being it, and not being it. Sometimes we got bored and would antagonize the tagger, so we could run. No one liked trying to tag me much, I was good at getting away. But if ever I was in a jam and close to getting caught, I had a very unique way of eluding my pursuer.

With Chris close at my back, I managed several long strides in the impeding water and leapt forward, twisting in midair and coming down so I faced the opposite way I was headed. Albeit, it was sluggish in the water, I shoved off glancing by Chris as he fought to jerk about.

The back of his arm slammed into my lower hip as he fell, a loud yowl expelled from my throat as the chains multiplied the pain by six. I stumbled but recovered quickly, adrenaline pumped through my veins as I made it back, guided only by the poor light of the night vision.

“You had your chance!”

I could hear him stagger upright and resume the chase. The metal steps were a few feet off but I redirected myself and took them three at a time, never mind the throb building in my hip. Never mind any of that shit, I wouldn’t have another go at this if I fell.

I stuffed the camera strap between my teeth before I lunged forward, relying on my meek sight alone and the faulty light to identify the ladders bars glinting in the fog. I hit them with a muffle grunt, my boots slipping through the space and I swung backwards barely catching the rungs with my feet splayed against them. When I hit the lower side with my back, holy hell, the bolt of pain shot up my shoulder blades and numbed a spot in my tongue. Somehow I never lost my grip on the camera, probably because I had bitten hard into the strap due to the shock. Dumbfounded, I hung there as Chris thundered across the bridge with a murderous growl. I registered his intentions with enough time to jerk myself up, as he leapt slashing at my shoulder.

Complete silence.

I imagined Chris Walker falling forever into a dark void, or well. A poisoned well, before he splashed at the very bottom. My abdomen began to ache, and I was forced to haul myself up and climb the ladder the rest of the way. Below, he snarled with fury and maybe promised next time would be different, before he broke off into mad cackles that sounded a little too feminine to be MY big ugly fucker.

I was delirious by the time I reached the top of the ladder, my body sort of oozed out onto the icy concrete floor and I rolled away from that large gaping hole. Away from danger, away from that wicked monster. I curled myself up beside some shelving and lay there, clutching the camera to my chest. A dull throb pulsed up my side and a unbearable warmth seeped through my lower thigh, I fumbled for my wet pants leg trying to decide if I was bleeding but it was impossible to tell. I probably shouldn’t be clutching my only light source to my wet coat, but my brain wasn’t registering the warning at this time. It felt like everything was spinning, the dull beige room I lay in was whirling and twisting, I felt my eyes roll back under their lids as I tried to follow the motion.

I thought I heard someone crying, but it wasn’t me. Fuck that. I rolled off my side and looked over at a man in a chair.

Beware men in chairs.

For a long time I stared at him and I think, he stared right back. His face looked like it was infected, or a bees nest had made a home in his brain.

Miles. Up. Get up Miles. Walk it up.

I don’t really want to. But I made the effort, slipping my hands under me and pushing off the dusty ground. A small whine escaped me as I pushed, literally dragging myself to my feet. Once I was standing, I moved towards the open door. A familiar sort of door, I couldn’t recall where I had seen doors like this.

I managed to reach the doorway before I dropped. A moment, I needed a moment. Just a short span of time in the quiet, away from the screaming and the oppressive death, and the dangers. Just give me five minutes to get my shit together and get up. As I sank heavily to my side I exhaled a sharp breath scattering the dust near my face, my forehead thudded with pain as the warmth subsided in my calm state. I’m not sure if I was on my good side or if I had a good side anymore, perhaps a more favorable position to lie in? I couldn’t sleep here, but I couldn’t resist either. I wouldn’t sleep. I would not sleep. Wouldn’t sleep.

The soft shuffle of feet interrupted my coaxing. I turned my head just enough over my shoulder to see the man from the chair approach me. I did my best to glare at him, or to not look terrified before I blacked out.

#miles upshure #outlast #outlast fanfiction #outlast novelized

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