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silvfyre-writings · 1 year

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Tell Me a Story, Ranpo-kun Pt. 4 (BSD Fanfic)

I apologize in advance for the ride you all are about to undertake.

Enjoy?

So, yeeeeah, if you're crying, I have tissues on hand.

There's only one chapter to go, and… I'm not ready. I estimate that it should be done before the end of May, but we'll see. I'm sure you all know what's coming though.

Thank you to everyone who has read and commented on this fic, I appreciate every single one of you <3

Until the final chapter.

Time passes faster than Ranpo had expected it to, and before he knows it; two years have gone by in the blink of an eye, and so much has happened, some of it good, some of it bad. And while Ranpo often wishes that he could have had Poe by his side while everything happened, he also knows that it’s important for Poe to focus on his studies, since, you know, he’s spent literal years working towards completing them.

It just means he’ll have a lot to say when he finally gets to see the man again.

Like they’d promised, he and Poe keep in contact as much as they can, but time zones and life get in the way, and more often than not, they can only manage to hold a phone call for only a few minutes. That doesn’t mean they don’t try, though; they do everything in their power to keep old of that precious bond they share, and the promise they made to each other to not let it fall apart.

Ranpo calls Poe the moment Yosano drops by the café, almost a year after Poe’s departure, excitedly telling Poe that the drug the doctor’s been working on all this time has finally been approved for distribution. It’s a joyous moment, one that Ranpo has been waiting for, for a long time, and despite the tiredness in Poe’s voice—because it’s in the middle of the night over in America when he calls—he can tell that he’s just as happy as Ranpo is. And likewise, Poe calls Ranpo in the middle of the night a month later, crying happy tears as he tells Ranpo that he’s successfully passed all his classes and that he’ll be graduating soon as a fully-fledged nurse; the unsaid words of I’ll be back in Yokohama before you know it, not needing to be said at all. That night is the longest they’ve managed to talk the entire time they’ve been separated, and Ranpo falls asleep that night, listening as Poe babbles on and on.

He wakes up the following morning, phone dead, but once he charges it and it turns back on, he’s greeted by a message from Poe. Sleep well, Ranpo-kun.

In the two years that have passed, Ranpo has gone from frequenting Yokohama’s hospital to barely setting foot in it at all; all because of Yosano and her determination to give him a good life. It helps, that upon the approval of the drug he’d once trialled, she secures a prescription for him, and it soon joins the cocktail of medications that Ranpo has to take daily in order for his body to actually agree with living. It’s a lot of pills, and he stares at them with disdain every morning before downing them all at once with a shudder.

Every day, without fail.

As much as he hates it though, he can’t deny that the meds help; his flare ups are milder than they were three years ago, and while they still happen, he hasn’t been admitted to the hospital for one in well over a year now—aside from one time when he’d gotten an infection and come so close to death, Fukuzawa had actually started planning a funeral. It’s a weight off of Ranpo’s shoulders; Fukuzawa’s too, for the constant medical bills finally come to a halt, and the man can finally get ahead of them instead of stressing over them like he’d been doing for the past six years.

Even better, Ranpo manages to secure himself a job now that he’s not half-living in a hospital, earning his own income for the first time in his life. And while Fukuzawa had told him he didn’t need to pay him back for providing Ranpo with medical care for all these years; Ranpo still puts most of his pay into an envelope and hides it in Fukuzawa’s office. He knows Fukuzawa finds the money—he’s not hiding it that well to begin with—but his guardian never says anything to him about it, and he thinks it’s because he understands that this is something Ranpo both wants and needs to do.

It's not like he’s got anything better to spend his money on anyway; nothing that he doesn’t already have at least.

Ranpo had stumbled upon the job purely by chance, and really, it had been the strangest of encounters; he’s still not quite sure how he’d managed to get a job in the first place. He’d gone out with Fukuzawa, and Ranpo had managed to get lost somehow, and he’d wandered around until he’d stumbled upon harried police officers and a rapidly blocked off crime scene in an alley way; the body they were covering up freshly killed.

The officers had been just as surprised as Ranpo was to see them, and had quickly tried to move him along, but Ranpo was nothing if not stubborn, and this sudden turn of events had caught his attention. All it had taken was a single glance over the crime scene for him to figure out that the killer hadn’t actually left the crime scene, and was, in fact, hiding in the dumpster, watching as the police ran around like headless chickens.

“You can’t possibly know that.” One of the officers had said in disbelief. “You’re just a civilian anyway, what would you know?”

Ranpo had shrugged. “Check the dumpster then. I know I’m right.”

And low and behold, Ranpo had been right, the killer ranting and shouting nonsense at Ranpo as the police dragged him from the dumpster and arrested him. The other officers at the scene had looked at Ranpo with a mixture of horrified and impressed expressions. The same officer that had doubted him earlier had approached him carefully after the killer had been taken away.

“How did you know?”

“It was obvious, duh. He’s probably the one that called you out here in the first place, wanting to see your reactions to his ‘masterpiece.’ Stupid if you ask me.”

The officer had tried to ask Ranpo more questions about how he’d figured it out in such a short amount of time, but before the man could even get the first question out, Ranpo’s phone had rung; Fukuzawa frantically asking him where he’d wandered off to. Ranpo had walked away then, ignoring the perplexed officers, following Fukuzawa’s instructions until he’d reunited with the man, telling him about the little adventure he’d had whilst they’d been separated.

He'd thought that had been the end of it.

But no, apparently the officer that he’d spoken to was actually competent—apparently he was the head of the department—and had tracked down Ranpo’s whereabouts, turning up in Fukuzawa’s café to talk to him about what had transpired the previous day.

Kunikida Doppo was the officers name, and the first thing he’d done after introducing himself was offer Ranpo a job—well, it was more of an arrangement than a job, but it still ended up with Ranpo earning money, so, a job it was in his mind.

All he had to do was solve the cases that Kunikida brought to him, and he got paid. It sounded easy enough, and while Kunikida’s co-workers had doubted his skills in the beginning, Ranpo had quickly proved himself, solving case after case with minimal effort. It didn’t matter if it was a murder or a car theft or a lost pet; Ranpo solved them all.

Eventually, word of Ranpo’s talent got out, and soon he was being harassed by police from all over the country with cases that they’d deemed ‘unsolvable’ or ‘too hard.’

And Ranpo solved each and every one of them. Even better, he was enjoying the work. He loved the way he was forced to put his mind to the test, reading over the case files and studying the clues that the police had already gathered—sometimes going out to the crime scenes for himself to find the clues that the police had oh so obviously, missed when they’d combed over it originally. Some of the officers he worked with got upset whenever he solved a case they had been struggling with, but Ranpo didn’t care. He was having fun, using the observation and deduction skills he’d always been somewhat aware of, but never truly focused on, to solve complicated puzzles. Because that’s all these crimes were; puzzles waiting to be pieced together, much like those video games he always used to play when still frequented the hospital.

When Poe was still here.

“Ranpo-san, are you alright?” Kunikida asks, his voice dragging Ranpo out of his memories and back to the present; the duo are on their way to have lunch after Ranpo had been dragged out to the latest crime scene to offer his assistance. It had been an easy case and he’s only a little salty about solving it so fast after being promised that it would be a challenging one—he’s a little proud though, that the police force are finally figuring out how to lure him out to help them whenever he’s reluctant to do so. Kunikida had sounded oh so desperate on the phone that Ranpo had agreed.

Kunikida repeats his question, and Ranpo realizes he’d failed to answer the man. “Oh, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“Are you certain? You aren’t feeling ill are you?” Kunikida’s looking at him with a furrowed brow; he’s worried. It’s not an uncommon look for the blonde to wear unfortunately; he’s well aware of Ranpo’s poor health—Ranpo had been forced to tell the man after a bad case of joint pain had left him unable to work one day—and is always looking out for him, even though Ranpo is constantly telling him not to bother.

“Kunikida-san.” Ranpo sighs. “I’m fine. You’d know if I wasn’t.”

“Alright then… what were you thinking about if I may ask?”

Ranpo immediately breaks into a grin. “That’s for me to know and for you to not find out!” He’s worked with Kunikida for just a little over a year now, but he hasn’t told his co-worker—Kunikida’s not a friend, nor is he just a mere acquaintance—about Poe. No, everything about his friendship with Poe is reserved for Ranpo and those he considers family alone. Those that have been there since the beginning and watched as they became friends and… something more. But once Poe returns—because that’s what had brought on his earlier reminiscence; the day that Poe’s due to return to Yokohama is drawing ever near, and Ranpo’s getting a little excited at that—he might consider introducing the two.

He knows they’d get along.

Kunikida sighs, but doesn’t press, well aware that this is just how Ranpo is, and instead, starts off on a tangent about all the paperwork that’s awaiting the two of them back at the office for when they get back. Ranpo immediately tunes the man out; he’s never done any paperwork before and he’s not going to start now. But he’ll let Kunikida think he will at least.

The place that Kunikida’s decided upon for lunch is coming into sight when Ranpo stumbles, a wave of dizziness threatening to send him crashing to the floor, and it’s only because he manages to get his cane under him just in time, that he doesn’t. The world swirls around him, bringing with it nausea and a ringing sound that drowns out the outside world. Ranpo folds in half, struggling to stay upright as he brings a hand up to cover his eyes. Of course, the vertigo has to hit now of all times, and without any of its usual warning signs.

The vertigo is a fairly recent addition to Ranpo’s misery, although he’s experienced it before, brought on by the medication he’s taking. But it doesn’t happen often enough for anyone to be concerned, so he simply deals with the episodes as they come.

“Kunikida-san...” Ranpo’s voice is barely more than a whisper, the man he desperately needs to look back and see him, still chattering as if Ranpo’s beside him. Ranpo knows that in about ten seconds, he’s no longer going to be able to stand, and not wanting to split his head on the concrete, manages to shout, “Kunikida!”

Ranpo hears Kunikida stop, and a quiet curse, before strong arms are grabbing onto his own, muscles straining to hold him upright. “Symptoms, Ranpo-san?” Kunikida asks, no-nonsense and professional as he always is in these moments.

“Vertigo.” Ranpo hisses out between gritted teeth. The dizziness chooses then to worsen, and Ranpo’s not given a choice in the matter; he’s going down, his legs giving out on him. Kunikida carefully follows him down to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself—something that’s happened before—not saying anything until Ranpo’s laying on the ground, taking deep breaths to combat the sudden carousel ride he’s found himself on.

Ranpo would be embarrassed, to be laying in the middle of the footpath in the middle of the day, the eyes of strangers silently judging, but that bridge had long since been crossed. There’s no room for pride; he just grins and bears it at this point.

“Ambulance?” Kunikida asks, reaching down to loosen Ranpo’s tie in case he’s finding it hard to breathe—he’s not, but the gesture is appreciated.

Ranpo gives a single shake of his head, even though it does nothing to help his nausea and he lets out a groan. “Fukuzawa.”

There’s nothing that can be done for him in the hospital that he can’t already do in the comfort of his own home. At least at home, he has Fukuzawa to give him his meds and watch over him, and privacy to ride this out alone. The hospital will just bring needles and questions until someone recognizes him and then he gets sent home and told to ride it out anyway.

So why waste time?

Despite not saying anything, Ranpo can hear Kunikida’s mind working as he tosses between listening to Ranpo, and going with what his gut wants him to do. But ultimately, Kunikida trusts in the fact that Ranpo knows his body well enough to know what’s best for him, and he feels a hand dig around in his pocket and take his phone. You’d think after knowing Ranpo for as long as he has, Kunikida would have Fukuzawa’s number on hand already, but he doesn’t. Apparently it’s because he hasn’t officially met the man to exchange numbers or something the rather—Ranpo doesn’t care, he really doesn’t. All that matters is that he’s capable of contacting Ranpo’s guardian—which he is—so if that means stealing his phone whenever Ranpo himself is unable to call, then so be it.

Ranpo tunes out the world as he hears Kunikida speaking into the phone; the world is still spinning around him, even throwing in the occasional topsy-turvy motion just to make him feel that little bit sicker. There’s the ever present fatigue that comes with every bout of poor health, the kind that feels like there are anchors strapped to each of Ranpo’s limbs, weighing him down and preventing him from being able to move. It always sucks when he feels like this, and it always comes when he feels really good about himself for a change, like his body just has to remind him that it’s nowhere near perfect, and that this is his fate.

“Excuse me, sirs, do you need help?” A stranger approaches them, and Ranpo swallows his building nausea.

“No, we’re fine. Help is on the way. Thank you though.” Kunikida responds and the footsteps fade away as the stranger moves away. Kunikida sighs and directs his attention towards Ranpo. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Ranpo’s blunt, as he always is when he’s unwell. Kunikida doesn’t seem to take it to heart.

“Fukuzawa’s on the way—” Kunikida cuts off as Ranpo’s phone begins to ring, and Ranpo recognizes the ringtone and braves opening one of his eyes to see Kunikida’s eye twitch something fierce. “Dazai’s calling.”

Ranpo, despite the vertigo, grins. Dazai and Kunikida had met not long after Ranpo had secured his job, and like the man had done with Ranpo, he’d latched onto Kunikida like a leech and refused to let go; often tagging along to work with Ranpo just to mock and tease the poor man who ended up making several threats against Dazai’s life if he didn’t stop.

So, of course, Dazai doubled his efforts.

“Find out what he wants.” Ranpo says, because Dazai is Dazai, even after all these years, and he never calls Ranpo without a good reason. Not without warning him beforehand. It’s how they’ve been able to differentiate the joke calls and the serious calls—the kind where Dazai jokes about the newest suicide method he’s discovered, and the kind where Ranpo has to jump through so many hoops just to make sure his best friend survives the night.

And if it is one of those calls, vertigo be damned, Ranpo will crawl to get to Dazai’s side.

Kunikida’s eye twitches again, but he answers the call, and Ranpo closes his eyes again, just barely able to hear the contents of the phone call; but from the way Kunikida already sounds like he’s ready to commit murder, it’s one of the joke calls.

“—along the river, why?” He hears Kunikida ask, and then vigorous cursing. “Damn you, you bandaged bastard! Hanging up on me after you were the one that called in the first place!”

“Technically,” Ranpo swallows. “He called me.”

“I know. He could just stand to be a little less secretive though—before you say it, I know, that’s just how Dazai is.”

“Wasn’t gonna say anything.” Ranpo says, even though he actually was, and pretends he can’t feel Kunikida giving him a look. He doesn’t say anything else and the two sit in silence as they wait for Fukuzawa to arrive. It’s only been a few minutes since Kunikida called but it feels like hours to Ranpo, and he wishes his guardian would hurry up. But he knows that it’s not as simple as Fukuzawa dropping everything to come to his rescue—it kind of is, but it was always easier when Ranpo was close by and not across town. It takes time now, and Ranpo hates it.

He doesn’t have much of a choice right now, since the calls already been made.

“Kunikida-kun! Ranpo! Fancy meeting you here!” Dazai’s voice grates on Ranpo’s eardrums, and he knows if he was able to, he’d be hitting Dazai with his cane for being so annoying with only one sentence. It’s a skill, he swears, that Dazai perfected the moment he popped out of the womb, to be as annoying as humanly possible, yet still somehow likeable at the same time.

Kunikida’s groan following Dazai’s greeting is how Ranpo feels. “Why are you even here, Dazai? And wh—”

“Because what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t come when I’m needed?” Dazai whines, interrupting whatever Kunikida had been about to ask. “I was expecting to crash your adorable little lunch get together, so imagine my surprise when I turn up and you aren’t there. Vertigo again, Ranpo?”

“I can, and will, puke on you if you try and pick me up.” Ranpo warns as he hears footsteps approaching him. It’s an unfortunate mishap that’s happened once before, when it had been just the two of them walking down the street. Dazai had picked Ranpo up with the intention of helping him home, only to have Ranpo’s stomach rebel and cover the both of them vomit. He’s pretty sure there’s a photo out there somewhere; of the two of them in the bathtub with Nakahara cackling in the background.

Dazai hadn’t tried to carry him since.

“Rude.” Dazai says, and Ranpo feels a hand come to grab his own, long fingers coming to press against his pulse. “After all I did to bring you a surprise.”

Wait, what. Ranpo realizes in that moment that Dazai’s voice isn’t coming from in front of him and that this hand is very familiar, and that the motion of checking his pulse is as well. His heart pounds, hoping building within him and he braves opening his eyes. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the light, but once they do, he smiles. The world continues to turn and spin, but he’d recognize those violet eyes anywhere, even in the darkest of rooms.

“Edgar.” Ranpo says, reaching over with his other hand to intertwine his fingers with Poe’s, disturbing the man as he’s counting.

“Ranpo.” Poe looks down at him and smiles, looking just as happy to see Ranpo is after all this time. There’s a hint of worry on his face as he squeezes Ranpo’s hand. “I suppose it makes sense that the first time I see you, it’s when your body is hating you.”

“It just wanted to remind you of the first time we met.” Ranpo lets out a sigh and pulls his arms back to get them underneath him, ignoring the way they feel like bricks. He’ll force them to work if he has to, but he’s not going to continue lying on the ground when Poe’s finally returned to him.

Immediately, Kunikida protests. “Ranpo-san, you shouldn’t be moving whilst you still feel dizzy! You’ll only make it worse!”

“Ah, just let him, Kunikida-kun.” Dazai waves a hand in the air, a look of anticipation on his face as he watches Ranpo and Poe closely. “Besides, it’s better to get him sitting now, right, Poe-san?”

Poe lifts his head to look at Kunikida and Dazai, and nods. “I assume you’ve already called Fukuzawa-san?” At Kunikida’s nod, Poe continues, “then it’s best to get Ranpo sitting now, so that when we go to stand him, he’s already halfway there and a little more willing to actually be moved.”

“Oh, I see. My apologies then.” Kunikida says. And then. “Are you a doctor?”

“A nurse, actually.”

“Ranpo’s nurse if you want to get really specific.” Dazai teases, and Ranpo reaches around for his cane so that he can hit the man with it, only to hear the familiar sound of wood tapping against concrete coming from Dazai’s direction.

“Dazai, give me my cane.” Ranpo opens his eyes to glare at his friend as best he can in his current situation.

“No, you’ll just hit me with it.”

“That’s the point.” Ranpo grins when he hears a thwack and Dazai whining afterwards. “Thank you, Kunikida-san.”

Dazai and Kunikida begin to dive into their usual antics, and Ranpo tunes them out to focus on Poe and only Poe. It’s been two years since he’s last seen the man, and almost six months since they’d last spoken to each other, so excuse Ranpo for wanting to push his issues to the side just to bathe in Poe’s attention. He’s been waiting for this day ever since Poe had told him he had to leave Yokohama in the first place, waiting to feel Poe’s hands in his own, and to see the man in person and not through a screen.

Poe’s hair is shorter now, too short for the ponytail that Ranpo had loved and adored. His bangs are as long as they always have been, although they’ve been pinned to the side, revealing those eyes that Ranpo could very easily get lost in. The ever-present eye bags are there as well, darker than they were when Poe left, and Ranpo notes that Poe’s complexion is almost vampiric in nature, he’s that pale; it’s probably why they look so dark in the first place. He’s thin too, and Ranpo frowns, because right now, he looks like the healthy one, and Poe, the sick one. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

“I only landed in Yokohama literally an hour ago, Ranpo. Please excuse me for looking like death itself when I am fighting against jetlag.” Poe quirks his lips, which does nothing by make Ranpo grin at him. “Anyway, how are you feeling? Since you so rudely interrupted my checking on you.”

“It’s vertigo. I feel like I’ve been taking for a carousel ride against my will. Which, I have, just so you know.” Ranpo says, and he closes his eyes as Poe shifts him so that he’s sitting upright, groaning at the change in position. It worsens the dizzy feeling he has, but it eases off as Ranpo adjusts to it. The vertigo never lasts all that long when he’s struck by it, two hours at the most, five at the longest, but he still doesn’t feel like he can stand up without keeling over. The only good thing about sitting up right now, is that Poe lets him lean against him, an arm around his back as Poe kneels beside him.

Ranpo can’t wait any longer.

“Edgar.” He says, and when Poe looks at him, he tugs him forward into a greedy, but still sweet, kiss. Poe gives a surprised grunt, but kisses back. It’s not really the right place of time to indulge in such a notion, but Ranpo hasn’t been able to be affectionate with Poe in so long. He wants to hold Poe close and kiss him more, but he settles for short and sweet for now, and pulls back after a few seconds. Poe’s face is bright red, clearly not having expected Ranpo to be so forward, but he’s not complaining and looks rather pleased.

He should be, since Ranpo had been the one to promise him he’d wait for him.

Which had been absolute torture, mind you.

“And that’s what I was waiting for.” Dazai says, completely ruining the atmosphere and Ranpo just about forgets he’s supposed to be unwell, and goes to stand, ready to throttle the man; Poe’s arms preventing him from rising the only thing stopping him.

And, well, the vertigo.

“Dazai-san, please stop tormenting, Ranpo.” Poe sighs.

Kunikida chooses that moment to speak up, a stunned look on his face. “You told me you weren’t involved with anyone, Ranpo-san…?” It sounds like a half-question, half-statement coming from the man; it’s rather amusing to watch him trying to piece together what he’s just witnessed.

“I’m not.” Ranpo says, going to lean back against Poe. The dizziness is easing now, more a discomfort than actually debilitating.

“What, so you just kiss all your friends?” Kunikida asks, his eyes sliding between him and Dazai, and Ranpo scrunches his face at that thought. Why does everyone keep thinking he’d kiss his best friend when Dazai already has someone to do that for him in his life?

“No. Edgar’s the only one.”

“Then—”

“Don’t even bother, Kunikida-kun.” Dazai laughs and throws an arm around the confused man’s shoulder. “No one understands the relationship between Poe-san and Ranpo, not even me. It’s easier to just accept it as it comes.”

Thankfully, Ranpo’s saved from this conversation by Fukuzawa finally pulling up beside them.

“You haven’t changed much.” Poe says, handing Ranpo a glass of water and his meds that Ranpo downs quickly. “Although the cane is a new addition that you never told me about.”

Ranpo drinks the rest of the water before moving to stretch out on his bed, leaving enough space for Poe to crawl and lay beside him, which he does. They’re both in Ranpo’s room now, Fukuzawa having brought him home—after greeting Poe with a smile and an embrace, both of which had left Poe stunned—and leaving the two of them alone. “I actually forgot to mention it last time we spoke.” Ranpo says, eyeing the piece of wood that’s leaning against the wall beside his bed.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Poe rolls onto his side and shuffles closer towards Ranpo so that he can rest his head on Ranpo’s chest. One hand is pressed against Ranpo’s side, but the other stretches across to grab at his hand, and… it’s nice. Ranpo’s free arm is trapped underneath Poe, but he has enough movement to run his hand up and down Poe’s spine; Poe shudders and relaxes into him even more.

Two years apart and still, it feels right.

“I got sick last year.” Ranpo offers despite Poe not asking him, because he knows Poe’s curious why he has a walking aid now when he didn’t before, and he also knows that Poe’s too polite to ask, always worried about upsetting or offending him. As if Ranpo ever could be when it’s Poe. “A dog bit me on the leg while Fukuzawa and I were out. It was infected the next day, because it’s me.”

“Was that when I didn’t hear from you for a couple of months?”

Ranpo nods. “Yeah. It was… it was bad. I don’t remember any of it really, but Yosano-sensei told me afterwards that Fukuzawa was actually starting to plan a funeral for me.”

“I heard about that.” Poe says quietly, a sad look on his face. “Yosano-sensei called me to tell me about it. She told me how sick you were, and that you might not make it. I wanted to come back, but she told me not to, that the only people allowed in the room were her and Fukuzawa so there wouldn’t be any point to me flying all the way here. But she promised to keep me updated. I was relieved when she told me you were finally on the mend.”

For some reason, Poe’s words send warmth spreading throughout his chest. “Well, I suppose having me in your thoughts is enough.” He’s teasing. “But, yeah, the infection wreaked havoc on my leg. Took months for me to actually walk on it again, but it never healed right.”

“Hence the cane?”

“Hence the cane.” Ranpo leans down to nuzzle Poe’s hair; it tickled his nose, but it smells nice, like Poe had freshly washed it. “Now what about you? You changed lots. Your hair for starters.”

“N-Not much happened, really.” Poe says, suddenly awkward now that the attentions been turned onto himself. “I c-cut my hair because it was getting in the way—”

“You cut your hair, but not your bangs?”

“—hush you.” Poe scolds, pulling his hand away to flick Ranpo’s forehead gently before returning to intertwine their fingers again. “My bangs can be pinned back, and I like hiding behind them. As I was saying, not much happened. I graduated; I started w-working—things I’ve already told you.”

“What about your stories?” Ranpo asks.

“What about them?”

“Have you published them yet?” He knows that Poe hasn’t published them, because he would’ve heard about it if he had, but it’s the best question he has to ask Poe about how his writing’s going without outright asking about it. Poe always seems to turn into a stuttering mess when he’s asked about his writing, Ranpo doesn’t quite understand why.

Poe hums, his voice starting to slow down as tiredness overtakes him. “No… but I do have something to show you. Later”

“Oh? What?” Ranpo asks, but his only response is a mumble he can’t understand as the jetlag finally wins against Poe’s fight to stay awake and the writer falls asleep in his arms. Ranpo continues to lay there until he too, falls asleep, enjoying Poe’s warmth and the fact that he’s finally back.

He looks forward to spending as much time as possible with Poe in the coming days.

It’s almost like they were never apart in the first place.

-----

“You’ve come back for a reason, haven’t you, Edgar?” Ranpo asks one day while he and Poe are eating an early dinner together. He can hear Fukuzawa downstairs, cleaning the café, and the pitter patter of paws as the cats run up the stairs to escape the smell of chemical—and the dreaded vacuum.

As it turns out, Poe had sold his apartment upon leaving Yokohama, and after two years apart, Ranpo wasn’t going to let the man sleep in some hotel somewhere, so he’d told Poe to just stay with him until he found a place. Understandably, Poe had protested, not wanting to impose on him and Fukuzawa like that, but Fukuzawa had chosen that moment to say that it was fine, and that Poe was always welcome.

So, for the past week and a bit, Poe had been sharing Ranpo’s bed with him. There had been a spare bed, of course, but why bother when they were already so used to sleeping in each other’s presence? Poe had, of course, tried to protest that the bed was Ranpo’s, but Ranpo wouldn’t hear it.

“How many times did we lay in the same hospital bed together? At least this one’s bigger!”

“I wanted to come back, is that not enough?” Poe frowns, as he uses his chopsticks to push his food around his plate. Ranpo narrows his eyes at the movement; Poe hasn’t yet eaten anything, and he’s been living here long enough for the jetlag to have long since stopped affecting his appetite.

He doesn’t say anything.

It is, but I know you, and you have that look in your eye. The one that tells me I’m missing something. The last piece of the puzzle… Ranpo thinks, chewing on his own food. He hums and tries to think about his words so he doesn’t upset Poe. “I know you came back for us, and that makes me happy, but… there’s something else. I know it has something to do with whatever it is you’re still keeping from me.”

He'd asked about what it was that Poe was hiding after Poe had left, trying to get the answers he so desperately wanted, but not one of them told him anything useful; playing dumb or just telling him to ask Poe—which he’d already done.

Poe goes quiet, his head dropping to avoid looking at Ranpo, even though his bangs already do that plenty. “It’s… complicated, Ranpo.” His eyes look sad for a split second, but it’s not long enough for Ranpo to know if he truly saw the look or if it was just a trick of the light, before Poe’s looking at him again, a smile on his face. “Is there anything you’d like to do now that I’m back?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, from what I’ve heard, your meds are working quite well, so you can probably do things you haven’t been able to before. We could do some things together?” Poe suggests.

Ranpo stops eating and thinks. It’s true that there’s lots of things he’d like to do, and despite being free of the hospital for as long as he has been, he still hasn’t done much of the mental list he’s built up; he blames it on all the work he’s been doing recently and not really having anyone to do those things with. But now that Poe’s back, it gives him more reason to want to actually do these things and—

“I want to visit my parents.” Ranpo says after a few minutes. “I haven’t been in a while.”

“They aren’t buried in Yokohama are they?”

Ranpo shakes his head. “Out in the countryside. It’s pretty far, so whenever Fukuzawa and I have gone in the past, we’ve had to take a couple of extra days. I would always fall ill when we returned though, so we didn’t get to do it often.” He drops his head. He’s had plenty of opportunities these past two years to take the time to go and visit, yet he hasn’t, and he’s not sure why that is. The thought leaves him with a heavy feeling in his stomach, and suddenly, he doesn’t think he can finish the rest of his dinner, not when he feels like he’s been the worst son imaginable.

“Ranpo… are you alright?” Poe looks concerned, and he stretches a hand across the table, resting it with the palm facing upwards; an offering, if Ranpo needs it.

He rests his own hand on top, enjoying the way Poe’s hand is cold against his own warm one, and does his best to smile, although he’s certain he fails. Thinking about his parents always leaves him feeling this way, even though it’s been years since they’d passed. “I’m alright. Just thinking about my parents… ya know?”

Poe nods, an understanding look on his own face. “I get it. I didn’t quite have the same relationship with my own parents, but I do understand.”

Ranpo looks up, eyes wide at the information Poe divulges. It’s the first time that Poe’s spoken about his family to Ranpo in the years they’ve known each other. That doesn’t mean that Ranpo hasn’t tried to find out more, because, he has. But every time he asks, Poe always gets a faraway look in his eyes that Ranpo recognizes as the same one Dazai gets when he gets lost in bad memories, so Ranpo’s carefully learned how to avoid crossing the thin line that is Poe’s emotions when it comes to talking about family. The only reason family ever even comes up between the two is because Ranpo has always liked to talk about his own family; his parents and everything they did for him before they passed, and Fukuzawa who took over for them.

So, with Poe’s feelings regarding family in mind, he carefully asks, “What were your parents like?”

He can see the moment that Poe freezes, and the moment he begins to mentally back away from the conversation—almost as if the response is an automatic one at this point—and Ranpo’s already forming the words on his lips to tell Poe that he’ll drop it, when Poe actually answers him. “I… didn’t actually know my birth parents. My father left before I was even a year old, and my mother died when I was two. But the people that raised me… they were alright, I guess. They weren’t the nicest of people and both passed when I was sixteen. I’ve been on my own since.”

“There’s no one else in your family?” Ranpo asks, his interest piqued at how open Poe’s being with him. It makes sense now, why Poe’s so hesitant and anxious when it comes to what most would consider basic things. The way Poe used to stiffen up the moment he was touched by unfamiliar hands, or the way those that happened to be taller than him, caused him to shrink until he appeared smaller than even Ranpo. All of Poe’s mannerism’s that have slowly faded the longer he’s lived in Yokohama, can absolutely be traced back to the childhood that he lived back over in America.

Poe shakes his head. “No one that cared enough to talk to me. I don’t mind though, Ranpo, really. I’ve always been quiet in nature, so living on my own suited me just fine.”

No it didn’t, but Ranpo’s not going to say that out loud. Instead, he turns his attention back to his long forgotten dinner and shoves some of it into his mouth, talking while he chews. “Well, now you have a new family—our family—so you aren’t alone anymore!”

A soft laugh comes from Poe’s mouth as he smiles, and eats a little more of his own food. “No, I suppose I’m not, am I? What about your parents? What were they like?”

Ranpo brightens immediately; it’s not often that he gets to talk about his parents, not when the topic usually comes up after a series of nightmares, or when something bad is happening to him, so it’s a nice change to get the chance to talk over something nice. Ranpo doesn’t hesitate to start talking, telling Poe everything as it comes to his mind, in no order or sense, and he’s pretty sure that he’s talking far too fast to actually be understand, but Poe’s watching him softly, head resting on the palm of his hand, listening as Ranpo talks, and talks.

“They sound wonderful.” Poe says when Ranpo’s finished talking. “Do you think they’re watching over you?”

“I like to think so.” Ranpo looks up at the ceiling, imagining the night sky that lies beyond it. “I can’t imagine they’d move on to the afterlife or wherever it is the dead go without making sure that I’m alright.” He grins at Poe. “They would’ve liked you.”

“You think so?”

“Of course I do!”

The train ride to the countryside is as long as it always is, and Ranpo’s quiet as he stares out the window, watching the scenery fly by as the train chugs along the tracks. Fukuzawa is sitting across from him; lost in the book he’s brought along for the ride. It’s almost the exact same scene as it is every time the two of the them have made the trek out to the small village that Ranpo had grown up in, only… it’s not just the two of them this time.

There’s a weight on Ranpo’s shoulder as Poe leans against him, eyes closed in slumber, and soft snores the only noise in the compartment the three of them are sitting in. In order to get to Ranpo’s hometown, it had meant getting up early to catch the right train; and while he and Fukuzawa were used to the early wake ups, it appeared that Poe was not, for they hadn’t even left Yokohama before he had dozed off. It had been even harder to get Poe up and out of bed, the writer opening his eyes only to try and go back to sleep upon seeing that the sun wasn’t even up yet. Unfortunately for him, Ranpo was the more stubborn of the two, and eventually, Poe had gotten up on shaky legs and slowly moved about the bedroom, looking more dead than alive in that moment. Ranpo had watched him with concerned eyes, ignoring the way Poe had tried to reassure him that he was still waking up and would be fine soon.

Ranpo didn’t believe him.

He’s not that stupid, he’s had two years to piece the puzzle together, two years to read between the lines of what people tell him.

He just doesn’t have the missing pieces yet. Those lie with Poe and Poe alone.

“You look worried. What’s on your mind?” Fukuzawa comments, even though he’s not looking at Ranpo at all to know what kind of face he’s making. He’s starting to think that the man is telepathic from the way he always seems to know what Ranpo’s thinking, even before Ranpo himself knows what he’s thinking.

Ranpo sighs and glances at Poe’s sleeping face, lifting a hand to brush a few strands of hair out of his face; a gesture that would’ve normally roused Poe from his sleep did nothing this time. It told Ranpo that Poe was more exhausted than he’d tried to lead him to believe back at home. “I’m not worried.”

Fukuzawa glances up at him this time, albeit briefly. “You’re usually much more restless and talkative. And you have that look on your face?”

“What look?” Ranpo frowns.

“That look.” Fukuzawa moved to close his book and places it on the chair beside him, giving Ranpo his full attention. Ranpo likes to call it the ‘important talk’ look, and he dislikes whenever he’s put under its scrutiny. “What’s wrong, Ranpo?”

Ranpo thinks over whether or not he wants to divulge his thoughts to his guardian, when he’s not even a hundred percent sure that he has something to worry about in the first place. He knows that there’s something, it’s something that’s been hanging around the back of his subconscious since that night Poe had ended up in the hospital, but he’s not a hundred percent certain; there’s a sliver of chance that he’s wrong, and that he’s worrying about nothing, and it’s that sliver that Ranpo clings to.

He doesn’t want to be right, not this time.

“There’s nothing.” Ranpo says, making the decision not to talk about it, not until Poe himself has spoken to him—whenever that happens. “But I’ll tell you if there is.”

“Alright.” Fukuzawa nods, and goes back to his book.

Ranpo’s hometown hasn’t changed much since the last time he was here, and neither has the graveyard his parents are buried in. It’s a little more overgrown from lack of care, but he knows that someone will be by at the end of the month to tidy the graves and give them a clean. Even after all these years, he doesn’t know who it is that does the work, but he appreciates it; its certainly easier to travel over the uneven ground when plants aren’t constantly trying to take his cane from him and trip him up.

He leads the way down the path, carefully watching where he’s walking, and listening to make sure that Fukuzawa and Poe are still behind him. The walk to the graveyard had left both Ranpo and Poe needing a break, but while Ranpo had recovered enough to continue on, he can still hear Poe’s wheezing breaths behind him; any attempt he’d make at taking a longer break was met with Poe insisting that he was fine and capable. Ranpo would’ve argued, but the look Poe was giving him was one he’d often used himself when he was ill, so he dropped the subject, and set the pace as slow as he could instead.

“Here we are.” He says, slowly easing himself to the ground to sit in front of the gravestone that had his parent’s names marked on them. Ranpo feels sad as he looks at it, wondering what his life would’ve been like if they hadn’t died in the accident; if he still would’ve met Dazai, and Yosano, and Poe. He doubts he would’ve met Fukuzawa if it hadn’t been for that fateful day that had brought them together, but he’s also pretty sure he would’ve been dead by now if he hadn’t met the man. It’s thanks to Fukuzawa that he’s still here, really—sure, his parents had fought as much as they could to get him help, but even they had given in to the doctors saying nothing could be done in the end. Not that Ranpo blames them—he probably would’ve given up on himself too back then.

I miss you. Ranpo says to his parents, knowing that wherever they are, they will always be watching over him; always listening. He’s never spoken aloud to his parents whilst visiting them, preferring to keep his thoughts to himself. Ranpo still tells them everything though. I’m doing well though… still fighting hard like I promised. I’m twenty now, an adult. Who would’ve thought, huh? I remember people telling you that I wouldn’t make it to thirteen. I sure showed them. That’s not all, I uh… I met someone. He’s here with me actually—I wanted him to meet you both. His names Poe, and he’s American—oh, and an amazing writer, and, well… he’s special. Very special. He’s helped me a lot, and I don’t know what I’d do without him.

Ranpo continues to update his parents on everything that’s happened to him these past years, updates them on how the family he’s created by his own hands is doing as well. There’s silence around him; Fukuzawa kneeling beside his left, head bowed respectfully towards the graves. He’s probably telling them that he’s still managed to keep his promise in keeping Ranpo safe, the same promise he always makes on these visits. Poe’s to his left, mouth moving, but no words coming out as he says words Ranpo can’t discern; he realizes after a moment of watching that it’s because Poe’s speaking English, which isn’t surprising in the slightest.

They sit there for an hour, in silence, as the three of them talk of different things to the ghosts that they hope can hear them, even in death.

There’s not much to see in Ranpo’s hometown, but he shows Poe around anyway; where the general store is, where he used to live with his parents—there’s a new family in that house now, so he only points it out as they walk past it—and where the one restaurant is in town that also doubles as the lodgings for passer-by’s. He even shows him the ratty playground that kids have broken more bones on than actually played, telling Poe the story of how he’d snuck out of the house when he was younger to go play with the other village kids, only to break his wrist falling off the damn thing.

After Ranpo finishes his story, he leads Poe back to the lodgings so that they can get something for dinner, and get some much needed rest before catching the train in the morning.

“Would you like to come to America with me, Ranpo?” Poe asks once they’ve settled into the only lodgings in the village. The question is sudden and unexpected, and comes while Ranpo’s kicking off his pants so that he can get into bed. He stares at Poe from where he’s leaning against the wall, one leg out and the other raised as he fights with his clothing. Poe, whose already undressed and comfortable in bed, stares at him with a curious look.

“If you tell me why, I’ll give you an answer.” Ranpo finally answers, finally tugging his leg free. He’s curious why Poe’s brought this up, when he’s never really seemed keen on sharing his American heritage with Ranpo before. As he waits for Poe to answer him, he limps over to the bed and crawls under the covers with Poe, getting as close as he can to the man. He can feel Poe’s heartbeat underneath his ear, and he lets out a pleased noise when Poe plants a kiss on his forehead.

“I thought that since you’ve shown me where you grew up… you’d like to see where I did.” Poe says, uncertainty in his voice. He’s worried Ranpo will say no, or laugh at him for even suggesting such an idea in the first place. “You, um, don’t have to if you don’t want to, though. I’d u-understand. It’s quite far…”

“Don’t be stupid, Edgar.” Ranpo says, tracing a senseless pattern into Poe’s bare chest that has the man shiver underneath him. “I want to go. But can we go?”

“You’d just need a passport, which is easy enough to get… I hope. We can ask Fukuzawa for help. And if you’re worried about your health, we’ll plan accordingly. We won’t just get on a plane tomorrow and fly halfway across the world.”

“What about your own health?” Ranpo asks. It’s not what he’d originally wanted to say, but it’s what escaped his mouth, and he really wishes he could shove the words back in, but he can’t, so he keeps talking. “You still don’t look well, ya know? Not that I’m saying you are unwell, of course, just that you look it. Not that I’m one to judge. I—”

Poe cuts him off by pressing a finger to his lips. “Ranpo, it’ll—it’ll be fine. You trust me, don’t you?”

Ranpo nods. Of course he trusts Poe, he always has, ever since they first became friends. Hell, he’s probably trusted Poe earlier than that—a memory of the time Poe had sat by his bedside before he’d even known who Ranpo was flashes across his mind.

“Then trust me. It’ll be fun, and we’ll make some memories.”

Ranpo’s always considered himself a heavy sleeper, so he’s surprised when he wakes up at some unknown hour of the night for a reason he’s not yet aware of. It takes him another minute or so for him to wake up enough to realize that it’s just him in the bed; Poe’s nowhere to be found, although there’s a light coming from the bathroom, the door half closed to prevent said light from flooding the rest of the room. “Edgar?”

When he doesn’t receive an answer, Ranpo throws the sheets off himself and crawls out of bed, and shuffles as quickly as he’s able to over to the bathroom. Slowly, he pushes the door open, “Ed—” Ranpo cuts off as the first thing his eyes land on is blood. “Edgar!”

Poe’s leaning against the toilet, head between his knees with more blood than Ranpo’s comfortable seeing staining his clothes, his hands, his face. He jerks when he hears Ranpo’s voice and his head lifts slightly. “Ah, my apologies, Ranpo. Did I wake you?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Ranpo comes and awkwardly kneels in front of Poe, his hands hovering in the air as he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. “What happened?”

“Nosebleed.” Poe sighs and drops his head back down; Ranpo realizes then that one of Poe’s hands is pinching the bridge of his nose, and he vaguely recalls that that’s what you’re supposed to do when your nose decides to just randomly bleed on you. “My phones on the counter, can you tell me what the timer’s at, please?”

Ranpo nods and does as he’s asked, stretching up to grab the device—and after a brief pause, the box of tissues beside the phone—before returning to his spot in front of Poe, nudging the man’s leg with the box. “It’s at six minutes, thirty.”

“Okay.” Poe lets out a sigh as he discards the bloody tissues he’d been pressing against his nose and replacing it with a handful of new ones. “Grab one of the small towels, wet it, and place it on my neck.”

“What’s that for?” Ranpo asks as he stands, leaning against the counter with all his weight on his good leg as he grabs the towel. He’s really wishing he’d taken the time to grab his cane instead of madly dashing to the bathroom, but he pushes his discomfort to the side and refocuses his attention on helping his friend.

Poe sniffs, and it’s a horrid sound; wet and thick, almost as if Poe has a cold, even though it’s obviously from all the blood that’s still coming from his nose. “It’s to help constrict the blood vessels. Should stop the bleeding, or slow it down at least.”

“Do you… should I get help?”

“Only if it lasts longer than ten minutes. It’s—It’s fine, Ranpo, this happens sometimes.” Poe tilts his head to the side just enough that one of his eyes are peeking out from behind his bangs. “You can go back to bed if you want.”

“Nah, that’s boring.” Ranpo places the now, cold, and wet towel against the back of Poe’s neck, the man letting out a blissful sigh as the chill seeps into his skin. “I’ll just sit here and keep you company until you stop bleeding all over the place.”

“Surely that’s more boring.”

“Of course, it’s not! Why? Because I say so—hey, Edgar, want me to tell you a story?”

“Huh?” Poe sounds confused, which is fair, because Ranpo’s also confused, despite being the one to make the offer in the first place. It’s the first time he’s ever offered to tell a story; it’s usually Poe telling the stories, and that was fine with both of them. The confusion disappears, and a soft smile appears in its place. “Sure, use my phone to find one if you’d like.”

Ranpo nods and scrolls through Poe’s phone, trying to find a story that’s not too long, but not too short either. Eventually, he finds one that looks promising, some foreign fairy tale he’s never heard of before, and he copies and pastes into a translator so that he can actually read the words. He doesn’t know how Poe does it if this is how he’s always read stories to Ranpo; it’s just another reason to be fond of him, really.

“Just know, I had to put it through a translator. If it doesn’t make sense, don’t blame me.” Ranpo says, shifting closer to Poe and wrapping an arm around his back.

Poe leans into the touch. “How could I ever blame you, Ranpo.”

“Shush you, I’m going to read you the best story you’ve ever heard.”

They end up falling asleep on the bathroom floor, and when Ranpo wakes up, it’s to a very strong ache that resonates across his entire body. Great. He let’s out a groan and carefully, shuffles out from underneath Poe. But that’s as far as his plan goes, because he can’t pull himself upright apparently, and he resigns himself to sitting on the cold bathroom floor until Poe wakes up; he regrets not bringing his phone with him when he’d come all the way here.

Poe’s still sleeping, still covered in blood, albeit dried now. His nose had stopped bleeding sometime while Ranpo had been speaking, and he, himself had fallen asleep not long after, once he’d finished reading the story. Ranpo’s not quite sure why he didn’t just stop when Poe had fallen asleep, but something had kept him going, some unknown force that whispered in his ear that he had to finish the story.

It makes him wonder if this was what happened every time Poe had been the one to tell him a story. If Poe felt the urge whenever he was reading, to keep on reading until there wasn’t anything left to read. He then wondered if that extended to the stories that Poe writes, and if that was the reason why he always saw the man scribbling down in a notebook, desperately getting the words out until the story had told itself.

Ranpo hears his phone buzz in the other room, and a quick glance at Poe’s phone shows they’re running late to meet with Fukuzawa for breakfast. He tries again to get to his feet, but his body just isn’t interested in complying with him this morning, at least not until he gets his meds into him which will do wonders on the aches. Poe’s phone buzzes a couple of minutes after, Fukuzawa’s name popping up on the screen and it’s then that Ranpo slaps himself with a hand. He could’ve just used Poe’s phone to ask Fukuzawa for help instead of waiting all this time.

With one hand, Ranpo shoots a text to Fukuzawa explaining what had happened and that Poe was still sleeping. He gets a response a few seconds after he sends it; Fukuzawa’s on the way. Thank God. Ranpo decides then, that while letting Poe sleep the day away is perfectly fine and something he’d love to do so himself, he also knows that if they want to get back to Yokohama at a reasonable hour, he needs to get up now.

“Edgar.” Ranpo shakes Poe’s shoulder, and keeps shaking when the man doesn’t immediately show any signs of waking. Poe’s brow furrows, but he still remains asleep. “Edgar.”

A twitch of the finger, and then, finally, Poe’s eyes open. “Ugh.”

“I’ll say. Welcome back to the land of the living. We have blood and joint pain greeting us this fine morning.” Ranpo laughs at his own words. He doesn’t care if Poe doesn’t find them funny, he does and that’s all he cares about.

Poe just stares at him for a moment, blinking blearily at him, before he seems to realize what Ranpo’s said and snorts. “I see we’re both having a great start to the day. Can I help?”

“Fukuzawa’s coming.” Ranpo answers with. “But maybe clean yourself up a bit so you don’t look like I punched you in the face.”

“It’s not that bad, Ranpo.”

“It looks that bad.”

Poe huffs, and gets to his feet—Ranpo doesn’t miss the way that Poe’s having to lean heavily on the sick, nor the way he can’t seem to stay standing, collapsing onto the toilet lid, and washing his hands free of blood that way—whilst he watches from the floor. A knock distracts him, before he hears the front door opening. “Ranpo? Poe-san?” Fukuzawa calls into the room.

“Bathroom! Bring my meds, please!” Ranpo calls back, accidentally startling Poe, which in turn startles him. The two of them stare at each other momentarily before quietly chuckling.

Fukuzawa appears in the doorway, holding the little bag that Ranpo keeps his pills in and he makes grabby hands towards it. It doesn’t take him long to get what he needs and swallow it; now he just needs to wait for them to actually work. “Thanks.”

He received a nod in response. “Is it bad today?”

“If you get me upright, I can probably work through it.” Ranpo says, and lifts his arms as Fukuzawa bends down to hoist him up—Ranpo groans at the change in position—guiding him out of the bathroom and towards the bed where he gets dumped, Fukuzawa disappearing back into the bathroom. He returns moments later with Poe, an arm around Poe’s waist, and a hand underneath his elbow as he deposits Poe beside Ranpo, in a much gentler manner than Ranpo had been. Rude.

“I brought breakfast with me.” Fukuzawa moves to grab the bag that Ranpo hadn’t even noticed off of the little table that all motels have and passes it over. Inside is a few pieces of buttered toast and some fruit; it’s simple enough, which suits the situation just fine. Ranpo’s content to much on the fruit whilst Fukuzawa moves about the room, gathering their belongings for them—Ranpo’s grateful for that. He thinks he’d fall over if he tried to help right now.

Instead, he turns towards Poe and nudges the man with his knee when he notices that he’s not eating. “Eat. You’ll feel better if you do.”

Poe hums and doesn’t say anything, but obediently grabs a piece of toast and nibbles on it.

The train ride back to Yokohama is quiet; Ranpo stares out the window like he always does, but this time, Poe’s in his lap, and he’s running his fingers through his hair while he sleeps.

He spends the rest of the trip worried.

“Are you sure that going to America is a good thing?” Ranpo whispers when they’re safely back at home, comfortably resting in his bed. He and Poe are curled up next to each other like they always are, but Ranpo’s pressed their foreheads together so that he can feel Poe’s soft breaths against his face, and he’s gently running his thumbs across the back of Poe’s knuckles. “There’s plenty of time, we can go when you’re feeling better.”

Last nights incident slotted another piece of the jigsaw together.

“It’ll—It’ll be fine, Ranpo. It’s n-nothing to worry about.” Poe says, eyes blinking tiredly. Ranpo wants to argue, even starts to open his mouth to do so, before Poe covers the distance between them and kisses him—only for a second—and it might just be Ranpo’s imagination, but…

It doesn’t feel as full of life as Poe’s kisses usually do.

-----

When Ranpo tells people that he and Poe are going overseas, he’s met with very different reactions.

Fukuzawa watches him closely after Ranpo tells him. “You both need to be careful, okay? But ultimately, enjoy yourselves and make some good memories.”

Yosano insists that Ranpo lets her check him over a few days before they plan to fly out. “The climate’s very different over there, so you make sure to take care of yourself, okay? I won’t be there to help you if you have a flare up.” She has an apprehensive look on her face as she says that, and he has a feeling it’s not directed at him.

Nakahara corners him in the café after picking Dazai up one day and gives him a list of things to do over in America. “These are some of things I did when I went over last, but I’m sure Poe-san has a plan in mind already. But it wouldn’t hurt to suggest some of these.”

Dazai is the only one that doesn’t say anything, just gives him an unreadable look as he leans in close and whispers into Ranpo’s ear in a voice that sends shivers up Ranpo’s spine. “Have you ever noticed that Poe-san only stutters when he lies?”

Ranpo’s not sure what to make of that, but his best friends words leave him feeling uneasy for the rest of the day.

-----

It’s when their trip is fully booked and planned out—they’re leaving in two weeks—that the final piece of the puzzle falls into place.

Ranpo and Poe are helping Fukuzawa with closing the café, when Poe breaks out into a fit of coughing, which isn’t odd in itself; Poe’s been coughing and wheezing a lot these past few days. It’s just a cold, is what he’d told Ranpo, and Ranpo had believed him, if only because he’s the same way when he falls victim to one.

What wasn’t normal, was when the coughing only seemed to grow worse, and Ranpo looks up from where he’s wiping down a table to see Poe, with one hand clutching the table he’s next to, and the other, his chest. The coughs start to sound different, and Ranpo steps closer and freezes in place.

There’s blood dribbling down Poe’s chin, his lips stained in the crimson liquid. A bubble forms and bursts at the corner of his mouth, and finally, Ranpo’s limbs seem to unfreeze and he surges forward. “Fukuzawa!” He shouts, dragging a chair from one of the tables and forcing Poe down into it. His heart’s beating a million miles a second, and he’s pretty sure he’s shaking. He’s scared, but he does his best to prevent it from showing, because Poe looks more frightened, and Ranpo knows that if he looks afraid of what’s happening, then that’ll only scare Poe more, and it’ll only become so much worse.

He's reminded so much of that time it had been him coughing up blood.

“Breathe, Edgar.” Ranpo says, taking Poe’s hand into his own, trying to remember what others had done for him when he’d had trouble breathing during flare ups. He’d often been laid on the ground in a specific position, but there’s never been blood involved in his cases. Where the hell is Fukuzawa? “Here, lean forward—Fukuzawa!”

Footsteps hurry from the kitchen and Fukuzawa rushes over, the franticness of Ranpo’s voice alerting him to the seriousness of the situation. Ranpo only has to make eye contact with the man, before Fukuzawa’s kneeling beside Poe and issuing orders. “Ranpo, bring me a towel, and then call Yosano-sensei.”

“No.” Poe croaks, more blood spilling over his lips that he catches in his hand. The coughing’s eased off enough for him to speak. “I’m—I’m fine.”

“There’s only two options, Poe-san, and that’s I drive you to the hospital, or I call an ambulance. Not going is not an option.” Fukuzawa says, words harsh, but voice somehow still kind. “Let us help you, Poe-san. Just like you’ve always helped us.”

Ranpo remains frozen in one spot as Poe stays silent, only moving when Fukuzawa looks up at him, and he remembers that he’s supposed to actually be doing something instead of just standing there. He moves off to grab the towel that Fukuzawa had requested, handing it over to the man before he grabs his phone and dials his doctors number.

Yosano picks up on the second ring, and listens as Ranpo speaks rapidly to her, watching Fukuzawa wipe away the blood that’s staining Poe’s mouth, and then helping the writer onto his feet. He’s not quite sure that Yosano understands what he’s saying, but once he’s done, she reassures him that everything will be alright, and that she’ll meet them when they arrive. Ranpo manages to get out a quiet ‘okay’ before he’s hanging up. “Yosano-sensei is going to meet us.”

“Okay. Are you coming?” Fukuzawa asks, only because he knows how much being at the hospital irks Ranpo, but it’s a stupid question in this case. Of course he’s going. He could be unable to walk and breathe himself, and he’d still go. His face must say something, because Fukuzawa only nods. “Help me then.”

Ranpo follows behind Fukuzawa, wishing that he could help support Poe’s weight as his friend stumbles along, but it would be foolish on his part to even try. Instead, he makes sure to turn the lights off and lock the door of the café behind him, and when they get to the car, he opens the door and slides into the backseat without a word, putting his arms out to help guide Poe to come and sit next to him.

“You’ll be okay.” Ranpo presses his face into Poe’s hair as the man leans against him, forgoing his seatbelt so that Poe can stretch out against him and breathe. And for once, Fukuzawa doesn’t tell him off for it. “It’s just a bad day, that’s all.”

Poe coughs. “Y-Yeah…”

They aren’t allowed to go with Poe once they arrive at the hospital, Yosano ferrying him away the moment they step foot inside the building. So, for the second time in his life, Ranpo’s forced to wait in the waiting room, left to get lost in his endless thoughts of what ifs and whys. It had clicked the moment everything seemed to calm down around him, allowing his mind to piece together the puzzle that’s been pushed to the back of his mind for all these years; the puzzle that is Poe.

Poe is sick.

That much, Ranpo knows, although he doesn’t quite know how bad it is; whether Poe’s sick in the way Ranpo is, or if it’s something different entirely. Whatever it is, it’s not good, and Ranpo fights the urge to cry, because it’s not fair. Poe, who’s lived a hard life, just wants to write stories, and help people, yet for some reason, the world wants to have him suffer? Poe, who deserves to have the stories he writes shared across the world, deserves to be loved and cared for, is suddenly not allowed to have those things?

It’s not fair.

“Did you know he was sick?” Ranpo quietly asks. He knows that the adults in his life have been working together to keep this information for Ranpo, but he doesn’t understand why they would do such a thing. Poe asked them to, remember? Yeah, sure, Poe may have asked them to not say anything, but they still could’ve said something. Ranpo might’ve done things differently if he’d known that Poe was prone to bad days, might’ve been less demanding all those times that Poe had looked unwell, yet still worked to take care of him when Ranpo felt ill.

Fukuzawa is silent for a moment. “Yes. Yosano-sensei warned me when she saw how close the two of you were getting.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me? I would’ve—I would’ve understood.” It’s the truth, he would’ve, because Ranpo’s spent his entire life being ill, so he knows what it’s like to feel weak and useless in a world that’s out to get you; what it’s like to struggle through every day when your body just wants to give up and stop fighting.

“Poe-san… asked us to wait.” Fukuzawa says slowly. Carefully. “You were already suffering through your own problems; he didn’t want you to spend time being concerned about him.”

Ranpo hums and curls up into Fukuzawa’s side, letting out a sigh as his guardian draws him in closer. “I still wish he’d told me.”

Yosano doesn’t say anything as she collects him and Fukuzawa from the waiting room, guiding them up to the room Poe’s being kept it—it’s not the same one as it was the last time they were here. The only sounds aside from the usual hospital sounds, are those of Yosano’s heels as they click against the floor, and the tap of Ranpo’s cane as he limps along. Fukuzawa is silent, the only sign he’s even there is his warm hand against Ranpo’s back as a form of encouragement.

They come to a stop outside Poe’s room and Yosano levels Ranpo with a look. “I know what the two of you are like when it comes to personal space in this place, so I won’t tell you not to. I only ask that you be careful. He’s sleeping, and needs as much as he can get.”

Ranpo nods, and thanks Yosano as she opens the door for him. He’s the only one that enters the room, and knows that its because Fukuzawa wants to speak to Yosano without him overhearing. About what, he doesn’t know, and right now, he doesn’t care; all of his attention and focus is on Poe right now. His friend, despite being taller than Ranpo, looks so small in the bed. Poe’s eyes are closed, and there’s a cannula on his face; he’s breathing normally now, but he’s been laid in a raised position, and is on his side—a precaution, Ranpo guesses, in case more blood makes a reappearance.

He keeps Yosano’s words in mind as he abandons his cane and situates himself on the bed, being careful just like he was asked, so that he can lay beside Poe. It’s almost exactly like it was two years prior, with Poe connected to a bunch of machines, and Ranpo navigating the mess to lay, just like he is now, beside Poe. Only, this time, there’s a sunken feeling in his gut that tells him that things won’t quite be like last time.

Poe doesn’t wake as Ranpo continues to lay beside him, and Ranpo doesn’t sleep, something inside preventing him from closing his eyes and letting time pass by that way; he just watches Poe’s chest rise and fall.

And watches.

When Poe finally wakes, Ranpo hasn’t moved an inch, but he lifts his head when he feels Poe shift, and finds himself staring into tired eyes. Poe blinks at him, before his eyes move to look at his surroundings, and Ranpo can almost see him thinking, so he decides to help Poe figure things out a little faster. “Yosano-sensei admitted you. Said you needed to rest.”

“Ah…” Poe sighs, and his eyes fall back to land on Ranpo, and an arm comes to lay across his waist that he welcomes. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“You didn’t.” Ranpo lies. There’s only a few things in his life that have truly scared him, and seeing Poe cough up blood was pretty much at the top of that list. He knows that the act of coughing or throwing up blood isn’t normal, that it’s a sign of something internally wrong with the human body, so to know that it’s happening to Poe, terrifies Ranpo.

Poe gives a hum, and his eyes soften greatly, like he can see right through into what Ranpo’s thinking, which, he probably can. He brings a hand up to rest on Ranpo’s cheek, his thumb swiping just under his eye, and Ranpo can’t help but nuzzle into it. It’s reassuring, despite how cold Poe’s hand is against his skin, to feel the pad of his thumb move across his skin; it helps to ease the worry inside of him that had taken over when Poe had first started coughing, and he feels like he can finally relax.

Maybe that’s why it feels right to bring up what it is that’s been bothering him. “Why did you tell me you were sick, Edgar?”

Poe stiffens in front of him, his expression reminding Ranpo of a deer caught in headlights as he tries to figure out what to say; Ranpo waits, not wanting to repeat himself, but also not willing to let the conversation slide. He’s done with not knowing the truth, and he wants Poe to understand that he’s listening. “I’m—” Poe starts and then cuts himself off. It takes him another couple of minutes to speak again. “It’s—It’s complicated, Ranpo…”

“You told me that before.” Ranpo says, and he brings his own hand up to rest against Poe’s cheek, and he’s staring into Poe’s eyes, hoping that his expression is encouraging and kind, instead of impatient like he feels. “Tell me, Edgar. Please.” He needs Poe to confirm what he’s already suspecting; that Poe’s like him, chronically ill and that this is just a flare up of his own that he needs help with overcoming.

Something in his voice must give his intentions because Poe refuses to look him in the eye, slowly curling in on himself. “I…” Poe trails off and sighs. He doesn’t try to speak again.

Ranpo gives a sigh of his own, and he sits up in the bed, shuffling up so that he can run a hand through Poe’s hair in a soothing manner. “You’re like me, aren’t you?” He asks, hoping to prompt Poe into answering him.

There’s a pause, and then, “Y-Yeah, you c-could say that.”

The next sigh that escapes Ranpo is one of relief, and he looks down to give Poe a fond smile as he strokes his hair. “You’re stupid, you know? Why wouldn’t you just tell me then that you had bad days? I, of all people, would understand.”

“I just didn’t—didn’t want Ranpo-kun to worry.”

“Hey, what’s with the -kun? We made a promise.” Ranpo frowns, tugging gently at Poe’s hair. He gets a half-hearted glare in return, before Poe’s arms are winding around his waist and his face is buried into Ranpo’s stomach. Poe mumbles something that Ranpo can’t quite hear. “Sorry, what?”

Poe lifts his head just barely. “Ranpo’s being pushy.”

Ranpo’s hand stills. He is being a little bit pushy, and he remembers telling Poe once upon a time that he wouldn’t do that, that he’d wait and let the man come to him when he was ready. A little bit of guilt swarms his belly. “You’re right. I just want to know the truth, Edgar. I want to be there for you as you were once there for me. Is that wrong?”

“No… it’s not.” Poe rolls onto his back, with the intention of leaning himself against Ranpo like a pillow, when a fit of coughing overtakes him. Ranpo’s quick to act this time, and he tugs Poe upright, letting himself be used as a support whilst Poe gets himself under control. The fit passes quickly and Poe sags against him. “I appreciate that you care, Ranpo, I do… I just… I didn’t have the support that you had with your own illness. It’s hard for me to accept help from others.”

Oh. That makes sense. It makes all the sense in the world. Ranpo knows very well that if it weren’t for his parents and Fukuzawa, that Ranpo wouldn’t have accepted help as easily as he does when it comes to his own illness. And if Poe’s been as sick for as long as Ranpo has, then he’s had to deal with it alone for his entire life, with no one to hold his hand or guide him through the dark times. Ranpo wishes that he could go back in time, to when they were both children—despite not knowing each other back then—and extending a hand of help.

But, it’s never too late to accept help, at least, in Ranpo’s books that’s the case, and he knocks his head against Poe’s gently. “Well, how about we start by accepting help right now? Let me, and Fukuzawa, and Yosano-sensei get you through this flare up, and then we can get back to living life. You still have to show me America, remember? I know you’ve been planning something good, since you won’t tell me what you’ve been plotting.”

Poe gives him a strained smile. “It’s a secret, my dear—” Ranpo flushes at the term of endearment, the first time he’s ever heard it before, “—but I’m sure we’ll still be able to go as scheduled. Just make sure you’ve packed—”

“Not happening.” Yosano’s voice cuts through Poe’s words as she strides into the room, Fukuzawa and Haruno following behind her; both move off to the side whilst Yosano comes to stand in front of the bed. “I’m sorry, Poe, but I cannot, in good conscious, discharge you to fly halfway across the world.”

“Why?” Poe’s voice is terse.

“Your test results came back and it’s not good. Your lungs are beginning to shut down—one of them practically has already—and it’s placing a lot of strain on your heart—”

Ranpo freezes. Wait, what?

“—mention, the state of your liver and kidneys—”

No, no, no, no.

“—and I called Fitzgerald-sensei, only to learn that you already knew this, and that you’d denied treatment before leaving the hospital and flying all the way to Yokohama!”

The world cannot be this cruel.

“Yosano-sensei—” Poe tries to interrupt, only to stop himself when Yosano glares at him.

“Don’t you ‘Yosano-sensei’ me, Edgar Allan Poe. You have two months to live at best, and if you continue to refuse treatment—”

Ranpo doesn’t hear the rest of whatever it is Yosano says; he’s lost in his own mind, the jigsaw puzzle that he’d thought he’d assembled correctly, breaking apart before his very eyes as he realizes that he had it wrong. Poe was sick, that much was correct, but it wasn’t the kind of sick that Ranpo had initially thought.

“You’re like me, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yeah, you c-could say that.”

Words spoken only minutes earlier assault Ranpo’s mind as his heart pounds, and it increases when Dazai’s words days ago return to him.

“Have you ever noticed that Poe-san only stutters when he lies?”

And just like that, the puzzle reforms itself, taking a new shape, bringing new pieces to the table that Ranpo hadn’t even considered in the first place; from the time they’d first met to just before Poe had gone back to America. Everything made sense. The way that Poe was always exhausted, no matter what, the way that days could go by without Poe eating anything but smoothies, the way that he always seemed weak and frail, despite nurses being some of the strongest people within the hospital with everything they did.

It all made sense.

A sob escapes him, and the conversation he hasn’t been listening to dies off around him. Ranpo ignores it; ignores it to turn and face Poe, hoping that he’s wrong again, that Yosano’s wrong and that this is all some elaborate prank that everyone’s pulling on him. But Poe’s face is one of quiet acceptance, and he reaches out a hand towards Ranpo, only for Ranpo to throw himself off the bed and back away. He can’t—he just can’t.

He looks around the room.

Fukuzawa looks pained, and he’s got his arms crossed like he’s preventing himself from just wrapping Ranpo up in his arms and hiding him from the world like he used to do.

Haruno has tears forming in her eyes, and she backs out of the room silently before they fall.

But Yosano, Yosano has the worst look of them all; horror, as it dawns on her that until now, Ranpo didn’t know.

And now he does.

Edgar Allan Poe is dying and there’s nothing Ranpo can do about it.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #ranpoe #edogawa ranpo #edgar allan poe #writing #fanfiction #hurt/comfort

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3pirouette · 3 years

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Fic: Hello, Darling (1/1)

Title: Hello, Darling By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Disclaimer: They're not mine. Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: Instead, he reached for his phone. He hit the only button that seemed to matter at the moment.

Her voice was warm. “Hello, darling.”

“Peg,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Oh, your voice is just what I needed.”

Angst. Satisfies the Fake Dating a square for the Steggy Bingo Bash. AU, obviously.

A/N: Timeline is as close to sort-of right as I can make it for an AU. 2017 is post Civil War, 2016 is during Civil War, 2014 is during AOU, other time stamps should be self-explanatory. I hope this makes as much sense for everyone else as it does to me- this concept was a little hard to get on paper. I wrote this in about... 2 hours? Couldn’t sleep until I got this out of my brain. Also, I’m sorry. Please get some tissues. More AN at the end.

~*~ 2017

Steve flopped on the bed, wiping his forehead. They’d been training, hard, and he was drained. He and Natasha were spending their days whipping the new iteration of the team into shape and spent their nights sweet talking whatever government officials would listen to them while still trying to stay off the grid.

Their position in multiple areas was shaky, to say the least.

When he couldn’t sleep, which was most of the time, he wrote letters to Bucky, who was still in stasis in Wakanda. The letter writing was a calming ritual, and made him feel closer to his friend when he was doing it, but when he saved the letter instead of sending it, it left him feeling a little more alone than when he started.

He didn’t want to move tonight. He felt empty and exhausted and so very, very much like the small man he used to be on the rickety old bed.

He looked at the second-hand laptop, closed and charging on his desk, and turned away. He couldn’t take that feeling tonight.

Instead, he reached for his phone. He hit the only button that seemed to matter at the moment.

Her voice was warm. “Hello, darling.”

“Peg,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Oh, your voice is just what I needed.”

Her voice was warm, and there was a smile in it. “Well, I’m just a phone call away, as always.”

“Yeah,” he replied, just a hint of sadness seeping through. He took a deep breath and shifted up on the pillows, closing his eyes and holding the phone tighter to his ear. “We were training again today.”

“How are they pulling together?” She asked, bright and interested. “Has Wanda gained more control?”

“Every day,” he replied quickly, a smile quirking at his face. “She’s more powerful than I think any of us were prepared for, even her. She’s still doubting herself, though.”

Peggy chuckled through the phone. “After what she went through, I’d doubt myself if I were her, too.”

Steve rolled to the side, pulling a pillow tight into his arms. “True.”

“Give her time,” Peggy soothed him. “Think about how long it took you to get the hang of your new body.”

He laughed out loud at that. “What, all thirty seconds or so?”

“I seem to recall you crashing through a store’s front window display fairly immediately.” Her laugh was like bells, light and happy. “Though that was followed by months of tests, followed by months of kick lines.”

Steve groaned at the memories. “The tights… and those boots.”

“I rather liked the tights,” Peggy flirted. “Though, the point of my mentioning, is that it took you rather a few months in the field to figure out you could lift a tank, and that became one of your favorite tricks. Give the poor girl some slack.”

“Actually, fitting my entire body behind my shield was one of my favorites.”

“I still don’t know how you do that.” She sighed. “But it is quite a trick.”

“She is getting the hang of it,” Steve relented. “It’s just been… hard.”

“I can hear the weariness in your voice.” She was soft and gentle. Steve closed his eyes and pretended he was wrapping himself around her. “Have you been taking care of yourself?” She sighed when he didn’t answer. “Steve…”

“I don’t know how…” he drifted off, changing course mid-sentence. “I’m tired, Peg. I’m tired of fighting and running but that’s… that’s all that’s left.” He rolled to his back, throwing his free arm over his head, some of the plaster of the wall of the old boarding house falling on his forehead. He wiped it away with a heavy groan of frustration. “Back then, I had so many plans. After the war…”

“We shan’t be going there, darling.” Her voice left no room for argument.

He was quiet for a moment, the emotion boiling up in him. When he finally spoke, his words were soft. “I miss you. I miss you so, so much.”

The pause was almost too long, and it broke him just a little bit more. “I’m here, Steve. Only a phone call away.”

He sat up, frustrated. “For a little while I had it- I had everything. I had you, I had Buck, I had new friends, and I could… I was…”

“You were almost happy,” she whispered. “We’ve said these words too many times.”

“I don’t…” He took a deep breath and let his head fall to his hand. “I don’t know how to move past it. I can pretend I’m ok, but… but I’m not.” He laughed to himself. “I wouldn’t be calling you if I were ok.”

“I’m here for you, Steve,” she replied sharply. “You call me when you need to call me, when you want to call me. Good or bad. I just wish… I wish there was more good.”

“Me, too.” He cleared his throat, sitting up. “Tell me something good, Peg.”

He thought he could hear a smile in her voice. “Pulling yourself up by your bootstraps, eh, Rogers? Well, then, I can tell you that yesterday I came across a very silly video of a sneezing baby Panda and no matter what your mood, I promise you’ll feel better if you watch it.”

He pulled the phone away from his cheek when it vibrated in his hand, the video popping up on his screen. He laughed, despite himself.

“You always know exactly what I need,” he mumbled out loud.

Her chuckle was soft, just like he remembered. “Lucky, I guess.”

“I love you so, so much, Peg.” He turned serious. “I wish… I wish I could see you.”

“I love you, too, my darling.” She replied softly. “And I’m only ever just a phone call away.”

He could feel the familiar pangs of depression swirling, and knew talking longer would do him no good. Not tonight. “I should… I should go.”

“Good night then, my love.” Peggy’s words were so full of love he could scarcely believe it. “Don’t wait too long to call again.”

He didn’t answer her, just nodded to himself. “Good night, Peg.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear, looked at it, and tossed it across the bed. Like his letters to Bucky, sometimes he felt worse after talking with her. He laid back on the bed, the springs creaking under him.

He wasn’t going to sleep tonight, not with the way his gut was roiling and the loss so close to the surface. Her voice was always a double-edged sword. Some nights, it was enough to bring him back to life, to remind him of whatever little purpose he felt he had left.

Sometimes, it was only filled with loss and the could-have-beens and should-have-beens.

Sometimes, he wished Tony had never given her back to him.

~*~ 1988

“Anthony, get this blasted thing out of my face.”

“Come on, Aunt Peg, no one is better at telling me what to do than you are.”

Peggy looked up from where she sat at the table in what was supposed to be a dining room, but was often used as an extended work space when Peggy and Howard had to pull long nights. “Under no circumstances.”

Tony pulled a chair up next to her and held out the tape recorder towards her. “Under all circumstances.” He started ticking it off on his fingers. “When I almost blew up the garage when I was eight. First time I got caught with a girl in my room. First time I got caught with booze in my room. First time I tried to create a jet pack. Who yelled at me? You did.”

Peggy pursed her lips at him and turned in her chair. “Concerned correction.”

He smiled, shrugging. “See? Concern, correction… all things I’m going to need in the future.”

Peggy swiveled back and picked up a file, eyes firmly set on the writing though she wasn’t reading anything. “Things you need now.” She didn’t look up. “Can’t you go badger Jarvis? Edwin has far more practice at humoring you.”

He laughed and smiled sweetly, moving the tape recorder in front of her. “Indulge your Godson in an experiment?”

“I seem to indulge you Starks far more than I’d like.” She leaned back in the chair and tossed the file back on the table. “Tell me about it.”

“Well, you see, I actually need you to tell me…”

~*~ 2014

Tony hadn’t looked at these cartridges in years. He pulled FRIDAY up and loaded her, knowing the program would make do for now. He could make some upgrades, and mourn Jarvis, later.

He ran his fingers over the last few cartridges as FRIDAY was integrated into his systems and found one that he hadn’t thought about in decades. It had been so long that the ink was almost faded completely away.

He didn’t need the label to remind him what was on there. He remembered each story, each lesson, each crisp English word with a sharpness that he liked to pretend didn’t exist. It was the only AI that was as old as Jarvis.

Tony laughed out loud. There was no way Ultron would have come to be if this was the AI he’d chosen to run his life with instead of Jarvis. She never would have allowed it.

She never would have allowed half of his shenanigans. She had been right all those years ago: Jarvis had always indulged him more. Aunt Peggy had no qualms about telling him, and often stopping him, when he was about to do something stupid, whereas Jarvis would give him an exasperated sir and follow behind, helping to clean up the mess.

He could have used some of her guidance so, so many times since he built that armor. Before, too, to be honest. He should have revisited her AI years ago.

He should visit her in the nursing home.

He knew exactly why he didn’t.

He flipped the cartridge onto his work desk and slid the rest back into their box to be stored. Save the world first, tongue lashing from his Godmother second.

~*~ 2015

The icon showed up on his phone one day without explanation. Two hours later the text from Tony was nearly as mysterious.

Click the icon and you’ll be routed to an update on an old project, kind of like a phone call. Totally sanctioned, of course. I think she’ll get a kick out of it.

When he told her one day in the nursing home, she laughed.

“That boy had me record hours and hours of tape,” Peggy smiled. “I wondered if he ever got around to making it. I would have rather liked to have another one of myself around while I was still running SHIELD.”

“So, you did know,” Steve asked, “that Tony made an AI of you?”

Peggy looked at him, her eyes sharp and disapproving. “Of course, I knew. And while I didn’t ever say it, I was quite insulted that he eventually chose Jarvis over me.” She sat up in her hospital bed, gray hair falling in waves around her face. “Dial it up, let’s see what he got right, shall we?”

~*~ 2016

He was still in his suit and tie, his cheeks puffy with the tears he only let himself shed in the privacy of his hotel room. The church had been hard, but letting the coffin settle into the cold dirt had been harder.

She was gone.

And he was alone.

He picked up his phone, intent on checking his flight for the morning when an icon he scrolled past daily caught his eye.

He rubbed his thumb over the edge of the screen, temped.

He checked his flight, but it was perfunctory and he couldn’t recall, by the time his thumb hit the other icon, if it was still on time or not.

Slowly he lifted the phone to his ear. He knew from the few times he’d called at the nursing home with her that there wouldn’t be a ring tone, and that he had to be the first one to talk. “Hello?”

“Steve?”

Her voice through the line was young and vibrant, the way her remembered it from all those years back: red rimmed lips and bright eyes in just the vibration of sound.

He lost his breath.

“I’m so glad you called,” her voice was happy, bright.

He’d just left her in the ground, and yet…

Yet…

“Peggy.” He barely got the word out, the emotion choking him.

“Are you alright, Steve?”

“No, I…” he couldn’t speak. He didn’t want to continue, but couldn’t tear himself away.

“I’m right here, Steve.” Her voice was warm and welcoming, like honey and home and everything he was missing. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

He was quiet for a moment. He contemplated hanging up and deleting the icon.

Instead, he spoke, his words broken and full of loss. “I miss you.”

Her voice wrapped around him through the phone, “And I miss you, darling. But I’m right here. I’m just a phone call away, any time you like.”

He nearly laughed the way her words warmed him. She was so real- had always been every time he talked to the AI.

But she wasn’t real- just an amalgamation of information Tony had stored for decades.

He held the phone away for a second, contemplating his choices. He wanted to walk away, but the loss was still so raw. He pulled the phone back to his ear.

Just for today.

He told himself he’d pretend just for today.

Over the phone, he could pretend she wasn’t dead. Could pretend she hadn’t aged and lived on without him.

Just for today, just until he could get past this pain, he could pretend.

“I guess,” he cleared his throat, trying to banish the thickness in it from the tears, “I guess I should call more often, then.”

“Absolutely. I will accept nothing less, Captain.”

He smiled and sat on the bed, tears falling from his eyes as he listened to her voice.

It was just for today.

~*~ End Notes: Saved this to the end to avoid giving this away. Deeply inspired by Hayley Atwell’s episode of Black Mirror, “Be Right Back.” If you haven’t seen it, you should.

#Steggy Fic #Angst #Steggy Bingo Bash #3P's Fic #Steggy #Cannon character death #fulfills the fake dating prompt only if you squint #but I couldn't get the idea out of my head

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officialthiamlibrary · 3 years

Text

Hi!! Do you know any well written mpreg fics?? <3 thanks for the help!!

Here you are! (Just a heads up, be sure to send this as an ask next time instead of a submission!)

Apha Red and An Off White Moon by ScarredMuzzle (General | Complete | 4.5K) Tags: Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, True Mates Summary:The first big supermoon is coming up and the Alpha Red pack needs to prepare for what might happen with the kids. A Peek Inside:Liam shoved the last bag into the trunk and slammed it, willing everything to stay put. With everyone packing for a long weekend, both the minivan and Theo’s truck was loaded with bags. He felt the slight prickle under his skin, the aching reason that they were even taking a trip up to Lydia’s quiet lakehouse. Clearly the kids were feeling it too.

Little Paws by louis_wife505 (Not Rated | WIP | 35K) Tags: MPREG, smut, enemies to friends to lover Summary: Theo and Liam have a one night stand. They thought they could ignore it and forget it happened but fate has different plans. A Peek Inside: It didn't take a genius to tell Liam was uncomfortable with her coming on to them. Theo figured the girl would leave them alone if she thought they were a couple. Unfortunately she wasn't convinced with just Theo's verbal claim. "Excuse us. Babe let's dance."

Fuck Food Lion okay? by synfulshark (Mature | Complete | 1.6K) Tags: Liam mpreg Summary: Liam doesn't feel great and want's Theo to make him one of his favorite home made meals so he does, but he finds out he doesn't have exactly what he needs so he has to go on a grocery run to aldi. His and Liam's go to for grocery supplies but they don't have one thing they need so he has to go to....food Lion. A Peek Inside: He scanned till he found Isaac's and he typed out a fast reply as he waited. ScarffyWolfBitch: Whatcha up to? SexyAssHellBitch: Aldi, Liam was hungry as fuck so he sent me to get food, ScarffyWolfBitch: What he want this time? Jesus didn't they kick you out of there for talking about killing people?

Knot The Brightest Idea by Haikyuuties_baeritto123 (Explicit | Complete | 2.6K) Tags: Knotting, outdoor sex, implied mpreg Summary: In retrospect, it probably wasn’t Theo’s brightest idea to get both he and Liam riled up before meeting the pack at the park. But the little wolf was just so easy to get flustered and Theo doesn’t pass up any opportunity to make Liam blush such a pretty shade of red. But perhaps this time he’s taken it a little too far. A Peek Inside: Theo melts and completely forgets about his phone; letting it rest on the bench beside them in order to get a good grip on Liam’s hips. The kiss is desperate and over quickly when Liam pulls back to whimper “Can’t wait” Theo does a quick survey of the area. It’s late at night so there isn’t anyone around, and the bench they are sat on is secluded from the majority of the path…but they could still get caught.

Woohoo by Shipper_trash (Teen | Complete | 1.1K) Tags: Omega Liam, alpha Theo Summary: This is a future fic, in the same 'verse as this: Get Together!! A Peek Inside: “We should seriously start watching something else,” Erica complains, shoving at Lydia who is giving her a glare. Even with tears running down her face, she looks scary. Stiles is impressed. There is a murmur of agreement among the group of friends. Tissues are distributed, faces cleaned before Allison, Kira and Isaac decide to clean up the mess of plates and glasses on the too small coffee table. Stiles decides to help out by dialing up the pizza place’s number which they all love and ordering their usual. The lady on the other end knows the order by heart and he only has to say his name before she confirms the order and the price.

Cracks in the surface by eliottsevak (Teen | Complete | 1.3K) Tags: Twink Liam Summary: Theo got Liam pregnant, then Kira sent him to hell. A Peek Inside: Liam knew it bordered on psychotic that Liam still found Theo to be a good person despite Theo trying to tear apart his pack and kill his alpha, but something was tugging himself to the older chimera.

Troubles (Yeah, Troubles Now) by NekoAliceYamiYaoi (Teen | Complete | 16K) Tags: Married Thiam, Nolan is Thiam’s adopted kid, angst with a happy ending, references to cheating but no actual cheating Summary: In all of his almost 6 years of life, Nolan never thought that he would be so afraid. And here we was, standing in front of the completely torn and with stenches of ink all over it dress that aunt Lydia had bought a few days ago. A Peek Inside: Nolan had only wanted to look at the dress because it had beautiful flowers in it. As he entered his dads room, he noticed Lydia's clean clothes on top of the bed, perfectly folded. He was touching the soft clothing -since his dads room had a big mirror behind the door- when he looked down and saw a spider -a big spider, not a tiny one- walking towards his feet. He screamed in fear and threw his hands up in the air, but had forgotten that he was holding the dress over his hands. He looked up as the dress flew in the air and landed in one of the blades of the ceiling fan, twirling around the room for a few seconds before the fan in a quick motion threw the dress to the boudoir where Liam kept a small portion of ink and it splattered all over the dress.

“Hello, Daddy.” by Katherin_Ravenlin (Teen | WIP | 13K) Tags: Break up, angst, alpha Liam, creepy, beating, misunderstandings, graphic depictions of violence, underage, rape/non-con Summary: Theo is already mated to Liam, they are spending their last high school year together and planning to go to college, the pack seemed to accept that they are together and Theo has big plans for their last prom - when Hayden comes back in town. The distance starts to grow between the Babywolf and the First Chimera, accusations start to settle in between them as Hayden's abusive boyfriend could be watching from any dark corner and somebody from the pack keeps leaking information about the hiding girl's whereabouts. But who is the one doing it? A Peek Inside: Laying on his back in the damp grass wasn't what Theo considered a good time. However, Liam curled up on his chest, cuddling into him stroking his skin like some kind of treasure while watching the sundown on the edge of a clearing far away from the city made it a quite okay experience. Liam nuzzles into his chest and hugs him a pit tighter, and Theo thinks, that getting his clothes damp is worth it, after all.

A Little Thing Called Love by Lanceiferroar (Explicit | Complete | 23K) Tags: Major character death, strangers to lovers, smut Summary: Liam Dunbar moves to Beacon Hills and never expects his life would change this much. A Peek Inside: Liam looked as they pulled up to their new house. “We’re here!” Liam’s mom said. Liam looked and saw the house. It was two floors, a nice yard, and an in ground pool. At least he had that going for him. He could work on his tan and lay by the pool. Maybe this life would not be too bad. Liam walked into the house and found his new room. It was surprisingly better than his room back home. He had a walk in closet and his own bathroom. No more waiting for mom or dad to get out. He could go whenever he needed to and take as long of showers as he wanted to.

Creating Beauty From Mistakes by awesomerosie (Mature | WIP | 31K) Tags: Fluff and Humor, mentions of abuse, Starvation, mention of suicide Summary: The Dread Doctors did more than mess with Theo's status as a human, they messed with his status as a man too. A Peek Inside: Liam stood in the corner, gaping like a fish. Theo was going to kill him. He was going to drag him into the woods and beat him to death. It would take a while, a long while, but he would do it; he was just that enraged. Liam stepped closer, immediately flinching away from Theo’s snarl. At first, Theo thought he was just getting fat, but then a few days ago he started hearing a faint thumping following him. For all he knew, he had grown another heart or something, and in a way, he had.

#thiam #fic recs #mpreg #mod: tara #mod: autumn #submission

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magicalsalamander · 4 years

Text

Sangre Solium

Sequel to Sangria Wine

Pairing: BTS Yoongi ⇆ Reader

Summary: When rent is cutting short and you’re at your last resort. Your job has been cutting your hours slowly, and bills were stacking up. You walk into a donation center, blood donating center for the undead to earn some quick cash, but…the thing is…you’re afraid of needles.

Word: 6.3K

Rating: Mature; mentions of blood and phobia of needles/blood, fainting, vampiric activity, and mentions of mating.

A/N: Sangria Wine was posted on 20 Oct 2018 and it received so much love. Originally I didn’t want to continue the story. It was supposed to be a oneshot and done. However, after deliberating with myself, I took the time to think of how I want to continue the story. Now, here we are, chapter 2. Thank you for reading

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Blue fluorescent light passing under the copy machine’s lid wasn’t enough to wake you from your stupor. After it had printed out your college-textbook-thick worth of copies you stared at the white top aimlessly.

God, you messed up, you messed up big time.

The clinic had you marked, banned from returning to the clinic. A literal red strike was crossed over your chart. Your file probably was thrown into the shredder just for emphasis. How could you pass out when your donor was taking from you? He wasn’t even there when you woke up. However, the prick marks from his fangs were like a tattoo on your neck. They were faint, but you could see the marks distinctly. God, you were so stupid. Despite your embarrassing episode, you were still paid though. You would’ve normally refused, but you took the envelope with your head hanging down. You were able to make rent, yet here you were, a week later, panged with more questions, the most blaring question was of the next month’s bills.

Rolling your shoulders your bone cracked and popped as you dispelled tension. There was a constant knot in your shoulders and a small throbbing pang in your head. The pain would intensify at work and your temples become sensitive like a sunburn. Maybe—you were pretty sure—it was the endless stacks of paperwork piling at your desk thanks to your boss. The other day it was nearing the tip of the wall of your cubicle. There was one thing you could hold onto though. It was Friday.

You picked up the papers with a grunt. The weight dug into your forearm which was leaving a dent in your skin. You struggled back to your desk passing rows of filled cubicles. As you reached your desk you dropped the stack with a tremor. The minor earthquake sent your precious coffee splashing over the edge of the cup nearing towards your fresh textbook. With a hushed curse under your breath as you reached for your cup, you wiped up the lost paradise with a tissue before it caused another disaster. You stood there for a moment as you let out another sigh. You rolled your shoulder once more. The morning was as old as the paradise lost un-sipped coffee. As soon as your heel touched the lobby floor you hit the ground running this morning. Your coffee was past lukewarm and brimming on disgustingly bitter from the air conditioner. You grumbled under your breath, great, just great.

Swiveling the chair around, then adjusting your chair cushion, you sunk in like a ragdoll. Everything has been off since your trip to the clinic. You couldn’t shake the feeling, the odd tingling in your joints that vibrated your skin with unease. What were you going to do? How were you going to make this month’s bills? You couldn’t ask anyone to help owing something to anyone was just a bigger headache. Especially your parents, you couldn’t ask them, they hound for the money back immediately. Living in the city away from your family was something you prided yourself on. You were independent, that’s the promise you made to yourself and them.

Your manager, an old, portly man with a poorly glued toupee, walked down your isle greeting your other coworkers. He slowed down when he passed other female employees, purposefully giving them the extra attention; and they always played into it, knowing he’d suck up all the attention. A promotion was a promotion. That was where you “messed up”, you never buttered him up or took the compliments without turning it back to business. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him picking up pace as he speeds past your desk. He dropped folders on top of the stack you just printed out. With more authority than he could ever muster with an overtly fake commanding voice, “On my desk by noon Y/L/N.”

Numbly you gazed over to the tower still being worked on against the cubicle as you slowly observed the stack of manila folders just added. You tried turning to catch him before he rounded the corner, standing up haphazardly, jerking to a halt your skirt caught on the ajar top drawer. “Sir, wai—ouch!” You didn’t get to finish your sentence as you heard your skirt rip. You slumped back down, holding your tongue as your manager rounded and disappeared around the corner. With gentle fingers you held the three-inch tear together, your cold hand soothing the scrapped tender skin under. You didn’t break skin, but it still stung. Sighing in defeat, your eyes slowly moved over observing the ever-growing tower on your desk. You pulled the scrapper open and fished around through your junk bin. When you found a safety pin, you held it in your hand and closed the drawer. You bit on the bars releasing the pointer then held the pin between your teeth. You scooched back and with two hands you pleated the tear tightly then pinched it tightly with one hand.

Why was he piling it all on your desk? Did he hate you? You’ve never done anything to him. You were the newest, but the distribution of work was still unfair.

Skillfully with your other hand, you weaved the pin through the frayed fabric. You pulled the fabric through the pin and with only a bit of pin left your thumb nicked the tip. Hissing through your teeth you retracted your thumb with lightning reflexes and automatically bringing it to your lips. Inspecting your thumb you sighed in relief you didn’t break skin, but the prick mark was there. That’s when it hit you. You didn’t pass out.

Just-just maybe…just maybe…

You unweave the pin and closed it shut as you fisted it tightly in your hand. You put your computer to sleep and grabbed your coffee cup. You left your towering papers and walked towards the breakroom focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. The handle of your cup became slippery as your grip grew sweaty. You checked the breakroom for anyone inside, but at this odd hour, everyone had already grabbed their morning cup of coffee or snack. The plastic table and chairs were thankfully abandoned.

You slipped inside, closing the glass door behind you and walked over to the sink. You poured your old coffee out and rinsed it out, the pin too, then set your cup down and pin next to it. You took the coffee pot and filled it with fresh water. You poured it into the container and started it up again. The crackling noises filled the empty room and the pot began to fill with coffee. You stared at the black droplets as it dripped and rippled. For a short second, you smiled at the small paradise before it disappeared. You knew what you were doing here. You were prolonging it; you could pick it up and get the prick over with. You were stalling. Your hands were trembling as you clutched onto the countertop. Your hands were soaking wet with sweat. You paced over and ripped a paper towel dabbing your trembling hands as you whispered to yourself. “It’s just a prick, it’s just a prick, it’s just a prick.”

Why couldn’t you handle a single prick? You weren’t going to die, but why did your body react so dramatically. If you could do this then you could go to another clinic and all your problems would be solved. You could do this.

With sudden confidence, you crumpled and tossed the paper towel away. Picking up the cold pin that instantly heated up in your hand, you pushed in the pin and hooked it around the clasp. You stared at the needle and the sudden confidence vanished. All the reasons why you shouldn’t do this come flooding over your system. Your fingers locked up the knot in your shoulders intensified. Saliva pooled on your tongue and gulping was hard as it hurt your throat. Subconsciously your shaking, tight fingers managed to move as you forced the motion of wiping the pin and your sweaty hand on your skirt.

You just need to prick your finger, just prick your finger and not pass out.

You stabilized your hand as you brought the pin up and near your thumb.

Just prick it. It’s only a second. That’s it.

You just need to press it lightly and that’s it.

There’s no big deal.

It’s-just-a-prick.

Your breathing shortened as you lower the pin closer to the pad of your thumb. Your hearing began ringing in your ears, knees losing tension, but you stood still. You inhaled deeply and held it for a few seconds hearing your heartbeat in your ear. You pulled your hand back like pulling the string of a bow, reading your arrow, and—release.

It was faint, but it was there. It was always there, correction, you were always there.

The pulled curtains over the ceiling to floor windows only let in a sliver of light. His nearly bare grey walls absorbed any of the strayed light. There was a screen protector over his desktop computer, alongside an open notebook and a stack of papers, clipped, ready for dispersal.

Throb, throb, throb.

Both eyes closed, an eyebrow perked, as his open palm supported his thrumming temple and his other was busy. His fingers from his pinky to his index in a flowing rhythm was countering the ticking of his desktop clock.

He was fine Monday. He’s a patient man after all.

Tuesday was okay.

Wednesday wasn’t bad, but Thursday felt nearly intolerable. Yet, he held it together.

Today—oh, today. He could feel you frantically in his veins. Your heartbeat was pulsing in his head like a migraine. He was fine with light, the stereotype was false, but today, the small light leaking in was intensifying the pain. He was so in tune with you. It irked him because the pain was pointless. He’s always been one to understand, ahead of the game, planning the game, but he wasn’t sure why he was in pain. With his middle knuckle raised in the air, he stopped tapping abruptly. He pressed all his fingers flat against the desk to center himself. The table felt warm compared to his temperature. That was another thing that had been happening to him lately, he had been feeling warmth randomly in bursts.

His world has been off kilter…and it all started with you.

False breathing for a moment, he let himself feel the pain. The beating in his head grew louder and louder. He dug into his inner blazer pocket and pulled out a small, tin mint box. Inside, instead of mints, were synthetic blood pills. He swallowed three raw, feeling them travel down his throat. He breathed in heavily waiting for the soothing effect to come over, the clock on his desk counting down in the background. Ten-nine-eight-seven-six-five-four-three…the throbbing pain was still there.

With a rumbling growl that vibrated his chest, he stood from his chair like a feral beast trying to escape. He chucked the pillbox into the trash. He couldn't stand it anymore. He adjusted his grey suit and tightening his black tie as he walked towards the doors. He pushed through without pause, stuffing his fidgety hands into the pockets of his pants.

His secretary, Hoseok, the only man—a vampire—on this planet who could put with him, abruptly stood from his desk nearly toppling over. Papers he had been working on spilled over as he attempted to pick them up and pay attention at the same time. Forgetting his formalities for a second, “Yoongi, what—?” He swallowed his question as Yoongi’s gazed flicked over to him for a split second. They were fiery red, a raging fire that could turn anything into ash. Regaining professionalism, he attempted to put together why his boss was out of his office. “Sir,” checking his watch twice, ”it’s not time for the meeting yet.”

Hoseok was completely in shock. He swore he’s never seen his boss look this automaton and hagride. The creases on Yoongi’s suit weren’t fully pressed. Yet, Hoseok was still slightly timid in Yoongi’s presence, despite being best friends for centuries. His status didn't change the fact that the look in Yoongi's eyes was near lethal. There was a physical air around him that if it could only be described as a black cloud.

Yoongi’s voice was low and tense as it rolled out, “I’m doing random floor assessments.” Yoongi walked past Hoseok and into his private lobby, pressing the elevator’s down button.

Hoseok gathered what he could, dress shoes loudly clicking on the marble tile as he jogged to catch up. He barely swept passed the closing doors and into the elevator. Adjusting his suit and demeanor as the CEO’s secretary, best friend aside, “What-what department would you like to see first Sir?” Yoongi pushed the button for a floor without telling his secretary. Hoseok cast a slight glance at him only to look back quickly unnerved by his utter nonchalance. Clearing his throat he dared not to ask.

Yoongi rolled his neck slowly before the ding of the elevator signaled their arrival. As he stepped out Hoseok was hot on his trail matching Yoongi’s air of confidence as soon as the door opened. Yoongi rounded the corner and out to the large, open floor plan office floor. It was in a state of half-organized half-cluttered with light pouring in from the floor to ceiling windows that traveled all along the wall. The light intensified the pain, but he kept on. People lingering in the aisles lost in their smile and faux chuckles. A man cleared his throat and adjusted his tie suddenly cutting his conversation off as he stared in awe. A woman sipping from her mug suddenly choked spilling her drink on her shirt a bit. Yoongi made his way dead center through the major divide between the left and right desk. The noise in the room overall died down in a cascading wave to a hushed murmur. Yoongi kept his chin high and eyes straight as he walked, not bothering to meet the gaze of anyone who dared stare at him. Yet it was a given that people avoided his gaze. Yoongi drowned out the babbling, yet he heard the whispers, “It’s the red shadow.”

A tall, gangly man cleared his throat, along with a few others, cutting through stunned individuals and the aisles and came to meet Yoongi as he crossed their path. The man ushered a few others with him like stooges. With a trembling hand and voice, he attempted to approach Yoongi, following behind when they passed them without a word. The posse dumbly followed. The floor manager attempted again, “Mr. Min, Good morning. What…,” the manager exchanged glances with the other lingering employees, “ to what do we owe a visit from you today?”

Yoongi raised a brow, but without a true response, he continued to walk around in a short tour. The manager’s murmured among themselves, however, Yoongi could hear their whispered panics clearly. Yoongi never visited any of the departments, he always resided at the top of his tower. He had others to do that, come to him at the top, and report back. He had no interest in what they were doing, but he wanted to stall. He wasn’t sure his body couldn’t handle the intense wave. He wasn’t even on the right floor yet, seven floors above the intended. This was a practice round for himself. He could feel it, you, your heartbeat was raising and raising.

With a group of people behind him now, he prowled through the department. He could feel the individuals in their cubicle's heart rates skip as he walked past. It was so loud with all the noise. This was one of the main reasons why he never came down to the departments. After making around he returned to stand in front of the elevators. Hands locked behind his back he nodded and his secretary pushed the button for him. He stepped inside the elevator first then Hoseok followed to stand behind him. He stared directly ahead unblinking at the managers who stood their dumbfounded, silent, yet he could see their pupils trembling.

The doors closed.

Hoseok cleared his throat, “What floor next, Sir?”

Without glancing sideways, passing his tongue over his fangs, “Marketing.” His secretary nodded and pressed the button.

It felt slow like the mechanism was moving through molasses as he observed the digital numbers count down. He’s never felt the need to tuck his hands into his pants pocket enough, for the first time he's never known what to do with his restless hands.

Throb, throb, throb.

He patted his blazer in habit, searching for his pillbox, only to remember he threw it away. Rolling his shoulders needlessly then closing his eyes, he counted to ten resting his expression. As he opened his eyes slowly, narrowed and forward, they were glowing red despite his attempt. He stared at his own wicked look in the chrome reflection of the metal doors.

Hoseok with a soft gaze stared at him through the reflection, “Yoongi, are you alright?”

With no other choice, Yoongi tucked his hands in his pockets and grunted. The elevator dinged in arrival. He could feel it deep in his chest, that pull. He grunted ticking his head to the side disheveling his neatly done hair.

He lunged forth on instinct as a light sample of your scent filled his senses. Rounding out into the bright light that filled this floor as well, but like the pain, it became background noise as he focused on your scent. In practice, he followed the same routine walking down the middle part. Your scent grew stronger and stronger as he passed aisles until he came to a stop. He looked left and right up and down the aisle and followed instincts to the right. He paced as he passed cubicles. He paused in front of a cubicle that was empty. It was your desk, he could recognize your scent, even though he had only met you once, he knew it was yours.

A small shadow cast over him as the portly man greets him, “Good morning, Mr. Min may I-I-I help you?” The manager's eyes follow where he had been staring, especially licking his lips at the tower of papers. He clears his throat and copies Yoongi’s pose by putting his hands in his slacks, attempting to appear taller. “Ah, Mr. Min, I’m sorry for the mess. Ms. Y/N she’s quiet the slacker, she never gets her work done on time. She's new so maybe the company motto hasn't seeped in yet. But don't worry Sir, I promise you I will keep her in line though.”

Yoongi broke gaze for the first time, sparing his narrowing glance at the man. Although his face was neutral it spoke a thousand words.

"Where is she?" You hadn't been gone long your scent still lingered, and warmth still coated the air.

When the manager was left stunned quiet and stuttering, a chilling sensation seeped through Yoongi’s body. He shuttered out an unstable breath, closing his eyes for a moment. The manger mistook it as anger and began apologizing immediately drowning out his sound until he heard it. He heard it loud and clear echoing in his ears a sound of a sharp cry…that came from you.

Having not realized another small group had formed around him. He plowed through the group and began rushing towards the sound. The sound of panting filled his ears as he allowed the sound to act as a radar. At the door of the break room, he looks through the glass door. Your standing at the counter your hand comes out to clutch at the counter, but your feet staggered. Your knees begin to buckle and his eyes widen as he realizes what's about to happen. He could hear it. Your breathing paused as you began collapsing. Nearly ripping the door open fear fills him as on your downfall he catches you pulling you into his chest.

You didn’t look up to him, your face was hidden as it hung low and your hand trembled as they latched onto his blazer. The glimmer of the pointy end of the safety pin dripped a single drop off blood onto the floor. His pupils dilated, engulfing the red into pure darkness. A feral awakening within happened as he watched your eyes roll into the back of your head and your knees unlock, you begin falling like silk. He bolted forward and caught you in his embrace. He slumped to the floor with you embraced in his arms he held your head in one hand to get a better look at your face. It was almost unreal, he knew you were here, imagined it for days even, but here you were. Your face was relaxed as your unfocused eyes fluttered and his in panic.

The scent then hit him. He smelled it intensely in the air filling up the small space form such a small concentration. He brought up your hand and a small drip had made its way down your fingers. He grunted holding himself, everything he had in him back. On instinct he brought his finger to his lips and licked, his saliva sealing the small wound instantly. He resisted feeding, resisted biting, the need to protect you overrides baser instincts. He whispered your name, but you already passed out. Pulling your face to his chest, he felt the need to protect you. Your hand slumped from his grip and the safety pin slipped from your hand. Hearing a small clink he followed to the sound and noticed the open safety pin with a bit of your blood at the end. His heart squeezed. Cupping your cheek gently he pushes your hair out of your face. His eyebrows creased as he looked between the pin and you. He whispered, “Why?”

Soon enough in the doorway of the breakroom, it had filled with his entourage. Your manager and a few others stood wide-eyed at the door. The assistant manager nudged your manager, "Go, don’t let the CEO take care of your employee.”

Choking on his saliva he pushed through and into the breakroom. “I’m so sorry Sir, please, let me take her." In a panic, the manager reached for you trying to take you away from Yoongi.

His back was towards the manager, a growl sounds, “No.” The manager panicked, trying to save face still by inching forward still. He had intended to do this earlier, but now seemed timely, “You’re fired.”

The manager sputtered, “I’m sorry, Sir, I’ll have a replacement for her soon. I will hire a better employee. This is my mistake.” He again tried pushing through to grab you from his embrace.

This time Yoongi growled out in a near roar, “You idiot, you’re fired! GET OUT!”

The manager stuttered as Hoseok pushed through the small crowd as he easily pushed away the manager. The manager stumbled back, face aghast and white as he was treated no better than a fly.

Hoseok questioned, “Sir?”

Gently he gathered you in his arms and held you under your knees. Yoongi turned head gazed over his neck with a hard stare, eyes deep red, unspoken words between them. He stood up with you in his arms bridal style, your head tucked in his neck. It sent a shiver down his spine. Your soft breathing tickled his neck and again the hair on his body raised. His secretary and other managers were equally as shocked, shaking in their shoes, afraid for you and themselves. Hoseok had never seen Yoongi act like this, he was wondering what was going on with his best friend, especially a random girl from marketing.

Yoongi didn’t spare a glance his way, but he spoke directly to the manager, “I’ll make sure to it personally no one hires you again.”

The smell of urea tainted everyone’s nose.

Naturally, everyone parted as he walked through the crowd with you tucked close. Everyone in the cubicles had their eyes on him, but he could care less. He gallantly walked through the office. He entered the elevator and looked down at you as the doors closed.

Your eyes lazily blink open as you blearily stare at the tall, grey ceiling. It’s so dark. Your eyes are open but you can’t comprehend why. A chill washed over you and settled over you like a wet blanket. Your teeth chattered as you internally groan, it's freezing. With a deep inhale, your heavy arms struggle to raise and wrap around yourself. You slowly sit up but as you move in slow motion you feel your skin pull away from the leather couch you’re resting on. You felt sticky, like semi-dry glue, gunky and dirty. You blink trying to take in where you are, where were you? Slowly you swung your legs around and down onto the ground. You need to feel it. It’s eerily quiet. Trying to focus on anything in the darkness none of the silhouettes seemed familiar. Just exactly, where were you? Weren’t you in the breakroom a moment ago?

Slumping forward and running your hands through your hair you held your head for a moment. Hunched over as you tried finding common ground for all your senses. Your manager was going to be so upset. Were you going to get fired? Your head raised on that though. You couldn’t afford getting fired. You couldn’t get fired! At the sudden movement, a wave of dizziness flooded you. Focusing on what was before you, your mind froze. You blinked a few times before the shadowed image defined itself. A silhouette of a man was sitting on the coffee table with his hands clasped on his knees hunched forward. Raising his head he met yours, his narrowed red eyes were beaming at you with intensity.

A choked cry for help forced itself up to your throat as you jolted away. You raised your feet off the ground and tuck them close to yourself. This must be some twisted nightmare, but it felt so real, your pounding heart and head felt all too real. He sat up straight, his eyes rounding out a bit. He tried leaning forward to you but caught himself. It took a second for your eyes to adjust to take in the disheveled dark hair of a fair-skinned man. If this was a nightmare why were they still there? This means—he was real. The longer you stared you realized his features looked tired, red eyes still narrow but softer around the edges as they held your curious gaze. Oddly, the shock washed away immediately and a weird sense of familiarity filled you. Those eyes, you knew those eyes. you realize, “You?”

He cocked a brow, repeating after you teasingly, “You?”

You racked your brain, trying to remember his name in the endless bank, but it was just on the tip of your tongue. His face was so familiar. You blinked away the haziness as his face began connecting the dots before you had a constellation. Stars lit up in your eyes, then you cleared your throat, “Yoo-Yoongi?”

Of course, you remember him. The man who you had embarrassed yourself in front of, not only once but now twice. You felt your cheeks heat up.

You lowered your feet back down.

A small smirked perked upon his lips exposing the tips of his fangs.

You squinted, “Wait, why…how did I get here?”

His smile softened up his glaring features. He stood up and rounded about as he poured a glass of water. You carefully watched his back, the suit he wore looked expensive. You gazed around the room for a second noting all the equally expensive-looking décor. This office looked straight out of a magazine with minimal but luxurious details. This lounge was a part of his office, his presidential desk faced towards the lounge.

“Here, drink this.” He handed you a glass of water that you gladly expected with a hushed thanks. “You were in the breakroom when I found you, so I brought you to rest for a while on my couch.”

You sipped on the water, nodding in understanding. Everything he was saying made sense so far. And with the glass raised to your lips, you realized—you realized why you had passed out. You cringed internally as you tucked your thumb into your fist. You felt mortified, frozen in place. Yoongi had seen you again in such a pathetic position. You wished the world would open up and swallow you whole. Wait, his couch? This was his couch? Wait...Yoongi…the receiver you were supposed to donate— wait, the one you had passed out on. You passed out in front of Yoongi. You were at work, and Yoongi found you in the breakroom? Gazing around once more you looked at the desk and read off the plaque on his desk. Min Yoongi CEO. Nausea filled you as your jaw unhinged. Yoongi—CEO Min Yoongi of MYG Technological Corps. You passed out in front of the CEO! The CEO! You began breathing in deeply as a slight panic set in. Oh god, you couldn't be here. You have never felt so utterly humiliated.

You got up and stumbled as you held onto the edge of the couch. You smoothed down your clothing and rapidly conveyed your emotions. “Thank you, Yoongi-I mean Mr. Min, uhm, thank you for…goodbye.”

His voice broke through, feeling the sudden rise in your heart rate. Your sudden behavior change surprised him. “Hey, what’s going on?”

When he realized you weren’t stopping. It was like a force unbeknownst existed physically pulled him up as he raced to the door. A throb began pulsing as you speed away from him. He wasn’t going to let you out of his sight, not again. He gently pushed the door closed as you tried opening it to leave. “Wait, don’t go.”

You turned around and came face to face with Yoongi. Nose inches apart for a second before he backs away politely clearing his throat. He wasn’t weak to his instincts, he wasn’t. He asked, “Please, stay.”

You avoid eye contact, hand still on the door handle. On a single exhale, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Sir. Again! Oh my god, I’m so sorry I’m in your—your office! This is your office.” Taking your hand off the door handle for emphasis, you then point to his whole visage, ”You’re the CEO. I’m so, so, so, so sorry.” After your monologue, your out of breath and flushed.

The ticking of his clock is the only sound that accompanies your harsh breathing. He chuckles, which turns into a laugh. You curl in on yourself. He immediately corrects himself. “Excuse me, I’m not laughing at you. Your…your just too,” he pauses, wanting to use another word but settled for, “honest.”

It really would be great if the world would open up now. You could hear your heart in your ear. It took a second to remember he probably could too. He was a vampire; he could probably hear everything.

It was odd, you had this power over him, the glow immediately diminishing and his eyes returned to brown. He realized how strong he must’ve been coming off. In a husky low voice, his eyes glowing again, “Stay Y/n. Stay and let me explain.”

Something was rooting you to the floor, you couldn’t explain it, but you wanted to listen. Your chest was rising and falling. “Okay.”

You followed him back to the couch as he sat across from you on the opposing couch. You couldn't believe it still, your receiver was your CEO. How had you not seen this earlier? Well, Yoon—Mr. Min never has shown himself publicly. He is anonymous to the public. Anonymous to the office—well you have only been working for a few months.

Silence built between you both, you weren’t sure what he needed to explain. To him though, a full orchestra was playing, to his ears through your heartbeat was drumming. He was feeling overwhelmed with your sweet scent as it filled his office. The need to be near you was like an itch, but he purposefully sat across from you. The small taste of your blood, a droplet of a sample, had him fishing his pills out of the trash as soon as he laid you down on the couch. You, you made him weak.

You needed to know, “Why?”

He arched a brow, “Why what?”

You twiddled your thumbs, “Tell me you were the CEO. When I was donating you let me speak so openly to you. I'm sorry for speaking so out of term. I'll leave my resignation letter on my manager's desk by the end of the day."

He smiled. "Y/n." You wouldn't have to worry about your manager anymore anyways.

You looked at him finally. His eyes had returned to normalcy. The same pull you had felt the day you had met him pulled underneath your skin. Although, maybe you were mistaking it for nausea.

Sternly, "I'm sorry for not telling you earlier. I don't let anyone know who I am beside the people closest to me. But I don't want you to resign. Stop apologizing."

You felt a blush creep up on your cheeks. “Thank you Mr.Min.”

He chuckled, “Please, call me Yoongi.”

You nodded, although, it felt too informal now that you know who he truly is.

You swallowed hard, suddenly whispering, “Why’d you leave?”

His eyes widened, “You were being taken care of, there was no need for me to stay.”

In truth, he felt overwhelmed. For the first time in centuries since his turning, he felt overwhelmed. He didn’t know what to do, besides run. Run from the fact that you were his mate and he didn’t know how to handle that. He couldn’t articulate it fully, he felt it would be too much to drop on you that you were his mate. A human, you couldn’t understand. Yet, his body surely hasn’t forgotten, his senses surely haven’t that you’re his mate. The throbbing in his head was a constant reminder. Finally, it stopped with you, here in his office. You’re none the wiser about this, you don’t know anything about his kind. He can’t spring that onto you, you don’t know what it means.

“Oh.”

“Why’d you prick yourself?”

Your headshot up, a flush of heat traveling up your neck and steaming your brain. “I-I-,” you’ve never felt more embarrassed in your life. In a near mumble, “Iwantedtoprovetomyselfitisn’tabitdeal.”

He had exceptional hearing, but he couldn’t make anything you said out. You heavily sighed, taking a deep breath, “I,” licking your lips, “needed the extra money.” He couldn’t help following the motion. “I wanted to go to another clinic to donate.”

His eyes snap narrow in anger, no one, no other of his kind or human could touch you. No one should ever get to taste you besides him. Genuinely mad he commanded, “No.” You shrunk back into the chair, trembling a bit. He realized his mistake in predation taking a deep breath in. His limbs were vibrating as he stands up and paces for a bit. You rub your forearms unsure of what to do in this situation. He took a seat next to you. Feeling your warmth radiate from you just by sitting next to you calmed him a bit. “Do you realize what you’re going to do Y/n?”

You nodded not looking at him. You were unsure, but not uncomfortable. “Yes, I know, but what other choice do I have.”

He rubbed his palm together. “Let me make a deal with you Y/n.”

“A deal?”

“How about I help you overcome your fear?”

You quirked a brow then squinted at him. “What’s in it for you?”

"I don't want to see my employees seek work elsewhere."

Your face relayed you were unconvinced.

“If I help you overcome your fear, and if it’s successful, will you let me feed from you? If you are that adamant about donating again, then let me be your receiver.”

There it was, the catch.

You edged yourself to the corner of the couch, fully turning your body towards Yoongi. “That’s illegal! I can’t be your personal donor Yoongi.”

He smiled, “This isn’t a donor situation, simply I’m helping you overcome your fear of needles…just with my fangs. As a vicarious, non-intentional consequence, you may bleed and I will clean it, essentially feed, but that will be voluntary not by obligation.”

He could see your brain working a million miles per hour.

He tossed in, “I’ll consider this as a personal assistant job, the other portion of overcoming just subsidiary as it may possibly be beneficial on my end. So I’ll pay you well for the time you spend with me. You won’t ever have to go to a clinic again.”

You pondered for a moment; the deal seemed great. This was partially why you had started in the beginning, to challenge yourself. Well, bills were also great motivation. This was an answer to your problems. You oddly felt you could trust him. He had been nothing but assuring. Thinking it over, you were sure you had gone silent for at least five minutes.

“If you don’t want it, I understand." Although it ripped him to think about it, he didn't want you to feel trapped. He never wanted to push you. Even though he knew you were his mate, he wasn’t going to ever push you, but being close to you often would ease the headache and thirst. “We’ll figure something else out.”

You looked up, decidedly, “Okay. Teach me.”

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angst-king · 3 years

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Yucky feels

((this is for my favorite side ship. Kiribakuraka, and their son Zomi...I’m not very good at sickfics sorry)) It was supposed to be a nice papa and son day for Kirishima and Zomi, but...well, that quickly turned out not to be the case when Kirishima woke up feeling sick. He woke up feeling stuffy, tired, and achy. At first he thought he was just tired from yesterday’s hero work but that was until he started coughing. Darn it, did he really just get sick the day he and Zomi were supposed to hang out for the day?!! Seems so, well now he was gonna have to break the bad news to Zomi. He sluggishly gets out of bed and walks to his four year old’s room and knocks on the door before softly saying “Hey Zomi, I’m coming in.” Opening the door, Kirishima was a little confused seeing the toddler was still asleep. Usually Zomi was awake by now but he was still deep asleep under his covers. Kirishima decided to gently shake the small one awake.

“Zozo, come on buddy, wake up.” Leaning away as talking made him cough, Kirishima tried to wake up the kid. Earning some whining and whimpering. Zomi pushes his papa’s hand away wanting to go back to sleep. Zomi wasn’t exactly a morning person, yet still didn’t sleep in very long. “Come on Zom, gotta wake up for me.” Zomi whined more before coughing, his cough sounded just as bad and Kirishima’s which made Kirishima worry. Maybe he just did this in the morning? Eijirou didn’t usually wake Zomi up during the day, he usually woke up on his own.

Big red eyes slowly opening up looking tired and wanting more sleep, Zomi looked at Eijirou and whined. “Hhhnng? T-time to get up?” His voice sounded a little raspy and more exhausted, and Zomi’s face was really starting to look flushed. “Yup it is, hey I’m sorry kiddo but, I don’t know if we can go out today.” Zomi looked at Eijirou confusedly, furrowing his brows. “Why not?-” Zomi’s talking was interrupted by his own painful sounding coughing fit. Hearing the little boy cough Eijirou had a bad feeling, he’d never seen a toddler sick before but. He knew the other didn’t exactly look like his normal self. “Well Zom, I'm not feeling so good today, and I don’t think going out is gonna make me feel any better.” Frowning Zomi pouted a little but nodded, sniffling wetly at his runny nose, he scrunched it up before letting out a soft “Hutt’zziiew!” Strangely enough this sneeze seemed to actually make the ground shake!

Eijirou was rather surprised by this, and Zomi looked the same way. “Wh-what was that?” Zomi asked while wiping his runny nose on the sleeve of his shirt. Eijirou gave a small frown and sat on Zomi’s bed. “Let me check something first kiddo” Eijirou reached out and placed his palm on Zomi’s forehead before quickly pulling a way. “Yikes, I think someone’s not feeling so good either.” Zomi whimpered and held onto his stuffed bear that he slept with tightly. “I feel really yucky Papa.” Hearing his son say that actually made Eijirou’s heart break, seeing his cheeks all pink and pale, eyes looking glassy and tired, and his voice sounding all raspy. “Naw sounds like it lil dude, can you tell me what feels yucky?” “My froat is all scratchy, I can’s breathe through my nose, a-and I’s really cold.” “Alright buddy, I’m sorry you feel yucky, sounds like you and I both had a bit of a cold, don’t worry, Papa’s gonna help you feel better. We can still spend our day together...just not exactly how we planned it.” Zomi nods and then he buries his face into his teddy bear before asking. “Can’s we cuddle Papa?” Eijirou smiles and picks Zomi up and gets up from Zomi’s bed. “Sure thing lil guy, how about we go on the couch, I’ll get up some sickie supplies?” Zomi holds onto Kirishima’s shirt with one hand and his teddy bear with the other. “O-okay”

With that Eijirou carried his four year old down to the living room and set him on the couch. “Okay you and Sunny can stay here and pick out what you wanna watch on TV, I’ll get us some supplies okay.” Sunny was Zomi’s teddy bear which he loved to death, and never went anywhere without it. It was a gift from Kaminari, he’s had it since he was only 1. The toddler wiped his nose on the stuffed animal as his nose began to run. Eijirou soon returned with some supplies.”Alright, I’ve got supplies.” Eijirou said as he walked into the living room with a small basket full of stuff. He had a few blankets, two boxes of tissues, some medicine, a thermometer, pillows from their rooms, and his phone. Setting down the basket on the coffee table in front of the couch, Eijirou grabbed the blankets and distributed them. Zomi took his own blanket that Eijirou had gotten for him and curled up on the couch. Sitting on the couch, Zomi crawled into Eijirou’s lap and nuzzled against him. “Hey there buddy” “wanna lay on Papa” Zomi quietly says leaning into Eijirou’s chest, at first Eijirou didn’t know what his son meant. Now he knows. Zomi was gonna lay on Eijirou’s chest like a pillow. Zomi wasn’t usually a clingy kid, but it seemed that when he was sick he was a bit touch starved and cuddly. Eijirou didn’t mind this at all, he brushed his fingers through the boy’s hair while he grabbed the thermometer.

He grabbed both thermometers, the ear thermometer and the oral one. He used the oral one on himself and kept it under his tongue, while keeping the little boy snuggled up to him. Sniffling and muffling coughs until the tool beeped, luckily Eijirou didn’t have much of a fever, so that was good. Now it was Zomi’s turn, so he gently pats Zomi on the shoulder. “Zomi, think you can keep this under your tongue for me?” Zomi looked at the tool confusedly and with a tired look on his face. “Hmm?” His brain was all foggy and having a hard time registering things. He really wasn’t doing too well with this cold. So Eijirou just decided to use the ear thermometer. “Never mind buddy, just hold still for me.” He says before sticking the ear thermometer into Zomi’s ear. Squirming a little bit at this, Zomi whined and tried to bury his face deeper into Eijirou’s chest but he couldn’t go very far.

When the thermometer beeped like the other one, Eijirou frowned. “38.5 C” (101F) “Is that bad?” Asked Zomi, Eijirou didn’t want to worry his son but also didn’t want to lie to him either. 38.5 is not a high fever so it’s not bad, but it’s not good that he has one in the first place. “Well it’s not a high fever but, it's not good that you have one in general. Though it shouldn’t take too long to get you back to normal.” Zomi nods and wipes his nose onto Sunny again as his nose is becoming very runny and then “Hutt’zziiew! Hutt’zziiew!” he sneezed right into Sunny. Making Eijirou cringe, he grabbed a tissue and sat Zomi up. “Don’t do that to your teddy bear buddy, you’ll get him sick.” “oh sowwy” “it's okay kiddo, here, blow your nose.” Pressing the tissue to Zomi’s nose, Zomi blew his nose into the tissues, earning soft spoken praises from Eijirou. “Good job buddy, good.” Eijirou tosses the used tissues into the empty basket, deciding to use that as the waste basket for the time being. “Alright, Zozo, this is gonna taste icky but I need you to take some medicine. It’s gonna help you feel better.” The father said, opening the child-proof cap.” Pouring the medicine into the little cup, it kind of looked like juice to Zomi. “Ready? It’s cherry flavored.” Kirishima asked. Thinking it would taste like delicious cherry juice, Zomi nodded. His father handed him the little cup, and he began drinking the medicine. Halfway through the cup, Zomi realized it didn’t taste like juice at all! He realized grass tasted better. “Nono! Yucky! Yucky!” Zomi threw the cup on the floor and it spilled onto the carpet. “I know it isn’t the best taste ever-” Kirishima soon had an idea. He picked up the cup and filled it halfway. “If you drink the rest, I’ll give you some candy, deal?” Zomi skeptically nodded, taking the cup. He hesitated before drinking the medicine. “Great job, Zozo!” Kirishima said to his son. “Cany?” Zomi expected a reward. “This is a new kind of candy.” The father handed Zomi a gummy vitamin. Putting the vitamin in his mouth, he wanted more. “Mowe!” Zomi demanded. “Maybe another time, pal. Maybe some orange juice instead?” Eijirou offered. Zomi thought about it before nodding, he liked juice, unknown to him Eijirou offered orange juice because he knows that will help Zomi get better. “Okay then, come on, let's go get juice.” Eijirou says, so Zomi gets off of Eijirou and wraps the blanket around himself and Sunny while the red head man stood up.

Leading Zomi into the kitchen, Eijirou grabs two cups, a mug for himself and a sippy cup for Zomi. While Eijirou was looking in the fridge for the orange juice another. “Hut’Ziiew!” came and then the ground shook, Eijirou had a feeling that this was Zomi’s quirk just acting up when he sneezed. It was normal for little kids to have little to no control over their quirk and while sick it went even more haywire. Eijirou had to make sure nothing fell out of the fridge. “Yikes, bless you, Zomi.” Zomi looked at Eijirou confusedly but Eijirou was turned around so he didn’t see his facial expression. Setting the orange juice down he pours it into their cups, screws on the lid to Zomi’s sippy cup. “Here ya go buddy” Kirishima hands Zomi his cup which he takes and starts drinking on the orange drink, his facial expression changed not long after. It looks like he just discovered what a lemon was. “Nuh-uh, spicy.” Zomi complains, sticking out his tongue. Kirishima chuckles a little at this “I know bud...hmmm.” Kirishima had an idea, he took Zomi’s cup, poured out the orange juice, and replaced it with apple juice and then he went and got the little fruit cup of oranges. “Alright kiddo, how about a fruit cup of oranges with some apple juice?” Zomi smiles widely, he likes fruit cups, they always taste good. “Yeah yeah fwuit cup!” Talking loudly made Zomi cough, which in then made the four year old whimper at the pain in his throat. “Owie” Grabs a small plastic spork, and says. “Okay buddy let's go back to the couch” Nodding Zomi and Eijirou headed back to the living room and got to the couch.

Back on the couch Zomi was given his fruit cup and sippy cup of juice while watching cartoons. It was a good distraction for him and even Eijirou who didn’t mind watching cartoons with the kid. Even if they couldn’t spend their day out of the house and at the playground or toy store, this was fine. Eijirou kept Zomi in his lap for the time being, wrapped up in blankets.

Then his phone rang, grabbing it from the coffee table, Eijirou smiled. “Hey Zomi, mommy’s calling.” Zomi quickly looked over at the phone and Eijirou accepted the video call. Seeing Ochako on the screen, his sickly dull red eyes light up with joy! “Mommy!” Ochako smiles and waves. “Hi baby boy, hi Eiji, what are you two up to?” Zomi then answered “Mommy I’s and daddy feel yucky, so we’s at home.” Ochako frowns hearing that her son and husband are both sick, seeing as they’d been excited about spending the day together. “Naaw I’m sorry you both feel yucky sweetheart, I bet Papa is taking good care of you though.” Zomi nods proudly and raises his fruit cup and sippy cup in the air. “Papa gives me juice and fwuit cup” “That’s good sweetie, you two gonna watch a movie or any cartoons?” “Mhm, we’s watching ‘Ready, jet, go!” Zomi responded happily.

Right after he said that, his voice faltered, and Eijirou knew what was about to happen, so he snatched up a tissue with his free hand and pressed it to Zomi’s nose catching the sneeze just in time. “Het’zziiew! Het’zziiew! Het’ziiew!” Those three sneezes really rocked the house, it could be seen through the camera and felt by Eijirou. “Jeez bless you Zomi” Eijirou said while Zomi blew his nose. “Oh wowie, bless you Zozo. You must be sick, your quirk is acting up, poor baby.” Coos Ochako from her side of the phone, Eijirou nods. “Yeah poor kid’s really not feeling so good, he’s a little touch starved and slept in longer than usual this morning, I had to wake him up.” He replied with a bit of a chesty sounding cough while throwing away the tissues into the basket. Dark brown eyes softening with sympathy, Ochako sighed. “How about I go get some stuff and I’ll make chicken noodle soup for dinner. That’ll definitely help with your yucky cold.” Eijirou smiles “thanks babe, stay safe out there okay, tell Katsuki we said ‘we love you.’” “Will do babe, I love you Eiji, I love you Zomi.” “I wuv you mommy” Just before hanging up, Ochako turns around after hearing some yelling and alarms, seeing a villain behind her she huffed. “Gotta go boys, I’ll be home soon hopefully.” She says before hanging up.

When the call had ended Zomi had finished his snack and set his stuff down on the coffee table before yawning. Rubbing his eyes sleepily, Eijirou could tell the toddler was ready for a nap. He really needed it anyway seeing as he was sick and needed as much rest as he could get. “Sounds like someone’s getting sleepy.” Zomi shook his head but contradicted himself by curling up in his dad’s lap, and laying down, closing his eyes. Eijirou sets his phone down and starts to rub Zomi’s back soothingly to lull the little boy to sleep. Eyelids got heavier by the second until it got to the point where soft little snores could be heard. Eijirou was just as tired, and knew this might be his only chance to get some well needed rest, so he took this chance with advantage and laid down comfortably and adjusted Zomi so they could both sleep well. Turning down the tv volume, he closes his eyes and allows himself to sleep.It wasn’t quite the kind of day they planned out, but it was one they enjoyed.

By the time Ochako and Katsuki had gotten home Zomi and Eijirou were still asleep on the couch. Zomi curled up snuggly under Eijirou while still holding onto Sunny. It was so cute seeing the two asleep together, sure they were sick but it was still adorable nonetheless. Ochako always thought Eijirou was cute when he was sick, especially since his reddish pink nose almost matched his hair color. Zomi was just as cute, even Katsuki thought so. The two made sure not to wake the sleeping boys up, as they snuck off to change out of their hero costumes and went into the kitchen to make them some soup.

Waking up, Kirishima’s sense of smell had been dulled by congestion but he could totally smell the fact that someone was cooking. Zomi groaned softly and sat up to stretch. “Hmmmm?” HIs throat still sounded scratchy and he still felt stuffy and lacked energy. Eijirou felt the same though he playfully ruffled Zomi’s messy hair. “I think Mommy and daddy are cooking” Eijirou muttered softly, Zomi made an interesting sound as Eijirou moved and shifted the other off of him. Zomi began to whine, which Eijirou quieted by picking him up. They both stayed wrapped in a blanket of their own and Eijirou brought Zomi and himself into the kitchen. Seeing his husband and wife both sitting at the kitchen island while the soup cooked he smiles. So did Zomi who coughed which alerted the parents that someone else was in the room.

Looking up from their phones they smile seeing the two sickies at the threshold of the kitchen. “Hey there you two, how ya feeling?” Asked Katsuki, Eijirou turned away from Zomi and coughed into his elbow before answering. “Not so good babe, this cold is kicking my butt.” Zomi leaned into Eijirou’s shoulder and pouted at them. “Feel really icky, daddy.” “Aaw I’m sorry you feel icky Zozo” Katsuki says as he gets up and goes over to them. Zomi tiredly looks at Katsuki who reaches to feel Zomi’s forehead. “You’re a little warm lil guy” Then Ochako joins the conversation as she gets up to turn the stove off. “Some chicken noodle soup will surely make you feel better quicker.” Eijirou smiles at the mention of chicken noodle soup and gives Zomi to Katsuki. “Here Zomi, go with Daddy, Papa is gonna get some soup okay.” Zomi whimpered and whines as he’s being pulled off of Eijirou but doesn’t mind being held by Katsuki at all who takes him to the table.

Zomi is sitting in Katsuki’s lap, with a bowl of soup in front of him. He’s still too tired to do much on his own so Katsuki says. “Hey kiddo, want some help?” Katsuki was a little surprised by the small ‘yes’ that Zomi let out but helped him eat his soup. The first spoonful, Zomi looked like he’d entered heaven. “Mmmm yummy” Katsuki and Ochako smiled. “That's good” “that’ll definitely get rid of your icky cold faster.” Katsuki says softly playing with Zomi’s hair, Ochako came around to Eijirou and kissed his forehead. “Oh yeah, and you’ll be better in no time.”

#kiribakuraka #bnha gen 2 centric #zomi is deaf

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4kominato · 3 years

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A/N: Merry Belated Christmas!!! LOL, cheers to my first ever fluff oneshot with a genuine storyline and is over 900 words HAHA. this was so much fun to write so i hope yall enjoy it 🙏🏻 ~ kuri

Pairing: Kominato Haruichi x Fem!Reader [ft. KuraRyou]

Genre: Fluff

[[ WARNING ]] suggestive scenes/dialogue

Word Count: 2.8k

“Merry Christmas, Haruichi,” you whispered to the pink haired boy who was still fast asleep next to you. Pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek, you untangled yourself from the covers and put on some comfortable clothes before heading out to the kitchen where the enticing smell of freshly brewed coffee tugged needlessly at your nose.

“Morning. Merry Christmas.” You were greeted by another pink haired boy as he poured a cup of coffee for himself and the taller, green haired boy sitting next to him.

“Merry Christmas!” Kuramochi chimed in, as you sat down across from him while Ryousuke grabbed another mug from the cabinet.

“Coffee?” he offered.

You only gave a small nod in response and so he poured you a cup, letting you add in your own cream and sugar.

“Sounded like you and Haruichi had a fun time last night, hm?” Ryousuke spoke up, making your cheeks flush as you sipped your hot coffee.

“Ryou-chan, you didn’t have to bring it up so abruptly,” Kuramochi snickered, playfully nudging Ryousuke’s arm.

“Y-you heard us?”

“Well, Youichi and I finished drinking a little early last night and it just so happened that you guys were at it when we got back. I’m surprised that the two of you can get as loud as loud mouth over here.”

“Oi! I’m not that loud...”

“You’re pretty loud.”

“Er… well… we assumed you guys would be out late like usual...” you chuckled nervously, breaking eye contact with the older boy.

“Merry Christmas,” Haruichi interrupted cluelessly, thankfully making Ryousuke drop the topic.

“Merry Christmas, sleepy head,” Ryousuke greeted, “Coffee?”

“Mm,” he agreed, seating himself next to you.

“Merry Christmas,” Kuramochi added, as Ryousuke poured yet another cup of coffee.

“Now that everyone’s here, I was thinking,” Ryousuke started, handing the mug over to Haruichi, “How would you guys like to go ice skating after we open presents?”

“Hm…” Kuramochi hummed, “Never skated before, but sounds like fun.”

“I’d love to go ice skating!” you added excitedly, quickly turning to your boyfriend for confirmation, but much to your disappointment, he looked a little taken aback and not into the idea as much as you were.

“Haruichi enjoys going to the rink, but he doesn’t know how to skate,” Ryousuke grinned at you, noticing how his younger brother had suddenly fallen silent, “He always has to cling onto me when we go. Good thing he has you this time around, it seems I have another noob to deal with now.”

“You’re supposed to be nice to me on Christmas,” Kuramochi pouted.

“Hm? Says who?” he teased back before reverting back to the previous topic, “So, are you guys in? Don’t worry Haruichi, I’m sure she’ll catch you if you fall.”

“Aniki…” he whined, the pink tinge on his fair cheeks all too apparent.

“C’mon Haru-chan, it’ll be fun!” you assured as you jumped out of your seat and took one of his hands into your own, “I’ll teach you how to skate.”

“I don’t know… I’ve never been good at it,” Haruichi mumbled, not entirely fond of the idea of embarrassing himself in front of his girlfriend.

“So… is that four yeses?” Ryousuke asked, knowing his younger brother would come around in the end anyways.

“You’re going to force otooto to come?” Kuramochi raised an eyebrow at him.

“No, but if the three of us go, he’ll follow along.”

“Aniki!”

“I only speak the truth.”

“It’s okay,” you comforted, wrapping your arms around Haruichi’s small frame, “If onii-san doesn’t force you to come, then I will.”

“What?!”

“Alright, so that’s four yeses. Who wants to open presents?” Ryousuke announced dismissively, grabbing Kuramochi’s hand before making his way into the living room.

“Hyaha, I’m your present this year, Ryou-chan. I didn’t get you anything.”

“Sure you didn’t. I literally saw you bring the gifts into the apartment.”

“Those are for otooto and y/n!”

“Hm, really? I mean, I suppose I wouldn’t mind unwrapping you right here, right now if that's what you’re asking for. And I get to use my gift right away?”

“Hyaha! Not in front of them, Ryou-chan.”

“Yeah, not in front of us please,” you groaned, shaking your head and face palming.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Ryousuke smirked, before grabbing the gifts from under the tree and distributing them respectively.

Rolling your eyes, you reached for Kuramochi’s gift first, pulling the tissue out from the top to disclose the contents of the bag; he had gotten you a cute beanie along with a pair of matching socks, which was perfect for you, considering you didn’t have a whole lot of winter attire.

“Thanks, You-san!” you beamed as you slid the beanie onto your head to try it on.

“No problem, looks good on you,” he replied, pausing from unwrapping his own gifts to throw you a thumbs up.

“You-san always manages to find nice things for you,” Haruichi smiled at you lovingly.

“Yeah, he does.”

“Here, open aniki’s present next,” Haruichi urged as he set the gift in front of you, “I helped him pick it.”

“Okay,” you agreed as you picked it up and began to tear away at the wrapping paper encompassing the flat, but vast box. Despite the size, it felt fairly light making you more and more curious as to what it was. Ripping off the last bit of wrapping paper, you lifted the lid off the box which held a nicely folded, black trench coat.

“Oh my god, I’ve been meaning to buy a new coat but never got around to it… thank you, onii-san!”

“Haruichi mentioned it to me. I was already planning to go ice skating before I bought your gift so I figured you could use it when we go,” Ryousuke replied, a proud smile strung across his face, “Looks cute with the beanie too.”

“Thanks! I’ll definitely use both of them when we go. Maybe I’ll wear the socks too!”

Reaching for your last gift, the smallest of the three, you wondered what it was that Haruichi had gotten for you. Last year it was a necklace and the year before that, he got matching bracelets for the two of you. He was quite the romantic, so his gifts were never disappointing, which made you all the more excited to see his choice of gift this year.

Quickly unwrapping the small box, you opened the lid to find the rigid item wrapped in white tissue, so you unwrapped the gift once again and you couldn’t help the little gasp that slipped past your lips when it was finally revealed.

“Aw, Haruichi, I love it!” you announced as you stared in awe at the golden heart-shaped ornament which framed a picture of the two of you from the previous Christmas.

“He made one for us too, Ryou-chan!” Kuramochi added excitedly, holding up his ornament to display.

“I know,” Ryousuke chuckled, “I gave him our picture.”

“Thank you, Haru-chan! You always think of the best gifts,” you praised as you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, cuing his cheeks and ears to turn bright red.

“Oh no, it was nothing...” he replied bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. You couldn’t help but smile at how cute he was when he was embarrassed, stroking your fingers through his soft hair before standing up to place the ornament on the tree.

“Shall we hang ours up too?” Kuramochi offered to which Ryousuke simply nodded, and so he stood up and hung his ornament shortly after you.

After all the presents were opened, the four of you worked together to tidy up the living room, before dispersing to your bedrooms to change into warm clothing for skating. Over your warm clothes, you wore the trench coat that Ryousuke gifted to you and then to top it off, Kuramochi’s beanie.

“You look good,” Haruichi hummed, gently holding you by the hips and pulling you into him.

“So do you,” you flirted back as you hooked your arms around his neck and stared into his pretty orbs.

“I meant in your new coat and beanie,” he almost whispered, his lips inching closer and closer to yours.

“You always look good,” you barely managed to say before his lips melded with yours, the hands on your hips now slithering around your waist to the small of your back to pull your body flush against his. The moment, however, was short lived, a loud knock on the door abruptly interrupting your session followed by, “C’mon slowpokes! We’re gonna leave already!”

“You guys can have sex after we get back from skating,” Ryousuke added, speaking just loud enough for you guys to hear through the door.

“Hyaha! Ryou-chan, that was mean!”

“Aniki!” Haruichi exclaimed as he quickly pulled away from you, a bewildered expression forming on his face.

“Oh yeah… So um, onii-san said that he and You-san heard us last night because they came home early…”

“They did?!” Haruichi gasped in disbelief, his cheeks flushing yet again in embarrassment, “That’s so awkward…”

“They don’t seem to think much of it, other than using it to make jokes, but that’s not too bad, right?” you assured, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him towards the door, “We should go before they get any other ideas.”

Nodding, he followed you out and the two of you met Ryousuke and Kuramochi in the living room before heading out altogether.

“Is everyone ready?” Kuramochi announced, twirling his car keys around his index finger as everyone else gathered at the front door. The three of you quickly agreed, and so you guys were off to Kuramochi’s car and on your way to the nearest skating rink. When the four of you arrived, you were relieved to see that it wasn’t terribly crowded; it would be much easier to help Haruichi if there were less people on the ice.

Haruichi hopped out of the car first, offering you a hand to help you out and you gladly accepted. Walking hand in hand, the two of you followed Ryousuke and Kuramochi to the stand to rent skates.

“You still nervous, Haru-chan?” you asked worriedly, knowing he wasn’t so excited about coming along.

“Yeah, but I’m sure I’ll be fine since I’m with you.”

You simply smiled in response, grateful that he was willing to go out of his comfort zone for you. Despite being bashful by nature, he was never afraid to push himself whether it be for baseball, school, your relationship, or anything in between; it's one of the qualities you’d always admired about him.

Once the two of you got your skates and put them on, you took your time making your way over to the rink. You knew Haruichi well enough to see that even though he’d agreed to skate for your sake, he was still apprehensive about the situation, so you did your best to make him feel more at ease and calm his nerves.

“You’ll be okay,” you encouraged, gently squeezing his hand which was interlaced with yours while your other hand stroked over his bicep assuringly.

“Thanks,” he feigned a grin, hoping to hide how anxious he was, but unfortunately for him, you already knew how he was feeling. Approaching the entrance, you pulled him aside for a brief moment to give him a hug and a little pep talk before starting.

“No matter what happens, I won’t judge you or think any less of you. It’s okay to fall, as long as you don’t hurt yourself; it’s a part of the learning process so there’s no sense in feeling ashamed of it. Okay? You got this, Haruichi!”

Relief washed over you seeing that your pep talk was to some extent successful, judging from the seemingly confident nod he gave you in response. So with that, you led him back to the entrance of the rink where the two of you would finally skate together. You stepped onto the ice first and then held out a hand for Haruichi to hold while he adjusted to the slickness of the ice, though it didn’t take him very long to get the hang of it. Haruichi sandwiched himself between you and the wall as the two of you slowly and steadily made your way around the rink’s circumference, but he was able to stop relying on the wall before you guys had even fully circled around one time.

“You’re doing really well, y’know,” you praised, glancing over at the handsome pink haired boy, “Definitely better than You-san.”

Pointing a finger toward the other couple, Haruichi’s gaze followed, easily finding his brother along with Kuramochi who was struggling tremendously and clinging on to Ryousuke for dear life.

“Well…” Haruichi chuckled, “This is his first time. I’ve skated before… it’s just that I’m bad at it.”

“I don’t think you’re bad at it though. Look, you’re hardly even holding onto me anymore, just our hands. I think you’re just not confident.”

“I suppose you might be right…” he admitted with a shy grin, “Maybe I’ll try by myself for a bit.”

“You can do it! And I’ll be right here if you need,” you reassured, raising a fist in encouragement. You felt his grip on your hand start to loosen, but just before he let go, you heard a familiar voice yelling from behind you making you whip your head to see what was going on.

“RYOU-CHAN, TOO FAST, TOO FAST!” Kuramochi cried as Ryousuke dragged him down the length of the rink.

“You’re just a chicken,” Ryousuke teased back, having no intention of slowing down anytime soon.

“Haruichi!” you gasped, yanking him towards you and slamming yourself into the wall with Haruichi following behind and slamming into you.

“Youichi, watch where you’re going. You almost killed Haruichi,” you heard Ryousuke scold Kuramochi as they sped past you, making you let out an exasperated chuckle.

“I CAN’T WHEN YOU'RE PULLING ME SO FAST!”

“I’m sorry!” Haruichi panicked, pushing himself away from you, “I hit you kind of hard…”

“I’m the one who pulled you though,” you countered, pulling him back into you again and wrapping your arms around his waist, “You didn’t like the proximity?”

“N-no that’s not it… I was just worried that I might’ve hurt you…” he stuttered as his eyes darted away from yours, a tinge of pink quickly spreading across his cheeks.

“It’s so cute when you blush,” you giggled as you brushed a finger over his tinted skin.

“You’re not helping…”

“I thought I told you love birds to wait until we got back,” Ryousuke intruded, skating up to the two of you with his hands held behind his back.

“Aniki!” Haruichi jumped, stumbling a little as he backed away from you again.

“You guys really can’t keep your hands off each other, huh?” he smirked whilst cocking his head.

“Um…” you started, clearing your throat before speaking again, “Where’s You-san?”

“On the bench over there,” Ryousuke replied, pointing to a small seating area just outside of the rink, “He said he’s done for today. Since he’s a big baby, I was going to treat him to cocoa at a nearby cafe. You guys want to come?”

Haruichi and you quickly glanced at each other for confirmation, but on the inside, both of you already knew the answer. “Yes!” you both answered in unison before following Ryousuke out of the rink.

* * *

“So did you end up enjoying it, Haruichi?” Ryousuke spoke up first, the four of you sitting around the small cafe table sipping your cocoa.

“Mhm. It turns out y/n is a great teacher,” Haruichi replied happily as he turned his head towards you to acknowledge you.

“It was all you though,” you praised, not wanting him to sell himself short again.

“That’s good, I’m glad,” Ryousuke gave his younger brother a proud smile, “Youichi is a terrible student.”

“You’re a terrible teacher!” Kuramochi argued angrily and pouted at the older boy, “You just bullied me the entire time.”

“Masochists learn best through suffering, Youichi.”

“I’m not a masochist!”

“Okay, keep telling yourself that.”

While the other couple continued to bicker, you placed your hand over Haruichi’s before speaking, “I’m glad you had fun, Haru-chan. Would you be down to do this again next Christmas?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever say this about skating, but I’d love to. I think if I get more practice in, it could definitely become an enjoyable winter hobby for me.”

“Yay! It’s a plan then! And maybe next time, we can go without them,” you whispered, pointing toward the two men sitting across the table, “And we can go to a love motel after.” Throwing him a wink, a smile crept onto his face along with his signature rosy cheeks as he gave you a little nod.

“Sounds good to me.”

#kominato haruichi #kominato ryousuke #kuramochi youichi #daiya no ace #ace of diamond #daiya no ace fanfic #kominato haruichi fanfic #kominato ryousuke fanfic #kuramochi youichi fanfic #daiya no ace haruichi fanfic #daiya no ace ryousuke fanfic #daiya no ace kuramochi fanfic #haruichi fanfic #ryousuke fanfic #kuramochi fanfic

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trashfroggie · 4 years

Text

Paternal Instincts (Part 5)

Words: 1460

Pairings: Platonic Moxiety

Warnings: Crying, Jealousy

Patton has paternal instincts and treats Virgil like a baby. Virgil doesn’t know what’s going on.

---

Patton smiled excitedly,"Really? For me? Why?" He asked. There was a part of him that inevitably felt bad that he didn't have a gift for Roman too, but he decided that he would think of something later. Besides, there was always the possibility of this being a prank.

Roman didn't prank often, and when he did it wasn't unnecessarily mean like how most pranks seemed to be according to Patton. He would just invent a mood-eyeshadow for Virgil so the others could tell how he was feeling easier, as well as it being funny to see the various colors on his eyes. Most of the time it had proven to just be grey, a neutral mood.

Another time he had placed Logan's bookmarks one page back so that he would have to re-read a page whenever he didn't need to. That one didn't have that entertaining of a result, it was just funny to see Logan be confused.

The last prank he had pulled on Patton was giving him a cupcake that had barbecue sauce inside. He had expected him to spit it out immediately, but he kept on eating it and assuring Roman that his ideas were great. When Roman told him it was a prank, Patton happily threw it away. "Oh good." He said.

Roman never wrapped his pranks before though, especially so beautifully, so Patton was excited. The box was wrapped in pink paper and a blue bow.

Roman responded to Pattons question,"Oh I just thought you might like it. It was Logan's idea, really."

That at least settled Virgil's nerves. He had been paranoid that it might've been a jumper for him.

Patton started to open it and looked down into the box. It was a plain white doll. Plainer than anything Roman ever made. He picked it up and as soon as he put his hands on it, it blossomed into what Patton's ideal baby would look like. No definitive gender, a smile on its face, and a dress that looked more like a long shirt with a cloud pattern on it. Its figurative skin and hair were still snow white.

Patton gasped and hugged onto it,"Oh they're so precious! Oh I love them so much! Thank you, Roman!"

Roman smiled in satisfaction,"I'm glad. It was very hard to make."

Virgil cleared his throat a little bit. "I'm not um..done eating."

Patton still stared at the doll in joy while he answered Virgil,"Oh, you can feed yourself I'm sure. I have to play with them. I'm going to my room if anyone needs me." And then he was just gone.

Virgil huffed a little bit and brought the chili closer to him to eat, looking over to the others.

Logan was giving one of his rare smiles to Roman of all people. "That was very sufficient. Thank you, Roman."

"I'm just glad his ideal baby wasn't some kind of cat." Roman joked.

"Is anyone gonna tell me what the hell just happened?" Virgil intervened.

Roman laughed,"Sorry, did I compromise your daddy time? I didn't realize you liked it so much."

Virgil glared wordlessly and Logan explained,"Well, in order for you to feel more comfortable (and prevent others in the future being uncomfortable) I had the idea that Roman make a doll that would satisfy all of Patton's parental needs. This way we can be comfortable and Patton will have all of his cravings met."

Virgil thought about it for a long while. "What happens to the doll when this is done? Who's going to cook for us?" He figured that he would only make snacks for the baby doll and not meals since it was a baby. Disregarding the fact that it was more importantly a doll.

Roman shrugged,"I assume the same thing that just happened to you. Forgotten until he needs it again. Since when have you worried about eating?"

Virgil stood up with his hands on the table,"First of all, I was not FORGOTTEN. I was just… not as important or fun as that thing you made. Secondly...I don't know." He shook his head. He didn't have a good feeling about this doll. But he didn't have good feelings about most things.

He left his dishes to go and listen through Patton's door and the others didn't stop him even though they weren't sure what he was going to do. It wasn't like Virgil could just barge in. Patton's room made him anxious, after all.

Virgil started to think that maybe he had just watched too many creepy doll movies. Pattons door was open so it wasn’t hard to peek in and see that Patton was putting together a baby carriage while rocking the doll in a carseat with his foot. Multitasking was one of his strong suits when it came to parenting.

He hummed to the doll and Virgil could see the confusion on his face when putting the thing together. "Do you uh, need any help?" He asked.

Patton looked over at him and smiled. That look in his eye was gone. He was looking at him in the way he normally did. "That would be nice, yeah." He moved the parts over to the doorway and then picked up his doll, rocking it in his arms gently.

Virgil put the carriage together slowly while watching him. He was surprised that it was so easy to replace him, was all. It wasn't that he was jealous or anything. Even though he did find himself glaring at the doll. "So..what's it's name?" He asked.

"THEIR name, Virgil." Patton corrected. "They haven't told me yet. I'm leaning towards Pudding."

"Pudding?"

"Pudding. It's kind of like my name but more sweet." He kissed the doll's face.

Virgil huffed a little bit,"Well...can I hold..them?"

Patton looked hesitant and hummed,"Uh...I don't know. Not right now."

"Why not?" He didn't mean to get so offended.

"Oh well uh..it's just that they're really important to me is all. And they're so cute that you'll want to hold them all the time." He tried to explain as gently as possible.

Virgil's face scrunched up a little bit. "I'm not gonna steal your stupid doll."

Patton stopped rocking the doll and looked at him, frowning. Virgil realized his mistake and looked away. "Well..it is a doll, you know? You can't act like it's alive or something."

Patton remained wordless and moved the parts of the carriage away with his foot, closing the door on him. Virgil blinked,"Hey. Patton!" He huffed in frustration and went back downstairs.

He did feel guilty as he felt tears build up in his eyes. Uh oh. That either meant that he was crying himself, or Patton was crying. He didnt know which was worse.

He got his answer as he went down to the kitchen, Logan with his glasses off and hiding his eyes behind his hand and Roman dabbing at his own with a tissue. Virgil let his tears spring free as he looked at them.

"What did you do!?" Roman asked a bit harshly.

Virgils shoulders hunched a little bit,"Well..I guess I told him his doll was stupid."

"Why would you do that?" Logan asked in a small voice at first but then cleared his throat. "Even I know that would hurt his feelings. And it clearly has."

"Well, it'll stop feeling bad when he stops feeling this way...being this way." Virgil said.

Roman huffed,"Well I won't stand for all of this crying and Patton being upset because of your temper tantrum! What if he breaks?"

Logan shook his head,"Roman, that hardly ever happens. It won't happen because of this."

"What? Break? He can do that? What do you mean break?" Virgil asked in a rushed way, wiping his face off.

Logan explained through occasional hiccups,"Well whenever Patton is unexpectedly hurt and he cries then it spreads to the rest of us. Whenever he's expecting to cry then he can limit it to only himself. So whenever he breaks he has no control over whether the sadness gets distributed between all of us or it just focuses on him. Whenever the latter happens it builds up inside until his skin cracks, and it's not a pretty sight. But we don't have to worry about that over you insulting his newborn."

"It's not a newborn!" Virgil yelled,"It's creepy and weird!"

"And yet whenever we thought that of you, we still let you come around." Roman said.

Virgil shook his head, his makeup smudged to hell. “Well should I...talk to him?”

“Well you certainly need to apologize.” Logan said.

Virgil sighed and knew that he was right.

TAGLIST:

@pricklyfish777 @moxissleepy @bexxbeauty @fightmedragonwitch @ilovemyidiotsides

#platonic moxiety #moxiety fic #ts moxiety #moxiety #paternal instincts #sanders sides fanfiction #patton sanders #patton x virgil #virgil sanders

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beautifulterriblequeen · 4 years

Note

Idk why or where I saw/heard this (I probs just made it up) but would an elf breaking/losing a horn (let’s be honest: it’s Runaan) depending on how much was lost, cause them to be off-balanced? Or at least cause a head tilt to some degree (likely minor) due to the displacement of weight? Also, just how badly do you think was he wounded besides the visibly obvious? He was holding his right side, and had to lean heavily against the wall before sending the shadowhawk arrow.

Yeah, anon, losing a piece of solid horn will unbalance him a little. His neck muscles will be used to the symmetrical weight distribution of his horns. With the left side lighter, his head will want to tip to the right, and in order to hold his head perfectly straight, he’ll have to use the muscles on the left side of his neck just that little bit more than usual.

I doubt he’ll notice the discomfort, though, considering he’s already in a lot of pain. And when he gets back home, Ethari will make him a perfectly balanced prosthetic with pretty swirlies, maybe a nice gem or two, and some fun stuff inside, I’m sure. Even if Runaan went without such a thing, he could easily train to adapt for the small loss in weight and balance. Horns are solid, but it can’t weigh too much. How heavy would that much horn be, anyway, maybe a pound? He’d probably be more annoyed at the loss of visual symmetry than any real inconvenience.

I was literally thinking when I woke up this morning about how everyone is so moved by Janai’s VA sobbing over Khessa’s death--and they’re right to, she did a stunning job--and that’s how I feel about Runaan’s VA during the short scene where Runaan forces himself out to the end of the balcony despite all his fresh new injuries. That dude knows actual, breath-stealing pain, okay, and he channeled it, and I heard it and knew it for the truth it was. So yeah, having been in agonizing pain a choice few times in my life, I do believe that Runaan’s in a world of hurt.

Some part of his right leg is very damaged. Probably his knee, going by the tears in his boot. Likely some muscle and connective tissue damage there.

It’s possible he’ll limp for the rest of his life. No more spinning, no more twirling... aww. Will he still be able to dance with Ethari? Now I has a big sad. I guess Ethari will have to take the lead all the time and hold Runaan close. That’ll be okay, right?

There, now I feel better.

*grumpily drags my sads over to talk more about how Runaan’s all hurt, ugh* Internal bleeding is an easy assumption too, from the way he’s holding his abdomen and breathing all hitched-like. i don’t quite think he was dying of internal injury, since he actually seems to be doing better later on than he was right after the fight, but it’s very possible that those first few days where he refused to eat were incredibly uncomfortable. That much pain probably made it easy to say no to food.

He must be a pretty resilient elf if his health can actually improve during a food strike in captivity, though. I mean, he got no medical attention. He was yoinked from a knock-down, drag-out fight where he lost half his shirts and got the crap beaten out of him, and then he was thrown into a dungeon for five days where he couldn’t move and didn’t eat anything. For an elf so willing to die for his cause, Runaan’s really bad at it.

Someone get this elf home to his soft and worried husband.

#asks #runaan #elf horns #xadia's toughest elf

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antiadvil · 4 years

Text

Roses are Red

summary: Dan wants to buy his best friend Phil an anonymous rose, and also maybe confess his feelings. The problem? Phil is the one selling the anonymous roses.

Luckily, PJ has a plan.

rating: PG13

word count: 3.7k

a/n: this is for @flymetomanchester as part of a valentine’s day fic exhange! additional thanks to @itsmyusualphannie and @sudden-sky for betaing and hyping me up throughout the writing process.

read more or on ao3

Buying his crush a rose for Valentine’s Day really shouldn’t have been so hard. Dan didn’t even need to put his name on it, for God’s sake. The roses sold by his high school’s student council were distributed anonymously. He just had to pay for it, put Phil’s name on it, and write him a note.

The only problem was that Phil was not only the student council president, he was also Dan’s best friend. So Dan was left awkwardly standing near the table, hoping Phil would leave for a few minutes so he could buy Phil a rose from the student council vice president, who was sitting next to Phil, instead.

“Do you want to buy a rose?” Phil asked.

“What?” Dan snorted. “Why would I want to buy a rose?”

Phil shrugged. “Just wondering. You’re kind of hovering.”

Dan snorted again. “I am not.”

The bored-looking girl sitting next to Phil handed Dan a tissue.

“I was, uh, just wondering if you needed any help.”

“We’re good,” Phil said. “Kate and I have got everything covered.”

Dan shrugged. “Just thought I’d ask.”

“Thanks,” Phil said. “I really appreciate it. But I think you’re scaring away the customers. See you in English?”

Dan nodded, giving up and slipping back to the lunchroom.

“Did it work?” his friend PJ asked when Dan joined him at their lunch table.

“No,” Dan said, scowling. “He wouldn’t leave the table.”

PJ took a long drink from his water bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Damn,” he said. “That sucks.”

Dan nodded glumly. “He’s never going to leave the table.”

PJ shrugged. “I mean, it’s just a rose. You can get roses just about anywhere.”

Dan glared. “But can I get special, anonymously sent roses with an attached note just about anywhere?”

PJ rolled his eyes.

Dan sat back. “That’s what I thought.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

Dan had been cast as the lead in their school play three years running. “Me? Dramatic?”

PJ rolled his eyes again. “If you’re so attached to these roses, you’re going to need a better plan.”

“What, do you have one?” Dan asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Okay,” Dan said. “I’m listening.”

PJ smirked. “Meet me outside the cafeteria tomorrow.”

“To do what?” Dan asked.

“You’ll see,” PJ said mysteriously.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Dan said. “I’m going to kill you.”

“You’ve been saying that for the past ten years and it hasn’t happened yet.”

“It will,” Dan promised. “Just wait.”

“Sure,” PJ snickered. The bell rang. “See you after school, nerd.”

“Not if I kill you first, dork,” Dan responded.

Dan’s next class was English. He slid into his seat next to Phil. “How are sales going?” he asked.

“Pretty good,” Phil said. “We’ve made a ton of money so far. Decorations for turnabout might not be that bad.”

“Decorations for turnabout are always bad.” The rose sale was the only source of funding for their spring dance other than ticket sales. Student Council did their best, but Dan and Phil’s high school was not known for its beautiful and well-run school dances.

Phil shrugged. “Well, hopefully they’ll be less bad.”

Dan gave up. He knew this dance was important to Phil, and supporting his friend was more important to him than making fun of their school. “Of course they will be,” he said. “You’re doing them.”

Phil smiled. “Thanks, Dan.”

Right on cue, their English teacher entered the room, disturbingly cheery for someone teaching Hamlet to a bunch of second semester high school seniors.

“How was last night’s reading?” he chirped.

The classroom was dead silent. Dan highly doubted anyone in the entire room had read more than the sparknotes, if that.

“What did you think of Hamlet’s treatment of Ophelia?” More silence. “Come on, guys, don’t make me start picking volunteers.”

Someone sitting in the front hesitantly raised their hand.

“Yes! Jamie?” their teacher asked.

“I didn’t like it,” they said.

Their teacher sighed. Dan took that as his cue to zone out. He zoned out in the rest of his classes as well before finally stumbling out of school to meet PJ by his car.

“You’re late,” PJ said.

Dan rolled his eyes. “You’re late.”

“Whatever. Get in the back.” Since Phil had gotten there first, he got the passenger’s seat, and since PJ was driving, that left Dan to sit in the back. Normally, he would be annoyed, but today he didn’t mind being a little more alone with his thoughts than usual. He leaned back and stared out the window, letting Phil and PJ do most of the talking.

“Do we really have to go to Hot Topic today?” PJ asked, interrupting Dan’s thoughts. “You never even buy anything, and if someone sees me there in the year of our lord two thousand and twenty, I’ll lose all my street cred.”

“What street cred?” Dan asked. “And if Phil is dragging us to Lush - ”

“Phil buys things at Lush!” PJ protested.

“I’m just saying, your street cred - ”

“Dan’s right,” Phil said. “You don’t have any street cred.”

Dan smirked. “And neither of us complain about Barnes and Noble, so shut up.”

“Yeah you do,” PJ mumbled under his breath.

Phil shook his head. “We love Barnes and Noble,” he said, with sincerity so sweet Dan nearly believed him.

PJ rolled his eyes. “You two are so lucky I still drive you places.”

Dan let the conversation fade out again. Phil and PJ bickered some more, Dan’s stomach twisted itself into knots, and in just a few more minutes, PJ pulled into the mall parking lot.

“Last one out is gay,” PJ announced, hopping out of the car. Phil, who had been out since middle school, rolled his eyes.

Dan, who had been out for a significantly smaller amount of time, also rolled his eyes and climbed out of the car. “Shut up, token het,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Dan and Phil behaved in Barnes and Noble for approximately five seconds before their shenanigans began. They followed PJ dutifully through the stacks before Phil beckoned Dan the other way and held up a book.

“How does this shit get published?” Phil said, giggling at the summary on the back.

PJ glanced back at Phil, annoyed. Phil ignored him, plucking another book from the shelf.

This was their usual Barnes and Noble routine: Phil dramatically read the backs of romance novels to Dan, Dan and Phil fell over giggling at the overly dramatic, flowery language, and PJ pretended not to know who they were.

“You guys are so embarrassing,” PJ said.

“Don’t tell me you’re capable of taking this seriously,” Dan said, while Phil leafed through another novel, looking for the cringiest romantic dialogue he could make Dan act out with him.

PJ just rolled his eyes in response and drifted away. Dan felt slightly bad for a moment - he and Phil had been a unit since grade school, and it usually wasn’t very fun to hang out with them with no one else around. PJ had put up with the third wheeling for a lot longer than most.

His guilt quickly dissipated when Phil thrust his latest find out at him. “You be the girl,” he said.

Dan raised his eyebrows. “That’s what he sa - ”

“Shut up,” Phil whined, but he was also giggling. “You know what I meant.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Fine, but only because my falsetto is incredible.”

“That’s the spirit,” Phil said, but before they could start reading, PJ appeared from around the corner.

“I got the book I needed,” he announced.

Phil let the romance novel in his hand drop limply to his side.

“I’m ready to go,” Dan said. “Unless you needed anything?” he asked Phil.

Phil shook his head, putting the book back on the shelf. “I’m ready.”

“Race you to Hot Topic,” Dan said.

“We’re not going to Hot Topic until after we finish at Lush,” Phil insisted.

PJ rolled his eyes. “You have until I get to the cash register to sort this out. Just, like, fight to the death or something over it.”

Dan and Phil lingered behind to play rock, paper, scissors. Phil won. Dan sulked.

He really didn’t mind going to Lush as much as he pretended to. The soaps all smelled really nice, and the free samples were definitely a bonus. If it wasn’t for the heavy weight of societal judgement he could feel hanging over his head whenever he walked into his house, he would probably buy a bath bomb or two for himself.

He couldn’t help but watch a bit enviously as Phil and PJ picked out products to buy. Their parents didn’t think boys had to constantly act a certain way, had to only use certain products. Dan’s parents were reluctantly accepting of his sexuality, but they still had expectations for him. Expectations he’d never meet.

Dan contented himself with looking at and smelling everything Phil handed him. God, everything here smelled amazing.

After Phil and PJ were done buying their things, the group lingered in the entrance before moving on to the next store.

Phil poured a generous helping of his new rose-scented lotion into his hands, gesturing for Dan’s hand and wiping off the excess.

Dan ran his extremely dry hands together, rubbing the lotion in. “Smells nice,” he said.

Phil smiled. “And now maybe your hands will stop bleeding all the time.”

Dan looked at the cracked skin on the back of his hands. “Sure,” he said.

Phil sighed. “It’s actually concerning how dry your skin is.”

Dan was slightly touched by Phil’s concern, but he’d never admit it. “Are you my mom or something?”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Both of you shut up,” PJ said. “And hurry up, I have a paper due tomorrow.”

Knowing PJ, his paper was probably completely finished and just waiting for him to make one last glance over it for typos before submitting it several hours before the deadline and going to bed at precisely ten o’clock.

Sometimes Dan resented the guy, but honestly, under his harsh exterior, he was too sweet and helpful to hate. Dan couldn’t even count the number of times he’d called PJ late at night, panicking about an assignment he’d forgotten about, only to have PJ calm him down and walk him through the entire process, no matter how tired he would be the next day. Dan hoped that someday PJ wouldn’t feel the need to hide behind his sharp remarks. That he’d feel okay sharing the softer side of him.

For now, he let PJ pretend to be mad that he and Phil were taking too long and rush them along to Hot Topic.

It was true that Dan never bought anything at Hot Topic, but he loved going there anyway. Something about the atmosphere reminded him of his full on emo years. Not that that was a good time to be reminded of, per se, but it was definitely a simpler time.

Also, My Chemical Romance would always be good, no matter what year it was, and Dan was not about to apologize for that.

Phil and PJ definitely didn’t understand his obsession, but they were trying, even if they mocked him endlessly for it. PJ stifled his yawns, and Phil stared determinedly past the glaze in his eyes as Dan tried an endless number of outfits on.

“I like that one,” Phil announced for the seventeenth time, when Dan came out of the dressing room in a band T-shirt and jeans that were much more tight than anything his parents would ever let him wear.

Dan wasn’t sure whether or not Phil’s eyes were trailing up and down Dan’s body more than usual, but it made him feel warm and heavy and slightly self-conscious.

PJ nodded in determined agreement. “You should get it.”

“Maybe,” Dan said, the same way he did every time. This time he almost meant it. He hesitated. “My parents would never let me wear them.”

“My dude,” PJ said. “You are eighteen. What are they going to do?”

Phil shot him a look, but Dan just threw a T-shirt at PJ’s head. “Yell at me?”

“Fine,” PJ said, untangling the shirt from his head. “Don’t get it. I don’t care.”

“Get it,” Phil said.

Dan hesitated. His parents wouldn’t like the jeans, but the shirt they might not mind that much, and if they did, he could just wear it under a sweatshirt until he left the house.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll get the shirt.”

“Thank god,” PJ said. “Does that mean we can leave? I want to leave.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “We can leave.”

PJ pumped his fist.

Phil offered Dan the passenger’s seat on their way home, but he declined. He still had things to think about. The T-shirt he had tucked inside the shopping bag under his arm and how he would get it to his room without his parents noticing. The rose he hadn’t put Phil’s name on yet. Whether or not PJ really had a plan, or if he was just bullshitting. How tired Dan was, all the damn time.

He let his head fall back. Dan hadn’t fallen asleep in the car in years, but he let the quiet murmur of PJ and Phil in the front seats and the soft noises of the car’s engine and tires lull him to sleep.

He woke up to Phil shaking his shoulder. “I’m not strong enough to carry you to your room,” he said.

Dan blinked. “Yeah,” he said groggily, looking for his shopping bag.

“Here,” Phil said, handing it to him. “Don’t forget your backpack.”

Dan grabbed it. “Thanks,” he said. He was out of the car before he remembered PJ’s plan. He turned back, but PJ was already putting his car in reverse.

“See you tomorrow at lunch,” PJ called.

“Wait!” Dan ran after the car, leaning towards the driver’s window.

PJ rolled his window down. “Yes?”

“You’re still not going to tell me your plan?” Dan whispered to PJ.

“Nope.” PJ smirked.

“I don’t want to leave this to chance,” Dan whispered.

“Don’t worry about it,” PJ said. “I’ve got it all under control.”

“I’m worried about it.”

“Well, don’t.” PJ rolled the window back up and drove away.

Dan worried. He worried as he went home and did his homework, he worried as he went to bed, he had dreams about worrying, and when he woke up for school the next morning, he worried all through breakfast and his ride. He worried until just before lunch time, when he saw PJ waiting for him in the hallway where Phil and Kate were selling flowers.

PJ noticed Dan and waved. “Hey, Dan!” he said, way too loudly, walking over to Dan with alarming speed.

“Hey, PJ,” Dan said, moving towards PJ.

Before they could get too close, PJ tripped and fell. Hard.

A gasp rippled through the crowd. Phil immediately leapt to his feet and pushed through the crowd to reach PJ. “Are you okay?” he asked.

PJ lifted his head up. “I don’t know. My leg feels funny. I think I need to go to the nurse.”

Dan smiled and slipped through the crowd to the table where Kate was still sitting, looking anxiously at PJ.

“Can I get a rose for Phil?” Dan asked.

Kate gasped. “That’s why you’ve been hanging out near the table so much!”

“Yes,” Dan said, glancing over his shoulder. “Can you hurry up?”

“That’s so cute,” Kate said, slipping Dan the piece of paper to write his message down on. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.”

“Thanks,” Dan said, scribbling a message onto the paper. Keep being amazing. He handed the paper to Kate and quickly went to find PJ.

He spotted them headed down the hallway towards the nurse’s office, and ran to catch up, ignoring that one teacher who always glared at him for running in the halls.

“PJ, are you okay?” Dan asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Dan sighed. “I’ll take him to the nurse, Phil. You don’t need to worry about it.”

Phil hesitated, glancing back at Kate and the table. “Fine,” he said. “See you later?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Dan said absently. “Come on, PJ.”

PJ hobbled along. Once Phil was far enough behind them, Dan turned around to talk to PJ. “You know, you don’t need to pretend to be hurt anymore.”

“Not pretending,” PJ admitted.

Dan groaned. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” PJ said, limping furiously. “Don’t tell me I’m a dumbass, I already know.”

“You’re a dumbass, but you’re my dumbass.”

“Save the pickup lines for Phil. Don’t make my sacrifice in vain.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Your sacrifice?”

“They might have to amputate.”

“They won’t have to amputate.”

“You don’t know that.” PJ pouted.

The school nurse ultimately decided not to amputate, to PJ’s shock and concern. She handed him an ice pack and sent him on his way.

PJ complained the whole way back to the cafeteria, but Dan’s mind couldn’t be further away. He couldn’t wait until the flowers were delivered and he got to see the expression on Phil’s face.

The day after Valentine’s Day, Dan got a rose delivered to him in his third period class. He hadn’t expected to get anything, but it was a pleasant surprise all the same. He looked to see if there was a note attached, but couldn’t find anything. He searched the wrapping it came in, but when he couldn’t find anything, he just put it in the side pocket of his backpack.

Phil also arrived at lunch clutching a red rose.

“It’s pretty,” Dan said, smiling.

“Yeah,” Phil said, staring at it.

The expression on Phil’s face was even better than Dan had expected: the most perfect mixture of confusion, happiness, and wonder.

“Who’d you get it from?” Dan asked.

“I don’t know,” Phil said, placing it carefully next to his lunch tray. PJ had gone to eat with a different group of friends that day, citing “gross flirting and unbearable sexual tension” as his reason not to sit with Dan and Phil until Dan “got his damn act together and asked Phil out already.”

Dan was nervous, but he tried not to show it. All he needed to do was ask a few questions about the rose, confess that it was him, and then have an open and honest conversation with Phil about their feelings (ugh).

“It’s so weird, though,” Phil said, touching his rose again with an expression almost of awe. “I was watching the table the whole time. I would have known if someone wanted to send one to me.”

Dan smiled. “They must have been really sneaky.”

“Yeah,” Phil said, running his hand down the petals. “The weirdest thing, though - ” he broke off.

“The weirdest thing?” Dan prompted.

Phil blushed. “You’ll think it’s dumb.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dan said. “Have you ever told me something that I thought was dumb?”

Phil shrugged. “Probably.”

“Okay, yeah,” Dan said. “But I didn’t say I thought it was dumb, did I?”

“I guess not.”

“Well,” Phil said, his entire face turning red. “I’ve been working on a youtube channel.”

Dan’s eyebrows shot up. “A youtube channel?”

“Yes. And, um, the note referenced it.”

Dan blinked. This was the first he’d ever heard of Phil having a youtube channel, so unless Phil was talking about a different note from a secret admirer, he was pretty sure the note didn’t actually reference anything.

“How?” Dan asked.

Phil shoved the note at him. Dan’s own scribbled handwriting stared back, the same note he had written a few days earlier. Keep being amazing.

Dan stared at Phil. “I don’t get it,” he said. “It just seems like a generic compliment.”

Phil’s face was still determinedly red. “My channel name is AmazingPhil.”

Dan made a note to look that up when he got home. “It could be a coincidence,” he said, but Phil didn’t notice.

“Do you think it’s one of my fans? Oh my god, do you think I have a stalker?”

Phil’s genuine concern made Dan hesitate. “It’s probably just a coincidence,” Dan said. “There aren’t that many words you can use to compliment people. How many subscribers do you have, anyway? He probably - ”

“Almost a hundred thousand,” Phil said.

Dan choked on his sandwich. Phil pounded his back until Dan was able to speak again. “Sorry,” Dan said, “A hundred thousand? When were you going to tell people?”

“Shh,” Phil said, glancing around. “Keep your voice down. I don’t know, okay? Mostly it just never really came up. But I guess someone who follows me must go here or something, because - ”

“Maybe, but they didn’t send you the rose,” Dan said.

“How would you know?” Phil asked.

Dan felt his heart start to pound. “It was me,” he said.

Phil started. “What?”

“The note and the rose. They’re from me.”

Phil blinked. “Why?”

Dan was startled by how clear the world suddenly seemed, like everything had jumped into sharp, eye-watering focus for a moment. “Because I like you, Phil.”

Phil placed his sandwich back on his lunch tray. “Dan - I - ”

“I mean, it’s totally fine if you don’t feel the same way,” Dan babbled. “I know we’ve been friends for a really long time, and I’d never want to do anything to lose that. But it’s gotten to a point I can’t ignore and I need to know how you feel if I want to ever move forward-”

“I sent you a rose,” Phil said.

It was Dan’s turn to blink, confused. “What?”

“I signed the note. Did you not get it?”

“There wasn’t a note with it,” Dan said.

“Well, I put a note in it,” Phil said, “Basically saying all the things you just said.”

“Oh,” Dan said, pleasantly surprised.

“Did it not - ”

“I guess not.”

“Fuck,” Phil said. “But, um, if you want to go out sometime-”

“That’d be great,” Dan said, smiling so hard his cheeks started to hurt.

“Cool,” Phil said, also smiling.

The lunch bell rang.

“See you in English,” Dan said.

Phil smiled. “See you.”

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phan fluff #phan au #my writing

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anthropwashere · 4 years

Text

phango19: we go around, one foot nailed down

\o/ 30th DP fic and it’s the infamous dissection trope \o/

(you know I had to do it to ‘em)

Legit though, I’ve been wanting to write a DP dissection fic since, jeez, since I joined the fandom in '13 probably. It's practically a rite of passage to have one of these under your belt, isn't it? So here's me, giving you the gift of Danny Having a Bad Time.

There'll be some notes about the research I did for this one for the curious at the end, but apologies to anyone with an ounce of scientific know-how. I almost failed high school chemistry and that was something like 12 years ago. I am but a simple idiot with Internet access. Please call me out if there's something egregious in need of correction; otherwise... blame it on ghostly handwavium?

Title comes from TOOL’s “Pneuma.”

AO3 | FFN

It had been agony, at first. But like anything he’s ever set his mind to, it’s gotten easier with practice.

He’s had plenty of opportunities to practice.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish he could quit the whole ugly business right this moment. Burn every file, lock the lab up for good, and pray for no more nightmares. But this ugly business needs doing and he’s the only one for it. He can’t allow Maddie to shoulder any more of this burden than she’s already insisted on. He won’t let those white-suited bastards lay so much as a finger on his family either, not while he’s got any say in it. There'll be hell to pay for going toe-to-toe with the GIW, but that's fine. He doesn’t care what happens to him anymore, so long as Maddie and Jazz are kept clean of all consequences.

If his luck holds out the courts will be hashing it all out for a while yet anyway. He’s never had a head for fine print or subtlety, nor doing anything so morally gray as—well. Everything lately. What should be done is clear as day to him, but if the courts agreed that easily with the GIW he wouldn't have a chance to make up for what he’s done.

He needs to do that much.

The courts and those bastards will eventually agree he doesn’t have a leg to stand on, regardless of blood relation or his wealth of experience in an incredibly niche field. Sooner than later those bastards will come, and when they do there's only so much protest and fighting spirit they'll indulge in. That's a fight he'll lose once it comes, but in the meantime those bastards and all their clever little monitoring devices can’t come within 300 feet of Fenton Works without causing an uproar.

He has to take advantage of the time they have left.

This evening the house is empty, just him and—

Well.

Maddie’s out there fighting the good fight, Jazz and Sam and Tucker at her side. The three of them have got more experience than Maddie and him ever realized. They’ll be just fine. They’ll handle whatever toothy specter is out there terrorizing the good people of Amity Park and make sure nothing gets in the way of his work. He needs the peace and quiet. No distractions. He needs to do this by the book.

Working by the book isn't a habit he’s ever had to cultivate, not with Maddie there to shore up his madcap inventions with reams of reproducible data and neatly labeled blueprints, all hard copies done in triplicate and the digital files regularly updated to a secure server off-site. You can’t ever be too cautious when you’re putting pseudoscience to the test and winning, Maddie always said with a grin, and he’d kissed her every time for being so much more brilliant and beautiful than he deserved. What would he do without her? How far could he have gotten without her? Would Danny still be—

He swallows.

Best to banish that train of thought before it can run him down. No distractions. No what-ifs, no maybes. Not if he wants to make up for what’s happened. What they’ve done. What he's done. This one’s all on him, no matter how Maddie tries to tell him otherwise. Either he fixes this or—

Well.

There is no ‘or,’ is there?

He presses the record button on the Jack Fenton-improved observation rig. Blinking red lights and a momentary whine of feedback means he’s good to go. “Nov—”

Too hoarse. Clarity and enunciation are key here. Slow and steady. He’s got to do this right, each and every time. He clears his throat and begins again.

“November 24th, 2006. 9:43 p.m. This is the ninth full examination of the ectobiological aberration self-identified as ‘Phantom,’ legal name Daniel Fenton. General details of the aberration's previously accepted physical characteristics can be found in the recording and transcript of the first examination. General details of the aberration's current physical characteristics can be found in the first, second, and third examinations. Detailed characteristics that have remained unchanged between forms—the wholly living, the selectively living, and the wholly deceased are also recorded in the first and second examinations."

“For the record, I still don't think I qualify as an 'aberration,'" the body says.

He breathes. Swallows. Chooses to ignore the interruption.

“This examination will consist of further study of Phantom's physical deterioration, to include the taking of samples of hair, skin, bone, and various fluids and tissues as necessary. Additionally I—"

He hadn't identified himself, despite the GIW's explicitly written protocols on ghost examinations. He curses inwardly, decides not to bother. He's the only examiner on any of the recordings, after all.

The body takes advantage of his pause to add, “Oddity maybe. Hell, anomaly sounds pretty cool. But aberration? That makes me sound like I'm on the verge of a villainous origin story or something."

He presses on through gritted teeth. "I'll be conducting several tests as outlined separately—exact location in the Phantom file will be added to this examination's transcript—to see if it's feasible to separate the Phantom aberration from Daniel Fenton's remains."

"How many times do I have to tell you that Phantom has always been—"

"Danny."

The body sighs. Well. Its inhabitant does anyway. "Sorry, sorry."

He resists the urge to thank the body. He resists the urge to pat its mottled green hand. He doesn't trust his voice to remain steady if he does either.

"External examination.” He describes the body from toe to tip, his voice measured, unhurried, detached. Dark green skin, healed as flawlessly as it had seven times before. Untamed black hair that shines a glossy green in the harsh overhead lights. Eyes red as holly berries that shine with the predatory gleam so common among true ghosts when the overhead light hits them. The skin is firm, and firmly attached to the lean muscles beneath, and those too still conform to the bones as if the body hasn’t been dead for months. The body is as limp-limbed as a ragdoll in his hands as he goes through the checklist. He confirms that it’s continuing to lose weight incrementally despite no outward signs of decay or starvation—

(Can a dead thing still starve? God, but what were those two years like for Danny? All those worries, those fears, all those questions without answers, and now….)

Nothing untoward or abnormal—in shape, if not in color—can be noted. A normal male distribution of body hair. Teeth in fair repair. Gums, tongue, and oral cavity all normal, albeit pale green. Symmetrical and normal in appearance are checked off wherever they need to be checked off. On, and on, and on. An exhaustive process that embarrassed the body’s inhabitant horribly the first few times. Now it’s borne in silence, with only an occasional gruff sigh.

No deformities. No injuries, except for the postmortem thread that’s bunched up at weird angles as the body stubbornly insisted on healing practically overnight. He makes a note of it as he takes a small pair of shears to the tangles, snipping and pulling as needed. The small holes trace out a capital letter Y that’s gone a bit hunchbacked and knock-kneed. Another day or two and that scar will be gone, replaced by a new one that will stretch stark and symmetrical, for a little while. The small holes left behind don’t bleed. There isn't any blood or ectoplasm pooled or pulsing through the body. The heart is still, a fist-sized lump of dark green muscle. He'd drained the clay-colored fluid that had operated as blood out into a jar marked DP Specimen #58 - 3.85ltr ecto found w/in complex circ sys(!) w/ unk contaminant(s?). It hasn't clotted, and the body hasn't produced more.

They don't know why. They still don’t know why the body continues to heal. There’s not enough energy in the remaining ectoplasm to generate such a speedy recovery, but neither does it heal enough. Danny’s ghost—the aberration—is still bound to this inanimate, impossible corpse. Danny is still trapped.

Not to mention that the healing seems to be failing incrementally as the days pass. He doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know if they’re running out of time or not. He doesn’t know what will happen to Danny if—

There’s no ‘if.’ He’s fixing this.

He has to.

“You’re staring,” the body says quietly.

He swallows, shaking himself out of it. “I—I will now begin the internal examination to compare the body’s current state to that of the eighth examination conducted on November 16th. Additionally, with the data gathered from the previous examinations and tests conducted upon various tissue samples and the body itself it’s believed that optimal results might be achieved with as little biological interference as possible.”

“You said full examination,” the body interrupts. “Brain included?”

“Brain included,” he confirms. He can’t quite keep the apology out of his voice. Not as if those bastards would notice an ounce of kindness if it—

Focus.

The body doesn’t breathe. It can’t. Those lungs gasped their last 36 seconds after Maddie landed a neat hit on Phantom with a full 450 milliliters of their experimental paralytic.

(He’d said it himself, not 24 hours before that day. Enough to lay out a ghost ten times his size! What a damn stupid, blind idiot he was.)

The inhabitant inside the body makes the sound of a slow, steadying breath. It shouldn’t shake. It shakes anyway. “Just. Don’t keep my face c-covered any longer than you have to.”

Danny’s made this request each time. As if he’d forget to give Danny what mean comforts he can through—through this. Danny had screamed all throughout that first examination. Not out of pain—he insisted he couldn’t feel anything anymore—but out of sheer, visceral horror. He doesn’t blame Danny one bit for that.

(He’d hoped removing the brain would do the trick, that it would free Danny’s ghost, put him out of his misery. But it just grew back. There are three of them resting in glass jars of glowing formalin now. At the rate he’s going the entire lab will soon be nothing but bits of Danny in jars.)

“Sure thing,” he whispers, and picks up the scalpel.

He narrates as he works, making small notes on the diagram at his elbow with a gloved hand that grows damp over time with green fluids. He makes the initial incision, running over it repeatedly where necessary, and inch by inch peels the anterior thoracic musculature and subcutaneous layers away.

(He’s almost gotten used to making these incisions, to applying the necessary force as pulls the layers apart. The motions have almost become habit. It’s all the sounds of peeling the body open that continue to haunt him.)

The flesh folds like a thick blanket, draping over the body’s elbows out of the way. There’s no need at this time to study the neck musculature or organs. He leaves that stretch of skin where it’s meant to stay. He focuses on cutting away the pale bits of fatty tissue that might interfere, fully exposing the deep black bones of the body’s rib cage.

(That had been a hard shock, the first time. He’s almost used to the sight now.)

As with the body’s hair and eyes, the bones have a faint green gleam to them. The same iridescence of a raven’s feathers. They yield to a rib cutter the same as any human’s would. He makes the cuts close to the sides rather than near the breastbone; he wants to get a good look at the heart and lungs in situ today.

The inhabitant begins to breathe rapidly.

He pauses, the front of the body’s rib cage gripped carefully in both hands, pulled halfway out. “Do… do you want me to move the mirror?”

Oh, but he had put his foot down about the mirror. There was no way, no way, he would force Danny to observe as his own father cut him open—did this to him. Danny had asked first that his eyes not to be taped shut, because laying there paralyzed and feeling nothing in the dark was so much worse and anyway his eyes don’t seem to be going anywhere, right? The third examination is when Danny had asked for a way to watch him work, and he’d protested and blubbered and even shouted, enough that Maddie had called down the stairs in a voice thick with tears if everything was—if everything was—did he need help?

Yes, he needed help. But he didn’t tell her that. He told her everything was—was—that she needn’t worry, that he had everything handled.

Danny had asked again. Again and again and again, and every time he said no, told Danny all the reasons why he wouldn’t, couldn’t, would never—

But Danny kept asking.

I want to understand, Dad. Please. I’m gonna go crazy if I all I do is just lay here until you and Mom fix me. I—this is all I can do. I want to see what you’re doing to me, instead of trying to imagine. Please. Please, Dad.

He’d relented for the seventh examination. He’d attached an arm to the observation rig above the table, attached a mirror to the arm, and messed with the angle of it until Danny said he could see himself perfectly.

It had been such a terrible thing to do to Danny, but Danny had thanked him all the same.

The body sighs, chuckles weakly. “N-no. No. I just—hate that sound. That—cracking. Gets—gets me every time.”

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. He tries to be as gentle as he can, separating the breastbone from the clavicle, but some sounds are unavoidable. After setting the rib cage aside he swallows, and swallows again. His voice betrays him anyway. “M-mediastinum intact again as well. Comparable in color to previous examinations. The residual fatty thymic tissue present….”

And on. And on. Cutting and pulling and weighing, comparing weights and textures and colors to the eight other times he’s already done this.

How many more times will this be necessary?

Danny breathes, sometimes, hitching like he means to say something, or like he's trying not to cry.

Danny doesn’t do either, but he hates himself anyway.

“Decellularization continues apace,” he murmurs near the microphone, tracing a careful finger across one lung in the scale. It and its twin had been a vivid lime green in the beginning, but like nearly every other organ it’s begun to shed its inhabiting cells, leaving a colorless scaffolding in the same rough shape of itself behind.

Ghost organs. He’s never heard of such a thing happening outside of a microbiology lab. It’d almost be funny.

He doesn’t know what it means.

He doesn’t know what any of this means.

The accident should have killed Danny completely, left a well-cooked corpse and an entirely separate ghost behind. Not hybridized him. Not at the risk of this. Their paralytic is what killed him—

(his son, his boy, little Dann-o, gone gone gone and it’s all his fault)

—but if he’d died another way would this have been the same result? This powerlessness, this fading? There’s no knowing, and that most of all is what keeps him up at night.

He finishes comparing all the numbers to those previously recorded. Then samples are taken and the cell debris drained, all the vials and containers marked appropriately. Lastly he bags the organs he intends to keep for study to minimize leakage, leaving the rest in their individual trays. If he were to place them all back in the body the bags would—somehow—vanish within a few days, all the organs reorganized and reattached exactly as they should be. If he doesn’t, new ones will take their place.

Maddie suspects this to be the cause of the decellularization. The body is drawing on its own limited materials to regenerate because the ectoplasmic core once sustaining it has been snuffed out. None of their instruments can even pick up that Danny’s still in there, but there he is all the same. No one knows what to make of that.

All in all, it’s been over an hour by the time he carefully suctions out the last of the fluids pooled within the emptied cavities, filling and marking one more container to join the collection on the stainless steel counter. He’d lined the interior of the body with cotton, the first time. It had gone the same way as the bags, vanished or vaporized or who even knows. He doesn’t bother this time, returning the unbagged organs to rough approximations of where they should be. He gives the small intestine up as a bad job, grimacing apologetically. In the space where the right lung sat he places an oblong monitoring device small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Something clever Maddie cooked up to measure all sorts of things, all potential avenues to make sense of the body’s physiology and shake the ghost clean of it. It shouldn’t be too intrusive once the lung grows back. Not that it matters.

It’s far too late to save their son. They know that. That doesn’t make this any easier.

“Brain next?” The body asks once he’s finished up the new Y incision.

“Brain next,” he confirms wearily, setting aside needle and thread. “Your moth—”

He bites his cheek hard enough to taste blood, but that’s not enough to take back the slip. No familiarity. No acknowledgement of their relationship. No divulging more details than strictly necessary. That had been part of the agreement.

He wiggles the rubber block out from under the body’s back, moves it to support the head, cards his fingers—a fresh pair of gloves on—through its thick dark hair. Danny can’t feel it but hums a wordless thanks anyway, watching in the mirror. There’s the faintest shiver of motion at his eyes; not the eyeballs themselves but of a fey light within. It’s the only sign anyone’s still in there.

He makes the incision across the crown, sloping from behind one ear to the other. The scrape of the scalpel against bare bone makes Danny suck in a breath. He peels, he cuts, he peels. He whispers an apology as the anterior flap covers the eyes, the nose, the mouth, the chin. The inhabit’s imagined breaths come faster than ever, but it’s only the dark that upsets him. It is. The dark, the numbness, the helplessness. A hell that can’t be imagined, only experienced.

He moves quicker now, his narration stuttering in favor of action. The posterior flap peeled and cut and folded out of the way, then both of the temporal muscles severed. The scalpel traded for a blade like a bread knife to etch out a rough guideline around the crown of the exposed skull. Then the hammer and chisel.

Danny whimpers all throughout.

As soon as the brain—the same gray-green color of mold—has been removed, he gently pulls the anterior flap back, lets it dangle over empty space as he wipes the body’s face clean of a few green drips. “Keeping this one for testing, I’m afraid,” he says.

“Okay,” the body whispers.

“Nearly finished now.”

“I know. I’m okay.”

He doesn’t acknowledge that. He can’t afford to. The brain—what a brilliant kid, a professional ghost hunter, reaching for the stars since he first realized they were up there, the sum of his son cradled in his hands and this isn’t ever going to get any easier, it’s not, it’s not, it’s not—

He takes a deep breath. Steadies himself. Sets the brain carefully aside to be dealt with shortly. Soft as Jell-O, brains are, but unfathomably powerful. Science has only scratched the surface of what goes on in that three-pound mass. Danny might still be—somehow—tied to the body, but maybe the answer lies in the brain.

Nearly finished. He can do this.

The skullcap is held awkwardly in place as he sews the scalp closed. It’ll be good as new in no time, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still take care to make the stitches tidy. He uses the back of his hand, the cleanest part of his glove, to smooth the dark hair over the seam.

“This concludes the ninth examination of Daniel Fenton, AKA Phantom,” he croaks into the microphone, and at last, at last, he can kill the recording. As soon as he has he reaches up to nudge the mirror askew so Danny doesn’t have to stare at himself a second longer.

“Done,” he says, his voice gone hoarse again.

“Yeah,” the body says.

He stands there a long, long minute, braced on the examination table staring down at the twisted corpse of his son, both splashed with any number of ghostly-bodily fluids. Arms shaking, his knees rubbery, breathing through a throat of sand. He’s tired. He’s tired. He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this.

As long as he has to. As long as it takes to help Danny. That’s how much longer he has to. No ifs, ands, or buts.

“Are you okay?” Danny asks.

He laughs. It comes out wetter than he meant it to, but it’s fine. All of the recording equipment is off. The only person who’ll see him cry now is Danny. “Sh—shouldn’t I be asking that?”

“Maybe,” Danny says, “But it’s not easy on anybody. Is it?”

“...No. No, it’s not.”

He’s made such a mess of this corner of the lab. Maddie’d be furious with him if she saw. Not that she will. He’s cordoned it off with tall curtains and begged her on bended knee to leave this whole ugly mess to him. She hasn’t looked yet. He’d know if she had. He's seen the way her eyes linger on the curtains while they're working in another part of the lab, how her hands fumble, how her mouth thins. She's not slept more than four hours at a time since—

Since.

"Quit staring," the body orders. "Mom'll blow a gasket if you leave the lab like this. So c’mon now. Hop to it."

He laughs again, sniffling thickly as he pats the mottled green hand nearest him. Danny can't feel or see him do it, but it feels right to do it all the same. "You're a good boy, keeping your old man on task."

Danny hums. "Somebody's got to."

Well. That’s true enough, isn’t it? He’s always needed a firm hand to keep him focused. It’s been Maddie since the day they met in college, his rock in all things. All things but this. He won’t let her carry this burden. Not the messiest parts he can protect her from anyway.

So. Another checklist.

Juggling trays full of specimens off the second examination table to the counter so he can wipe the table clean. Then cleaning the body. Then moving the body to the second table so he can clean and sterilize the first.

(Like a twisted game of musical chairs, Danny had joked once. Neither of them had laughed.)

But before that comes organizing and storing all the specimens for Maddie to study tomorrow with that eagle eye and incredible patience of hers. She’s doing the real work, laying out all the pieces of Danny to see what makes him tick, working on a way to free him even as she tries to understand him. They’ve dedicated another corner of the lab to this; nearly an entire wall, really. All their other work has gone by the wayside, shelved apart from the necessity of dealing with any ghosts that slip out to wreck a little havoc.

Funny, how few times that’s happened—since. They’d worried, once Jazz and Sam and Tucker had told them the whole terrible truth, that the ghosts might celebrate Phantom’s condition. Take advantage of his helplessness to get revenge or at least run amok in Amity Park. They know news got out; the ghost Phantom had been after the day Maddie got her lucky shot in had gotten away.

But there’s been nothing. Almost nothing, apart from a few non-sapient threats. Mean and cunning things, but nothing half so dangerous as they’d feared would come. Danny doesn’t seem surprised, or worried for that matter. If he knows something though, he’s staying quiet.

Once he’s passed back through the curtains the body says, “Jazz visited me again last night.”

The curse slips out him before he can help it, anger and worry and shame and grief a hot migrainous mess hammering away at his skull, matching the pace he’d chiseled at Danny’s. “She knows better—!”

“Yeah, and I told her to get out too.” Danny chuckles. “She never listens though.”

“I….” He sighs and shakes his head, exasperated. “...Yeah. She gets that from your mother. How is she?”

“Figured that’d be obvious.”

“She won’t talk to either of us,” he replies, and goes to clean and disinfect the table and floor. Easiest to get that done with before he spends 20 minutes hunched over the sink and autoclave. His back’s already clamoring for a hot shower and a handful of ibuprofen after—

Well.

“She’s not as angry as she was,” Danny says in a pause between clangs. “She hardly cried at all this time.”

“Good. That’s—good.”

“Hey, Dad? Do me a favor?”

He’s at Danny’s side at once, taking one hand in his and leaning enough to be in more than Danny’s frozen peripheral. “What is it?”

“She’s gonna try to sneak Sam and Tucker down here this week—”

“What?”

“—so can you make sure the security system will let them in?”

His knee-jerk reaction is to put his foot down, to remind Danny and then Jazz of how tenuous a position they’re in with the GIW, of how they can’t afford the littlest slip or look for loopholes or do anything to risk Danny—

But.

Danny’s been down here so long now. Alone apart from him, from Maddie’s voice on the other side of the curtains, Jazz’s midnight visits. Just his family and the ceiling and hours of silence and a hundred experiments and failures and—

And that’s no way to live. That’s no way to live at all.

“Is that what you want?” He asks.

“I… I really don’t want them to see me like this,” There’s nothing but revulsion in Danny’s voice, self-loathing and guilt and horror. “But they’ll do it no matter what I tell Jazz, and I don’t want them to get caught either.”

“Okay. Okay then. I think I can finagle three days before anyone might notice. Make sure she knows.”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

He goes back to cleaning, finishes the area and moves to the instruments and trays. Ectoplasm is notoriously difficult to scrub out. It takes time. The smell of bleach burns his eyes and nose, eventually overpowering the citrus sting of ectoplasm. Once the autoclave is set to run he tosses the latex gloves into the hazardous waste bin and takes a moment to let his hands breathe. Never did like the feel of latex, but his usual pair don’t allow him the finesse he needs for—well, this kind of work. His fingertips have gone pale and wrinkled. His fingers ache. His wrists are on fire, to say nothing of his shoulders and back.

How many more times is he going to do this?

“How do you feel?” He asks.

“I’m fine,” Danny says. Too quickly.

“Be honest, kiddo. Please.”

“I… Cold. Heavy. Like I got stuck phasing through the ground, and any second I’m gonna slip up and go solid and it’ll—” Danny makes a small, miserable noise and falls silent.

He rubs his aching eyes, gritting his teeth against every stupid, useless thing he wants to say. He’d asked, hadn’t he?

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s been months.”

“I know.”

Danny’s voice breaks. “I have to get out of here.”

“I know,” he repeats. It’s the only thing to say. He’s exhausted all apologies. “We’re trying, son. We’re working on this day and night. We’ll get you sorted, you know we will.”

“...Yeah. I know.”

He forces his aching legs to the cabinet to pull out a fresh sheet to drape over the body, then Danny’s comforter over that, pulling them both up to the body’s chin to hide the edges of the incision. “Eyes open or shut tonight?”

“Um. What time is it?”

He glances at the wall as he carefully swaps the rubber block under the body’s neck for a plastic-wrapped pillow. “Just after midnight.”

“When will Mom be down?”

“Six sharp, same as always.”

“Right. Um. Shut’s fine.”

He gently tugs the medical tape off the body’s face, smoothes the eyebrows flat and brushes the bangs aside. The green skin feels even colder on his bare fingers.

This is the part where he bids his dead son good night and retreats upstairs. This is the part where he passes by Jazz and Maddie with his eyes firmly on his feet. This is the part where he near boils himself in the shower until he feels almost clean again, scrubbing his skin raw to wash the smell of ectoplasm away. This is the part where there’s only nightmares followed by silent hours spent staring at the ceiling of their bedroom, trying to imagine how helpless and terrified Danny is down here.

He stays where he is, hands braced on the table again. He asks the question that's festered in his gut ever since Jazz threw herself over Phantom's prone shape and spat the truth out through a stream of furious tears. "...Why didn't you tell us?"

Danny is quiet for a long, long time. Then, "I was always gonna end up on this table."

He shudders, pulling away. "We— you don’t really think that. Do you? We love you, Danny. We wouldn't. If we'd known, we wouldn't have."

Another long silence. Then, "Good night, Dad."

“I….” He shuts his eyes, weary in a way he’ll never find the words to express. “Good night, Danny-boy.”

He shuts the lights off on his way up the stairs.

Notes: Decellularization is cool as hell. Check out the >Wiki page< for it, and if you don’t some close-up pictures of a pig heart >here< is a fascinating DIY to create your very own ghost organ as a Halloween decoration! (Scientists are amazing.) For the rest of the research I did for this, I’ll just say that boy! You sure can find some extremely specific How-Tos on the Internent, huh? I sure learned a lot this week!

Anyway, thanks for reading! You’re great. <3

#danny phantom #phango19 #my writing #body horror #gore #dissection #i went all out y'all and i am not sorry #the research rabbit hole was intense on this one #my search history is WILD

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mss4msu · 5 years

Text

“Do I Wanna Know?” (Chapter 6)

Summary: On a visit to a local nightclub, the lounge singer catches your eye. Soon becoming a regular at the club, the way you look on the dancefloor gets his attention. You begin to hear stories about the notorious crime lord who owns and operates the small nightclub. When your friends worry that you’ve gotten mixed up with a mobster, you wonder if it’s better to be left in the dark and find yourself asking, “Do I wanna know?” if you’re getting involved with one of the most revered mobsters in the city.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Reader

Words: 4266

Warnings: Language, Slight Violence

A/N: This is a mega turning point for the story and I’m super excited for y’all to find out what comes next! This chapter is vvv long and has another song in it because that’s fun for everybody. Peep that cute lil Rocky Horror quote drop bc it’s almost spooky time.

Read the Full Story Here

The song in this chapter can be listened to here

Your new promotion made work much more exhilarating, due in large part to seeing James Barnes far more often than you ever would have anticipated. He seemed to be in the office every day, even though you knew many of the conversations he stopped in to have with you could have been solved over an email or at least on a quick phone call. Of course you didn’t mind, as he was gorgeous to look at and a pleasure to converse with. The only irritating thing about James’s frequent visits was that they meant that Tony visited you far more often too. You didn’t know if it was because Tony didn’t believe you were competent or if James was really just that high profile of a client, but even without you letting him know, Tony would show up at your office either while James was still there or right after he had left. While it was frustrating, Tony crashing your meetings wasn’t all bad. Every time it happened, James would wrap the conversation up quickly and leave. Within 15 minutes of James being gone you would get a call that you had a delivery at the main desk. Every single time it was an order of a dozen white roses with a card that said, “Thanks for all your hard work, boss.” While you knew it was probably inappropriate for James to be sending you flowers at work, you tried to remind yourself that he was just a client and reasoned that he was just praising your efforts on his account.

In an attempt to keep things professional, you decided you should stop visiting James at the club. Every meeting that wrapped up before Tony could interrupt it ended in James asking if he would see you that Friday and you telling him, “I’d like to, but I can’t.” You were afraid that, if you did see James outside of the office, things would go from professional to unprofessional very quickly.

While you tried your best to keep James as just a client, one day Tony pushed you too far. You had been having a very productive meeting with James, where you were making good progress in liquidizing his assets to reinvest them in other markets to increase his profits, when Tony came into your office without knocking and took a seat next to James. Tony made a show of sitting down next to James on the couch, putting his feet up on the small coffee table, and staring at the projection of your laptop’s screen on the wall.

“Ahem, anyway,” you cleared your throat before continuing, “If we divert some of the funds into this other account, I think that would really benefit you.”

“Why is a man who owns a nightclub investing in a car company?” Tony asked with disdain as he made a big deal of squinting at the projection.

“Why did a man who owns a nightclub invest in a tech company?” James replied with a smirk.

“I believe it is best to diversify his portfolio in case the market performs poorly in areas he has already invested in,” you answered. After weeks of Tony interrupting you, you had finally grown a bit of a backbone.

“You mean if my company fails?” Tony huffed.

“Well, (Y/N), I trust you to do what’s best for me,” James looked at his watch, “Ah, I’m afraid I have meetings elsewhere. I have to be sure the nightclub,” while his face didn’t show it, you could hear the sneer in his voice, “is fully functional.”

“Of course,” you stood up from behind your desk to shake James’s hand, “I’ll draw up the numbers and get them sent to you. I really think this could be a favorable investment.”

“I look forward to it,” James shook your hand with both of his, “Tony,” he said with a quick nod to your boss before leaving.

As soon as James had left the room Tony stood up and came at you, yelling, “(Y/N), what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Excuse me?” you cowered into your seat.

While Tony had shared plenty of opinions about how you were handling James Barnes’ assets, he generally saved them for when James was also present. This was the first time he had approached you about them one-on-one and your heart began to pound.

“James Barnes is a high profile client and we can NOT afford to lose him over a silly investment in an area that he does not know anything about because a silly should-be assistant got too smart for her own good.”

You took a deep breath and fought back the tears that stung your eyes, “Mr. Stark, when I make him the investment profile, I include a full description of what the company makes and how it distributes its products as well as information about their mission and the diversity of their staff. Plus I do research into how the market has been trending before even bringing anything up to him in the first place.”

“And you actually think that’s enough?” Tony asked with a sudden calmness in his voice that did not match the fire raging in his eyes.

“Yes?” you couldn’t help that it came out as a question.

“Hmmpfh,” Tony sneered, “I guess we will find out if it is,” and with that he got up and left your office.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding as soon as Tony was gone. You slumped into your desk chair and your head began to pound. You just sat there, for five minutes with your eyes closed when the sudden ring of your phone startled you.

“Hi (Y/N), there’s a delivery for you at the desk,” the person on the other end of the line said to you.

“Thanks, be there in a moment.”

You groaned as you pushed yourself away from your desk and forced yourself to stand up. You had to steady yourself on the desk as your head pounded harder from the slight change in elevation. You slowly walked to the front desk, the knowledge that you had flowers waiting for you not even making you feel better. You got to the front desk and were slightly taken aback by the lack of roses waiting for you.

“This just came for you,” the receptionist said as they pulled a box from the table that had a singular white rose tied to it.

“Thanks,” you said with slight confusion in your voice as you took the box and walked back to your office.

You sat down at your desk and carefully removed the rose from the top of the box and set it gently down next to you. You took the lid off the box and found a card that read: “Get on your dancing shoes. See you tonight, boss.” You unfolded the tissue paper in the box and inhaled sharply. Inside lay a beautiful pair of classic black Louboutin pumps with the iconic red soles. You wiped your hands off on your pants before you dared to take them out of the box to look closely at them. They were the most beautiful shoes you had ever seen and you only pulled your eyes away from them when your cell phone began to vibrate violently on your desk. You carefully set the shoes back in the box and picked up your phone. You had multiple notifications from Instagram:

WhiteWolfandtheHowlers messaged you:

“Hey, doll.

I’ve got a table reserved for you tonight.

After that beatdown Tony gave you, I figured you could use a night filled with a bit of debauchery.

Don’t forget to wear the new shoes.”

You cocked your head to the side as you began to question how James knew Tony gave you a beatdown today, as he should have been long gone by the time Tony really went in on you. You took a deep breath, your fingers dancing above the keyboard as you tried to decide what to say back.

You finally typed and sent back:

“You know you have my work number, you could have just called. I don’t think I should come out tonight.”

The screen showed that your message was immediately read and a text bubble soon appeared, quickly replaced by the message:

“If I called you on the office phone, who knows who may have been listening in. Plus I couldn’t have called you doll while you’re at work, could I boss? Show starts at 9 in case you’ve forgotten.”

“You mean listened in like you somehow did to know Tony went off on me today?” you typed before erasing it and instead sending:

“I suppose this is true. Yes, I know what time the show starts, I just don’t know if I should come.”

“Why is that?”

You gulped, your head beginning to pound again as you sent:

“You’re my client, Mr. Barnes. I don’t want to disrupt that partnership by socializing outside of business hours.”

“Afraid you’ll fall for me, doll?”

Your heart fluttered and you took a second to reply:

“I just don’t want to get into trouble with my superiors.”

“Based on how earlier went, I’d say you already are. See you at 9, doll.”

You let his message sink in. He wasn’t wrong, you had already pissed Tony off enough and didn’t you owe it to yourself to actually enjoy your weekends instead of putting in extra work to try to prove yourself? Especially since trying to prove yourself didn’t seem to be working anyway.

Ultimately you decided to send:

“See you at 9.”

He liked the message immediately but did not respond.

You looked at the clock on your wall and your heart rate escalated as you realized it was already 6:30pm. You needed to eat, get home, change, and get to the club all in just over 2 hours and Friday traffic was always awful. You wanted to invite your friends to join you, but you knew at this short of notice there was no way they would be able to come. You quickly packed up your things, gently placing the shoe box in your bag for safekeeping, and called your car to pick you up. Your driver was waiting for you when you got downstairs.

“Hi, Peter, how’s it going today?” you asked as you climbed into the backseat.

“Hi, Ms. (Y/L/N). I’m doing alright,” he replied nervously.

“Peter, Tony’s not coming with, you can relax.”

You had learned very quickly that Tony was strict with the drivers and did not allow them to share any information about their personal lives or really speak at all during drives. Each drive with Peter Parker began with the Stark formalities until you were far enough away that there was no chance Tony would be able to join in on the ride. Once you were safe, Peter would finally let his guard down.

After getting 10 minutes away from the office, Peter took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, (Y/N), I’m doing alright. I’ve been taking night classes recently and I think they’re going really well.”

“What are they in?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of photography and journalism. I’d really like to contribute to the local newspaper, but so far they keep turning me down.”

You continued chatting for the remainder of your ride, which took far longer than you would have liked due to the traffic. By the time Peter pulled the car up to your apartment, it was already 8:00pm.

“Shit, that took forever. Peter, I need a ride to Mr. Barnes’ club tonight and need to be there before 9:00pm would it be terrible to have you just wait here for a bit so I can run up and change and then you can just zoom me over there quickly? Maybe we can go through a drive through for some food on the way?”

“Sure thing, (Y/N).”

“Alright, thank you Peter! Be right back,” you hopped out of the car and quickly got to your apartment and stripped off your clothes, pawing through your closet before finding one a suitable black dress for the night. You ran into the bathroom and touched up your makeup, applying some glittery eyeshadow and a fresh layer of mascara. You then went to the door and gingerly took the shoe box from your bag. You held your breath as you opened the box, still in disbelief that James had spent that much money on you. You slipped the shoes on and let out a long sigh at how perfectly they fit and surprisingly comfortable they were. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror before grabbing your wallet and keys, shoving them in your purse, and running out the door.

“Thanks for waiting, Peter,” you said as you got back into the car, your heart beating rapidly as you saw that it was already 8:15pm.

Peter quickly hung up a phone call and looked anxiously at you in the rearview mirror, “Of course, Ms. (Y/L/N).”

You were too preoccupied with being late to even notice Peter’s change in tone. He began to drive and stopped at a fast food drive-thru so you could order a meal, which you ate as carefully as you could to avoid spilling as Peter navigated the start and stop traffic to the club. You arrived to the club at 8:55pm, which was cutting it far too close for your taste.

“Thanks Peter! Is it alright if I call for a ride home later?”

“That’s what I’m here for, Ms. (Y/L/N),” Peter replied.

“Great, thank you!” you yelled back at the car as you jumped out.

You began to walk toward the door and couldn’t help your mouth dropping open at the line that wound its way down the sidewalk.

“Damn,” you muttered to yourself as you walked past the door and toward the end of the line.

“Hey! (Y/N)! Get back here!” you heard a voice yell behind you.

You quickly turned around and saw Steve waving at you from behind the bouncer. You walked up to the door and the bouncer stepped aside for you after getting a knowing look from Steve.

“Hi, Steve,” you said as he grabbed your hand and pulled you inside, “Don’t I need to wait in line or at least be carded?” you asked guiltily, thinking of all the people waiting outside.

“Funny,” Steve replied with a smile, leading you to the front of the club.

Steve snapped his fingers at the bar as you passed it and you were immediately followed by a waiter with a tray of drinks.

“Here you are,” Steve gestured to the table right in front of the stage, taking drinks off the tray the waiter had brought and setting them down in front of you.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I can drink all of these,” you said hesitantly.

“We were unsure if you would have any guests joining you.”

“Just me tonight,” you replied.

“Well, drink what you like and someone will come back later to clean up the remnants,” Steve said before walking away.

You looked at the array of drinks on the table. There were glasses of wine, a few mixed drinks, and a couple cans of beer. You decided after everything you had been through that day, you’d start off strong and grabbed what seemed to be a Manhattan directly in front of you. You finished it in a few gulps. You moved on to the chocolate martini, taking a long swig of it and almost choking as the sound of Steve yelling out the announcement for the White Wolf and the Howlers startled you.

The curtains whisked open and directly in front of you stood James Barnes, who was looking you straight in the eyes. He gave you a wink before he started to sing.

I’m a puppet on a string

Tracy Island, time-traveling

Diamond cutter-shaped heartaches

Come to find you four in some velvet morning

Years too late, she’s a silver lining

Lone ranger riding through an open space

In my mind when she’s not right there beside me

I go crazy ‘cause here isn’t where I wanna be

And satisfaction feels like a distant memory

And I can’t help myself, all I

Wanna hear her say is “Are you mine?”

Well, are you mine?

Are you mine?

Are you mine? Woah, ah

James didn’t break eye contact with you, and licked his lips at you after asking “are you mine” before moving on to the next verse.

I guess what I’m trying to say is I need the deep end

Keep imagining meeting, wished away entire lifetimes

Unfair we’re not somewhere misbehaving for days

Great escape, lost track of time and space

She’s a silver lining climbing on my desire

You could’ve sworn his eyes were getting darker as he continued to sing. He began to slowly grind on his microphone stand and it had you feeling butterflies in your stomach.

And I go crazy ‘cause here isn’t where I wanna be

And satisfaction feels like a distant memory

And I can’t help myself, all I

Wanna hear her say is “Are you mine?”

Well, are you mine? (Are you mine tomorrow?)

Are you mine? (Or just mine tonight?)

Are you mine? (Are you mine, mine?)

And the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways

So in case I’m mistaken I

Just wanna hear you say, “You got me, baby

Are you mine?”

She’s got a silver lining

Lone ranger riding through an open space

In my mind when she’s not right there beside me

I go crazy ‘cause here isn’t where I wanna be

And satisfaction feels like a distant memory

And I can’t help myself, all I

Wanna hear her say is “Are you mine?”

Well, are you mine? (Are you mine tomorrow?)

Are you mine? (Or just mine tonight?)

Are you mine? (Are you mine tomorrow?)

(Or just mine tonight?)

You were completely mesmerized by James Barnes. James winked at you as the curtain shut in front of him. You weren’t sure if you had accidentally spilled a drink on yourself given the hypnotic state James had you in or if you were slightly dampened for another reason.

You finished the martini and moved on to a glass of red wine as you sat waiting for James to come out to see you like he had done last time. Two bands and two glasses of wine later and James still hadn’t come to join you or whisk you away to dance. You decided you should probably use the bathroom as the next band set up. A waiter directed you to the area near the bar and you quickly used the bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror, flattened your hair down, and adjusted your boobs to get them popping more.

As you exited the bathroom, you were feeling a bit brave and a whole lot of reckless thanks to how much you had to drink. Rather than return to your table, you decided that, since James didn’t come to you, you would go to him. You snuck around the side of the dance floor to the door that led to the backstage area. You gave a quick look around before opening the door and quickly going through it. It took your eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. The loudness of the new band starting their set caused you to slightly stumble as you walked up the few stairs right inside the door. Your eyes becoming more comfortable in the dark lighting, you walked down the hallway. There were more rooms than you had expected, and they were all ajar enough that you could see bands warming up and hanging out inside of them. You continued past the bands, smiling to yourself at the thought of surprising James.

How should I greet him? You wondered, A handshake? A hug? A kiss? Just thinking of his lips against yours made you shiver with anticipation.

You felt like you had been walking for ages and you still hadn’t come across James. You thought about giving up when you reached a closed door at the end of the hallway. It was removed from the other rooms and the first door that had been completely shut. You stood there for a moment and your heart fluttered as you heard James’s voice from behind the door. You knocked lightly on the door and waited to hear him invite you in. You heard nothing, so you knocked a little harder. You still heard nothing, so you tried the doorknob. It turned. You took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

You froze and instantly sobered up as you saw what was happening inside the room. Steve was repeatedly punching a man who was tied up to a chair as James and another man tied to a chair watched.

“Tell. Me. What. You. Know.” James sneered at the man not getting punched with a tone that made your skin crawl.

“Never,” the man with a thick Russian accent responded before spitting on the ground.

“Looks like we need to try something else then,” James retorted as he smacked the man upside the head and furiously spun his chair around so they were face to face. He pulled a pair of brass knuckles from his pocket and made an ordeal of putting them on, “I’ll give you one more chance to talk.”

“Fuck you!” the Russian yelled, spitting again.

“So be it,” James said before landing a hard blow against the Russian’s jaw, “Steve, you can stop, that one looks like he’s about gone. He probably doesn’t know shit anyway.”

“Yes sir,” Steve huffed, stopping his own blows and turning to face James as he landed another punch to the Russian.

Steve’s mouth fell open as he looked past James and saw you, slack jawed and with tears brimming in your eyes.

“Shit...Buck, stop!” Steve yelled over the sound of the Russian’s scream of pain from a hard hit to the side of the head.

“Why?” James grunted.

All Steve could do was point. James turned around and the sneer on his lips quickly changed into a look of panic.

“Deal with this,” he muttered, as he slipped off his brass knuckles.

Your fight or flight response kicked in and you ran away. You fumbled through your purse for your phone and dialed Peter’s number. Although your mind seemed clear of the alcohol, your body was not and in your attempt to call Peter you tripped and fell. James caught up with you and joined you on the ground.

“(Y/N), you’re bleeding. Let me help,” James said, looking at the huge gash on you had gotten on your knee, pulling the handkerchief from his pocket, and placing it against the cut.

You winced, not from the pain, but from his touch against you, “Get away from me,” you choked out as the tears began to burn out of your eyes. You grabbed your phone and heard Peter asking for you on the other end, “Come get me, Peter,” you said, stifling your cries and quickly hanging up

“(Y/N), what you saw back there…”

“I don’t care, just get away from me!” you yelled, pushing him away from you and trying to hoist yourself up off the ground.

“Please, (Y/N), let me help you,” James said, standing up and offering you his hand.

You got yourself to a standing position on your own, “James stay the fuck away from me,” you heaved through sobs as you stumbled down the hallway.

Through your tears you fumbled down the steps and took a deep breath in before going through the door. You knew James was behind you the whole time, but you didn’t dare turn around and he didn’t dare speak again. You were afraid you would cry harder or maybe even throw up if you made eye contact with him. You tried to go as nonchalantly, but quickly through the club as you could as your knee gushed blood down your leg with every step. You got to the front door and pushed it open. You saw your car waiting and ran to get in. Rage and frustration had deafened you, but as you struggled to buckle up in the backseat, you faintly heard Peter talking to someone.

“Drive Peter!” you yelled.

Peter quickly peeled out from his spot and began to drive you home. The ride was silent, which you were thankful for. Your anger and fear fought each other the whole way and you didn’t know which emotion should win. You were afraid of everything that you had seen and angry at James for being involved in whatever it was he was involved in. As much as you hated to be, you were also angry at yourself for letting your guard down and going to look for a man who was involved in some fucked up shit.

“Here you are,” Peter said as he pulled up to your apartment.

“Thanks,” you mumbled as you got out of the car.

You quickly got your keys out and let yourself into your apartment. You kicked the shoes James had bought you off and didn’t care where they landed. You ran into the bathroom and immediately threw up into the toilet. You lay on the bathroom floor, nauseous and crying before passing out.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Do I Wanna Know? Tag List:

@mrooks0205 @shann-the-artist-moon @ashtheteenagewitch @abschaffer2 @nuclearuniversalrage @nootrishus @brilliantbellesoares

Bucky Barnes Tag List:

@basementcafe @ria132love @courtmr @jobean12-blog @gloomyleaves

Permanent Tag List:

@sophiealiice @mrsdeanwinchester19 @thisismysecrethappyplace @ailynalonso15 @221bshrlocked @hazellnut94 @libbymouse @nerdypinupcrystal @hufflepuffchloe @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @dibsonamericasass

#fan fic #au #mobster au #mobster bucky #gangster bucky #bucky barnes x reader #white wolf #james barnes x reader #bucky barnes #do i wanna know

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