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#but in the end both drown in air that is too empty for their own good
targaryen-dynasty · 5 months
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Threesome Nr 2 w/ modern! aemond and Aegon please! Maybe they’re both doing bad in a class and she is their tutor. With first time double, dacryphilia and overstim? 😈
KINKTOBER SLEEPOVER.
No. 8 -> GIF.
Modern!Aemond and Aegon II Targaryen x fem!Reader
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WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; threesome (m/m/f), p in v, anal (pls use lube), (first time) double penetration, dacryphilia, overstimulation, praise kink, degrading, humiliating, alcohol consumption, female Reader
WORDS: 2.2 K
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The stem of your wine glass was rolled between your index finger and thumb, your legs draped over Aegon’s thighs. An hour. An hour did it take for you both to put the books aside to lounge on the sofa in Aegon’s shared apartment, the second bottle of red on the small table in front of it being almost empty already. 
One of you always quit quite early – most of the time it was him. 
Aemond sat on the two-seater sofa and listened to the conversation, nursing his third glass. It was the first time he had actively joined you and Aegon, mostly because Aegon had already poured him a glass when he had heard the keys rustling against the front door. However, your begging was what really convinced him. 
“Seriously, though,” you said, blinking slowly as your eyes became glossy from the wine. “Why did you ask me for help and not your brother? He has the same classes and does way better.” You glanced over at Aemond, who gave you an appreciative nod.
Aegon had one arm splayed across the back of the sofa, fingers trailing over the expensive leather. Cocking an eyebrow, he brought the glass to his lips and drowned the last bit, almost as if he had to give himself Dutch courage. “Well, my brother doesn’t look as good as you do,” he gruffed, raising his empty glass. 
Opening your mouth, you brushed your index finger over your bottom lip in a calming manner, meant to hide the smirk that pulled at the corners of it. You glanced between the two silver haired men, before bringing the glass to your lips. “He looks way better,” you mumbled the words against the rim of the glass, almost drowned by the wine. “... but that obviously runs in the family.” Obviously speaking before thinking. 
Heat colored your cheeks almost instantly, and even though you were a bit tipsy already, it didn’t suppress the embarrassment you felt. 
Too occupied with your own emotions, you hardly noticed the glances the brothers exchanged, until your eyes flickered from the glass in your hand up to meet Aegon’s. Seeing the mischievous smirk on his lips, your eyes widened, before they darted towards Aemond, who appeared to be stunned by the confession. 
“I mean… I-I don’t… you–” you stammered, trying to talk your way out of the situation – but to no avail.
Aegon and you had fucked once – or thrice – ever since you met in one of the college bars a few weeks ago, and, assuming it had ended on your terms, he surely would have taken you a fourth or fifth time, too. But you didn’t want to get your heart broken by the notorious fuckboy, so you had to put a stop to it. 
“... we?” Now it was Aemond speaking, maybe even for the first time that evening, and his smooth voice immediately sent a shiver down your spine, settling between your legs. 
You gulped, tapping your index finger against the stem of your glass. “You’re both fucking hot, alright?” you blurted out, almost seeming offended – if it wasn't for the bright red tinting your cheeks. “It’s like –”
Aegon raised his hand with a scoff, effectively silencing you. “Be a good girl and shut up.”
The sudden shift in the air caught you so off guard, but you did as he told you to. While you should be nervous or ponder over what could be on his mind, your thoughts always strayed back to the ‘be a good girl’ and a part of you wanted to be good for him so, so good. 
“See?” Aegon teased with a sly smirk, looking past you at Aemond. “Told you she’d loosen up with a few glasses.” 
At the confession of them speaking about you beforehand, you swallowed thickly, looking back down to the glass in your hand. 
“I-I–”
“Shush now,” Aemond warned, joining in on his brother’s antics. 
“You know you could’ve just asked us if you wanted some action, mh?” Where Aemond had been quiet and reserved before, always more the observer than actively participating, his sudden change of demeanor most definitely caught you by surprise. 
Aegon scoffed, and you hadn’t noticed his hand rubbing your thigh before, too confused by what was happening around you. Heat followed in the wake of his hand, and it didn’t settle the aching between your legs, silently begging for his hand to travel up. “Is that true?” he asked, amusement laced in his voice. It didn’t feel humiliating, but something still had your throat tightening, not knowing what to say. 
Witnessing Aemond taking the initiative was the last thing you expected, yet you couldn’t deny that you were pleasantly surprised. “Come here,” he said, patting his thigh. 
From the moment you climbed Aemond’s lap, too much and not enough at all happened – until the three of you were completely naked and covered with sweat. 
After he had cupped your face, breathing a ‘want us to play with you?’ against your parted lips, he had claimed them with a heated kiss that robbed you of any bits of hesitation and reluctance that might have settled in your bones. 
While Aegon mostly had sat on the couch, jerking himself off to the sight of you and Aemond making out, it was his turn to join when things got more serious. Having had you a few times before, he was generous enough to grant his younger brother the chance of feeling your cunt choking his cock, content to watch for the time being. 
And something told you that Aemond might have been wanting this for quite some time. 
What Aegon lacked in length, Aemond made up for, and other way round when it came to the girth. They both were well endowed, but not to the point it caused you pain or felt uncomfortable. 
As Aemond slid into you, you gasped, practically impaled on his cock. It took you a few seconds to adjust, but then you started to rock your hips back and forth, riding him. 
The sensations only grew with him snaking an arm around your body, trailing down to where your bodies were connected to gather some of your arousal to coat his nimble fingers. At first, you paid no mind to it, until his index finger circled around the rim of your other hole, massaging it and eventually dipping inside. 
“I-I have never,” you whimpered, not at all worried if it meant it would be your first time tonight. 
Aegon rasped from his place on the couch, breathing heavily from how well he was fisting himself, “oh, we’ll take good care of you, sweets.”
“That’s it,” Aemond cooed in the same moment, enjoying the way your walls sucked him in with each swivel of your hips.
The pleasure got unbearable, but before you had the chance to come, Aemond withdrew his fingers. There wasn't even time for you to complain or whine, because he rose to his feet and beckoned his brother over with a nod. 
Feeling Aegon’s lips on the curve of your shoulder, you tipped your head back and moaned. Aemond dragged his nose along your exposed throat, pressing featherlight kisses to your flushed skin that drove you into madness. 
“Look at you,” Aegon rasped against your skin, biting down roughly enough to have you suck in a sharp breath. “So desperate to be fucked by us.” With Aemond thrusting up into you, his hands clasped around your thighs to hold you steady, there was not much you could answer, merely whining in return.
“Have I fucked you dumb already?” the younger one teased, a proud edge to his smooth voice. 
It was like heaven to you, sandwiched between two handsome men that played your body like a fiddle. You knew how good Aegon was when it came to fucking, but you were surprised that Aemond was in no way inferior to him, perhaps even a bit better, since he knew how to charm your body with gentle touches that juxtaposed the drilling of his hips. 
With the preparation of Aemond’s fingers, the prodding of Aegon’s cock against your virgin hole wasn’t that uncomfortable. Aemond had stopped his movements as soon as he noticed the shifting of his brother behind you, allowing the elder to push inside slowly and carefully. 
Accommodating both of them at once brought you a feeling of fullness you hadn’t experienced before. Even though they didn’t move, you were certain you could have come on spot just from them filling you to the brim. And seeing that you had become tighter with Aegon now behind you, both men seemed to share the feeling. 
But even then, the aching between your legs didn’t subside – if everything, it just grew greedier. 
“Move… please,” you whimpered, tears starting to brim in your eyes. Standing behind you, Aegon replaced Aemond’s hands with his own, while Aemond draped both your arms over their shoulders for leverage. Aegon spread your legs to the point it felt as if he wanted to tear you apart, but it felt oh so right. 
The tears made your vision blurry, and you didn’t see the glance they exchanged before they started to thrust into you at the same moment. Your head tipped back yet again with a strangled moan slipping past your lips, whereas both men were grunting and groaning as their cocks dragged through your clenching walls. 
Aemond brought his hand up to cup your cheek, pad of his thumb dragging along your skin to gather some of the tears you had shed. “Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry.” As fucked up as it was, his words had you keening, the sounds you released growing from desperate and strained to wanton and pornographic. 
His other hand found solace between your legs, fingers dragging over your little bud. It was harsh, and, with the pleasure their cocks brought you, it made your body feel like it was on fire, urging you to squirm and gasp. But the position didn’t allow you to leave, unable to move with your arms around their necks and Aegon’s strong hands on your thighs. 
“That’s it,” the elder grunted, accentuating the words with two thrusts that were out of the rhythm of Aemond’s, harsh enough to hiccup your breathing. “Keep purring for us, you dumb, little kitten.” Releasing one of your thighs – with Aemond being quick enough to grab it to hold it up – Aegon reached around to squeeze and grope at your breasts. 
All things came together at once with the tip of Aemond’s cock brushing your sweet spot so expertly while his fingers circled your clit and Aegon’s squeezed and pinched your nipples. You toppled over the edge with a loud cry, white, hot pleasure surging through your veins. It almost was embarrassing how tightly your walls clenched around them both to the point it forced them to slow down a bit, yet their ministrations were enough to prolong that intense high. 
While you had expected them both to pursue their orgasms not long after, it was crushing when they didn’t, forcing you through the overstimulation. 
You tried to press your thighs together to escape the uncomfortable feeling, which obviously didn’t work with them spreading your legs further apart. “F-Fuck… please,” you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut which prompted more tears to roll down your cheeks. 
Being generous enough to grant you some kind of relief, Aemond withdrew his fingers from your clit and instead cupped your chin. “Keep crying like that, fuck,” he grunted, pursing his lips just slightly as his good eye was fixed on your tortured expression. 
Trusting twice, thrice, he eventually reached his climax with a strained groan, stilling his hips completely as his throbbing cock spent itself deep inside of your still trembling and sensitive walls. That prompted you to open your eyes, keeping them locked on his face, watching it contort with pleasure. He didn’t pick up his pace after that, merely staying buried inside of you. 
Aegon followed suit not long after with an elongated ‘fuck’, groping your breast a tad too roughly as he was overtaken by pleasure. He rode his high out with leisure snaps of his hips, rolling them back and forth until they also stilled at some point. 
He was the first to pull out and fetch his clothes, causing you to wince at the loss and a slight feeling of being used to throb in the back of your mind. For Aemond and you, it appeared you needed a few more seconds to steady your breathing and allow the events to settle in your bones, but once they did, he was careful to lower you to the ground.
“See you next week, Y/N,” Aegon gruffed, grabbing his phone. “Tuesday, same time?” 
Not really waiting for an answer, he departed for the bath, leaving you alone with his younger brother. With wide eyes, you met Aemond’s good one, silently begging for him to say something.
And he did, but probably not what you expected him to. 
“Get in my room,” he commanded, not a tinge of strain left in the baritone of his voice, “I'll clean you up and make your evening worth the while.”
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ay0nha · 8 months
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An Ode to Ruination | T.S.
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SUMMARY: Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callus to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky water—drown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath. 
PAIRING: Tommy Shelby x f!reader
WORD COUNT: 2.5K
WARNINGS: ANGST, swearing, smoking, drinking, semi-preoccupations with thoughts of death/suicide, mutual pining, meanish tommy because his feelings are hurt, canon-typical things, protective!tommy, rushed ending, etc.
A/N: Yeah, yeah, I’m back on my bullshit.  This is inspired by @zodiyack​‘s request/post (here). HAD to get it out of my system, I mean look how pretty he is. This is a mix of Old writing I had to dust off the cob webs for mixed with new stuff, so be kind. Enjoy.
“You’re leaving.”
Tommy’s tone was sterile. It left little room for interpretation or defiance. The statement came without hesitation but held pent-up sentiment veiled by familiar poise. You vetted his blank gaze for proper determination of his upset.  
The cracks behind his exterior were so deeply concealed you hadn’t thought anything could slip between. Yet, standing before him, your decision was the ice-pick that’s pressure had shattered him.
“Ada told you?” You hummed with formality; his presence clearly a response to the question. “London will treat me well.”
Tommy tracked your movements. You envied how he filled the space better than you. Perhaps it was the vulnerability in his presence. Regardless, you felt like a guest in your own home. You felt caught, exposed.
The air was thick, causing Tommy’s deep breaths hard to hide behind a crackling record that you had on a continual loop, never able to stand too much silence. Your bags were organized beside the door for the morning, causing your heart to echo against the empty walls.
There was an odd sense of pride you felt with his presence. It confirmed the distant admiration that Tommy held for years. That the shared affection wasn’t something fabricated but complex. You respected his drive, but your desires fell elsewhere. He carved space for you despite your protests, but you could never be the one to fill it—you could never be his.
“A better life, eh?” Tommy mocked you, cigarette rolling over his lips with habit. “Fucks sake.” The confidence in his demeanor faltered. But he regained it quickly with a bitter laugh, “...I’ve given you everything, and here you are asking for more.”
With an instinct to comfort him, you wanted to reach for him. It spoke of your ability to read him and how exhausting it had become to interpret. He would miss you.
“Tommy—” You began. The calmness in your voice was deceiving. You could see it in his face, how expectant he was for you to tell him you’d stay. “—I’m not safe with you.” You paused, letting your admission sink in just as harshly as his words had, “I’m going to London.”
The bliss was idyllic.
Your wrist balanced on the windowsill as you lazily tapped the ash of your cigarette. The cool air caressed your arm and gave you goosebumps that reminded you that you were still alive. Human. Your senses were perked. The city outside kept you attentive as your head rested back. The day was long, but hearing the taxis carrying bubbling people made it worth it. You imagined how some were on their way to find warmth in their home while others were dressed for an endless night of laughter.  
The living room was empty and quiet. You could no longer hear Ada’s shuffling feet above you, ushering both her and Karl to sleep. It was odd that you found such freedom with them. Protection of sorts that you could rely on as a necessary stepping stone. It caused a headache to form at the back of your head, reminding you of your lack of sleep.
Privilege came with the name associated that made your stomach churn.  It was simple to push Tommy into a subconscious level. The task became daunting; an ache emerged from so deep within that it took months to realize from the start he was responsible.   It was as though you could feel how his eyes were still on you.
It became a habit to remind yourself of your newfound safety. The distance created life: happiness and tranquility. You traded bloody nights for bedtime stories, sewing razor-filled caps for gin-filled gatherings, and Tommy’s scarcity of communication for peaceful nights like tonight.
A disruption was overdue. You answered the phone after the third ring.
“Ada?” The voice was unmistakable, even if it was whiskey drenched. It took him a beat to realize you were on the other end. “... ’m callin’ for Ada.”
Chewing on your lip, you debated silence and pretended like the call had never begun. But that incessant ache begged to be relieved.
“I can wake her.” Your voice was soft, promising something you were unwilling to do. It was nicety that filled the quietness you were met with.
“I—uh—” Tommy sighed deeply. The words were lost, jumbled behind an always racing mind. You could picture him well; his crisp shirt no longer having life as it was rolled up by anxiety, his tie no longer present, but still suffocating him, and everything around him reflecting how he moved with an intemperate haze. “—I’m drowning—”
“Tommy…” You refused to burst, but his name on your tongue tattered between warning and heartbreak. When he drank, he opened up to you, a foolish cycle. “Let me get Ada…”
The dark chuckle on the other end forced you to press yourself closer to the phone. “Sometimes, I wish I were dead so you'd think of me.”
A frown perked your lips. You were made out to be more heartless than the most heartless man you knew. It was a naive guilt trip that you almost slipped on. “Be fair to me, Tommy.”
There was a crackle on the other end, a cigarette lit purely by regret. The drag was long, trying to pull something thoughtful from a blurred mind. The reports he received from those he paid off weren’t enough.  You were thriving with his absence, seen with a mix of people who, even acquaintances, valued you better. It elicited resentful envy. However, out of arms reach, you worried Tommy endlessly. The London associates sought blood, no matter who provided it. The paranoia was ruining him, and no answer could reassure him.
“You a communist yet?” Tommy cleared his throat with a vulnerability that was only reserved for this night. Maybe, you thought, it was an effort on his part.
“Almost…” The teasing comforted a dodged homesickness. “Think my card got lost in the post.”
“Shame.” He tutted with a gentle wit. There was a tender sadness he carried with him. It was almost as volatile as his anger. It was easy to blame it on the war, but it had latched onto him long before, never planning to let go.
You imagined how his exhaustion mapped along his body. His body probably mirrored your own; head back, limbs weakly sprawled, heavy-lidded eyes imagining the other beside each other, and a mutual worry that bounced between you.
“I am happy, Tommy…” Your promise was delayed, hardly believable. “Ada and I do miss everyone.”
I miss you.
Tommy hummed, “...have a funny way of showin’ that.”
“You haven’t seen our smoke signals?”
The laugh you were met with was small, light, and barely there, but it rushed through your limbs and heated your chest. You had a moment to catch your breath and slow your heart rate. Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callous to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky water—drown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath.  
You knew Tommy would be there. For Ada—you reminded yourself. Yet, seeing him so closely caused your heart to lurch, your blood leaving your extremities with such fascination that you became light-headed.
“Drink.” Ada all but scolded you, crystal pushed into your hand. The instruction was welcomed, but it wasn’t enough to settle you. “Otherwise, you’ll clam up if Tommy bothers to find us.”
Tommy worked the crowd well. It was a feigned charm that he played into only for advantage. Although he claimed to be here for family, business always loomed. Ada hadn’t cared either way, the glitz far too intriguing to question his sudden presence in the city.
“Give him time…” Ada spoke openly to the air, her night’s indulgence tracing her words. “...always time with that one—wastes it, and yet, expects you to be there when he hollers. Does your head in, it does…”
The champagne bubbled down your throat. The night was meant to be celebratory, but you’d be lying if you said you knew why. It was a part of your distinction from the Shelby family that you questioned if ignorance truly brought you bliss.
“Surprised he came himself. Thomas Shelby in the flesh,” Ada continued with ease, mocking her brother. “Surprised he even lifted a pinky. Typically one of his goons—” She looked to you, her revelation cutting her off. “You do understand what you do to him, don’t you?”
“I don’t want to.” Your words were sharp. Your eyes filtered the crowd for the gloved waiter to replace your glass. “There’s nothing that I—I’ve put all that behind me.”
“That?” She pressed with practiced bits of patience. Ada’s smile grew comically. The shy glancing took years to turn into full sentences and Ada knew firsthand how to read her brother, and the way he lingered spoke volumes. He was past smitten.
It was all or nothing; you were it.
You were grateful how her attention shifted to her own relationship. You never tired of hearing how Freddie treated her and loved her since they were children. There was somberness in her eyes, but devotion carried in her words. You saw how she carried him with her; certain mannerisms mirrored not only in her but Karl. Love withstood.
There was a point in your life you believed you’d find something similar. You hadn’t faulted your growing mind; it was natural to romanticism your future at such a young age. Those around you promised there was something fruitful to look forward to. However, life proved difficult; men remained boys, and the only person that you regarded stalked toward you as if you were nothing more than a stranger.
“Ada.” Tommy approached his sister as if she were alone. He’d visited her in the city multiple times but never once shared the air with you. “Enjoying yourself tonight, eh?”
“Mothers can still have fun.” She teased him with a peck on the cheek. Even in her state, she ridiculed her brother’s behavior. With a shoulder pushed against his, Ada encouraged Tommy to acknowledge you. “Have you no manners?”
To others, his expression may have appeared vacant. However, Tommy wrestled with himself, unsure how to maneuver in uncharted territory. Stalling, his eyes danced the crowd as he languidly out his matches and carton. It denoted how natural his icy illusion became, and now he seemed able to practice it on you. Once he landed on you, you realized why he struggled to meet your eyes. It was his only form of self-defense.
“London suits you.” Tommy nodded, his greeting muffled through the newly lit cigarette. The small rush it gave him was enough to stay vigilant.
“It has its moments.”  Your chest perked from the attention and chill, but Tommy’s eyes never faltered from your own. You were daring him to take your body in. It was the sole reason you chose a dress that cut low both front and back.
Tommy was never a blind man.
Nor was his sister. Ada excused herself, claiming whatever ‘this’ was, she wanted no part. You are no fun, she said. However, you weren’t sure who it was directed to. You held back from following her, but your shoulders remained open; you wouldn’t fold into yourself.
“I didn’t know communists could have fun…” Tommy mumbled to himself, eyes going to the crowd once more. Ada’s self-imposed isolation rippled through the family, only fracturing the stress of everyone’s well-being.
A scoff bubbled in your throat, “And what do you know about pleasure?”
“Pleasure?” Tommy became focused and pointed with his words. “Pleasure doesn’t exist.”
Eyebrows cinching with frustration, you stepped closer to be heard, “Don’t pretend like your pleasures don’t have names.”
That drunken call all those nights ago was a mistake. It showed you insight into a dream. In that dream, Tommy was free of what haunted him, light and present. Faithful. There his voice wrapped you in warmth with fulfilled promises. You never were as skilled at hiding your emotions. Your heart was broken on your sleeve.
“I’m going to—
There wasn’t a need for a protective air as those around Tommy knew never to challenge him. However, far and few between, there were those men self-entitled with such idiocy; they couldn’t recognize they were prey.
“Thomas Shelby. Birmingham man in London.” A hand clapped down on his shoulder, breaking the forming bubble around you. “Thought that was you! This must be the missus…”
“Not quite.” Your tone was bare, your hand extending with trained expertise. You could handle pleasantries. But the man was bold, leaving a damp kiss on your knuckles as if marking you.
Tommy was subtle, moving his body to act as a buffer. Fingertips brushy feather-bare against your lower back. You thought it would end there but held back a flinch when Tommy’s warm palm flattened where your back curved.
“Ah, understood!” The man replied with a boisterous cackle. It reflected years of unfiltered nicotine and a wet and sick penchant for bourbon. “I’ll have one of you warm my bed once all of this shit is over.”
You pinned your breath to the roof of your mouth. Your loss for words wasn’t due to the ill-mannered man. It was from the brush of Tommy’s thumb against your skin. It was a comfort and an apology for how he would have to agree with the man to keep him at bay.
It was all a part of the plan you were slowly catching onto.
“A good lay is a good lay, isn’t it, Mr. Shelby?” The man prompted again, a gauge to know if the future alliance would be worth it.
“Exactly right.”
You could storm off, cause a scene. Your anger steeped deeper than that. It lived in your bones, morphing into something vindictive. You stayed the course and played your part willingly. The morals you lectured Tommy on didn’t matter anymore when all along he had the upper hand.
To the man, you were a plaything, someone who the conversation held no standing. The information would be forgotten, implied confidentiality,   as you’d move on to your next client. However, the further you orchestrated the conversation to continue, the more you learned.
The night was a business move, another party dosed in secrets and danger. You took in the man’s features, noting how he was aging, greys just starting to filter through his scalp. Your stomach turned, knowing there would be a bullet between his eyes by the end of the evening. The interaction was a courtesy.
Once alone again, you didn’t hesitate to move from Tommy’s shield. You felt dirtied.
“I can’t believe you.” You spat. “You’re incapable of—
“Enough.” Tommy’s words were low. He pinned you with a look alone, keeping you steady. “You want to run from me, but you can’t.” You battled with him until you lost. His face hardened like you were another associate. “It was him or you.”
835 notes · View notes
myosotisa · 10 months
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falling down - s.h.
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Steve Harrington x Reader
‖  summary: Running out of a night out with friends having an anxiety attack, your friend Steve comes looking for you. After spending some time talking together, he makes sure you get home safe.
‖ tags: hurt/comfort, description of an anxiety/panic attack, discussions of issues opening up and being vulnerable. overall just comfort and real talking to each other. gender neutral reader, no pronouns, no physical description given. reader is nicknamed 'Ace', one use of sweetheart, no use of Y/N.
‖  word count: 3.8k
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The full body freeze. Face buzzing, fingers going numb. Everything is too loud, too bright, too much. You’re floating and you’re drowning and you’re fading into nothing all at once. All you know is you have to get out and it has to be now.
You’re not completely aware of yourself as you back away from the arcade machine and feel your feet travel towards the exit. No one pays you any mind, all wrapped up in their own little worlds, until you’re almost out the door.
"Ace?" It's Robin's voice, slightly slurred with alcohol and confusion. "Where are you going?"
You plaster on a smile as you throw a look over your shoulder, towards where Robin is leaning on the bar in front of Argyle, who also now has his attention on you.
"Just going out to get some air." It sounds too normal, there is no way your voice should still sound that stable, no way you can cover it that well. You push out the door before either of them can reply.
It's dark out now, the light posts around the little outdoor mall glowing in the humid night. It feels suffocating and you pull at the collar of your shirt without even thinking about it. Even out here everything feels so constricting, so wrong. Your feet carry you away from the bar and south.
You don't remember getting to the edge of the concrete overhang, but it’s quieter here. Calmer. You recognize your body is probably drawing you to the park, to safety and quiet and solitude – but you pull back, wrapping your arms tight around your middle almost as if you were trying to physically hold yourself together. Hold your spirit in your body and keep yourself from floating away. A shiver wracks your body as a cold breeze rolls across the half empty parking lot to your right. It feels human, feels grounding. Like your body is really there and can really feel. And though it’s uncomfortable, it’s also calming.
You lean your forearms on top of a concrete half wall that makes a slight break between the mall and the parking lot. Trying to breathe in and out. Trying to chase away the panic and the fear and the pain. Let it out into the night air. But it just grabs on tighter. Digs its claws in and tightens its grip around your chest. Constricts around you like a python until it feels like your eyes are going to pop right out of their sockets. You fight the urge to lose your dinner by digging your nails into your sides as a shiver-sob wracks your frame from your place on the floor. When did you end up sitting on the sidewalk?
“Ace?” A voice breaks through the haze but you can’t move, can’t respond, can’t process whether this person is looking to help or harm. “Hey, are you out here?” The voice is getting closer and you are both terrified to be found like this and terrified to be left alone here. You hear the soft tap of shoe soles on the tile inlay you passed on the way here and then, “Sweetheart? Ace!” They’re running toward you but you can’t look, can’t breathe, can’t stop shaking.
Large, warm hands hover over the tops of your shoulders and then pull back. “Ace, can you look at me? Are you hurt?” Steve kneels on the floor beside you, his voice slightly pitchy in alarm. You can’t meet his eyes but manage to shake your head no, both to being able to look and being hurt. He tries to ask you something else but you can’t hear it over the blood suddenly rushing through your ears.
“Can I touch you?” He asks again, his voice cutting through the lull this time, so respectful and kind as always. You want to tell him yes, of course, please hold me and tell me it's going to be okay and make the pain stop. But you can’t say anything at all. He hesitates in your orbit after not getting an answer so you just grab at the front of his shirt, basically throwing yourself onto him as he gets knocked back onto his ass.
He’s frozen for a moment in shock but then wraps his arms around you tight, one arm around your mid back and the other reaches a hand into your hair, cradling your head from where it’s buried in his shoulder. You don't even have the energy to question the situation or your actions or where you are or what time it is. All you can do is hold on tight to Steve like he’s the only thing keeping you on Earth and cry your eyes out into his burgundy crew neck. He rests the side of his head on the top of yours, rubbing your back and whispering into your ear. Telling you, “It’s going to be okay. I’m here. You’re going to be alright. Just breathe for me.” The reassurances wash over you like rain, the flames fading and the smoke clearing. The grip around your chest loosening.
It takes some time before your breathing starts to even out. You try to flex your numb fingers from where they are still stiffly fisted in his shirt. He continues rubbing his hand up and down your spine. “That’s it, you’re doing great, Ace.” His voice is soft and comforting, gentle, and you can feel even more of the tension leaving your body as you sink further into him.
You sit there in silence for another few minutes while he just holds you. You try to match his breathing as you rest your forehead against the side of his neck. You feel so small like this, so fragile. But strangely… safe.
Steve pulls away first, leaving you mourning the loss of his warmth. You are still close enough that your legs can touch but he obviously wants to look at you and talk. You just stare down at your hands in your lap, unable to meet his eyes.
“Are you okay? Well, I know you’re not okay but…” He rubs the back of his neck as he draws one leg up so he can rest his elbow on it. “Are you feeling better now?”
“Yes,” your voice is small and more hoarse than you thought it would be. “Thank you.”
“Oh, sure.” He pauses then, picking up a stone to roll between his fingers in a cycle that seems to be an effort to delay his questioning. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” You close your eyes with a sigh, not ready for the questioning part of being found out like this. He immediately backtracks when he clocks it. “You don’t need to tell me anything, if you don’t want to. I’m just… I’m worried.” When you don't move or react, he continues softly. “Does this kind of thing happen a lot?”
That seems like a safer question, one you can answer. “Not as much as it used to.” Your eyes open then, finally glancing over to him. The warm lighting from overhead gives him a golden glow, even more so than usual. He looks tired and concerned, eyebrows drawn together on his forehead. His wire rimmed glasses are smudged, probably from you basically jumping him on the sidewalk, and there’s some dirt on the knees of his light wash jeans. “I’m sorry.”
His head falls to the side like a confused puppy. “For what?”
“For this,” you gesture vaguely around you both. “For losing it like that.”
“You don’t need to apologize at all. It’s okay. You know I’ve struggled with my fair share of ‘losing it’ out here.” You look away again, over toward the park that continues to draw you in. Try to ignore the voice in your head immediately telling you to feel guilty for putting him through this. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
The question hits you like a slice across your heart; a warm, painful feeling blooming in your chest. You want to. Holy hell, do you want to tell him everything. But it feels like steel wool in your throat. Like letting any of it out would coat you both in blood and gore. “I… I don’t know.” Is all you can say.
He seems to understand. “Okay.” And you expect him to leave. You expect him to get up and head back to the bar with his friends. But he doesn’t. He stays right there, his knee touching yours as he looks out over the parking lot. He seems content to just sit there in silence with you and it pulls at that bloom in your chest until it feels ready to burst.
“How did you know?” You want to know, feel like you need to know how he found you. How he knew you needed help.
“Before I went to the pool room with Eddie, it seemed like you had pulled away. In your head, at least.” It’s your turn to watch him as he looks out into nothing. “I’ve noticed that happens with you sometimes. Like you’re suddenly on a different planet far away from here.” His knee twitches a bit closer to yours, almost like his body is testing to see if you’re still there. “I don’t think anyone else notices, in case your brain went there. No one has ever said anything at least.” He jumped to reassurance quickly, his tone changing fast. When you don't outwardly react, he clears his throat like a vocal reset before continuing. “When I got back, you were gone. I asked Rob if she had seen you and she said you left in a rush.” He glances back over nervously. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”
Another tear falls and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. “Well, thank you. You score another point on the leaderboard of the ‘thoughtful friend’ competition.” You try to throw some humor in it to mask the scratchiness in your voice, to put up some of the walls again.
His eyes meet yours again and it's like he can see right through you. See everything you’re trying to hide, everything you’re thinking. Like those walls you’re trying to put back up might as well be tissue paper for how well they keep him out. “Do you want to go back to the bar?”
You know you should, you should want to go back to your friends. It’s Friday night and you all normally hang out for at least another few hours around the back rooms. But you’re just so tired, so drained. You couldn’t put the mask back up enough to be comfortable there. You shake your head, bringing your arms up to hold your elbows.
“Me neither,” he agrees. You glance at him surprised and he gives a small, mischievous smile. “There are only so many times I can play games of pool with Eddie before I need a break.”
A snort huffs out of your nose then, which seems to relax him when his smile lifts a bit more casually. His shoulders lower from their tense position as he leans back against the concrete wall. “So what do you want to do? Do you want to go home?” You shake your head again. You know Robin won’t be coming home tonight and the apartment you share with her feels too empty, too dark, too far away when she’s gone. You need a little more time away from it.
“Do you want to be alone?” He offers, and you can’t place how he feels about the question when he asks it.
You should. You should pull away from him, deal with this on your own. Resist the urge to open up to him, to rely on him. It’s too dangerous. But the idea of being by yourself right now sounds like a recipe for disaster. “No,” you admit softly, “I don’t.”
His head dips a bit in acknowledgment. Then he moves to stand with a small groan, dusting off his pants before offering his hand to you. “Come on.”
You take it without thinking, letting him pull you to your feet. “Where are we going?” You try not to let yourself be disappointed when he lets your hands drop.
“I’m going to go sit on the swings,” he puts his hands into the pocket of his jeans as he steps around you toward the park. “Will you come with me?” He turns back to watch you and you might just be projecting, but his face shows thinly veiled hope that you’ll say yes. That you’ll go with him. It almost makes your heart beat double time in your chest.
“Yeah, I’d like that.” You answer, smiling softly. He mirrors it, leaning his head to motion you ahead. You step up and fall into pace as you walk side by side over to the playground in the center of the small center of greenery.
The glow of the street lights fade, leaving you in shadows and moonlight as you make your way around the concrete paths and toward the grass beyond. When your shoe touches down on the carpet of green instead of the hard concrete, it feels like another bit of weight off your shoulders.
“Watch your step,” he warns, instinctively taking your hand as he points out a few tripping hazards hidden in the dirt. You try to ignore how the action makes your cheeks feel warm and focus on not sending you both tumbling to the floor.
When you cross over the plastic dividers setting the playground apart from the rest of the park, Steve directs you both to the rusty swing set facing the parking lot. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s still holding your hand and you’re not about to let go. Not when you can’t remember the last time someone has just held you because they wanted to.
The breeze through the trees beyond the playground is so peaceful at night, so serene. He drops your hand when you reach the swings, large hand wrapping around one of the chains as he sits down on the plastic dip.
“Don’t fall off,” he says, a teasing grin on his face as he waves you toward the swing next to him. You roll your eyes and mutter something that was probably super witty in response but still make a genuine effort not to fall backwards as you settle into the firm plastic seat.
The only sound is the wind rustling leaves and the slightly creak of the chains over your head as you both look out over the parking lot beyond. The moon is just short of full and every once in a while you catch a tail light peeking through the cars. Neither of you make a sound for a while as you both swing lightly back and forth.
"You're pretty mysterious, y'know that?" Steve says after a long pause.
Your head whips toward him, feeling and looking confused. "Who? Me?"
He chuckles softly as he taps the side of his shoe against your calf. “Yes, you.” Unsure, you wait to see if he’ll continue. “I’ve always kinda been good with people. Let it get to my head for a while there, as you know. Got a couple knocks in the noggin’ that helped fix that.” He tries to laugh it off, but you don’t join him. After clearing his throat awkwardly, he continues. “People around here… It’s pretty easy to figure most of ‘em out. What they want and all that. Not that I’m saying they’re all simple or something,” he rushes to add, before tipping his head in your direction with a sideways smile. “Well, I guess some of them are.”
You crack a smile in return, looking down to where your shoe brushes through the dirt below as you move back and forth. “My point is, with enough time, you can get a pretty solid read on pretty much anyone.”
“I could see that,” you agree softly, “you seem like a pretty good judge of character.”
He snorts. "I wouldn't go that far." He studies you for a moment longer before looking back out over the cars. "Everytime I think I'm close to figuring you out, I find out something else about you that throws me for a loop." He doesn't sound frustrated as he explains, more fascinated. You try not to think about it too hard.
"Well, it's hard to solve a puzzle when you don't have all the pieces."
He sighs out through his nose. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
Silence falls again. But it's not an uncomfortable silence; it's not awkward or tense. It just is. And coming to that realization kicks your nerves up again. You don’t realize you’re picking at your hands until Steve places a warm palm on top of yours.
"What are you thinking about?" He asks as he removes his hand, shifting slightly away so he can turn more towards you, holding the position of the swing with his feet in the dirt.
"You make me nervous sometimes." You admit without thinking. His eyes widen as he wraps both hands around the chains on either side of him.
"I make you nervous?" He says it like he doesn't believe it. When you just nod to reply, he questions further. "Why do I make you nervous?"
You start to rub the pads of your thumbs together, a way to self soothe without picking. "You're really easy to talk to."
His smile is warm and disabling. "Isn't that supposed to be a good thing?"
"It is! It's just…" How the hell can you explain this without sounding crazy? "I don't really like to talk about myself." His smile fades, expression falling serious and attentive. "It's hard for me, I guess. To open up. To trust people?" You break eye contact, looking back to the dirt for safety. "But with you, it's like I have to hold myself back from spilling my whole life story." It’s your turn to try to laugh it off, and it comes out strained.
"Why do you have to hold yourself back?" Your eyes close instinctively. Leave it to him to ask the most difficult question possible.
"It… scares me. To think about opening up like that. What it would mean, what it would do."
He hums thoughtfully, which leads you to open your eyes and look over. "Scares you to be vulnerable?" He asks, like he's trying to understand what you’re telling him. You just nod again, caught between wanting to look at him and wanting to look anywhere else. "Well, you never have to tell me anything. But, if you ever want to, I'm here."
You lock eyes again. It seems like he’s trying to tell you something with that look, something important. But maybe you’re just imagining things in the dark.
"Will you drive me home?" You ask carefully.
He nods without hesitation, standing and offering you his hand again. "Happy to."
The drive back to your apartment is quiet. The radio is playing some Top 40 station on low volume, the windows down to let the night air roll in. You have your forearm hanging out the window, waving your fingers through the air as you go. Feeling a bit more at peace than before. It’s too soon that you’re pulling into your complex and pulling into one of the empty spots next to your building. The moment your car door shuts behind you, one of the cats that live in the complex runs up to greet you.
"Hey buddy," Steve grins as he drops to one knee to greet the feline. The cat, who everyone in your complex calls Cal, immediately starts to rub back and forth along his shin. "Yeah, yeah I missed you too, Cal."
You look down on them with a soft smile. Try to avoid thinking about this being a permanent fixture in your life. Him taking you home and experiencing little moments like this with you.
"Come on Cal,” the cat immediately gives a chirp when he hears you, leaving Steve to scamper to your feet. “Let’s get you some food, huh?”
The cat immediately breaks into meows at the mention of food, taking off in a leisurely stroll toward the stairwell. He waits on the second stair, looking back at you like are you coming?
Steve walks with you up the stairs and over to your door, but remains outside as you open up a can of wet food and set it outside for Cal. You consider inviting him in. You want him to stay, want to be around him. But more than that, you want to sleep.
"Will you be safe driving home this late?" He glances over toward the nearly empty roads beyond.
"Yeah, I've done it loads of times." He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Will you be alright?"
You fight the cringe of remembering your episode from earlier. "Yeah, I'll be alright." You try to give him a reassuring smile. "Call me when you get home safe?"
"Can do." He agrees with a mock salute, leaning over to run his hand along Cal’s back one more time before turning to go.
You step past the door jam again, leaning on the door frame to watch as he slowly walks back toward the stairwell. "Goodnight Steve."
Cast in the warm overhead lighting of the outdoor hallway, his small smile makes your heart flip in your chest. "Goodnight Ace." He gives a half wave before shuffling down the steps with his hands in his pockets. You wait in the doorway until he's out of sight then glance down to see the food dish empty and Cal long gone. Picking it up and taking it inside to wash, you take your time getting ready for bed so you can be near the phone for when it rings.
When it does, you pick it up too quickly. You exchange quick greetings and Steve explains he got home safe and is calling just like you asked. His voice is deeper now, a bit more rumbly over the phone, as the exhaustion from the long week and the night of socializing starts to set in. Reluctant to keep him too long, you thank him again for driving you home and he repeats it’s no problem, he’d do it anytime. “I’ll see you on Sunday?” He asks, sounding hopeful.
“Yeah, I’ll see you then.”
You hang up and crawl into bed with a weary body but a settled soul.
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374 notes · View notes
romanoffsbish · 5 months
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Excavate My Love
Originally titled “Oh Honey… You Should go to Therapy” 😗✌🏼| Hurt/Comfort | WC: 2,384
Warnings: Abusive Parents | Homophobia Referenced / Internal & External | Self-Harm (Punching) | Intense Feelings | Parental Issues / Heavy on Maternal | Nat’s Parentless | Self-Loathing |
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Natasha felt a tension in the air as soon as she entered your apartment, it was her home away from home since you were in it; she essentially lived here anyways. It had been only two months as a couple, but you'd known (and loved) each other for years by now. The words might not have left your timid lips yet, but you were feeling every ounce of joy and pain imaginable. The sensation was odd, to feel the conflicting emotions at the same time while also feeling that pure, raw love.
You were trembling with the need to say it to her, but you were petrified and having a nervous breakdown.
——
Natasha saw you pounding a fist into the side of your head as you sobbed and screamed incoherently. The redhead took you down with gentle precision. Her body pressing your thrashing one into the mattress.
"Detka, what's wrong?" Natasha slammed your arms into the bed and pressed your head into the pillow with her own, then she began to hum a soft, raspy lullaby. The thrashing came to an end when you felt her tear trail down your cheek, and mix with your sweaty hair.
You blinked rapidly and your mind came back to you before it escaped again, but now she was out in the open. The deepest of your fears came tumbling out.
"She won't love you back," you mumbled, mimicking your priorly echoing thoughts. "Don't say it dumbass."
Natasha was mortified, had she really not been clear enough? Her heart never stopped aching when she was apart from you, a side effect of the muscle finally being at rest unlike when it races beside yours everyday.
It sadly wasn't anything she did, and the same was to be said for what she could've done. This was inevitable, you were like clay, soft, fragile; destined to crack.
Fate, or more so, your childhood had led you here.
Your mother drowned her liver in booze and offered you tobacco stained cheek kisses as you were ushered out of the house in ill fitting clothes, hair sopping wet in the dead of a New York Winter. The chill froze your childish face, skin stinging as the warmth of your tears began to defrost your chubby cheeks. It was fitting.
Unlike your parents, with each other or parenthood.
Your dad only came around from time to time to see (use) your mother. They'd made your little brother while you played outside, the streets empty of kids as the lights flickered on, but you weren't alone, you had your growing family of broken rocks to talk to. And the neighbors to eat from because your mother gave up the grocery money so your dad could enter the lottery.
At school you'd do stupid things, like eat food off the floor with a shoe print as a dare, because just like every time before he lost, and you paid the ultimate price.
It was a wonder how you even got this far in life. That the ability to love another wasn't missing, but in the pits of the fire you wished it was. It was all too much.
You only learned how to love from shitty television like Grey's Anatomy and corny romcoms. Oddly enough, the contradictions brought you a sense of peace. The hope was vaguely flickering inside of you, but the looming tragedy was always just a breath away. It was oddly comforting to see love at both ultimate extremes.
It softened the blow of your life. Watching Callie and Arizona is what made you realize you loved women. That and while everyone was drooling over the odd McMen, the resident Christina Yang, held your heart in the palm of her hands. Unapologetically herself, with a middle finger up to society, and everything that you found charming in a woman; in your Natasha.
Meredith reminded you too much of yourself, as you too took the worst parts of your parents to make up your personality. Until Natasha, you too found yourself drowning your liver most nights, following in your mother's footsteps, then after you were seeing blobs instead of people, your fathers as you took women home for fun. Breaking their hearts, but unlike him, the rubber was fastened to your waist with efficiency.
You were cold, and downright sadistic. You'd whisper lusty things into their ears, along with the sweet, building up their hopes for something more. Then you'd kick them out, in the dead of winter—your cousins taxi service made loads of money off of you.
You didn't care; love had only ever left you bruised.
That's why you sent the women anonymous apology flowers, because you obviously didn't care. You were as cold as the ice that encased your parent's hearts, or you at least tried to be. Truth be told though, beneath the well polished, stoic surface you were just a fragile little thing in search of a nurturing kind of love.
The love of a mother one would suppose, alas...
You hadn't seen or heard from her in over a decade. Except for when she tried to hustle you out of money the moment they saw you with Natasha online. Up until then they hadn't called you, it was sickening.
Your parents had kicked you out at sixteen when they caught you kissing Lily; they weren't homophobic. That you knew because your mom used to bone your ex-godmother and your father had special toys and modern women ran in the opposite direction of him (his decayed, crooked smile was genuinely off putting).
Your father tossed you out, but your mother slammed the door. After midnight, once your dad had gone to sleep she exited her house with a bag of your things. Flashes of a group home raced through your mind and you felt the tears sting your icy cheeks, a tobacco kiss laid to your skin to be followed by a deafening silence.
Her loss stung more. With him it was expected, but not with her because it wasn't always like this, but when she lost her mind that ability to love unconditionally followed. She didn't need him, yet she let him call the shots, choosing a twisted affair over the everlasting love of a child—her instincts barren. You don't exactly remember everything, some of the memories have been buried deep in your psyche, but the core ones never leave, they haunt you endlessly. You'll never forget the image of your little brother crying, face pressed to his window as he watched you leaving.
Your parents were the nightmare that hid behind the fable that is the American Dream. They were vile and you reckon he's the only reason your heart worked.
Your heart that beat for only a select few people. One of them being the woman restraining you to a bed.
"Y/N," Natasha said your name for the millionth time, "I need you to come back to me now moya lyubov'."
Your lip began to tremble and she could feel the shake of your skin with her forehead pressed to yours. "Oh honey," she'd coo'd, which really only set you back off as you felt entirely too undeserving of her love.
You knew you were deserving of some love though.
"I deserved better," you mumbled and her heart froze as she hadn't heard the phrase clearly. "W-what?" The redhead had been trying not to blame herself but now she wasn't so sure if she heard your words correctly.
She hadn't, and you forcefully pushed her back some to repeat your prior words. "And so do you Nat."
"Y/N," she said in a plea, "You're making no sense."
"I'm not good enough for you Natasha! I am hellish!"
Natasha scoffed, "You are plenty good!"
"No, I'm really not."
"Knock it off!" Natasha was pissed, but not at you. It all was making sense to her now and she couldn't cope with the appearing reality. "I'm damaged goods Natasha, how could you ever want me?" I-If my own parents didn't want me, then neither should you."
Natasha never had parents, so she didn't understand. But as she felt you trying to hit yourself (again), making her—the Black Widow, actually struggle she's not sure she really wanted to. Alexei and Melina, who gave her back to Dreykov seemed better to her now.
"Detka please," the woman pleaded, the croak in her voice bringing you to a sudden stop. In a split second the woman had rolled off of you, which nearly made you whine but your body followed hers. Natasha now sat with her back to the headboard with you between her legs, your head gently cradled to her chest while her other hand cautiously pressed into your back.
The redhead said nothing, partly because she wanted to give you space, but also because she didn't want to scare you off. You'd just voiced your wish to leave, and for her sake nonetheless. Silent tears streamed down her face as she prematurely mourned your love story.
Tragedy was more fitting. Natasha was conditioned not to feel and you went from batches of numb to these moments of total despair that you usually hid well. So well even that Natasha is only just seeing it, there were cracks in your resolve before, but never to this extent. Natasha was rightfully worried, she also understood.
The world was a cruel place, with unfair rules and devious people in charge. You were both outcasts in terms of societal standards, but you shouldn't be because one's past mistakes, or moments of despair shouldn't make up the entire person's story. They deserved better than to be held with such ignorance.
"I never had anything to call my own before you."
You jumped, startled by her voice that was full of fatigue and pain after an hour of eery silence. It had you sitting up, against her push, and facing her more directly. Breaking you even further, if that was even possible, as you saw her unmistakably bloodshot eyes.
"Natasha," you whimpered, hand traveling up to clean her face of tears, she smiled fondly as her lips pressed to your palm before she lifted her head to hold eye contact more fiercely. "What I deserve is you, Y/N."
"I-."
"I deserve to hold you in times like these, and to get the chance to show you how much I love you. Because I do detka, with all of me, and it's okay: our love is safe."
"No love is safe," you chuckled bitterly and she sighed, "Ours is Y/N, because we will work to make it such. I promise you that I will protect you from the worst."
"You can't promise that."
"I can," she cut you off, "I can and I will because the option of you leaving is not one I'll ever align with."
"I'm messed up Nat." The redhead nodded, lips lifting into a pained smile. "I know honey, but that's okay."
"Is it?" Natasha nodded again, and pulled your body even closer, your chests now touching. "For now, yes."
"What about the later?" You brokenly inquired.
"I would be there too, but I hope the later is better," she murmured against your cheek, lips softly kissing your wet skin. "I'll do anything to make sure you are okay detka. You are my main priority, which is why I plan to move in, officially, and take care of you."
"Nat—." Your rebuttal was cut off by a sweet kiss. "None of that detka, just tell me you love me too."
Your heart pounded in your chest, and you wondered if she felt the rumble too. If she did, she took no offense as she smiled at you, it was uncharacteristically timid.
You saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes; Natasha needed to hear them just as much as you needed to shout 'em.
Which is why you blurted, "I love you so much it burns, like if I took my shirt off my skin might be torched."
Natasha chuckled, unintentionally, because she knew you'd mistake the affection for mockery. "I love you so much that it feels like I'm without a heart when away. My mission's efficiency rates are so high because of it."
A sigh of relief left her when you chuckled, it was also in relief, she knew that much as your body stopped squirming; you stayed in her lap and pouted instead.
She chuckled, "What is it now lyubov'?" Natasha knew by the glow of your eyes that she could be playful now. You knew she already knew what you wanted, but you leaned up and stole a kiss on principle of being a brat.
"I'm sorry."
"No," Natasha softly scolded you. "I'm sorry detka, for not seeing you were in so much pain and suffering with your feelings. I should have made you feel my love."
"I did feel you Natty, I-I just couldn't believe in it."
"Why not?"
"It's never been true before, every person who's ever made me feel loved was only ever placating me," you solemnly said, "I know they didn't intend to do it, in the beginning they felt something, but it was a selfish fulfillment sorta thing. I have always been the person people go to in search of unconditional love, because I will give it without question, they'd twist it out of me. But you weren't twisting, and it's all so confusing."
"That's not love," Natasha grimaced, "I'm not an expert here Y/N, in fact I'm a late bloomer with the entire feeling, but I know now that I'd never give this up."
"Most days I feel like giving up, my mind is a void and you deserve a partner that doesn't come with that."
"Please stop pushing that," Natasha sighed, exhaustion obvious as she ran her free hand down her face. "I'm not going anywhere, you deserve someone that stays."
You mulled over her words for a long minute, both of you holding your breath, and only ever releasing it as you nuzzled into her warmth and whispered, "Then I'm glad it's you, my fiercest protector, my love, my Natty."
"My precious love," Natasha followed, "My beautiful, strong, resilient as one can be, detka—my Y/N."
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mysweetlixe · 2 months
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✰ Whiskey and Wishes ✰
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Paring: |Hyunjin x Reader|
Genre: Angst and Rockstar au
Warning: Alcoholism and Emotional struggles
Summary: Hyunjin,struggling with alcoholism, faces a nightly drinking routine. One evening, he impulsively contacts his ex-girlfriend Y/N
Words: 3.2k
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In the dimly lit room, the rhythmic pulse of a melancholic melody resonated, echoing through the empty whiskey bottles that adorned the space.Hyunjin sat hunched over a worn-out acoustic guitar, his fingers deftly strumming the strings as he poured his heart out through the music. The room was cloaked in a haze of cigarette smoke, the scent clinging to every surface like a reminder of his vice.
The room, once a sanctuary of creativity and passion, now bore the weight of Hyunjin's turbulent existence. The walls, once adorned with posters of music icons that had inspired him, were now obscured by shadows and neglect. The floor, covered in discarded crumpled sheets of lyrics and shattered fragments of broken glass, mirrored the shattered fragments of his own soul.
Each night was a battle against the demons within him, a fight he waged with the help of his loyal companions - the whiskey bottle and the willing strangers who found solace in his bed.
They offered temporary respite from the pain that gnawed at him, a fleeting escape from the relentless demands of his fame. But each morning, as the sun broke through the cracks in his blackout curtains, reality crashed down upon him like a tidal wave.
Tonight was no different. As he strummed his guitar with an almost desperate fervor, his voice raw and hoarse from years of abuse, Hyunjin's eyes caught a glimpse of his reflection in the cracked mirror across the room.
The image that stared back at him was a mere shell of the talented artist he once knew himself to be – haunted eyes filled with regret and self-inflicted scars etched upon his heart.
As he reached for another bottle of whiskey, his trembling fingers betrayed his internal struggle by the simple act of gripping the neck. A sigh escaped his lips, a heavy exhale that carried the weight of a thousand failed promises and shattered dreams.
The amber liquid poured into the glass, its familiar burn offering a twisted comfort. It was a dance he knew all too well, this nightly routine of drowning his sorrows and numbing his pain.
But tonight, something within him shifted. Perhaps it was the haunting melody that reverberated through the room, or the remnants of a memory lingering in his mind. With a sudden surge of impulse, Hyunjin reached for his phone and scrolled through the contacts until his thumb landed on a familiar name – Y/N.
Their breakup had been tumultuous, fueled by constant arguments over his neglect and drinking issues. It was a toxic cycle that had eventually torn them apart, leaving both wounded and scarred. Yet, despite the pain it had caused, Y/N remained a ghost from his past that refused to fade away entirely.
In an unexpected twist of fate, Hyunjin pressed the call button without hesitation. The sound of ringing filled the room, each tone a reminder of what once was and what could have been. And just when he was ready to hang up in defeat, a soft voice answered on the other end.
"Hello?"
The word came out as a whisper, carrying with it a mix of surprise and uncertainty. Hyunjin's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Y/N's voice, a melody that had once brought him immeasurable joy. He took a deep breath, summoning all the courage he had left within him.
"Y/N... it's me," he managed to say, his voice laced with vulnerability. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his past mistakes and the uncertainty of what would come next.
There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line, as if Y/N was contemplating her response. Hyunjin's heart pounded in his chest, anticipation mingling with regret. Just when he thought she might hang up or unleash her anger upon him, her voice cut through the silence.
"I never thought I'd hear your voice again," she said softly, her tone filled with a mixture of sadness and longing. "What do you want, Hyunjin?"
His mind raced, searching for the right words to convey the depth of his remorse and desperation. But with each passing second, his resolve weakened, leaving only raw honesty in its wake.
"I miss you," he confessed, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of traffic outside his window. "I need you."
The line crackled with silence once more before Y/N responded, her voice thick with emotion. "You can't just say those words, Hyunjin, and expect everything to be alright. We've been down this road before, remember?"
Hyunjin felt the weight of her words like a punch to the gut. She was right, of course. They had been down this road before, countless times, only to end up with shattered hearts and aching regret. But tonight, something inside him had shifted. It was as if he had reached a breaking point, no longer able to bear the weight of his own self-destruction.
"I know, Y/N," he replied, his voice filled with a mix of desperation and determination. “ But please can you come over.”
Y/N's breath hitched at his plea, caught between the memories of their tumultuous past and a glimmer of hope for something different. She had witnessed Hyunjin's battle with alcoholism firsthand, had experienced the pain of being neglected and discarded in favor of his vices. It was a wound that ran deep, one that had taken time and self-reflection to heal.
As she listened to the vulnerability in his voice, an internal struggle ensued within her. Should she give him another chance? Was it wise to reopen old wounds and expose herself to potential heartbreak once more? Y/N took a moment to steady her racing thoughts, trying to make sense of the chaotic whirlwind of emotions swirling within her.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke with a mixture of trepidation and determination. "Hyunjin, I... I don't know if visiting you is the right thing to do. We've both been through so much pain, and it's taken me a long time to heal."
But as she uttered those words, a small flicker of hope ignited within her. Maybe, just maybe, this was an opportunity for closure, for both of them to finally confront the demons that had haunted their relationship. With a deep breath, Y/N made up her mind.
"Alright," she said firmly, her voice brimming with newfound resolve. "I'll come over."
Hyunjin's heart skipped a beat at her response. He had expected resistance, hesitation, maybe even rejection. But the fact that Y/N was willing to see him again, to give him a chance to make things right, filled him with a sense of exhilaration and hope he hadn't felt in years.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice laden with genuine gratitude.
Time seemed to both crawl and fly by as Hyunjin anxiously awaited Y/N's arrival. The walls of his apartment became stifling, suffocating him with the weight of anticipation. He paced back and forth, his mind racing with a flurry of thoughts and emotions.
In an attempt to distract himself, Hyunjin moved towards the grand window overlooking the city. The night sky was adorned with a tapestry of twinkling stars, their ethereal glow casting a gentle light over the world below. Yet, amidst this celestial beauty, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease.
As he gazed down at the bustling streets, filled with people consumed by their own lives and worries, Hyunjin wondered how he had ended up here - a successful rockstar whose life had become entangled in a web of self-destruction. The adoration of fans, the exhilarating rush of performing on stage had once been his solace. But now, it seemed like a distant memory overshadowed by his battle with addiction.
The doorbell pierced through his thoughts, pulling him back to reality. Hyunjin's heart thudded against his chest as he made his way to the entrance. Opening the door, he found himself face-to-face with Y/N, her eyes reflecting both apprehension and resilience.
Her presence filled the room, an intoxicating combination of familiarity and the unknown. Hyunjin couldn't help but be captivated by her, his eyes drinking in every detail of her appearance. The way her hair cascaded down her shoulders, the soft curve of her lips, the subtle vulnerability that lingered in her gaze.
It was as if time had stood still, and all that mattered in that moment was the connection they shared. Without a word, Y/N stepped into his apartment, the air thick with anticipation.
The apartment floor was littered in empty bottles and discarded clothes, a visual representation of Hyunjin's descent into chaos. Y/N's eyes scanned the disarray, a mix of sadness and concern etching itself onto her face. She had always known about his struggles with alcoholism, but seeing the evidence in front of her was like a punch to the gut.
Taking a deep breath, Y/N forced herself to push past the mess and walked towards the worn-out couch, the centerpiece of Hyunjin's makeshift living room. She gingerly sat down, keeping her gaze fixed on him, searching for any sign of change or redemption.
Hyunjin's heart raced as he watched Y/N settle into his space. The sight of her sitting there, amidst the wreckage he had created, made him acutely aware of how far he had fallen.
He had once been the embodiment of passion and charisma, commanding the stage with his electrifying presence. Now, he was a mere shadow of his former self, drowning in regret and self-pity.
As he approached Y/N, Hyunjin couldn't help but feel a surge of emotions welling up inside him. The weight of their shared history hung heavily in the air, suffocating them both with its unresolved tension. He wanted to reach out, to hold her and tell her how sorry he was for everything he had put her through. But the words caught in his throat, trapped by fear and doubt.
Y/N's eyes bore into his soul, her silence speaking volumes. It was a mixture of disappointment and longing, a silent plea for him to find the strength to change. Hyunjin felt his heart break under her gaze, the realization of how much he had hurt her crashing over him like a tidal wave.
"I'm so sorry," he finally choked out, his voice laced with raw emotion. "I never meant for it to end up like this. I never wanted to hurt you."
Y/N's expression softened, a flicker of hope crossing her features. "Hyunjin," she whispered, her voice tinged with sadness. "I still care about you, but I can't keep living in this cycle of pain and destruction. You need to want to change, to seek help, if there is any chance for us."
Hyunjin's eyes glistened with unshed tears as he took in Y/N's words. He knew deep down that she was right, that his reckless behavior had driven a wedge between them. He had pushed her away, neglected her needs, and drowned his sorrows in alcohol instead of facing his demons head-on.
But now, as he looked at Y/N sitting before him, her presence a beacon of hope in the midst of his darkness, something shifted within him.
The realization that he couldn't bear to lose her completely hit him like a freight train. He had to find the strength within himself to overcome his addiction and salvage what was left of their love.
"I want to change," he said, his voice quivering with sincerity. "I don't want this life anymore. I want you, Y/N."
A mixture of relief and cautious optimism washed over Y/N's face. She reached out and clasped Hyunjin's trembling hand, her touch offering him a lifeline amidst the storm. "I want to believe you, Hyunjin," she whispered, her voice filled with both vulnerability and determination. "But actions speak louder than words."
Hyunjin let his free hand caress her cheek as he leaned in closer, his breath mingling with hers. The familiar scent of her perfume mixed with the distinct aroma of alcohol on his own breath, a reminder of the battle he still had to overcome. His fingers traced the outline of her jaw, a gentle touch laced with both tenderness and remorse.
“let me prove it to you” Hyunjin said kissing Y/N softly, his lips moving against hers with a mixture of desperation and longing. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the intensity of their kiss, a bittersweet reminder of what they had once shared.
As the kiss deepened, Y/N felt a surge of emotions wash over her. The taste of Hyunjin's lips brought back memories of happier times, when love outweighed the pain and darkness. But she couldn't ignore the nagging doubt in the back of her mind, the fear that this could all be a temporary moment of weakness for Hyunjin.
Pulling away slightly, Y/N searched his eyes for any sign of sincerity. "Hyunjin," she whispered, her voice filled with both caution and hope, “We can’t go farther until you get help.” Hyunjin nodded “ I know but just for tonight.” Y/N looked at Hyunjin, her heart torn between the love she still felt for him and the fear of getting hurt once more.
She knew that giving in to his plea could mean falling back into the same destructive pattern they had been trapped in before. But she also couldn't deny the flicker of hope that burned within her, the belief that maybe, just maybe, this time things would be different.
With a heavy sigh, Y/N reluctantly nodded. "Just for tonight," she agreed, her voice tinged with both caution and longing.Hyunjin couldn't help but feel a surge of relief wash over him at Y/N's agreement. He knew that this was his chance, his one shot at redemption. The weight of his past mistakes seemed to momentarily lift from his shoulders as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Y/N's once more.
Their embrace held a sense of urgency and longing, a silent promise that they would make the most of this night, despite the uncertainty that loomed over their heads. As they stumbled towards the bedroom, emotions ran high, a mixture of passion and trepidation intertwined.
In the dimly lit room, Hyunjin's body trembled with anticipation as he gently guided Y/N to the bed. He wished to savor every moment, every touch, as if it were their last. His hands roamed across her skin, tracing invisible patterns that only they understood.
Y/N felt her heart pound within her chest as she surrendered herself to the intoxicating familiarity of Hyunjin's touch. Her body responded eagerly to his caresses, but her mind still wrestled with doubt. Could this night truly be a turning point? Or would it be yet another painful reminder of the cycle they had been trapped in?
As their bodies moved as one, their connection deepened. Every gasp, every moan echoedmwith the raw intensity of their longing. The air was thick with the scent of desire, mingling with the faintest hint of alcohol on Hyunjin's breath.
Outside, the city bustled with life, oblivious to the storm that raged inside their small room. In this moment, it felt as if they were the only two people in existence, locked in an eternal dance of love and pain. Every touch, every kiss, became a symbol of their shared past, a testament to the strength of their love.
Despite the darkness that lingered between them, they were united in this one perfect moment. As dawn approached, Hyunjin knew that he had to leave their bed and face the world that awaited him. But for now, they could lose themselves in each other, in the pure, unadulterated ecstasy of their reunited bodies.
As night turned to day, Y/N slipped from Hyunjin's arms and disappeared into the bathroom. In the mirror, she saw her reflection, her eyes swollen from tears and her skin glistening with sweat. A mixture of relief and regret washed over her as she wiped away the remnants of her emotions.
Y/N knew that this fragile truce between them was a fragile illusion, a temporary respite from the reality that still awaited them.
She couldn't ignore the fact that Hyunjin's battle with alcoholism had torn them apart in the first place. It had been a constant source of pain and heartache, an endless cycle of broken promises and shattered trust.
As she stood there, contemplating her next move, Y/N's mind flooded with memories of their tumultuous relationship. The late nights spent waiting for Hyunjin to come home, the countless arguments fueled by his neglect and inability to face his demons. The scars they both carried ran deep, etching their mark on their souls.
But there was something different about the way Hyunjin had called her last night. His voice held a hint of desperation, a plea for redemption that echoed through the phone lines. It was as if he had finally hit rock bottom and was willing to do whatever it took to climb back up.
Y/N couldn't deny that part of her still loved him, despite everything they had been through. And maybe, just maybe, this fleeting moment could be the catalyst for change. She yearned for a future where they could rebuild what was broken, where their love could triumph over their past mistakes.
As she stepped out of the bathroom, Y/N found Hyunjin asleep on the bed, his body sprawled across the sheets. The sight of him stirred conflicting emotions within her.
She couldn't help but notice the vulnerability etched on his face, the deep lines that spoke of battles fought and scars earned. In this moment, she saw the man she had fallen in love with all those years ago, before their world fractured into a million jagged pieces.
Y/N approached the bed cautiously, her heart pounding in her chest. She picked up her clothes from the floor, slipped them on quietly, and walked towards the door.
But as she reached for the doorknob, an unexpected surge of empathy washed over Y/N. She couldn't just walk away, not when Hyunjin seemed so fragile and lost in his slumber. With a sigh, she closed the door behind her and silently made her way back to the bed.
Gently, Y/N sat down on the edge, her fingers lightly tracing the contours of Hyunjin's face. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, the rise and fall of his chest as he peacefully slept. It was a bittersweet sight—one that filled her with both longing and trepidation.
Y/N knew that one night together wouldn't solve everything. They had deep-rooted issues to confront, wounds that needed healing. But perhaps this moment, this unexpected twist of fate, was the universe's way of giving them another chance.
Leaning closer, Y/N softly kissed Hyunjin's forehead—a silent promise of forgiveness and hope. Then, with a newfound determination, she quietly rose from the bed once more, leaving a note beside him.
"I'll be back," it read. "Don't let this slip away."
With those words lingering in the air, Y/N gathered her courage and took her first steps towards a future that held uncertain possibilities. She knew it wouldn't be easy, that there would be moments of doubt and pain, but she was willing to fight for their love once more.
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sprout-fics · 1 year
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I saw possessive ghost leaving hickies (which YES. Love that for him - but I raise you pushy spanking if, for example, you don't answer fast enough or ur drunk on pleasure to get your attention back or just because
Last one for the night, thanks for tuning in all!
You’re drifting off. 
It happens on occasion. When you’re stuffed full of him, fit to burst at the seams. He’s an omnipresent force inside of you, hot, unyielding, a force that batters like a gale. Inescapable. Sometimes it’s too much, the sheer brute of his strength a terrible burden to bear despite the pleasure. It tugs at you, threatening to drown you, to sweep you under like a riptide and starve your lungs of air. 
In the overstimulation of it, your senses reduced to hazy aftereffects, you’re forced to retreat within the confines of your own mind. Like the escaping tide, you're drawn out into the dark depths, the roll and tumble of the waves bouying you from your own consciousness. 
It’s in those cases you hardly hear him, lost in the storm of cock-drunk haze only he can bring. 
He calls for you, but you’re sinking just as he sinks into you, plowing into the ore of you and releasing the pleasure there like ocean sapphires. 
Smack!
You gasp then, flood your lungs with air as he brings you reeling back to the present, to the ever-lasting sensation of his cock plunging inside your slickened, warm heat. 
“Stay with me.” He tells you, and there’s a concern underneath those words, growled as nothing less than an order you're forced to comply. His hands dig into your hips, bearing down on you as he stretches you completely, fully, to the point of pain. You think you’ll carry a piece of him forever with you, the way he scorches open your insides, searing you with only his name. 
Simon.
Even as you want to let the pleasure wash over you in a distant haze he forces you back to the present, forces you to endure every single second of pain, of pleasure, of his desire that’s carved into your flesh.
“I-it’s too much.” You whisper, and the words crack in your throat like the flash of lightning on the horizon. 
Simon slows but doesn’t stop, resorting to slow, shallow thrusts. Yet it only allows you the space you need to recover, to reclaim the emptiness inside you that he occupies so wholly, so completely you that you’re left hypoxic with the desperate aftereffects. 
His hand is in your hair, caressing the corner of your face even as your gaze drifts somewhere he can’t see. Lost against the horizon.
“I’ve got you.” He murmurs, and there’s a touch of gentleness there reserved only for you. His hands smooth along your sides, up from your hips to your breasts, settling underneath the swell of them before grazing downwards once more. The motion is firm, grounding, delicate despite the wide, calloused breadth of his palms.
Yet that gentleness is punctuated with another slap to your ass, gentler this time, but enough to have you pressing your face into the sheets with a lost, wanting groan. 
“Talk to me.” He murmurs, and this is Simon now, wanting to know, wanting you to tell him all you feel and more. Not just for your sake, but for his. 
“I-I…” You try, face half-buried in the sheets, trying to reclaim your mind enough to find the words. “It feels good. It’s good, Simon. Just-”
You shudder then, a little overwhelmed, a little in love with him, with the way he splinters you from the inside out but is always there to pick up the pieces. 
“Slower.” You tell him then, conveying the depths of your desire. “Deeper.”
He obliges without question, and you feel his warmth, his weight as he curls across you, hand digging into your hip as he grinds inside of you with a curse. 
“Stay with me.” He tells you again, and his lips settle in the flesh of your shoulder, preventing you from drifting, from escaping him again. “Until the end.”
You already told him you would. Until this end. Until the next one. Until the one that at last costumes you both. 
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porcelainseashore · 30 days
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The Lost Tapes (1)
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(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, ...)
Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader
General Note: One-shots for my series Where We’ve Left Our Love. Encapsulated moments within the past and future lives of Leon x Reader in no particular order. Follows the Resident Evil Remake timeline.
Chapter Summary: It’s about time that you got over the loss of Leon for your own good. You’ve settled in Berlin, your dance career is on the rise and you’re looking forward to a nice dinner date, but something keeps pulling you back.
Content Warnings: Mild smut or suggestive themes, grief and mourning, suicidal thoughts, drinking, referenced drug use, and depending on how you see things, hurt/comfort or hurt no comfort.
Shoutout to RainyKennedy for suggesting the topic of Reader's grief for this one-shot!
AO3 Link
Chapter 1: All That Remains
“So, who’ve you been messaging with?” One of your co-dancers teased, as she suddenly appeared behind your back, tapping your shoulders playfully, startling you.
“Jeez!” You exclaimed, holding your mobile phone close to your chest in surprise. “Don't scare me like that!”
“Sorry,” she laughed, while shrugging indifferently. “But seriously though, who…?” She pressed on further, while circling to your front and plopping down onto a chair in front of you.
Blushing, you turned away from her prying gaze and shook your head.
“It’s that guy, isn’t it?” She squealed. “The one Silje introduced us to.”
You sighed, knowing you weren’t particularly good at keeping a poker face when it came to such matters. Nonetheless, you felt a pang of guilt rising from your stomach and blooming in your chest. It had been ages since you’d been on a date. The first few times you tried, it ended disastrously, with you excusing yourself to leave before it was even over. Despite it being years after the Raccoon City incident, things were somehow still too raw and no one you had dated so far could hold a candle to him.
Leon. He was all you could think about in times like these. What would he say to this? What would he have wanted you to do? To go on, you supposed. Live your own life. Yet, nothing could shake off the unbearable feeling that what you were doing was like an immense betrayal.
Everything reminded you of him. A flash of dirty blonde tresses when you crossed the street, but when the figure turned around, it was foreign. A waft of his favorite cologne in a crowded market, but it belonged to someone else. Blue - the only color you could describe in a thousand words. Deep blue, lightning blue, everything washed in shades of blue. Like when you were on holiday and stood at the edge of the ocean, feeling the warm breeze against your skin and tasting the salt in the air. You remember getting lost in those cerulean eyes of his, reflecting the surface between sea and sky. But now, the colors of the world you inhabited just appeared muted to you.
You couldn’t even bear to listen to music both of you loved anymore. Little things set you off. Silly phrases he had once said, endearing terms of affection he had called you. You probably should’ve seen a therapist at this rate, but you just kept plodding along. Like you always did. You’d go through a period of intense grief, coming out of it safe and sound, floating in the lull of a wave, and waiting for the next cycle to start again like a rollercoaster.
During the bad times, you’d try to drown out the memories in hedonistic parties with your new lot of friends and a cocktail of drugs. You were afraid of being alone, sitting in the dark in your empty apartment, consumed by your thoughts. On the outside, you were able to keep up your façade. Your career was on the rise and Silje had helped you to settle in. However, inside, you were breaking bit by bit. It was exhausting to keep feeling things, but some part of you didn’t want to forget. You couldn’t. 
Perhaps you were cursed. You wondered if it would always be like this. Being condemned to repeat the same course of events again and again, like Groundhog Day. Time heals all wounds, they said. You wanted to believe in that shabby scrap of reassurance. That was all you had to go on these days, so you latched onto it desperately, reciting it like a mantra in your head.
“Hello?” Your co-dancer called out with mild irritation. “Are you even listening?”
“Hm, what?” You replied apathetically, reluctant to drag yourself out of your ruminations and return to the conversation.
“Ugh, never mind!” She snapped, though she fell back to her spirited, carefree self once again. “When’s the date anyway?”
“Tonight.”
“You don’t sound so enthused,” she remarked, raising an eyebrow. Leaning forward, she whispered in your ear, “I heard he comes from old money.”
Your face twisted in disgust. “I couldn’t care less about that.”
She held her hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I was just saying that he checks all the right boxes earlier, when you weren’t paying attention. This is just a bonus!”
“Some bonus indeed,” you scoffed.
Ignoring you, she continued, “I mean, he’s obviously quite the poet with those long, flowery messages he keeps sending you.” She motioned to your phone, as you rolled your eyes. “He’s also very handsome, polite, charming-”
“Alright, enough,” you interrupted, shifting in your seat uncomfortably. “You don’t have to keep convincing me.”
Grabbing your shoulders to catch your attention, she looked you dead in the eye with a knowing smile. “I’m just looking out for a friend here.” She rubbed the back of them supportively. “You said there was a guy back home you couldn’t let go of. But this is your life now - a new place, a new chapter. Don’t you think you deserve to move on?”
Did you? You weren’t sure how to answer that question.
“Maybe,” you mumbled, so quietly that you almost couldn’t hear yourself.
━━━━━━━━━━━
A lone, black satin dress hung in the corner of your wardrobe, which was as bare as your apartment. People might have mistaken you for a minimalist, but truth be told, you had been in a rush when you left your home country a few years ago, paired with a grubby rucksack which carried only the bare essentials and some memories you couldn’t let go of.
You never bothered to fill your flat up, preferring to live frugally in this respect instead. The few pieces of furniture you had were what you found in second-hand shops or from random strangers who had left their stuff on the streets ‘zu verschenken’ (to give away).
As you slipped the dress over your head, smoothening it out across your body, and applied the first touches of makeup to your face, you daydreamed about how you had even landed in this position in the first place. When Silje introduced her patron, Mikkel, to you and the rest of your co-dancers hanging around outside in the foyer after a show, he had gravitated towards you. Maybe because you were shy, or you were holding back, unlike the others, who had greeted him excitedly. Perhaps he found the sense of mysteriousness you gave off alluring. 
You remember him being well-mannered and kind, not too pushy, and you talked at length about the performance piece, its symbolism, art in relation to politics and capitalism, and the like. He was engaging, and you couldn’t find any fault with him, except he just wasn’t the boy you had fallen in love with. However, you figured it was stupid to keep putting Leon on a pedestal, where other men that came after had to be judged according to such an impossible standard. So after a few drinks, you accepted Mikkel’s request and gave him your number willingly. It wasn’t long before he asked you out for dinner.
The phone on your table vibrated. You were almost done with getting ready. You smudged the rouge tint along the edges of your lips to create a softer look, before glancing at the screen of your mobile.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up?’
You smiled and shook your head. He was trying to be a gentleman as usual.
‘I’m all good, thanks for the offer though.’
‘Alright, I can’t wait to see you.’
Tucking your phone into your evening purse, you draped a light shawl over your shoulders and eased your battered feet into a pair of heels. A dancer’s feet are always ugly, you remarked, laughing ruefully to yourself.
Then, you heard a tiny voice from the back of your mind pipe up, No, they’re not. 
You could feel it again, that lingering pressure on the soles of your feet, as Leon’s hands worked through the knots skillfully each time you’d been so beat from rehearsals. You tipped your head back against the wall and relaxed, trying to stifle a moan.
Let it out, baby.
It was as if he were in the room with you. You shivered, running a hand over your mouth to your neck as you tried to get a hang of yourself. Shaking it off, you leaned against the cool, metallic door frame for a moment before shutting down the lights in your apartment and venturing out into the city night.
━━━━━━━━━━━
Taking a huge gulp of the white wine that Mikkel had ordered to start with, you fidgeted in your seat awkwardly. Like a fish out of water, this world was unfamiliar to you. Of course, he had chosen one of the most expensive restaurants in town, detailed with pristine white tablecloths, a mind-numbing set of cutlery you had to figure out how to use, and a menu adorned with mostly French words you didn’t quite understand. People were dressed to the nines, the service was impeccable and there was even a live pianist for entertainment. 
You gazed up at the grand, dazzling chandelier hanging in the middle of the room that blinded your vision. To be honest, you would have preferred a rustic, family-owned Italian restaurant. Something down-to-earth and homey, not lofty and pretentious where everyone was performing a part in this spectacle you were witnessing in front of you. Pretending to laugh at each other’s comments, clinking their glasses together, ordering wines which cost an eye-watering amount.
Leon wouldn’t have-, you stopped yourself. This wasn’t the time to bring the topic up again.
“Would you like some recommendations?” Mikkel asked, almost apologetically, as if he detected your discomfort.
“Oh, um, yeah,” you mumbled sheepishly, ducking your head behind the tall menu to avoid his eye contact.
Was he embarrassed by you? You were an outsider in every sense of the word. Your parents would have been pleased for you to get to know him. They would have considered him a real catch. But you weren’t them. And this wasn’t their life. You thumbed the end of the napkin resting in your lap nervously.
He stretched out his hand, placing it over yours. “I’m sorry.”
“Wh- What for?” You sputtered. “No, it’s fine. It’s beautiful here,” you tried to gush. “I mean, thank you for taking me to this place. Really.”
He gave you a side smile, appreciating your attempts at salvaging the situation, though he was well aware of the blunder on his part. “We could go somewhere else, if you want.”
The next thing you knew, you had been whisked off to a more modest restaurant nearby, where you instantly felt at ease. Mikkel mentioned it was no trouble at his expense, he just wanted you to enjoy yourself. It was all that mattered to him. You found him sweet and especially attractive, when he loosened up a little and the strands of his sleek black hair fell across his face.
Maybe this time you’d move on, you mused hopefully, ignoring the sinking feeling in your gut that told you otherwise.
Throughout the meal, your witty exchanges with Mikkel flowed. One drink led to another. You laughed at his jokes, rosy-cheeked and eyes glittering with amusement. The warm glow of the mood light cast shadows across the room, giving it a sultry vibe. Both of you ordered another round of drinks, and chatted merrily until it was closing time. It felt premature to end the night there and so, you allowed him to accompany you back to your place.
If you had an award for the most confusing point in time of your life so far, this would’ve taken the cake. As he kissed you against the door of your apartment, all at once you had the foreboding feeling of dread of what was to come, and yet pleasure, like you had been craving for someone’s touch for so long.
“Do you want to-”
“Mm hm.” You cut him off just like you disregarded the conflicting feelings and tepid apprehension bubbling to the surface. You weren’t going to risk giving yourself another chance to question your decision. 
You wanted this. You deserved it.
Scrambling for your keys, you slotted them into the lock and stumbled through the entrance, as he shut the door behind him. He couldn’t keep his hands off you, while you made your way to the bed, falling backwards onto it, as he continued planting kisses all over your body. You shuddered, as the memories came flooding back-
The times Leon had allayed your self-doubt and comforted you with soft words and kisses…
His calloused hands, worn from police academy training, absentmindedly stroking your bare skin…
The searing heat of the sun against your face as he sucked and nibbled at the sensitive spot on the base of your neck…
Every cry and gasp you ever uttered as you felt him inside you…
“So beautiful…” Who was saying that now? The waters had been muddied and it felt like you were caught between time and space, unable to separate fiction from reality.
When you came to, you found tears streaming down your face as you grasped onto Mikkel’s shoulders in a tight embrace, stark naked, with him on top of you, groaning your name as he came in you. You turned away from him as he pulled out, lying on your side, trying to conceal your crying, along with the absolute disgust and shame you felt welling up within you.
“Are you ok?” He asked gently, trailing his index finger along the curve of your spine. 
Your skin crawled, but you gritted your teeth in an effort to suppress the urge to rush to the bathroom to throw up, angry at yourself for what you had done. “Yes,” you lied. “It was amazing.” 
And this time, he believed you.
━━━━━━━━━━━
It took a while for you to doze off, but when you did, you were ushered into the throes of sleep. 
The cyclical nature of your breath synchronized with the rise and fall of your chest, enveloping you in a blanket of peace and tranquility despite the earlier events. Vague moving images weaved through the fabric of your consciousness, out of focus and delayed, like a grainy film.
Eventually, it settled on a still figure in bed beside you. You squinted, wondering if this was another dream or if you were wide awake in bed with Mikkel again. The flicker of a set of pale blue eyes reflecting iridescently in the moonlight suggested otherwise.
“Leon…” you whispered.
He shifted closer to you, acknowledging your presence, even though he didn’t say a word.
You swallowed a lump in your throat, realizing that you lay before him completely stripped and exposed. You couldn’t hide anything from him in this state, and definitely not what had recently transpired.
“Do you hate me now?” You asked, even though you were afraid of the answer.
Brushing your cheek with the tips of his fingers, he replied without hesitation, “I could never hate you.”
“God, I fucked up,” you choked. “I just- I just miss you so much.”
Your body jerked uncontrollably as you buried your face in your hands, letting out heart-wrenching sobs. How could you? The words spun round on repeat like a broken record in your head.
You felt a pair of arms wrap around you and his chin resting above your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he reassured you.
“Do you still think of me?”
“Always,” you admitted openly, as you clung to the back of his neck, inhaling sharply and savoring his unmistakable scent.
He pressed his lips upon the crown of your head, kissing you tenderly. “You can leave this behind, you know?”
“I don’t want to,” you insisted.
Even if all that remained was a figment of your imagination, or an apparition that haunted you, you were stubborn. Nothing could make you give this up. So much so that you blurted out the following statement determinedly into his chest, “Take me with you.”
His breathing stilled all of a sudden, as he understood the implication behind that sentence. You were tempted to join him, wherever he was.
Pulling you up to face him on eye level, he reproached you sternly, “Baby, no.”
He gripped your chin firmly to reiterate his point. “I mean it.”
“Nothing’s helping,” you responded listlessly, as if you were begging him to reconsider.
“Time,” he offered, peering at you sympathetically, the shape of his pupils widening as he combed through your hair soothingly.
Closing your eyes, you sighed, allowing yourself to melt in his touch, despite your disbelief. “That’s what everyone says.”
“Remember when we were at Huntington Beach?”
You blinked, gazing at him curiously. “How could I forget it?” 
It was one of the most blissful days you had with Leon. A quick weekend getaway, before both you headed in separate directions to your respective colleges again. You could smell the crisp, briny sea so distinctly, as if it were only yesterday. 
He flashed that wide, boyish smile you adored. “We had so much fun, didn’t we?”
You couldn’t hold back a chuckle at the memory. “We did.”
Caressing your cheek and then your lips, he promised, “That feeling… it’ll come back again. It just takes time.”
It just takes time. The very same words you had used to comfort him back in high school, telling him to let his eyes adjust to the pitch black darkness.
Although it seemed entirely out of reach for the moment, you knew that the world would open up to you at some point. You just had a ton of shit days lined up in front of you, like an endless maze, and you were growing tired of mustering the strength to confront them.
An unwanted thought crossed your mind. How long would he stay? You started to panic.
“Leon,” you pleaded. “Please don’t go.” Your eyes glistened, as fat droplets spilled down onto the sheets.
He bit his lip, and you saw that his face too, mirrored yours, streaked and wet with tears.
“I’ll be right here.” He cupped his hand over your heart, as you felt his phantom touch for the final time, before he was gone.
━━━━━━━━━━━
When you awoke, it was the brightest time of the day, with the noon light streaming into the bedroom through the gaps in your curtains. The bed was empty, but Mikkel had left you a note. In it, he apologized for leaving early as he had an appointment to attend to which he couldn’t back out of. As you had slept like an angel, he didn’t want to wake you.
Upon checking your phone, you saw another message from him.
‘Last night was special. I would love to take you out again. How about next Friday?’
You paused, re-reading the text over and over until the words started to jump and blur. Your thumb hovered over the buttons of your mobile, as you pondered your next steps. You exhaled deeply, and with a swift tap, you pressed delete.
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pt2change · 7 months
Text
between the seconds ; min yoongi
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[gif source]
pairing: min yoongi x reader
genre: exes, angst. angst. angst. mentions of soulmates, yoongi is sad :(, ft jimin cameo
word count: 784
a/n: feedback is appreciated <3 i hope this makes sense i made it when i couldn’t fall asleep
↣ bts masterlist
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
if yoongi believed in such a thing, he would say you were the closest thing to being his soulmate.
he feels it all the way right down to his bones
it’s sometime in the middle of the night and he’s sitting up on his mattress, gasping for air
he’s drowning.
he feels empty too, like a part of him is missing.
it’s been so long since he really truly felt like himself, but this feeling was different. more intensifying.
his heart is beating too fast inside his chest in a way that hurts
and he just knows, he does.
he’s lying on the mattress in his cold lonely apartment, which now feels to big without you in it.
but he’s on his own now, like he was way before you happened
except the loneliness now feels suffocating
and yoongi drinks himself back to sleep with a bottle of whiskey that’s been sitting in his kitchen cabinet
and when the news spread about your wedding, it reaches yoongi in a sort of sad whisper
his best friend jimin comes over, and yells at him to get up and move on with his life
after all it was because of yoongi that the two of you aren’t together anymore
now he’s so full of regret and just stares blankly as jimin lectures him
he doesn’t know what to say. his heart feels like it’s been ripped out of his chest
his emotions are so overwhelming, he doesn’t feel like he can be a fully functioning human being.
yoongi doesn’t trust himself to open his mouth, so he walks out of his apartment and leaves jimin standing the middle of his living room
he heads towards a small bar that’s down the street, and drinks until he’s numb and the owner is pushing him out
days later, he finds a polaroid picture of the two of you taken on a random night underneath his dresser
yoongi tortures himself looking at it over and over again
you both looked so happy and in love, and his mind flashes to the last time he saw you with tears running down your cheeks and your face flushed
he stares at it until there’s a lump in his throat and his chest feels too tight
he tries to throw the picture away a few times but he ends up placing it on his bedside table
“yoongi, when was the last time you ate?” jimin asks him the next time he’s at his apartment
yoongi can’t even remember if he opened the door or if jimin just simply walked in
he can’t remember the last day he went to work and earned money to buy himself groceries and cooked a meal
in fact, he can’t remember the last time he swallowed something that wasn’t alcohol
“leave me alone” he tells jimin, covering himself with the blanket you had left on his couch.
yoongi doesn’t complain an hour later when jimin gives him a bowl of scolding hot soup he made with whatever was in the fridge
it all comes back when yoongi opens the instagram app and sees the stories and posts of your mutual friends at your wedding
videos of you and your husband laughing, dancing, kissing
he clicks on the next story where the camera had zoomed in on your face and you smiled so big, your laugh filling his quiet living room
and yoongi’s mind replays so many memories with that same exact laugh and he can’t tear his eyes away
and he tries to stop himself from crying, he wants to but he can’t.
just like he can’t throw out the picture of the two of you, or the blanket you would wrap yourself in, or the clothes that you left behind
and he messed it all up, he messed up any chance to fix it with you
it’s too late now.
he finds himself crouched over on the couch, head in his hands, and he can taste the salt on his tongue
he’s crying.
even when he wants to get up and walk away to avoid seeing jimin’s face when he realizes yoongi is crying over his ex, he forgets how to work his muscles
yoongi can’t leave because his attention is on you and your beautiful smile and the contagious laugh on the screen
he remembers the way your lips curved up when you smiled
he remembers the way your hands curled around his biceps when you would walk together
he remembers the way your lips moved when you would speak to him
and yoongi can’t stop staring.
in that same moment, yoongi realized that he remembers every single detail about you.
he memorized it all.
and even though he doesn’t believe in soulmates, the day you left him, was the day you took all of min yoongi with you.
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Text
Prompt: Sleep
Title: To Sleep, Perchance To Dream
Summary: Shoko doesn't sleep for a reason
Word Count:
Rating: T
Pair: Soft Gojo/Shoko (SaShoSu if you squint), mostly comfort with angsty tones because I can't write just fluffy to save my soul.
Shoko doesn't sleep.
Not really. She can nap. She can catch snatches of rest between breaks, between lunches and against stone walls during shady afternoons. It is mostly just her shutting her eyes, breathing slowly and pretending, but it helps. Keeps the lie up, allows her to answer anyone who asks that yes, she rested.
She did. Promise. Pinky swear.
The bruised colored circles under her eyes seem to scream otherwise, to the point she stopped trying to muffle them with make-up years ago, but hey a girl has to try right?
"You need to sleep at some point, Ieiri." Yaga gruffly recommends at the end of their meeting. She has spent that last forty-eight hours awake (not even a record by the way, hardly even a blip) elbow deep in curse guts. Then another five, writing up the a report about her findings for this stupid meeting. "People are going to assume I am running you ragged."
Shoko thinks about the six cursed bodies waiting down in the morgue and the three mangled corpses in the freezer.
"Aren't you?"
Yaga who has had years to learn how to deal with Shoko's casual, pointed words simply waves her away.
"Get some rest."
"Will do."
And she does.
Head bowed, cradled in her arms at her desk while waiting for the blood samples to finish. Solid thirty minutes at least.
Good job her, right?
+
"You look like shit."
"Fuck you too." Shoko spits back at Nanami who ignores her and pours her another drink. They are once again holed up in his apartment. It's nice, but kinda boring. Clean, but empty. He spends about as much time here as she spends at her own, which is next to never. Exception being when he manages to wrestle her out of the morgue and he doesn't have a case the next day. Then they go to his, order too much food and drink until Shoko has to help heal their livers in the morning.
Its a self inflicting exercise in flagellation but it is better than the alternative. Probably.
"You aren't sleeping again?" He notes, just as she is taking a sip because he is actually a bigger asshole than even herself. Most people get blinded by the pressed suits and air of dignified annoyance but yeah, deep down, Nanami Kento is still that emo-looking asshole who listens to My Chemical Romance and enjoys being a troll.
Shoko feels her throat tighten, a lie on the tip of her tongue that drowns in the booze and hacks out as a cough instead.
"Are you?"
Nanami shrugs, "A bit. More than you."
"You really talk to your elders like that?"
"Sorry, more than you, Senpai. Better?"
"No."
"Ah, well. I tried." He deadpans, reaching for another chip and chewing it as he watches her go through her head for an insult but fails and gives up by flopping backwards. Her body stretched out on the floor, hair fanned out like dark wave.
"I rest." She says, "I cat nap. Worst case, I do a bit foosh foosh and I'm good as new."
"That's not sleep."
"Your mom is not sleep." She mumbles out.
"He isn't in Japan, I take it?"
Nanami Kento has to lean to the side in order to miss getting hit by the sudden launch of a wadded up paper receipt.
Shoko does not reply nor does she get up to see if she has hit her target.
"If he finds out about all this, he won't be happy."
Shoko gives a sullen huff, indicating how much she cares about the opinion of the gangly white haired man with blue furby eyes who isn't currently in the country.
Nanami sighs, takes a sip of his own drink and waits for Shoko to rise back up from her drunken depths. Eventually goading her into playing super mario cart until the sun rises.
It isn't sleep, and both will suffer in the days after, but it's good in other ways. A different sort of recharge she can't get with caffeinated drinks and naps in her car.
+
There is a loud knock at her office door that brings Shoko back into reality. Hard. She doesn't remember when she left it, but she does know she jerks back into her body with enough force to jostle her third cup of coffee all down her shirt.
"Fuck." She hisses, grateful it was cold but also when did it get cold? Didn't she just make a new pot?
"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." Megumi politely apologizes. He is one of the few students who actually can remember to say and mean it. She has no idea where he learned it considering every other student is half feral and his teacher is basically five raccoons in trench coat with an addiction to sugar.
"I was zoned out," She admits, putting the cup down and searching for something to clean up with. It takes some digging but eventually she finds some napkins in her purse. "What do you need?"
Megumi, for all his blank face, seems deeply uncomfortable and that is all it takes for Shoko to figure out what is happening.
"Ugh. Dont tell me he roped you in on this too."
"He won't stop texting."
"Megumi, you are suppose to be stronger than this." Shoko sighs, deeply disappointed.
"He sent a singing telegram to me yesterday and threatened to keep doing so until I sent proof." The teen explained, frustrated and more than a little embarrassed. She can tell by the way he gets louder than normal and the way the tips of his ears flush red. "That idiot has way too much time and access to money, Shoko. So let's just get this over with before he gets any other ideas."
Megumi hands her a folded up newspaper.
Shoko unravels it. "What is this for?"
"Hold it up next to you. He said he wants proof of life."
She does as he asks, but also flips him the middle finger. Making sure to frown hard as he takes the picture and sends it off.
"This was overkill."
"I agree." He replies and takes back the newspaper, then there is a series of urgent beeps from his phone. He reads the texts aloud. "He said you look like crap. Get some sleep or else. Something something about posting that picture from first year?"
"Tell that idiot I burned all evidence of that."
Megumi does and the answer is immediate.
"He says Myspace is forever." Megumi blinks, "What is myspace?"
"An ancient wasteland." Shoko tells him blithely and snatches the phone. Sending a series of complicated, odd and distinctly menacing emojis (it involves a lot of skulls, eggplants and fire) before handing it back. "There. That should keep him from using you to bother me. At least for now."
"Thanks."
The kid pockets his phone and nods, but before he leaves, he gives her one more deep concerning look.
"He should be back soon."
"Eh. Maybe. Might also get sidetracked by a dessert food truck too."
"Maybe." Megumi says, albeit doubtfully. Shoko chooses to ignore it and waves him off.
She still has work to do after all.
+
The thing about Shoko not sleeping is that it is on purpose as just as much as it isnt.
Sure, her work hours are probably enough to be a crime against OSHA or the Geneva Convention, and yes she often works alone because there is literally no one else with her gift but what else is she going to do? Go home? Ignore her dying comrades, the piling corpses and curses?
It is a shit job, but that is just how it goes. Could be worse. Probably. Shoko dances along the line of caring too much and not at all too often, to be a good voice of reason about these things.
That is the other side of it.
The part where she has seen too much. Touched too often, the worse bits of what remains. It is all on her to see what it all boils down to in the end and as much as she would like to pretend otherwise, it leaves a stain on her mind.
On her dreams.
It was easier when she could remember less; when she could numb with cigarettes, drink and love. Pressed between the lanky body of one, the compact slender of another. It was easier when the faces she preformed on did not have names in her heart.
It was easier when she was young, dumb and believed the future could be better if they just tried.
Now she is a little smarter, older and well aware of the utter shit show they are all forced to dance in. She knows her part, her limited turns and while she might still hate it all the way down to her bones she also knows the push to break it all down won't come without consequences.
She has already spent half a life burying his after all
So no. She never sleeps well on her own because every time she does, her mind fills with old memories that haunt her to tears. Or reminds her of the friend's she lost or worse, the ones she has yet to lose and really, if she has to pick. She would never sleep again if she could. Just to save herself the pain.
She is not a warrior, she does not suffer well when it comes down to it. She has a hungry heart and it starves like a wild thing, out of wanting. It wants love and it wants safety and it wants to go back in time and hold everything tight enough to bruise.
Shoko does not sleep for fear of the dreams.
-except when Satoru makes her.
"You haven't been sleeping again." He remarks, echoing Nanami but his tone all snark. It is past midnight and for once she is home. Driven there by a storm that closed down the school. She had heard the front door open, but hadn't bothered to move from the couch where she is nestled, reading some filthy smut novel that Mei Mei sent.
There was only one man with a key.
"Oh no. Who let the secret out?" Shoko mocks back with too slow of a response. She is just getting to the good part where the overly handsome, very rich CEO fucks his newly hired help over a leather couch. "Was it Ijichi? Sucha gossip."
Satoru snorts, kicks off his shows and practically bounces from one end of the room to the other, diving towards the couch and land haphazardly in her lap. Shoko, already mentally prepared for this, merely jostles unhappily before going back to her book. Resting the edge of it atop of Satoru's head. He had rested it first on her chest so this was fair.
"As if. That man will take your secrets to the grave. His crush is out of control. I saw him buying you a novelty travel mug today. Says best boss in the world."
"Aw, don't tease him. It's just a crush."
"Gonna tease him harder." Satoru promises, snuggling in. Stupid long limbs snaking in and around her body until Shoko cannot sigh without Satoru moving too. She gives up and closes the book. Letting it fall from her fingers to the floor so she is free to let them pet his white strands back. He closes his eyes and hums.
"Take a nap with me."
"Not tired." She lies.
"Liar."
Shoko cant help but smile at him.
"Yeah. Maybe. Can you blame me?"
Satoru, whose scars mirror her own simply holds her tighter.
"I will keep your nightmares at bay if you do the same for mine." He offers, and it is nothing more than a child's offer to hold hands in the dark, neither really has the power to fight off dreams but it relaxes Shoko more than anything else in the world. She gathers a throw blanket over them and places a kiss on his forehead.
"Deal."
Shoko falls asleep with a soft smile.
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ashhh-14 · 2 years
Text
▨Ignoring your crush▨
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Character's origin- Genshin Impact
Characters- Kamisato Ayato, Childe
Warning- mention of blood and injury in Childe's
Genre- ❃
Format- Imagine
Word count- 1k
Synopsis- Avoiding your love interest because you catch feelings for them, though your course of actions bear an unexpected result
Masterlist
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Kamisato Ayato
Meetings between the prestigious commissions were frequent, whether the reason being any festival or an upcoming matter of great importance to all of Inazuma and the Almighty Shogun herself. Constant meetings lead you to somehow become friends with the upholders of Yashiro commission and the head of the clan himself. You two would often be spotted taking a walk on the outskirts of Inazuma whenever you both somehow manage to scrape a bit of free time from your busy schedules. The topics would be just about anything as you both somehow find yourselves trying a new delicacy found on streets of Inazuma. The walks weren't on a daily basis but they somehow were sure to happen at least thrice a week. Until one day, they stopped. It was a sudden halt. But you couldn't help but notice one night in the quire how you found yourself thinking about the commissioner and weren't able to deny the obvious flutter of your heart at the thought of him. That night was the time when you accepted that you had feelings for the said man but, 'It's the most inappropriate thing that I could have done. '
The last three weeks were empty. Even after drowning yourself in endless work you still found yourself alone. Here you were now, walking alone in the quiets of the night near your estate, having been ushered to 'get some fresh air' from your loyal companions. It was just you, your thoughts and- It was like a presence loomed behind you before you turned around, having to face none other than
"Was just on my way to see you." There his never ending charm went, making your stomach swam with butterflies with his soft smile. Until it wavered, his hand coming in contact your cheek, thumb grazing lightly above your cheekbone.
"You haven't been getting enough rest. Have been avoiding me too. Is something the matter?" Your gaze averted, not expecting for him to notice your absence. "I wasn't avoiding you- it's not that I- "
You sighed, mild irritation building up at how you can't find the right words. Not to mention the sublte contact of his skin made it all the more difficult to use your senses. He retracted his hand, his eyes turning almost solemn as he spoke, " If you do not wish to see me for whichever reason, I totally understand. Just tell me and I won't-" Your eyes slightly widened at that, the last three weeks have been like a personalised hell for you, but to make him think that you don't like his presence, that would be the farthest thing from reality. Your words were franatic, almost too much panic struck in your body, " No please don't think that- it's just me- me, my romantic feelings and thoughts about you and even after knowing our importances fully well and knowing you can't, you won't, I just- i can't- i-" It was soft when a sudden press shushed your panic stricken ramble, soft lips delicately kissing your own as you processed, heart fluttering as your mind grasped the situation, heart accepting the new offered feelings when he parted, his gaze ever so soft as he brought you closer. " I think that clears my reciprocating answer but " there was a pause before he continued, " I thought my thoughts were pretty clear about inter-comission relationships, I guess not huh. " It was as if a burden was lifted off your shoulders as you leaned forward, head against his chest as you whispered, "I was so scared." "How about now?" His voice sounded almost smug as his expression matched his words when you looked up but, for once, you gave in, "Not anymore. "
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Childe
A knock on the door is not what you were expecting to pull you out of your thought-struck daze in the middle of the night but you obliged, going to the door only for the one person you've been avoiding for the last few weeks to show up. Your mind have been just running with one thing all this time away 'I can't ruin what we have. It's too precious. ' but all the resolve of avoiding him went to drain when your eyes landed on his form, everything littered in blood. "Why- How the hell did you end up like this?! "
It was a given for you to get worried, how could you not when the man you've known for almost since you've existed and loved for archon knows how long. Making him sit down you rushed to get the medical supplies while he just chuckled, a not so real one. "Thought if I would show up on your door wounded enough, you might stop avoiding me." It was this sentence which stilled your movements from cleaning his slashed bottom, heart almost clenching painfully at what you made him do. Eyes glazed over as you looked up at him whispering, "This is not a joke Ajax. " He gulped painfully, his ragged breath gliding over your skin as he came close. "Neither is ignoring the person you've known for almost forever (Y/n). " Pure grief was what escaped you as you sobbed on his lap, " I'm sorry! I'm so sorry Childe- But I saw no other option-! I didn't wanna ruin our friendship just because of my unrequired feelings for you I-" His eyes slightly widened as you realized what you spoke, quickly trying to push yourself away from him as he quickly stopped your movements by gripping your arm, "What did you say...? " Your mind taking it as a sign of his disapproval, "I didn't- that's not what I-" "(Y/n) " You took a shaky breath, looking up at him with your tear stained face, "I like you Ajax" His eyes softened as he leaned down, not caring if his injuries were getting worse as his lips placed a soft kiss against your forehead. Your eyes widened as you looked up at him in disbelief, " My heart might be unavailable due to the fatui but.... It's always open for my family.... and lover. "
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Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!
Written by Yours truly
Ash
592 notes · View notes
jackactuallywrites · 15 days
Text
Spirits and Ghosts
Warning: I’m putting this at the top because this fic is pretty dark! Alcoholism, referenced suicide, Soap is dead, Ghost is completely broken, mildly dubious consent cause you’re both drunk shagging
Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x female reader
Rating: Mature/Explicit
Summary: Everyone is devastated after Soap’s death, most of all Ghost. He knows you know he’s coping with alcohol, and comes to talk to you, he doesn’t know that you’re drinking too
Notes: I just love a bit of hurt/comfort after all the mushy fluff
Word Count: 3,270
ao3 link
Special thanks: @xxven ily
There was a palpable heaviness hanging over the base with the knowledge that one of your own was gone. You’d never had the pleasure of truly befriending Soap, yet you still felt his absence, a hole in the worn fabric that made up the base. His jokes, his laughter, that obnoxious Scottish accent that echoed down the halls, something you’d found irritating then, but now you would have given anything to hear it one last time.
None amongst you felt that loss more keenly than Ghost.
You were intel, so it was in your job description to keep watch, not only on whoever the government had designated as the enemy but on your own, digging into your comrade's personal lives and finding out every last little secret that could possibly be used against them. Skeletons in the closet didn’t even come close to describing the graveyard in Ghost’s past. Supposedly, he was numb to the trauma, empty of every human emotion after everything he’d been through, but you’d been watching him. There had been something motivating that man, some ironclad little spark at the centre of his being, yet it had died with Soap.
Never once before had his moniker been so accurate. The man truly was haunting the base, a ghoulish spectre wandering the halls at night, his eyes dead and cold, his body animated by something unknown. At least, that was until you took it upon yourself to break into Ghost’s room.
Alcohol.
That was what was motivating the man to keep going, a growing pile of spirits underneath his bed. It was the perfect crime; nobody would ever get close enough to the man to be able to smell his breath; even if they did, he wore a mask, the alcohol-tinted air smothered by a layer of fabric and resin. You knew that Price and Gaz kept an eye on the man, but how close could they truly get to him? Even by military standards, Ghost was closed off. So, you came in. Covert amongst the covert, supposedly for the ‘good of the task force’, though yet again you were questioning it. What good would come of reporting Ghost? You’d read his psych evals; the man was not one for therapy, and understandably so, meaning he would be discharged honourably if he was lucky, but you knew how that story ended. At the end of a rope.
The laptop in your office mocked you with its bright glow, lighting up your dismal notes of alcoholism and trauma, but you couldn’t bring yourself to transfer the notes into his official documents just yet. A man’s life was on the line, and this was not something you took lightly. What you needed was your routine.
It was simple enough; you’d get yourself a nice cold lemonade and then put in enough vodka to drown a small animal, though never enough to completely rid you of your conscience and allow yourself to be engulfed by everything you forced down. Considering you were planning on writing up Ghost for a drinking problem, it felt hypocritical, but everything you did was. Spying on your own soldiers to keep them safe. The lines were already blurred, no matter how straight you tried to make them.
Your room was a perfect prison for you, your laptop safely stored in the securely locked server rooms, only accessible by a sober you the next day. For now, it was just you and your notes, the ones that would be responsible for condemning a man. The words felt heavy on your heart as you flicked through your notepad, your mind already swimming with alcohol as you reread what you’d written of Ghost, of his pain, his guilt, his trauma. He was a good man, from what you could tell, but there was no room for empathy. You had to do what was best for the task force.
When you heard the knock at the door, you felt your soul leave your body. You switched up your drinking room every time, never using the same one twice, always having your office as where you would be found after hours. Of course, you weren’t stupid enough to believe that you yourself weren’t watched, but you knew how and where they’d monitor you, and you’d gone out of your way to avoid it. Or so you’d thought. Could you have messed up? No, you’d done everything perfectly. This was just some horrible coincidence.
Another knock at the door, firmer though still quiet, was enough to rid you of that thought. Someone was out there, someone who knew you were in that room. Your sidearm was never far from your hand, and you kept it in hand as you approached the door, hoping that your dishevelled appearance would be put down to being roused from an early night’s sleep rather than from an empty bottle. Professional. Courteous. That’s all you had to be for the next minute. You could do that.
You might have been able to if it wasn’t Ghost on the other side of the door—Ghost, whose fate lay in your hands, fragile and delicate like a baby bird. He made no attempt at upholding any sort of professional courtesy himself as he pushed past you into the small room you’d taken as sleeping quarters that night.
“I know.” His tired voice brokered no disagreement, but you still made an effort. “Know what?” He sunk onto your bed, precariously close to your stash of alcohol, resting his forearms on his thighs, his eyes firmly on you, “I know you know everything.” You remained quiet, as was always best in this situation, allowing Ghost to reveal how much he knew. “Don’t.” He knew, of course, he knew, he’d been briefed on those exact tactics. You looked back at him, trying to be resolute though your head was swimming, “I’m just doing my job, Lieutenant. As you do yours.” He scoffed, but you pressed on, “It’s for the good of the team, Riley. You know that.” “There is no team without Soap.” He was a man in pain, in distress, yet he was too close. You couldn’t have him in here, not where your secrets unravelled. “Go sleep it off, Lieutenant.”
For a moment, it seemed like you’d escaped closer scrutiny by the skin of your teeth, but Ghost’s eyes had shifted to the small gap in between the bed and the end table, where you’d stashed the bottle, having given up on the charade of diluting it with lemonade quite some time ago. His eyes slowly returned to you, and you felt him examine you, not just your physical appearance but your posture, the slight haziness in your eyes you’d tried to play off as exhaustion.
“Are you drunk?”
There was no doubting the absolute incredulity in his voice, and you knew you’d been caught. Honesty, that was your best policy now, mixed in with a heavy dose of untruths. “I’m off duty.” “I know your schedule.” “Unscheduled leave.” He pushed up from the bed and crossed the room to you, trapping you between him and the door, glowering down at you. “Liar.” A different tactic was needed now, and you tried to look earnest, “The death of Soap-“ He didn’t let you finish, placing his hand over your mouth to silence you, his glove soft against your skin, “Don’t you fucking dare.” You could feel how precarious your situation was now. Ghost would never hurt you; you knew that much from his files, but he might report you. You could take him down, but you’d be sentencing yourself to go down with him.
After a moment, Ghost removed his hand from your mouth, folding his arms across his chest and glaring down at you, allowing you the freedom to explain yourself as though there was anything non-incriminating you could say. You hesitated momentarily before deciding there was no other way out of this. “I’m drunk.” He narrowed his eyes at you, “I could report you.” He looked you over, no doubt weighing his options, so you reminded him, “So could I.“
For a moment, the silence seemed to stretch out into eternity between you, both considering the mutually assured destruction you could unleash. Ghost was the first to deflate, sinking back onto your bed and reaching over to grab the bottle of vodka. He held it up to you in a mock toast, his voice dark, “Here’s to the best and the brightest of the forces.” You relaxed a little, taking the bottle from him. “There’s another bottle in the drawer.” He didn’t need telling twice, pulling the drawer open and taking out the second bottle, unscrewing it as he pulled off his mask and balaclava. You’d read about his face, but seeing it was something else. He was handsome, even with the crooked nose, the untidy greying stubble and the heavy purple bags under each eye. You held out your bottle to his, “Here’s to mutually assured destruction.” His voice was soft as he clinked his bottle against yours, but you could still hear the name on his lips. “To Soap.”
Nothing compared to the blissful feeling of alcohol carrying you away from your worries. Your entire body felt light, slightly tingly, as if there was a slight lag between your mind and your limbs. It was a delightful feeling, the feel of the carpet underneath your fingers, and you stretched out your hands, exploring the new textures that brushed against your skin, stroking along the fabric and noting the bump of the stitches.
“That’s my leg you’re stroking.”
Ghost’s voice was soft, and you laughed, moving your hand away from his leg, “Sorry, sorry.” You cracked open an eye to see him leaning his back against the bedframe with his eyes still closed, a slight smile on his lips, “I don’t mind. S’nice.” The lines between professional and person were already beyond blurry and had been since the very first sip of alcohol, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You returned your hand to his thigh, exploring the waterproofed fabric and how your fingers slid over it smoothly, feeling the ridges of the pockets and then the coarse material of his belt. He shifted, laying his arm on the bed frame behind you, his forearm draping over your shoulder, and you allowed yourself to lean into his chest, enjoying the close contact.
It was obvious to you where things were going; no matter how slowly they were progressing, the end result would undeniably be the same. You shifted away from him, using every last ounce of your self-control to put some distance between you, placing your hands in your lap. “Ghost. We can’t- I can’t. It would be wrong of me.” He reached out for your face, his gloved fingers soft against your cheek as he gently turned you toward him, “I just want to feel good again.” You could see the earnestness in his face but also the pain and exhaustion in his eyes, the undeniable sorrow that lingered. At the end of a day like this, feeling good was all you wanted, too.
Ghost seemed to feel your resistance fading away, his hand shifting from your cheek down, his fingers stroking over your jaw and then around to the back of your neck. His grip was gentle but quietly insistent as he pulled you toward him, your boundaries slipping as you gave in, letting your hands reach out to grab his jumper and pull him closer to you, his lips crashing against yours, firm and desperate, his fingers sliding up into your hair, holding you tightly against him.
A single kiss was all it took to destroy the facade of professionalism entirely.
Ghost wasted no time, breaking the kiss to take his jumper off, revealing the plain green T-shirt underneath, and you eagerly hooked your fingers underneath the hem to take it off for him. He raised his arms to allow you to strip him, waiting for you to take his t-shirt off before he started on yours, easily pulling it off of you and then gently pushing you back onto the carpet, using his knee to nudge your legs apart and then wrapping them around his waist as he leaned down to kiss you again, using his arm to brace himself so he didn’t crush you underneath him.
You knew what you were doing was wrong, but he felt too good against you, one hand tangling in your hair, his lips moving down your neck, sucking and biting at your skin, the other hand pulling your hips against him as he ground into you. The alcohol heightened the pleasure in your skin, and you let out a soft sigh, allowing yourself to become lost in the sensation. Even the slightest sign of pleasure from you spurred Ghost on, and he leant back from you, leaving you panting on the floor as his hands darted down to your trousers, swiftly unbuckling your belt and button and then yanking the zipper down, tugging your trousers off and tossing them to the side.
As he began undoing his own belt, you took a moment to appreciate how attractive the man was, the way the muscles in his arms bulged as he fumbled with the buckle, the black tattoos that wrapped around his forearm, the hungry look in his pale eyes as he took in the sight of your body, the dark blond hair that trailed down his stomach. He undid his trousers, pushing his boxers down, his cock finally springing free. You could feel your heart skip a beat at the sight of him, how desperate he was for you, and you bit your lip in anticipation, feeling the butterflies flutter in your stomach.
Ghost didn’t bother to take his trousers completely off, already leaning down to tug your pants off, sliding them over your legs and throwing them aside. He gripped your thigh as he positioned himself, grinding himself into you to coat as much of himself as he could in your wetness before he slowly pushed into you, the pressure at your entrance building before he slowly began to sink into you, a throaty growl emanating from his throat as he buried himself inside you. You knew you should have been more careful; you should have thought of protection, but all you cared about was how he felt against you, his hand moving to your thigh to hold you in place as he thrust into you, angling your hips so he rubbed up against that perfect spot inside you.
Without warning, he shifted back to pull you on top of him, positioning you in his lap, placing his hand on your hip and grinding you against him. His other hand reached up to cup your face, forcing you to look up into his eyes, his own wide and desperate. He rubbed his thumb over your cheek, his other hand grabbing your ass as he rocked you against him, his voice throaty as he rested his forehead against yours, “You feel so fucking good.” His hand moved from your ass and grabbed your hand, pushing it down between your bodies, his voice desperate and pleading, “Come on, baby, make yourself feel good for me.” You weren’t one to deny yourself pleasure, so you did as ordered, pushing your hand between your bodies and beginning to rub circles around your clit, feeling that familiar pressure build in your core, shifting your hips against him to angle him more perfectly, and he rubbed his thumb over your cheek, “Just like that, sweetheart, come on.” He let you control the rhythm as you rocked against him, resting his hand on the small of your back, his voice strained, “Come on, darlin’, come for me.”
Your body couldn’t hold on for longer, your rhythm starting to stutter as you pushed down on him hard, trying to get him as deep as possible as you finished, your nails digging into his shoulders as he held you closely against him, whispering soft words of encouragement into your ear, “Just like that, sweetheart, just like that.” You let your head fall forward onto his chest as you rode out the last sparks of pleasure, and he wrapped his arm around your back, holding you against him, stroking your hair with his other hand.
Ghost was still underneath you, seemingly content to just have your pleasure, but you weren’t finished just yet. You shifted on top of him so you were straddling his lap, gently placing your hands in the centre of his chest and pushing him insistently. He looked at you questioningly, but he allowed you to lay him flat on his back, his hands sliding down your back and to your waist, allowing you to take control. You could feel the hesitance in his touch, and you began to rock your hips back and forth, feeling how his hands began to tighten on your waist, his head falling back onto the carpet, and his jaw clenching as he thrust up into you. You found your rhythm quickly enough, balancing on your knees as you rode him, feeling that familiar tightness inside you as he hit you just right, everything still sensitive from your first climax, your voice a breathy whisper as you slid up and down, “Fuck, Ghost.”
“Simon, it’s Simon.” His voice was tight, as were his fingers on your waist, beginning to pull you down onto him more forcefully, “Say my name.” You couldn’t help but reach back down to rub yourself again, feeling everything tingle and tense, biting the inside of your cheek as you tried to keep the rhythm just right, “Fucking hell, Simon.”
The simple utterance of his name seemed to bewitch him, and he let out a deep groan, gripping onto your hipbones as he began slamming up into you, yanking you down to meet him every time, almost lifting you off his cock entirely before he buried it back inside you. You could see the frantic desperation in his movements and feel the tightness in his legs as his body began to tense up, but he slowed, panting out in short, heavy breaths, “I’m close, darlin’, I should probably-“ Both alcohol and arousal were clouding your better senses, and you dug your nails into his chest as you ground yourself against him, right on the verge of finishing yourself, the nail in the coffin of any intelligence, “Come in me, Simon.”
Ghost needed little encouragement, completely lost in the sensation of you finishing around him again, and he thrust forcefully inside you before sitting up and pushing you down to the floor once again, pulling your legs tightly around his hips as he fucked you hard, pounding into you fiercely, the carpet harsh against your back as he thrust deep into you one final time, growling out a throaty, “Fuck,” as he finished.
Not anything about your decisions had been smart, from fucking Ghost to letting him finish inside you, but you just couldn’t summon the energy to care anymore. He felt too good, and you’d needed it; you’d needed an excuse to break free of the constraints. He collapsed to your side as he pulled out, yet brought you with him into a tight hug, burying his head in your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your hair as his heart slowed. Nothing was said, but nothing needed to be said, and you simply enjoyed the closeness, resting your head against his chest, the dark thoughts in your head blissfully silenced.
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miu-senpaii · 8 months
Text
Stick Together | Shane x depressed!Reader Oneshot
TW: Mentions of depression, suicide (it is our angsty boi we talking about), reader smokes
You've always felt like a rock floating through empty space. Despite being surrounded by people and welcomed into a caring community, you've never felt more alien and alone.
Everyone else had dreams, desires, hobbies, people to go home to, a purpose in life. Something to live for. What did you have? Nothing except misery, exhaustion, and pain. They were like comets that occasionally collided with you on their path to some faraway planet, meanwhile, you are left there falling deeper and deeper into a bottomless void.
Each day felt like dragging your feet through quicksand. With each step you took, you only sunk deeper into the pit of depression. There was a perpetual emptiness in your chest. You hated that you were drained of everything--your energy, your motivation, your happiness. Even getting up each morning has become such a chore that there are days you wish you could just rot away into the Earth.
To others, your statements seemed ludicrous. Why can't you just stop being lazy and do something? Don't we all feel sad some days? Why can't you just be happy?
You gave up on explaining. Gave up on trying to be heard. Gave up on the hope that someone someday would understand how you feel.
You built up walls around yourself. You hid your pain behind a beaming smile and outgoing personality. Despite being polar opposites on the outside, you felt like you were looking into a mirror the moment you saw Shane. You recognized the facade: his cold exterior and dismissive attitude, his blunt responses, his drinking habits, his messy appearance, and his avoidance of talking to others were all ways to shut people out. This was his defense mechanism, a wall he put up to hide his true emotions. You could sense the hurt and vulnerable man underneath his hardened expression and narrowed gaze--a feeling you understood all too well yourself.
It's funny how birds of a feather flock together. Over time, an unspoken mutual understanding formed between the two of you.
On the docks late at night, there was Shane, drowning his sorrows through piles of emptied beer cans, and you, with smoke in your breath and cigarette butts littered at your feet. Few words were exchanged, with the exception of an occasional remark or two about how life sucked, followed by a nod in agreement. Neither of you felt the need to make conversation when each other's silent company spoke more than enough. Through these late nights, a shared sentiment lingered in the air: Let's keep trying tomorrow.
Your relationship with Shane might seem strange to an onlooker, but in your own special ways, the two of you were always there for each other.
When you heard that Shane was missing, you desperately searched for him in the pouring rain, chest tightening at the thought of what Shane might have done. Your heart shattered when you found him collapsed on the ground near the cliff, his tears mixing with the rainwater. You wordlessly kneeled down on the muddy ground, holding him in your arms as you both sobbed, releasing all the agony you had kept inside for so long. It hit you like a truck when he asked why he should even go on, as that was a question you had been asking yourself all these years. You couldn't pledge that things would get better, only that you would be there to support him through whatever he was struggling with.
When Shane showed up at your door the next day after recovering in the hospital, you had thrown your arms around him, and he returned the gesture. That day, a silent vow was exchanged: No matter how bad life got, you always had each other.
Shane did end up returning the favor a few months later. The waters had tempted you with the promise of eternal sleep, freed from all the burdens and pain in your life. Before you could sink into the bottomless abyss, strong arms pulled you up to the surface. You noticed Shane's heaving breaths, his thumping heart, and his glossy eyes as he pulled you into a tight embrace. That day, there was a mutual realization that you needed one another, and needed to change for the better because of that.
It's ironic how two people without a reason to live became each other's reason.
Both of your lives changed dramatically in the following months. You joined Shane in his therapy sessions. You both agreed to help one another cut back on your unhealthy coping mechanisms. You had bought sparkling water and Joja Cola in bulk so that whenever Shane was tempted to pour himself a cold one, you replaced it with a non-alcoholic beverage. Meanwhile, when you found yourself itching for a smoke, Shane would take away your cigarette and pop a lollipop into your mouth. As a plus, your kisses also tasted a lot sweeter when there was no longer the stink of cigarettes in your mouth.
You had both grown to be much happier. Shane found his calling raising chickens, which was something you found quite cute. On the other hand, you had found fulfillment working on your farm and even began to enjoy your old hobbies again.
Neither of you was perfect by any means. There were still days when you felt like you were sinking in quicksand, sometimes only down to the ankles and other times all the way up to your neck. Except, now you were no longer traversing through it alone. With Shane by your side, you were confident that he be there to pull you up as would you for him. Together, you would keep pushing forward in hopes for a better tomorrow.
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gilly-moon · 8 months
Note
For the ask prompt:
Introducing them to their special interests/hyperfixations
And/or
Pure genuine laughter, because these two would go really well hand in hand I think!
~harley
I only now realized that I don't think I've ever done little one-off drabbles like this before, so it was harder than expected to keep it short! Super fun exercise in little character moments tho ♡
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Jack’s first mistake was mentioning he had only seen a handful of horror movies.
His second was letting Pitch sit him down for a marathon of his favorites.
They’d gone through the trouble of tracking down a local rec center, ensuring it was empty for the night before dragging out the old box TV on its cart and getting comfy on a couch that could’ve been older than the building itself. Pitch brought the movies, and Jack reluctantly brought himself.
He wasn’t a scaredy-cat, or so he’d insisted to Pitch. The few horror movies he’d seen might’ve caught him off guard with a jump scare or two, but he’d never left them scared.
Turns out he’d just been watching the wrong ones.
Really, he should’ve expected it. Why would he ever think that asking the King of Nightmares to show him some horror movies would be a breeze? A little gore, a little suspense, no big deal, right? Instead, he’d found himself halfway into a psychological hellscape of a movie and realized exactly what he’d gotten himself into.
When the credits rolled on the first film, Jack turned to Pitch with wide eyes and asked him flat-out if he’d been doused with Nightmare sand and if - pretty please - he could wake up now. Pitch just grinned evilly and stood up to put the next movie in. But then Jack made some throwaway comment about horror movies being gratuitous fear-fests, and something shifted in Pitch’s expression. Remote still in hand, he stood with his arms crossed and sternly said, “Now listen here, Frost,” before launching into a lecture about the complex and difficult art of instilling fear in an audience.
And the more Pitch talked, the more of Jack’s fear slipped away. So even after Pitch sank back onto the couch to start the movie and fear filled the air again, Jack scooted a little closer and found every opportunity to poke him with questions.
Without fail, Pitch always had an answer. He talked at length about when and where it was most effective to use violence or gore, how best to use a character’s fears against them, or the intent of a scene in creating psychological unease in both the protagonist and the audience. By the time the third film was playing, he began pointing things out unprompted, and had entirely forgotten that his initial intent was seemingly to watch Jack drown in his own fears.
Jack was utterly captivated. He’d never seen Pitch speak so passionately about anything, aside from the occasional rant about the Guardians and Manny. A scene that might’ve had Jack tucking into his sweatshirt and staying there til morning shifted from frightening to fascinating as Pitch broke down piece-by-piece how the film had foreshadowed everything without ever allowing the audience to suspect the horror to come.
Metallic eyes locked on the screen, Pitch didn’t seem to notice that Jack had been watching him instead of the movie by the time the last film was coming to an end. He was too busy rambling about the plot, rising from the couch to retrieve the disc.
“Humans are surprisingly adept at supplying inspiration for their own worst nightmares,” Pitch said, turning just so to make his irises gleam from the blue TV screen. “Though I prefer to think their inspirations are a product of my own meddling while they sleep. Don’t you?”
Jack blinked, considering the films they’d just watched and trying to imagine all their horrors coming directly from Pitch himself. It was a far easier task than he should’ve been comfortable with.
“I almost forgot for a sec there,” he said with a faint laugh, “you’re like…insane, insane. Like, cult leaders and torturers would be begging you for ideas if they could.”
Pitch raised an eyebrow, looking over Jack curiously from where he stood. “And yet you still choose to spend time with me.”
Jack shrugged, crossing his legs underneath him. “Look, I’m the fun Guardian, not the smart Guardian.”
And the laugh that escaped Pitch then made Jack light up like the moon. It was brief, but it was real. Jack could sense it, that pure sound that welled up in the tall shadow of a man and escaped him before it could be stopped. Jack reveled in it, and how rarely he heard that laugh unless it was darkened by cynicism or mischievous intent.
“Well, I appreciate you indulging me,” Pitch said after clearing his throat. He strode back to the couch, looming over Jack as the first beams of dawn began breaking through the curtain. “Though I must admit, I was hoping to taste more of your fears tonight. Shall I leave you with a Nightmare instead to remember me by?”
Jack shot to his knees, startling Pitch just enough for Jack to grip the front of his robe and successfully tug him down into a quick kiss.
“Not a chance in hell, Boogeyman,” he murmured against those scalding lips.
Before Pitch could recover, the winds where whisking Jack out the door, escaping from the shadows with a laugh.
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tosomeonessomeone · 2 months
Text
Echoes of you.
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words・ 1.1K/pairings・ Felix x reader / genres・ overwhelmingly sad/ warnings・ just sadness. Based in Eloise song Drunk on a flight.
As the first light of dawn peeked over the horizon, casting a golden hue across the cityscape, Felix stood on the deserted street, his heart heavy with the weight of impending goodbye. The echoes of the song reverberated in his mind, each verse a painful reminder of the inevitable end.
"We broke up when we woke up," he whispered to himself, the words hanging in the crisp morning air like a solemn vow. It had to end, you both knew, the jagged edges of your fractured love too sharp to mend.
Felix traced the familiar contours of the sidewalk, each step a silent farewell to the memories you had woven together. The ache in his chest was palpable, a raw wound exposed to the harsh light of day.
"We couldn't speak from the pain," he admitted, the admission heavy on his tongue. Words had failed you, swallowed by the vast expanse of unspoken truths and unshed tears. And so, you stood on the precipice of goodbye, your hearts heavy with the weight of whati could have been.
With a heavy sigh, Felix hailed a taxi, the screech of tires against pavement a discordant symphony to your fractured love. He climbed into the backseat, the weight of his decision settling like a shroud around his shoulders.
"We had to jump on a plane and pretend," he mused, the bitter taste of regret lingering on his lips. The distance between you stretched further with each passing mile, the chasm widening with every beat of his broken heart.
As the taxi pulled away, Felix watched the city fade into the distance, a blur of lights and memories swallowed by the vastness of the horizon. And in that moment, amidst the chaos of goodbye, he found solace in the quiet promise of a new beginning, a faint glimmer of hope on the horizon of his fractured heart.
On the plane, Felix found himself drowning in the numbing embrace of alcohol, the bitter taste of whiskey a poor substitute for the warmth of your touch. As the liquor flowed, the boundary between reality and oblivion blurred, each sip a desperate attempt to erase the ache in his heart.
"Well, I got so drunk on that flight," he admitted to himself, the confession a whispered lament to the empty seat beside him. The cabin was cloaked in darkness, the soft hum of the engines a haunting melody to his shattered dreams.
The passage of time became irrelevant as Felix lost himself in the haze of intoxication, the boundaries between day and night merging into an indistinguishable blur. Yet, even in the midst of his inebriation, he couldn't escape the echoes of your absence, your ghost haunting every corner of his mind.
"But I didn't want to," he confessed, the words heavy with regret. Without you, he felt incomplete, a shadow of the man he once was. You had been his anchor, his guiding light in the darkness, and now, adrift in a sea of uncertainty, he struggled to find his way back to shore.
"I'm not me without you," he murmured, the truth ringing hollow in the emptiness of the cabin. In your absence, he was a mere echo of himself, a fractured reflection of the love you once shared.
And since you split the sheets, Felix found himself searching for you in the faces of strangers, a desperate longing etched into the lines of his weary soul. In every person he met, he sought traces of your laughter, your warmth, your essence intertwined with his own.
"In every man person I meet, I look for you," he confessed, the admission of a silent prayer to the empty skies above. For in the depths of his heart, he knew that you were irreplaceable, a beacon of hope in a world consumed by darkness.
And so, as the plane journeyed on into the night, Felix found himself adrift in a sea of memories and regrets, haunted by the ghost of a love now lost, yet forever etched into the fabric of his being.
In the quiet solitude of the cabin, Felix's thoughts drifted back to moments of tenderness and strife, each memory a bittersweet testament to the complexity of your love.
"You used to stroke my cheek when I spoke French to you," he reminisced, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Your shared language had been a bridge between worlds, a secret code that bound you together in intimacy.
But amidst the whispers of endearments, there lingered moments of discord, fragments of a past marred by misunderstandings and unspoken grievances.
"Then you'd pick a fight," he confessed, the memory of a sharp pang in his chest. Your love had been a battleground, marked by passionate clashes and tender reconciliations, each argument a testament to the depth of your connection.
"And what it meant to you," he whispered, the words heavy with regret. In the heat of the moment, you had both said things you couldn't take back, wounds that cut deeper than you dared to admit.
"We used to fight for the sport," Felix acknowledged, the admission tinged with resignation. Your conflicts had become a twisted dance, a cycle of push and pull, love and resentment intertwined like thorns in a rose garden.
"And then when we'd get bored, we'd just make up again," he confessed, the confession a whispered admission to the empty air. Your reconciliations had been fueled by a desperate longing for closeness, a fleeting respite from the storm brewing beneath the surface.
"With a hint of resentment," he added, the words hanging between you like a heavy shroud. Beneath the facade of forgiveness, lingered echoes of past hurts, wounds that refused to heal, scars etched into the fabric of your shared history.
As the plane journeyed on into the night, Felix found himself adrift in a sea of memories, navigating the turbulent waters of your love with a heavy heart. For in the quiet depths of his soul, he knew that your story was far from over, a symphony of love and loss, hope and regret, echoing into eternity.
Since you parted ways, Felix found himself adrift in a sea of faces, each stranger a potential reminder of the love he had lost. The lyrics of the song echoed in his mind, a haunting refrain that followed him wherever he went.
"And since we split the sheets," he acknowledged, the words heavy with longing and regret. In every person he encountered, he searched for traces of you—the curve of your smile, the sparkle in your eyes—a futile quest to fill the void you had left behind.
"I look for you," he confessed, the admission a whispered prayer to the empty spaces between them. You had been his compass, his guiding star in a world fraught with uncertainty, and now, adrift in the vast expanse of loneliness, he struggled to find his way home.
The memory a bitter reminder of the depths of his despair. In the haze of alcohol, he had sought solace from the pain, a fleeting escape from the relentless ache in his heart.
"But I didn't want to," he confessed, the truth a bitter pill to swallow. Without you, he was adrift, a ship lost at sea, tossed by the merciless currents of longing and regret.
"I'm not me without you," he whispered, the words a solemn vow to the empty air. In your absence, he was a shadow of his former self, a mere echo of the man he once was.
And so, as the days turned into nights, and the seasons shifted like sands beneath his feet, Felix continued his search—a solitary figure lost in the labyrinth of his own heart, yearning for a love that had slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.
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aquanova99 · 9 months
Text
Haunted (Cato x Reader)
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Part 10
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A/N: Sorry it’s taking so long for these to update. Life seems to be winning lately. I hope the length these are make up for it. This is nearing 13k sorry!
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Cato’s POV
You see Y/n flinch at the distance between you when she turned. You continued talking, pretending your own skin wasn’t on edge. Not in the dangerous sense, but still…nervous. You had sat up in shock you had slept at all, shocked that y/n had learned to dissect everything you said, shocked you had given in and just admitted how messed up you really are. And overall, you worried she was going to be making herself feel worse. You had leaned forward to try and explain she should just worry about herself, when she turned to face you, stammering about wanting to help.
“You help a lot more than you realize.”   Its all you can say. Why were you still comforting her? You needed her to stay away. She was somehow digging herself deep into your mind, threatening to never leave. And you were beginning to find it harder and harder to listen to any previous reason to keep your own distance. It was going to make the end of her adjustment period impossible. You had barely began treading water, and if you didn’t stop you knew you would drown without her. And worse, you didn’t care. The two of you stared at each other, and no matter how much your mind screamed at you to pull back you instead found your body slowly getting closer. The quiet voice urging you to get closer was beginning to get louder, so the rest of you screamed at Y/n to get away. But her eyes only flitted down and back up to your eyes before mirroring your own hesitant movements. Neither of you backing away.
At least, not until the sound of hurried footsteps approaching had you both pull back. The effect was immediate. It was as if you both had gotten too close, splashed with hot oil. Your legs pushed you back before returning to their original position, pulled up in front of you, your arms crossed on top of them. Y/n moved to the foot of the bed, cross legged and resting her head on a closed hand. She seemed completely unphased by…well whatever just happened. You could only hope you looked that relaxed on the outside. You could only focus on the thumping and pounding ringing in your ears. The thick coal infused air seemed to be heavier today, you could only take short quick breaths, only adding to the anxiety you were struggling to get rid of. Well, you were sick. You decide that that’s the reason you seem to be so out of sorts about everything.
Cashmere throws the door open, “How are you feeling Cato?”
You shrug, “Fine.”
“I don’t know if I’d trust that but his fever did go down a little bit.”
“Thank you, Y/n.”
You stared at her in disbelief. She smiled at Cashmere, and shrugged when she looked back at you, grinning smugly.
Cashmere chuckled, “Well Cato, you are welcome to keep resting but we are going to need Y/n. We are going to discuss the next course of action to keep Y/n out of the sponsor’s hands.”
Y/ns face dropped but Cashmere continued, “They’ve decided we need to get it out of the way.”
“Right.” Y/n answered
You start to get up, ignoring thee body aches and lightheadedness you got from standing up so quick. “I’m good.”
“You should re—”
“I’m going.” You interrupted Y/n. Outside of curiosity, a small part of you wanted to be there in case she withdrew again. Y/n nodded and took a deep breath before standing.
“Well. Lets get it out of the way then.”
Cashmere offered a sympathetic smile and let her walk out first. You followed behind the both of them. Slowly behind them. Every step threatening to empty out what little you had in your stomach. You blamed yourself. You barely slept, and before coming here you only ate enough to keep you going. And when you would try to rest, you would make sure the windows were open. Inclement weather or not. You were bound to get sick eventually. Well…maybe this would force your body to actually slow down. It had worked once before.
“You look like crap.” Brutus commented as you sat down next to y/n, you only managed to glare at him. Why was it so cold all of a sudden? You tried to breathe in through your nose to settle down your stomach. You tried to unclench your jaw, your whole body was tense and you had to relax. Y/ns siblings stood around nervously.
“Does anyone need water or something?” Mallory asked, everyone shook their head or declined. Y/n gestured for him to come close and whispered something in his ear.  He nodded and walked away, the younger one trailing behind him.
“You’re sure you feel okay?” She whispered while every settles in. You just nodded, afraid she would call you out again.
“Alright sweetheart should we get everything out of way?” Haymitch started
“Might as well.” She grumbled, “But I assume that the solution isn’t all that great, right?”
“Oh, you picked that up?” Haymitch chuckled, and elicited a small smile from her. The two had effectively learned how to communicate without saying much. You wondered what solution they had come up with that required every one of them present. Then again, you wanted to be present and you didn’t have much of a reason to be there either. Haymitch took a drink of what you assume is whiskey, and pursed his lips. He was not happy to be delivering the news. “Bottom line is, if you want the capitol off your back you have to find someone you can tolerate enough to be in a relationship with.”
You weren’t sure you heard that right until Y/n spoke up. “What?”
You weren’t sure why you were so shocked. The capitol enjoyed a good story sure, and it was a quick enough way to get people off her back. Apparently, while killing kids wasn’t off the table, breaking up a partnership was where the capitol citizens drew the line. Even then, she would have to be with a…that’s when it hit you. They wanted her to find a victor.
“Look, we can go in circles forever. But until you actually look older they will keep you around.” Brutus scoffed, “You won’t have to do anything, and depending on who it is they could get out of their own commitments.”
He said the last word with a wave of his hand and soon after Cashmere spoke up to try and ease Y/n into their plan, “Finnick would be a decent choice, he has someone he cares about so you wouldn’t have to worry about him trying anything, I would say maybe even Johanna but she gains nothing from helping out. So unfortunately, your choices are limited to our districts.”
“No.”
“Y/n…” Haymitch warned, but she continued regardless
“My answer is no. You just said Finnick has someone. What about her?”
“Y/n if you pick someone from here, Snow is more likely to target their families. That and the Capitol wouldn’t take your relationship as seriously.” Enobaria offered
“So, instead of putting someone I know in danger. I put a stranger in it instead?” Mallory crept back in, she grabbed the blanket he offered and tossed it in your direction. Accident or not, you took it. Really, you knew she likely thought of this in advance. You wish you could understand why. You focused back on the discussion, everyone but Brutus trying to calm her down. You wonder what you would do in her situation. Then again, you knew what you would do. You did it. You became the person to avoid. You wondered if Y/n would fight her way out, or if she even could. You felt yourself tense up.
“It could help—”
“It could also be worse for them. If I choose someone like Finnick what’s to stop them from hurting the one person he cares about. This solves nothing. And even if it did I wouldn’t do it.”
“Y/n…” Haymitch warned
“No. I’ll deal with the sponsors.” She pushed the table and stormed out. The slam of her door in the distance felt like someone had punched you in the gut. The immediate resignation. The acceptance of her fate. You realized you were furious. At the idea everyone seemed to agree on, at Y/n for not trying to figure out another solution, at the fact that there didn’t seem to be another solution, at the Capitol for allowing this in the first place, at yourself for ever believing it was anything other than a way to keep the districts in line. Your head was spinning. Stupid sickness.
“Tsk, that went well.” Haymitch laughed as he gulped the rest of his drink.
“I didn’t hear you suggest anything else.” Brutus huffed
“And what did you expect? For her to willingly go into another situation where someone has to pretend to be in love with her? Because that worked so well last time?”
“Its her problem now. She knows what her options are.” Brutus rolled his eyes
“Brutus, this is a lot to take in. We still have awhile to convince her.” Cashmere said softly, he shrugged and headed out the door. “Cato, you should go rest. You look terrible.”
Yeah well, you feel terrible. You just nodded and headed back. You could feel Enobaria and Cashmere wanted to run something else by Haymitch. As you left the large dining area you saw Y/ns siblings hanging around, no doubt eavesdropping. You wonder how they felt in all this. How hopeless it all seemed. Instead of making your way back to where you had been residing, you stopped in of her room. Unsure of whether you should knock or not. You decided to try and knock but remained frozen. Eventually the door flew open. Y/n still clearly enraged, softened for only a second.
“You should be resting.” She began closing the door again but your body seemed to finally move forward, stopping her from isolating. She sighed, “What is it, Cato?”
“They’ll think of something else.”
She scoffed, “I’m sure they’ve been thinking for a while. I know it’s the only realistic solution. I’m upset, not stupid. But I still won’t do it.”
“Why not?” Your voice came out harsher than intended, it seemed to give her pause, you took a deep breath and slightly raised your eyebrows, barely nodding your head towards her direction. She sighed, and rolled her eyes but released the door and let you in. She was more careful when she closed her door again. You realized you didn’t know where to sit when you weren’t standing guard.
“Just sit down, its fine.” She gestured to the end of the bed, you felt ridiculous. You’d been helping keep watch for a few days. This shouldn’t be any different. You were making sure she was okay. That’s it. You notice you both somewhat mirror each other, both holding your crossed legs up close to your chest.
“You’re really giving up?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why would Johanna gain nothing from helping?”
You avoid her eyes, you both knew she knew what the answer was. You both also knew you had to watch you both said. “She refused to repay or visit anyone from the Capitol. I’m not even sure if she had any sponsors. She just…doesn’t have any family left. So. I guess if she helps…”
“She’d be risking the last thing she has left. And if I choose someone like Finnick, then whoever he’s protecting by visiting the capitol risks the lack of protection from the Capitol. So, why would I do anything but suck it up like everyone else has done.”
You realized she was right, the last time she tried to played against the Capitol got her ally killed. Something you knew she would likely never get over. She was also right about the other victors. There was no one who was completely alone. The ones that were, were older or like Johanna, not interested in being something for Capitol entertainment. The only one who had nothing to lose was… me. Fuck. The thought refused to disappear. The pros and cons becoming more and more indistinguishable. You try and convince y/n to think of something else instead.
“You cant do that. It isn’t something you just deal with. Cashmere, Gloss, Finnick, its killed parts of them. You cant.”
She half smiled, while looking out her window, as if she was imagining something else. “I wished I’d never been the girl on fire.”
“You would have gotten sponsors anyway.” She chuckled, you realized your words weren’t entirely baseless. The tribute parade definitely made an impression, but what cemented the attention of the capitol was her training score and Peeta. Her face turns into a slight frown and you know she likely comes to the same conclusion.
“I would say I should have let Prim get reaped, or let Katniss volunteer. But I don’t think there’s any world where I would have done that.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know, guilt?  We were closer before…”
“Before the mining accident?” You didn’t even realize you remembered her interview that seemed so long ago
“Yeah. Our dads were in a pretty bad mining accident. Mine made it, hers didn’t. Our families used to take turn watching us. Or they would take us out into the woods to gather some kind of roots and veggies. After the accident though, well they went through a lot. Ironically we both started hunting around the same time just not together. My dad, he couldn’t work after that and then he…just stopped trying. My family needed food, and I didn’t have a weapon like she did. So, I had to learn quick. Her dad had shown her the bow and Arrow, my dad had shown me how to snare once. Lot of trial and error.”
“He must have been relieved.”
She smiled as she recalled your previous conversation about your own family, “No.”
“Really?”
“Really. I think he was embarrassed but he expressed by yelling. A lot. Not catching enough, getting the wrong thing, asking too many questions because I wanted to keep going out there, not being as good as Katniss with a weapon.”
“Your mom just stood by?”
“Yeah. Trying to keep the peace, or whatever she tells herself so she doesn’t feel so guilty.”
“So how did you decide what weapon worked best?”
“Well, I never tried a knife before the training center but I carved some weaker spears to use for fishing and some slightly bigger animals. But any big catch was because of the snares. I’m okay, but they hurt my hands. That’s why knife training saved my life out there.”
“Easier to control?” She nodded
“Yeah, my hands shake a bit for some reason. And they get stiff pretty fast. So, like I said I had practice, but barely.” Not barely you thought as she lifted her hand in front of her face, sure enough it seemed to have a slight tremor in it. You wonder if it was something they could fix in the capitol, or a result of nerves she had developed from having so much responsibility for such a long time.
“How’d you get an 11?”
“Haymitch never said anything?” You shook your head, she shrugged in response, “the gamemakers weren’t looking at me. Even thought I thought I was doing pretty good. They were looking at a pig that had been brought in for lunch, complaining about how they were supposed to cut it up. So… I…threw my knife…at them.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper. You didn’t even know how they allowed her to step foot in the arena. “You…”
“Well, I threw it at the pig, and to be fair it was a perfect throw. And then I apologized for interrupting their meal…” She glanced up at you, you hadn’t been able to say anything else. You could only register your emotions as shock. “Don’t look at me like that. I know. I don’t know how I wasn’t immediately punished. And partly why I keep saying I shouldn’t have won.”
You want to scream at her for being so careless.  The idea you had still the forefront of your mind. “You have to figure something out. I’m serious. They’ll destroy you the second you step foot in the Capitol.”
She hesitates and you know she thinks it’s pointless, but she still agrees. “Okay.”
You nod once, and you suddenly remember how sick you felt. Your entire body aches. And your head is pounding. You should go to your room. But your body doesn’t move. Cant move. You realize you pushed too hard. This happened once, you had continued to participate in all of the academy exercise. When your day off had finally came you hadn’t been able to move the entire day. At one point someone checked to see if you were breathing. You felt Y/ns eyes on you.
“Cato?”
You couldn’t speak. You were beginning to panic, the feeling of not being able to move filled your body with panic that probably only made everything worse. Your breathing was getting quick and shallow, as if even that was becoming difficult. For whatever reason you had an overwhelming feeling of fear. This wasn’t new, but you could usually sense when it was about to happen. The fact that you didn’t see this coming adds to your anxiety. You’re pretty sure she scrambles to her feet to get directly in front of you. She touches your forehead and then your cheeks with the back of her hand. She pries one of your hands from the other and then slowly lays you down. You hear the door click and you’re unsure of when she comes back but when she does Enobaria follows.
“I’ll go call Brutus,” She starts. You want to protest but you don’t think anything comes out. The conversation with Y/n left you worried. Your own ideas adding to the stress.
“No just let him rest. This room is giant I’ll sleep on the couch thing over there.”
“Y/n… he may not wake up in the right state of mind.” Ouch. She was right, but it didn’t hurt any less. No, thats it. She was right. She should get Brutus.
“I’ll be fine. I’m caught up on lost sleep. If I need to rest I’ll let you know. Just help me lift his head a little so I can get more of the fever medicine in him. I already told my brothers to bring my mom so she can double check to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”
You hear Enobaria grumble and they slightly shift you while Y/n gives you a heavy syrup you’d normally decline. Enobaria wipes your face and mumbles something to her before heading out.
Y/n sits next to you, “I cant believe you. Next time I tell you to stay and get rest jus—just do it. Sleep. You need to rest.”
You close your eyes on command. Exhaustion washing over you. You sleep without any of the dreams that usually plague you. When you wake the room is dark. Your body still feels heavy but you feel much calmer and its clear your fever broke. You try to stretch your stiff muscles, massage any knots you feel in your neck. The light flips on, and you blink to adjust to the immediate difference.
“Oh sorry, I thought you’d be asleep a little while longer.”
“I didn’t mean to kick you out of your own room.”
“What are you talking about, you started stirring like five minutes ago so I went to grab some water, here.” She sat at the foot of the bed, and put the cup in your hand.
“…Thank you.” You wondered when you would stop being genuinely surprised that someone could anticipate what you needed. “I must have been out awhile.”
Y/n nods, “Pretty much all day. But you needed it. Don’t scare me like that again.”
“That scared you?” Of all the things… that was it? Me being sick was what scared her?
“Yeah, you cant push yourself that hard. You’re not in 2 anymore. Besides you looked just as freaked out. My mom said you just need a good rest, and to take it easy for a few days. You should have seen the look on her and Mrs. Everdeen’s face when I brought them in my room. I’m going to get a lecture for sure.”
Your cheeks got hot. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I know. That’s what I said when she tried to ask what you were doing in here.” Even though you just said the same thing, it bothers you when Y/n agrees.
“I hope I didn’t make things difficult.” You see her lips twist as she thinks about something, “What?”
“Nothing. You didn’t do anything. Promise.” She smiled as grabbed the cup back from you. “You’re welcome to keep sleeping if you want.”
“Where’s everyone else?”
“I think Cashmere is talking to Haymitch. Plotting. And Enobaria is in the living room.” You debate sharing the idea you had with Y/n, and decide to wait until you speak to Cashmere and Enobaria. Y/n seems to know something is on your mind, “Did you sleep okay?”
“Great actually. I don’t remember the last time I didn’t feel just as tired waking up.”
“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t take you getting sick to get that kind of sleep again.”
“Thank you. By the way. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
She smirked and shrugged, “Don’t worry about it.”
You realized you had made no intention of leaving her room, you felt your face get hot. You tried to clear your throat, “I guess I should get out of your hair. I’ll go talk to Enobaria, see if I missed anything.”
“Sure.” You scramble to get out and apologize for bothering her. She laughs and repeats that you shouldn’t worry, you only wish you understood why you did worry so much. You barely step foot within eyesight before Enobaria puts down the book she was reading and points to the spot next to her.
“What the hell were you doing in there?” Enobaria whispers angrily
“Relax. I just went in there to make sure she was alright. After talking for a while, I just got sick. I don’t know what happened.”
“Relax? Tell me exactly what led up to that. Now.”
“I don’t know, we had mostly finished our conversation and I just felt really tired. And it was weird because I felt that weird feeling like right before I usually lose it but it freaked me out. And before I knew it I couldn’t move.”
She sighed, “Cato. You were frozen. Like actually frozen. Your whole body was stiff. I've never seen you like that. It was probably a mix of exhaustion and stress but...”
“Sorry.” You mumbled
“You should have seen Y/n. She immediately sent her brothers to fetch her mom and she all but dragged me in there to see if that had ever happened before.”
“Was she mad?”
“Just worried. Her family wasn’t able to come for hours, I think they were helping someone else, so she just stayed with you. She must have been tired too—”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, Cato.”
“What?”
“Nothing. She just fell asleep while she was waiting.” You mouth drops. You wonder what could have happened if you woke up in a bad state. It had happened before, where you forget where you are and unsheathe your knife. What if you had seen her as a threat? “Cato. Stop. You were completely out, you didn’t do anything.”
“But I could have.”
Enobaria just shakes her head. And argues you for a little longer. She soon returns to her book and you finally retire to your own room. You can tell there’s more to it but decide its probably better you don’t know. You decide to look for Cashmere and Haymitch in his place. Its dark but thankfully the streets are lit up enough to make out where to go. You knock but let yourself in when you don’t hear anything. Haymitch and Cashmere are sitting in the kitchen, you wonder where Brutus is hiding for a moment before deciding it s better if he isn’t around.
“Oh Cato! Just the person we wanted to see.” Cashmere smiled a little too brilliantly
“What happened while I was out?”
“Not much we just started talking a few hours ago. You’re feeling better?”
“…Yes?”
“Sit down, kid.” Haymitch cut the pleasantries, which you appreciated. Better to get the bad news sooner rather than later.
“What is it?”
“Look. We need to figure out how to get Y/n to agree with some kind of plan—"
“She needs a story.” You interrupt him, “And I should be the one to do it with her.”
They both freeze. For a second you doubt whether your idea had any merit. Cashmere starts again, “Well, we were hoping you could at least help us convince her to play along but I suppose that could work.”
“It’s the only thing that could work. She’s right. No one will risk their families by associating like that with her. Finnick especially, he wouldn’t do that to Annie. She needs someone with no attachments. And it’s a story they’ll buy.”
“Hold up kid. Last I checked you have a family.” Haymitch pitched
“I have no attachments.” You say firmly.
“He has a solid point Haymitch. If she wants the capitol to leave her alone, they need to root for her to find someone. And who better than Cato? We could even say that’s he made so many improvements since he started talking to her. It would be perfect. They’ll go crazy. And it’s not as if they don’t get along. A little acting for the cameras and when they go home they can completely ignore each other if they feel like it.”
“It doesn’t work like that. What happens if the Capitol presses them on kids, what then?”
“We can say Y/n cant have any, it would be so tragic.” Cashmere waves away the possible issue and you suddenly realize what this would entail. You would have to kiss her in public, possibly get married. You would completely be taking away her free will, and she’d be forced to do that for the rest of her life. Immediately Haymitch senses your hesitation.
“You’re sure about this?”
“I wont do anything unless she’s on board. We talk to her first.”
Haymitch pressed his lips together and nodded. “Tch, alright then. We will discuss this tomorrow.”
Cashmere claps and kisses Haymitch on the cheek. “Yes! We’ll leave you be Haymitch. I’m sure this will all work out.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just sleep on this, alright kid?”
You nod as Cashmere begins ushering you out. “Cato, you may have just solved all of our problems. And after today I know you guys will at least get along.”
“Today?”
“Yeah, you guys are so cute, I almost suggested your name myself. Especially after you fell asleep on her lap.” She squeals as if this is all good news
“I—What???”
“You don’t know? I guess you were starting to kind of freeze up again, a nightmare or something and she sat next to you. And I don’t know what she did but she calmed you down. When her mom finally came in, your head was on one of her legs, she propped her head up with her arm on the other one and fell asleep.” She sighed as if this was something out of a movie, she continued as you reached the steps of Y/ns house. “Her other hand was rested on your shoulder, you would have thought you had planned this out with her already.”
Haymitch told you to sleep on your decision. The only thing you were managing to think about tonight was how big of an idiot you were, that and the fact that if Y/n agreed you would need to kiss her. You thought about how close you’d gotten earlier that day, how you both jumped as if you were breaking some kind of unspoken rule. Did you almost kiss her then? Would you have kissed her if she had gotten any closer?
Needless to say, it was a sleepless night. Enobaria and Cashmere told you they would take shifts if Y/n needed them tonight. That’s fine. You weren’t sure you could even face her anyway. You woke up relatively early. From what you could tell the sun had barely begin to rise. You walk downstairs to get yourself some food when you hear indistinguishable mumbling coming from the front. You quickly sneak into one of the adjacent room, peeking your head around to see Y/n talking to someone who had some physical similarities to herself and her ‘cousin.’ He was taller, and whatever they were talking about it was urgent, and it was irritating her. You think you see Katniss somewhere behind him. Y/n pats the guy’s arm before closing the door. You wonder if he  means anything to her, and if that’s why she’s hesitant on the plans Cashmere had offered yesterday. Your body tenses and you realize this infuriates you for some reason. You realize you had a similar reaction with Y/n and Peeta, and then again with the people clamoring for her attention at the capitol. This however, was stronger. The thought of her having someone waiting for her at home never crossed your mind, of course she wouldn’t want to put on anymore acts for the Capitol.
You decide to make your presence known and head to the kitchen where Y/n has already stated taking ingredients out.
“Good morning. Did you sleep okay?” She smiles as you enter the room, continuing to dig through the fridge and cabinets.
“Fine, thanks.” You try to relax but even you could hear the irritation in your voice, not that Y/n had ever shied away from that before.
“Doesn’t sound like it was fine, do you want to talk about it?” Her concern immediately softens you. You had agreed to play a part, to put on an act, she owed you nothing and you had no right to be angry towards right now.
“I guess I slept too much beforehand. What about you?”
“I guess I slept a little better. I want to try and just sleep without a bodyguard and see how it goes.” She finishes rummaging around and steps in front of you, placing her hand on your forehead. You flinch back at the sudden touch. “Sorry, just checking to see if you were still warm. You feel better. Do you want to help me make breakfast for everyone?”
“Sure.” Her smile brightens and she begins dividing things up for the two of you to do. She lets you cut up some potatoes while she begins measuring and then stirring some flour mixture. You both work silently unless she asks you to do something else. She makes some kind of roll to put in the oven and you wait for the potatoes to cook. It isn’t until she begins serving the plates that you decide to speak up. “So, you had a visitor pretty early.”
She immediately bristles, “Yeah. Its Sunday. Sunday is Katniss’s and Gales day to go hunting together.”
“They wanted you to come?”
“He thinks I’ll get over it if I force myself to hunt some more. I guess Katniss has been filling him in on how—I don’t know, freaked out I get even picking up her bow or a spear…”
Your suddenly filled with a deep shame you hadn’t known you could experience. You suddenly realize all of the jobs she assigned you were the ones that involved anything sharp, you wondered if even this was intentional. You had trained with weapons your whole life. If anything, it brought you comfort to have one handy. You hadn’t considered she would be so ready to try and avoid those things as long as humanly possible.
“Who do you see?”
“No one anymore. That’s what I’m trying to avoid. I go in the woods with Katniss for a couple hours at most. When her and Madge would practice I would see people dropping. When we would pick berries I could swear I saw Cora’s or Peetas hand. Or I see them laying in the distance. I didn’t try to pick up anything else, I don’t want to see them.”
“You still see them though. Right?”
“Yeah. But that’s different. I love the woods, I cant let them take that from me.” You nod. You would fight to keep something so personal away from the capitol too. You just didn’t have anything to fight for. They had taken everything before you knew what was happening. Y/n asks you to deliver the plates to Cashmere and Enobaria, while she drops food off at Haymitch’s place. You find them together whispering and before they say anything you say you’re just dropping off their food. You leave quickly to avoid any interrogation you seem to be constantly getting as of late. You breathe a sigh of relief when they stay in their room. You collect all of the bowls you used and start washing them as you wait for Y/n to return.
“You don’t have to do that.” She says as she comes back in.
“I know.”
“Did you eat?”
“No. I was waiting.” For you, you think in your head.
“Well, then take a break. We can do those after. Come eat with me.” You nod and take a plate she hands to you. The food has cooled down quite a bit but its still delicious. You realize you quite enjoy cooking, you wonder if you would have ever learned how to do anything like this at home. Or if you hadn’t been tossed to the academy anyway. You wondered what other things you could try. “What are you thinking about?”
“Just the food. I liked making it.”
“I’m glad.”
“What about your brothers?”
“Oh, they went to see my mom after last night. Probably to tell them about the plan that will keep me away from the Capitol. I gave them some money to pick things up for her and my dad today.”
“Yeah about that…” You feel your throat go dry at the thought of bringing up the new plan you made without her.
“What is it?” You debate waiting for Haymitch or Cashmere to tell her about your idea, but somehow it doesn’t seem fair. Still your lips are sealed shut. How do you even bring up that conversation, “Do you want to take a walk with me?”
You nod and follow her out of the house. She takes you deep into the meadow. You can see the woods she must have frequented so often before the games. You wonder if you would have ventured out, maybe to challenge yourself but even from here it looked daunting. The fence wasn’t charged, but seemed to warn about whatever was back there. You walk for a couple miles, as far as the meadow will take you. As far from anyone within earshot. If the people weren’t working to the point of exhaustion you wouldn’t be surprised to see more people enjoying the meadow, maybe even for a picnic. You’d only seen a few people and even then they stayed near the edge of town.
“It’s beautiful here.”
“Yeah, a lot of the flowers here can be used in medicine. You just have to know what to pick.” She pauses for a second before bringing up the prior subject, “do you want time to sort out whatever you’re thinking about or just get it out of the way?”
“I’m more worried about your response.”
Her eyes narrow, probably assuming whatever you say already wont be good news, “Will it help if I promise not to storm off like yesterday?”
“I talked to Cashmere and Haymitch. They—we think I would be the best match for the whole public relationship thing.”
“Cato…no. I am not putting your life at risk. Or your family’s.”
“I haven’t talked to my family for over a year. They cant use them, it wouldn’t affect me either way.”
“You know that’s not true. The guilt would get to you. Maybe not right away, but eventually. And it would get me too. If Snow decided to punish them, that’s more people I would have had a hand in killing. And you’d resent me.” She says the last part quietly, as if that was the worst possible outcome of this whole thing.
“They have too many eyes on them anyway. Like Cashmere said yesterday, it would help me out. I don’t—I don’t want to meet any one of them. We could stay here…in 12. We would only have to see each other during the games.”
Her gaze softens as she ponders what you said. As if your hesitation in the thought of being sold to the capitol is all it took to convince her. Maybe it had. She did seem to have the innate nature to help whenever and whoever she could. She looks out towards the woods for a long time before facing you and trying to smile through her obvious anxiety. “Well, I would hope we’re at least friends enough to see you more than that.”
You feel a weight lift off of your shoulders, “You’re sure? At the end of the day, it’s a suggestion. I wouldn’t make you—”
“I know.” You cant help stare, as if she’ll freak or back out if she thinks about it for even a second longer, “I’m sure. Come on, lets head back.”
You walk back the same way you came in, but this time you felt like you couldn’t stand any silence filling the gaps, “Do you have any questions…for me?”
“Who came up with it?”
If you could turn back time you would have forced your mouth shut, “I did.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” That’s it? That’s all she needed? “What’s your favorite color?”
“W-what?”
“What’s your favorite color? If we’re going to be in a ‘relationship,’ we should know the basics about each other. We’re going to have to do this for presumably the rest of our lives.” You’re not sure why the implication of the relationship being nothing more than an obligation hurts even this whole thing was your idea. Worse even, you couldn’t think of anything. You didn’t have time to think of this before, it was not a necessity. Even now, you took whatever was in the victor’s village back at 2.
“I guess I don’t have one.”
“We’ll have to find one then.”
“What’s yours?”
“Yellow. Like the sunflowers.” You nod at her response. It seemed fitting actually since she seemed to brighten whatever room she was in. She continues asking, “Do you have any you hate?”
“Red.” You answered automatically
“Me too.” She agreed. You found that to be somewhat ironic as the ‘girl on fire.’ And red suited her, made her slightly darker skin glow. But you knew what she meant. What shade of red made could make your skin crawl. Her next question elicited a similar response, “Who do you see?”
You knew she was bringing up your conversation from hours ago, but it didn’t make it easier “A girl from district six. She had just turned 12 a few months before the reaping. She used similar techniques to the other morphlings. Her name was Dhara. I see the others too, but she’s the one who reminds me what I did.” She tries to apologize but you continue, unable to hold back everything you would continue to bottle up again after this conversation. Besides, you were almost back at the house. “I hesitated for maybe half a second because she was just crying for help. I’d only found her because she was starving, she tried to sneak something from the cornucopia. It was the first kill that I thought about. I hated that. So… I went hunting for everyone left, then finished with the allies. She’s partly why my games finished so quick. I didn’t…I don’t know…didn’t realize it would bother me so much, until I saw the recap footage.”
Realization seems to dawn on Y/n, she stops to face you, “That’s why you helped me that night?”
“I guess.” You wonder if she realizes she helped you out first and if she did, you wonder if she knows exactly how much her gesture had grounded you. “You helped me too.”
“Not like you did.” She says matter of factly. The two of you finally enter her home, she smiles at you and gives your hand a squeeze before flitting away to the kitchen. You follow, fully knowing and expecting the rest of the victor’s interrogation.
“So, I take it you’re all clued in Y/n?” Enobaria asked
“Yep. I assume I was the last one to know?”
“Not exactly…” Haymitch grumbles, you notice Brutus and Cashmere are missing. You both brae yourselves when you hear the sudden screaming. They must have been waiting for you two to be close to the house to tell him. You hear something smashing and more yelling. Y/n flinches and grabs your arm, a similar reaction to when you had stepped in front of her back at the capitol. This time she releases immediately, the others are too distracted by the noise and you take the time to squeeze her hand. She sends a grateful glance your way. If you could just sleep right for one night you would think you were improving. You have instinctively backed away from anyone who touched you within the last year, and you didn’t seem to feel overwhelming dread anymore, at least not the past couple months. Then again, almost everyone has been to scared to come within a five mile radius.
Cashmere finally came down smiling, “Well that went well.”
A door slammed as Brutus stomped down the stairs. He came in front of both of you, a towering presence. “You two better be damn sure about this.”
Y/n is frozen. She was already against this. Brutus was not going to help anything. “It was my idea. We’re sure.” You speak up.
“Brutus. Take a walk.” Enobaria says, his eyes still contain an unexplainable amount of rage but he storms off and slams the other door to make a point. “He’s right, you two. You both are going to have to train a lot. Your answers have to match, you have to know almost everything about each other or know what the other has said in past interviews, and you have to be believable. If you can’t, this is going to end badly for all of us.”
“You’re going to be busy. Because this starts on the Victory tour.” Haymitch agrees. “We need to get word to Cinna. And Effie was called, she’s got clips from last year.”
“Does she know?”
“No, she thinks you want to be camera ready so lets let her keep thinking that, alright sweetheart?”
Y/n nods, “So when do we start?”
“Today, kind of.” Cashmere starts, “We have some worksheets, you both need to fill them out. I would suggest not lying so you don’t mess it up. Otherwise, you’ll have more to memorize. I suggest you both get comfortable working together because eventually you’ll both have be very affectionate for this whole thing to work.”
You both look down at the floor. You both, of course, know this but the thought of it makes you nervous. You’re both excused afterward to begin learning every possible mundane thing about the other. The only problem was that you in fact, had difficulty forming or remembering any opinions about yourself. You had, apparently, spent the last year just miserably existing. You had continued training as if you were still awaiting the opportunity to even begin the games. You wadded the paper up and threw it across your room. The only thing you could fill out was the family portion and that section only infuriated you. So instead, you go downstairs and turn on the television and stare at the screen while completely ignoring whatever was on it.
“Didn’t think you’d be so interested in ‘The History of Panem.’” Y/ns voice suddenly snaps you back to reality, you look back and forth between her and the tv. Wondering how long you’ve been spaced out.
“I guess. So interesting I wasn’t even aware it was on.” She chuckled and sat next to you.
“So, I’m guessing you couldn’t finish the stuff on your sheet.”
“I literally have no idea what to put on there.”
“Do you want help?”
“Maybe. Like Cashmere said, I don’t want to forget things by lying.”
“So, don’t lie. We can figure out how to find some truth to some of these. They’re pretty simple. Like for food. Why is that one harder for you?”
“I don’t know how to make anything. I just had whatever food they gave us at the academy. Once a month they would make fancy capitol food. Other than that, the food was only enough to sustain us. Hold us over. If we didn’t do well they would withhold it.”
You could tell this information bothered her, still she was getting better at quickly regaining her composure. “So, is there any food from the capitol you couldn’t get enough of when you got there? I couldn’t get enough of the pasta, especially that one with the white sauce. I always ate it with some kind of meat.”
The solution was so simple, you felt like an idiot for not figuring it out yourself. You couldn’t believe you had given up so quickly. You also realized the first time you had longed for more food than whatever filled you was when Y/n’s brothers had thrown together a stew for you. “Actually, I liked whatever your brothers threw together.”
“The beef stew?”
“Yeah it was filling, and it wasn’t like the Capitols where it was too rich. It just made you feel…warm.”
She smiles, “Well. I’m honored you enjoy my recipe. Okay what’s next.” You go on for hours, and still, you only want to echo most of her answers. At most you get that you like it when it rains, and that green is the most tolerable, you hate when your hair is too long, and unless it’s for the capitol you are pretty much always in some athletic or close to athletic type clothing. Old habits die hard, I guess. You both agree that while dancing is fine, you’d both prefer to not do it at all, and after you simply talk. Talk about how no matter where you’re from something about capitol food is well, to die for, the fashion on the other hand is questionable at best.
“Well, I think we figured it all out. Should make it easier to remember since we finished it together.” She stretched her arms but stayed sitting next to you, you felt like you had been studying for some kind of exam for days yourself. You felt tired. And you still had several more pages to work on. The next section was supposed to be about your family… “You must still be feeling a little off. Why don’t you get take a break?”
“I’d rather get through this.”
“Okay. You know about mine. But I guess you cant say I’ve been hunting so we can say I’ve been helping provide for my family by doing whatever odd jobs I could find. Which I guess isn’t totally a lie.”
“Yeah yours is easy, that and your brothers and…cousins are all extremely close.”
“I guess there’s no downplaying that part…” You shook your head knowing that she wondered how long her family would be held over her head as some kind of leverage. Your loyalties couldn’t be traced back to them. The training you go through all but ensures it. Still explaining exactly why you feel the lack of connection now, brings up prior feelings you would rather remain buried. You have to tell yourself to suck it up, this was your idea, you would have to talk about it eventually so might as well get it over with. “Cato?”
“Sorry.”
“You’re sure you want to go through with this?”
“Yes.”
“Then we don’t have to talk about it.”
Your head drops. You don’t know why you feel shame at the literal excuse you were searching for. “You know I technically have a sister?”
The shock was evident in her face, she must have known there was no point in trying to cover it up, “You do?” When you nodded, you could see her choose her next question very carefully…
“Is she—”
“No. I guess my father enrolled her too. But she was older, maybe six or seven? From what I was told, I was showing so much promise I was basically guaranteed to win. So, my mother more or less encouraged her to fail and come home.”
“She…she just got to quit?”
“Yeah. I guess they made a safe bet, since they ended up being right.” Your hand reactively jerked back when you felt something graze one but instead of pulling away, Y/n’s hand gripped tighter, forcing you to either focus on your hand in hers or to stop looking away and face what was sure to be some kind of pitiful face. You weren’t sure what was worse. When you finally decide to look up, there’s no pity but seemingly, genuine concern.
“I am so sorry. I cant even imagine how I would feel. What you went through…and then they just—I don’t know. It must be hard.” The way she phrased that. Not ‘it must have been hard.’ No, she said it must be hard. And obviously you weren’t as disconnected as you thought. Your throat felt tight. Y/n never seemed to want to congratulate you, you wondered if it was something with the outer districts. The ones who saw the reaping the same as basically signing a death certificate.
“They visited me once.” You start, tightening the hold on her hand, as if it letting go would stop you from talking about it. “I assume it was the day they dropped off…my sister. I think I was ten? My mom couldn’t even look at me. Just told me I was doing a good job and to keep going. I think going in so young made me forget them to a point. I didn’t even recognize her when she came in. I had already accepted that the hunger games was an honor. She was a stranger.” You didn’t need to tell her how much you tried to call them when you were younger or how often you would go to sleep crying asking where your mom was. At one point you rationalized that the life you lived was normal, an honor, just like they wanted you to believe. So young, so stupid.
As you try and figure out how you’re feeling now that you’ve dug years’ worth of memories you’d tried to bury deep within your subconscious, you start realizing how much of your time is spent on trying to ignore everything you’ve done in your life. From the training to the games. You were a waste of a victor, basically waiting to die. Until recently, you had nothing to look forward to. No goals. Just continue living as though your name hadn’t already been reaped. You didn’t know anything else. You’re pretty sure Enobaria made a fuss about not taking kids too young because of it.  Not that she would tell you. You got all of your news by either eavesdropping or pretending you weren’t listening at all. People talk quite a bit when they think you’re not all the way there anymore. You’re not the only one pitying yourself. Y/n’s moved closer and before you can react her head is rested on your shoulder.
“Well. You aren’t going to be alone anymore. I promise I’ll make this as painless as possible. Regardless of everything, if we go through this plan or not. You’ll have an…ally for the rest of your life.”
You scoffed, “You too. We’re in this together now.”
“Together…” She echoed softly as her voice trailed off. Any thing else was stifled by a yawn. “I think its time for a break.”
You forget how weak she still was. She had barely begun to recover from the games before getting thrown through another loop. “You should get some rest.”
She half scoffed, half chuckled as she stood up. You went back through all of the interview questions, forcing yourself not to follow. You had dumped things on her you weren’t aware were weighing heavily on your conscious. Best not to overwhelm her. Cashmere jumps over the couch suddenly, and startles you.
“So how is the homework going?”
“It’s going.”
“I don’t know how you do interviews when the most I get out of you is three words at a time.”
“I save them all up for those days.”
“Ah. So, what happened with you and y/n? She looked really upset.”
“What?”
“Seemed like there was something on her mind. And it looks like she’s baking for the whole district again.” You walk into the kitchen before Cashmere continues. You see Enobaria standing next to her, an icy glare in your direction confirming you had said too much. What were you thinking? She could still barely sleep through the night, and here you were adding more to her plate.
“Oh finally. I was about to go play some music. You can help Y/n with the baking right?”
“I don’t recall asking for help En—”
“Nonsense. You’re working too hard as it is. Why else would Cato come in here?” You stare back at Cashmere who is suddenly very invested in the television. Unnecessary to lie to you to get you in here, you were close to coming in here regardless, so why were they pushing you guys together? Weren’t we spending enough time getting to know each other? Maybe this was more conditioning for the upcoming months.
“I’ve already mixed everything up. I’m just going to make some food for my brothers. They’ll be home soon.” Y/n assured the both of you
“Can I help with that?”
“Sure.” She smiles at you, Enobaria immediately leaves. You both work soundlessly unless Y/n directs you on what to do. You repeat the process with the flat bread she puts in the oven. You mostly clean while she finishes packing the soft fluffy disks into a container. “Would you like to see the hob?”
“The hob?”
“Its…a market of sorts.” She makes a face that makes it clear she can’t say anything more.
“Yeah.” You, like always, were surprised at seeing so many people seem so close to death here. The seam was the worst of according to y/n, she made stops at her “cousins” house and another house near it. Another family friend supposedly. You noticed she gave them both some money as well. Both of the women tearing up and hugging her before she headed to the districts black market. You were too busy looking at all of the different stalls and taking to remember all of the names of the people she greeted. You could only nod in their direction, surprised at the lack of hostility this time around.
“Hi, Ms. Sae. Did Katniss get you anything good today?” The older lady went back and forth in conversation for a while before y/n decided to introduce you. “This Cato, he’s helping my new mentors.”
“Well, she’ll need all the help she can get.” You smiled at the older woman, she was more welcoming than most. But you soon understood why she didn’t discriminate. The peacekeepers were comfortable here. Too comfortable. No one checks on 12, but if they did they could all get in a lot of trouble. Then again, so could the people operating the stands. But unlike the peacekeepers, the people here had no other choice, it was either this or slowly waste away. No one seemed bothered by the Peacekeepers that did decide to frequent the area and you wondered exactly how much they pretended not to know.
“I see we’re getting blessed by our victors presence today.” A red headed peacekeeper laughs as he comes up behind Y/n and kisses her on the cheek. She seems startled at first but immediately laughs and pushes him away. You try not to think about breaking his jaw.
“Good to see you again Darius. I suggest you behave I’m not the only victor here today. Cato, Darius. Darius, Cato.”
“Hard not to miss him, doesn’t exactly have the look from the people who hang around here.” Darius smiled and offered his hand. You nodded in his direction and shook it. What else could you do? You needed the people here to support what you and Y/n were planning to do. Hell, they would probably all see your act for what it is. The community here seemed close. Close enough to cover for you both or to at least support what the capitol will inevitably force down everyone’s throats. Maybe for Y/n, but you better at least make an effort to make friends.
“Hope I’m not making things difficult for anyone around here.” You offer
“Not any harder than what we already deal with. Right, Sae?” The old woman rolls her eyes and hands him a bowl of stew
“Y/n and I made some bread to go with that.”
“Oh? I like him already, Y/n. You should bring him around more often.” Darius laughed
“I know, who knew people from district 2 could be such softies?” She made a face at him and everyone laughed, “Here, I’m sure you’ll give them out best.”
The older woman winks and takes the bread off her hands. You both make some more small talk for a little before she hits as many stalls as she can to buy things she likely didn’t need back at the victors village. You tried to be polite, but you were distracted. You thought about how relaxed everyone seemed to be with Y/n. No one treated her with a sense of apprehension due to her games, as if they couldn’t have changed her. She wasn’t a monster, not like you. You wondered if they had any idea that the games had stolen pieces of her, pieces that would take years to rebuild, if they ever came back at all. You wondered if they knew how she couldn’t even step in the woods anymore.
Y/n grabbed your wrist and turned it upwards, “Here, for you.”
Pressed into your hand was a small bracelet. It was a simple wooden beaded thing, there were three different colored round beads in the center. “Thank you.”
“We decided on green right?” You realize she had put thought into what she picked up, the beads all a varying shade of deep greens. “You don’t have to wear it by the way, but I thought it might help whenever you start feeling nervous.”
When I start  tapping she means. Maybe it meant nothing, maybe she was already trying to set the foundation for your upcoming performance. As you ran your fingers across each sphere, you realized her reasoning didn’t matter. You had never received an actual gift like this, you held your hand back out.
 “I’m wearing it. Help me put it on?” You saw her hands begin shaking as she tightened the strings around your wrist. “When was the last time you ate?”
“I got distracted and made the bread instead.” She admits
“Well, then it sounds like we can stop by Sae’s again then.” She rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest. You both make more conversation with the people around the stand before heading back. As you make the long way back through the seam and to the victors village, you get stopped by someone. He was tall, had some similarities to Y/n. Same as so many of the people that lived here. He seems angry. You realize you remember him.
“I said we didn’t want your help.”
“You said you didn’t want help, Hazelle has no problem with it. Besides. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So, you didn’t give her money for all that bread?”
“No, actually.” He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, she mimics his movements pretty dramatically, you force yourself not to laugh and possibly anger this person further, “Relax, Gale. I made them. I made too much so I dropped some off for our families.”
“Thanks. But I can help my own family.”
“Great, so this can just be a gift.”
He seems to finally acknowledge your presence, “This one of your mentors?”
“Yes. This is—”
“I know. We all watch the games.” You said nothing, you couldn’t really blame him. No one really liked the games except for 1 and 2. Even 4 only trained so they could survive. “Maybe you could talk her into coming with us next Sunday.”
“To the woods?” You ask
“It will help.”
“You don’t know that.” Y/n responded
“Its up to her. The woods aren’t the problem. And if she goes back too soon it could make things worse.”
“I already told you I’d think about it.” Y/n interrupts, “Thank you, honestly for trying to help. And I really will think about it. Lets just drop it for now, alright?”
“Alright. We’ll try again next Sunday. Why don’t you bring your mentor along?”
You’re not entirely sure what to make of his last comment. Did he think you were scared? Or that you’d back out? Maybe he was trying to taunt you to convince her to go out there. Really, it wasn’t up to you. And you really couldn’t know how you’d react, you’d felt better. Aside from the last couple of nights, anyway.
“Sorry about him. He means well but he’s annoying.” Y/n offered once you continued walking
“Is he a friend?” You didn’t want to ask for anything more specific, the look in his eye implied something you realized you didn’t want to hear.
“Yeah I guess. He gets weird with me and Katniss. I think he assumes one of us would end with him since we are the only people I know that go into the woods. I thought he liked Katniss and they make more sense anyway since they hunt together, and since the games he’s been better. But before, I think he tried to figure out if I was interested in him once. I just changed the subject.”
“Why?” And why were you hurting yourself with these questions, idiot? You ask yourself
“I never planned on making that far to be honest.” She shrugged, she grew somber as you continued walking, “I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“Remember when you asked me why I volunteered? I said I felt guilty…well that wasn’t entirely true. I started getting these terrible dreams about my brothers and the games.” Her voice got dangerously low, “I don’t even know if he can actually do anything about it but I asked the Mayor to take their names out in turn for me volunteering.”
She had covered her mouth to whisper the last part to you, that was crazy. Doable…you didn’t think so. “If anything, don’t you think it would have given them a bigger reason for their names to be drawn?”
“Now maybe, but like I said before I never thought I’d make it that far. If I had just been a number or gotten hit by Cloves knife in the bloodbath…I think they’d be safe. But then I couldn’t just give up either, so now I’ve screwed over everyone. Arioch should have won. It was all for nothing”
“It wasn—”
“It was. My family is in more danger than ever, Katniss’s family is too…and I’ve dragged you into this too, and the other victors. I shouldn’t have won.” Y/n’s eyes become watery. It was hard to refute her points, because you knew no matter what you said there was some truth to what she said. She had drawn too much attention to herself. If she had won by simply out surviving everyone that may be one thing, but she had become a capitol favorite from the chariot ride. Still, every victors family became targets, often getting “randomly” picked. And the victors had all chosen to help. But she could dispute that by saying that she shouldn’t have pulled the stunt with Rue and Marvel. Her whole personality revolved around helping others, it was like she couldn’t help it. Its why she was against working with you. And the capitol would continue eating it up. In a few years, after the quell and a few more games…she had a high chance of being left alone. But she would have to avoid the Capitol. What if your plan made that impossible? Were you making things worse for her?
You were trying to catch up but she had basically run the rest of the way back to her house. You didn’t want to force her to be uncomfortable. At this point, you knew you would check on her as soon as you could, if not as soon as you walked in. Her brothers found you first.
“What happened?” Mallory asked
“I don’t know. We talked to Gale about going back to the woods and then—”
“She didn’t go right?” Amal asked worried
“No. She started talking about why she volunteered…” They both looked at each other and back at you.
“She’s feeling guilty again.” The older one stated, not asked. A conversation he had had before. You must have looked confused because he continued, “We know. Before you got here the only thing we could get out of her was ‘sorry.’ We knew about the volunteering but something happened… after the games didn’t they?”
You just nodded. It wasn’t your place to say. And frankly, you had a feeling they knew after the whole meeting. And you doubted they wanted to know the details of the maybes. They, unlike most of the families form your districts, had suffered watching their sister come close to death and become a shell of who she used to be. They would likely be willing to sacrifice their own lives to stop Y/n from accepting anything more from the capitol. And that’s when it hits you, exactly how much she is willing to give up for her family. They knew whatever show Y/n put on was for them, and they couldn’t stop her if she only told them what they needed to know. Maybe she had told them and said there was nothing they could do. As the two brothers continued to talk after letting you back in, you realized how much you longed for that what seemed to come so easily for them. You felt cheated. Then again, you had been feeling that way a lot since winning.  
You’re about to go knock on her door when Mallory calls out for you, “Hey, Cato. Just give her a minute. She’s going to scream at you that she’s fine.”
“She’s nicer when she figures out why she was so upset. She doesn’t mind talking about it when she understands what bothered her.” Amal finishes.
“Seriously, She likes to calm down alone first.”
“Okay.” You sit down awkwardly in the living area. The boys are good at making small talk, and you enjoy their company. After a while, Y/n does reappear. She sits next to Amal, ruffling his hair. She offers a slight smile and tries to ask everyone about their day. Amal and Mallory play along but its clear she wasn’t fully present, her mind likely still wondering the best way to appease the capitol to avoid hurting her family.
The door opens and Haymitch stumbles in. Enobaria and Cashmere follow shortly after, “So, how’d the homework go, sweetheart?”
“Its going. Would you like to sober up enough to make dinner?” Y/n and Haymitch have some silent conversation and leave the rest of you alone.
“I wish she’d stop doing that.” Mallory grumbled
“Do they do that a lot?” Cashmere asks
Mallory shrugs, “When our parents would try and get her to talk or eat, they would sometimes invite him over. He never stayed for long because he was ‘busy,’ but they would do whatever that was and she would find a way to sneak out.”
“We saw her head to his house most times. We just wish she would tell us what’s bothering her.” Amal finished, “Its not like wed tell mom.”
“I’m sure they just have a different understanding about things, she wants to keep you guys as far away from the games as possible.” Enobaria assured them.
“What homework was he talking about?” Mallory pried, Cashmere opened her mouth but you rushed to answer first
“She’s studying different ways to answer interview questions. Trying to seem as boring as possible for the Capitol. We’re hoping with the quell, she will be able to fly under the radar.”
“So, she doesn’t have to be friendly with the people in the capitol?”
“What do they want with her anyway?” Amal asked. Mallory’s lips formed a tight line. He looked at you, probably for the chance he was wrong, and for a lie to cover him so he wouldn’t have to explain it to the youngest.
“They would want her to move down there, work in television and stuff like that. She would rather stay here, but she doesn’t want the capitol to be angry and use anyone as leverage.” Cashmere and Enobaria stared for a second before turning back and reassuring them of what I said. If Y/n wanted them in the dark, then that’s where they would stay. Haymitch came back out shortly after, claiming that after awhile y/n said he was just getting in the way.
The brothers immediately stood up and went to go help. The second they were out of earshot, Cashmere whispered harshly, “They should know.”
“Y/n said to say nothing. The more they think its real, the more believable it will be to everyone. So ,everyone just relax.” Haymitch waved her concerns away. So, they did talk in there.
“She’s still on board.” You realize
“Barely, she’s worried about the lot of you. You’re only here for so long. And frankly I cant say I disagree. Specifically, for you Cashmere. The rest of us have no one. Well, we don’t know about Brutus so she’s freaked out about him too. You’re the one with the most to lose. She’s at least accepted what everyone else told her.” Haymitch raised his brows and smirked as he took a sip from a cup he must have filled in the kitchen. You wonder if he had gotten used to the burning sensation or if that was the pain he chose to inflict on himself.
Cashmere said nothing. In fact, no one said anything until Y/n and her brothers brought everyone a plate. Some noodle plate that tasted better than anything you’d had at the capitol. Had it not been for Amal asking more questions about what everyone enjoyed doing, the dinner would have been silent. Cashmere and Enobaria tried their best to keep the conversation light, it was clear they had grown fond of hi. He was young, hadn’t had to sign up for the games yet. You could tell they were becoming protective, maybe longing for a sibling or child of their own to be that innocent. To maintain it.
When he asked Enobaria if she had been practicing, y/n seemed to finally perk up. “Oh, that reminds me!” She ran to grab the bag she had taken to the hob, “I got you guys something."
She begins handing all of the victors something small. “What is this, y/n?” Enobaria asked, already trying to not get choked up.
“Well, this is wooden version of a flute I think, I thought you may like trying something kind of new so you don��t get bored. A hair pin and bookmark for Cashmere, I swear you read a new book every day so maybe you wont need them. Haymitch. Don’t get excited I’m not supporting your drinking problem, but I got you sheath and sharpener for your knife.”
“Thanks, kid.” Haymitch smiled.
“Thank you, Y/n. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know. I just thought you might like the stuff, plus it helps the people at the hob anyway. This is for Brutus but I doubt he wants to see me.” She hands Haymitch something you assume is for some kind of small wood carving project. You realized the others hadn’t received a gift like this either, none of you had to react to this. Amal and Mallory snickered at their bewilderment. “If you guys will excuse me, I’m pretty tired. I’ll see you all tomorrow?”
“Okay, I’ll take the first shift.” Enobaria started
“No, that’s okay. I want to try and sleep alone tonight. You guys have a good night.”  She gave her brothers a side hug and disappears.
“Do you think shes ready?” Mallory asks Enobaria
“No. But, its up to her. If she does feel better its best to try and work it out now, before the victory tour begins.” Enobaria stated
Meanwhile Cashmere got curious, “What did she get you Cato?”
This shouldn’t have bothered you but it did. Her tone. Too knowing. Like there was no way Y/n could forget to give you something. You just held up your wrist. Cashmere grinned and nodded. Enobaria glared at her, and ordered you away.
“We are going over interview tapes tomorrow, Cato. You should get some sleep. We’re all going to be doing a lot of watching.” You nod and hide away in your room.
You toss and turn for hours. Eventually staring at the ceiling fidgeting with bracelet you were given. You keep trying to untangle all of the emotions you were going through. Confused, mostly. But you had been jealous today you couldn’t ignore that. You had an overwhelming to protect her, to help. And you may as well admit you enjoyed her presence, craved it, more often than not. No. Nope. You couldn’t think like this. Not now. You threw off your sheets and before you could begin pacing you headed down to the kitchen. Try and find something to eat or drink just to have something to do.
You hear steps as you begin filling a cup with water. On instinct, you freeze. Gripping the cup as if you would have to throw it at any second. You force you entire body still, trying to rationalize that you had no threats around you.
“Can’t sleep?”
You exhale as you recognize Y/ns voice, “No. You?”
“Not at all. I was hoping if I turned on the tv I might fall asleep that way but I heard noises and had to check.” Of course, she did. You don’t understand why this surprised you. As if she wasn’t always looking for something to be wrong. As if you could be the only one with these problems.
“Can I join you?”
“You realize you don’t have to ask me right?”
“Its still your house. Besides I don’t want you to blame me for not being able to sleep.” For some reason what you said sounds weird in your head, but she rolls her eyes and sits in the same place she sat this morning.  You follow and sit next to her. She tosses one of the throw blankets in your direction.
“Should we watch some more of the exciting and thrilling history of Panem?” She asks sarcastically
“It sounds like the best way to fall asleep.” She tucks her feet under her and turns on the screen. You start with your head resting on your fist, you think its lucky that this isn’t one of the weirder seating choices, like you’d see in the capitol. At least this one had an armrest. Your nerves don’t settle, what you were worried about your weren’t sure, but you had overwhelming feeling of…dread, worry? You didn’t even know what to call it, but you could swear something was going to wrong, you were going to do something wrong. Y/n gently pulled your hand away from the bracelet you had begun picking at. You’re not sure if it was her intention, but you hand intertwines with hers. Neither of you say anything about it, just stare silently at the screen.
When your eyes open, you see light shining through the windows. You squint as your eyes adjust, but as you turn your head you realize it was laying on top of something. No. Someone. Y/ns head was laying against your shoulder, you’d been Lying your head on hers. Your body turns to ice. The two of you had fallen asleep. Together. Well, not together, but in the same space. A very close space. You curse yourself for putting the both of you in this situation, what if you had done something to her? What if you had another ni--? You pause, you realize there were no nightmares. You’d slept the whole night, and you had no nightmares…
As you realize you hadn’t moved since you opened your eyes, you have to force yourself to accept two simple truths.
For the first time since the games, you had gotten a full nights rest. No nightmares.
You had to admit Cashmere was right. You cared for Y/n. Which meant this plan of yours had just gotten much, much harder.
Fuck.
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
Taglist: @chloe-skywalker @ietss @tomihoeka @chiimiki @akinatrix @inky-sun @themedsaintworkin @tiktoks-aphrodite @fredweasleysgirl16 @callsign-haze @thestrals-and-firewiskey @dreamsarenicer
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krispdreemurr · 2 months
Note
I'm not sure if you're still doing fic requests, but maybe you could write one about Kris meeting (or experiencing might be a better term) Gaster? I can only imagine the properties of a man who exists both beyond and interweaved into the fabric of reality would also bend reality itself. I wanna know how messed up it would feel to be in proximity to this guy. Like a warning aura.
[i've done first meetings a few times before so this is a second one lol, hope that's ok]
The first thing they notice is always the words.
IT HAS BEEN
SOME TIME.
He doesn't speak. There is little sound here; the distant howl of wind, the pulse of their own heart. His words cut through that all and leave behind a silence deeper than is possible, a silence that their brain struggles to fill back up with noise, with words, with anything at all but the aching empty spaces.
They open their eyes.
They're standing on level ground in the dark. They have to remind themselves of that, because somehow they feel a sick lurch in their stomach like the ground has given out under them, like the wind is rushing past them, like they're falling on and on without end--
They're standing.
He's facing them.
Bone white against black, a shape defined by cracks and emptiness. Hands - more than make sense, more than they can keep track of. Eyes. A smile.
He was smiling the last time, too.
Their heart pounds in their chest, setting its own time, and they want to turn and run but they know the ground would give out, they know there is nowhere, there cannot be anywhere, they are lost they are gone they are drowning falling falling forever forever forever forever forever
One of the hands lands on their shoulder. It's shockingly cold, and it is burning hot, and it is burning bleeding melting dying, and they yelp and pull away.
"Don't," they hiss.
APOLOGIES
BUT THIS MATTER IS CRITICAL
I REQUIRE YOUR ATTENTION.
"I don't care about--" They shake their head, force themself to step closer on shaking legs. They can feel nothing beneath their feet, sharp and solid. "You've... Where's Dess?"
A pause.
With a thunderous crack that makes no sound at all, the smile splits wider.
YOU ARE TRULY
TRULY
CARING.
SHE IS SAFE. SHE IS PROTECTED.
ESCAPED FROM THE GAZE OF THE ANGEL
Another hand outstretches. It is lightyears away. It is directly in front of them.
WHICH IS WHAT I ALSO
OFFER TO YOU.
They stare for a moment, then manage a bare, "What?"
The shape--the man--straightens. Fingers tap aimlessly on dark air, with sharp clinks coming with each motion.
THERE IS A STORY YOU ARE CALLED TO SERVE.
THERE IS A ROLE YOU ARE CALLED TO FILL.
YOU CANNOT FILL IT.
He looks at them for a moment, cold light shining in broken eyes, and his gaze smells like bone and rust and feels like something cutting through their chest.
THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT. YOU ARE AN EXCELLENT CHILD.
THIS IS JUST SOMETHING YOU CANNOT DO.
I SOUGHT TO ASSIST YOU
AND HAVE BEEN TRYING TO ACCUSTOM YOU
BUT IT IS CLEAR MY AID
IS UNWELCOME.
They remember. Finding themself at the bunker again and again, with only dazed half-there memories. People remembering conversations they'd never had. Hours, days, weeks slipping into a gray haze.
The growing weight on their chest, until one night they'd awoken and caught hold and pulled--
Their hand goes to their chest now. Feels a hole cut through, leeching away warmth. Feels something damp and clinging, blood through their fingers. Feels an alien pulse. Feels something that burns them. Feels everything and nothing at all.
"Why me?" they mumble.
BECAUSE IN A WORLD THAT WAS NOT
AND NOW WILL NOT BE
I WAS A FOOL.
They're back in the dark of the bunker, watching with wide eyes as hands in the dark grip the hilt of a blade and tell them to watch closely, because this is something only they can do, and--
They're dressed in armor they've never seen before, blue and silver, his hand firm and real on their shoulder as he gestures at the sky and talks about reaching to heaven, and--
They're holding out their hand, offering mercy, forgiveness, trust, and his own hand pushes it away and he drives a blade into the earth and nothing pours out and nothing happens and nothing and nothing and nothing and--
They shake their head, trying to clear out memories, to sort out what fits in their head and what is something alien to them.
I CANNOT CHANGE THE PATH.
THE KNIGHT
GIFTED KNOWLEDGE OF THE DARK
WILL OPEN THE FOUNTAINS
SEEKING FREEDOM
SEEKING ESCAPE.
THIS IS SET.
BUT.
YOU CANNOT BE THE KNIGHT.
"Because I'm a failure?" they croak, too overwhelmed to try and hide the truth.
BECAUSE YOU ARE KIND.
He gestures with many hands, and--
There's a window, or a door, or a warp in space, or they have been somewhere else all along. There's a body wrapped in gray, floating empty, hair shifting lengths, face missingabsentgonelost. There's more of those soundless words, but they're not meant for Kris, and they cannot make sense of them.
COME WITH ME
I WILL KEEP YOU SAFE IN THE DARK
FOR A TIME.
ANOTHER WILL CARRY THE BURDEN YOU CANNOT.
AND YOU WILL RETURN SAFE AND WELL.
They hesitate, looking at the stark white shape of the hand. It holds itself steady, a fixed point against the ever-falling ever-rising dark.
They don't want to.
But--
But they know. If there's a need for a hero. For someone who can save the world. It can't be them. Not Kris, tired lonely Kris messaging a brother who won't answer again and again, passing through the days in silence. Not Kris, who no one has even noticed as they slowly vanished.
Maybe it would be better to be gone.
Just for a little while, after all.
They're so afraid. They hate it here. They hate the man and his promises and his demands and his conviction that everything is set for them. They hate the dark and the way it clings to them and drips down them and weighs down their feet without touching them at all. They want to wake up tomorrow and eat breakfast with their mom and go to school like normal and live their life like normal and just keep on through the endless days and pretend.
But in the end--
They're so tired.
They reach across the distance, preparing to grab hold
and that's when red light cuts through the world blade-sharp and someone is yelling something at them in a voice they can almost hear and they feel something hooked in their chest snag taut like the other end has caught hold of something far distant and the man reaches across the infinite distance between them but they are
rising
rising
rising
"Kris!"
Something opens their eyes.
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