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alrightberries · 3 years

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three weeks

❈ pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

❈ genre: angst. ❈ word count: 1.9k

❈ summary: “It’s been three weeks, and Levi still lies to himself when he says he’s okay.”

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. mentions of violence, death and gore. explicit description of panic/anxiety attack.

a/n: i’m not sure what... this is since i just randomly started typing it but hopefully y’all still like it.

He could still feel you.

Feel your presence in his room; in his hollow heart. With every shallow breath he took he swore he could still feel your warm palm on his skin, gently patting his shaking shoulders.

The clothes you'd left behind were still in his closet. The little notes you'd scribbled to him on random days still compiled. The letters you wrote sit heavy in a wooden box inside his bedside drawer.

He once complained that they created clutter in his room when you started slowly moving your things into his private quarters. It started off with clothes left on his unmade bed and eventually ended with you bringing your hygiene products to his personal bathroom. Slowly but surely, you moved in. Slowly but surely, you cemented a place in his life where you'd already cemented a place in his heart.

But now glancing at your shared bed, half empty, he simply couldn't find it in himself to do anything about your ‘clutter.’ It was, after all, all he had left of you.

The pillows on your side of the bed still smelled like you. The cotton where you slept countless nights before had a slight depression, an imprint of your body on the mattress. Faintly, if Levi closes his eyes, he swears he could still feel your fingertips running through his scalp as you peppered sweet little kisses onto his calloused skin.

His own fingers reach out and grasps at air where your beautiful face should be, sleeping peacefully next to him. Snoring. Twitching your eyes when you had nightmares. Him gently shaking you awake and holding you close to reassure you that everything was okay, whatever you dreamt of wasn't real, and he'll be here to make the darkness go away.

Yet his own darkness starts to eat at his conscience. He curses at his hands for even having the audacity to reach for you when it was these same hands that signed your death certificate earlier in the day.

Three weeks.

That’s how long it's been since he woke up next to you. Since he bid you good luck before breaking into formation as you crossed the walls and rode your horses through titan country.

It’s been three weeks since you were separated from your squadron. Since they came back from the expedition and he'd only noticed you weren't there when they finally reached the walls. Since he searched through countless corpses and severed bodies, trying to find your own.

It’s been three weeks since he's pushed off on signing the "M.I.A. - PRESUMED DEAD" document with your name and information printed at the top before he was forced to come to terms with your fate when the second search party once again came back empty handed.

It’s been three weeks since he last cracked a smile. Since he lost the last reason he had to strive forward. Since he lost the last reason to hope for a better place; a better future; a small home in the suburbs to live out the rest of his life with you.

It’s been three weeks since he last heard your voice. Since he rested his cheek against the palm of your hand. Since he first picked up a bottle of bourbon and let the alcohol numb his distressed mind and aching heart to the reality that you were gone.

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks, and Levi still lies to himself when he says he’s okay.

A breeze passes through the open window, snapping him from his thoughts. Goosebumps form on his skin but he couldn’t bring himself to get underneath the sheets or close the window because he tells himself that the breeze was you. It was you, checking up on him, scolding him for drowning his sorrows in bottles of brewed brown, wiping away the tears he didn’t even know he’d shed as the pain of loss and mourning— the very things he’d been trying to outrun— hit him all at once.

He closes his eyes to stop more tears from falling. But he knew he was really doing it because he found darkness more comforting than having to look at your shared room. Not when you weren’t there to make the darkness go away when he opened his eyes. Not when every little thing reminded him of you.

The chair in the corner where you always sat, reading under the dim glow of candlelight. The shelves full of books, an impressive collection you’d both amassed throughout the years. Even the porcelain cup that sat on his bedisde table reminded him of you. It was a gift you’d given him when you were both still in the Underground. A cup matching his own sat on your bedside table, that much he already knew without having to open his eyes. He brewed you a cup of tea hours before going on the expedition that would seal your fate.

His skin tingles when he remembers the way you held his hand as you both sipped tea on that day. You were sat next to each other on the bed. He was reading the newspaper and you were reading a book, intertwined hands resting in the space between your bodies.

A new wave of tears threaten his eyes and he hears himself sob before he realizes the tears have fallen again. His hands clutch at his hair, pulling at the strands, and he lays on his side to curl up into a ball as he wills himself to stop, be quiet, and stop being so weak.

His heart began to speed up and his ears began to ring. He couldn’t focus. It was so noisy— everything was too much. The was talking. So much talking.

shut up. be quiet. leave me the fuck alone.

Levi realizes that the talking was his own conscience degrading him, and he wonders if he’s finally snapped. He heaves and gasps for air, trying to get his mind to shut up, but it only serves for the noise to get worse and suddenly the ringing in his ears turns into static. His heart begins to thump louder, and he’s accutely aware that he was having a panic attack.

Pathetic mewls leave his lips and his hands reach out to your side of the bed out of habit, just as he’s done plenty of times before. Only this time he doesn’t feel your fingers gently grasp at his shaking wrists to pull him to your chest, to hold him and whisper sweet nothings into his ears to calm him down. Instead, he grasps at white fabric, and he lets out a frustrated growl when he once again feels air where you should be.

Unfair. It was unfair.

It was unfair how you were taken away from him so easily. How he hadn’t even noticed until it was too late. How he didn’t have a body to mourn, knowing you were either rotting away in a forest or disfigured in some titan’s belly.

Levi cracks open his eyes and his gaze lands on splotches of wetness on his pillow, the marks of his sorrowful tears. He sniffles, telling himself there was no need to be so pathetic when soldiers died everyday. He repeats it to himself like a mantra.

But then, he thinks, you weren’t just any other soldier. You were y/n— his y/n. The owner of his heart. The love of his life. The one who kisses his forehead good morning and good night. Who held his hands underneath the table before giving him a knowing glance, like you were sharing a secret that only you two knew of. Who would slip little notes into his pockets when you thought he wasn’t looking. Who sat with him in silence and calmed him down when emotions got the better of him. Who held him close and tight on nights like this, when the crushing reality of pain and loss finally broke him. And the sickening irony of needing you the most because he was mourning your death almost made him want to laugh.

He doesn’t know how long he stayed there. Unmoving. Curled up into a ball on your side of the bed, nose digging into the sheets to find comfort in the remnants of your scent as he hugged himself to slowly calm himself down.

Suddenly, he hears the door to his office burst open and rapid footsteps approaching his room. The wood slams against the wall, and his reddened eyes meet the wide and panicked ones of a soldier he’s seen in passing. She’s breathing heavily like she ran a mile to get there, sweat dripping down her forehead as she frantically looks around in search of the captain before finally landing on the man in question.

“Captain Levi, we—“ She’s cut off when he heaves a loud sigh, slowly sitting up and rubbing his red puffy face.

“Has there been a breach?” He asks. His voice is hoarse, she notices. The tone is calm but his eyes are angered, clearly not amused to be interrupted when he was mourning, and the soldier visibly gulps as she replies.

“N-no, Captain.”

“Are there titans anywhere in the walls?”

“No, but sir we—“

“Has anyone died in the few hours that have passed since dinner? Choked on their own spit, perhaps?”

“Well, no. But—“

“Then why the hell are you here?”

“Captain I was—“

A thought crosses his mind and he clicks his tongue in irritation. “Tch, did shitty glasses send you?”

“...yes but—“

“Tell four-eyes to stop sending people to check up on me.” He murmurs, beginning to lie down. “I’m allowed some goddamn privacy the night before my fiance’s funeral.”

“Yes but, sir, that’s actually why I’m here.”

“Whatever motivational words you have to say, save it for someone who cares.” He pulls the sheets above his head. “I’ve had enough pity-filled glances and half assed condolences thrown my way to give a damn—“

“Captain Levi, Y/N is alive!”

The soldier doesn’t know what’s happening until her back is abruptly slammed into the wall behind her and pain shoots from her spine to the back of her head. Hands are tightly wrapped around her throat in an ironclad grip, and her feet are dangling from the ground. She gulps.

The captain’s face is mere centimeters away from hers. If she thought he looked angry before, then the scowl he gave her now made it look like he was smiling just moments ago.

“What kind of sick joke do you think you’re playing, huh?” He sneers. “You think it’s funny to make fun of someone’s death?”

She tries to reply but only choked sounds escape her lips as her fingernails claw at her captor’s hands. Tears blur her vision as the Captain tightens his grip, but the way his eyes almost glowed a bright red— the clear intent to murder if she so much as breathed out of line— didn’t go unnoticed to her.

“Do you get some fucked up kick out of this?” He asks again. “You get a kick making fun of a man who’s lost everything?”

He loosens his grip the slightest, and the soldier is momentarily releived when she realizes she could finally speak.

“N-no, sir, I—“

“Levi, let her go!” Another frantic voice pleads with him from behind. “She’s telling the truth.”

Wait, what?

“What?” He chokes out. His grip loosens on the soldier and she slides to the ground in relief, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Hange cautiously walks closer, almost scared that any sudden movements would put Levi in a state of shock. They slowly, warily place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“It’s true, Levi. Y/N is alive.” The Section Commander murmurs. “Your Y/N is alive. They’re looking for you.”

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#writing #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #snk x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #aot imagine #attack on titan imagine #levi ackerman imagine #levi imagine #snk imagine #shingeki no kyojin imagine

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hey-hamlet · 3 years

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BNHA AU Ideas : Your blessings are your curses.

Also on AO3

TL;DR:

Dead All Might acts as a guardian angel to this heroic quirkless kid he runs into. Izuku gets put into a dangerous situation and turns out – DNA wasn’t needed to pass OFA. Just intent. Izuku gains the ability to see All Might along with the ability to use his quirk.

Sadly, AFO notices.

Now Izuku is on the run with a ghost for a guardian after AFO’s goons kill his mother.

Your blessings are your curses:

TL;DR: Dead all might, acts as a guardian angel to this quirkless kid he runs into. Izuku gets put into a dangerous situation and turns out – DNA wasn’t needed to pass OFA. Just intent. Izuku gains the ability to see All Might along with the ability to use his quirk.

Sadly, AFO notices.

Now Izuku is on the run with a ghost for a guardian after AFO’s goons kill his mother.

So – In the fight between All for One and All Might six years before canon, All Might loses.

Not horribly. All for One is still left almost dead and retreats into hiding, but All Might falls unconscious never to open his eyes again, later dying of sepsis in the hospital. His eyes may never physically reopen, but he does awaken – translucent and noncorporeal.

For a while he doesn’t know if it’s a latent quirk, or maybe something All for One did as a final blow, but no – it’s One for All. One for All has a mind of its own and refuses to disappear until Yagi has found a successor. Not that Yagi knows that.

His old haunts are too painful to hang around, the whole nation is grieving for him and seeing that pain on his old friend's faces burns something fierce. So he does what he’s always done. He helps.

Midoriya Izuku is nine when his favourite hero dies. He sees how the nation is grieving and his desire to be a hero only burns brighter. The bullying he suffers worsens, hate crimes against the quirkless and those with ‘villainous’ quirks uptick. Japan isn’t a pillar of safety and security anymore – crime rates have risen to match or overtake worldwide averages.

Still, he feels almost, safer? He gets luckier – the book his classmate stole shows up in his bag by the next period, bullies trip more often, and sometimes as he runs from villain attacks or classmates with their quirks popping against the nape of his neck, he feels a broad hand push him forwards, giving him an extra burst of speed.

He decides it must be the All Might charm he bought the day before the news of All Might’s death broke. A small solid plastic charm meant for a phone with a bright yellow bell attached, along with a tag reading “I AM HERE”. He fills the bell with scraps of paper so no one can hear it ring as he holds it tight in his hand when he gets nervous.

Midoriya Izuku is nine when he is almost killed.

With All Might gone, organized crime spikes. Quirk trafficking rings spring up – very rare, but no less real. It’s one of these such rings that kidnaps Izuku on his way home from school. He awakens, sore and blurry-eyed in a warehouse with a half dozen other crying children. One by one they are forced to show off their quirks, to gauge their value.

Izuku has no quirk to show. He has no value to these people. They growl at him to stop playing around, to stop pretending to be a hero (his All Might charm is almost cutting into his hand from how hard he holds it. He needs his luck more than ever please all might save me one more time - ). He can't bring himself to shut his eyes as a flaming hand reaches towards his face.

For a moment it feels like he's being held. He feels safe.

A shockwave levels the warehouse, leaving he and the other children untouched, the villains buried in the rubble. Green sparks sink into his skin, dancing over the rapidly purpling bruises decorating his arm. He runs.

He comes back to himself in a park, sobbing and shaking, arms wrapped around his shaking form and an oddly familiar voice murmuring apologies and praise as a broad hand runs gently through his hair.

It seems One for All never needed DNA, only intent, to pass itself along. With the passing of the quirk, Yagi should have dissipated, but he refused, clinging to the child he’d accidentally burdened with his legacy, the same quirkless child he’d been playing guardian angel for all this time.

When Izuku sees All Might he freezes. It’s not All Might as he knew him, rather – this is the All Might that died. He’s translucent, faded around the edges, with a tattered and bloodstained costume, thick padded bandaging over his stomach hiding stiches staining to close infected wounds, doing little to stop the blood oozing through. Still – All Might’s eyes are bright blue and kind and his smile is as it always was. Izuku throws himself onto his hero and sobs.

All Might – Yagi, as he insisted Izuku call him – led him to the nearest police station, as he tried to explain what had occurred. It wasn’t easy considering Yagi didn’t seem to be sure himself, but Izuku was pretty sure the quirk he’d been accidentally gifted was sentient.

Izuku held his arms up to the sky, stretching his fingers to the pinpricks of light in the night sky. Sparks of glittering gold, green, white, blue and red jumped across his skin, like the static shocks he’d get when he wore his wool socks in bed, but less painful. They almost felt playful.

“What are they called?” Yagi looked at him, confusion clear on his face. One of his spikes of hair drooped, and if Izuku could ignore the dust and blood that ran through it it would almost be funny.

“They? My boy, do you mean the sparks? If so, they don’t have a name.”

Izuku frowned, letting his hand drop. He could feel the sparks gently brushing his injuries, almost soothingly. “No, I mean your quirk. They should have a name, they’re so nice to me.”

Yagi coughed, dark blood spilling from his mouth, never to hit the ground. “One for All. It’s called One for All.”

Izuku’s frown deepened.

“All Might, mama says it’s rude to call someone an it.”

Inko is reunited with her only mildly injured son, now excitedly gushing about a quirk he’d somehow manifested. She privately thanks whatever spirit finally decided to smile upon her son, even if it took so long.

Their happiness doesn’t last long. Days later Izuku receives a summons to the head office. He freezes when he sees the police officer, Yagi’s comforting hand on his shoulder the only thing that keeps him from running.

It was a villain attack, the officer says with kindness so forced Izuku wants to cry. Yagi looks angry. If you’ll just come with us so we can get you to the safehouse with your mother –

Yagi almost growls with rage. “She’s lying.” He whispers, habit enforced despite the fact Izuku is the only person alive that can hear him. “Follow her out of the school then run” Izuku does exactly that, quirk sparking up his legs and pushing him forwards, down the familiar path to home. He takes the stairs six at a time, quirk chipping the edges of the concrete as he hurls himself forward.

Their apartment is in shambles, bookshelves tipped, small objects laying scattered on the floor, a pale arm laying limply from a half-open bathroom door.

Yagi pushes him out of the apartment and confirms the identity himself. He urges a sobbing Izuku to say his goodbyes to his mother’s corpse as they quickly gather all the money in the house, a few spare clothes and whatever food and water Yagi could knock down from the pantry shelves for him. Izuku crams it into his backpack as he sobs, Yagi guarding the entrance as he boils with rage and guilt.

He didn’t think All for One would find Izuku. He didn’t think he would even be looking. He was wrong and now his boy was paying the price.

So starts his time on the run.

He meets Shinsou first, saving him from some rubble in a villain attack. He meets him again later, battered and bruised – not from a villain, but from his foster parents. Shinsou joins him, no matter how Izuku explains hes in danger. Shinsou wants to be a hero, and if the only way he gets to be a hero is stubbornly keeping Izuku out of trouble? That’s not a bad trade-off, considering izuku was the first person to save him.

A little while later the two run into Shouto feverish and badly burnt and try to nurse him back to health as best they can. A few days in Touya and Toga run into their little camp guns blazing, expecting them to have kidnapped Shouto only to see Izuku patiently trying to feed him rice porridge with a veritable pile of ‘liberated’ fever reducers on the floor beside them.

They apologise but Shinsou and a still feverish Shouto refuse to talk to Touya or Toga for like three days bc they made Izuku cry.

They refuse to leave no matter how Izuku explains he has a centuries old villain after him. These kids are ride or die. So Hitoshi, Shouto and Izuku are like 9 and trying to learn what they can from libraries and newspapers, never settling down for too long. Toga (12) and Touya/Dabi (14) try and keep them all alive by working or stealing what they need to live. It doesn’t take long for them to evolve into a mini vigilante group.

Aizawa becomes familiar with the messy group of short vigilantes that seem to bounce from prefecture to prefecture every second day, to the point that the force is pretty sure one of them has a teleportation quirk because they don’t seem to have any kind of home base. He’s completely uninterested in trying to arrest them in the beginning – they aren’t hurting anyone and are not half bad at what they do.

That changes when he meets them.

Battered and bleeding out in a rainy alley with a villain looming over him with a knife, Aizawa is pretty sure this is the night he dies. The knife swings back, glinting in the streetlights as he tries in vain to scramble backwards with heavy limbs. It never connects. The villain jerks back as a brilliant blue plume of flame cuts him off, burning the tips of his hair. Not expecting backup the villain bolts. Aizawa feels small hands helping him into a sitting position – his stomach starts to sink. When the short masked figure with curly hair speaks he feels his heart turn to ice. The figure couldn’t be older than 11, probably closer to 10.

He wakes up in the hospital and he makes it his mission to save these kids.

Ghost All Might is having a rough time. His boy is in danger and the best he can do is rattle windows and trip sprinting villains. He can’t help them enough.

He has a plan though.

He warns Izuku that he’ll be gone for a while and to keep safe without him and he goes out scouting. Being invisible and impermeable is normally a curse but when trying to find a paranoid 200-year-old super villain? It’s pretty damn useful. It takes months but eventually he’s not only tracked down All for One’s main hideout he’s also memorised his schedule. It’s nothing impressive considering the man is still mostly bedbound after what All Might did to him, but he won't be a pushover. It’s a start, though.

Izuku cries tears of joy when he sees All Might again and cries even more when he shares what he found. It’s do or die time. He offers every one of his friends the chance to split now because there is a good chance they’ll die, but none of them wants to leave him. With that, he starts planning.

They’ll need Eraserhead, no bones about it. Without him, there would be no way to strike the final blow. They spend a few weeks refining their stealth then they seek Aizawa out.

They knew he’d have a price for helping them, but they never expected it would be so high, but simultaneously so kind. In exchange for his help and a vow of silence he wants each child to let him help them, to find them a safe place to live, a school to go to – a future. Izuku has spent his whole life being told he doesn’t have a future, from when he was diagnosed quirkless to the almost 2 years spent on the run from Japan’s most dangerous villain. He’s still not sure he’ll have one, even with All for One dead, but he knows he wants his friends to grow up happy and safe.

He accepts.

With Aizawa’s help, with Dabi and Toga clearing the way and Shinsou standing in the wings as the last resort, Izuku kills All for One as he sleeps. Nothing flashy, nothing fancy, just quiet footsteps, a sharp knife and shaking hands.

Aizawa is horrified this child just killed someone in front of him, but Izuku is sobbing and All for One is notorious in underground circles so he keeps his quirk up until the blood stops flowing from his neck. He takes the children and flees.

#bnha au #full au #your blessings are your curses au #all might #aizawa shouta #midoriya izuku #dabi #shinsou hitoshi #toga himiko

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

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Spare Room

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: On a lazy Sunday morning, you and Draco paint your spare room.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: mild angst, self doubt, fluff, kissing

You awoke to the clock chiming far too close to ear shot for your liking, laying in a position that was rather uncomfortable if you must admit it. Rather, you were more so in a tangled heap as you lay crammed in the tattered leather recliner with the very love of your life. That was more like it.

When you peek open an eye, you open them completely with a sigh at the sight before you. Sitting crooked and near broken on the very tip of Draco’s nose were the glasses he so rarely wore to read, said book on the brink of slipping and falling from his fingertips. You swiped it from his hand before it could clatter to the floor unceremoniously, tossing it on the couch not far from you. The lamp just behind you had yet to be turned off from its use the night before, it’s glowing light a bit too bright in the windows reflection as the clock rang a seventh and final time for the next hour.

Despite the lack of space to allow such things, he engulfed you in his embrace nonetheless, his chest rising and falling against you. His fingers remain loosely entwined with yours as they had been all night you assumed, his breath puffing warmly just under your ear in a way that tickled if you thought too long on it. His hair was an absolute mess of platinum that stuck every which way it had pleased, dark lashes splayed across pale skin as his legs dangled over the arm of the chair. The flannel blanket once laying over you both had just about fallen on the floor completely by that point. You can’t imagine he’d slept for long, not with the way he’d been caught up in his own mind for quite some time. For that reason, you hated to do this, but you felt as though you might just remain permanently in that dreadful position if you don’t stretch.

You release his hand and do so, a soft hum of utter relief leaving your lips at the ever so blissful feeling pulling at the tension in your body. A hum that sure enough caused him to stir from his light sleep; that, paired with your obvious jostling. His grip on you tightened then, his newly book-less hand coming up to rest just under the sweater of his that hung from your shoulders in ruffled heaps of black yarn.

“Good morning,” he mumbles half-heartedly, the coldness of his hand seeping into your skin as it rests further up on your hip.

“Good morning,” you start, squirming at the undesirable shiver it gave you, a frown on your lips, “And just where do you think you’re putting your hands?”

“I don’t believe I know what you’re talking about, darling ,” he murmurs just behind your ear with closed eyes, though his hand splays and lays flat across your stomach now as his laugh tickles against your cheek, any traces of warmth quickly leaving you.

“Draco!”

When you try and wriggle from his grasp your attempts rapidly become futile as you fall back to his chest, trying desperately to stifle your giggles because he most certainly did not deserve the satisfaction. His sleepy smile was immediate as he looked at you, blue eyes tired but full of adoration nonetheless. It was then that you give in and laugh, shaking your head at him.

“What?” He asks, brows furrowed slightly.

“You know, for being twenty-four, you’d think you would remember to take your glasses off before you go to sleep on the very rare occasion you decide to actually wear them,” you say, plucking the brown tortoise colored frames from the tip of his nose. You toss them on the couch to join the book laying there. “How very irresponsible of you.”

He narrows his tired stare at you and your wit, a frown tugging on his lips. Lips you immediately kiss with a soft smile, his halfhearted frown disappearing instantly. A sleepy hum sounded against your parted lips, his hand settling on your cheek. When you pull away all too soon his lips press to the corner of your mouth, finding himself chasing after you for more.

He sighs in dramatic exasperation, tugging you closer and tangling his legs with yours in an effort to get you to stay, his eyes fluttering closed once more as he lays his head back against the chair. You bite the inside of your cheek, holding your laughter at his antics.

“Dray, we’ve got plans today,” you say, tracing your fingertips over his chest. His brows furrowed as he continued to try and sleep.

“Do remind me, darling, just what would they be?”

“We’re painting the spare room, remember?” You kindly inform him, sitting up a bit more in your haphazard position. “You promised you’d help.”

He peeks an eye open as he stills your hand from dancing across his chest any longer, enveloping it in his own as he drops his head to the crook of your neck. You knew what was coming.

“Can’t we just enchant some paint brushes? It’s quite easy really,” he suggests in a groan, his lips pressing tenderly and tiredly up the skin of your neck, the warmth of his breath ironically giving you shivers. “I’ve got much better plans of my own.”

“To what, go to bed?” You counter, laughing softly.

“Precisely,” he agrees, the single word pressing into your skin just below your ear. “With you, might I add.”

You find yourself melting into his embrace, into the kisses proving to be far more intoxicating than you had hoped they’d be. Kisses that moved warmly from your neck to your jaw, from your jaw to your cheek, and perhaps the most delicately to your lips. They were soft and languid, his thumb brushing over your flushed cheek. The feel of his lips paired with the warmth of his arms was nearly far too comfortable and spell binding for you to want to do anything other than what you had been doing. But the excitement of your plans quickly overshadowed that in that very moment.

You break from him with another peck, his lips kiss swollen and pink, dropping to a slight frown at the action. More so when you reluctantly make your leave from his arms. “This room isn’t going to paint itself.”

“Love, it most certainly can!”

You shake your head, leaning down to kiss him once more. “Get up, Dray.”

—

With a lot of complaining and yawning on Draco’s end, you’d finally gotten him to get up and help with the promise of kisses. That always works. He’d tried to enchant his paint roller on more than one occasion but you had insisted to do it by hand, it was far more meaningful that way.

Over the course of the hours you spent, the hardwood floors had since been covered in every piece of newspaper you could find in your home, scattered haphazardly and crinkled. After the first hour, you were convinced there was more paint on yourselves, on anything other than where it should be. Countless spells were used when it inevitably seeped through the paper beneath your feet and smeared over the floor. The record in the player Draco had pulled in the room had spun every song on it at least two times over, and a good thirty minutes had been lost when Draco had taken you by the hand for just one dance, as he put it. One turned to two, and two turned to three with the addition of a myriad of paint smudged kisses pressed on flushed skin and breathless laughter.

The room now smelled of fresh paint and the chilly spring breeze that had filtered in through the open window. Nearly the entirety of the four walls were painted a soft sage green, as well as the splotches smeared across Draco’s cheek in payback for the ones on yours.

You swept the paint across the last bare patch of the wall, turning to Draco with a beaming smile as you set the brush down in the tray.

“What do you think?” You ask with a triumphant yet defeated sigh, twirling in the near empty room with open arms.

You hadn’t twirled so much as twice before his hand grabbed a hold yours, tugging you close to him. He had yet to change from his pajamas, miscellaneous smudges of green mingling with the pale freckles smattering sparsely across his chest.

“I don’t think it’s quite green enough,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear with a playful smirk. “Not the right shade.”

You roll your eyes and turn away from his touch, fighting to stifle your laughter and contain your smile. But the moment you looked at him again, at the softening smile gracing his lips and the hair falling down in his eyes, you knew you couldn’t possibly refrain. “You’re terrible sometimes, you know that?”

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, soft and tender as his laugh puffs against your skin.

“I do know that,” he starts, fingertips trailing down your arms before interlocking with your own. A softer smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his blue gaze bounced around the room. “It’s perfect.”

It truly is. It may have just been a simple matter of painting four walls of a spare room a color that you’d been dreaming of since the day you’d moved in. It may have been a simple moment on a lazy Sunday morning. But it was perfect and something he never thought he’d be fortunate enough to have.

He knows he wasn’t the best person, he knows he wasn’t even remotely so as a child and the teenager he once was. He knows he’s not even the best person now either, not with the memories still taunting and weighing heavily on him. What he also knows is that he hadn’t followed in his father’s footsteps, nor had he done what was expected of the only Malfoy heir. There were no intentions of living in the Manor and throwing fancy soirées, no desire to live within a larger than necessary estate composed of the same gray walls and dust covered shelves, sparsely decorated with expensive furniture and paintings. As much as Narcissa wanted him to continue on the family inheritance, and as much as he loved her dearly—he did not want that for himself.

Now, he’s got a wonderfully sweet cottage tucked away in a neighborhood where no two homes are the same. He lives in a home where every room is painted a different color that didn’t necessarily match from one to the next, where every room feels cozier than the last. He lives in a home that feels lived in, that radiates a kind of warmth and love he could have only ever dreamed of his entire life. One that houses a culmination of each of the things that matter the most to the both of you.

He lives with the love of his life, someone who he felt he didn’t deserve the affections of but received them regardless. He lives a life of matching coffee mugs and 2 am slow dances to a melody unheard. With bookshelves lined with shared tastes in literature crammed together and the occasional picture frame with the two of you captured within it. In a home surrounded by untamed wildflowers and borderline unkempt lawns with deep maroon shutters by each little window. All of it encompassed by a matching wooden fence with an iron latch, the numbers of your address engraved in an old metal slab.

His parents might have frowned upon his choice in living arrangements in noticeable comparison to the luxury of their own, but he no longer cared about their opinion. It was merely that; an opinion.

“What are you thinking of?” You ask after a little while, your voice pulling him back to the current moment as you brushed the platinum strands away from his eyes.

His gaze shifts to you, smile soft and beaming as the breeze sweeping into the open window sifts through your hair. As the late afternoon sunshine glimmers across your skin. "Stay here with me. For the rest of our lives. Stay with me.”

He watched as your expression filled with a delighted confusion, one so adorably curious he wanted nothing more than to kiss you for the rest of the day. You laugh softly, smile bright and eyes sparkling as you took in the loving sincerity of his words spoken so freely, so meaningfully. What he hadn’t known, however, was the butterflies fluttering around relentlessly in your stomach and the racing of your heart. You had known of such things already, but to hear them spoken was something else entirely.

“Painting our spare room really has made you sentimental, hasn’t it?” You jest, your squeal ringing out when he lifts you in his arms and twirls you in retaliation.

Your hands settle on his shoulders as your laughter fills the room, his lips pressing to the column of your throat. He knew you’d say something along those lines, he absolutely knew it. He sets you down but keeps you just as close, his lips continuing to press upon your neck as you continue to giggle at his mercy. He moves to your cheek and bumps his nose against yours, foreheads resting on one another as your dwindling laughter mingles in the space.

“I mean it, darling,” he murmurs, pulling back to look at your expression fully. He looked at you carefully in the close proximity, hopeful of your answer as his heart beat wildly in his chest.

It was then that the corner of your mouth quirks up into a grin. You bring your arms up to rest on his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the very tip of his nose. “For the rest of our lives,” you repeat softly with a widening smile, just to hear how it sounds. “I quite like the idea of that.”

He huffs out a breathy laugh, kissing you again and again, his arms tightening around you as he engulfs you in his embrace so much so he nearly lifts you off your feet once more. But soon there was muffled laughter and a gasp, your gazes traveling to the floor as you’re met with adorably large blue eyes and ever so sweet purring. Ivory.

Her once clean paws were doused in paint after walking freely through the tray without a care for much else, tracking it across the newspaper set across the floor, perfectly tiny paws pressed upon your feet in little sage-colored prints as she walked on you both. You sigh as you bend down and scoop her up, a delighted meow escaping her at the attention she was aiming to receive. It was immediate that she nudged Draco’s nose rather roughly, the action aggressively affectionate as she stood her front paws on his chest. He scrunched his nose at your laughter of the footprints left behind on his skin.

“You’re terrible, you know that?” He says lightheartedly to the feline, using your earlier words as he scratched under her chin. She responded with another nudge, whiskers brushing over his lips.

He smiled fondly, one that was soft and true.

“I love you,” he murmured, his eyes shifting to you once you set her down, a gust of the spring breeze blowing his hair back in his eyes, a shimmering blonde in the sunlight. “I love you in every possible way.”

You smile, cheeks staining a soft pink as your arms wrap around his neck once more. “And I love you,” you whisper, leaning on your toes to kiss him, gentle and sweet. “In every possible way.”

Draco Malfoy lived a life entirely decided by himself for once, and he was destined to make better of it than it once was. He was perfectly content with the one he made for himself now; one with the love of his entire life and the precious little kitty he’s come to love. The three of you stood there, enjoying the simplicity of just merely basking in each other’s company.

He found himself excited to decorate yet another room with your things and his combined. It was more than just a spare room; it was a piece of your home, of a life your own.

—

Tags: @theweasleysredhair @anchoeritic @hahee154hq @amourtentiaa @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @writeroutoftime @lunalovecroft

#draco malfoy #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fic #draco x you #draco fluff

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thirstyforcharacters · 3 years

Text

When the Universe Collides (Sam Wilson x Reader)

Summary: Every person has a soulmate. When your soulmate experiences pain, so do you, and any bruises, scars, or other markings that they get appear on your skin. Or, the story of how smacking yourself in the face with a cabinet was the best thing to ever happen to you.

Notes: Hi! Since the first episode of Falcon and the Winter Soldier comes out today, I wanted to write something for Sam! He’s super underrated and deserves more love! Also, this soulmate AU is extremely self-indulgent and has absolutely nothing to do with the TV show, but tbh I don’t care. Hope you all enjoy it too! (no y/n, no pronouns) (PS: any italicized text is Sam texting and the italicized and bold text is the reader texting!)

Warnings: mentions of a stab wound (nothing explicit), cursing I guess

WC: 2.2 k

Your soulmate must have one hell of a job.

Almost every day, you woke up with dark bruises covering your body. It seemed that whenever one faded, another took its place. At completely random times, you would double over in aches that you certainly didn’t inflict upon yourself. One time, in the middle of the night, you woke up with pain in your stomach so intense, it felt like someone had stabbed you! It turned out that it was a stab wound, but given that no one had stabbed you lately (or ever), you figured it was from your soulmate. You definitely didn’t appreciate that hospital bill.

But you still desperately wanted to meet them. Meet that person that completed you: your other half. As a teenager, you made your parents tell you the story of the day they finally met so many times, you knew it by memory. They were both in the library at college, and your mom dropped a psychology textbook on her foot! Her howl of pain was only matched by the “SON OF A BITCH” that came from your dad on the opposite side of the library. When the two of them made eye contact, they instantly knew they were the ones for each other (they were also immediately kicked out for making such a ruckus). You wanted to have that moment so badly; meeting your soulmate was a huge milestone in every person’s life, and you needed it.

Your best friend and roommate, Brianna, had met hers just two months ago. They had met at the beach, when out of nowhere, Bri had shrieked in shock and pain.

“A crab just pinched me!”

When you had looked at her foot and told her nothing was there, she was totally confused, until you saw a handsome guy with a crab hanging from his foot! He had introduced himself as Julian, and the two had been inseparable since. He was living with you now, and you had honestly never felt more lonely in your life. Sure, you had your dream career; you ran a music shop in New York City, selling instruments, making repairs, and meeting all sorts of interesting people. You had a decent apartment, a chill best friend, and the cutest Yorkie, named Muffin, on the planet. By all accounts, you had it pretty good. You were just missing your other half.

It was a rainy day in NYC. The chill of winter was still clinging onto the March air, and you shivered as you trudged from your apartment to your shop. Even though you had an umbrella to protect you from the rain, the wind blew right through the too-thin jacket you yanked off of the coatrack in a rush. Still holding your half-eaten toaster strudel in your hand, you pushed open the doors to Major Instruments and Minor Repairs, your pride and joy.

It was two floors: the first was where you sold instruments, and the repair shop was above. Acoustic panels were attached to the burnt red walls to help quiet down the place, since the hardwood floors didn’t do much to help with that. The checkout desk was directly in the center in the room. Surrounding it were reeds, bottles of valve oil, and guitar strings. Picks were placed in two clear, plastic bowls on the desk itself. In the front left corner of the room was a grand piano, situated right in the window so passersby could see whenever someone plucked its keys. The entire back wall was covered in guitars and basses. To the right of the desk was a large drumset, accompanied by a pair of drumsticks and brushes. On the right wall were string instruments; string basses and cellos were leaned against the wall, while the violins, violas, and bows were displayed on it. Woodwind and brass instruments were scattered across the room in various display cases. Instrument stands, bow rosin, and miscellaneous instrument parts were on shelves throughout the room as well. The spiral staircase leading up to the repair shop was in the back left corner of the room. Behind the staircase was the door to the back store room, where you kept your extra supplies and also where you took your breaks.

“Good morning!” called Andrew, one of your closest friends from college, from behind the desk.

You waved in reply, wandering to the back store room. You were lucky you had Andrew; you could rely on him to run the front desk while you and Brianna assisted customers on the floor. Unfortunately, Bri had the flu today, so it would just be you on the floor, which would make things a little more hectic. You hurriedly finished your strudel, took off your jacket, which left you in a black and white flannel, a matching black tank top reading “Music is Life,” black leggings, and black combat boots (you had an aesthetic to uphold), and strode back out to the main area.

“You seem in a bit of a rush. Everything okay?” asked Andrew, who was currently restocking bell covers.

You sighed, “Just a whirlwind of a morning. Bri has the flu, Muffin nearly choked on a chicken bone, I almost burned my toaster strudel, and I smacked myself in the face with my cabinet door by accident.”

“Oh, that’s where the new bruise on your eye is from,” he mused.

You snorted, “Yeah, for once it’s not from my soulmate.”

“Maybe he’s a spy. Or a superhero!”

“Yeah, or a criminal,” you joined in on the restocking, grabbing some trumpet mutes since the place opened in just half an hour, “thanks for opening up, by the way.”

“It’s no problem,” he replied, “you know I don’t mind.”

The doorbell jingled and two of your instrument repair people, Sarah (for strings), and Natalie (for brass), entered. Natalie was lugging what was unmistakably a tuba case, while Sarah carried both of their instrument repair kits.

“Morning, ladies!” called Andrew.

“Good morning,” Sarah replied pleasantly.

Natalie huffed out a “morning” and dragged the tuba up the stairs.

“Her tuba’s broken. The tubing that holds up her mouthpiece completely snapped off. She’s going to try and repair it before her appointments today,” explained Sarah.

You winced, “That’s rough.”

Sarah dropped off both of their jackets and followed Natalie up the stairs leaving you alone with Andrew again. Soon after, Erik, your percussion guy, and John, the woodwind repairman, arrived, and it was time for the shop to open. For a while, it was just another mundane Thursday. Customers came and went. People tested the piano and drumsets, someone bought $100 worth of jazz scores, and a teenaged boy came in who somehow got a ping pong ball stuck in their trombone (you learned to never ask). But at exactly 1:47 pm, a time you would never forget, two very unexpected customers walked through the threshold of your store. You were up on a ladder, carrying a large, rather heavy, box of violin bows to situate on the wall, when you heard their voices.

“I’m telling you, Buck, I’m a wizard at the saxophone.”

“Sure, Sam. I’ll believe it when I hear it.”

“I’m serious, dude! I played all the time before I joined the military, and I picked it back up a little bit again after the whole Avengers thing. I just need to get a new one.”

“Hmm, okay. We’ll see.”

“Bastard.”

You whipped your head around and saw the Falcon and the Winter Soldier themselves in your shop. Having superheros in your place was a first. And who knew Sam Wilson played the saxophone?

Andrew offered them a cheerful greeting and directed them toward the saxophones, which happened to be near the ladder you were teetering on. Every time you leaned up to put a bow on display, it wobbled so badly you thought you were going to fall. You really needed to allocate some funds toward a new one.

As you continued to place bows on display, you heard the conversation of the two gentlemen browsing the saxophones. Apparently, Sam much preferred the tenor sax (which you happened to play, quite well you might add). Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him pick up a Selmer Paris model and inspect it. Those didn’t come cheap, but you were sure that saving the world gave a man a pretty decent paycheck.

“You think I can test it out?”

“I don’t know, dude. You should probably ask.”

You saw him nod, “Yeah, I guess so. And there’s not a reed in here, anyway. Excuse me!”

You realized he was calling you, so you craned your head to look at him. Both men were looking up at you, both with kind smiles on their faces.

“Is there any way I can get a cheap reed to test this out with,” Sam asked, “and are we even allowed to test them in store?”

You smiled back, “Yes, you can. We have test reeds at the front desk, just ask Andrew and he’ll give you one. That’s the only one you’ll get though.”

“Cool, thanks,” he replied while looking around, “nice place you’ve got here.”

Your smile grew a little wider, “Thank you! It took a little while to get it off of the ground, but I’m really proud of how it turned out.”

It was almost as if the universe wanted you to suffer. You stretched up to display yet another bow, and the ladder toppled to the ground, taking you with it! You shrieked in surprise and braced yourself for the impact with the floor.

But it never came.

Instead, you were caught in a pair of (ridiculously) muscular arms. When you looked into the arms of your hero, of course it was Sam himself. He was too handsome for his own good. The thing that stood out most to you were his deep brown eyes. And how, on the left one, was a bruise that exactly matched the one that you gave yourself this morning.

“Are you alright? That ladder must have it out for you,” joked Sam, though you could tell that he was concerned for you.

“I’m okay,” you squeaked, “thank you.”

“It’s no problem. All a part of the job.”

You nodded distractedly, still fixated on the bruise adorning his eye. He couldn’t be your soulmate, could he?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he questioned.

“I-yes. I just got a bit, well, distracted.”

“By what?”

Well, it was now or never. You might as well just go for it.

“When did you get that bruise?”

He looked a bit surprised by the question, “The one on my eye?”

You nodded.

“This morning. It just popped up. Hurt a little bit, like something hit me in the face. Can’t be worse than what I’ve given my soulmate, though. I got stabbed in the stomach once and all I could think about was how confused and hurt they must’ve been,” came his reply.

It was him. It had to be! All of your random, serious injuries made so much more sense now.

“It did hurt,” you murmured back, “but not as much as the hospital bill.”

His face went from apologetic to elated faster than you had ever seen, “Wait, that means it’s you?”

“I think so,” you said, “I hit myself in the eye with a cabinet door this morning, and that-” you gestured to his face, “matches mine.”

“Oh, it does!” he exclaimed.

“Are you two done over there?” complained Bucky.

Thankfully, the Winter Solider had successfully rescued your box of bows.

Sam stood you up, and you could feel the embarrassment slowly creeping over you, “Yeah. Sorry about that, guys. Promise I’m not usually that clumsy.”

“Seems like you need a new ladder,” Bucky told you.

“You don’t say,” you sassed back, prompting a laugh from Sam.

Bucky then strode off to return the fallen box to Andrew. He gave Sam a knowing look as he passed by. He wasn’t very slick, though, you totally saw him.

“Listen, since apparently we’re soulmates and all, I’d love it if I got your number. I’ll take you somewhere nice to make up for all of the times I’ve gotten you hurt,” explained Sam.

You smiled bashfully, “That sounds nice.”

He handed you his phone and you input your digits. As Sam and Bucky were in the checkout line, your phone buzzed.

Hey, gorgeous. It’s your new man.

You giggled softly and looked up at him. He gave you an exaggerated wink and launched finger guns at you, making you laugh a bit harder. You entered his number into your phone and decided to send a text back.

Looking forward to you making up for all of those broken bones.

Me too.

You knew you’d be happy with him. Whenever the universe collided in this way, it always turned out for the best. If your parents and your roommate weren’t enough proof, soon you would discover it for yourself. You couldn’t wait for all of the memories you’d make together.

#sam wilson #falcon #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson fic #sam wilson fluff #soulmate au #x reader #x reader fanfiction #x reader fluff #x reader fic #marvel #MCU

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

Pink Bubblegum and Platform Boots

Pairing: Shane ‘Dio’ Morrissey/Reader

Word Count: 2,756

Warnings: None

Dio was a bad boy. A goth, as some would say. He’s proud of it, proud of his leather and spike studded aesthetic. The litany of tattoos and piercings. So of course, when he falls in love, he expects someone like him. He does not expect to fall head over platform heels in love with the pink Lolita princess who lives in the apartment next door

Dio Morrissey was not a kind guy. He was tough and silent and a definite lone wolf. His entire aesthetic was grimoires and black and leather. He was tattooed and pierced and never smiled. He was not a good person, and he knew that.

Yet, there was one bright spot in his otherwise shadowed life.

His neighbor.

You were his literal opposite. A cutesy, pastel pink, lace covered lolita. From what he could tell, you were as sweet as your wardrobe, always saying hello to everyone in the building as you headed to work. Every day seemed to be amazing for you, and you always wore a bright smile.

Everything you did was sickeningly sweet. You were everything he told himself he hated. Pastels and colors and sunshine.

So of course, Dio was absolutely in love with you.

“Dio! Earth to Dio!” Raven said, waving her hand in front of his face as he watched his neighbor come into the building. “Fuck! What’s up with you?”

Her gaze followed his, smirking when she realized what he was staring at. “Oh? Is little Dio in love?”

“Dio’s in what?” Ace said, coming back onto the balcony with beers. “I swear you just said the L word.”

“I did!” Raven said eagerly, kicking her feet and grinning slyly at Dio. “What’s her name?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Dio grumbled into his beer bottle, outright lying because of course he knew your name. “And I don’t know because I’m not in love with her!”

Raven and Ace looked at each other and both broke out into laughter.

That night, when Dio was escorting his friends out of his apartment, the door next to his opened up.

Immediately, both Ace and Raven lit up. “Is that her?”

Dio swore, seeing you coming out of your apartment, walking towards the elevator. Which meant you had to pass Dio and his friends.

“Hey Dio,” you said sweetly, waving and walking past.

Dio simply sighed, realizing exactly what was about to happen now. “Hey. Heading out?”

You nodded, pushing the elevator button as Dio and his friends got closer. “Yeah. The local fabric barn is having a huge sale on their deadstock stuff. I wanna get out there before the sun goes down.”

“Huh.” Dio nodded, giving Ace a death glare as he smiled. “Sounds fun.”

“It is!” You said eagerly, adjusting your adorable lavender dress as you walked onto the elevator, followed by Dio and his friends. “I bet you could find some good stuff there. I saw a beautiful tarot card fabric last time I went.”

Raven perked up at that. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Just like that, you were pulling your phone out to show Raven the fabric, her immediately gushing over how nice it was.

“If I see it there today, I’ll get you some,” you said, pocketing your phone as the elevator reached the ground floor.

Ace and Raven waved as they left, leaving you and Dio alone outside the elevator.

“Are you heading out too?” You asked Dio, looking curiously at him.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Dio grumbled, trying his best to keep his reputation intact. It was so hard not to let himself, the real him, out when talking to you.

You smiled. “That’s okay. Have a good night Dio!”

As you walked away, Dio battled his emotions for all of twenty seconds before running after you. “Wait!”

“Hm?” You turned, skirt swinging and head tipping ever so slightly. “Yeah?”

Dio stopped, suddenly hesitant. But he wasn’t the kind of guy who backed down from anything. “Can I come with you? Fabric shopping, that is.”

Almost instantly, you lit up. “Of course! Come on!”

You two made for a very odd pair heading down the street, Dio’s dark leather and metal studded aesthetic a complete opposite from your pastel sweets and soft ribbon look. Yet, you matched in a very odd way, like two puzzle pieces. Especially when, upon coming up on a busy crosswalk, you anxiously took his hand, almost causing poor Dio to combust. His rings were cold on your skin, but his hand itself was nice and warm.

When you finished crossing the street, you didn’t drop Dio’s hand, merely continuing to walk with him, connected by your interlaced fingers. He didn’t tug away, despite the feeling of complete anxiety in his chest.

Of course, the fabric shop finally showed up, and you eagerly pulled Dio inside. It was a maze, with tall shelves full of bolts of fabric and smaller shelves stacked with containers of buttons and ribbons and threads.

“So what are you looking for?” Dio asked, looking at the employee who was staring at him.

“I don’t know,” you said happily, heading towards the pastel fabrics. “That’s the point! I have a budget but no plan. I just wanna see what catches my eye.”

Dio followed after you, very much like a lost puppy, as you hummed and looked over the messily stacked fabric bolts. You found a few you liked, humming as you took pictures and continued on.

Eventually, Dio got so uncomfortable that you actually noticed. “Why don’t you go traverse the black fabrics,” you said softly, tugging on his sleeve. “See if you can find that tarot bolt I was talking about.”

Dio gladly left the bright colors and shuffled through the dark blacks, occasionally finding something interesting.

Eventually, you found him, a bag in hand full of fabrics. “Hey. Find anything good?”

Dio shrugged. He had found the tarot fabric, which he showed you, and he hesitantly showed off another fabric bolt he found. It wasn’t black, but a deep navy, printed with beautiful silver stars and thin lines to create constellations. “This is nice.”

“It is,” you agreed softly, taking the loose fabric end and smiling. “It’s very nice. Perfect dress making fabric.”

You snapped a photo of it before walking off, Dio following you to the ribbon and lace section. You hummed to yourself, picking out a few different things. A roll of white lace, a few different ribbons in various colors and sizes, two packs of pearly white buttons. It was a hodgepodge of items, but you didn’t mind.

“I’m gonna go have a smoke,” Dio said to you at one point. “Meet you outside.”

“Yep.” You examined a roll of lace, looking up at Dio and smiling. “I’m almost done. Might need a few more things, but I shouldn’t be any longer than fifteen minutes.”

Dio left, leaving you to eagerly pick out a few items for your next big project. A roll of delicate black lace, two ribbons in black and navy, a few black buttons, and the most important part. The navy constellation fabric.

You paid for the items and left, seeing Dio waiting just outside. He put his cigarette out and began to walk beside you, instinctively grabbing your hand as you two came up on the busy crosswalk again.

“Find everything you needed?” He finally asked, squeezing your hand to grab your attention.

“Mhm!” You hummed happily. “And some things I didn’t, but that’s okay.”

By the time you had reached the apartment building, it was well after dark. Dio insisted on walking you to your door, despite your laughter infused attempt to remind him that you were neighbors.

“I’ll see you around Dio,” you said, opening your door and slipping inside.

Dio smiled, actually smiled, at you. “Yeah. See you around.”

You two did much more than that. Next time Raven visited Dio, she insisted upon seeing you, which meant that you were now settled upon Dio’s old ass couch, chatting away with Raven. You were a huge contrast to the entire apartment, in your pretty pink skirt with merry-go-round ponies on the bottom and the characteristic petticoat underneath it.

Eventually, when Dio went out onto the balcony to have a cigarette, Raven turned to you, her eyes alight. “He really likes you.”

“Dio?” You peered at the balcony, where Dio was leaning against the rail, a cigarette hanging off his lips. “He’s my neighbor.”

Raven snorted. “Honey, that boy is head over ridiculously large platform heels in love with you.”

Now it was your turn to make a noise of disbelief. “No he isn’t.”

“Yeah, he is.” Raven put a hand on your knee, smiling. “Let me tell you. Dio is not a going out kind of guy. But he went on and on about your fabric shopping date for almost half an hour that night. He genuinely enjoyed it.”

You were quiet. “He enjoyed it?”

“Hell yeah he did!” Raven said happily. “I haven’t seen Dio that happy about being out since, well, ever.”

Dio chose that moment to return, settling in a chair and looking between you and Raven. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Raven said, leaning back. “Hey, how’s that skirt coming along?”

You perked up, telling Raven all about the tarot skirt you were making for her.

“All I need to do is put the elastic in and it should be done!” You finished after a few minutes. “You can come pick it up whenever, I’ll probably finish tonight.”

Raven promised to come get the skirt next time she visited Dio. You waved, watching her leave.

“So,” you said, standing and adjusting your skirt. “I’ll see you soon?”

Dio stood as well, coming over to your side. “Yeah. Soon.”

“Perfect!” You grinned, taking his hands and looking down at them. You pressed a finger into a small tattoo he had on the back of one hand, feeling his pulse jump beneath your skin. “I’ve been meaning to go back out and grab more fabrics. Think you’ll be up for it?”

Dio shrugged. “Sure.”

Which was how your monthly fabric dates became a thing. The monthly outings turned quickly into weekly dates, mostly at one of your apartments. When you were alone, it was like you had a completely different Dio. He smiled, leaning across your countertops to take cookies from you. He went on and on about Ancient Greek mythology, a childlike wonder to his voice. He was touchy and cuddly and although he was definitely still the stubborn goth who lived next door, he was no longer as guarded and emotionless. By that time, you were no longer neighbors. No longer friends. Your relationship was beyond that. Not quite lovers, but not not lovers either.

About a year after you two started to go out, Dio got super lonely one night. It was Friday, one night before date night, but he needed you. Needed to be beside you.

He trailed over to your apartment after some consideration, knocking hesitantly. You opened the door after a few seconds, grinning brightly upon seeing Dio. “Hey Dio! What’s up?”

Dio hesitated. You’d changed out of the frilly, baby blue dress and fluffy petticoat you’d worn to work, abandoning it for a pair of white overall shorts with a soft pink shirt underneath. Sometimes he forgot you weren’t always wearing those dresses. “Uh. Can I come in?”

It was an odd question. Dio never asked to come in. You usually had to ask him, and even then it took some pestering. “Of course. C’mere.”

Dio shuffled in, kicking off his boots and dropping almost two inches, making you smile. “So. What brings you to my apartment?”

“I dunno,” Dio mumbled, standing awkwardly in your entryway.

You smiled, coming closer and taking Dio’s hands. You slowly traced each tattoo he had, taking special interest in the one on the back of his hand, between his thumb and forefinger, as usual. “Lonely?”

“In a way.”

You tugged him further into the apartment. “Take your coat off Dio. I wanna show you something.”

Dio followed you, hanging his coat up on the coat rack as he went. You pushed open the door to a spare bedroom, only it wasn’t a bedroom. It was a sewing room.

Every inch of the room was covered in colorful fabric and delicate lace. Half finished projects littered the various surfaces, the most prominent a mess of beautiful pastel purple fabric piled up next to the sewing machine. But what caught Dio’s eye was the mostly finished dress on the dress form in the corner.

The dress itself was darker than anything Dio had ever seen you wear. A rich royal navy studded with faded silver stars, connected by thin lines of thread to make constellations. The dress would be knee length on you, with a layer of black lace around the bottom and the characteristic petticoat underneath, also in black. You’d layered a frilly black shirt underneath the dress as well, the long sleeves and silky ribbons doing terrible things to Dio’s imagination.

“So?” You asked hesitantly. “What do you think?”

Dio was dead silent, unable to form the thoughts into words. “Is it done?”

“Almost,” you said, turning the dress form around and showing Dio the collection of black metal loops on the back. “I have to finish putting the loops on, then it’ll be done.”

Dio stepped closer, running a hesitant hand over the fabric. “Is this?”

“That fabric we found when we went shopping? Yeah.”

Dio froze, hand still on the fabric. “I didn’t know you bought it.”

“I did,” you said, coming up behind him, wrapping him in a hug and pressing a cheek in between his shoulder blades. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Speechless, Dio melted into your embrace, turning around so you could tuck your head into his chest. You smiled, humming softly. “You’re a good man Dio Morrissey. I hope you know that.”

That was the last straw. You felt Dio’s chest heave, and with a slight shock, you realized Dio was crying.

“Oh,” you murmured, reaching up and wiping away his tears. “Oh Dio. Hey, it’s okay. Look at me, there you go. It’s okay.”

Dio took a stuttering breath, hugging you close. “I love you,” he stammered between breaths. “I love you so fucking much.”

You smiled, wrapping Dio in a hug and smoothing a hand up and down his back. “I love you too Dio.”

Just like that, it became official. Your date the next day was a real date, out to the park and then dinner. You eagerly finished up the star dress, getting dressed and ready while Dio waited outside your bathroom.

“Dio!” You called, arms aching as you let them fall to your sides. “Dio! Come here!”

The door opened, Dio’s face poking through the crack. “Yeah?”

“Lace me up?” You asked, showing him the back of the dress, which was shut with a zipper, but was cinched at the waist with a ribbon in a very corset-esque fashion. The only problem? You couldn’t lace it yourself.

Dio was completely frozen in the doorway, his eyes going up and down and up and down as he processed your outfit and how you looked. It took a solid two minutes before he responded. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you,” you said with a laugh. “Now c’mon. Don’t be afraid to squeeze me into this dress,” you said, handing Dio the silky black ribbon that matched the ones on your shirt.

He expertly threaded the ribbon, taking his time and definitely not hesitating to pull on the ribbon to really fit the dress to you.

“Thanks!” You said once he was done, turning to the makeup scattered across the bathroom. “Now. The fun part.”

Dio watched with pure curiosity as you put your makeup on. It was all okay until the colorful stuff, at which point he stopped you before you made a horrible mistake.

“How about I do this part?” He said, taking the brush and tapping the excess powder into the sink. “Close your eyes.”

You did as he asked, giggling when he took your face with one hand to steady you. “God your hands are huge.”

Dio smiled. “Mhm. And yours aren’t.”

More laughter echoed through the bathroom, and Dio paused in the makeup so you could laugh.

“Okay,” you said, finally straightening. “We’re gonna be late. Let’s hurry up.”

Ten minutes later, Dio had perfected your makeup, and you loved it. Lacing up your black shoes and adjusting your black socks, you looped an arm with Dio’s and walked towards the elevator together.

“So,” you finally said once you two had reached the park. “Dio Morrissey. The biggest, baddest boy on the block, has fallen in love with the resident princess. How the hell does that happen?”

Dio shrugged, putting an arm around you. “I dunno. But I’m glad it did.”

#nypd blue #shane 'dio' morrissey #dio morrissey #dio morrissey x reader #dio morrissey x you #pedro pascal #My writing

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yoditorian · 3 years

Text

lacuna- part 1

din/reader

she’s here!!!!! she’s here!!!!! i decided to split it up into parts to give me more time to write and put u all (ellie) out of your misery. thank you for being patient, and thank you to everyone who was so kind about the teaser!!

set waaaaaay before the series, this is Target Practice Din

MASTERLIST

word count: just shy of 2.5k

warnings: some swears bc it’s me, overuse of italics, probably some spelling mistakes, non graphic smut but it is Highly Implied, so for that reason 18+ only pls no babies.

“Have you ever removed your helmet?”

“No.” He grits out.

“Has it ever been removed by others?”

“Never.”

He’s lying.

___________________

You practically fly down from the cockpit the second you touch down, shoving Ran between the shoulder blades. He stumbles down the last few feet of the ramp, and skids across the ground on his ass. In any other situation, you might have laughed. But in any other situation, you probably wouldn’t have pushed him.

“What the fuck was that?”

He only sputters out a half baked excuse about the mission, it’s enough to have you drawing your blaster. Only it's not in the holster you keep strapped to your thigh.

Your gaze is cold as ice as you turn to see your gun dangling from Mando’s index finger. He stands above you on the ramp, apparently unaffected by your outrage even though Ran’s actions could have ended very differently for all four of you. Xi’an laughs haughtily from a crate inside the ship, she’s lucky you’re unarmed.

“He almost got us killed.” You reason, not even sparing a glance at the man still cowering from you on the floor. Mando shrugs. Like it's nothing.

“And yet, we made it.” He says, dropping the blaster back into your holster as he descends the ramp.

You’re all only alive because you were quick enough on your feet to take over, because you were on the guns, because you made the lightspeed calculations mid-dogfight to get the fuck out of there. Something everyone else seems to have conveniently not noticed. Ran’s on his feet, dusting himself off, Mando has already stalked off into the hangar, and Xi’an’s hot on his heels. You heave an annoyed sigh, adrenaline leaching the energy from your bones, and scuff your boots the rest of the way down the ramp. Ran catches your arm when you pass him, grip just a little too tight to be friendly.

“Empire’s always looking for pilots, I could just put you back where I found you.” He says lowly as you rip your arm from him. It’s not an empty threat. He knows there’s nothing left for you on Corellia besides an arrest warrant and a swift execution. There’ll be bruises in the shape of his fingertips by morning, you can feel them already. It’s not the first time and, if you’re being honest, you know it won’t be the last. The pouch of credits Qin hands you for a job well done makes that particular pill a little easier to choke down, at least.

Your room at Ran’s space station isn’t much, but you’ve done what you can. There’s only a bed and a desk, the matching chair missing long before you moved in, a shelving unit and a viewport. An old blanket, loosely crocheted and full of holes, lies crumpled atop the sheets. It was white once, used to swaddle you as a baby, but that was before the sweat and the ash and the bloodstains. It’s the only thing you’d brought with you when you had to run, wrapped around your shoulders to shield you from the night’s chill at the last minute. You hadn’t even had time to put shoes on. The viewport window is another comfort, barely bigger than the datapad that lies forgotten on your pillow, but you pay the boss dearly for your view. Lights blinking on the ceiling reflect in the scratched glass, and the mismatched floor panels creak under your weight as they always do. It’s home, even if the space station itself feels like the loneliest place in the universe sometimes. With one last glance at the swirling stars as the station slowly turns, you’re practically asleep before your head hits the pillow.

You have to pee.

One look out into the corridor presents you with closed doors and lowered lights. Sleep hours, then. It’s hard to keep track of time when it’s always night outside, although living off-planet isn’t so bad once you get used to it. Rest here comes when you can get it, as opposed to the fancy artificial sunrise/sunset lighting cycles you’ve heard about on inner rim stations. It doesn’t sound like anyone’s awake to judge you for shuffling to the bathroom in your socks anyway.

The light is too bright in comparison to the dim hall, and you almost jump back from your reflection in the small mirror. Bloodshot eyes, rumpled shirt, you really should have done something with your hair before you passed out. You’re sure you’ve never looked more exhausted. Sleep hasn’t come easy in the few years you’ve spent on the station, dreams plagued by flashes of the reason you came here in the first place. Running, choking on the smoke in your lungs, an old friend’s blood splattering across your cheek. The only rest you really get is when you work yourself down to the bone, until you can’t keep your eyes open anymore, but you know you’re not the only one.

The door across from yours is open when you go back to your room, Mando standing in the frame, backlit by a lamp like he’s the hero from one of those propaganda movies you snuck into as a kid. You pause in your own doorway, it’s probably a bad idea to call him out on it. It’d probably only start an argument and then you’d have to deal with the only person you could count on to watch your six being mad at you.

“You should have backed me up earlier.” Your mouth takes the decision away from you. He waits for a moment, silently, like he’s expecting you to say more. But you leave it there.

“I did.”

You’re turning to shut the door when he finally answers, and it takes everything in you not to shout at him in the middle of the hall.

“If that’s what backing someone up looks like to Mandalorians, then I think I’d rather you didn’t at all.” You hiss, exhaustion feeding into your anger. It’s not the way you should be speaking to him, or anyone, but you’re just too tired to care.

Mando’s spine goes rigid and you almost regret the dig, not that you have time to think about it before he’s walking right towards you and backing you into the darkness of your room. You can just about see the ceiling panel lights blink in the reflection of his visor. It’s only as he moves that you spot the bag slung over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” You ask, barely a whisper. You’ve never been this close to him before, chest to chest, alone. The warmth you can feel even from under the armour threatens to make your head spin.

“Home.” He leaves it at that. Never one to use more words than he needs to. You didn’t even know he had a home to go back to. There’s a lot you don’t know about the man in front of you, but he’s loyal to the bone. That much is plain to see.

“Don’t you ever think about going home?”

“My home is here.” Your answer is final, although you can feel the raised eyebrow through his helmet. You’re no more attached to the space station than you are any of the planets you’ve yet to visit. It’s not home, nowhere is. But you’ve been here since you were sixteen, years before the rest of your team, it’s as close as you’ll get to belonging somewhere. Mando doesn’t respond, doesn’t ask any questions, only stands with you for a long moment. Breathing. He’s good like that. You’ve never felt the pressure to fill any silence with him, he seems to exist so comfortably in it. It’s easier that way, probably for you both. You don’t know much about Mandalorians, the only stories you’ve heard are the ones Qin told you drunk in a seedy cantina when Mando first joined. Horror stories. If his past is anything similar to yours, he’s grateful for the absence of questions too.

“So it’s goodbye, then?” You’re yet to break his stare.

“Yes.”

Is he closer, somehow?

“Would you have said goodbye if I wasn’t already awake?”

He’s definitely closer.

Mando reaches behind him to tap the control panel on the wall, sliding the door shut and leaving you in the darkness. He lets his bag slip off his shoulder, lowering it to the floor suspiciously silently for one you know is crammed with weaponry, and walks you further into the room. You can’t really see much at all, only the steady blinking of the little red lights in the ceiling.

“You trust me?” It’s so quiet, you wonder if you imagined the words.

He’s never given you a reason not to.

“Keep your eyes closed?”

“I promise.”

It takes a moment before he lifts the lip of the helmet high enough, and another long few seconds of just being without barriers for him to kiss you. And kiss you he does.

The breath you get in before your lips touch is all him, turning your insides to liquid gold. Everywhere he touches you sets a fire. For a man so rough, he is so careful, he handles you as though you’ll break at the slightest breeze. As though he is wholly undeserving of such sweetness. Part of you thinks he’s convinced he is. It’s a first and a last kiss, a hello and a goodbye kiss, the way he tries to suffocate himself in you is evidence enough that you won’t be here again. You won’t get to have him like this again. He stays close when you finally break apart, taking his helmet off completely and placing it down on your desk with a decisive thunk.

“Mando-”

“Din. My name is Din.” He shouldn’t tell you. He shouldn’t have taken his helmet off, he shouldn’t have even thought about it. Although his fear of losing everything he has is almost overwhelming, it’s nothing compared to this. The fear that you would never know him as he is, as he has always been. The relief that brings tears to his eyes when you don’t shy away, when you lean into him. Like you want him too. You shouldn’t hold his creed in your hands but he gives it willingly. Of course he does. He’s never really been able to deny you anything.

“Din.”

The smile is so clear in your voice as you whisper it back to him. The way you say his name sounds like a song. A prayer. Hushed and reverent like it’s something sacred, something holy. He knows it’s safe on your tongue. Din lays you back on the bed, gently, wool of the ratty blanket soft against your skin.

Din. He’s nothing but gentle with you. Hands barely there as they pull layers of clothing from the both of you, stripping himself of his armour, of The Mandalorian. Until there’s just him. Just a man, no more and no less than anybody else. A man who wishes he hadn’t been so stubborn and dismissive of his own desires; wishes he’d given in to this, to you, sooner. His mouth doesn’t leave your skin for a second, like he could digest you one kiss at a time if he tried hard enough. Part of him doesn’t want to leave, he wants to stay in this bed with you in the dark and just exist. Your body in his hands and your moans in his mouth and absolutely nothing else. He needs you in between his teeth, on his tongue. He’s never needed anything else quite so badly.

The emotion isn’t lost on you, it’s the first and last time you’ll ever be with him. He’ll go after this, you don’t pretend otherwise. You won’t get to have him, in any way you want to, after this. So you lose yourself in him, in everything he gives and takes on those threadbare blankets in your room. The taste of him gets committed to memory and you swear you’ll never eat again if it means his sweat stays on your tongue. You dig your nails hard into his shoulders, you hope he’ll look at them before they fade. Hope he’ll see the marks you gave him and know that he is wanted. He is so desperately wanted and he has no idea. You kiss him with reckless abandon, cards on the table in all but words. So he can know, so he can come back. If that’s what he wants.

You stay tangled with him for a long time. Spit cooled and sweat dried. You’ve never stayed this long with anybody, but you’re not speeding to the ‘fresher. You want to drench yourself in everything he is until you never feel without him again.

“Take the Razor Crest. She’s old but virtually untraceable, and faster than anything else in that hangar. I think you can handle her.” You laugh lightly, tracing a finger over the ridge of his wrist where his arm is curled tight around your chest. Din wishes he could drown in the sound.

He takes your advice, once you’re asleep. Once he’s convinced himself to pull away from your warmth and go back to the life he knows. The one without you. The Razor Crest looms over him in the empty hangar, but something about its presence is comforting when he knows you were the one to put her together.

“He took the fucking Crest!”

The shout from the corridor jolts you awake, significantly warmer than you should be, and you find your old shirt and sweatpants pulled back on your body. Din. The thought of him so carefully redressing you, touch gentle enough not to wake you, makes your heart swell. It shouldn’t, but you can’t help it. With a heavy sigh, you flick the lights on from the panel by your bed and pull yourself to your feet. The door slides open with a wave of your hand by the door panel and you’re met with a very angry, very red-faced, Ran.

“You wouldn’t know anything about this would you, sweetheart?” He grounds out, eyes zeroing in on the mark you know Din sucked into your shoulder only hours ago. You pull the neckline of your top back up to where it should be and shake your head tiredly. Even if you hadn’t been thoroughly rammed into your mattress the night before, it’s far too early for anyone to be shouting up a storm. The rest of the crew come filtering out, rubbing eyes and calling out accusations at each other. It’s enough to give you a headache.

Maybe a space station in the middle of nowhere isn’t a forever home after all. Maybe there’s somewhere else out there for you. Maybe it just took somebody else taking the leap to make up your mind.

You don’t know where you’ll end up, but you have a pretty good idea of where to start.

_________________

TAGLIST (people who showed interest pls lmk if u want to be removed)

@remmysbounty @aq-vetina @brothersdrxke

#everybody pray my tags work or i think i will actually cry #lacuna #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #star wars #fic #liz does words #smut

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buckybabybaby · 3 years

Text

café d'amour

A/n: my entry to @firefly-in-darkness 's challenge. Thank you for letting me enter! I left it to the last minute once again, but! This time it's not late so... fingers crossed next time I'm early xxx

Proof read with a text-speech device.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/reader (gender neutral)

Word count: 3537

Warnings: none! :]

Plot: Maybe covering a friends shift in a city park coffee kiosk won't be too bad if it means running into a certain super soldier.

coffee-shop sort of au, fluff and more fluff.

Masterlist

*****

The machine humming quietly in the corner of the tiny hut seems to be mocking you, a constant reminder of just how out of your depth you are. People who think working in a coffee shop, or in your case, a take-out kiosk, is easy, should try it for a day and see if their opinion changes. This is so far away from your usual job, safe and warm re-shelving books in the colleges library, but a promise is a promise, so you've just got to suck it up for the next few weeks and hope you don't mess anyone’s orders up too badly.

Peter is going to owe you big time after this.

When he'd asked you to cover for him in his small business, you had agreed without properly thinking about what time of year it is, and how cold the wind can be when you're stood still in it for hours on end. Two days in and your hands have aged about ten years from the combination of frequent washing and the icy air, and the layers of thermals you've got on under your uniform fleece and matching joggers are making you look a little rounder than you actually are, you couldn't care less though as long as you are warm. The water heater provides a little warmth, leaking through to your skin if you press up against it, but you've found the best way to escape the freezing gusts is to crouch down below the counter when the queues have diminished.

That's where you are now, half heartedly straightening the packets of treats, getting distracted by the many different types of cookies and brownies, and not keeping an eye out for potential customers.

“Hello? Is this self-serve or what?”

The voice startles you, so close without warning, almost like they crept up on you. Hopping up quickly, you hover your hands under the sanitiser and rub them together as you collect yourself and prepare your speech.

“Hello! Sorry! Hello,” You start again, marginally calmer, “Welcome to-”

That's as far as you get, not even able to ask what they 'fancy today?' before the customer interrupts.

“Just a coffee. Black. No fancy milks or syrups or anything, no cakes or anything extra. Just coffee, okay?”

Finally looking up from your now dry hands, you take in the man who has placed such a blunt order. He's attractive enough, the little you can see underneath his hat, something about him familiar to you, his tone definitely one you've got used to over the past day or so, though he's not anywhere close to the rudest person you've served.

You smile pleasantly, in the disarming way you've learnt. “Okay, just coffee, got it. And a name for the cup?”

He looks around at the lack of other customers. “Is that necessary?”

Laughing self-consciously, you say, “Probably. If it gets busy I'd hate for it to get mixed up. I'm new.”

“Ah.” He tuts. “James.”

“James, cool. That'll be a few minutes.”

As you grab a pen to write his name on the sleeve of a cup, he shuffles off to the side, adjusting his hat as he does, and when his coat slips a bit down his left arm your mind goes blank. He's not paying attention to you so your staring goes unnoticed as you realise why you thought he was familiar earlier, wondering how it didn't click when he said his name, but then again wrapped up in his scarf and gloves it's not surprising. You're guessing he doesn't want to be recognised right now, hence the use of his real, less known name, so before he can catch your mild freak-out you look away and messily scribble on the side of his cup.

Even a simple order can be a struggle for you, and now, slightly flustered from serving the Winter Soldier, you make sure to double check the measurements before you start, concentrating hard to make the greatest cup of coffee he's ever had. There's a reason this kiosk has a reputation for the best hot drinks in the park and you aren't about to ruin it by messing up the order of Captain America's best friend.

Breathing a sigh of relief as you place the lid on top of the perfectly brewed coffee, you tap it against the table to get his attention. “Here you go. The machines ready.”

Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he swipes his card to pay then grabs the cup off the counter, murmurs something that could have been a 'thanks' and takes off along the dim path leading him deeper into the park.

“Well.” Huffing as you lean against the glass front of the booth, you watch his retreating form with a small frown. He wasn't anything like you thought he might. The media has built him up to be some sort of tragic figure, one to be feared and pitied in equal measure, but all you saw was yet another city dweller on a quest for caffeine.

At least now you have a story to tell from your time working in the coffee kiosk, aside from the ones about frozen fingers and half-spilt drinks.

*****

The next day he's back, around the same time in the afternoon, as the daylight is dying and the street lights are flickering into life, about an hour before closing. You're finishing up a complicated order for a group of friends when you notice him standing away from the small crowd, waiting for them to leave before he approaches.

“I want a coffee like yesterday,” He says, adding as though an after thought, “Please.”

“One black coffee?” You confirm.

He nods, watching closely as you locate the pen to write on his cup. Before you can even open the cap, he's butting in. “Why don't you have a name tag?”

You freeze, confused. Meeting his eye, you flush under the intense way he's staring you down. “Why don't I-?”

“You see, I have a very good memory, despite my age. I distinctly remember telling you my name is James, so imagine my surprise seeing my nickname written on my cup when I looked properly.”

His expression is not giving away any clues on how he feels about this invasion of privacy. Heart racing, you search for the right words to apologise, and convince him you're not some crazy stalker.

There's no chance to speak as he's continuing. “So I thought I'd come back today and find out your name, then we'd be even. But you don't have a badge on. Why not?”

“I'm so sorry,” You breathe, unsure what more you can say. “I swear I'm not a weirdo, I just recognised you yesterday and I must have written the wrong name by accident.” A beat of silence, then you propose a way to make it right, “How about free coffee for life?”

He laughs, a glorious sound in the crisp air, and your shoulders relax at the genuinely happy noise. “Aren't you new? Are you allowed to make promises like that?”

Wincing, you admit, “Probably not. But when I explain it to Peter I'm sure he'll understand.”

“Peter?”

You start working on his drink as you talk. “He owns this place. And normally works this shift, I'm only covering whilst he's away.”

“Oh.” The hissing of steam drowns out his next sentence, you only catch the last half, “-here how long?”

“Couple of weeks, maybe? Not too long hopefully. You'll have a professional barista back soon, don't worry.”

“I think you're doing fine.”

The words are spoken so softly, such a contrast from how you thought this conversation would end, and the shock has you fumbling with the finished cup of coffee, nearly spilling the scolding liquid all over your fingers.

“Careful.”

Taking the cup from you, his hand lingers against yours for a moment too long and you force yourself to stand up straighter and away from his touch. The last thing you want is to become a horrible cliché, falling for a customer after a few sweet lines.

He grabs a few napkins to wipe the cup dry, then looks expectantly at the card machine.

“I meant it, free for life,” You say, determined.

Shaking his head, he roots around in his pockets, pulling out a couple of notes and sliding them across the counter towards you. “Old fashioned money it is then. I didn't mean to come across as angry earlier, or yesterday, thinking about it. Sorry about the whole,” He waves his hand around vaguely, “Murderous vibe I give off, or whatever Sam calls it.”

He rolls his eyes fondly when talking about his team mate, and you giggle as you reassure him. “You didn't look murderous, just a bit like you might sue me.”

“Ugh.” He wrinkles his nose. “Not really my style.”

Your bank balance is thankful. “And to answer your question, I'm Y/N.”

Blowing on to the top of his drink, he takes several steps back, all whilst keeping eye contact. “Well then Y/N, I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

“I'll be here.”

With that, Bucky waves goodbye with a wide smile, disappearing into the dusk as you wonder just how much trouble he's going to be.

*****

The kind of trouble you don't mind, you find out when you run in to him again the next day, a lot earlier than you imagined. In an attempt to keep yourself warm for the long hours stood in the open, with only a waist high counter between you and the frozen air, you've taken to walking around the park before you are due to start, so the heat generated by the exercise keeps you warm for at least a proportion of your shift.

The sunshine is deceptive this afternoon, doing nothing to raise the temperature as you wander around the edge of the lake. Lost in thought, a sudden shout from behind makes you jump.

“Hey, Y/N! Wait up.”

Turning around, you struggle to place the voice as you scan the few people also on this side of the park. None of them are even looking in your direction, let alone trying to draw your attention, and you're about to continue on your way thinking you must have misheard when a body nearly crashes into yours. This is not an image you ever thought you would see; the Winter Soldier panting to catch his breath after jogging up to you, all because you're on first name terms and not because you've suddenly turned to a life of crime.

“Bucky?”

At your bemused tone, his face drops. “Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. If you want to be alone, I can go, I just thought-”

“No! No, it's okay. I don't mind a bit of company.”

You share a smile, and he lets you take the lead back along the small track, winding its way between the trees and the water.

He breaks the silence a few meters along. “So, what do you normally do?”

“Me? Err,” You pause, trying to think of how to make yourself sound interesting to someone who spends his life side by side with superheroes and literal gods. Sighing in defeat as you conclude you're always going to be boring in comparison, you mumble, “I work in the library where I'm also a student.”

Bucky doesn't appear to think you're dull. “That's cool!” He says, like he means it. “I miss being in school.”

“So did I, so when I got the chance I went back. I'm a bit older than most of the students-”

He snorts. “I know how that feels.”

“But I'm determined to get my degree this time.”

“I'm sure you will.” He grins at you and you're inexplicably filled with hope that he's right. “And after? Do you know what you want to do once you've graduated?”

You shake your head. “Right now all I'm focused on is passing exams and submitting essays on time. I'll think about the future when it's closer.”

“That's fair. Nothing wrong with waiting to figure things out.” More reassurance from this relative stranger. You didn't know how much you needed it until just now.

“Most people say I need a ten year plan or something.”

“Most people are wrong. But,” He pauses, and you hold your breath as you anticipate his words. “Can I suggest if you go into business, maybe don't start off by offering life time free supplies at the drop of a hat?”

Two minutes in to this 'friendship' and he's already teasing you? What is going on? Turning your face away so he can't see your stupid grin at this turn of events, you really would believe this is some sort of perfect daydream if it wasn't for the all too real frozen mist clinging to your coat and the ends of your hair.

“I'll try to remember that, thanks.”

Dodging a puddle in the middle of the path, you're trying to come up with a witty retort to impress him when your phone buzzes in your pocket.

“If you need to get that-”

“Oh, no. It's only my alarm to remind me not to wander too far from work before I need to start.”

“Soon?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll walk you back, then.”

Not wanting to leave his side quite yet, you let him accompany you back through the trees, but you refuse his offer to carry you across a muddy part of the path where the stream has burst it's banks. Flushing as he laughs at your careful steps, you manage to get across without completely ruining your shoes, informing him you've learnt the hard way that these trails aren't exactly 'white trainer friendly' as the kiosk looms into view.

Relieving the worker from the morning shift, you rearrange the counter back to the way you like it before any customers turn up, watching Bucky hovering nearby until you give him a questioning look.

He clears his throat. “If I came this way the same time tomorrow, would I bump into you then?”

The hopeful look he gives you would be enough for you that, even if this walk wasn't part of your daily routine already, you would have made it so in order to see his again.

“Uh huh. Are you planning too?”

“Whenever I come with Sam, we always end up getting recognised with the way he can't keep his voice down. It's nice not having that sort of attention. So if you don't mind?”

“I don't mind.” A patron approaches and reluctantly you turn away, sending a quiet promise to your new friend. “See you tomorrow, Bucky.”

*****

The days past so fast now they're full of work, both at the kiosk and in the library, trying to study, and, most importantly, walking with Bucky every afternoon. Some days the two of you talk the whole way, conversation flowing so easily you're amazed at how honest you are, like you've never been with anyone before, and other days you walk together in relative quiet, completely comfortable in each others presence.

Falling for him is the quickest and easiest thing you've ever done. Dealing with your feelings, however, might be somewhat harder.

With the lighter evenings comes the message that Peter is finally on his way home and soon you'll be free of your second job. It feels like a bolt from the blue, to be reminded that this is only temporary and in not too long you will no longer have an excuse to see Bucky.

You mention it to him a week before your last shift.

“Isn't that good?”

“I guess.” Your reply is short and unenthusiastic, changing the subject quickly to hide how heartbroken you are.

Time moves too fast, and before you know it you're greeting him on that last day, taken aback as he presents you with a small cardboard box, which when you take it, is much heavier than it looks. “Natasha gave it to me for you. Apparently it's really good for your hands. I thought you could try it? Now you won't have to wash them constantly?”

Scanning the sides reveals that it contains a moisturiser, from some luxury brand you've never even thought to try, too far out of your price range. “Oh, this is too much, I can't take-”

“Yes you can.”

“Let me give you something-”

Gently tugging your hand back out of your bag, he stops you from grabbing your purse by enclosing his gloved fingers around yours. When he doesn't let go, instead pulling you along and down towards your now usual route, you let him, gaping at the back of his head before coming to your senses and squeezing his hand in a kind of thanks.

“This is a very kind present.”

He shrugs it off. “It's nothing. When it's your birthday or something, then I'll get you a proper present. Presents, plural,” He emphasises as your eyes widen at the thought. “Nah, this is just one of the hundreds of products Natasha gets sent in the vain hope she'll provide the companies with some free advertising. Better you have it than it go to waste.”

It still feels like a gift to you. “Well then, thank you for thinking of me.”

“Always.” The implication of that one word would have been entirely missed if it wasn't for the panicked look on Bucky's face as he corrects himself. “I... I mean, of course.”

Stopping in the middle of the path, your joined hands cause him to halt too and the atmosphere grows tense as you stare at each other, unsure where to start. The minutes haven't stopped ticking down until you're due on your last shift, and with the implication that comes with hanging over you like a dark cloud, now seems just as good a time as any to bring it up.

You hesitantly begin. “Bucky, can I say something?”

Mutely, he gestures for you to proceed.

“Right, so you know today's my last day at the kiosk, at least until Peter goes away again, so, that means I won't have a reason to walk around here any more. Or I won't, unless...”

“Unless?”

“Unless I do. Unless you still want to come around the park with me, even if it's for no more reason than simply going for a walk?”

“I'd love that.”

The relief that flows though you as he agrees is almost physical, gripping onto his hand in yours just a little tighter.

Feeling brave, you dare to push your luck. “And if it was more than just a walk?”

It takes a moment, but then you see the realisation dawning on his face, a slow smirk appearing as he takes a step into your space. “More?”

You know he knows what you mean, that he's playing with you. That doesn't soothe your doubts though, hoping beyond hope that you're not misinterpreting his teasing.

“Yeah. More.”

Letting go of your hand in order to bring one arm around your waist and pull you closer, your own come to rest against his lapels as he dips his head down.

“I think I'd like more,” He whispers.

You swallow as his gaze slips to your mouth, sinking in his embrace as his lips brush against yours, so soft and brief it barely registers,

Moving back to put a bit of room between the two of you, his thumb brushes over the corner of your mouth as you pout sadly.

“You can have another one once you've finished tonight. Maybe. Or maybe you'll have to wait until after our date tomorrow.”

You frown. “Tomorrow?”

“Yep. If you're free?”

“Always.” Repeating his earlier phrase with a sly smile, you turn around to continue along the track, leaving him speechless for a second before he rushes to fall into step.

His arm slides through yours. “So, is it okay to wait for you tonight?”

“You've just kissed me and you're still asking that?”

“I'm just checking.” When you don't answer he presses, “Is it? I don't want to impose.”

'Too late for my heart', you think but don't say, not wanting to scare him off, instead nodding in reply and leaning into his side as you wind your way through the woodland path. The fear you had felt this morning at potentially having to say goodbye to Bucky feels like a distant memory, and as you watch the sunlight dance across his hair you realise you could never have let today be the last. You started this job reluctantly and now, instead of Peter owing you for the favour, it seems you owe him.

Peter doesn't needs to know just yet, you decide.

That usually particularly muddy part of the path has become even muddier after the overnight rain, and this time you allow him to pick you up in his arms and carry you across, feeling its finally appropriate now your relationship has changed. Setting you down on the other side, he presses a kiss to your forehead almost absent-mindedly, and your tummy does a flip as you take a second or two to admire his profile.

You sigh happily. So much for not becoming a cliché.

*****

Thank you for reading!! Masterlist

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybabybaby

142 notes · View notes

sevlgi · 3 years

Text

the florist

requested: no

group: dreamcatcher

pairing: jiu x fem!reader

genre: angst, questionable fluff

contents: hanahaki!au, florist!jiu

warnings: death

synopsis: When you find a beautiful death sentence clustered in your lungs, you can only visit the legendary florist. But is JiU herself as strong as she seems?

a/n: hiatus who? we don’t know her 🤡 i was actually gonna post this when it struck 12 on december 1st for me, but tumblr’s telling me it’s already december, so here we go!

word count: 3.3k

In all the years that the Hanahaki Disease had existed, there had never been a cure. And on the day that you coughed up the first blood-stained carnation, it became certain that you weren’t about to be the one to break the record.

You considered yourself to be decently cautious about the disease. After all, since you were a child, the only love lesson that you had ever been taught was to never, ever, be the first one in love. Your mother drilled that lesson, telling you that love was a poisonous thing to be avoided at all costs until you believed her.

And yet, you were stupid enough to allow her to wreck you, to allow yourself to become consumed by her.

It was unexpected, to say the least. Lee Siyeon had been a close friend for years, the two of you meeting during college, and she had been in love with someone else since then. You knew Bora well too, actually, and had always rooted for the two to get together.

Had it been anyone else, you would’ve still held the hope that your love could be returned, but Siyeon despised you with all the might of her soul ever since she had found out about the yellow petals floating in the toilet bowl at midnight. Had it been anyone else, you wouldn’t have faced the sheer mortification of begging Gahyeon for the address of the person who saved her.

“Y/N...” she had hesitated when you asked her. Siyeon’s younger sister was the only person that you knew of who had survived the disease without getting the dreaded surgery, but she was incredibly touchy about the subject. Indeed, you didn’t even know who she had fallen in love with so many years ago.

“Please, Gahyeon,” you begged, chasing to maintain eye contact with her. “I can’t die like this. You-- you won’t let me, will you? Not when it’s your sister.”

You didn’t want to guilt-trip her like you did, but it worked. Gahyeon texted you an address and a name, the ping noise of the notification sounding more like your saving grace than anything. “You can’t tell anyone else once you’re healed,” she warned. “She’ll know who you are as soon as you say my name.”

To outside eyes, the Love Blossom looked like a normal flower shop. The narrow storefront, sandwiched between a coffee shop and a bookstore, was painted a faint pink and chipped with green on some edges. There were flowers stuffed everywhere you could see-- exploding baskets on the windowsills, colorful wreaths hung everywhere, even a huge L and B made of blooms on the window.

Even when you pushed the door open, it gave no indication of being anything other than a flower shop. The scent of flowers was heavy, some rock song playing from the peppy pink speakers dangling from the ceilings. “Hello?” you called out, hands tightening on the strap of the bag slung over your shoulder. “H-”

Suddenly, you coughed out again and held your sleeve up to prevent any flower petals from fluttering out; the constant itch in your throat only served to make you more anxious to find the florist that Gahyeon had referred you to. “Is anyone there?”

“Hi!” You yelped and jumped back when an invisible door just next to you randomly opened, the shelf concealing it nearly colliding with your face. “Oh, I’m sorry! Were you looking for me?”

The girl who opened the door looked like the literal manifestation of sunshine; her smile took up half her face, the brown of her half-moon eyes seemingly lit from within. She balanced a flowerpot on her hip as she bowed to you in apology, long hair almost sweeping the floor. “Are- are you JiU?”

“Yep!” She moved to set the pot down, cocking her head slightly to take you in. “How can I help you today?”

“I... I’m a friend of Gahyeon,” you explained, watching as the smile on her face lessened slightly in understanding. You fished out the plastic bag from your purse, the almost-dry crimson inside overpowering the yellow petals. “Can you help me?”

The brunette accepted the bag, flashing you another bright smile as she opened the secret door again. “Well, let’s take a look. Follow me, please, and call me Minji.”

The narrow doorway led to what seemed to be her living quarters, or maybe an apothecary; the walls were almost completely covered by the forest-green painted shelves lining them, mismatched books and trinkets filling the spaces. Incredibly detailed drawings were tacked everywhere, a ladder folded behind the hidden door, presumably to access the blank walls up near the ceiling. A loft area was most likely where she slept, though she led you to a large and cluttered desk to examine the flowers you had given her.

“Yellow carnations. These symbol rejection and disdain, you know.”

You winced at the girl’s bluntness, though it wasn’t meant as a jab, still staring at the multitudes of drawings tacked everywhere. “Yeah, I know. Gahyeon told me.”

She smiled at the mention of the younger girl, setting the bag with your blood down to fiddle with a notebook. “I taught her well, then.”

“Taught her?” You watched her shift jars of petals around on the shelves, scribbling something down on a sheet of ironically pink and cutesy paper. “I thought you healed her.”

“Well, the Hanahaki disease doesn’t heal easily,” Minji responded, gesturing for you to follow her into a tiny kitchen area. “It took months, actually, and she spent almost every day in here. She might as well have become an apprentice, with how much I taught her.”

“Months?” Fear rose up in you at that, apparently not affecting the other girl as she hummed. You’d been in one of the later stages for a good couple of months now, though you couldn’t tell which one without visiting a doctor. “Minji, I don’t have months.”

She raised an eyebrow at you, tying the strings of her apron behind her. “Well, are you willing to get the surgery? Spend thousands of dollars and go through such a rigorous process, and then be left with a cold heart and unhealable scars?” At your silence, she chuckled, tying her hair up in a plait. “That’s what I thought.”

You sat on the stool at her kitchen table, watching Minji busy herself at what looked like a stovetop, albeit littered with glass bottles and half-hearted bouquets. “What makes you certain that this’ll work, then? How’d you even learn to help people like me?”

Minji bit down on her lower lip, the dark red color remarkably not transferring onto her pearly teeth. “Well. My mother died from the disease, so I was originally going to study it in school. But I had to help Gahyeon somehow. When she fell in love with someone who’d never love her back... I couldn’t just watch her die.”

Smiling slightly, you watched her scatter the same petals as you had coughed up into a pot, freshly plucked from stems that she threw onto the counter next to her. “What about you? What’s the story behind “rejection and disdain”?” she asked suddenly, smiling prettily. Something about her was a bit ethereal in the kitchen’s LED lighting, though maybe it was the fact that she was literally saving people that doctors couldn’t.

“Ah. I fell in love with Siyeon,” you answered, placing your hand into your chin as you watched her work. “She loves someone else, and I got between them. It’s not her fault.”

Frowning, Minji uncapped a jar that smelled strongly of rose, practically upending it in her pot. “Gahyeon’s sister? Does she know that you’re going to die because of her? I’ve met her before, and I didn’t think she’d be so cruel. ”

You nodded silently at that. The whole reason you were in such a predicament was that you loved Siyeon and she hated you; there was no way you were going to ask her to turn her entire heart on its head just to save you. It was unlikely that she’d want to do so at all, anyway. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” the brunette sighed sympathetically. “Love really hurts sometimes.”

“Yeah,” you smiled drily. “It’s just all too literal for me.”

“Hey, Minji!”

The girl turned from her flowers to wave excitedly at you, her smile painted bubblegum pink this time to match the faded apron she wore. She held trimmers in her hands, clumsy with the thick gloves she wore. “Y/N! Good to see you again, come in?”

“Yeah.” You smiled just seeing the interior of the shop, as decked-out as it had been in your first visit. Instead of the purple theme last week, Minji seemed to have gone with yellows, the peonies and roses tainting the cold air. The apartment, however, looked the same, almost comforting in its maximalism. “I’m done with the vials,” you mentioned, taking the freshly-washed glass bottles out of your bag along with a fresh bag of bloody flowers.

“Did they help?” Minji asked, accepting both with a quiet “thank you”. “Gahyeonie always told me that they taste terrible, but sugar cancels out all the good properties.”

“They aren’t that bad,” you lied, sitting down at the same spot in the kitchen and opening your bag. At her questioning look, you explained, “Oh, I thought I’d bring my laptop this time and keep you company. You said you were bored last time...”

Part of you wished she would turn you away, just so that you wouldn’t become attacked to someone who’d eventually leave you behind too. But she smiled, turning on her stove and hefting the same ceramic pot on as she did the last time. “That’s perfect, Y/N. When you’re done, you can come help package some bouquets for a break, okay?”

You nodded, sighing in content at the smell of flower petals boiling once again in the shop. “Okay. Thanks, Minji.”

“No need to thank me,” she replied, turning back to the ingredients that she fiddled with. “No need to thank me at all. How’s Siyeon?”

Shrugging, you swept some papers off the table to place your laptop down. “I don’t really know. She doesn’t talk to me. I only have contact with her through Gahyeon now, but it’s not really like I want to talk to the person killing me.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say “killing”,” Minji pouted, teasing you with a long flower stem. “It makes me think that you don’t believe you’ll live.”

“No, I trust you, I--” You stopped in your tracks when you realized that the other girl was joking, rolling your eyes before turning back to your computer. “Real funny, Minji.”

She giggled, placing a mug of coffee on the table beside you. “I like to think I am. You can call me Minji, by the way. Only customers call me Minji.”

Instead of responding, you sipped at your coffee, falling into a comfortable silence once the florist turned back to her stove. With the cool fall sunlight streaming in through the window and the heavenly aroma inside the kitchen, you suddenly thought that you could get used to a scene like this. More than that-- you liked it.

A good 4 weeks passed without incident. Your weekly visits were always filled with musical laughter and pretty grins whirling by in an instant. Minji only looked more beautiful each time, the pain in your chest somehow lessening each time you saw her wave to you with all the enthusiasm that Siyeon lacked. Part of you wondered whether the bitter concoctions that Minji had you drink were the thing at work at all, but you continued to take them, and you continued to improve.

Of course, everything good had to come to an end.

“Y/N,” Minji gasped as she kneeled next to you, hands hovering over your body as you hacked again, red dribbling from your lips to the floor. Your fingers curled weakly around your phone, tears escaping your eyes with how hard you squeezed them shut. “Gahyeon called me, what happened to you?”

With the clusters of carnations fluttering in your lungs with every breath you took, you weren’t able to respond. The other girl seemed to realize that, digging through her bag for something. Before she could take anything out, though, you wheezed for air again, throat swollen to the point of suffocation.

She acted quick, turning you onto your side to let full blossoms slip from between your lips. The yellow blooms were dauntingly bright against the dark wood, almost a serene picture if not for the violent crimson staining the petals. Tipping a vial of golden orange into your mouth, Minji ordered, “Swallow. Come on, you can do it.”

As soon as the poppy syrup was gone, your eyes fluttered shut and you slumped against your arm, breathing rattled but steady. Sighing, the brunette wiped a remaining petal from your lips, sliding her hands below your knees and your neck to pick you up. “You’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

When the sun began shining unbridled through the cracked curtains of your bedroom, you woke from the longest sleep since you started choking at night. Someone had taken the liberty of folding the clothes scattered across your chair, as well as placing your fully charged phone, a purple-colored glass of liquid, and a note by your side.

Y/N,

I have to go back to the shop, but Gahyeon or I’ll stop by later today to bring you some more medicine. Next time, call me first!

xx,

Kim Minji

There was a ridiculous smile on your lips just holding a pink piece of paper imprinted with the girl’s kiss in lipstick, as well as a remarkable lack of flowers in your lungs. Indeed, you couldn’t taste copper coating your tongue, or feel petals stuck to the back of your throat, and it felt even better than you had remembered.

When you checked your phone, you realized that a certain contact was missing, A phone number that you had long since given up on contacting. There was a gap in your carefully curated picture gallery, Siyeon’s pictures with you taken off your wall, too. In their places were various pictures of Minji and Gahyeon, sometimes together and sometimes apart. In one of the selfies, you noted with a grin that someone had scribbled a Sharpie mustache over Minji’s face.

Since when had the florist replaced her in your life, and since when were you absolutely okay with that?

Minji smiled as soon as she noticed that the door to the Love Blossom was already open, the lights on inside the shop and some sweet smell wafting out. You hadn’t talked about the time she saved you in your apartment, but ever since then, the florist had noted that you were opening up more. You were happier, more willing to crack jokes and visit her on your own accord. “Y/N, is that you?”

“Morning, Minji!” you answered, spinning out of the apartment with a grin. The apron that Minji usually wore to make her syrups was tied around your waist, the faint pink of it white with flour. You held the door open for her and moved to take her jacket off for her, a gorgeous smile on your face as you did. “I let myself in early to make you some bread, I hope you don’t mind!”

“I never mind bread,” the brunette laughed, her heart already warm when she inhaled honeyed air. “Today isn’t a checkup day, though? You stopped by 3 days ago, did you run out of syrup or something?”

You pouted, in a remarkably good mood as you twirled around the kitchen. The counter was finally free of flowers and glass vials, replaced instead by a huge bag of flour and trays of golden-brown pastries. Minji didn’t remember having those supplies, but she wouldn’t put it past you to restock her kitchen just for fun while she visited her friends. “What, I can’t come and see my friends? I’m off work today, so I thought I could bake for you and learn about your bouquet orders.”

Sighing in false exasperation, Minji patted you on the head and tied her hair up to start working, flipping the sign on the door to read “OPEN”. “Of course you can come and see me whenever you want, it’s just rare that you come by like this.”

“I guess we’ll have to change that then,” you shrugged, plopping three pastries on a plate for the other girl. The kitchen looked like a completely different place without the usual bloody petals scattered all over the place, and to be honest, Minji loved the change. For once, she wasn’t in charge of saving your life-- she was just a florist, and she was just your friend.

There was no way she could keep the smile off her face, not when you sang exaggeratedly into a filling spoon, and not when you baked all the things she mentioned that she liked.

Something felt tight in her chest when she inhaled air perfumed by butter and roses, but Minji could only smile. For you.

The next time you baked for her was bittersweet. Once again, you were already in the apartment when Minji came back from her morning visit.

“I’m healed,” you sobbed as you catapulted into her arms, a slight poof of flour exploding when your chest met hers. Minji stood still in shock, hands resting softly on the small of your back as you cried, “Minji, I’m healed. You saved me.”

“For real?” she whispered, pulling back to cup your face in your hands. You nodded tearily, makeup-tinted tears mixing with flour as the other girl hugged you again, something clogging up her throat as she tried to breathe. “I... I’m so happy for you.”

You grinned despite your tears as you brought a cake out of the fridge, the pretty lavenders and blues of the frosting somehow reminding Minji of a goodbye. She turned out to be right. “They’re forget-me-nots,” you explained when you gestured to the pretty piped flowers on the cake. “Um, so you don’t forget me.”

“I could never forget you,” Minji blurted, feeling a sting at her own nose. “Come back sometime, okay, Y/N? You don’t forget me either, got it?”

“I won’t.” Despite all the sincerity in your gaze, your promise was hollow to the florist’s ears. You were already tugging on your jacket again, leaving her standing in the middle of an all-too-clean kitchen with a beautiful cake in her hands. “I’m sorry, Minji, I have to get back to work. But I’ll be back soon,” you smiled, watching her carefully for a reaction.

Minji nodded, knees almost trembling as she watched you turn back to wave one last time. “Okay.”

As soon as the glass door slammed again, she rushed to place the cake down, tucking her face into the crook of her elbow as she was hit with yet another uncontrollable fit of coughing. She crouched, free hand gripping tight on the legs of the table near her to steady herself as flower petals dotted with red fluttered softly onto the ground.

“Mallow,” she recognized as she scrambled to pick up the purple-veined blooms, vomiting out yet another. “Mallow...”

Scooting back so that her back could hit the kitchen cabinets, Minji watched the candles atop the cake burn out, blood dripping from her lips onto the pale fabric of her sweater. She didn’t care, though, as she stopped a shallow breath from escaping, finally remembering the meanings of the flowers in her shaking hands.

“Consumed by love.”

168 notes · View notes

maries-gallery · 3 years

Note

Hi hun! Could I ask for an ikevamp match up please?

My pronouns are she/her, hetero.

Personality:

I'm an infp and a pisces. I'm very dreamy and artistic - love crocheting, reading, writing poems and stories as well as doing arts and crafts in my spare time. I also LOVE going on walks and exploring places - my curiosity knows no bounds. I'm a responsible, efficient and reliable person though I can also be very childish once I feel comfortable around someone. That being said, I am a perfectionist and have depression and anxiety as a result of growing up with a gaslighting alcoholic parent so I'm absolutely terrified of being imperfect and people judging hating me for it. I think my most distinctive feature is that I'm very nurturing and love taking care of others. Also, I have absolutely no impulse control when it comes to spending money - I see something I want, I'm having it no questions asked.

My likes:

Waa I kinda said it already didn't I 😅😂 walks, exploring, shopping (not clothes though; give me a book/stationary store or tiger or a quaint little shop or crystal shop etc. and I will not leave for half the day), writing, arts and crafts, reading. I also LOVE discussing things with people, especially philosophy stuff. I actually study neuroscience at university atm so I also absolutely love science especially biology - I love theorizing and being able to bounce ideas around with another person.

And yes, I am a thirsty, kinky mofo - I'd be grateful for sfw and nsfw.

Thank you! Hope you have a wonderful day 💕

So I really hesitated between Leonardo and Arthur, but I finally decided to match you up with Arthur.

General SFW :

- Arthur would probably find you endearing right from the start. He’d probably tease you for being innocent (his words, not mine). However he wouldn’t be able to push his worries away concerning your safety, considering the fact you just jumped in a house full of vampires... But unlike in the game I don’t see him actually trying to push you away or scare you, he’d tease you a lot, of course (come on, this is Arthur) but he already has a soft spot for you and doing anything which could scare you would be a no.

- Instead he’d probably hang around you and try to spend time with you to make sure nothing came your way. Although he wouldn’t admit that and would cover it up by teasing you some more and playing around, being his usual flirt.

- But the more he’d get to know you the more his affection and interest for you would grow. There is so much more to you than just an artistic and cute girl. You are in fact, a true whirlwind ! Both responsible, smart and adventurous, both nurturing and hardworking... And what’s more, you like to read and write ! Then he also finds your curiosity really attractive, he is himself very curious and adventurous.

- You two would spend hours debating about whatever subject came to mind, Leonardo sometimes barging in and joining the conversation. Although in these moments Arthur would probably feel insecure as Leonardo, having lived longer than him would probably be more knowledgeable on certain subjects. You’d probably have to reassure him afterwards and wipe this cute pout off of his lips.

- He’d love listening to you as you talk about your new work in progress or the latest book you read, or pretty much anything you had going on. And I can imagine the two of you spending late nights cuddling in his bed and one of you reading aloud to the other as you both wait for sleep to take you down.

- He’d love to go shopping with you during one of your many outings. You two would have so much fun going from one shop to the other and looking at all the different articles and trinkets.

- Considering his own experience with crippling depression and healthcare he’d be the best at comforting and supporting you on hard days, weeks or however long it lasted. He wouldn’t leave your side, ready to listen, cuddle or do whatever you want. He’d make it a point for you that perfection is boring and unachievable anyways. That he loves you because you are human, and thus have flaws. And that it is normal. He’d make a list of his own flaws in a humorous way for you both to laugh about it and for you to know that it is okay to be imperfect.

- However keep in mind that he two has some issues and as mentioned previously he can get really insecure too. I see him being a bit distant on some days but he’ll always come back into your arms in the end and talk about whatever has been bothering him. You’d both be very considerate and supportive of each other, sticking together through thick and thin. Arthur is also quite lonely and having been a war doctor he has seen his fair share of horrible things. But when with you he can forget these memories and enjoy the beauty the world has to offer.

- You’d be one of the few people to whom he opens up. You, lucky girl.

Scenario :

You sat in Arthur’s room, the two of you writing on his desk. Your eyes scanned over his concentrated features. A light frown adorning his brows, lips pressed together and glasses perched on his well sculpted nose.

Your attention then fleeted to the lines written in your notebook, scrutinising every word, conflict rising in your chest. You picked up your pen, ready to make some modifications to your writing. Just like you had done a few seconds before, three times.

However the dark haired male beside you had other plans as he stretched and groaned, sending you a playful grin.

“Are we done, Luv ?” He voiced, leaning in to take a peek at your work. This didn’t go well with you as you impulsively hid the paper.

Arthur’s eyes widened, grin fading at the sight of your conflicted expression. He immediately knew what was going on. He could read you like an open book after all.

A flicker of sadness passed through those blue eyes and his heart clenched in his chest. He let out a sigh, looking intently at you, any trace of his usual playfulness gone.

“Luv, I don’t know what you wrote, okay ? But what I know is that you put all your heart into these lines and already edited them four times in the last five minutes.” He held your gaze, aching at the thought of what may be going on inside your head.

Your lips quivered, “But... You’re such an amazing writer... When all I can come up with are some flawed stories and flawed lines and-” Your voice trembled by now, tears on the brink of falling.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect on the first try. Nor can it be perfect, for perfection doesn’t exist. It is not human.” He explained, voice soft and tender as he leaned into you. “And I can assure you that my writing is far from perfect, Luv. But this is also what makes it so unique and authentic.” He grabbed his papers, placing them in front of you and reading over the lines he had written.

“Look. There, this is one imperfect line, don’t you think ?”

You read over his shoulder.

‘The walkers walked along the streets.’

You couldn’t repress a small chuckle, a hand covering your lips to stifle your amusement. Arthur only sent you a joyful smile, warmth flooding his system at the sight of your smile.

“See ? No one is perfect. And we all make mistakes.” He reassured, eyes swarming with his love for you. He gently took your hands in his own, cradling them glass.

“And remember, I fell in love with you. The whole you. Your qualities and your flaws which all make you the wholesome person you are.” With these words his soft kiss pressed against your brow, the intensity and honesty of his words pouring into your cracks like sweet honey to fix your insecurities.

Song :

Be my Baby, The Ronettes

NSFW :

- It is no secret that Arthur is good with his mouth, in more ways than one. Would it be to dirty talk the soul out of you or to eat you out, he is skilled both ways.

- Speaking of eating you out, his favourite place on earth is probably between your legs. He could spend hours there, teasing you, enjoying and rejoicing in the way your body quivers and shivers in his hold, how your head rolls back and eyes close with his ministrations, with every lick of his tongue on your sensitive bud.

- He is also very skilled with his fingers and loves fingering you.

- Arthur is also a huge tease. And I can’t stress this enough, he will come up to you in the middle of the hallway as you’re dusting the shelves to whisper the dirtiest of things in your ear. He just loves how a deep blush creeps onto your cheeks and how flustered you become.

- I can see him being into role play too, you as his assistant and him as the detective.

- Wear a maid outfit to clean his room ? The guy is dead and crumbling at your feet.

- Arthur can both be passionate and serious or playful and a tease. Depends on the mood and circumstances.

- Not very surprising but he has a very high sex drive and can’t get enough of you. If he could, he’d spend his life with you in his bed, under the covers. He is also very energetic and has stamina.

- He is a switch, can both be a dominant tease and a lovesick puppy eager to please you.

There, I hope you enjoyed it ! I had lots of fun doing it and may have gotten a bit carried away...

This is my first match up ever so I am really sorry if it is a bit clumsy. You really seem like a sweetheart and I truly hope this gave you some serotonin !

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp arthur #matchups #ikevamp match

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monomonomagines · 3 years

Note

Could I get the classic waking up in your partners body headcanons for the ships of sondam, twobuki, hoshimatsu and fuyupeko?

Of course you can, Anon! This is a super fun request with super fun ships (especially that Hoshimatsu I missed writing) so I hope that you’ll enjoy these!

Sondam

Sonia would be ecstatic to be able to experience something like switching bodies with another person. It’s absolutely magical, like something out of a book or like some odd ritual.

Of course, that’d probably just make it all the worse for Gundham though who is extremely uncomfortable being in Sonia’s body while she has no issue whatsoever.

Gundham would also probably worry about Sonia ruining his dark lord act as she wouldn’t change her speech pattern nearly enough. For certain you’d have Gundham doing a noble bow to you and speaking about how he took his hamsters for the “loveliest of walks today” with some random magical sounding words thrown in.

And he’s no better. Gundham wouldn’t know how to act as Sonia at all nor would he know what to do if anyone treated him like he was her. This especially going for someone like Kazuichi.

If Kazuichi even spoke to him that day he probably would just aggravate things by speaking in his usual chuunibyou manner, making the poor guy think that Gundham had somehow infected her with his ways to make her sound like this and causing him to pick a fight with the wrong person, (not that Sonia would have any problems handling Kaz).

If anything, the others would most likely just see Sonia constantly close to Gundham as usual though their demeanors seem to have changed completely.

And to make things even stranger the Devas may sense these changes and go to Sonia more than Gundham that day making them look extra suspicious to most of the others and making Gundham breathe a sigh of relief by the time they finally turn back even if Sonia would talk of how she wanted things to last a little longer.

Twobuki

If you thought Sonia was pretty calm about swapping bodies with someone then just wait for Ibuki when she swaps with the Ultimate Imposter.

She doesn’t even bat an eye simply going on and on excitedly about how she can test if they’re a great singer or teach them guitar even if she doesn’t quite get that it wouldn’t work exactly the way she’s thinking.

The Imposter on the other hand will be a mess even if they don’t show it. They wouldn’t have any problem posing as Ibuki, sure. They could do that even if they weren’t in her body. The problem was more so that they know that Ibuki wouldn’t be able to act like them or the real Togami in the slightest.

Therefore, they could only think to try to keep her in their sight at all times. Hovering near her and excusing them when she decides to start screaming her head off in their body.

Of course, it isn’t the most effective as most of their friends will be wondering what the heck they meant when they screamed about the “acoustics in here” but with how much weird shenanigans is always going on with their class it’s sure to be forgotten about unless it repeatedly happens and even then with people like Akane it might not be noticed at all by some of them.

Regardless though once Ibuki is over the initial excitement she may want to ask them about what it feels in her body. Going on soon after about how she feels whether they give much of a response themself.

“Yahooooo! I’m so soft and warm now! Does it feel like that to be Ibuki too!?”

Like Gundam they’re relieved to be back in their own body, though Ibuki may even insist on trying to switch bodies again somehow, maybe even asking Hajime or the others for advice for forcing such a scenario to occur and absolutely confusing her classmates more than ever.

Hoshimatsu

While Ryoma may be pretty calm during most crises it’d be hard for him not to at least feel a bit anxious about his current predicament. Not only would switching bodies for him be hard to get used to on its own but getting used to being a different gender and having an entirely different height range would throw him off completely.

He’d be like a cat forced into a new environment and with how many friends Kaede has it’d be hard for him to actually know what to do, especially when they approach him.

It’d be pretty obvious something is up to them too when Kaito or Shuichi ask Kaede how she’s doing and she just gives them one of those blank Hoshi stares because he forgot he’s Kaede now. Seriously, he’s so embarrassed at how uncool that is and he’s so unlike it that everyone else may wonder what made her in such a bad mood with how quiet she ends up being that whole day.

Kaede however, may be struggling the opposite way. Responding when people talk to “her” and entirely forgetting that she’s in a different body that can’t reach half of what she can.

Literally, everyone may just see Ryoma trying to open doors too high for him, struggling to reach his fingers to some piano keys since apparently he plays now, nearly walking into the ladies room, and even trying to grab things off of high shelves before muttering that “he” forgot he’s so small.

This is just something that neither of these two were prepared for and while they’d both agree to do their best to pose as the other, it’s probably still obvious something is up with the two of them before they turn back.

However, once they do they certainly are relieved. Especially Kaede as going through the whole day being so small probably drove her mad when she wasn’t used to anything like it since she was a kid.

Fuyupeko

Fuyuhiko and Peko were close since they were kids but they never were prepared to be closer than they’d ever imagined. Now not only were they in a relationship but were also in the other’s body causing Peko and Fuyuhiko both to be quite agitated.

Peko being as diligent as ever, may offer to try to emulate Fuyuhiko to her best abilities, promising not to reveal that she was in his body or that anything was the matter. However, for Fuyuhiko this wasn’t the problem.

He didn’t know how to act like Peko at all nor did he know how to act like her in relation to him. All he did know was that it was nice to gain a few inches even if it was short-lasting and that he’d be struggling for most of this day, something he certainly wasn’t looking forward to.

Regardless, he did agree to Peko’s proposed agreement trying to hold his anger in. However, he was just too hot heeded. Peko was doing a fine job and it wasn’t that anything anyone did to his body had bothered him. It was what a certain idiot did to Peko’s.

As soon as Fuyuhiko overheard a specific perverted remark from Kazuichi he whipped around quickly, throwing the poor guy into the sea in a fit of anger. It was a dead giveaway with all the cursing and yelling he was certain but instead of saying anything everyone just seemed to be more scared of the two of them than ever, at least for now.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Fuyuhiko was prepared for Peko to make some comment on how he needs to stay calm but instead, she was giggling. The sound pleasant to his ears even if it wasn’t her voice.

It was embarrassing already but with that smile she had on his face, he couldn’t help but give one back. His red cheeks matching her eyes. “Let’s just go back to my room, ok!? I don’t want to put up with that dumbass until we’re back to normal!”

Nodding, Peko agrees easily, holding up with Fuyuhiko until they’re back to normal. Making the two of them equally relieved though, Fuyuhiko will miss the height difference.

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

4+1 Taylor’s short edition

Daniel x Taylor (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF, Humor

Summary: The four times Daniel teased Taylor about being short and the one time she got her revenge.

Requested by my platonic spouse @hopeveon Hope you enjoy it bro! (sorry for the wait) Love, Vy ❤

There are times in Taylor’s life she wishes she was the high-heels-to-the-store type of person. Maybe then her height wouldn’t hinder her from reaching the top shelves where her favorite cereal is kept.

She’s been standing in front of the raft, glaring the orange box of cereal down as if that way she’ll eventually convince it to fall on its own right into her arms.

This is one of those ‘I wish I could wear heels without maneuvering around like a baby giraffe’ moments. Not that the heels would help her much considering how high up the shelf is but it’d still give her some level of advantage: she’d be able to reach the shelf below the top one and that’d still be considered a bonus.

“Need help, T?”

Then again, who needs heels when they have a tall boyfriend to snatch up things they can’t.

Taylor flashes him a smile as he turns into the aisle she’s standing in, the shopping cart he’s pushing already containing the items he was assigned to get. “Could you, for the love of God, grab me one of those?” She asks pointing up at the cereal boxes with clear frustration in her movements.

Daniel shoots her a smirk as he parks the cart, “Why don’t you...” Taylor, sensing the oncoming joke at her shortness, opens her mouth to complain but before she can say a single word, she’s lifted up off the ground, earning a yelp from her. “...get it yourself?” Daniel finishes his previously began sentence, holding his girlfriend up so the boxes are within arm’s reach.

When she takes two, he sets her back down on the floor. Just as she’s about to thank him, however, he ruffles her hair, placing a kiss at the top of her head once he does so. “You’re welcome, shorty.”

And just like that, she swallows her gratitude.

Taylor’s classes finished earlier than Daniel’s today due to some change in the professors’ schedule. That leaves her here, on a bench in the college park, waiting for her boyfriend since she doesn’t want to break their routine and walk to the dorms on her own, leaving him to do the same. They’ve had very little time for one another as of recent because of the upcoming torturous finals that have them worrying and overworking themselves sick. Walking to the dorms is one thing these upcoming exams can’t take away from them, luckily.

As she types another message to Andrew, promising she’d help him with his essay he’s gotta turn in in two days and has no idea how to even start it, she hears the sound of laughter. Laughter which the person is desperately trying to suppress. She looks up from her phone to see Daniel standing on the path a few feet away, one hand clutching the strap of his bag while the other is balled in a fist and pressed against his lips to prevent the aforementioned laughter from escaping him.

When he notices she’s looking, he does his best to keep his composure and still himself but it’s already too late - it’s all been spotted.

Raising an eyebrow at him, Taylor can’t contain the need to ask what has him cracking up so badly, “Take a breath please. What are you even laughing at?“ Finding himself unable to speak without laughing, he just points to her feet which has her even more confused. She raises an eyebrow at him, looking down at her dangling and swinging feet clad in an old pair of Converse. “That explains nothing.” She says, continuing to watch his movements with an unamused look on her face.

Daniel does as she told him - takes a breath - before he opens his mouth to explain, a smile still stretching at the corners of his lips, “You can’t touch the ground, can you?”

It takes a few moments for the words to register and be processed but she’s quick to catch onto yet another one of his increasingly creative jokes. It’s understood without saying that she’s less than impressed by this joke of his when she gets up and proceeds to speed-walk down the path towards the dorms, leaving Daniel rushing to catch up to her, calling her name while laughing his ass off.

III

This carnival date was entirely her idea, but she’d never admit it, obviously. There’s another truth she’d never admit, this one even more embarrassing in her opinion - she wants to win some stuffed animals so she can decorate her dorm which she’s suddenly decided is incredibly barren.

Daniel had no problem agreeing to the idea of a carnival date, especially not when Taylor agreed to go on the rollercoasters with him. The rides aren’t all that impressive but they are enough to get your adrenaline rushing and he’s prepared to settle for that with the added bonus of the fact that Taylor probably wouldn’t have accompanied him if the rides were impressive by his standards.

After a successful negotiation, Daniel’s spent the short but drawn out walk to the first ride they plan on going on with his arm wrapped Taylor’s shoulders, convincing her there’s nothing to be afraid of and that the ride is perfectly safe.

“It doesn’t even go upside down!“ That’s an argument he uses as though it’ll change anything about Taylor’s feelings on the ride or make her any more enthusiastic about getting on. If it were to go upside down she wouldn’t be anywhere near it let alone on it. “Besides, it’s less than three minutes and I’ll be by your side the whole time, T. Nothing to worry about.“

Taylor, unable to say no to the excitement of her boyfriend, succumbs with an eye-roll, “Fine, but if I puke on you it’s your own fault.”

Lifting his hands up in surrender, he continues guiding her to the entrance of the ride where they make it within less than a minute before the ride starts. However, right as she’s about to step onto the platform, Daniel’s arm gently tugs her back. In response to the unexpected gesture Taylor stops in her tracks, turning her head to give him a confused look. Daniel doesn’t reply verbally, but the grin on his face and the tilt of his head that point to a sign displaying the required height to get on the ride say it all.

“It’s your lucky day.“ He laughs, seeing the frown upon her face as a response to the teasing look in his eyes. Taking hold of her hand he leads her away from the ride stifling laughter at the cute displeased furrow of her brows. “Let’s go get you your stuffed animals.“

“Great game!“ Taylor claps her hands together when she sees Daniel exit he changing rooms following a particularly intense match that ended in a draw, leaving both teams displeased to a certain degree.

Despite the bitter feeling of not having lost but not having won either, Daniel lets a wide smile spread across his face when he sees the excitement in Taylor’s eyes. He knows she’s clueless about more than half the things going on in the field but her support is limitless and unconditional which makes him so incredibly fond of her - even more than he already was.

“Thanks, it could’ve been better though.“ He replies, shrugging as he leans down to give Taylor a hug, “You coming to the party with us?“

Pressing her lips in a thin line when the two pull away, she gives him an apologetic shake of her head, “Sorry, I have an essay to finish and an exam to study for. I hope you have fun though.”

He does an expert job of covering up his displeasure with her absence as to not make her feel guilty about it, “Don’t worry, wish I could help you with it. I mean, I don’t have to go...”

Taylor scoffs, giggling a little bit at the cuteness of the boy standing before her, “Nonsense.” She says with a playful eye roll as she pushes up on her tip toes to place a kiss on his cheek, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Just as she’s about to turn around and walk away, she catches glimpse of the oddly sentimental look in his eyes and the small smile on his lips, lightyears away in comparison to the one he wore previously. “What is it?”

“Nothing.“ He shrugs yet again, “You’re just super cute when you do that.“

Taylor huffs, “You’re lucky you’re tall.”

She was practically asking for it

“Nope, I’m lucky you’re short.“

That earns him a punch to the shoulder before she storms off a frown and a blush on her face. And a smile she’s suppressing.

The Revenge

It’s spring, the smell of the freshly bloomed flowers and trees tickles their nostrils as the couple walk in the park, the sunlight warming their skin. Spring break has never been an exciting time period for either of them. Hell, they didn’t even go home and chose to stay in the dorms instead so they could spend the time they had with each other rather than with their families who’d either bore them to death with awkward questions or make them regret coming back via a different method.

Daniel and Taylor are discussing the movie they just saw, completely unaware of the world around them as they do so. That happens frequently - when they’re in each other’s company, lost in conversation, they often end up forgetting they’re not the only people on this planet. Not the only things either.

“Oh come on, he was so annoying. I like a good villain as much as you do but he was ridiculous.“ Taylor complains, one hand resting above her eyes to shield them from the sunlight in order to be able to look up at Daniel who in return is gazing down at her, head slightly bowed.

“That just makes him cooler - he’s so ridiculous and such an airhead but he’s super intelligent. Did you see what he came up with? That doesn’t say ‘ridiculous’ to me.“ Daniel replies, receiving a frustrated huff from Taylor in return.

“Whatever, he’s still super annoying and no amount of intelligence can change that.“ She persists, frowning as if that’ll emphasize her point better.

Just as Daniel’s about to reply, however, he’s quickly silenced by the smacking of branches against his face. He panics momentarily, caught off-guard by the not painful but still unpleasant impact. But when he hears Taylor’s laughter, he brings himself to open his eyes and stop his arms from flailing around in self-defense of the twiggy branches that he walked into. When he turns to look at Taylor he sees she’s not at all affected by the same affliction, seeing as how her height allows her to pass right under the branches untouched.

“That is what you get! That is what you earned!” She calls back to him as she keeps walking down the path, “You joke about my height, Mother Nature’s gonna punish you.”

This gets a laugh out of him as well as he jogs to catch up to her, “Hey, I never joke about your height! I just ACKNOWLEDGE it in a playful manner.” He corrects her, looking down hoping for a laugh or something but only receiving a glare in return.

Before another set of branches hits him in the face.

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nightshade-minho · 4 years

Text

-Blue Book- (6)

Warnings: suggestiveness, future smut

Word Count: 2.4k

Chan knows what happiness is. He's felt it before in mild amounts- like the time when he was 7 and his dad bought him that toy truck he'd been wanting, or when he ate his favorite food.

As the years went by though, he found it harder and harder to feel even an ounce of that elusive emotion. It wasn't like he was a particularly sad person, either. He was just...existing.

Which is why he found you so intriguing. He watched as you rambled away between sips of your boba, accentuating your words with wild gestures. It was cute, how passionate you were about art and how happy you got when you talked about it. Chan loved making his music too-it was a welcome distraction from his hectic life. He never found himself feeling this level of enthusiasm, though.

"And yeah. That's why I think Bernini is objectively better than Michelangelo."

He smiled, nodding, though he hadn’t really paid attention to what you had been rambling about. God, he couldn't help but be fascinated by you.

This was bad. He couldn't lie to himself anymore- he was definitely starting to feel things for you that went beyond mere intrigue. It was easy to pretend he didn't like you when you weren't around...But when you were right in front of him, Chan found himself hating the way he wanted to spend more and more time with you.

Suddenly, the door to the cafe opened. You looked up when you heard the tinkling bells, a frown growing on your face as you watched Minho walk in with Miyoung right behind him.

You sat up immediately, glancing at your watch and shooting a quick, apologetic smile to Chan. “Uh, I just remembered I have somewhere to be, so-”

Too late. Minho smirked as he walked over to your table.

“Chan, thought you’d be here. Can we talk?”

Chan’s eyebrows knitted as he slowly looked away from you. “Okay, I guess.” He stood up, following Minho as the two boys walked out. You looked up at Miyoung, who offered you a shy, genuine smile before sitting in Chan’s spot.

“Hey, Y/n. How are you?”

“Hey. I’m good. You?” You said slowly, slightly cautious. Miyoung was one of those girls who hadn’t been particularly mean, but it wasn’t like she’d gone out of her way to befriend you either.

“I’m alright...” She smiled again, trailing off a little awkwardly.

Her smile seemed genuine enough, but would she have smiled at you the same if you weren’t with Chan? Probably not, You noted with slight bitterness, sighing under your breath.

“Do you want some?” You spoke up, gesturing to the untouched cheesecake in front of you, tilting your head.

She shook her head, the same smile fixed on her face. “Nah, I’m on a diet. Thanks, though.” She opened her mouth, looking like she wanted to say something else, closing it and fiddling with her fork.

Awkward silence.

“I...” Miyoung looked at the fork in front of her, avoiding eye contact. “Are you happy?”

“Hap...py?” You questioned, a little confused.

“With Chan. Are you happy?”

“Oh..well yeah, I guess.” You frowned. “Um...we’re not actually dating yet, you know that, right?”

“You’re not?” Her eyes widened a little. “Oh...the way he acts around you, I thought...” She shook her head, sitting up straighter. “Anyway, I’m sure he’ll make it official soon.”

“Hmm.” You stared at the girl, her expression a little sad as she looked up, staring out the window. You tilted your head, following her gaze to Minho and Chan, who seemed to be having a conversation.

You looked back at her. “Why’d you ask that question? Are you not happy with Minho?”

“Wha- no, I am! I just... ” She paused. “Forget it. Hey...you want to come with me to the mall later?”

You raised an eyebrow. A week ago you had no friends, and now some of the most popular people at school were lining up to spend time with you. Huh.

“Sure.”

***

“Why do you want to talk? What’s up?”

Minho rolled his eyes. “Nothing much, really.”

Chan frowned. “Why’d you take me out here, then? I’ve got to get back to Y/n-”

Minho narrowed his eyes, leaning against the wall. “Chill, dude. She’s with Miyoung. She’s not going to die if you leave her alone for a few seconds. Why do you care, anyway?”

“What are you talking about?”

Minho pressed his lips together, observing the uneasy expression on Chan’s face.

“...Whatever. Just know prom’s in a few weeks, and Miyoung’s whipped for me.” He smirked. “You better get that book fast~” He turned around, walking back towards the cafe door.

Chan watched him leave, fists clenching as he watched Minho go up to the table, greeting Miyoung and steadily ignoring you. He watched the slightly hurt expression on your face uncomfortably. He felt so much anger, all of it directed at Minho...and some of it at himself.

***

Miyoung quickly put a smile on her face as Minho entered, standing up as he slunk a hand around her waist.

“Hey, baby.” He smiled down at her. “Let’s go, my parents aren’t home~”

“Oh...actually, Minho, I kind of made plans with Y/n.” The boy frowned at that, glancing at you. He opened his mouth to protest, interrupted by her.

“Um, we were planning to go to the mall, but you can come too! And so can Chan.” She said, smiling sweetly up at him and running a finger up his chest. “Please? I’ll make it up to you later...” She winked.

“Fine.” He gritted his teeth, looking up as Chan entered, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“But we’re going in my car.”

***

Miyoung was a sweetheart, really. She just wasn’t the kind of girl you’d usually befriend- but someone was better than no one, right?

She ran her eyes over the jewelry on the shelves, humming under her breath. “Hm, I’m not sure which necklace would match my belt...what color is your prom dress?”

“Oh...I haven’t exactly bought one yet.”

She looked at you, her eyes widening in shock. “What? Prom is two weeks away!”

“Yeah, I know. I might just wear one of my mom’s old dresses.” You shrugged, looking at the brooch Miyoung was holding. “Ooh, that one’s nice.”

Miyoung shook her head incredulously, putting the brooch down and grabbing your wrist. “Come on. I’ll help you find a dress, just follow me.”

You groaned but let her pull you along, deciding to entertain her for the time being. After all, she was your only female friend in years, and you didn't want to lose this yet.

***

People passing by the two boys sitting at the table and sharing their fries would probably think they were friends. Two dudes, hanging out and enjoying a fun guy's night. If only they knew.

Minho slipped another fry into his mouth as he tilted his head. "So you're sure you're going to get the book within the next few days?"

"Um, yeah. I know she trusts me. We've gotten really close."

"Yeah...I can tell." Minho raised an eyebrow, swirling his next victim in the small tub of ketchup.

Chan frowned as he took in Minho's expression. "What's up with that tone?"

"Don't you think you're getting a little too close to Y/n? You could easily steal that book if you wanted to, you spend every day with her now and I'm sure she's left her bag unguarded around you." He smirked. "Part of me wonders if you actually want her around. If you're dragging this out on purpose."

Chan turned red, the implications of what Minho was saying making him swear internally. "Wh- what are you talking about? I only hang out with her cause you made that bet. Or I wouldn't have looked twice at her." He said firmly, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

Minho shrugged, devouring yet another fry as Chan's mind started racing, the familiar feeling of confusion rising up again.

***

"We shouldn't keep Chan and Minho waiting." You groaned, Miyoung choosing to ignore your pleas as she tossed yet another dress at you.

"Shh, they'll be fine. They're at the food court, and you know boys and their relationship with food of any kind. I assure you, they're not missing us. Now come on, I just know you'll look good in green." She smiled.

You sighed, tiredly clutching the dress as you went back into the changing room for the nth time. For the last half hour, you'd repeatedly tried on dresses to the point where you were ready to collapse from exhaustion. However, the excitement Miyoung was radiating made you want to please her...and it was kind of nice, the way she oohed and aahed each time you changed into a different dress. Was this what it's like to have a friend?

You stared at your reflection in the mirror once you managed to get the dress on, your eyes widening. Wow.

The silk was dark green, hugging your waist perfectly. The cut of the dress flattered your body like it was made for you. It was the perfect dress. You fell in love with it the more you turned around, assessing your reflection from every angle.

Slowly, biting your lip, you checked the price tag hanging off it. You sighed. Just as you thought.

You knew your mom would never be able to afford a dress this expensive. A sudden rush of guilt ran through you as you dropped the tag, running a hand through your hair as you moved to take the dress off.

For a minute, your hand paused on the zipper, your eyes travelling back to your reflection. For a moment, you let yourself imagine attending prom wearing this beautiful dress.

An image of you and Chan, slow dancing under the dimmed gym lights settled itself in your brain. You let a small, dreamy smile take over your face as you removed the dress. Even if you'd be wearing your mom's old floral dress, at least the Chan part of your fantasy would remain true.

***

You hadn't had this much fun in ages. So this was what it was like to hang out with friends. You wished you'd met Chan and Miyoung earlier.

The only problem? Minho. Your worst nightmare, in the form of a handsome high school boy with a devilish smirk and a weird, unprovoked hatred towards you. The fact that you were now left alone with him was probably the only downside to an otherwise wonderful day.

Miyoung had dashed into a shop, saying she'd be out in a second, and soon after Chan had dipped saying he had to go withdraw some money at the ATM. By pure, rotten luck, you somehow winded up sitting next to Minho on the mall bench as the two of you waited for your partners to come back.

You stared ahead of you, determined not to look at the boy sitting next to you. He'd always ignored you, treated you like you were the dirt on his shoe. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing you hated him as much as he hated you.

After a few minutes, Minho smirked, glancing over at you. "Why do you look so worried? Afraid your boyfriend's gone to cheat on you?" He asked, his tone dripping with fake sweetness.

You turned to look at him, glaring. God, this dude was so annoying.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Minho's eyebrow raised slightly, as he hadn't really expected you to reply. His expression faltered for a moment before his usual sneer took over his face once more.

"There isn't anything wrong with me, darling." He said, looking up and eyeing a lady in a crop top. You followed his gaze and let out a snort.

"What an asshole."

"Excuse me?"

You turned to him, anger taking over your entire being again.

"Miyoung's a sweet girl. She deserves a lot better than a lying dickhead who can't even keep his eyes to himself." You scoffed. "You should stop using her like this."

Minho's mouth opened slightly, the slight shock giving way to amusement as he grinned.

"I'm using her?" He pouted. "Hm. I guess that is wrong...I should probably take lessons from your boyfriend, yeah? Since he's so perfect."

"What do you mean?" You narrowed your eyes, slight discomfort settling in you as the man shifted closer to you on the bench.

"Just saying." He shrugged. "Channie isn't who you think he is." Leaning in, you shuddered as you felt his lips graze your ear. "I'd watch my back if I were you, sweetheart~"

He quickly drew back as he noticed Miyoung emerge from the shop, expression neutral as he stood up to go over to his girlfriend.

What was he talking about?

***

"Hey, you okay? You seem...out of it." Chan said gently, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Oh? What- no, I'm fine." You nodded, carefully staring at your lap. Chan turned to look at you, frowning.

"You sure?"

"Uh huh." You said slowly, staring out the window as Chan drove you home. There was silence in the car, and Chan hated it. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension. He wanted to do something about it, but you looked so closed off and guarded ever since he got back from the ATM.

"You can...you can always talk to me, you know." He said gently, as he stopped the car in front of your house.

"I know." You mumbled, looking up at him. "I'm sorry. Thank you for today, it was fun. See you tomorrow?"

"I wake up at 5 am every day for you, now." He whined, glad your smile was back on your face. "You know, going to school that early should be a crime."

You giggled as you got out of his car, closing the door and going over to his side.

"Well then, arrest me, officer~"

Chan blushed slightly, gripping the wheel. "Bye, Y/n." He laughed, as you blew a kiss and turned to enter your house.

Chan let out a sigh under his breath. He realized slowly that for the entirety of the day, he hadn't felt all that much jealousy. He'd been too focused on you to even notice Minho's desperate attempts to induce envy in him. And after Minho's sly accusation, Chan didn't know what to believe. Could it be...

This was bad. This was really bad.

#chan angst #chan fluff #chan smut #minho angst #lee know angst #chan x reader #bang chan fluff #bang chan smut #bang chan angst #chris smut #chris fluff #chris angst #chris series

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whump-me-all-night-long · 3 years

Text

Charleigh’s Doll - Acquisition

So this is a new idea that I’ve been working on for a little bit, instead of any of my current WIPs. What can I say, the creative juices flow where they flow. Anyways, I can’t say how often this will update or how consistently, but I have high-ish hopes!

Tagging some people who expressed an interest (let me know if you want to be added or removed!): @cupcakes-and-pain @lave-e @killtheprotagonist

CW: lady whump, pet whump, dehumanization, referring to people as “it,” lady whumpee, lady whumper/caretaker, lines between whumper and caretaker being blurred, that’s all for this chapter I think, but please let me know if I missed anything!

---

Charleigh sighed, tapping her foot impatiently on the store floor, her eyes trailing over the items lining the shelves of the pet store. She glanced at her watch yet again before pursing her lips and nudging the girl next to her, who turned around to frown at her.

“Sorry, Charleigh!” she said lightheartedly, tossing her natural unnaturally red hair over her shoulder, sounding not very sorry at all.

Charleigh just gave a sigh before her lips turned upward into a reluctant grin. “It’s fine, Rey,” she conceded. “But if we don’t get going soon, we’re gonna miss the movie.”

Her best friend, Reyna, gave a dismissive wave of her hand, turning back to stare at the shelf in front of her. “Don’t be such a worrywart. We’ll get there in plenty of time. You’re just sad because we might miss some of the previews. And you love those.” She gave Charleigh a teasing grin over her shoulder. “Weirdo.”

Charleigh snorted a soft laugh, and was about to reply when a commotion came from the back of the store, where they kept the pets. She didn’t know what made her do it, but she left Reyna behind in the accessories section staring at the selection of toys in front of her with nothing but a wave and followed the noises.

She pulled up short at what she saw when she reached the area. She’d never been a big pet person - never seen the appeal, quite frankly, or had the time - but taking in the pets lining the back wall in their cages, the rather poor, uncomfortable conditions they were kept in, her mouth twisted into a grimace. She dragged her eyes over the scene in front of her, brows raising in surprise.

Two store employees were struggling to drag a sobbing pet towards an empty cage. The pet, young with long dark hair covering most of her face, was flailing about, bawling and whimpering. Charleigh had no doubt that the pet would be begging if not for the tight black muzzle secured fast around her face.

A few other shoppers had stopped to watch the scene, and one, a middle aged woman with a bleach blonde bob, leaned over to loudly whisper to Charleigh, “God, don’t they know how to make pets behave anymore. If my pet acted like that in public..” She trailed off with a distasteful look on her face before shaking her head and walking away. Charleigh couldn’t help but feel bad for that woman’s pet.

Slowly, the small crowd dispersed, until all but Charleigh were gone. One of the employees, a young woman about Charleigh’s age, glanced up and made an apologetic expression towards her, before soundly slapping the pet, who froze, a hand drifting up to clutch her cheek.

Charleigh winced slightly in sympathy, craning her neck to see the pet through all the hair.

“That’s it, pet!” the employee snapped, yanking the now-stunned pet up by her collar. “Behave yourself. Or do you want your removal date moved up?” The pet let out a broken cry at that but stopped struggling immediately.

The employees got her in the cage and fastened the door securely, leaving the pet curled up in a shaking ball as far back as she could get before turning around to leave. Charleigh caught the attention of the other one, a lanky teen boy, probably only working here as an after school job, and he moved over towards them.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asked, a forced smile matching his overly cheerful tone.

She gave him a small smile back, remembering her own teen years working in customer service. “Yeah, um, hi, I had a question. About that pet.”

His smile wavered for a moment before he responded. “Of course. What would you like to know?”

Her brow furrowed a bit. “What did that other employee mean, when she said ‘removal date’?” She gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, I don’t have a pet. I’m just here with a friend.” She hitched a thumb over towards Reyna’s general direction.

The boy gave a polite nod. “Not a problem at all. Every pet has a sale value connected to them - how much they’re worth - and based on that, a removal date is issued out. If they’re not sold by that date, then they’re removed. Pets who are considered more high demand have further out dates, whereas pets considered less desirable have dates that are closer. It also depends on their health, their temperament, what company and store they’re being sold in, and if they’ve been bought before. For example-”

Charleigh cut him off, frowning slightly. “Wait, what do you mean, they’re removed?”

He looked at her like she was crazy - or just very dumb. “When a pet reaches their removal date without being bought, they’re euthanized. After that point, they’re deemed to cost more than they’re worth. It’s all very humane, of course.”

Charleigh felt sick. She pushed out, “And, um, when is that pet’s removal date?” She gestured over to the one from before, who had quieted down and simply folded up on herself.

The man gave a small shrug. “Tomorrow, after closing. That’s when removals take place.” He added with a small laugh, “Of course, it might be removed tonight, after all the trouble it’s caused. Nothing but a problem since we got it. It is a used pet, after all. Not the first time we’ve removed ‘em before we’re supposed to. Especially with the troublemakers.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink before moving on to help another customer.

Charleigh stood there for a moment, feeling the ground sway underneath her. She thought she might be sick. Before she was fully aware of what she was doing, she had moved over to the cage where the pet had been shoved in.

Tapping softly on the glass, she tried to get the pet’s attention, but it was as if the pet had left her body, staring blank, glassy green eyes through the hair still hanging in front of the majority of her face. Seeing the thin piece of paper hanging from the cage, Charleigh grabbed it and skimmed over the information.

It listed her height, weight, hair color, eye color, all the details about her that a potential owner might like to know. Charleigh’s eyes widened at the age. 22. That was only three years younger than herself or Reyna. Swallowing down her disgust, she continued reading.

Temperament: Unruly unless strict discipline is shown.

Charleigh gave the pet a quick once-over, finding it hard to reconcile the terrified, softly whimpering girl in front of her with the one the employee and booklet painted.

Charleigh’s lips parted and she murmured softly, “Hey there. I’m not going to hurt you. Can you turn around for me, please?” The pet stiffened, before reluctantly shifting herself so that she was facing Charleigh.

She reached through the thin, widely spaced bars of the cage to place two fingers underneath the pet’s chin. Lifting the pet’s head, Charleigh couldn’t contain the gasp as she saw the pet’s face, subconsciously raising a hand to her own cheek.

The pet was extremely pretty - or, she would’ve been, if not for the jagged scar going down the left side of her face, from the top of her hairline, through the far corner of her eye and ending at the edge of her mouth. It was if someone had taken a knife to her face and yanked it down as roughly as they could. Charleigh leaned back slightly, her other hand going to cover her mouth. The pet’s big green eyes watched her warily, tracking every movement.

Her otherwise flawless pale skin spoke of a pet that had been otherwise well cared for, if a bit sun-deprived. Charleigh forced herself to look down the rest of her body and, while she couldn’t see any other visible marks, she did note that the pet seemed unhealthily thin.

“Oh my,” Charleigh whispered. “What happened to you?”

The pet seemed to pull back from that, as if expecting to get hit. Charleigh winced at her words, realizing how they probably sounded to the pet. She pulled the informational booklet towards her again and continued reading, a half-thought pushing into her head that she wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge yet.

She caught note of the words facial disfigurement and grimaced before continuing searching for what she was looking for. The price was listed at the very bottom of the sheet, in bolded print.

Charleigh sucked in a breath, at once surprised at both how expensive and relatively inexpensive the pet was. Most pets, she knew, were sold for tens - or even hundreds - of thousands of dollars. This one was only a few thousand. Only, she scoffed at herself.

The thought, the one she didn’t allow herself to think, kept poking at her, and she just stared at the pet until a hand dropped on her shoulder, snapping her out of it.

She glanced up to find Reyna standing above her. “Hey, Charleigh, I’ve got what I need. Wanna head out now?” she said, lifting a plastic bag, before glancing at the pet with raised brows. “What is that?”

Charleigh shrugged, dropping the paper and standing. “Nothing. I was just looking at something.” She hesitated before taking a step away. “Anyways, you’re right. We don’t want to miss our movie.”

Yet, as she tried to move, she found that she kept staring back at that pet, still curled up and watching her mournfully, with eyes both too old and too young. Reyna let out a big sigh. “You keep staring at that pet. You’re not seriously considering…?” She trailed off, arching a perfectly shaped brow.

Charleigh gave her a weary look. “I don’t know. She is kinda cheap. Only a couple thousand. I’ve got plenty saved up. Plus, she- her removal date is pretty close.” She gave a kind of helpless shrug, taking a tiny step back towards the cage. Then another one.

Reyna just rolled her eyes, following her back to the pet. “Fine. She is pretty cute. Except for that hideous scar. No wonder they pushed up her removal date.” Rey grinned, nudging Charleigh with her shoulder. “But for that price, it’s a steal. Plus maybe she and my Sadie girl could have pet playdates!” She laughed, and Charleigh could tell she was now thinking about her own pet at home, the one her parents had bought her as a graduation gift.

Charleigh crouched in front of the pet, reaching hand back in. “Here, girl,” she commanded softly. The pet stared at her for a moment before obediently, if a bit reluctantly, pushing her head into the hand. She scratched the pet’s scalp a bit, wondering. “Hmm, what do you think? Should I take you home?” Her hand trailed downward, brushing a finger against the large scar, before moving to cup the pet’s chin. She turned the pet’s head towards her, brushing a couple strands of the dark hair out of the way.

The pet watched her, unreadable expressions warring across her face. But she didn’t pull away, or show any signs of disobedience or defiance that Charleigh would’ve expected from her temperament description. Instead, she seemed content to sit there, drying tears on her face, and be held by Charleigh’s hand.

Charleigh glanced up at her friend, before giving a small laugh. “Look at this face. How could I say no?”

Reyna threw her hands up in mock surrender, still grinning like a fiend. “Okay, if that’s how you wanna spend your money.”

Charleigh shrugged, flagging down an employee. She pointed towards the pet. “Hi, I’d like to buy this pet.”

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fandom-necromancer · 3 years

Text

Past, Present, Future

This was prompted by the amazing @skyewillows! I know you likely intended this to be the other way around, but this is the idea that first came to me XD Also sorry for the delay! Hope you enjoy some angst!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: near death experience, slight body horror?, anti-android sentiment)

It had been supposed to be easy. It had been supposed to be a simple mission: infiltrate the warehouse in the early morning and gather intel on the operations inside. They had known the warehouse was used to store and refine Red Ice. They had known they were the newest dealership in Detroit and therefore would soon get trouble with the other people in the business or get integrated in their doing. That was what should have made it easy: Inexperienced humans afraid or at least worried about what was to come. It shouldn’t have ended like this, Nines thought as he laid in the trunk of a car, motor control deactivated and helpless in the hands of the competing drug den.

All had happened far too fast: Gavin and Nines had infiltrated the warehouse and hid in close proximity to the people milling about. They had learned most of what they had wanted to by the early afternoon, from how they synthesized the drug to where they planned on dealing it to the people. Gavin and Nines were both pretty confident all they would have to do now was wait for the night to leave in silence. Instead, a package arrived in the afternoon that the idiots promptly opened, setting off the bomb inside that ripped through the many shelves as well as one supporting pillar. The explosive chain reaction of instable intermediates in the refinement process from Thirium to Red Ice as the first explosion reached a tank did the rest. Nines could only shield Gavin from the falling debris as the roof and walls were coming down. His human had been his only priority at that moment and even now, when he should worry about his own fate, it filled him with relief to know Gavin had been alive up to that point. His memory had become a bit hazy afterwards as a steel rod from the concrete wall had pierced through his chest while protecting his human, pinning him in between two pieces of debris.

He remembered Gavin’s shocked face, his Thirium-coated hands on his face and… he had been speaking then… what had Gavin said to him? Nines only knew how he had interrupted him with the plea to flee as his sensors picked up on distant voices ordering others to search for survivors. He remembered how Gavin had ran. And then he had found himself in this trunk, immobilized and patched up where the steel rod had pushed through his body. He didn’t want to know what would happen next. Patching up an android to take with them was nothing they did from the goodness of their heart. And knowing that they knew their way around an android’s system well enough to immobilise one made Nines bad feeling even worse.

He tried to reconstruct the path his capturers had taken from the pattern of turns and times spent at red lights. Unfortunately, his GPS was offline too, so all he could do was look for overlaps in his maps. He had found several matches by the time the car stopped, and the engine was killed, but it helped little in forming an escape plan. He was still immobile and as he was lifted out of the car, he couldn’t make out enough to determine which one of his preconstructions had been accurate. A dark bag was put over his head, then he could hear someone giving orders again: ‘Get it inside and hook it up. At least this pig can be of use for us.’

Nines wished he could have struggled. He wished he could have seen where he was dragged or that he could have contacted someone. Even if it was ultimately hopeless, he wouldn’t feel so damn hopeless. His stress levels were dangerously high, and he knew he did the android equivalent of panicking as he was dropped on the floor and could hear computer fans as well as the very familiar sound of a maintenance rig being initialised. Not much later he was hoisted up and connected to the rig. Only then he felt his motor control being returned to him and with the strength of the soldier unit he had been designed to be, he pulled at the arms holding him captive. But however hard he struggled, all he managed was flinging the bag off his head as the arms compensated his thrashing and ultimately restrained him fully. ‘Let me go!’, he hollered even before he could see the lone man that stood leaned over the terminal. ‘Let me go and maybe I’ll grant you a quick death!’

Fury was the only reaction he could manage in his situation, unwilling to let his desperation and fear overwhelm him. He couldn’t give up yet. Even if his pre-constructions showed him no possible way out of here if there wasn’t external help. No, he had to ignore that. Humans made mistakes. Maybe this one had made an error when attaching him to the rig. Maybe he- ‘Shut up, tin-can!’

It could have as well been a punch to the Thirium pump. With how much affection these words could be uttered in the right moment, the right place and time and person, it hurt almost physically to hear it in the context it had long lost. Gavin had said it so many times, these exact words. In the precinct, meaning it. On a case, when Nines thought it was a good idea to remind him of proper police conduct. At a bar night when Nines had been a “phcking know-it-all”. On the backseat of their car when he had reminded him this position wouldn’t be comfortable at all. In the early morning when Nines tried to coax him out of bed when Gavin would have liked to cuddle a little longer.

But no, this time it was uncaring. Condescending. A simple disregard to his feelings, thoughts and person. The words of someone who considered him a mere thing. Switching to his soldier protocols he tried again to push and pull against the arms keeping him immobile with no regards to his component’s integrity. He only managed to pull some of his pseudomuscles apart, the rig didn’t move one bit. ‘Stop that, can’t have you losing any more Thirium!’

Nine looked up to the man that pulled a thick flexible tube over and lost his composure. He couldn’t keep up the façade of that fearless predator when he got the feeling he knew exactly what would happen next. And that recognition filled him with pure terror. ‘No. No, stop!’ The human ignored him, stepping closer and onto the platform. ‘Please, don’t!’, Nines begged, trying to keep the end of the tube in his vision, but the man had already stepped behind him. ‘No, please, I’ll do whatever you want. Just please, don’t-‘ ‘Shut up!’, the man interrupted him, his fingers roughly prodding his neck until he had found the right place to press to open the hatch to his neck port. ‘You are just a machine, don’t pretend you feel anything. This is just a fancy program Cyberlife installed to keep their property intact. Playing with human minds, that’s all you plastics ever did.’ Nines wanted to protest, to plead, but the man had already pushed the tube into the port used to refill or replace an android’s Thirium. The RK900 blinked at the sudden intrusion, but the man was already stepping back, attention back on the terminal.

‘Please’, Nines tried once again, knowing it was utterly futile. ‘Please, don’t do this. I have family. We have a cat. Please, I just want to get back to my life!’ ‘You have nothing, bot. Your family has you and can buy another one – sorry – adopt another one now that these idiots were fooled by Cyberlife’s plan.’ ‘That doesn’t make any sen-‘, Nines had begun to protest but choked on his words as he felt the rig accessing his Thirium pump and redirecting the flow without him being able to intervene. ‘No!’, he screamed, static mixing with his voice. ‘No, you can’t do this! Please. Stop!’ The man just stepped back and smirked at him. ‘Sweet dreams’, he teased, then turned and left.

Nines was completely alone in the small room, being notified of his Thirium levels dropping rapidly while he could see the blue liquid flow through the tube on the ground to who knows where. He couldn’t believe he was harvested for the very drug he and Gavin had tried to fight since it had popped up on the market. Gavin… Gavin was safe now, wasn’t he? He tried to remember what had happened exactly as Gavin had disappeared, but nothing came up. Whatever the steel rod had damaged, it must have caused some sort of short circuit causing his systems to shut down to protect themselves until he was removed. He must have made it. He must have made it to safety. Nines just couldn’t bear the thought of him being shot while running away or being caught by the gang to be interrogated or worse. No, Gavin had to be safe. Likely furious and wanting to safe him somehow. How would he react to learning he died? They had been together for quite a while now. He would either be angry and in denial about the fact or struck by grief so hard Nines couldn’t possibly imagine what would happen to him. Gavin was a ride-or-die kind of person and they had found mutual unconditional trust in the other. Hell, they had planned to marry eventually, Nines knowing he would have to be the one to propose to the surprisingly shy man. It would have been perfect.

They could have had so much, Nines regretfully realised. Not a great ceremony, but one of few guests. Tina would have been there. Nines would have convinced Gavin to invite Hank and Connor and maybe Sixty with Allen. Gavin in turn would have convinced Nines to allow Elijah and Chloe there. And besides that there would have been a full life ahead of them. Maybe they would have gone on vacation. Left Detroit for the first time or maybe even America. There would have been Christmases that weren’t coined by revolutions and New Years that wouldn’t traumatise half the population when androids first dared to insert themselves into society. Birthdays and the struggle to find the perfect present. Weekends spent on roadtrips, movie nights with friends, new cases keeping their minds busy. And then the little things. Playing with their cat and laughing at it. Watching a movie only for Gavin to halfway through fall asleep leaned against Nines. Days spent in bed because it was just to comfy. Moments when the sun just fell right through the window on Gavin’s face. Seeing him smile one more time. Hearing his voice whisper sweet nothings. Hearing him call him with another silly nickname. The smell of coffee in the morning. The curses when having overslept. The slow beat of a heart. The way he sighed in content and caressed Nines face when he thought he was already in stasis. The colour of his eyes…

Nines’ systems were shutting down one after the other. His countdown was ticking down. His thoughts were running slow and sluggish. He was long hanging weakly in the arms of the rig. Warning messages popped up, informing him of imminent terminal overheating. Nines ignored it all. He didn’t want to die in fear. He didn’t even want to know he was dying. He tried to remember his short life with Gavin and to imagine how it could have been. It was no surprise to him his mind soon began to fray as his systems switched to critical condition and he saw Gavin before him. Heard his voice: ‘Nines. Stay with me.’ ‘I will’, Nines hummed with a content smile, his tinny voice almost unrecognisable as one. ‘I will fix this, don’t worry’, Gavin’s voice told him and Nines thanked whatever sick twist of fate gave an android the possibility to lose logic in it’s last moments. ‘I know you will’, Nines spoke, not understanding his own words as his voicebox was running on less and less power. ‘I’ve always been safe with you.’ ‘Phck, Nines. Phck, phck, phck!’ ‘I love you, Gavin.’

And then he fell.

He fell on a surprisingly real floor. ‘Phck, Nines, sorry! Nines? Nines? Phck can you hear me? Say something!’ Nine could barely understand the words uttered as his sensors glitched and switched on and off repeatedly. ‘Okay, your LED is still on, please let that mean you’re still alive! Alright, I will get you out of here, just hold on! We will fix you, we will fix you!’

He… wasn’t dead yet? Nines tried to access his internal sensors and saw that he had been disconnected at a Thirium Level of twelve percent. He was still about to die, but the countdown was trickling down a lot slower now that the blue blood wasn’t forcibly extracted. Unable to move he was once again dragged over the floor for what felt like an eternity when Nines watched every millisecond pass by. If this wasn’t an impressive illusion of a dying operating system, then that had to mean Gavin was really here. And that he was about to save him. That there was indeed a future to look forward to.

The sun outside caused his optics to white out, so it was a little sudden as a bottle opening was pressed to his lips. Havin a hunch, Nines allowed the liquid to be poured down his throat. It took a while until his levels rose and several bottles were emptied, but as they sat at stable 60%, Nines could run a quick diagnose and regained access to all systems that remained intact. It weren’t many, but he could jerkily move, he could talk through heavy static, he could hear, see and feel. And he used all of these abilities to jump up, hug Gavin and kiss him clumsily on the lips. ‘Gavin!’, he gave vent to his relief and promptly kissed him again as if he could loose all this again the next second. ‘Hey, buddy, tone that down a bit’, Gavin laughed embarrassedly. ‘Everyone is watching.’

Nines couldn’t care less. ‘Gavin, I want to marry you’, he burst out instead and as Gavin looked at him in surprise and wanted to respond, Nines just interrupted: ‘Elijah can come if Connor is invited too.’ ‘Alright, not what I wanted to say’, Gavin chuckled, trying to free himself of Nines embrace that was more of a vice by now. ‘We should take time off. Drive somewhere. I want to hold you.’ Gavin pushed him away fully now, holding onto his arms. ‘Nines, what’s wrong?’, he asked with worry. ‘I will get you to a repair shop, don’t worry.’

Nines closed his eyes and vented his internal systems that had heated up yet again. ‘I almost lost this’, he whispered. ‘All of this. You. Our future. I don’t want to wait anymore should this happen ever again.’ Gavin looked at him and sighed. ‘Nines, this won’t happen again. I promise. We are partners, remember? We look out for each other. I know, I was quite… I was almost too late this time. But I will always be there.’ Nines looked to the ground, unsure if his legs would support him much longer. ‘Hey’, Gavin said softly, lifting his head up. ‘You know what? Vacation doesn’t sound too bad. I’ll see what I can do, okay? But let’s get you fixed up first, okay?’

The android rested his head against Gavin’s, noses touching. ‘Okay’, he nodded and let himself be guided towards a car by his human.

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #angst #angst with happy ending #desperate Nines is my favourite #why do I like to torture my favourite character so much?#how many stories in warehouses used for thirium harvesting will I write in the future?#I don't know and I don't care it's a fun trope #Gavin: Babe there are people watching #Nines: Let them #Tina - taking pictures for blackmail reasons and totally not to embarrass them on their wedding

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distinctlywhumpthing · 3 years

Text

Chapter 1

WC: 5233

Post-apocalyptic drama: A woman wakes up with no memory after an apocalyptic storm devastates the country. With everyone starting over and finding a new way of life, she is assigned to lead one of the rebuilding programs. The agriculture-based neighborhood is running smoothly until a stranger shows up, the first outsider in over a year.

CW: stranger, unconscious, blood, amnesia, referencing past head injury

I cradle my warm mug closer and survey the room, still feeling far from sleep. I went to bed early, too early, when the sky darkened prematurely because of the rainstorm. The weather pulled my focus away from work to watch the wind wrestle with the trees at the edge of the yard, testing the strength of their branches, threatening to splinter them to pieces. When the rain started, steadily pouring down in constant streams of water without any distinction between drops, the view was obstructed. Now the rain will fall for days and with the wind, we’re all confined to our houses, so I had gone up to bed since I’d have no shortage of time to finish work tomorrow. Everyone says the rain changed after the Storm, but this is all I can remember, anyway.

The rain is still thundering down onto the roof. I don’t even know what woke me—it’s impossible to hear any of the normal creaks and aches of the house breathing on its own over the weather. I came downstairs to make tea, more for the ritual than the tea itself, something I do almost nightly. The methodical steps are enough of a reset that I fall asleep before my tea is cool enough for a full sip. Tonight, it’s less comforting. Adrenaline still courses through my veins from startling awake. There is no reason to feel shaken. I must have had an unsettling dream that I can’t remember. The thought of lying down in the dark and facing emptiness makes my pulse speed up again. I focus on inhaling and exhaling smoothly, commanding my heart to slow down to a regular rhythm, filling my lungs with the aroma of the chamomile blossoms bobbing to the surface in the strainer. I make my way across the open living space toward the stairs, allowing myself to stall by inspecting the way everything looks different from last night when there were visible stars and a moon.

The house—my house—looks almost exactly like it did the day I arrived. I run my hand along the back of the creased, brown leather sofa in the middle of the room. It’s worn more on the right side, across from the ring on the coffee table and beside the lamp. It faces a bookcase of hardcovers standing in dignified lines despite the scuffs on the spines and the dogeared pages hidden from view. The warm wood of the built-in shelves meets the slated fireplace, the focal point of the whole floor. There’s no television, so whoever lived here must have read instead. I’ve tried thumbing through the pages of the books to fill my free time but can never seem to get through more than a few lines. There’s the solid oak dining table anchoring the back of the room in front of the picture windows with chairs for eight, another mark of the previous owners.

I’ve never once had a personal guest but the house hasn’t felt empty, despite its size and living alone. Even now, on a stormy night, despite every line and angle extended, making it seem endless, it doesn’t feel jarringly vacant. Darkness swallows the corners of the room and deepens the shadows under the furniture but instead of making me rush for the light switch, I want to let my eyes dance over the impossible-to-see details. I have them all memorized anyway, so it doesn’t matter if it’s too dark to see. I let my eyes trace the silhouettes of the space once more time before forcing myself to climb back up to bed.

My foot is on the first step when I see it. Almost obscured by the staircase, a shadow passes in front of the window at the back of the house. I freeze. I can barely see anything through the rain but I know something is out there. My heart is sprinting in my chest as I move back into the room. I don’t want to imagine the emergency that would have a neighbor coming to me through this weather. The figure passes by the last window in the room on the way to the back door of the garage but pauses. I hold my breath, wondering if they can see me through the rain into the dark house. My eyes trace over the shape of their shoulders, inclined head, and clenched fists. They stagger a few steps forward before collapsing onto the grass. Before I have time to think, I react.

I drop the scalding tea, which pours down my leg as it falls, mug saved by the thick, wool area rug. I don’t even register the heat against my skin as I sprint across the house to run out the back door of the garage. The rain and wind rush to beat against me as I step outside. I blink furiously to see through the sheets of water. It’s immediately like I’ve been submerged. Everyone is right that it rains harder now, which is why the Program advises against going outside during any bad weather. This is more like a hurricane hitting away from the coast. We’ll spend the few days after picking up debris, branches and clearing fallen trees. Luckily, it’s not freezing rain like we had all winter. Pools swell around my bare feet with each running step I take through the sodden lawn, splattering mud up from the ground. I reach my destination after a few strides and mentally thank my frequent runs for my speed.

Whoever it is, lies facedown in the grass so I grab a shoulder to roll the person over. He’s out cold, with mud from the wet ground covering half his face. I fight the urge to pause and identify him because somehow it is raining even harder. I’m almost certain he isn’t one of my neighbors. I crouch down, grab both of his arms and do my best to roll him onto my back so that I can half-drag him across the lawn. It's easier than I expected. Maybe the wet grass is helping his limp legs slide behind me. We make it to the back door and I pause for a moment as reality hits me. I’m about to bring an unconscious stranger into my house. There’s no telling where he came from or why he is here. I try to remember the instructions Inspectors have told me about handling trespassers.

Something moves on my back and I realize the stranger has turned his head. I’ve been standing here, half-carrying him. It would be irresponsible to try to walk to anyone else’s house in this weather, especially dragging someone. I clench my teeth and pull him up the two steps into the garage and through the hallway. I manage to almost gracefully deposit him on the sofa, leaving streaks of mud across the wood floors. My feet nearly slide out from under me as I run back to lock the doors. For good measure, I close all the curtains before turning on the floor lamp beside the couch.

I start to look him over for injuries, checking his head first. I don’t see or feel anything under his dark hair. I use my sleeve to wipe away some of the mud on his face. He has symmetrical features, rough, dark stubble, and light-brown skin. I am noticing the long, dark lashes on his closed eyelids when he exhales a sigh. I jump, feeling my face grow hot. I direct my attention away from his face and wind up cursing myself for not noticing his torn pant leg earlier. I pull back the shredded fabric and suck in a breath. He has a long, deep gash, caked with mud that is still bleeding. I fly upstairs to find the medical bag and some towels.

My mind is spinning but somehow, my hands are steady. I clean the wound and apply pressure to stop the bleeding. The minutes pass quickly. The counting gives me something to focus on aside from wondering what happened to cause this. I match my breaths to the rhythm and feel more centered. My fingers have no problem managing the needle holder and I lose myself in the steady progress of suturing. I’m nearly finished when the stranger sighs again. I pause to look at his face and notice a subtle upturn at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t wake up but my pulse quickens anyway. I look back down and try to focus. I could lose my job for not following protocol by bringing him into my house, but it only seems responsible to give him first-aid so he doesn’t bleed out. I can turn him in when he wakes up.

After I finish the stitches, I disinfect it again, apply antibiotic ointment, and tape a sterile gauze bandage over the wound. I clean up all the rain, mud, and blood that we tracked into the house as best as I can, constantly checking to see if the stranger has moved. He sleeps quietly, breathing steadily and looking peaceful. I pick up the mug I dropped earlier and soak up the tea from the carpet. My clothes are still wet so I rush upstairs to change but skip taking a shower, more afraid of the stranger disappearing without an explanation than of any other possibility. Back downstairs, I make myself a replacement cup of tea and settle into the armchair to wait.

I distract myself by thinking about the fields, hoping as usual that the trenches we dug around them for this kind of weather, will be deep enough. We’ve never had a problem before but I can’t help but worry, after all, it is our food source. We are fairly self-sufficient at this point, almost one year in and I don’t want that to change. The Programs started six months after the Storm. They still don’t know how much of the population was lost during the Storm or in the aftermath. Sometimes I hear my neighbors debating it while they work, with guesses ranging from seventy to ninety percent lost, but no one knows for sure. I was in the hospital but others were in shelters, waiting, while plans were made to organize people into homes and communities. Anyone highly skilled was employed as a Programmer. Geologists, engineers, and other specialists identified areas with enough undamaged houses and clear land to use productively. They wrote a Program for each location based on what they would be able to do to survive. Then it was a simple matter of assigning survivors to the empty houses to fill all of the jobs required to make the Program viable.

Programmers said the fact that I was unattached would help me be a more objective leader. It’s a ridiculous assessment of my situation and there were plenty of others who were also solo, but I didn’t argue. I was pretty objective until tonight’s lapse in judgment. The rest of the residents keep their distance, maybe because I’m here to enforce the rules, or maybe because I’m not fun. I follow all of the checklists and read through the Program details, keeping myself busy. I woke up after the Storm half-wrapped in plaster with no memory of anything. The first few days are a blur of pain from the head injury. Soon enough, it became less dramatic, the amnesia was a fact then and a fact now. I faced it alone and learned quickly not to fight it. I can’t remember anything, no reason to get emotional or philosophical about it. Everyone said I was lucky to have made it to the hospital, most people who were outside in the Storm were never seen again. They guessed I had been injured during the earthquakes, but it was all conjecture.

I tried not to listen to the hospital staff’s speculations about what my life was like, or what I was like. They thought they were being helpful and might spark some memory. I would tune them out and spend hours memorizing the hospital room. It’s so clear in my memories, even more so than the house, which I’ve been living in twice as long. The way the corners of the room met to support the flat, smooth ceiling. The exact number of tiles in the ceiling, thirty, and the number of small lights blinking down, six. The texture of the hospital bedding against my skin, scratchy and worn into a strange kind of soft. Comforting but unyielding, built to last. Everything was cream or beige, blending like coffee with too much milk. I can remember the way the colors progressively deepened as the daylight faded through the single window.

I spent the first few weeks, once I could get out of the hospital bed, getting sick every time I had physical therapy. I pushed myself too hard and too fast they said. The doctors still congratulated me on healing quickly, despite my memory not returning. There were many discussions about patience and time, that I would be surprised to wake up one day with memories flooding back. Despite weeks in the hospital and eventually recovering enough physically to run five kilometers with no headache, I still hadn’t remembered anything. The doctors assured me it was completely normal. I needed more time, they repeated, moving into a Program would help me recover through purpose and routine.

Our Program area is twenty-five square miles, with the residential street at one corner. The whole area was high enough to escape the floods and surrounded by thick forests that protected it from whatever else the Storm had tried to toss this way. From what we can tell, there were only minor earthquakes here, most of the damage was from wind and water. We made house repairs first, thirty of us total, boarding up the odd broken window or patching a roof leak. Then we started the long process of carving out fields for food and some animals, raised a barn, and built a few sheds. The first small harvests were fairly successful and have continued to improve, despite no one having any farming experience beyond growing kitchen herbs, but it’s all thanks to the Program materials. I handle the delegation and training, but I don’t think I am a necessity here. Anyone can read an instruction manual and everyone works hard for the neighborhood. It could probably run as smoothly without me.

—

I jerk awake, sitting upright. My breath is fast and cold sweat clings to the back of my neck. I try to focus on my surroundings. I must have fallen asleep in the armchair while I was watching—my eyes fall on the empty couch, the wool blanket crumpled at the bottom. I jump to my feet and knock a book off the side table. It lands with a thud on the wood floor and I’m startled all over again. I exhale slowly, trying to settle myself, and massage my temples with my fingertips.

“Headache?” a soft, almost musical voice says behind me.

I whip around to see the stranger standing behind the island, a mug of steaming something in his hand. I don’t answer and instead, take in the changes from last night. His face is clean and shaven. The rough stubble I saw last night is now a smooth shadow over his jaw. His dark brown hair is messy but in an effortlessly perfect way. He’s wearing a clean grey shirt and dark jeans that must be from one of the extra bedrooms upstairs. He looks like a completely different person than the one I dragged out of the mud in the middle of the night.

“Coffee? Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He tilts his cup toward the French press sitting on the stove but must be referring to whatever process facilitated his clean appearance. I swallow my irritation at myself for falling asleep and not being alert to watch him. He’s staring at me with a strange expression on his face. I avert my gaze, looking down.

“How’s your leg?” I ask, walking around the island to see that he is keeping weight off of it.

“Alright, thanks to you. The stitches are perfect—don’t worry, I didn’t get them wet,” he says quickly, smiling like he thinks he’s placating me.

I furrow my eyebrows.

He bites his lip and turns away to take out a second mug.

“Who are you?” I blurt at his back.

He sets the French press down and I watch the remaining coffee slosh around inside of it. His shoulders round forward as he looks into the cup he’s poured. I’m about to repeat myself when he inhales and turns.

He’s wearing a soft smile on his face. “I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself, I’m Elias,” he says, holding the coffee out.

I stare at it.

“You are…?” He tilts his head, studying me.

I ignore his question, irritated at his calmness. “Where did you come from? Do you realize you’ve trespassed into a Program area?”

Elias seems to give up trying to goad me with caffeine and sets the mug on the island. “Right, well, when the rainstorm started yesterday, I was in the woods and a tree fell. My leg got hurt but I managed to start walking through the rain to find shelter and wound up here. I had no idea I was so close to a neighborhood…” he says a little too innocently. He runs his hand through his hair, not meeting my eyes anymore.

I start to do some math in my head. I know for a fact that the closest town ruins are at least twenty miles away and none of the other neighborhoods between were salvageable. Unless he was living in some half-crushed house in one of the still-flooded neighborhoods, that means almost five hours of walking at a good pace. In the rain, through the forest, on an injured leg, it would take probably twice that. He must be lying. No one would make it here that quickly under those conditions.

I try not to make my skepticism obvious as I ask, “Why were you in the woods?”

“I got lost…” he barely seems convinced himself and it almost sounds like he’s posing it as a question.

I nod, keeping my face neutral. I’ve heard enough. He seems perfectly fine now, so I can turn him in now. I march over to the front door, tug it open, and step onto the front porch. A wall of rain greets me. I can’t even see the front yard. Elias limps up behind me. I can feel his warmth a few inches away as I stare down the rain.

“Look, I know what it sounds like, but I promise I’m not a scavenger.”

After the Storm, not everyone wanted to join a Program. The Program calls the people who roam the deserted towns and destroyed cities, scavengers. Sometimes they work with the Programmers if they find a good haul. More often than not, they operate by their own rules and are dangerous. Luckily, we are so remote that we have never had any find us.

“I’m not here to steal anything. Please—”

I spin around.

Elias is closer than I thought and I’m practically in his arms as he leans in the doorway. I meet his gaze and my breath catches in my throat. His eyes are an intense green-gold color, full of light and smoldering. He must be looking straight into my soul. Something flutters there under his consideration. Despite the intrusion, I relax, forgetting my earlier distrust. He smells like pine and soap. It’s so familiar, it must be the scent of the soap in my bathroom. It takes more than a minute for me to catch my original train of thought.

I mean to be demanding but my voice comes out as a breathy whisper, “You need to tell me why you’re here.”

Elias doesn't answer. He’s searching my eyes one at a time, left to right, and back again, looking for something. Eventually, he breaks away and starts limping back toward the kitchen, leaving me alone in front of the open door.

I shiver as the cold air surrounds me and shake my head to dispel the strange feelings. My hands numbly close and lock the door before I follow him back into the house.

At the island, he picks up his cup of coffee and looks back at me. “As I said, I was lost in the woods and my leg got hurt when a tree fell. I could hardly see in the rain so I was just stumbling around looking for shelter. Then, I woke up here,” he repeats with more confidence this time, his voice smooth and even.

“If you’re not a scavenger, why aren’t you assigned to a Program?”

“I managed to stay sheltered for a while in the city,” he offers, shrugging.

I suppose this could be true. The neighborhood Programs were not compulsory but it seems strange that he would have been on his own for so long. It doesn’t exactly seem safe to be a lone wolf when there are gangs of scavengers roaming around.

I sigh and run my hand through my hair, brushing it off my face, and realize there is still mud in it from last night. “I can’t turn you in until it stops raining, so I guess you’ll just have to stay here.” If he is surprised or upset by this, he doesn’t show it. I leave him in the kitchen and head upstairs.

—

Closed in my bedroom, I keep ruminating on Elias’s story. He doesn’t have the look of the scavengers I’ve seen warnings about in the Program. Maybe he left another Program, which isn’t a big deal unless he got into trouble first. Despite these other possibilities, I’m unable to see him as a threat. Something is nagging me about him or this whole situation. Likely, the fact that until now, I’ve never once broken the rules of the Program. I shake my head. It was stupid to bring him to the house. I should have followed protocol. As I stand under the shower, I find myself continuing to rationalize his presence and even excusing his improbable story. This is ridiculous. I don’t know why I am so obsessively curious and willing to ignore my better judgment because of some feelings.

We are lucky that most of the infrastructure for water and power could be repaired or was undamaged during the Storm. Something about special engineering that preserved the systems. They don’t go into a lot of detail in the Program literature about it, but I’m too grateful to care. Not only is life easier, but it’s also the only reason I am not dead since there wouldn’t have been much of a hospital to save me without running water and electricity. Fuel is the biggest problem now. Most of the underground storage traditionally used was damaged or flooded. In theory, electric cars would still be a possibility, but the roads are in no condition to drive. The Programmers have spent a lot of resources clearing routes. The first few months they had to deliver our supplies in huge off-road military vehicles, which significantly dented their fuel reserves. Even after a year of working to clear roads, journeys take hours with endless detours because of flooding, sinkholes, or other debris.

I walk out of the bathroom and sit on the edge of my bed wrapped in a towel. The blankets are still thrown to the side from when I got up so quickly last night. After I change into leggings and a soft, knit sweater, I make the bed. I take the time to tuck in the corners and smooth the blankets so they lie flat with no wrinkles. I sit back down and work my long, dark hair into two thick French braids. They fall most of the way down my back, definitely too long, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to cut it. I have to start the second braid over again because I’m so distracted thinking about the man downstairs. I look over at the little chrome alarm clock next to my bed and realize how little sleep I got last night and I still have to refigure the schedules due to the rain. I decide to accept Elias’s offer of coffee in the hopes that I can get some work done before I’m dead on my feet. Maybe I can get also the truth out of him and figure out how he ended up here.

Downstairs, I find Elias bustling in the kitchen. He’s humming to himself softly and beating eggs in a bowl while garlic sizzles in a frying pan on the stove. His movements are graceful and intuitive as he moves through the space. One hand absently pushes around the fragrant garlic while the other scans the spice drawer, fingertip sliding over each jar before finding what he’s looking for. He moves on to chopping after plucking some fresh herbs out of the mason jars next to the sink. The knife almost sounds musical on the wooden cutting board before he slides everything into the bowl and cradles it in the crook of his arm to stir it all together. He transfers the mixture into the frying pan and sprinkles in salt and pepper, every step with so much intention it’s almost choreographed.

It’s been longer than I want to admit before he turns around, to get a sip of his coffee, and notices me watching.

He smiles and then furrows his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

I blink and rub my eyes which must be watering from staring for so long.

Elias smiles at me again. “How about that coffee now?”

“I—” I look away and clear my throat, decide on nodding instead.

Elias turns to pour from a full pot. He limps to the fridge and adds a splash of milk out of the glass carafe, then holds it out to me. My fingers brush against his when I take the mug and my heart skitters.

“I should get to work,” I say quickly, turning away and taking my coffee to the dining table. I drop into one of the chairs with my back to him and grab my tablet from across the table where I normally sit. I stifle a sigh as I sip the coffee, better than I usually make. I labor to lose myself in reworking schedules and timetables for the entire neighborhood, factoring in the delay due to the rain.

As I am finishing the log updates I will send to the Programmers, Elias starts setting the other end of the table.

“Breakfast is ready, whenever you’re finished,” he says, sitting down.

I nod without looking up. I would like to pretend I have important things to do and won’t drop everything because he cooked for us but I can’t. He’s made omelets with tomatoes, mushrooms, and greens. It smells incredible and looks about a thousand times better than the plain scrambled eggs I’ve been overcooking every day. I swear my stomach audibly growls.

I snap the tablet closed. “I’ve finished anyway,” I say, trying to sound casual as I slide into the next chair over where he’s set a place for me.

“Bon appétit,” he says. He rests his chin in his hand and waits for me to start.

I take a bite, trying to downplay my excitement. I swear under my breath. It tastes even better than it looks with a perfect, soft texture.

“Thank you,” I murmur into my next bite. I can see him grinning as I peek at him through my eyelashes. His expression could be smug but instead, it’s much softer.

He watches me for a few more bites before he picks up his fork. “My pleasure. It’s been a while since I’ve had fresh eggs and herbs to cook with. Are they from this neighborhood?”

It seems like he’s just curious, so I answer. “Yes, we have a few acres of farmland and animals. The chickens are everyone’s favorites. The herbs are actually from my garden behind the garage.”

He nods, taking a sip of coffee.

“Have you seen any other Programs?” I ask.

I hope it doesn’t seem like an obvious effort to reveal his true motives but I’ve always wondered about other Programs. I imagine groups can do anything locally available, so there must be a lot of possibilities. The Programs are independent and self-sustaining. We consume everything we produce. I’ve always thought that the Programmers seem to get very little out of the whole arrangement.

Elias shakes his head and swallows his bite of food. “Nothing up close. This is the first time I’ve been into a neighborhood…” He looks up at me.

I keep my face neutral.

“I’ve seen a lot of mobile teams though,” he adds.

“Mobile teams?”

The Program literature I have is specific only to this neighborhood. There is some general information that must go to all the Programs but there isn’t very much about the overall scheme or how it is managed.

“They set up a camp for a project and move on once they finish. I’ve seen teams working on clearing the roads, sorting through factories, or siphoning gas in parking garages,” he explains.

I nod and wonder if these teams ever wind up having to fight off scavengers. I hesitate to ask about scavengers since a few hours ago I accused him of being one.

Elias changes the subject. “So, what did you do before the Storm?”

I swallow and my palms start to sweat.

It’s an innocent question, one my neighbors have often discussed but this is exactly why I avoid socializing and keep my relationships strictly professional. It seems impossible to lie. I don’t want to but I’m not sure how to explain that there was no “before the Storm” for me. My life is this job, it’s all I have. After sixteen months, I haven’t even remembered my own name. I chew on my lip, trying to gather the courage to tell him something I have never told anyone.

Before I collect myself, he clears his throat. “I’m sorry, that’s a really personal question. I didn’t mean to pry.” I look up and find him smiling gently at me, his eyes full. “I’m grateful that you brought me in last night and are letting me stay.”

I blink at him. “Oh, it’s okay…”

Elias stands and stacks my empty plate on top of his, then takes my mug. “Let me get you a refill.”

“I can clean up, you should stay off your leg,” I say, standing and trying to take the dishes from him.

“No, no,” he insists, stepping out of my reach, “it’s the least I can do.”

I still follow him to the kitchen to get the coffee so he doesn’t have to walk back to the table. He refills my mug and hands it to me, smiling, his eyes still full in a way that makes my pulse feel loud behind my ears. I mumble thanks and retreat to the dining table to pretend to work.

TBC

#writing #post apocalyptic fiction #h/c #angst #whump #wait who's the caretaker?#post-apocalypse #post-apocalyptic #amnesia #memory loss #original writing #creative writing #oc #ocs #wip

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