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backtobackbakubabe · 3 years

Text

Speak Easy Part 8

Dabi x Reader, Bakugo x Reader

Words : 5816

Masterlist

Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by “heroes” Now that she’s out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together?

Words with ‘this’ is dialogue written in her journal rather than said out loud and and words with ~this~ is dialogue said in sign language rather than out loud.

TW: Mentions of torture, r*pe, and abuse.

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You had to squint one eye closed in order to focus hard enough to clean up Dabi’s wound. Upon further inspection you realized it hadn’t been that deep but there was something nagging at the back of your mind that you were just too drunk to grasp at right now.

He didn’t even flinch as you dabbed it with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball. You were seated between his legs on the floor as he sat on the couch. You were eye level with his injury and close enough that if you wanted to, you could lick his abs. You suddenly found yourself fantasizing about pulling his cock out and letting him fuck your face. You shook the thought out of your head. You were a horn dog sober, and when you were drunk it was even worse. You must have been staring because Dabi’s fingers wove through your hair. “What’s going on through that drunk little head of yours?”

You leaned into it his hand a little and sighed, “I’m not drunk!... Anymore… And nothing appropriate.”

You felt him vibrate with soft laughter. “Oh yeah? I’d love to hear about it.”

You blushed, “No thanks.” You gently smoothed a bandage over his abdomen, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary.

He placed his free hand on top of yours and held it to him. “Sometimes I wish I had your quirk so I could always know what you’re thinkin’.”

Your eyes traveled up to meet his. “Well I do have my quirk and I still don’t know what’s going on in your head most of the time.”

He smirked at you, “Well that’s just because you’re nicer than I am. You never use your quirk on me without permission.” The fingers that were still in your hair tightened as he forced you to look at him. “But that’s because you’re such a good girl. You’d never do something without permission would you baby?” He glanced at the coffee table at the empty wine bottles. “Well I guess that’s not true huh? Looks like you helped yourself to some of my wine without asking first.”

You narrowed your eyes, “You weren’t here to ask!” His hand that had been on top of yours started moving towards his crotch, dragging yours with it. “You left me here all alone without even talking to me about it first. It was scary!”

You started to pout, and it was honestly one of the cutest things he had ever seen. That sweet look in your eyes pierced his heart. He continued pushing your hand closer and closer to his semi hard cock. He was so warm and you wondered if it had something to do with his quirk. “I know and I really am sorry about that. I didn’t think it’d freak you out like that… But thank you so much for patching me up anyways.” His eyes softened a bit. “You’re such a good little nurse.”

You beamed at the praise. “You take care of me all the time. The least I can do is put a bandage on you when you get stabbed.” You gave him a pointed look, “Even if you won’t tell me why you were stabbed to begin with.”

He chuckled at you. “Well you won’t tell me what naughty thoughts you’re keeping to yourself either. Looks like we’re both guilty of hiding things.”

You chewed on your lip in thought. The action drew his eyes and he hummed. He brushed his calloused thumb over your bottom lip making you release it. “You can be such a tease you know that.” You quickly nipped at the tip of his thumb, and leaned closer to him. “For the love of god what are you linking about?”

“I’ll tell you…if you tell me what happened tonight.”

He groaned, “Bribing me huh?” He saw a seductive spark in your eyes that had him intrigued. “Okay but you first.” He pulled you closer so your head was basically laying in his lap. “And don’t leave out a single filthy detail…”

You got up on you knees and placed your hands on his thick thighs. “Well… At first, I was wondering what it would be like to lick your abs.”

You felt him begin to tense up. “Oh yeah? And what did my naughty girl want to do next?”

You licked your lips. “I wondered what it would be like if you…” You paused and you could feel your blush spreading over your cheeks.

“Yeah? What it would be like if I what?” He resumed playing with your hair in encouragement.

“What it would be like if you fucked my face…” Your eyes shot to his to gauge his reaction and what you saw lit a fire in your stomach.

You squeezed your thighs together and the feral look his gave you. A low growl left his lips as his hand came down to squeeze the back of your neck. “Such a dirty girl with such a dirty mouth.” He brought a hand up to your chin, “Open…” You obediently opened your mouth for him. His eyes practically glowed with hunger. You heard his zipper, but your eyes remained glued to his. “Law thirteen?”

You nodded but he just squeezed your chin. “Law says verbal or written consent. Use your words princess.”

“Yes… sir.”

He hummed as he brought his dick to your lips and paused for a brief moment. “You won’t be able to use your colors with my dick in your throat. If it gets to be too much, I need you to tap my hip twice to check in three times to stop completely. Confirm that you understand.”

Gasping at his words you could feel your thighs getting slick. “I understand sir.”

Before you could say anything else he was shoving his dick in your mouth. His hands scooped your hair out of your face, and he started his pace out slow. “There’s something so hot about knowing what a fucking bad ass you are. Yet here you are… sitting so pretty for me on your knees with my cock in your mouth.

You hummed in approval and you felt his dick twitch in your throat. His hips snapped forward and it took everything you had to stay still. Your fingernails dug into his thighs and you felt tears start to leak out the corners of your eyes. “Shhhhh relax your throat baby.” He brushed away your tears and his snapped forward again. “I’m not going to take it easy on you just because you look at me like that.” His pace picked up a bit. “Looking at me with those sweet, devoted eyes.”

The force of his hips left you unbalanced and now you really had to brace yourself on his thighs as he set a brutal pace. “Oh fuck yeah!” His hand was at the back of your head slamming it down to meet his thrusts. Your throat burned and it was getting harder and harder to breath.

He continued pounding into your throat relentlessly. “That’s it. Take.. it.. all.”

You reached down and started to rub your clit but Dabi didn’t seem to appreciate that. “What did we just say about asking for permission huh? Did you ask if you could play with my pussy.” He shoved himself to the back of your throat and held it there. “Because it is mine. And I don’t think there’s any way you could have asked when you’re practically gagging on my cock.” He pulled out all the way and you gasped for air. “On the couch, on your back. Now.”

You quickly complied and he swatted at your ass as you stood up. “Atta girl.” He pulled your head to hang off the end of the couch. He had a better angle now as he slowly pushed his dick past your lips. “At least this way if you’re going to play with yourself, I can have a better view.” He chuckled as he saw your hand dart between your legs.

You immediately started moaning around his dick making him growl as his fingers dug into the couch. “Baby girl, you better finish quickly because I’m almost at my limit and I can’t promise I’m going to have enough energy to get you off after.” He leaned over pulled your shirt up to expose your breasts. He started tweaking and playing with your nipples. “Come on… I know you’re close… I can see your legs shaking. Just fuckin let go already!”

Your fingers sped up and he gave one of your tits a hard slap. You orgasm came unexpectedly and had you practically screaming around his dick. “Fuuu---”

When he was finally ready to finish he shoved his dick all the way to the back of your throat and held your face to his him. He shot thick ropes of cum down your throat, but still he held you in place.

The lack of oxygen started to make you feel dizzy and you quickly tapped his hip twice. You just needed to breath. You needed to breath before you started to panic.

True to his word he pulled out immediately. “Shit… what’s wrong? You okay, was I too rough?”

You sucked in a huge breath and coughed. “N-no…” You took a second to regain your composure. “It’s just… too similar to… you know.” Your eyes cut to the pool and when he followed your gaze he stiffened.

You saw something like regret pass over his face. “That makes sense.” He looked flushed and absolutely worn out. You were honestly surprised he came so quickly. His injury must have taken more of him than he was letting on.

You crawled into his lap as he tucked his dick back into his pants. This close you could see how sweaty he was and how pale he looked. “Dabi… you don’t look so good. Are you okay?”

His breathing was more like wheezing and he had to clear his throat before speaking. “I’ve been better. After that orgasm though, I’m sure I’ll be better in no time…”

His eyes started to flutter shut and you remembered that nagging feeling from earlier. You put a hand to his sweaty forehead and pushed the hair that had stuck there out of the way. “Are you always this hot?”

He chuckled but his eyes remained closed, “Thanks for noticing, you’re not too shabby yourself.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Are you this warm because of your quirk or do you have a fever?” You felt for his pulse and didn’t like how weak it felt. “Dabi, I did what you asked now it’s your turn. I need you to tell me what happened tonight.”

He moaned, “I got stabbed… and it hurt. What else do you need to know.”

If he wasn’t fading fast you’d slap him. “Dabi I’m not asking anymore. I need to know what happened. I think you were poisoned you idiot.”

“I was looking for somebody and I found him. He did a very bad thing and I personally made sure he paid the consequences.” He coughed a few times. “I just didn’t expect him to have a friend.”

“Dabi who was it? Who did you go after?” He weakly shrugged his shoulders, but you had had enough of his childish behavior. “No shrugging asshole.” You placed a hand on either side of his head and activated your quirk. “Open your eyes Dabi. Let me see your eyes please.” You watched as your words sunk in and his eyes snapped open against his will. You looked deep into them and connected with his mind. “Good boy, you’re doing great. Now show me what happened. I need you to remember what happened earlier tonight when you were stabbed.”

You could feel a light resistance on his end, but in the end he was too weak to put upmuch of a fight for long.

The memory came flooding to you. You saw the back of a man’s head and one of Dabi’s scared arms reaching for his shoulder. When the man turned around your heart froze. You knew that face. He was the last “mark” you had before your agency kidnapped you. It was a set up. He was supposed to be another guy for you to interrogate. Except when the time came you were the actual target that night.

You watched as Dabi sent a flame between the man’s legs and he howled out in pain. “As far as I’m concerned real men don’t behave to way you have. So, you don’t deserve to keep your ‘manhood’.” It was Dabi’s voice, but it didn’t really sound like Dabi. It sounded dark and sinister. It gave you goosebumps and made you grip his face even tighter. “I’ve been looking for you for quite some time, but you see I have both heroes and villains in my pocket. There’s nowhere for you sick fucks to hide. You fucked with the wrong person and I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

He brought a hot hand down to the man’s face and branded a line from his temple to the base of his neck. “There. Now you’re just an ugly son of a bitch with a crispy dick that doesn’t work anymore.”

“WHY?!” The man wailed and screamed. “WHAT DID I DO?”

Dabi punched him in the jaw, “You had the fucking audacity to touch what was mine. Now I’ve branded you for her… and when she’s ready I will fucking help her hunt you down.”

You sucked in a breath at his words. You should be disgusted, you should be appalled, horrified. But you felt a thrill shoot down your spine at the idea. You felt a barely conscious Dabi hum beneath you at the shared feeling.

You went back to watching the memory before you got carried away. Dabi was hurt and you needed to focus.

Dabi heard feet scurrying towards him but he didn’t have enough time to react before a knife sliced him across his ribs. With a hiss he turned around to look a tiny weasel of a man that you knew all too well. His quirk was called venom. His spit was unique. It caused hallucinations, fever, nausea, and in some extreme cases… death.

You had taken the man down when you were playing hero, but you had a lovely reunion when you were captured. He was a regular at first. They liked to use his saliva to try and torture you into submission. You would be sick for days, in pain, and having the worst hallucinations and fever dreams. You honestly never knew the difference because it was so hard to tell when you were awake and when you were asleep.

You pulled away from Dabi and heard him whine at your absence. “Shhh Dabi. I’m here, I didn’t go anywhere. Can you hear me?”

He nodded with a mumbled, “Loud and clear”

“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

His fingers found your shirt and gripped it trying to anchor himself to the here and now. “Rip the band aid off babe.”

You sighed and rubbed circles into his arm. “You did get poisoned. And I’m not going to lie the next few days are going to suck.” He groaned and his grip on your shirt started to weaken. “But the good news is you’re not going to die… Probably.” You could feel him slipping off into a dream. “But I’m here and I’m going to do everything I can to help.”

You activated your quirk and laid on top of him releasing as much happy, content, and relaxed feelings as you could. It was all you could do for him. You knew right about now he was probably having some kind of twisted nightmare. You knew they came in waves. You would just have to wait here until he woke up.

So, you did. Even though all you wanted was to pass out on top of him. You were tired and your head pounded but you continued to try and comfort him. Every time he twitched, every time he cried out you would just hold him tighter. It wasn’t until several hours later that you felt him start to wake up.

You picked your head up to look into his confused but pained eyes. “Y/n? Why does… why does everything hurt?”

He gulped and tried to sit up, but you pushed him back down. “Stay here. I’ll be right back. Please don’t move.” He wanted to argue with you but one look at you had him biting his tongue. You looked absolutely spent. Dark circles under your eyes and your face etched with worry. So instead he just nodded as he watched you struggle to get to your feet and walk into the kitchen.

You wobbled a little as you made your way to the fridge. You pulled out two sports drinks and a whole ass loaf of bread. You filled a bowl with cold water and grabbed a clean rag. You made your way back and took a seat next to Dabi who was now looking like he was going to puke. You sighed and grabbed the small trash bin that had been behind the couch.

“Okay. I need you to get as much of this down as you can before you get pulled back under. You’re going to throw up. It’s going to burn like a mother fucker. I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do about that.” You adjusted a pillow under his head to help him sit up so he could try and eat. “I brought you a cold towel to help with the fever.” You placed it on his forehead and his hand grabbed your wrist.

“You need to eat something too. Law number-”

“Seven. I know. Three full meals. I’ll eat, I promise.” Your hands started to fidget uncomfortably. “Speaking of laws… I know Law two is no drugs… But I know you’re in pain. Whatever you want. Whatever you think will make you feel better.”

He gulped and nodded before giving you directions on where to find where he had hidden all the drugs and pills. You found the little orange bottle he had described and brought it back to him. You were happy to see he had eaten some bread and drank almost a whole bottle of Powerade.

You sat next to him and pulled his head in your lap. “I promise when you wake up next, I’ll have better food.” You ran you fingers through his white hair that was soaked with sweat.

“Thank you… I’ve never had someone… care like this. Not since my mom.”

You were glad he couldn’t see your face as a single tear flowed down your cheek. “I’ve been in your shoes. I know how awful it is. I would be a monster to make you go through this alone.”

His hand came up and found yours that was in his hair. “I would understand if you did. It would be what I deserved.” He lurched like he was going to be sick. You rolled him over onto his side and rubbed his back as he threw up into the bin.

“Don’t say that. I know you have a difficult past. But if there’s anything I’ve learned since being here is that you are worth trusting, and you are in your own twisted way a good person.”

He didn’t answer and for a while you both sat in silence. You rubbed his back as his breathing got slower until he fell asleep. You had a few minutes before the nightmares started so you quickly made your way to the kitchen and made some soup. You hoped it tasted good, it had been a while since you made it. It was an old family recipe. Your mom had convinced you that it was magic when you were younger and that it could cure anything. You prayed to your ancestors that just this once that were true. You brought the spoon up to your lips to try it when a loud sound from the living room made you drop it.

You rushed back into the living room to see Dabi shaking and crying. “NO! I can’t do it! Why won’t you believe me?” His words almost broke you. From your limited knowledge of his past you knew it had to be about Endeavor. You spooned him from behind and repeatedly kissed his back between his shoulder blades. “It hurts! STOP! I can’t DO IT!”

You did your best to calm him down, but you knew you were basically helpless. He just needed to ride this out. So, you sat there and listened to his pain and his sorrows and held him as you used your quirk the best you could. “You’re okay. I’ll hold you until you feel better. Nothing to be scared of.”

A routine was set after that. You ate whenever he ate. And you tried your best to take naps in between his nightmares. He was pretty out of it for most of it. There were only a few times he was actually lucid enough to know who you were. But even those moment were hard because all he did was apologize and try an convince you to leave him alone.

You had no idea how long it had been, only that it had been several days. The exhaustion was weighing on you, but you trained your whole life to be a hero, and this is what heroes did. They helped people. You knew it should be over soon. The past few times he had fallen asleep had been relatively peaceful and he had been keeping food down well enough. You felt like it was safe to doze off for a little while.

You curled up into his side and entered a thankfully dreamless sleep. You didn’t come too until you felt a tingling between your legs. You gasped as your eyes snapped open. Your hands reached out and found soft white hair. “D-Dabiiiii.” He sucked your clit into his mouth as two of his fingers pumped in and out of you. “What- FUCK- What are you doing?”

He groaned into you before pulling away, “Trying to enjoy my breakfast. Can I help you?” His fingers continued to pump in and out of you as his devilish blue eyes connected with yours. “I just want to show how appreciative I am.” He gave a quick lick that had your back arching. “I’ve been so patient waiting for you to wake up, but I couldn’t wait any longer. You’ve been asleep for almost two fucking days.” It was then you realized you had been moved. You were in his room, which wasn’t somewhere you were all too familiar with.

He continued to eat you out like he was starving, and you couldn’t do anything other than sit back and enjoy it. He hooked his arms around your thighs to pin you to his bed. You tried to squirm as you felt your orgasm rapidly approaching but you couldn’t budge. You closed your eyes and moaned so loud it echoed off of his high ceiling. Your thighs clamped around him as you came hard. He didn’t slow down as he just continued to lap up your juices as you came.

When you came down from your high, he was snuggling up to you, nose buried in your neck. “I don’t like how little you look. You look like how you did when you got here. You look tired, hungry, and sad…”

You hugged your arms around his neck, “That’s probably because I am tired, hungry, and sad. My whole body hurts. It’s been so long since I’ve used my quirk that consistently.” You flinched, “Speaking of my quirk… I’m sorry… for invading your privacy. I looked in your head without permission.”

His hand cupped your cheek. “Forget about it. Under any other circumstances I’d be fucking pissed, but you needed to know so you could help me…. Just… Don’t do it again.” He grumbled as he sat up. “Now get your ass out of bed, you need to eat something before I lose my fucking mind.”

He stood up and aggressively threw you over his shoulder as he stomped off to the kitchen.

“DABI! Put me down! You need to rest you idiot.”

He slapped your ass. “Shut up, I’m fine. If anyone needs rest, it’s you.” He set you down on the edge of the kitchen counter. “And that’s exactly what I plan on doing. All day. Just laying around doing nothing with you. But first you need to eat real food.” He kissed your forehead and turned to started pulling ingredients out of the fridge.

You watched his naked back flex every so often as he cooked for you. It felt oddly familiar to the dozens of times you had watched Katsuki do this exact thing. You waited for the guilty feeling to overwhelm you but surprisingly it never came. You loved Katsuki in a very different way. Whatever this was with Dabi… it was just different. You don’t know if you’d be able to heal the same way you have been, if you were with Kats.

Katsuki loves you. You know he does. It’s because of that love that you don’t want him to be burdened with you at this stage of your life. There’s a lot of things you need to work through, on your own, before you can give him the kind of love he deserves. He’s a good man. A great man, and he doesn’t need to have someone like you weighing him down. You know he’d try and fix you. He’d do everything in his power to be your own personal hero. But that’s not what you need right now.

As bad as it sounds… you don’t have those concerns with Dabi. He’s somehow equally as fucked up while also capable of being supportive in the way you need. He’d let you be as crazy as you wanted but he’d also make sure you took care of yourself. He definitely had a tendency to dominate you, but if you were being honest you loved it. Neither of you have talked about what it is you are doing, or if it has an expiration date. But for the time being you were okay with it.

You must have been lost in thought because Dabi flicked your forehead, “Earth to idiot. Your breakfast is ready.”

“Hey!” You rubbed the sore spot on your forehead. “Was that necessary?”

“Well considering I called your name several times… yes. You’re lucky I didn’t bend you over my knee.” He held a fork out to you that had a bite of egg on it.

You rolled your eyes and took the bite. “I was just thinking about stuff. It’s not like I was ignoring you or anything.”

He placed a plate of food down next to you and moved to stand between your legs. “Yeah well I don’t like fucking repeating myself. Besides I have something I need to talk to you about and I need your attention.”

The color drained from your face. He rarely sounded this serious and it made you nervous.

“After what happened last night… I think its obvious we have a lot that we need to talk about.” He put his hands up in defense, “And before you start to nag, I’m not talking about the status of” He gestured between the two of you, “Whatever this is. I’m talking about just talking. I literally just experienced my worst nightmares on loop for days while feeling like I was dying. And knowing that’s only a fraction of what you went through.” His fists clenched and you could smell smoke coming off of them. “I just think we need to start talking.” You took your hands in his to help calm him down. “Reliving some of that shit made me realize I’ve never talked about it. I know there has to be things you need to get off of your chest… It might suck. But I feel like it would help.”

You nodded. “I think I understand what you mean. Just know that some of the things I have to say might make you look at me a little differently.”

To this he had the audacity to laugh, “And you think my shit isn’t any worse.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll be lucky if you don’t lock yourself in your room again after learning about me.”

Dabi hid his face in your neck and you wrapped your legs around his waist. “You’ve literally drowned me before. I don’t think you can sink much lower than that.”

He was about to snap back at you when someone cleared their throat making you jump.

He groaned but didn’t make any attempt to move, “Oh yeah… Your friends here.”

You noticed the emphasis he put on the word friend as Katsuki rounded the corner.

You shoved Dabi away and hopped off of the counter. “Kats! What are you doing here?”

Katsuki’s eyes seemed distant as he made his way towards you. “You guys really haven’t been watching the news? It’s all people have been talking about recently…”

Dabi snickered, “We’ve been uh… busy lately.”

Your hand flew out and smacked his chest before looking back to Katsuki who looked murderous. “Don’t listen to him. Dumbass got himself poisoned and I’ve been working around the clock the past few days to keep him alive.”

“And what an excellent job you did.” Dabi’s tone was teasing. You knew it was more to piss off Bakugo then anything else. “She overdid it though. Ended up having to sleep it off. So I wasn’t lying to you last night when you were throwing your little tantrum.”

“Tantrum?” You looked between the two men who seemed to be consumed with some kind of staring contest.

Katsuki was the first one to break to look at you. “I have something important to tell you. I came over last night and he wouldn’t let me see you.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “He was the one acting like a possessive child. Treating you like some kind of toy he doesn’t want to share. He locked you in his room and told me to fuck off. If anyone was throwing a tantrum it was him.”

You could feel heat beginning to radiate off of the both of them. Dabi snorted, “That’s hilarious coming from the guy who demanded I wake you up even though I told him you were exhausted and needed sleep.” Dabi’s voice lowered as he took a step forward, “And just so we’re clear, she may not be a toy… but I still don’t fucking share.”

You put a hand on either of their chests. “She can fucking speak for herself thank you.” You shoved them both towards the living room. “Okay, what did come all this way to tell me?”

Katsuki gave you a sad look and handed you his phone. “Your agency came out with an official statement about where you’ve been.” You looked at the screen and saw an article and at the top was a black and white security cam photo of you straddling a man in a hotel room with a knife to his throat.

Katsuki cleared his throat, “They told everyone that you were secretly working with several villainous organizations. They’ve pretty much blamed you for every missing hero and assassination in the past few years. They’ve labeled you as dangerous and a top priority, person of interest.”

He looked at Dabi with a little annoyance. “It seems some people have been targeted lately, and it looks like it scared them into taking action.”

You continued to scroll through the article in silence. Picture after picture of you doing their dirty work. You didn’t even know they had pictures like this. But it makes sense. Of course they would want an insurance policy. You knew too much.

You shoved the phone back into Katsuki’s phone. “So that’s it then? I’m what? Enemy number one? A villain?” You felt angry tears pool in your eyes. Why was it so easy for these people to ruin your life. “All I wanted was to be a hero. I just wanted to help people… And they… they fucking ruined my life and for what? I’ve been used, kidnapped, raped, tortured, and for WHAT!?”

Katsuki reached a hand out to you but you flinched away. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” You knew it wasn’t his fault, but it was so hard to look at him when he had everything you wanted. He was a hero. He was respected and feared, and he was just a part of the system that was currently ruining your life. No one would ever dare try to do to him what they’ve done to you.

You could feel yourself shaking with rage. The world you knew, the system you believed in was crumbling around you.

“Maybe they’re right… My whole life people have said I have a villainous quirk. And I was so desperate to prove them wrong that I did exactly what they thought I would. Maybe I was doomed from the start…”

You wanted to be alone, you stood up and went back to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and took a seat at the bar with your back to the men behind you.

“Listen she’s just going to need to digest this in her own time. She’s found out what I’ve known for years. The whole heroes vs. villains thing is bullshit.” You heard them shuffling towards the front door. “I may hate you, but I promise… as soon as she’s ready to talk to you I’ll have her call you.”

You knocked back shot after shot until you started to feel numb.

“I have a feeling you aren’t going to be a cute drunk this time huh?” Dabi took a seat next to you with a shot glass.

You silently filled up your shot glass as well as his. “Well I guess that just depends on you.” You raised your glass to him. “Are you going to make me talk about it right now? Or are we just going to get fucked up and deal with it tomorrow?”

He lifted his glass to yours, “I vote we get fucked up. I think you deserve it. We can be responsible tomorrow.”

You smirked as you threw your shot back. “Good because I was going to with our without your blessing.”

“Hmmm seems like whisky makes you feisty… Let’s see how feisty you can get.” He tapped his shot glass on the counter, “Fill it up bitch, I have some catching up to do.”

*************

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goddammitstacey · 3 years

Text

Here have a queer retelling of Little Red Riding Hood

The forest is magnificent. Giant yew trees reach for the sky, their leaves sending dappled sunlight down toward the moss-covered floor like a parting gift. Even Shiloh can’t deny the majesty of the place, as much as she might have preferred the wood around her a little more dead, with four legs, and holding up a tankard of beer.

But alas, good things apparently come to those who wait. And wait. Shiloh sighs, pulling her pelt more securely around her as she shifts into a warmer patch of sunlight.

“Are you almost finished?” she asks. “It’s nearing dusk, my love.”

The nearest tree is a monster. As thick around as three broad men standing in a circle, arms outstretched, fingertip to fingertip. It hides Shiloh’s wife from view. Just.

When Kae rounds the trunk of the tree, she makes it look a fraction of its years just by virtue of the contrast.

“Almost,” Kae says, broad hands smoothing over the bark like she’s soothing a spooked horse. “The bairn is sick with heart rot, the poor thing. I need to shore her up before it gets worse.”

Shiloh can’t find it in herself to be annoyed. Kae’s described heart rot enough for her to have some sympathy for the poor tree. And it doesn’t hurt that seeing her wife full of care makes a puddle out of her.

“It’s a good thing I enjoy watching you work,” Shiloh says, unable to help her soft smile. “Because it’s all you do.”

Kae looks to her, sharing the smile for a moment before her eyes snap suddenly back to her charge.

Shiloh tenses on instinct. “What?”

Kae’s alert, but not reaching for her axe. Shiloh relaxes her hold on her pelt but keeps it in hand for swift action anyway.

“There’s a girl in the forest,” Kae says. “Small. Alone. The… the trees are agitated.”

“Over a girl?” Shiloh says, confusion reflected in the look Kae sends her. “That’s a new one.”

Kae turns her attention back to her patient. “I’m almost finished here, then we can-”

“I’ll go on ahead,” Shiloh says, stretching her back out as she stands. “I’ve been sitting too long anyway, I’m going to grow moss.”

Kae doesn’t pick up the thread of the joke, looking as agitated as the trees around her must be. “I don’t…”

“I’ll be okay,” Shiloh says, stepping forward to clasp her wife’s hand between hers. “I have my pelt. I’ll even take my wrap-”

“No,” Kae says quickly, stopping Shiloh with a hand on her wrist as she reaches for their pack. “Don’t wear red.”

Shiloh raises an eyebrow. “That’s not what you said the other night, my love.”

And oh yes, now who’s wearing red? Shiloh grins as she uses her grip to pull Kae within reach, pecking her on one rosey cheek.

“It’s the trees,” Kae says, brushing a strand of Shiloh’s dark hair from her face. “They’re saying, don’t wear red.”

“How judgemental of them,” Shiloh says, but leaves her red wrap safely in their pack anyway.

Tracking the girl isn’t difficult. She smells of hay and woodsmoke, a combination that is as much out of place as her humanity this far into the woods. Shiloh hangs back, employing more caution than she would have otherwise, her wife’s worried frown at the fore of her mind.

The girl is indeed alone. Shiloh closes the distance between them until she can spy the girl’s back through the trees. Her hooded cloak is flapping around her ankles as she walks.

Her hooded red cloak.

Shiloh frowns and ups her pace, circling around the girl on soft feet until she finds a clearing up ahead with a downed tree to serve as a casual perch. The girl comes upon her bare minutes later, startling to a stop despite Shiloh’s deliberate, friendly smile and unassuming posture. Unfortunately there’s little she can do about her state of dress.

The girl can’t be older than seven summers, blonde hair tufting out of her hood as curious eyes look Shiloh over. Shiloh doesn’t blame her. She’s an unusual sight at the best of times.

Finally the girl breaks the silence. “Why are you naked?”

The bluntness of the question stirs a real smile to Shiloh’s features. “I’m not naked,” she says. “I’ve this pelt.”

The girl frowns at Shiloh’s wolf pelt, twisted about her in an approximation of a tunic. “It’s not very big.”

She’s not wrong. But then… Shiloh rises to her feet – carefully, so as not to spook the girl further. “It doesn’t have to be.”

The little girl watches her like one might watch a particularly interesting snake on one’s path. Cautious. Cautious but curious. Shiloh knows the sort. She sees it in the mirror those mornings Kae lets them hire a real room.

“What are you doing in the woods alone, child?” Shiloh says.

The girl rises to her full height, like she’s being inspected by someone with a badge. “I’m visiting The Grandmother,” she says, practically pronouncing the capital ‘T’.

Strange. Usually the trees warn Kae of any human settlements in the woods they travel. Kae’s parentage and Shiloh’s proclivity for travelling skyclad make chance meetings with humans something to be avoided.

“And where does she live?” Shiloh asks.

The little girl points along the direction she’s been travelling, deeper into the woods. “I’m to follow the sun to her cottage,” she says.

Right. Shiloh hums as she thinks. Kae isn’t far off and almost finished her tree-doctoring by her own admittance. She will catch up when she can. “May I walk with you, child?” Shiloh asks. “I’d feel much better knowing you got there safe, is all.”

After a lengthy pause, the girl nods, which is for the best really. It’s much easier to walk by her side than track her from behind.

The girl’s name is Scarlett.

“That’s an interesting name,” Shiloh says, the red of Scarlett’s cloak growing more vivid in Shiloh’s peripheral vision.

Scarlett shrugs. “Not really. There are lots of girls named Scarlett in the village.”

“Is that right?” Shiloh says, feeling more and more like she has a handful of puzzle pieces but no interlocking edges to fit them together.

They come upon the cottage as the sun kisses the distant mountains, sending the woods into an early dusk. Shiloh’s mildly put out when she notices how perfectly normal the place looks. The gardens are well-tended and the stoop swept. There’s even a cheerful glow warming the windows.

“This looks like the place,” Shiloh says, sweeping the clearing for something to explain the slow drip of dread down her spine.

Scarlett huffs a sigh next to her. She’d taken Shiloh’s hand not long into their walk and her little palm is warm and soft in Shiloh’s own.

“I guess so,” Scarlett says.

“You guess so?” Shiloh says, eye catching on a large shadow moving within the cottage. “You’ve never visited your grandmother before?”

“The Grandmother,” Scarlett corrects her. “And no.”

She says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world, but as Shiloh looks down at her, the red of her cloak seeming to glow in the darkness, she can’t help but think the situation is the very furthest from normal they can get.

“Is that visitors I hear?” Comes a voice from within the cottage. Shiloh looks up as the shadow in the cottage window moves toward the door. It gets smaller as it goes which is a funny thing, because Shiloh could swear it’s moving toward the light source…

The shadow is bare steps from the door when Shiloh gives an exaggerated shiver.

“Are you cold?” Scarlett asks.

“Yes,” Shiloh says quickly. “I’m afraid I didn’t think ahead. Might I borrow your cloak, child?”

Scarlett looks torn. “I was told not to-”

“Only for a minute or two,” Shiloh says, over the creak of the door. “I promise.”

“Okay…”

Shiloh whips the cloak from Scarlett’s shoulders and about her own just in time to face the figure in the doorway who-

Is a little, old woman.

Shiloh balks at the sight, eyes warring with every other instinct telling her to run, fight, hide. Shift.

The Grandmother smiles. Her face is like a weathered peach and her hands look frail as spider’s silk. They clasp and unclasp in front of her, the only tell that she too feels the tension that’s fallen on the clearing like a woollen blanket.

“Where are you, my child?” The Grandmother asks, peering across the clearing. “Come closer, I’m afraid my eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

Scarlett is stepping forward before Shiloh can move to stop her, small hand leaving only a warm imprint on Shiloh’s palm as she lets go.

“Ah, there you are,” The Grandmother says, with a smile warm like home. “I see you now.”

Only she doesn’t. As Scarlett walks toward The Grandmother, the old woman’s eyes, suddenly sharp and shrewd, remain fixed on Shiloh. No, she thinks as she steps forward and the cloak flares out. Her eyes are on the cloak.

Don’t wear red.

“Scarlett,” Shiloh calls, pulling the cloak from her shoulders. The Grandmother’s eyes follow it’s rustle like a hawk as the fabric hits the grass.

Scarlett stops and turns back. And The Grandmother’s shadow starts to grow.

“Scarlett, run!”

Shiloh doesn’t wait for the girl to obey, simply grabs for her pelt, reaches down deep and pulls. Scarlett screams and tumbles backward as Shiloh flies at her which makes leaping the girl an easy feat. She’s only half shifted when she hits The Grandmother’s charge but it’ll do. She’s got her teeth at least.

The Grandmother is easily the breadth of Kae’s yew patient and growing, but her skin, turning green and sickly by the minute, is easy enough to tear through. She bleeds. That’s the important thing.

Anything that bleeds can die, in Shiloh’s experience.

She’s fully shifted by the time The Grandmother hauls her back by her scruff and rakes jagged claws across her furred ribs. Lucky, Shiloh thinks as she hits the ground. She doesn’t think she’d have survived it in her human form.

Shiloh rolls to her feet and snarls. Her mouth tastes of copper and she can feel something sticky on her flank but the fight is a singing, beautiful thing in her blood. She might go down but she’ll give Scarlett enough time to put distance between herself and this… whatever this is.

The Grandmother’s skin seems to boil, lending her silhouette against the rising moon an air of gut-churning horror. Which is nothing to the sight of Scarlett behind the monster, branch raised like a club. Like she’s going to fell the beast with a stick.

Scarlett lets out a warrior’s roar as she brings the branch down and-

Nothing. It breaks on The Grandmother’s writhing back like so much driftwood. Scarlett goes from heroic to trembling in a bare moment and then The Grandmother is turning. Shiloh’s paws dig large grooves in the earth as she launches herself forward – she’s never moved so fast.

The axe moves faster.

Likely because it was hurled by a half-giantess.

The Grandmother’s skull cleaves like a ripe melon and Shiloh uses her forward momentum to barrel Scarlett out of the path of the monster’s falling carcass.

And then, silence.

Shiloh uncurls with a wince to find Scarlett unhurt if a bit squished under her bulk. She wasn’t kidding when she said her pelt needn’t be big. She’s a hulking wolf no matter the size of her talisman.

“Damn you, wife! You’d best not be dead!”

Scarlett’s eyes are round as the moon rising over them, flicking panicked from Shiloh’s less-than-reassuring countenance to the giantess bearing down on them. Shiloh can’t help but snort a laugh as she shifts back to her human form, pulling herself off the child as she goes.

“It’s okay, Scarlett,” she says. “This is my wife, Kae.”

“This is your widow more like!” Kae says, picking Shiloh up with one big hand to set about inspecting her wounds. “Because I’m going to kill you for that fright you just gave me!”

Shiloh endures the inspection, mostly because she’s had a lot of practice. “My love, you’re frightening the child.”

Scarlett seems to take that as a challenge, climbing rapidly to her feet. “I ain’t frightened!”

Shiloh kisses Kae’s palm on its way to pawing at her scalp to check for head wounds and sighs. “Yes, I could see that. What part of ‘run’ didn’t you understand?”

“The part where you were in trouble,” Scarlett says, chin jutting out stubbornly.

“Oh I like her,” Kae says, seemingly having satisfied herself that Shiloh isn’t going to keel over dead any time soon.

Shiloh rolls her eyes. “Of course you do.”

Silence falls on the three of them once more as their attention turns to the hulking corpse of The Grandmother.

Scarlett breaks it. “They sent me here to get et, didn’t they?”

Shiloh, who was behind the door when the Gods handed out artifice, says, “Yes, my girl, I think they did.”

Scarlett takes this news with the sort of stoicism that’s likely going to require a lot of crying at some point later. “I’d like to not go back,” she says, finally.

Shiloh doesn’t say anything, simply exchanges a long look with her wife. And then she holds out her hand.

One year later, the village drapes another little girl named Scarlett in red and sends her into the woods. Four hours later, she comes back.

FIN

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#queer #lgbtq #fiction #twisted fairy tales #little red riding hood #my stuff

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Rafael 🥺🥺🥺

CW: Pet whump, referenced implied noncon/dubcon, captivity, isolation, intimate whumper, creepy whumper

Follows this piece where Chris overcomes his freeze response to try and help someone

It’s 2:30 in the morning. The house is cool and silent and still around him as he stands in the master’s library, where the only phone he’s ever seen that wasn’t the small, slim things his master and mistress keep in their pockets or purses or always on themselves.

He’s not allowed in here, books make his head hurt and we wouldn’t want to give you wrinkles in that pretty face from all that squinting, Raf. But he’s here, anyway.

They’re asleep, down the hall, in their room. The both of them, the mistress breathing low and deep, the master softly snoring. He can hear them from here, and it’s a soothing comfort to be able to track their sleep even now.

His heart pounds while he stares at the phone, dressed only in the loose, slightly sheer black pants he’s allowed to wear to sleep, when they have done with him for the night, when he is no longer between them, taken and taking, eyes closed and body repeating patterns while his mind goes somewhere else.

Red bruises darken around his neck and shoulders, the lipstick at least washed away and leaving only blood vessels burst under his pale skin to color it. She loves to leave the lipstick there, and they love to see who can mark him more, counting up the new places, telling who did what by the smear of Rouge, or Addict, or whatever other name she gave to the slim little tubes that littered her vanity.

He lays back for their inspection, smiles up at the mirror they’ve had fixed to the underside of the canopy over their bed, and drifts away while they laugh over and around him. The loser makes the drinks, after, and he gets one, too.

Whiskey and honey-syrup with rosemary, washed down, but the taste never leaves, not all the way. He tastes them when he falls asleep.

If he falls asleep.

Now, he’s clean except for the way he always feels a slight, nearly invisible layer of grime on his skin, and his skin is unmarked except for the bruises they will carefully cover with the turtlenecks he wears in the morning.

He’s clean... except that he is never, ever clean.

His name is Rafael.

Something else was his name, once upon a time. Some other blend of letters, some other murmured syllables spoken on someone else’s tongue. He knows that much - they tell him far more than he has ever asked to know.

They found him, Master and Ma’am, hungry and dirty and cold. You were so desperate for a hot meal, someplace to sleep, you told us you’d do anything. They offered him safety, and someone to care for him, and he got into their car. It’s what he wanted. You wanted to leave it all behind, you know. We gave you the chance.

We offered you a choice, and it wasn’t like anyone else was going to help you, Raf. You didn’t have a soul in the world who even gave a damn if you were alive.

He signed up for this.

Didn’t he?

The voice of the man in the museum comes back to him with his scarred face and soft green eyes. Somebody loved you. They lie to us. Pushing the plastic feather into his hand, whispering numbers to him. Rafael’s neck aches under his collar, throbs with the blood pooling from their teeth tearing at him and telling him he likes it, and he’s never thought to argue before.

But he doesn’t.

On his own, he dreams about softness, he closes his eyes and runs fingertips along his own palm and imagines it’s someone who simply wants to hold his hand. Alone, Rafael thinks about a dim sweet warmth, even as they tell him he wants their too-bright light baring him to hands and teeth like fang and claws, to desire that digs deep and draws blood.

Somebody loved you.

It seems impossible.

They lie to us all.

In the dark of night, with the barest hint of moonlight coming through the great windows along the wall, the saturated purple of the feather is a cool, faded lavender. Rafael rubs his thumb along it, following an instinctive movement. He can see, he thinks, the faintest hint of indents in it, like the man he saw at the museum had been chewing on it. Marks like teeth, like the marks on his side, the way they laugh on either side of him, his mistress murmuring, they could identify us with dental records by that one if we dumped him, darling, and his master kissing her, then him, then laughing too loud, laughing harder when Rafael flinches from the sound and the fear of being abandoned.

They’d found him abandoned and taken him in. They gave him a home and he traded away whatever life he’d had to get it, willingly, happily, wanting to be loved and kept and held.

But... what if that wasn’t what happened, just because they said it was?

Somebody loved you.

He moves closer to the phone, letting his fingers trail over the cool dark plastic, smooth and shining in the dark. His eyes close, and he breathes, in and out. The room smells like old books, and the leather of the chairs in here. Like a candle his mistress insists on lighting once a week in the room.

When they have him in here, he’s blindfolded to keep him from seeing the books.

The man in the museum had been one, he knew it instantly. No collar, though, and not with an owner, but he still... Raf had known. He always knew, and when he’d seen the scar, he’d known that the man wasn’t one, not any longer.

Whispering to him that there is another way to live.

Rafael takes a deep breath, picks up the phone, and swallows back the burst of fear. It’s just a few numbers. It’s just a few words. He can always choose not to go, if they come. He can sign up for this again.

He can take it back.

5. 5. 5. 7. 2. 3. 3.

The click of the little dialpad as he touches the numbers seems impossibly loud, but with each pause between he listens, and he can still hear them sleeping. He’s okay. He’ll be okay.

It’s just some words, a number, a whisper, a plea.

Did somebody love me once, in a way that wasn’t like this?

The phone settles cold against his ear, and he grips the feather in his hand like the medallion of a saint.

He doesn’t know saints. He doesn’t know why that thought came to mind.

Holy St. Anthony, gentlest of Saints, your love for God and Charity for His creatures, made you worthy, when on earth, to possess miraculous powers. Encouraged by this thought, I implore you to-

“Hello?”

Rafael nearly forgets how to speak, between his shock that anyone picked up and the sudden burst of sharp pain that wipes the momentary prayer from his memory entirely. “H-Hello. I-I... I was, I am.. um. I n-need...”

“Do you need help?” The voice is low and compassionate, deep and with an accent he can’t place.

They’ll help you, the man from the museum said.

“Please,” Rafael whispers. “Please, I need-... I need help. I, I need... I need out.”

“I’m going to trace your call,” The voice says quietly. “For the purpose of this conversation, you can call me Heather. I’m a liberated pet and I’m here to help. Do you need a rescue?”

Rafael feels tears threatening to fall, and he clutches the feather as tightly as he can. “I don’t know. It’s not-... It’s not, they don’t-... I’m n-not hurt, I just-”

“You don’t have to be in physical pain,” Heather says, quiet and certain, “to be wounded. I need about sixty-seven seconds more to get your location. Do you want to leave?”

No one’s ever asked.

He swallows. “Y... yes. I don’t want to be-... to do this anymore.”

“Okay. It’s okay, this is what we do. What’s your name and designation?”

That’s easy. He answers thoughtlessly, memorized words falling off his lips like petals from a dying flower. “Rafael, my number is 453266, designation Romantic, Facility 012.”

There’s a pause. “You’ve come a long way.”

He swallows “H-Have I?”

“I’ll explain later. It could take us up to fourteen days to effect a rescue. Will you be reasonably physically safe until that time?”

There’s a scrape in the hallway, a footfall. Rafael’s breath catches as he realizes he forgot to keep listening for their breathing, checking that they were asleep. “Oh, no. I have to go. He’s-... I have to go. Please, please find me, please-”

“I’m killing this number as soon as you hang up. It’s okay. We’ve got you. We just need a little time-”

He drops the phone back into the cradle right as his master appears in the doorway, leaning against it on one arm. His eyes glitter dangerously with reflected moonlight.

“Raf? What was that?”

Rafael swallows, lifting his chin as he turns, putting his practiced flirtatious smile on his face. Head tilt, half-lidded eyes. Let the look of sleepy affection wipe away the terror still crawling over his skin. His master moves towards him, naked but he can do more damage naked than Rafael could do in a set of armor.

“I had a-... a nightmare, a false memory,” Rafael says quickly, and steps to his master, feigning gratitude, warmth, happiness at seeing him. “I don’t know what happened. I w-woke up with the phone at my ear.”

“Hm. You haven’t sleepwalked in a long time.” His master moves past him, looking down at the phone, then back up at Rafael. In the darkness it all seems amplified, every threat a near-murder, a knife held precariously against his throat. “What did you dial?”

“I-I don’t know,” Rafael lies, clinging to him, every inch the pet scared of himself, not of the master. “I just heard beeping when I-... woke up, I guess.”

There’s a pause, and the master hums, picking the phone up, hitting three buttons Rafael doesn’t look at, but he knows - he’s having the phone redial the last number called. Raf closes his eyes, and he prays, to nothing and no one and maybe just to the dark of night itself.

He exhales when the only sound is a woman’s tinny voice stating this number is not in service at this time.

His master chuckles, sounding relieved himself. “Well, no harm done, I suppose. But we’re going to have to tie you to the bed at night again, aren’t we? Keep you from wandering.”

“Is that a promise?” Rafael’s voice is shaking but he drops it to low and husky to cover it, his heart pounding and body frozen as he turns into his master’s body, tipping his head for a kiss.

He hates being tied to the bed.

You love this, Raf. You told us it was your favorite way to work when we found you. But it’s not work anymore, is it? It’s your life.

He hates it.

The man’s voice in his mind again as he slides the feather into his pocket. They lie to all of us.

Nobody loved you, that’s why we had to take you in.

Somebody loved you.

“Honestly, Raf, is that the only thing you think about?” His master’s tone is playful, flirtatious. His voice dips lower and Rafael keeps his smile firmly in place, widens it a little.

Inside his head, he thinks, you wanted me to only think about this. I know I didn’t start this way.

Further back, far enough inside he knows it will never show on his face, he thinks, I thought about dinosaurs instead today. I thought about the feather, and the number, and I thought about how maybe you’re the one lying, and I was the one telling the truth.

I just can’t remember what truth I told.

“Back to bed for you, I think,” His master murmurs, presses a kiss over a bruise. Rafael shivers and pretends it’s from desire and not from the ache. “I’ll get out your favorite ropes.”

He hates the fucking ropes.

“Perfect,” Rafael says, and his voice comes out smooth, and soft. “You know I love the ropes.”

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @vickytokio @wildfaewhump

#whump #intimate whumper #intimate whumpers #sadistic whumpers #referenced dubcon #referenced noncon #defiant whumpee #internally but still #pet whump #bbu #box boy universe #memory loss #box boy #rafael is no one's saint #captivity #escape attempt #or rather working up to it #bruises tw

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vanderlindemorgans · 3 years

Text

Cross My Heart (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you're the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings include some graphic descriptions of blood and injuries and some alcohol consumption. Also I know nothing about Texas or horses.

Read on AO3 | Next Chapter | Masterlist

To say things hadn’t gone to plan would be a dramatic understatement. In his case, however, the results of his arrival in Cambodia had proved even more disastrous than he could have ever imagined. Though really, if he’d have stopped to think about it for even just a second, he would have seen that his plan was doomed to fail from the beginning.

Stalking through the busy streets of Dallas, Jack tried his best to keep as low of a profile as possible - you never knew who could be wandering the city searching for him, and after the stunt he pulled with Eggsy and Harry it could almost be guaranteed that he had some sort of warrant on his head. It was probably foolish of him to even come back to the United States in the first place, but really, where else did he have to go?

He didn’t entirely know where he was going now either. He couldn’t return home, as it would most likely be swarming with Statesman agents and the like hunting for him. He was almost certainly cast out of Statesman for his actions by now, so any former friends he could usually turn to in situations like this would be of no help at this point, considering everything that happened. For once in his life, Jack was well and truly alone. The acknowledgement of that fact itself did nothing to alleviate his anxieties, only doing more to further the ever growing void in his stomach. His eyes darted between the various passersby, none of them taking a single notice of him to his relief. He’d have expected to draw more attention to himself, in fact when he stopped to take a gander at his reflection in one of the shop windows he passed by he was almost stumped as to how he had managed to keep under the radar so well - you couldn’t much see it with the way he kept his head down, but upon closer inspection one could easily spot the large nasty gash of blood split across the side of his cheek, complimenting several different bruises that were forming underneath. His clothes were either torn from navigating through the thicket of the Cambodian jungle or scuffed from his confrontation with the two Kingsman agents. The only part of him that was still in almost perfect condition was his damned hat, surprisingly enough. In the most blatant use of the term, he looked like an absolute wreck. If he weren’t on edge from the constant vigilance of potentially running into one of his former colleagues, he might’ve laughed at himself over it.

Escaping from Eggsy and Harry had been the easy part - they’d left him tied up with his own lasso off to the side, but in all the confusion and spate of heroics in trying to distribute the antidote, they had neglected to keep any sort of watch on him. From there on, all it took was the simple slice of a knife he had hidden away in his back pocket and just like that, he’d slipped away into the shadows, running for his life through the thick and sweltering heat of the jungle. He’d wanted to retreat back to the plane he’d used to travel there in the first place but upon realising that Statesman could use radar to track him, he instead was forced to navigate himself to a nearby airfield used for moving cargo. After that it was just a matter of stowing away on one of the planes to ensure his arrival back in America, touching down in Dallas of all places. Jack was fully aware that he was lucky to have his life - if things had gone differently he’d have ended up with a bullet in his head or something much worse. For that much at least he was somewhat grateful for. Somewhat.

Almost as if by instinct, he drifted towards a bar in the downtown area of the city, stumbling in and being assaulted by the smoke-scented air that greeted him the moment he opened the door. It was by no means a classy place, yet he didn’t much care in that moment. Any place was better than aimlessly wandering the streets like a stray mutt. Striding through the crowds of patrons ranging from tipsy to drunk, he came up towards the bar and pulled a couple of notes from the inside of his jacket pocket. “A glass of whiskey, if ya will” he requested, sliding the notes over to the disinterested bartender on the other side of the counter. Some part of him felt stupid for ordering the drink of his agent namesake, but some side of him felt like reminiscing on old times a bit. In light of him going rogue, they’d most likely be passing on that codename to another agent. Probably to Ginger most likely. He caught himself sneering at the thought of her, a deep burning sense of hate starting to fester in him. He never did like her much.

Taking the glass of whiskey in his hand, he let the warm rush of liquid seep down his throat, feeling consumed by the blazing burn it left on his tongue. So this was how it all ended for him: hiding out in a dingy dive bar, drinking himself to death while he waited for the inevitable. His mind ran over all of his options from there on, running down the short list in less than a minute tops. He had no job, no friends, nowhere to run to, no-one to turn to.

Unless…

Jack’s mind began to nag on something, a faint memory from years long since passed starting to resurface, the face of someone he hadn’t thought of in what felt like forever creeping into his thoughts gradually. He was in Dallas, right? An idea began to form in his head, recalling days spent during the summer out on a ranch north of the city, of your warm smile and intoxicating eyes that one could get lost in. Waving over the bartender, he pondered on his idea further. Would you even want to see him after all this time? He remembered the way things ended between the both of you, the bitterness and bad blood that most likely still lingered.

It was possibly an idiotic idea to begin with. Hell, you might not even be in Dallas anymore: the last time the two of you spoke was at least a good seven years. But it was the only option he had left. Throwing his head back and downing the last remnants of whiskey in his glass, he threw down a couple of extra notes for the bartender on the counter and sauntered off, fully sure of his next course of action. Like it or not, you were his best chance he had of survival. He just hoped that you didn’t hate him too much to turn him away after everything that he put you through.

___

Wiping a line of sweat from your brow, you found yourself cursing the suffocating summer heat. After living there for so many years you thought you’d be used to it but every June through to August the intensity of the blistering sun always managed to take you by surprise. If only you could simply relax a little, lounge by the pool sipping on cognac and smelling of lilacs, without a single care in the world. Instead, you were out in the sun, tending to each of the horses that your ranch housed. You ran a horse riding ranch only a couple of hours outside Dallas, tucked away in the deep necks of the Texan countryside. It was originally your parents business, and you’d practically lived there your whole life. It wasn’t your original plan to take over the family business, some part of you angling for something more than life as a simple ranch hand but when both of them tragically passed only a few years before, you felt you owed it to them in a way to take up the mantle to keep things running as smoothly as possible. Some things didn’t take much adjustment in a way - you’d already known the procedure for cleaning the stables and tending to the horses like the back of your hand, and the inheritance money left behind had made it easier to pack everything up out of your small city apartment to move back home on such short notice. The thing that did take some getting used to was their absence. Stepping back into their well loved home, seeing the photos still hanging on the walls, the folded pages of the books your mother kept on her bedside that would never be opened again, the places where they should be but simply weren’t - that wrecked you more than anything you could ever imagine.

At first you didn’t even sleep inside the house - it was just too painful to see them everywhere around you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to remove the cheerful family photos from the walls, even if it was only for a little while. The first two months back home were spent in the backseat of your car, curled up with a blanket that you’d managed to drag out from the house. You tried to carry on with business as usual but everything felt bleak around you. Some part of you wanted to blame someone, anyone for what happened. Sometimes you’d felt tempted to blame yourself in some way. Eventually, things did become easier. The emotional weight started to lift, and you were able to get through the day without having to take five to pull yourself together. Nothing was the same as before, but the flow of your life started to settle and become something resembling normal again. And that, in your opinion, was probably the best way it could have turned out.

Doing a onceover the stables to check everything was in its correct place, you pulled the large doors closed and surveyed the landscape around you, taking in the stunning visual of the sun beginning to dip below the skyline, mellowing out into a lively and beautiful sunset. With the front gates locked and everything with the horses all taken care of, you trudged back up to the house at the centre of the property, your mind drifting to the glass of liquor you intended to pour yourself the minute you got inside. It had been a long day, full of tiresome frustrations and irritations. Being in the middle of July, your ranch saw frequent visitors, including kids who were out of school and being taken out of the city on a sort of day trip by their parents. That day in particular had involved a birthday party for some kid, and you’d been out there giving riding lessons to the whole group of them.

Usually lessons were conducted by one of your other employees but in cases of events you tended to take on more tasks yourself. To be perfectly blunt about it, the day had gone horribly. Surprisingly enough, the kids were fine, no, the real piece of work was the birthday boy's mother. She’d insisted on trying to take control of every single aspect of the event and was overly critical of every little thing you did, and was an all round exhausting person to deal with. When the party was finally over and everyone had packed up and left, you remembered breathing a huge sigh of relief and thinking “thank fuck, she’s gone”.

Twisting open the front door to your house, you tossed your keys off to the side and immediately set off in search of something to drink. Grazing your fingertips along the refined wooden edges of your liquor cabinet, you pulled on the handles and reached your hand in to select a bottle. What you really wanted was something strong to take off that stressful edge of the day behind you. You felt your eyes settle on a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey stuffed towards the back and couldn’t help but smirk to yourself, a vague memory teetering on the precipice of your mind. Shaking the thought away, you instead choose a bottle of bourbon, placing it on top of the cabinet as you reach for one of the empty glasses stored inside. As you poured a glass for yourself, you felt your mind get lost in a haze, wandering between the events of the past few hours and what you’d planned to do with the rest of your night, and, admittedly something you were ashamed to say, a lingering thought to do with that bottle of whiskey you’d passed on over before. Fucking Jack Daniels, I swear to god…

Your body might as well have been on autopilot then, as you didn’t take any conscious note of anything other than the burn of liquor on your lips. If you hadn’t been so distracted you might have noticed it earlier - the distant sound of footsteps coming closer up the driveway to your house, the sounds turning into thuds the nearer they got. Too lost in your thoughts and too tired from the nightmarish day you endured, you were only pulled from the depths of memory by a loud bang on the front door. Furrowing your brow, you shot a confused and worried glance over to the front of the house, already beginning to feel alerted and wary. Who the hell could that be at this hour?

There was another bang on the door, this one more insistent than the last, and you felt yourself jump at the suddenness of it. Would it even be safe to go answer it? For a minute, you contemplated the idea of ignoring it and pretending you weren’t home, however once you realised whoever was outside could most likely see the lights on from the windows you dismissed that idea with disappointment. You’d have to go answer it, you knew that, but something didn’t feel right to you. Cautiously rising up out of your seat, you took a small step towards the entryway of the house, and through the fear managed to call out “Who’s there?”.

Taking another moment to contemplate whether or not it would be worth fetching a gun for this, you heard the voice of the person on the other side answer back, a voice that had you freeze in a mixture of shock and disbelief the instant you heard it. “Darlin'? It’s...it’s Jack, could you…”.

You didn’t even give him a chance to finish his sentence before you had bolted to the door, hastily unlocking the deadbolt and ripping it open to reveal him standing before you. Something in your heart stopped the second you saw him - he was the one person who you never, ever, in a million years ever expected to see again, much less on your front doorstep. You drank in his appearance, the first thing your eyes being drawn to was the large bloody slash across his cheek. His eyes were looking down at you pleadingly, a look you weren’t used to seeing on him. From when you’d known him he’d always looked so confident, so self-assured and pulled together, so to see him so browbeaten and, dare you say, defeated, unnerved you in a way. You could feel your mouth hanging open slightly, the words being there but your mouth being unable to form them, your eyes only fixated on his own dark and vanquished gaze as your mind raced a million miles a minute. There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, yet the only thing you were capable of verbalising in your shock was the one question that pushed itself to the forefront of your mind.

“Jesus fuck, Jack, what the hell happened to you?”.

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels #kingsman #kingsman: the golden circle #kingsman fanfiction #yes i write reader insert fic now what about it

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tapefish · 3 years

Text

Initiation

@tasteofamnesia

Ghoul

You think a good third of the zones would leap at the opportunity to sew your mouth shut but this one looks more angry than anything. And while you’re normally against people rounding up on you with needles, the past half hour has left you down one hand and the better half of your face. You are in no position to argue. They’re griping about something or another and pretty sure they just referred to you as fungal (really?) somewhere in there and you’d correct them but air and blood is busy burbling out the new gash in your face. Try and stop the bleeding with a sleeve but your hands keep getting batted away with a curse and an even sharper look. Maybe venom siblings is not just some zone given title after all.

You let your mind drift to distract yourself from the pain, Party Poison’s angry mutterings are entertaining and all but it’s hard to pay attention when half your face is gaping open. Going up to the fabulous killjoys and asking where the sign up sheet was, you weren’t expecting a warm welcome- or any kind of welcome really. But you also weren’t expecting Jet Star to point you in the direction of The Kobra Kid of all people without so much as a ‘good luck’. It’s not like you haven’t fought people stronger than you. Or smarter. Or taller. Hell, practically every crew you’ve ever inconvenienced has had the pleasure (and the advantage).

Without warning the side of your face lights up and everything blinks out.

Party

You’re trying your best to sterilize the wound- Jet won’t miss his stash too much and you dare him to raise an objection- when an elbow shoots out, barely missing your jaw. The kid’s thrashing now, knocking what’s left of the alcohol to the ground and scratching at the wound. How are you supposed to work with this? Sure, just deal with the aftermath of yet another great plan from our fearless leader. Get the new guy to fight Kobra, declare them winner and leave them to bleed out on the floor. Real fucking smart. What, was Jet expecting the kid to sew up their own face? Where were they even going with this, just tossing over the med kit and wandering back to the am? As if having to physically pry Kobra off of- what’s their name-wasn’t enough now you gotta fix his mistake. Both their mistakes. Really you don't see why you aren’t the leader, you’re already picking up after everybody.

Whatever. The time for self pity has passed, and that’s enough of that. Grab them by the arms and hold them still for fuck’s sake before they make things any worse.

Threading the needle is easy enough, you’ve done it plenty and while the wound seems intimidating, closer inspection reveals that it’s not a bad cut, just in a weird place. As if to make up for sitting still, the kid has decided that now is the time for small talk. Swear to the witch it’s like they don’t want it stitched up. Watching them attempt to speak and stretching the wound in the process, you have half a mind to quit right there and let it heal all lopsided. Whatever they’re trying to say- all it’s really doing is depositing more blood and spit and- fuck is that a tooth? On your already sweaty hands. Gross. Well, it won’t get any cleaner than this so you get to work. They seem to catch on pretty quickly, and clam up right as you start the first stitch.

While you’re busy trying to line up the edges, the kid is scratching lazy lines into the dust around you. The first is a set of letters: FUNGHOUL followed by an x’d out face. Almost as an afterthought, they scribble a set of stitches across the smile. The irony of it isn’t lost upon you, and a snicker escapes before you can stop yourself. After tying off the last suture, take a moment to judge your work. You’re no medic so it's not pretty, but all things considered, it could be much worse. Catch yourself absentmindedly rubbing at the fading scars on your left hand. Like you said, you’re no medic.

You’d think the first coherent thing out of their mouth would be gratitude, a semblance of a thank you perhaps, but no. They just had to get one last bit of stupid out of their system. “So, does shades over there greet everyone like this or am I just special?” Snap the medkit shut and spit a “what’s it to you” hoping they get the message and witch- where is kobra?

Kobra

Look at them, laughing away as if nothing just happened. And it’s at you you’re sure, what else would there be to laugh at? The Kobra Kid, declared loser of a fight against some fresh faced nobody. A fight that you won but is gonna cost you everything because that new kid- what was their name? ghost or goblin or something stupid like that decided they were too good for the rules of engagement? You were doing fine! Pinned them down twice with only a handful of sand to the eyes for your troubles. It was pure luck that placed them so close to the bonfire, with all that smoke, it's not like you could see. Reached into it and knocked you off balance, enough to squirm out of your grasp again.

Did Party really think calling out would make you think they cared? Their actions speak for themselves- spending time tending to pintsize over there instead of their own brother. Little shit thinks they could just march up to camp and demand a spot that you earned. What’d they think? They’d get you kicked out? Take your place? Shake your head at the thought and focus on the task at hand.

Tending to your burn is hard and water is sparse, your hands are shaking as you peel off layer after layer from your neck - your hands never shake. You have to get it off though or else it's going to scar. And parallels be damned, you are not keeping a reminder of tonight if you have any say in it.

It wouldn’t have even registered when they hit you if it weren’t for the smell. Acrid and chemical, you get the feeling it won’t be leaving any time soon. Pour water on your neck and peel off the layers, until the last of it finally comes off with a gasp. You can actually feel it now, pulsating and radiating heat. Water alleviates it for a bit but you don’t have much of it to spare.

The thought crosses your mind to check the burn over in the trans am’s mirrors, see how bad it is, but it’s been taken over by Jet. Look back at your sibling siding with the new kid. Acting like you’re the one at fault here when really, why couldn't they just admit that you won? And why wouldn't Jet acknowledge that? With everyone around you forgetting that tiny, tiny fact you had to pull something that would stick. Running their mouth the whole time, forgetting that it's them that's trying to join your crew, laughing like the whole thing’s just one big joke to them.

To make things worse, Party barging in and intervening in your fight, like you’re some sort of kid back in the lobby, as if you haven't done worse things to nicer people with less than your reputation at stake. You know, you didn't really consider yourself a prideful person before this. Guess you really are Party’s brother. Go back to camp, ignore Party’s million where were you, what were you thinking, are you even listening to me’s, and work on your bike. Because for all their questions, they haven’t looked you in the eyes once.

#tasteofamnesia #evil au #<< >:D #behold! a backstory (kinda)#this is the initiation from earlier hope it explains some things :)

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blooeyedtroll · 3 years

Text

Home on the Range

Rated PG-13ish Lolz. For occasional cussing and maybe innuendos(?). Lolz. This can also be read on Ao3. Feel free to read it there if you prefer.

More art scattered though out this fic, hope you like it!

Hello friend! Welcome!

This is a One shot fic that takes place in mine & @messybitch802 ‘s :

Efflorescence AU.

This is the beginning of our tale, I hope you enjoy.

This is in Hickory’s POV. I thought this would be a fun way to introduce Bloo and Messy. It also seemed fitting since Hickory will play a larger part as our tale unfolds.

However, I’d like to think this could be enjoyed as a fun one-shot Hickory & Dickory fic as well. This fandom needs more Yodel Brothers content!

Big thanks to @jade-green-butterfly and her random ask that kicked my butt in gear, giving me the inspiration to finally start writing:

Anyway, let’s get to it. Enjoy!:

HOME ON THE RANGE

"Rock Trolls... no doubt about that.”

The rugged, orange haired Troll put down his hammer and stepped away from the task at hand. Fence work could wait. This needed his immediate attention. Around this time of day he'd expect to see, at most, a tumbleweed passing by the entrance to the Ranch. Maybe. Nobody ever came out this way. Not since he'd been here anyway. At a good clip, it was about an hour trek away from Lonesome Flats. Which suited his needs perfectly.

The perfect place to lay low and still blend in.

"Bist du sicher?" whispered a muffled voice behind him.

"Of course I am. Now hush, I'm gonna check it out. Stay in character. An’ be ready, just in case."

The orange haired Troll patted the front of his jeans, freeing them of a satisfying amount of dust from the day’s hard work and checked his reflection in a nearby trough. Grinning as he placed a straw of wheat that was kept in the brim of his hat; between his teeth.

Perfection.

Who would guess otherwise, that the reflection in that water, was anything but a genuine Country Troll?

It took a lot of work shopping, trial and error, but he did it.

Well, they did it. The four legged, rugged, handsome, Country Troll was in actuality...two Trolls.

Two brothers to be precise.

Yodel Trolls by the names of Hickory and Dickory.

The last Yodel Trolls by their accounts, and they happened to be the best damn team of Bounty Hunters and Mercenaries in all of Trolldom.

For good reason.

The best tool to their disposal was their ability to blend in. So much so, it was only until it was “too late” for their marks, by the time their true colors were revealed. And this disguise has been their best yet.

Hickory, though the youngest brother, was the much taller of the two. So he was the face to this particular get-up. Making Dickory to be left with the tail end. Literally. Understandably, this was not ideal for him.

And he definitely made it well known on many occasions how he felt about having to play a literal “horse’s ass”.

But by gum, was he the best ass you could ask for.

At this point, Dickory had mastered the art of synchronizing with Hickory's movements, in such a way, it was now practically impossible to spot anything amiss. It was as if they shared one mind while under the guise of this centaur-esk being.

And while Dickory was fairly sour about the whole situation, Hickory found himself more and more, fond of living day to day as a Country Troll. Very much so to his brother’s shagrin. The look, the music, the lifestyle...everything.

It had been two months now since the brothers found themselves here, in Country Music territory. However, last anyone on the outside had heard about them, was that they had "yodelled so hard, an avalanche fell on them"...or something? Which was just what they wanted. For the time being anyway.

The brothers had struck a deal with their last mark.

For his freedom, he was to spread said rumor, so the Yodelers could lay low for a while.

Queen Barb, of the Hard Rock Trolls, was no stranger to the two brothers. As a matter of fact, she was one of their most frequent clients for the past few years. Which suited them just fine. Well, almost. The last few jobs they did for the young Queen, left a bitter taste in Hickory's mouth. Not so much for the tasks she asked of them, but because of something she said and what he saw on their last few visits to Volcano Rock City. Maps. Marked up. Plans of some sort. Hanging everywhere. The young ruler, looking the most tired he'd ever seen her, yet looking as if ready to burst from being too tightly wound, at any moment.

"Hopefully next time I see you dudes, one way or another, we'll all be singing to a different tune. It's gonna be so Rad."

Whatever was going on, both Yodelers agreed that it was definitely not worth getting caught up in. They could just feel it. Deep down. They were hired to track Trolls down and do what needed to do, to get by.

Both of them could be shady characters at times, but they had decent moral compasses to live by. So they told themselves.

That's why the presence of Rock Trolls at this moment made Hickory's blood run cold. Could it be possible somehow, some way, they had been found out? That whatever Queen Barb was up to, she was looking for them? What is it that she’d need them for anyway?

No. Their plan worked perfectly. Blend in as a Country Troll, lay low for a while, only do the occasional "job" when the opportunity presented itself, just until the Queen of Rock cooled her head or went through with... whatever she is planning.

Not a soul knew about Hickory and Dickory being here.

Well.

Unless you counted, July.

Miss July, the owner of the Ranch. A rather interesting Troll.

A Pop-Country Troll. The only mixed genre Troll around these parts. Unlike her four legged, centaur, Country loving neighbors; she walked on two legs... well, hooves. Her appearance could be compared to a more "Satyr" like build, with a perfect blend of both genres in her appearance. The bright colors of a Pop Troll, but the sturdy build of that of a Country Troll.

A Tough, stern older lady-Troll, with a heart of gold.

Running this place all on her own, while tending to her extremely elderly parents.

That's one of the reasons he never expected any visitors here. Nobody in town wanted anything to do with Miss July or her family. Didn't much like associating with “their kind” if they could help it. Though you'd never hear them say it in polite conversation. But that suited Miss July just fine. That's how she liked it. Ever since Miss July and her folks suffered a terrible loss to their family, decades ago, she rarely went into town if she could help it.

Which on one such occasion, is when she stumbled upon the Yodelers, in their first attempts at putting together their “Country Persona”.

They had been camping not too far from her Ranch and the Town, when she found them both, struggling to even walk in time together, in a pair of poorly made four legged pants.

July took their word as Gospel. That they were just fulfilling a lifelong dream of wanting to, in some way, be a Country Troll. So she offered them a place to stay and to show them the ropes on what it meant to be a Country Troll. If they agreed to work for her at her family’s Ranch.

"Until you feel you can stand on yer own four hooves!' She teased.

It could be easily wagered that July being an outcast in her own community, could be a factor of sympathy she felt towards them, making her wanting to help any way she could, and possibly what made her not judgmental in the least. That, and as tough as she put herself on as, she was sweet as apple pie, through and through.

Which did make Hickory especially, feel guilty about not being more upfront with her. As much as he could be anyhow.

Especially so, when the occasional “job opportunity" presented itself around Lonesome Flats during the Yodelers free time. Turns out, there were plenty of Trolls who had a bone to pick with others, or needed matters settled around these parts. Not to mention, crooks-a-plenty to turn in.

But both brothers always repented. By being very diligent working for Miss July on the Ranch. Anything she needed done, got done. It was the least they could do for what she had done for them for these last two months. So the last thing needed was for anything to get ugly around here.

As Hickory approached closer and closer, he could feel his brother tensing up.

"Easy.” He whispered under his breath, smirking, patting behind him in attempts to calm his hotheaded companion. While still maintaining a nonchalant and calm demeanor.

Having spent a fair amount of time in Volcano Rock City for past jobs, and even on several occasions for other clients; needing to spend time incognito as Rock Trolls, it was fairly easy to recognize them from afar.

Upon closer inspection, it did come across as rather curious to see them wearing Country attire. They couldn't be trying to blend in, could they?

No. Not by the way these two held themselves.

One Troll in various shades of blue in appearance, the other in peculiar shades of green from toe to tip. Both faces, still covered by wide brimmed hats. The blue Troll's demeanor was nervous right from the jump. Their green companion, holding them by the hand, grounding them. As if to keep them from sprinting away at a moment's notice. Both looking tired from the trek they must have taken from town to get to the Ranch property and from the sun's unforgiving afternoon rays.

Nothing but what seemed to be electric guitars and simple backpacks on their backs. However, these were definitely the most impressive guitars Hickory had seen in all his life.

The blue Troll’s, from what he could make out, was sage in color and looked as if it was made of some large critter's battered wing. Almost bat or reptilian in nature. The green Troll’s guitar, an imposing, venomous violet, crafted by what could only could be guessed as being once the claw and stinger of some scorpion-type critter. One he certainly wouldn't want to tango with.

Lackeys of Queen Barb’s? No... couldn't be.

"Nobody knows we're here"

"We've been so careful."

He repeated over and over to himself. Almost mantra-like. He really had no reason to be this paranoid he kept reminding himself.

“Who are the most feared Bounty Hunters and Mercenaries in all Trolldom?”

“The Yodel brothers. That's who.” He smirked at that last thought. Puffing his broad chest a bit more, in response to his inner pep-talk.

And no Troll, no matter now--

"H--Howdy!" The blue Troll, clearing their voice, shakily called out.

"Right fine day, isn't it?"

The traveler seemed to ease into the drawl like putting on an old pair of comfy shoes, and with each word, their confidence seemed to boost. Stepping forward from their green companion, they removed their wide brim hat and gandered up at Hickory, with a small smile that damn near made his heart leap through his throat. In a good way?

That was...unexpected.

His usual quick witted mind and tongue, on the spot turned into a train that just left the station.

Those eyes. Absolutely pierced him right through. Large, inquisitive, pale, cerulean eyes. Staring right at him under dark lashes, and surrounded by a cascade of cobalt freckles.

The closest shade of color he could compare those eyes to were a color he hadn't thought of in ages. Snow. Snow that as a Trolling he played in. Usually when you found yourself making forts or laying in heeps that came up so high, you would look, and you'd catch the glimmering sunlight, shining through it. A shade of blue that just melted you to the core and drew out a smile, without you being the wiser.

"Right fine.” he responded. Recovering from his wandering mind.

No time to be side tracked by an adorable, freckled, blue-eyed Troll. With sweet, curvy features, who has solid looking muscles that look they could easily crush--

"How can I help you? You folks seem a bit far away from home. Don't get a lot of Rock Trolls around these parts.”

Thank goodness his voice seemed to be the one on track; at the task at hand.

“Oi! What’s that supposed to mean?”

The green Troll stepped forward, hotly, removing their own hat, as to glare directly at him. Sizing him up. Only a tad taller, but much more lithe in figure to their companion. Definitely much more fierce. Not just in attitude, but in appearance. Their eyes, deep as sapphires. Teeth, the bottom row protruding two large tusk-like lower canines. Ears, pointed back and just as sharp as their claws, which he found himself one the other end of, being pointed at. Just as he felt his hair prickle, preparing himself for what was bound to happen next, the tension was immediately neutralized.

"It's okay Mess” The blue Troll cooed, calming the green one.

"Sorry to just come on over uninvited, but uh, does a Troll named July still live here?"

"You mean Miss July? Sure does. Why, if You don't mind my askin’?"

"Well you see, she's my... can--can I please talk to her? If she's around here today?”

A good long pause washed over the three.

Hickory could feel the trepidation radiating from Dickory behind him as he swished "their tail' in annoyance. Normally, if this was any other situation, it'd be too bad for these two. He'd send them right on their way, or worse if it came to it. They seemed capable. They had guitars, they were Rock Trolls. Random Rock Trolls, showing up, asking for not himself or his brother, but Miss July. Out of all the Country Trolls in Lonesome Flats.

But the waves of anxiety radiating from this freckled Troll were massive; and when their friend wasn't staring daggers at his direction, they were gazing so tenderly and sympathetically at them. These weren't agents of Queen Barbs. These seemed like folks on a sad mission of delivering news, or something of the like. They looked as though this was the last place they would ever want to be.

Dickory always insisted that Hickory was too quick to let his heart think first before his head when it came to their line of work. He didn't see it that way though. Hickory thought himself a good judge of character. Hell, that's why they found themselves in this situation now. Tipping his hat in a friendly manner, he smiled at the two.

"Well, why dontcha follow me then. I'm sure Miss July is making lunch right about now. You folks are just in time. Name's Hickory"

"Messy." replied the green.

The blue Troll remained silent.

"Adorabull got yer tongue cutie?" he teased

Those freckled cheeks lit up in seconds, a flushed lavender. Too cute.

"Somethin' like that' They smiled sheepishly.

All the while, as Hickory walked with the two up to the main building on the property, they stuck to idle chit-chat. About the weather or the nearby town. They passed by many of the fences that housed just some of Miss July's critters. As well as a few stables, paddocks, a decent sized workshed, and the small house the Yodelers had been staying in since they arrived here. It was once they passed that particular building, the blue Rocker stopped in their tracks momentarily. Just staring. Almost trance-like. They only moved again once Messy had firmly grabbed their hand and they followed.

Finally, they reached the main building's porch. The family home. Without any prompting, the two travelers waited at the bottom steps of the porch. Hickory nodded, thinking that might be best. He walked up to the open door. The wafting aroma of today's lunch filling his nostrils. Chili with sweet rolls? If he wasn't mistaken, he could smell fresh squeezed lemonade too. Knowing better to barge in while she was in the Kitchen...

"Pardon me, Miss July?" he called out.

"Dammit Hic, I told ya once, I'll tell ya again. Lunch is on when I ring the damn bell, that's when it’s good and ready!"

Hickory couldn't help but chuckle. That July was a firecracker.

"It's got nothin' to do with that Miss. You see, You've got yourself some visitors."

"For the last time Hic, just call me Jul--"

July emerged from the doorway, holding in each hand a glass of lemonade with mint garnish. No doubt as something to appease the Yodelers until lunch was done. As soon as her eyes met the two travelers, she stopped dead in her tracks. Glaring at them something fierce.

"These two are the visitors I was talkin' about."

"Rock Trolls, huh? Here? Whaddya want?"

The blue traveler, clearing their throat, voice cracking; they smiled, eyes glazed and sparkling with unshed tears. Staring at July as if a secret wish had been granted.

"Aunty Ju-Ju? It's m-me. It's Bloo. I'm home."

Bloo? That Bloo? Could it really be? Hickory didn't need to dwell on that too long though. July suddenly yelped out loud, in such a way that it startled absolutely everyone. Including herself apparently because those glasses in her hands dropped and shattered to bits.

"You couldn't be-- w-what kind of game are ya playin’ at?!"

July at a loss for words. This was serious. There she stood, knees buckling, lip quivering, tail thrashing. Unable to look away from the Troll in front of them at the end of her porch. A look of torment across their face.

Slowly, the freckled Troll smiled sadly, and reached behind their back for their instrument. Hickory acted quickly, putting himself between the two. Staring intently at the Rocker. They stared back, as they slowly brought the instrument forward.

"Please. Let me play?"

Hickory's nostrils flared, biting down hard on the straw in his mouth. How was he so stupid? Well, he wouldn't be fooled this time.

*~strum~*

Though the guitar was imposing and electric, with a stroke of their hand, it played a long, twangy, unmistakable, Country cord.

Silence.

Laying a hand on Hickory's shower, July gently moved him aside, her attention almost trance-like on the player. Waiting.

As if they understood, they shifted and picked up their guitar in earnest. Strumming again, but to a much more upbeat melody. Much more upbeat than most Country music Hickory had heard around town that he grew to enjoy. This sounded more... Pop? Much more like something he'd hear July singing on a day she was in a particularly good mood. Or something July’s elderly mother, the Pop Troll of the family might hum.

That's when they began to sing along, starting off slowly and gaining strength with each note. A large smile on their face as tears cascaded down their round cheeks. As if putting on the show of their lives. It was raw, and beautiful.

"She loves rock ‘n’ roll,

they said it's demons’ tongue,

She thinks they're too old.

They think she's too young,

And the battle lines are clearly drawn.”

“She's a wild one,

with an angel's face,

She's a lovely Troll in a state of grace,

When she was three years old on her daddy's knee,

He said you can be anythin’ you wanna be.

She's a wild one.

Runnin' free."

“She has future plans,

and dreams at night,

they tell her life is hard,

she smiles, sayin’ “that’s alright”, yeah!”

“She’s a wild one,

With an angel’s face,

She’s a lovely Troll in a state of grace,

When she was three years old on her daddy’s knee,

He said you can be anythin’ you wanna be.

She’s a wild one.

Runnin’ free.”

"She's a wild one”~~

"~~Runnin' free.” July finished and sobbed the last line.

"That was the song I wrote for your Mama... all them years ago..My Bloo. My little ‘Bloo-Jay’ came home!"

Hickory stood fully aside now, allowing the two to embrace, for what he now had realized had been the first time in more than two decades. An embrace that both warmed and broke your heart, all at the same time. This was July's pride and joy. Her niece. Bloo, the only child of July's older sister June.

June and July were extremely close sisters. Best friends even.

June was a very free spirited Troll who fancied herself a part-time singer at one of the local bars in town. On one of these trips to town, she met a traveling Rock Troll by the name of Ziggy. Busking for food and drink. Let's just say, it didn't take long at all until wedding bells were ringing and Ziggy was part of the happy family here on the Ranch. The couple waited a while before having a Trolling. The two were busy enjoying married life, Ziggy took June traveling, fulfilling her dreams of seeing life outside Lonesome Flats. And wherever they went, they were singing up a storm. When they returned home to settle down, at any bar or club, or bingo hall that would have them, they continued singing their hearts out. Occasionally even dragging July along. The three of them became inseparable. Especially after Bloo was born. The townsfolk even seemed to warm up to the entire, oddball family. It was all turning up roses for the family finally, after what felt like ages of trying to live in harmony. But it all came to a crushing end.

Shortly after Bloo turned five years old, a serious, contagious illness spread throughout Lonesome Flats. Most folks who caught it, eventually recovered, but there were eight fatalities in the end. June was one of them. The family was torn to pieces by June’s passing. Ziggy just wasn't the same Troll after. A year passed and just as they thought things might slowly start looking up, Ziggy and Bloo were gone.

Apparently he had packed himself and Bloo up one night, and just left without a word. July knew he had family back home in Volcano Rock City, and figured that is where he would take Bloo to raise them. But July dared not go there. For good reason. A Pop-Country Troll, travel to Volcano Rock City? Demand her niece back from a heartbroken father? While leaving her extremely elderly parents to fend for themselves? No. July would be turned away or torn to pieces. King Thrash at the time was feared for good reason in those days and most Trolls feared Rock Trolls the most out of all the other Tribes.

July and her folks basically moved on by learning to mourn the loss of June, Bloo, and Ziggy. They never expected to ever see Bloo or Ziggy again. Yet here Bloo was. Embracing their aunt, while Hickory and Messy looked on fondly. His smile grew wider as he realized how overjoyed July's folks: Clay and May, would be to see their grand-baby again. Something they thought they'd never live to see.

He could see it now that he got a better look at Bloo, as they were bombarded with kisses and hugs, that they did share a little resemblance to their Pop-Country Aunt. Though without a doubt, they took after their father Ziggy the most. No wonder Bloo wasn't easily recognizable at first glance, they looked so different in comparison to how they looked back then as a Trolling.

Who would have thought that he'd meet the Troll who's childhood pictures adorned the home he and his brother were staying in? Which happened to be Bloo's Old family home on the Ranch. The same house they had stopped to stare at on their way to the main house.

"Small world we live in!” He barked with laughter.

"Welcome home Miss Bloo, glad to meetcha." And he meant it, whole heartedly.

"Glad to be home again.”

END.

(Song used was Faith Hill’s ‘Wild One’. Tweaked for this story)

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st4rlabsforever · 3 years

Text

plant dads sam and bucky fic that absolutely no one asked for. you can read this as a one-shot but it’s part of a longer thing i’ll post on ao3 only when it’s complete. if you’re curious, this is what the pothos (heart-shaped leaves) looks like. the other plant is a crimson queen hoya. reposting for the evening crowd :)

It starts with a couple of houseplants in the corner of his living room. Sam doesn’t even notice them at first, nondescript as they are, hanging from one of the windows behind his couch. One of them has long, heart-shaped leaves with splashes of white over them while the other has waxy green leaves with white accents around the edges.

Huh.

He doesn’t think much of it initially – assumes Sarah wanted to liven up the space – but then he finds Bucky honest-to-god humming to himself one morning while tending to the plants with a bright blue watering can.

“So you’re a horticulturist now, huh?” Sam asks.

Bucky turns around with a little ‘oh’ under his breath and sleep still weighing heavy on his eyes. Sam tries not to pay attention to how cute he looks with his hair all sleep-tousled and unkempt.

“I like ‘em,” Bucky says softly. “Sarah said I could set up by the windows.”

“This a new thing?” Sam asks, feeling the heart-shaped leaves between the pads of his fingers. The plants are honestly a nice touch. “I didn’t know you were into houseplants.”

Bucky shrugs. “I had a lot of time in Wakanda. New hobbies, you know? Didn’t have much time in New York, but I figured now’s as good a time as any.”

There’s no trace of a frown or scowl or glare in the lines of Bucky’s face. This, combined with how soft he looks in his sweats and ratty t-shirt, makes it impossible to ignore just how young and unguarded Bucky is here. In Louisiana. In Sam’s home. It’s hard for Sam not to be struck by the domesticity of it all.

The thing is, though, that it’s such a far cry from normal that Sam’s really not sure how to process it. On the surface, he’s glad Bucky’s managed to carve out a slice of happiness for himself – the guy deserves it after all he’s been through. It’s just that this burgeoning friendship with Bucky is another thing to add to the list of sudden changes in his life that threatens to wash over him like a yawning tide.

And it’s taken Sam a minute to realize it, but he’s not the kind of person who necessarily does well with change. He’d been running through the motions after he’d lost Riley. Sure, he’d rolled with the punches just fine when Steve had come calling for help, running from HYDRA, then the U.S. government, even fighting for the fate of the universe, but he’d just been trading one problem for another. The Paul & Darlene for his wings, the failing family business for his fugitive status, not to mention his deteriorating relationship with Sarah and the boys for an intergalactic war with Thanos.

Nothing had been easy once he’d settled back down in Delacroix, but they’d been steady, is the thing. He’d had his contract with the Air Force and he’d known what he’d had to do to get the business back on its feet. It’d been a shitty hand he and Sarah had been dealt – had been for as long as they’d been alive – but Sam had been present. Finally with the resolve to deal with his issues head-on and prove to Sarah that he wouldn’t be disappearing again.

And then Germany happened. Madripoor, Riga, New York.

In the heat of battle, with the adrenaline pumping and the cameras rolling, it’d been easy to step fully into the title that came with the shield. Afterwards, though? When the celebrations are over and the high wears off, he’s left feeling jittery and uncertain. It’s not only the gaze of an entire country bearing down upon him, but the fear that he’s falling into old ways again. That whatever the stars and stripes have on the horizon for him will break this tenuous peace he finally has in Delacroix.

It occurs to him that maybe he deserves to have his cake and eat it, too. Just this once. He wonders what happiness would look like. How it would feel to successfully juggle his duties as Captain America with his commitments to his community and family. Maybe even start a family of his own one day.

And of course, there’s Bucky. Their friendship is undeniably different after the trials of the past month – the good kind of different. Yet it’s something precious that Sam can privately admit to himself he doesn’t want to lose, and in that sense it’s just another new thing he’s got to learn to navigate around.

For now, though, he can enjoy this quiet moment with Bucky when there’s no one but family around to scrutinize their every movement.

“You know,” Sam says lightly, “I’ve always wanted some houseplants. Seemed like the adult thing to do.” It’d never been possible before, what with him running from war to battle to catastrophe, but maybe now is as good a time as any for a fresh start.

Bucky’s eyes light up like a pair of firecrackers, bright and eager and excited, and it leaves Sam reeling in the humanity of it. He’s not sure there’s anyone alive right now who’s ever seen Bucky like this.

“Here,” Bucky says, pulling a pair of small garden shears out of God knows where and beginning to cut up a vine on the heart-shaped plant. “This one’s called a pothos. Marble queen pothos.”

He holds up one of the cuttings for Sam to inspect. “See the little green nub on the stem?”

Sam dutifully moves in closer for a better look.

“That’s a node. As long as you’ve got one of ‘em on a cutting, it’ll grow a brand new plant from there.”

“Huh. That’s neat.”

“The white marbling is actually a genetic mutation,” Bucky continues. His voice is raspy from sleep, and him being a geek about plants of all things shouldn’t be so endearing, but it is. “So you need to have the white streaks over the node if you want the marbling to continue.”

“What’re these little growths next to the node?” Sam asks.

“Oh,” Bucky says with a little huff of excitement. “Those are aerial roots. In the wild, the plants use ‘em to anchor to trees and grow above the tree cover, but in soil they’ll just become the new root system for the cutting.”

“Man, what the hell,” Sam says, laughing.

“What?”

“How is this the first I’m learning of your green thumb?”

“There’s lots of things you don’t know about me,” Bucky says, but there’s no heat behind it. “Besides, it’s not like I’ve had time for hobbies since getting de-iced.”

Sam snorts. That was the truth, wasn’t it?

“Can you get the potting mix?” Bucky asks. “I put it in the storage closet.”

He’s already puttering around with an old takeout container while Sam heads over to get the soil. It should probably be a little more jarring to Sam that Bucky’s only been here for a week and he’s already populated the little closet with an array of gardening tools. There’s the bag of potting mix, a sack of dusty white pebbles labeled ‘horticultural perlite’, more pruning shears, and a large assortment of plastic and clay pots. When had Bucky even had the time to get all of this?

He returns with the mix and wordlessly passes it to Bucky, who fills in the plastic container with the soil, sticks the little cuttings right in, and hands the whole thing over to Sam.

“It’s yours,” Bucky says with an air of satisfaction. “Once the cuttings begin to root, they’ll grow new leaves. You just gotta keep the soil moist for the first couple of weeks.”

“You know I don't know the first thing about plants, right?” Sam says, amused.

“That’s what you’ve got me for.” Bucky flashes him a blinding grin. It’s the kind of declaration that should feel more significant than it actually does in the moment.

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky you’ve got south-facing windows, more like. Can’t really get this in New York without all the high rises blocking out the sun.”

Right. Sam enjoys city life as much as the next guy, but nothing beats the full warmth of the Louisiana sun.

“I’d water them every other day to start, and we can adjust from there,” Bucky says, nodding at the new plant in Sam’s hands.

We. Sam can’t say he’s as enthusiastic as Bucky about growing houseplants from scratch, but he does like the idea of the two of them having a project that’s just for them. And there’s something just a little poetic about spawning new life from practically nothing. A new beginning to go along with their new friendship – this new chapter of both of their lives. Sam could get behind that. He sets a reminder on his phone so he doesn’t forget to water the pothos.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #my writing

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kiame-sama · 4 years

Text

28 years (1st pregnancy)- Yandere!Silva x Reader (tiny lime)

One of you lovies, requested to know what I think Silva acted like during the first pregnancy in 28 Years! I am currently working on part 3 of 28 years and should have it out sometime soon, but for now, here's the backstory of when Illumi was born! If you would like more from this vein, perhaps I'll just make 28 years into a full-blooded story!

Warnings; mention of blood, protective Silva, mention of adult themes from '28 Years', the struggles of pregnancy, mention of abusive behavior, hypersensitivity, surprisingly fluffy moments, a bit of ooc, Silva's depravity, creepy moments, ANGST, tiny lime moment, milk (women do produce it during pregnancy, after all), MORE ANGST, mention of depression,

~~~~~~

That night, after the female doctor checked you and confirmed you were pregnant, almost everything changed.

She had confirmed you were pregnant after her initial inspection and was promptly told to leave. Quickly following, you had fallen back into a fitful sleep, tired from your sudden sickness and the realization that you were carrying this monster's infant.

You woke up several hours later in your bed, feeling more well rested than you had in years. The room from the beginning had been rather sparsely decorated and had a few modest blankets over the slightly uncomfortable bed.

But now, everything was different.

The bed beneath you was unbelievably soft and plush. It was far more comfortable than it had been before, practically enveloping your body and supporting you. It was covered with a heavenly cloth that was what you assumed to be some kind of high-grade material that you could never afford. Many blankets and similar items had been added during your nap, and they now wrap around your figure comfortably.

Shelves, drawers, and other such things had been added to the room as well. You quickly noticed that all sharp corners and hard edges on the furniture had been sanded smooth. The hard floor had been covered with what looked to be unbelievably soft carpet.

It stunned you and you almost got up before voices came close, quickly pretending you were asleep, making sure to keep your breaths even.

"-stays comfortable. If I didn't know better, I would say you've become more than just interested in her, Silva."

"I told you from the first day she arrived, I have no intention of leaving or losing her."

"Your children are next in the Zoldyck line, so they should carry on the family business and name."

"I'm not losing her to anything, old-man. I'm not losing her to illness. I'm not letting her go. And I'm not losing her life for an heir."

"Her having your child proves she is yours and only yours, doesn't it?"

"..."

"That's what you want, isn't it? That's what you've wanted from the moment you first laid eyes on her. You've wanted her to belong to you, to love you, to worship you like you do to her. You want her to fear you enough to respect your authority, but refuse to actually lay a harmful hand on her. You need her like a drug so you refuse to let her go. You don't want to lose her? Then don't."

"..."

After another moment of silence, you heard the door to your room open for a moment before before gently closing, Silva likely checking in on you. It was odd, as he didn't usually show much concern for your desires or comfort. He would take you when he wished even if you didn't want him to, he always had that strong chain keeping you from being able to reach the door or window, he hardly cared if you wanted to leave or wanted him to leave.

But now it sounded like your captor showed more concern for you than he had initially let on. You had been so scared that he would truly kill you if you didn't obey, but Zeno is making it seem like Silva would never actually harm you like that. He likely needed you more than even he thought, so he refuses to bargain your health for anything.

"Fine. But I'm not taking contracts while she is pregnant."

"That's fine."

"And if it is between her life or the infant's, there is no question that I will choose for her to live. If she dies and the child lives, I'll kill it myself."

You shivered at the sudden dark tone that his voice had taken and you tried not to flinch or react when the door opened again. You couldn't hear the approaching footsteps but you continued your act, laying as still and relaxed as you possibly could. Just because you knew he wouldn't kill you now, doesn't mean you wanted to push him that far just to test it out.

If he thought you were resting, you may learn even more on how you might escape or what you could use to your advantage. For a moment you considered holding the life of the infant hostage, but it was clear he didn't care about the child enough to release you. That thought, however, quickly left your mind as you knew it wouldn't work and you didn't want to draw an innocent life into it.

The child may be of your captor, but an infant shouldn't bear the sins of the parent. If you really were stuck here, why would you ever allow the child to be hurt by your hands? No. As long as you could help it, your child will be safe from their dangerous father and will be protected in your arms.

The bed slightly slumped somewhere near your body as Silva sat down. You knew it was him from the moment the door had opened, but the slight trailing touch on your shoulder confirmed it. Silva barely allowed the female doctor to touch you, so of course he wouldn't let Zeno touch you.

"It seems you truly do care for the woman. At first it seemed that this was just lust, but that isn't it. You love this woman, don't you?"

"... Yes."

The sudden voice of Zeno almost made you jolt as it seems both assassins were in the room with you. Silva was closer to you, judging by the volume of his voice. Another soft touch on your shoulder slightly soothed you, as you were feeling more than a little starved for gentle contact.

You let yourself enjoy the moment, even if it was gentle affection from the man who destroyed your life. The continued gentle action made you actually slip into sleep, resting easy even with two killers nearby.

~~~~~~

You were around three months into your pregnancy and you almost felt like you were actually in a relationship with the terrifying man.

Almost.

You were still collared and your collar was still attached to a chain. You weren't allowed to go outside, no matter how many times or what way you asked.

Beyond that, however, Silva was more accommodating and gentle with you. He no longer took you against your will anymore, instead he held you close and had you sit on his lap. You weren't ecstatic about being forced to cuddle with him, but it was better than the alternative.

He spent almost all of his time with you, needing some kind of contact with you at all times. You faintly assumed it was his way of satisfying his need for you that didn't involve fucking you.

You were currently seated upon his lap, reading a book from the many he had left in the room for you. It was some kind of adventure book, but you weren't really paying attention. As you went to flip to the next page, a sudden pain in your abdomen forced you to drop it, letting out a light cry of pain.

"What? What's wrong? Answer me!"

You felt his form rigid beneath you, one of his hands on your thigh and the other on your stomach. You shook your head, getting your breath back from being so suddenly winded by the sharp pain.

"It's done... It's done..."

"What is?"

"The pain... It's gone..."

"What happened?"

Silva's voice was a low growl and his grip on your leg tightened slightly. He seemed more stressed than you were at that moment and you hesitantly rested your hands over his. At the warmth of your hands he slowly relaxed, frowning in displeasure.

"I don't know what happened. It's probably nothing."

"I'm having your doctor check you."

"I said it's nothing."

"And I say you are going to be checked. I already dislike the pregnancy, I'm not going to let you die and leave me because of it."

He moved to set you gently on the couch as he left to retrieve the kind doctor.

You almost wanted to sigh in displeasure at the idea. Though you appreciated your doctor you felt like you had seen her almost every day.

Her name was Kikyo and she served two roles at the Zoldyck estate. The first being your doctor, as she was well versed in medicine. The second being your decoy.

Apparently her family tried to set her up with Silva and quickly abandoned her afterwards. Zeno often refered to her with a cruel title, "that useless woman," as she was infertile. Her family had been slaughtered for daring to try and trick them, and only by her medical abilities was she saved from suffering the same fate.

Shortly after she arrived at the estate, Silva had brought you in as well. She was the only female there who had medical experience and so she was spared under the condition of playing her two roles.

As your doctor, she obviously took over your primary care. As your stand-in, she was the one who attended meetings and other things of the like to seem like she was married to Silva. Others only saw her and not you, meaning she would be targeted should anyone try to attack the family.

You had made a pact with her, that if anything should happen to you, she would take your child and run. She couldn't have children and you could never leave. You both suffered something and so, you both connected on a different level. Outside of other Zoldycks, she was the only one allowed to come see you.

She was an unlikely friend in your dark new life. You took comfort in her presence and she took comfort in yours. Though you two barely got to speak due to Silva's possessive behavior, you had both formed a near unbreakable friendship.

You looked up when the door opened once more, Silva entering followed closely by Kikyo. You kept a calm facade as you knew that Silva would become jealous should you show excitement upon seeing her, and you would rather not risk the life of your friend.

"What's happening?"

"Sudden sharp pain. It didn't last long, but it certainly was there."

"Centered around the stomach?"

"Yes."

You sat as still as possible, feeling Silva's eyes bore into you from across the room as Kikyo examined you. She gently lifted your loose shirt to prod gently at your stomach. You let out a small squeak of pain when she put light pressure in a certain spot, making her focus on that area.

"It just started today?"

"Yeah..."

"And localized around here primarily?"

"Yes."

"Hm... Might have to preform an ultrasound to see what's going on. Women are more likely to lose their child around the end of the first trimester at three months in. Could be the embryotic sack has been punctured, or it is just a simple pain of your body adjusting to the child. Regardless, it should be checked."

You nodded and she stood, looking over at Silva.

"Sir, I will need to retrieve the ultrasound equipment. Likely should do it soon since these pains can indicate something life-threatening to both her and the-"

"Stay here. I will send out others to retrieve it immediately."

Kikyo nodded and returned to kneeling in front of you, continuing her examination of your slightly swelling stomach. Silva paused at the door, only for a moment and looked back at you and Kikyo, his eyes cold as the darkest ice.

"If she dies or if anything happens to her, I will torture you for days on end and flay you alive. Understood?"

"... Yes, sir."

With that he left, closing the door behind him. You wasted no time in resting your hands on her shoulders and pulling her into a hug, both to comfort her and yourself.

"I wish he didn't threaten you, I'm so sorry..."

"It's not your fault. We were both thrown unwillingly into this life. We didn't choose this, it was chosen for us. I'm just glad I can help in whatever way I can."

~~~~~~

Five months in and you were already so sick of it. Sick of being stuck in a room. Sick of being told to sit down and rest. Sick of having cravings. All of it.

Pickles and chocolate sauce? Watermelon and pretzels? And damn it, you could barely remember things at times. SIMPLE things. And not to mention all of the tossing and turning because nothing was comfortable anymore.

And the mood-swings. Oh hell, the mood-swings. You can be happily pacing as you've taken to recently, but the moment Silva tells you to sit and rest you're sobbing hysterically or shouting at him. Your faintly surprised he hasn't retaliated or snapped at you. No, he just stays infuriatingly calm and holds you until you calm down or pass out.

It was surprisingly more comfortable to sit on him than the couch or bed, as the way you can lean back and still have support around your stomach did wonders for the back pain.

You leaned back against the warm chest behind you, wanting to just sleep and relax instead of pacing as you usually did. You were starting to slip into sleep when you tugged at your shirt, feeling a wet sensation on your chest.

You opened your eyes to snap at Silva for toying with you, but his hands were resting beneath your stomach. A small bit of confusion sparked in your tired mind so you reached up to examine your shirt. Indeed, there were two wet spots on your shirt.

Out of confusion and lack of caring, you lifted your top completely to examine your chest. To your surprise, white liquid was beading up on your breasts.

"What the hell..?"

Your question drew Silva's attention, making him lean forward to see what you were looking at.

"Seems you've started producing milk early."

"But... That isn't supposed to happen until right before the baby's born..."

"It can happen early... Sometimes months early."

One hand slowly trailed up your stomach, making you shiver in stress. His movement was so slow and sensual that you felt worried he would try something, seeing as he had left you alone for months now. You let out a soft whimper when he cupped your chest, thumb gathering the liquid.

He growled at your whimper, retracting his hand from you and licking the cream off of his thumb. His pupils were fully dilated and focused only on you. He was snapped out of his trance-like state when you protectively wrapped your arms around your stomach.

He stopped himself and frowned, letting his hands rest where they had been, the lust was clear in his eyes. It seemed to be ripping him to pieces to have to resist touching you. His eyes trailed to your stomach and you could have sworn you saw hate in them. When he spoke next, it was softer, gentler. Almost like a low croon.

"You know... I have no intention of sharing you with anyone. No one gets to touch you like I do and no one should even lay their eyes on you other than me. Do you know what I thought when I saw you for the first time?"

"..."

"I thought I had died and actually woke up in the afterlife. I don't believe in any of that, even if my great-grandfather does. But I honestly thought you were an angel."

"..what-?"

"From that moment I knew I had to have you. To hold you. To keep you in my arms. I knew I wasn't going to share you with anyone or let anyone take you from me. So I clipped your wings. Now my angel can't fly away from me. Now you're for my eyes only."

His low voice in your ear made a whimper escape your lips, very suddenly feeling unsafe in his arms. You slowly wrapped your arms around you, moving your hands beneath his, not wanting him to touch your stomach anymore.

His eyes flickered for only a moment, to you stomach and then back at you, a displeased look in his eyes. You began to feel more attached to the life growing within you, now wanting to keep both you and your child safe from the man who claimed to love you.

~~~~~~

Eight months.

Eight long months.

You've begun to notice how Silva has been acting more and more aggressive than usual. He is becoming visibly irate whenever he looks at your stomach, seeming to dislike how he had to leave you alone. He was antsy, he was impatient, he wanted nothing to do with the impending arrival of the infant.

It was only now that you realized what could happen to you. Silva already disliked the child and he had spoken many times about refusing to share you. The child you have been trying so hard to protect would be taken from you.

You just knew it. He would never let you keep your baby.

You began to refuse to let him touch your stomach. You refused to let him hold you. When you would sleep, you did so on your side, facing away from him.

Your actions seemed to bother him in a whole new way. At one point, he seemed to be affectionate towards the life inside of you, even waking you in the night while speaking to it. But now, he was a completely different person.

It seemed he disliked sharing your attention with the soon to be born infant. Like he no longer saw it as a way to possess you, but a threat to his time with you. A threat to him.

Your actions of turning away from him only made it worse. Instead of protecting the child, you only made him begin to loathe it. It threatened him now, and it was taking the attention he felt entitled to.

You worried what would happen when the child was finally born.

~~~~~~

The unconscious woman awoke with a start, panting heavily and looking around. She was in bed. The lights in the room were turned off, and a figure slept next to her.

The first thing she noticed was that her stomach was no longer as extended as it had once been. An emptiness within that made a whimper escape her lips. Her hand resting over her stomach.

"You're awake."

A deep voice from the figure beside her rumbled out, slowly sitting up.

"Where is he?"

"Who?"

"You know who! Where is my baby?"

"..."

"Damn it, answer me!"

"Dead. Died during birth."

The world shattered in that moment. Nothing was real. Nothing made sense.

"I don't believe you... I don't believe you! You killed him didn't you!?"

"(Y/n), stop. This isn't-"

"I heard him cry. I know my baby didn't die during birth. I heard him cry."

The tense silence was nearly deafening, only to be broken by sobs as her anger gave way to crushing grief.

"(Y/n)-"

"Don't touch me you murderer! You killed my baby! You couldn't stand me looking at anyone but you, so you killed him!"

"I did not kill the infant-"

"Stop lying to me!"

She slowly stumbled out of bed, covering her eyes and sobbing. Silva let her go, knowing she would react this way. Of course, he could have told her that the child survived, and the both of them almost died after she gave birth. But he didn't want her to know the child was still alive.

He believed lying to her was more merciful so she could move on faster. But, if she learns the child is still alive, she will never let it go.

But he was wrong. He was so wrong. It had been weeks, and still she wept. Still she paced. Still she pulled on her chain desperately towards the door, hand stretched out as far as possible.

She refused to be consoled, practically feral every time he tried to touch her. She suffered. She would sit for hours, nearly choking herself in attempts to get out to search for any sign of her child being alive. She would pace with empty eyes, arms wrapped around herself as if to try and keep it together.

She was lost. She wailed until her voice was gone. She clawed at him until his arms bled- a rather impressive feat on its own- leaving scars behind.

Then, three weeks after being separated from her child, she disappeared. Her collar on the floor, door open, and nowhere in sight.

"No one saw her leave!? All of you, eyes everywhere and not one of you saw her get out?! Search for her. Now. If any of you dare come back empty-handed I will slaughter all of you."

The butlers scrambled and scurried from the room like rats, all terrified to look back at those cold blue eyes.

"Where is the infant?"

"She wanted him to be named Illumi, and he's in the nursery. She didn't take him. I doubt she even knew he was still alive."

"She's convinced that he is."

"And she's right. It was a foolish mistake to take him from her. She-"

Silva's fist silenced the chastising words of his father, the very wall cracking and breaking. His hand was sunk into the concrete and the metal behind it was bending under the pressure. He had done it with his own raw strength and rage at his little darling being allowed to slip away. He didn't use his Nen, but his bare hand.

"I know. I'm well aware it was foolish. But someone let her out."

"What do you mean?"

"She was set loose by someone. The collar was opened, not torn. The door was unlocked, not burst open. Her tracker was removed, by someone who knew it was there."

"Someone helped her escape."

The soft sound of heels clicking against the ground drew the attention of the two men. Kikyo had arrived.

"There is no blood in the room. So she wasn't taken by force. There were no prints either. Nothing but her own. There is a slight residue left behind, likely from disposable gloves. She was let out by someone who knew what they were doing. Whoever it was likely told her the true fate of her infant."

"If that's so, why didn't she take him?"

"Perhaps she knew not to. She could have assumed that the child is alive somewhere else, or she could believe that the child is safer if she didn't take him."

Silva was about to turn his rage against Kikyo before a soft knock sounded. Silva did not move from his spot, fist still sunken deep within the wall. Zeno was the one to open the door and receive the news, knowing what would result the moment Silva heard it.

"She's been located."

"Where?"

~~~~~~

Empty eyes.

Devoid of light, of emotion, of anyone still left within.

Like a doll with all of the stuffing having been torn out. She doesn't move anymore. She doesn't eat. She doesn't make a single sound.

She sits with her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms around them. She hasn't blinked for who knows how long. Her arms and legs covered in blooming purple marks shaped like hands. She doesn't even cry anymore.

"What is wrong with her? Answer me now."

"She's checked out completely."

"The hell does that mean?"

"It means she's so mentally, physically, and emotionally broken she's not there anymore. Maybe deep inside, buried away, but that isn't her anymore. Humans can withstand many things that should kill them. But those who go through extreme loss, or abuse-"

The doctor was cut off, a hand wrapped tightly around her neck, causing her to choke. She tried weakly to claw at the iron grip, though her nails didn't even break the skin.

"Choose your next words wisely. I do not abuse my wife. She needed to learn that running from me solves nothing for her. It only results in suffering to leave. She will not leave again. And if she doesn't leave, she won't be hurt again."

With that he dropped the choking woman to the ground, watching with cold eyes as she gasped and fought to breathe. Still, the woman in the corner did not move, her eyes staring through everyone. She was gaunt, pale, and seemed lifeless.

"She won't come back. Not on her own. You say you taught her to not run? She won't. Not anymore. She isn't even in there anymore to think about running."

Even in his anger, he knew she was right. He knew he had gone too far. He knew his little wife was broken. He hadn't intended on pushing her that far or harming her as he did. Her flame was gone. Her eyes were empty.

That was not his angel. That was a shell.

"Then how do I fix it?"

"I don't know."

"How do I fix it!?"

"I don't know!"

The cry of an infant was heard clearly throughout the room, nearly echoing off the walls. It had come from the door that led out of the cell, and was getting louder.

"What the hell is that old fool doing? Does he honestly think bringing that thing will help-"

"Baby?"

A croaking and strained voice met Silva's ears, silencing him and drawing his complete attention.

She had moved.

She could barely crawl, let alone walk, but still she was drawn to the door, like a moth to a flame. She reached the length of the chain and still kept trying to reach the door, whining in desperation.

"Baby..! My baby..!"

Her voice was strained and gasping but still she extended her arms as far as she could reach, choking herself with the collar. Then it finally opened as Zeno entered, a swaddling of blankets in his arms fussing and crying.

"Baby! BABY!"

Her voice was screeching at this point, fingers tense with stained muscles, all of her energy focused on reaching out to the tiny life in the arms of the elder. He did not hesitate to place the crying infant into her arms, allowing her to retreat to her corner with the bundle held close.

Curling her body protectively, she gently moved the blankets from the face of her child. A soft cooing noise coming from deep within her as she rocked the infant.

"My baby... My Illumi... My light..."

She continued to coo low hums and soft whispering to the now quiet child. Her entire being seeming to strain and hurt, but she still smiled, rocking the infant slowly.

Zeno then joined the two who were silenced by the sudden revitalization of the previously broken woman.

"How did you know that would work?"

"Boy, do you think you're the only one in the entire family who has found someone this precious to them? It tends to run in the family. Yes, you went too far. We all did. Wonder why you're an only child? Why I am an only child? The only difference is she was able to be brought back, and you had better not do it again, do you hear me? You don't know what that loss truly feels like. It will destroy you if you let it. I didn't let it. My father did."

There was a silence in the air at the revelation. The realization of what could happen and what has happened.

"You do not harm her again, because she won't survive it. You will not take that child away until she has healed. And you damn well won't allow this to happen again."

The gentle cooing continued, followed by soft sounds of an infant babbling. Small hands rest against the pale (s/c) cheeks of his mother, large doll eyes gazing up intelligently. He knew who she was. He had heard her voice many times. She was comfort, and her heartbeat gently pulled him into sleep.

"Baby... My baby."

Her soft words carried as she curled on her side, cradling the infant and using her arms as a bed. Her back turned to the others, facing the corner and humming softly, joining the infant in slumber.

"I won't let her get like this again."

#Silva Zoldyck #hxh silva #Silva #daddy silva #silva x reader #yandere #yandere silva x reader #yandere silva #Female reader #fem reader #pregnant reader

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turquoise-skyyyy · 3 years

Text

The Solution To Everything(Is Hair Dye)

Note: Human AU! First time posting writing on tumblr lmao, and I wanted to try a bit of a different writing style... so there’s that.

Just a little writing practice paired with Marellinh fluff n kinda angst ig :)

Word count: uhhh i went overboard

Blurb: Linh is lonely, with no one in the world left by her side, hurt, by all that she’s lost, and possibly has an ever-so-slight crush on her elusive blonde neighbor. Marella needs someone to dye her hair within the day, and Linh happens to have exactly what she needs, in more ways than one.

When Linh wakes late in the night, startled from her dozing state on the couch in her dimly lit living room to the sound of persistent knocking, she certainly doesn’t expect to find the blonde neighbor she’s been inconspicuously watching— she’s still trying to convince herself that casually watching the girl enter her house anytime she got the chance wasn’t stalking— for the past three weeks since she moved in next door to be on the other side. And when the panting girl in front of her sucks in a breath, Linh definitely doesn’t expect the words that spill from her lips—

“Can you dye my hair?”

Linh blinks with bewilderment, still trying to process that the girl is here, on her doorstep. Not to mention really, really pretty. Annoyingly so, to the point where Linh’s tired brain has to avert her eyes to focus on forcing her mouth to form words.

“What?”

The girl smiles apologetically, and suddenly Linh’s throat feels dry. The girl’s beauty is much more manageable from a distance, through subtle glances out of the corner of her eye across the hall.

“My roomates— screw them— dared me to dye my hair bright green by tomorrow. I lost a bet.” She looks away. “And you have green hair dye, so...”

Linh stares dumbly, trying to puzzle out how to respond to such a random, odd request. Though she moved into the apartment complex almost a month ago and her maybe sort of possible little crush lives just next door, her mind is still trying to register the fact that they have finally crossed paths. And the girl has come to her, no less.

“How do you know I have hair dye?” The hair dye is something she’s gotten to send to Tam. The silver in his hair is something he kept in long after she cut it off and cut off their parents. He still hangs on, and Linh wants to change that, even if they haven’t spoken in a year. She isn’t going to send it though, she knows. She always chickens out. Her brother’s silence for the past year isn’t easy to face. Still, she buys brightly-colored dyes frequently on the off chance that a lightning strike of confidence will hit her. It hasn’t happened yet, but it’s a comforting routine anyway.

The girl blushes, scratching the back of her neck bashfully and shifting from foot to foot. The movement draws Linh’s eyes to her shoes. They’re ratty sneakers, and upon closer inspection, it looks like there are messy, multi-colored words scribbled all over the sides. The weird shoes match the long, tacky rainbow socks that go up to her knees and the bright, tie-dye, too big sweater draped over her surprisingly small frame, with black leggings to top off the outfit underneath.

“Well, I saw you coming back in from the supermarket yesterday and there was a box of green hair dye poking out of the bags...” she trails off. “Oh my god. I sound like a stalker, don’t I? I swear I’m not.”

Linh can’t help the delirious, sleep-deprived giggle that escapes at the words. It’s ridiculous to her, that the girl she’s been following and observing as subtly as humanly possible because she’s just so pretty and Linh wants to know everything is the one worrying about being a creep.

The girl grins at her laughter, the question still burning in her eyes, which are an even brighter shade of blue than Linh realized up close.

She clicks her phone on, checking the time discreetly. It’s late, nearly midnight. The hair dye takes at least an hour, most likely more, to finish. She has an exam at nine the next day that she still hasn’t studied for and she hasn’t yet messaged Tam for her daily one-sided check-in that he never responds to, or even reads.

She looks back up at the girl with thin braids threaded through thick, golden locks, framing beautiful ice blue eyes set in a still blushing face, waiting for her at her doorstep with an open gaze and just maybe, an open mind.

Her stupid, fluttering heart makes a decision before her rational mind can catch up.

“Come on in.”

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

The girl, who introduces herself as Marella, asks her if she’s always so quiet.

Linh snorts, resisting the urge to point out that Marella is the one invading the house of a relative stranger in the middle of the night. Of course, there’s also the fact that she let her, and that isn’t even considering how flustered the blonde makes her. Especially in such close proximity, where she can smell the faint lavender wafting off her hair. Linh never would have pegged her for a lavender girl.

And when she leans closer to touch up the roots again, she realizes that Marella smells of something spicy. It’s good, comforting, like the home-cooked meals made with love that Linh only ever got to experience in other people’s houses because hers never truly felt like home, or the smell of wood when it was burned in a desperate attempt to keep the warmth in the winter because woolen hats and group hugs were never quite enough to warm everyone’s toes.

Linh has to remind herself to keep working her fingers through the hair.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Linh is thankful when the summer sun finally leaks away and is replaced by autumn wind. There’s something calming about the crisp air blowing through the hair that escapes from tightly-zipped thin hoodies and the leaves bleeding red and gold. She much prefers it to the heat of the summer, or the harshness of winter, the temperatures of which she can never quite escape from completely.

When she pulls open the doors to a nearby cafe and lets the smell of warmth and caffeine wash over her face, and falls into line to order, she isn’t expecting to be behind a girl with a mane of blonde hair that’s streaked through with bright green that hurt the eyes and small braids that sway when she shifts. And Linh’s weeks of watching from a distance pay off— and the hard-to-ignore green certainly helps— because she recognizes the girl immediately.

It’s Marella, sporting the new, significantly greener look that she gained by Linh’s own hands. Linh blushes at the reminder of the night weeks ago. She’s surprised to find that it was the first time she’s seen the girl since their unintentional night together. She’s been so occupied with settling in, getting organized, figuring out independence, and attempting to reach out to her absentee brother, that she hasn’t even noticed the girl’s absence. It seems her creeper skills have gotten rusty, which should make her happy but instead causes the barest amounts of disappointment to creep up. Even from afar, Marella is lively and brightens, or at least eases, the monotonous days that all seem to bleed into each other in one eternal, never-ending passage of pain.

“Hey!” Marella’s voice jolts Linh from her thoughts. “Nice to see you here!”

“H-Hi!” Linh stutters. She thinks the girl’s impossibly blue, intent gaze will always catch her off guard.

Her gaze shifts to the green in Marella’s hair, the harsh coloring softened by the sunlight streaming in through the windows of the cafe and bouncing off the bright strands.

“Your hair looks nice.”

Marella touches a hand to her neon green-streaked look and smirks. “All thanks to you.”

Linh’s cheeks warm at the praise. By the time they reach the orders taken down, Marella has somehow convinced Linh to sit and drink with her. She takes Linh’s wrist lightly and guides her to a table, an action that makes Linh’s face heat again. She looks down at the thin fingers encircling her arm to make sure she isn’t dreaming, and is elated to find that she isn’t.

And sitting in that booth, sipping their warm coffees and exchanging even warmer smiles, Linh’s romantic fantasies from afar suddenly seem a lot closer than she ever thought possible.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Linh isn’t sure exactly how she’s gone from watching her neighbor from a(very far) distance to being dragged into her unfamiliar apartment to be introduced to her roommates, but she can’t say she’s complaining.

As nerve-wracking as it is to be inside Marella’s house, she has to admit that the chance of pace from routine is something she would have been too scared to do herself. Had Marella not knocked on her door and practically shoved her out of her own with an evil grin on her face and into the girl’s shared one just minutes before, she might have stayed holed up in her own apartment forever, seldom leaving and only ever for basic necessities.

Patterns are nice, reliable, and most of all, consistent, something that Linh has never had before, and up until a year ago, had given up on attaining, but there’s something undeniably exciting about throwing caution to the wind and launching herself into a new situation.

However, there is the slight problem of said new situation happening to be making a good impression on her crush’s roommates, who are all staring down at her stoically in a solid line of four with their arms crossed and their gazes narrowed. It reminds Linh of the stereotypical movie tropes in which the overprotective dad interrogates the unnecessarily perfect Mary Sue’s new boyfriend when she brings him home for the first time, and she has to force herself not to laugh in the faces of the people glaring down at her. They’re all at least half a head taller than her, excluding the brunette girl, who has the most terrifying expression of them all on her face.

Three hours later, Linh is laughing tears of joy and drinking hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon with the scary roommates in their warmly lit, cozy living room, who’s first impression couldn’t have been more wrong.

The scary-looking brunette girl isn’t actually one of Marella’s roommates, instead living with the other brunette, her brother, at home with their parents. Her name is Biana, she has an attachment to the color purple that everyone else seems to make fun of her for, and an affinity for randomly throwing out the others’ clothes and replacing them with ones she deems good enough to be seen out with.

Her brother, who’s name is Fitzroy— everyone teases him about this— is better known as Fitz. He is smart, put-together, and as Marella refers to him, their group’s resident “tired dad”. He’s dating Dex, the nerdy but sarcastic actual roommate of Marella.

Then there is Sophie, who was in the kitchen when Linh first came in, and Keefe, the former being Dex’s cousin and Marella’s second roommate who is constantly done with everyone’s shenanigans; Marella claims that Fitz, the actually responsible one, can never be bothered to do anything about their spontaneous endeavors most of the time. The latter, on the other hand, is the most mischievous of the bunch who Linh also knows the least about. His smiles and grins are the most abundant, but also the most weighted. Linh suspects there is a lot more to him than she’ll ever be able to fully grasp.

Linh’s surprised with how well she fits in with these people. They seem so much lighter and freer than her, a girl still tainted and chained down by the past and the experiences that came with it. They welcome her with open arms, and hours later, when dusk falls and it’s time for her to leave, the wrap her up in a hug and make her swear she’ll come back .She sinks into the hug, thinking that after knowing their light, she can’t possibly stay away.

Linh will forever owe all this new warmth in her life to Marella, who is perhaps the warmest of them all.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Fluffy blankets are good. Warm, cozy, comfortable, the kind of little thing in life that makes most people feel fuzzy feelings of nostalgia as they think back to the times they wrapped themselves up in warm blankets on the days they were feeling overwhelmed by the world, when they sat in messily-built blanket forts with their best friends and told scary stories during the devil’s hour with only a flashlight illuminating their evil grins, or the fights with their siblings to get the bigger portion of the blanket when they were forced to share a bed.

Unless that person is Linh, in which case all chances of that were stripped away by a pressured childhood where no room felt safe when her parents were near, friends were disapproved of, and anything that could knock the Song family from the top was discarded before either of the children could protest.

But whether it’s a childhood like Linh’s, or one where everything went perfectly, the fact can generally be agreed on: fluffy blankets are a good, good thing.

But Linh doesn’t think she was ever aware just how perfect fluffy blankets can be until they came piled in the arms of a blonde girl with tiny braids and green threaded through her waves at the door.

“Movie night?” Marella asks, wiggling a laptop in her other hand. “I noticed that you don’t have a TV yet.”

Linh lets her in, eager to spend more time with just her and especially eager to share another night with just the two of them. The idea of being in a dimly lit room wrapped in blankets with their bodies pressed together and only the light of a screen illuminating their faces doesn’t hurt either.

They curl up together on the couch without a second thought, as if they’ve been doing so all their lives. Linh adores the way Marella’s head fits in the crook of her neck like the last missing piece of a puzzle, and holds her breath as the blonde reaches across her and presses play on Netflix once they’ve settled.

When the girl falls asleep on Linh’s shoulder an hour later, she cuddles closer to the warmth of the fluffy blanket and her— crush, or love, maybe, she doesn’t know— pressing to her side.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

As nice of a distraction as Marella and her strange roommates can be in the months that pass, Linh has to come crashing back down to reality at some point. And crash she does, when the banging on her door at nine o’clock at night opens to the face she knows as well as her own.

Her brother, approaching her for the first time in years, bringing nothing but news of their father’s death.

Linh knows she should be feeling something. That she should be falling to her knees and sobbing dramatically, like a protagonist in a drama novel, or maybe grabbing his hands and begging him to tell her that it isn’t true. Instead, when Tam bears the news, all she can do is match his emotionless expression. After all, what is there to feel?

And why is she in such desperate need of comfort when, truth be told, she feels no suffering?

She can’t explain her mind’s twisted way of thinking, but she does know that it’s what leads her next door, and what pushes her to throw her arms around Marella’s neck when she comes to the door decked in pajamas and those long, irritating rainbow-striped socks that she loves so much.

Linh likes to believe that it’s her petty grudge against the annoying socks that makes her cry on Marella’s shoulder that night, but hiding from the truth isn’t as easy as she likes to believe.

And when Marella wraps her in a fuzzy blanket that rains tufts of fine fluff on their heads and pulls her in close, Linh has a hard time believing fluffy blankets aren’t the answer to all the world’s problems.

Confidence has finally come to her, and she’s able to give Tam a box of hair dye before he leaves. She doesn’t know if he’ll use it, or when she’ll see him again, but the smallest spark of light in his eyes when he takes the dye and turns it over in his hand is enough hope for her.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

When Marella appears at her door in the middle of the night this time, weeks since Linh’s father died and they last saw each other, Linh is surprised that she isn’t surprised. After all, surely there’s something seriously wrong if the only thing she says when someone comes knocking at her door at exactly three minutes past midnight is, “Did you bring the hair dye?”

She pulls the blonde inside softly, takes the fuzzy blanket still draped on her couch from their movie night, and wraps it around the girl’s shivering frame. Marella starts to sob on her shoulder. Her fingers wrap around Linh’s neck and latch onto her, bringing them both down to the carpet when her knees give. Linh immediately wraps an arm around her and holds her close.

Linh doesn’t know what’s wrong, but she does know that Marella is leaning on her for support, and she does know that she will always be here, for as long as the blonde might need.

When she finally stops crying and lets Linh reach gentle fingers to wipe her cheeks, and pulls out electric blue hair dye that brings a smile to both of their faces, Linh has a hard time believing that hair dye isn’t the cure for everyone’s sorrows.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Linh finds it funny that one can promise themselves one thing-- that they are going to try as hard as they can not to connect with others as a means of protecting themselves, for example-- but still end up breaking the promise if the right temptation crosses their path.

And her temptation? A certain blue-eyed blonde with now bright blue highlights who’s devious smirks and snarky words can snap Linh’s resolve in a second. She knows she should hate her for it, but surrounded by mischievous roommates with twinkling eyes and light smiles filled to the brim with warmth, she can’t help but snuggle closer to her weakness.

Her weakness, who is currently failing to dominate the board in a (not-so)friendly game of Christmas Monopoly. Marella informed her that it’s a holiday classic when she dragged her inside the house just an hour before, but judging by the rabid way the players are screaming at each other, Linh can’t say she agrees.

“What do you mean, the empire kind is the wrong kind?” Keefe screeches. “Duh, it’s easier!”

“For you, maybe! But it’s not the original!” Dex retorts.

Keefe jabs a finger at the board. “Then why are you still playing and why are you in second place?” He throws his hands up. “If you’re so mad about it, then stop playing and let the rest of us noncomplainers win.”

“Noncomplainers isn’t a word, Keefe,” Fitz says, idly shuffling the assortment of multi-colored money laid out in front of him. As banker, he’s the calmest and least angry of the bunch, though there’s something oddly menacing about the way he rearranges his money with careful, poised fingers.

Keefe, Dex, and Fitz are circled around the board, all nursing mugs of hot cocoa(which Linh has realized is a sort of trademark for them) in between bouts of shrieking, while Sophie left a little while ago to buy original Monopoly just in case Keefe and Dex destroy the board. Linh laughed when the exasperated blonde said it, but now she can see why it’s a legitimate concern.

Linh curls her cold feet in from her position on the long couch, and Marella automatically shifts the fluffy blanket they’re sharing to fully cover her toes again. Linh smiles up at her gratefully, and Marella offers a small smirk back. Then she goes right back to screaming. Linh debates calling Sophie and asking her to bring back ear plugs too.

“Whatever,” Biana scoffs. “You’re all sore losers.”

She is currently winning, as she has been for the entire game, and she glares down at the boys huddling around the game board from her perch in one of the armchairs.

And on it goes. At the end of the night, when Monopoly money is scattered on the floor and a smoking dinner that’s just a bit too salty is shared and hastily wrapped presents tied with glittery bows are exchanged(Marella is too impatient to wait for Christmas morning), Linh finds herself full of more love and joy than she thinks she ever has been in her entire life. There’s something oddly comforting about being with people who care for and accept her, even if it’s by default or association. Having someone who cares is a rare light in her life that most people take for granted.

Especially when there’s the smallest chance that the person who truly holds her heart returns her feelings.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

It’s the night before Christmas and Linh can’t sleep.

It’s the tossing and turning type of ‘can’t sleep’, the kind where Linh lies awake long after dark waiting for her mind and conscience to stop running around in circles around her head, the kind where her insecurities grow claws and fangs and sink them in skin-deep, where there is no light slipping through the cracks to keep them at bay.

And Linh hates that kind of ‘can’t sleep’.

It makes her antsy, on edge, and the urge to pace itches at her feet. The unfamiliar surface of the floor of Marella’s bedroom only makes matters worse, and as softly as she tries to twist under the thin covers, it doesn’t take long for the rustling on the floor to alert the blonde girl dozing off above her.

Marella slides to the floor sleepily before Linh can whisper a protest and lands next to her on the mattress with a grunt. Linh rolls over to face her, and is startled by how close their faces are. She can count the light freckles on Marella’s nose and cheeks when she’s this close. Moonlight is streaming into the room through the cracks in the shutters of the window, painting streaks of glowing white on the blonde’s face. She always looks beautiful, but Linh finds there’s something especially intimate about her in this moment. The air is suddenly buzzing with palpable tension, making her palms go slick with sweat and her mind hyper-aware of every movement. She can’t take her eyes off Marella.

Then, girl of Linh’s dreams breaks the stillness, leaning forward and pressing soft, sleepy lips to her own.

She’s asleep by the time she draws away, but Linh is shaking with adrenaline. It’s the moment she’s waited for so long she can hardly think of a time where she didn’t want the blonde.

And yet.

Linh’s the kind of girl with baggage, with the kind of ‘skeletons in the closet’ that people run away screaming from, not because it’s scary, but because it’s messy. Complicated. It bogs everyone who knows down, making every action in her presence laborious and painful with the knowledge of her past. Even her brother, who once promised to be by her side forever, wouldn’t stay.

She knows it’s irrational, but suddenly she can’t imagine how to face Marella.

She slips out of the apartment in the early hours of the morning so Marella’s blue gaze can’t stop her from running away. But despite her misgivings, the insecurities that still haven’t retracted their claws, and the voice in the back of her head whispering that she has to have imagined it, Linh can’t stop touching a finger to her lips, long after she’s left the buzzing moonlit atmosphere that allows slips of self control under the cover of night.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

It’s been weeks. Three weeks and five days, to be exact, and Linh still can’t figure out how to face her.

With every day that passes, she can feel the strong bonds they formed weakening. That’s one thing about relationships. They need an equal amount of effort. If Linh doesn’t put in enough, the object of her affection slips between her fingers before she can blink. That’s how she lost her brother, her friends, and any last semblance she might have had of “family”.

That is, until Marella.

She was persistent, even in the beginning, fighting to spend more and more time with a mildly resistant Linh, until she found it impossible to stay away. Her light is unlike any Linh has ever known, wild and fluid like an eternal flame that can’t be doused. That flame kept Linh alive for all these months, and yet here she is, ignoring it. Maybe even putting it through pain.

It takes a month, but it finally comes to her.

She realizes now that love isn’t something that affects only her, and that she isn’t the only one to win or lose in it. She isn’t the only person in love.

Love is two people, three people, ten people, a hundred people. Love is everyone who forces themselves into her life with the intent of staying no matter how dark it gets. Love is the flickers of light in the night and the bold streaks of sun in the morning. Love is the twinkling stars splattered across a purple painted sky.

Love is illumination. Love is clarity. Love is a path paved special, with different twists and turns for everyone.

Love is...

Marella.

Love is Marella.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Weeks of radio silence after months of talking nonstop is hard to bounce back from, and they both know this well.

But Linh comes back anyway. She comes knocking on Marella’s door exactly a month after they last talked, this time she being the one to approach at random in the middle of the night. When the door opens and she smiles apologetically, pressing a butterfly kiss to Marella’s forehead and pushing a big blanket and a bright, eye-melting color of hair dye into her arms in a silent apology, all Marella does is smile and pull her back in for a real, proper kiss.

Yeah, neon green and fluffy blankets are the solution to everything.

#i did a thing #well this was fun #kotlc #kotlc au #marella redek #linh song #marellinh #the amount of times i wrote 'marellinh' instead of marella is ridiculous #i refuse to go through and edit this again #skyyyy'swriting

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kyoonqs · 3 years

Text

iluso amor ; fourth part.

↬ summary: Cora has always considered herself elusive, easy to bore and adventurous to the last fiber of her body. One day for no apparent reason, she appears in front of the manager of a globetrotting circus passing through the city where she is temporarily staying to fill her life with magic. Baekhyun, as serious as he is handsome, has no intention of playing a role other than on the main canvas of the circus. He decides to separate Cora from her life of fantasies created by her travels and sets out to show her reality as raw and cruel as he knows it. Or so he believes.

Will time run out too quickly before love and passion devour him and he decides to risk everything for a love that lasts… Forever?

↬ pairing: baekhyun x cora fem!reader.

↬ circus!au ; illusionist!baek x hitchhiker!oc ; strangers to lovers au!

↬ genre: fluff ; romance ; angst ; drama.

↬ tag list: @changshapatrol @spacebyuns @fluffyhunnie @soos-goddess @hoho-cham @shadoukiti @sunbyun21 @mangobaek @suhotly @pororodks @bbhbae @blahblahblah-boo @leewalberg @byunsbobobu @endzii23 @taeilpathic @jennie7 @ainedreams @lylthy

If you’d like to be tagged for future chapters, please let me know!

↬ masterlist.

“Leave me alone.”

Cora opened her eyes just enough to glance at the clock and see that it was five in the morning. She wasn't going to argue, much less lose hours of sleep, so she snuggled against the upholstery of the truck –which she had entered half-asleep a few minutes earlier– and closed her eyes again. He slid his eyes down her body and snorted in resignation.

“Are you sure you don't want it?” He said as he shook and offered her the last berry flavored yogurt – despite it being his favorite. He had retrieved it from the refrigerator when he saw that she hadn’t had breakfast since they were about to embark on their next trip.

She snatched it from him and placed it in the compartment at her side. She was quick to return mulling over the events of the three previous night. Cora scanned Baekhyun's face for any trace of resentment but couldn't find it. She was too tired and sad to argue again but if she didn't reply, it would seem that she had given up and was doing what he wanted.

Cora’s days in Fraga consisted of rising early, cleaning the caravan, shopping at the market, cooking for the both of them, covering Gael's stall, attending performance, cleaning up and sleeping. Regarding Baekhyun, she had decided to speak up if she required it and to stay close when she needed help and Talia couldn't help. Although it was hard for her.

With Talia she formed a close friendship, making her the only person with whom she had opened up to most until now. She had learned that the girl came from Goa –a place in India colonized by Portuguese years ago– and that they were practically the same age. Her family had always been part of the circus, not necessarily working under the same banner but they hailed the lifestyle as tradition. She was a hard-working girl, attentive, funny and above all, very sweet and that moved Cora to the bone.

“It's going to be tough staying here if you don't respond when spoken to, dulzura.”

“What happened three nights ago, I didn't deserve it.”

He said nothing, and if it hadn't been for the way his lips pursed, Cora would have thought he hadn't heard her.

They continued to travel in absolute silence until, finally, Cora fell asleep.

Lost in her dreams, she found a more comfortable position and ended up leaning on Baekhyun's shoulder. A lock of her hair fluttered in the breeze and caressed his lips. He let it play there for a while, brushing his mouth and jaw. She smelled of sweet , expensive perfume, like the scent of wildflowers in a jewelry store.

Cora was right about what had transpired. He had been a fool but only because he was going against his current. He had never met a woman with so many contradictions. She had said he was cynical but she was wrong. Of course he had feelings but they weren't the ones she wanted. Life had taught Baekhyun that he was incapable of having them.

He told himself that he had to pay attention to the road, but he couldn't resist looking down at the warm, lean body that nestled against him. With her legs tucked up on the seat, Cora had finally lost the battle against her fussy dress and now it was raised to show the smooth curve of her inner thigh. Baekhyun's eyes fell on her thighs but he looked away, angry at himself for undergoing such torture. In his eyes, she was beautiful. He had to admit that she was not the young woman he had initially thought her to be. She possessed an unexpected and disturbing sweetness that made her seem more vulnerable than he wanted.

In the afternoon, Cora was exhausted. Only by trying her best had she been able to finish cleaning the trailer, showering, preparing something to eat, and getting to the red wagon in time to service the ticket office. It would have taken a lot longer if Baekhyun hadn't given her a hand by placing the utensils used during lunch, a surprise since he was always running back to his activities.

It was Saturday and she accidentally overheard the brief conversations of workers who came to collect their pay envelopes. Baekhyun had told her that some of the workers who set up tents and moved equipment were troublesome but low wages and poor conditions did not attract more stable employees. Some had been working in the circus for years just because they had nowhere else to go. Others were adventurers drawn to the allure of the circus world but generally no one lasted long there – perhaps even her?.

Baekhyun looked up from his desk when Cora entered the trailer. She was beginning to think a perpetual frown had been drawn onto his face.

“Today Argelia returns. I'll tell her to find you a malliot for the show. When she can help you, I'll send someone to take care of the locker.”

“Remember that I’m not an artist.”

“This is the circus, dulzura. Everyone is an artist.”

Her curiosity about the mysterious Argelia made her ignore his grin.

“Fionn told me she was a famous aerialist.”

“She’s the last of her generation. Her family is par excellence the owner of trapeze and aerobatics. Stay as far out of her way as possible.” He paused as he got up. “Remember what I told you about the money box. Don't lose sight of it.”

“Okay.” With a sharp nod, Baekhyun disappeared.

Cora handled the ticket sales without a hitch. The flow of people stopped as soon as the performance began, and she sat on the stairs of the trailer to enjoy the night breeze. She looked at the lights and flags that decorated the small play area of the kermesse that always accompanied the circus which, in addition to attracting children, was another way for the circus to make money. At that moment, an antique Cadillac entered the compound accompanied by a trail of dust. An exotic-looking woman with bright reddish hair stepped out in a tight top, tight rubber leggings revealing her long legs and beaded sandals. Large gold earrings gleamed in the dim light through her tousled hair and a matching pair of bangles adorned her slender wrists. As the woman made her way to the circus entrance, Cora caught a glimpse of her face: pale skin, well-defined features, and a voluptuous mouth emphasized with crimson lipstick.

This woman was so self-assured that it was impossible for it to be a visitor. Cora knew it could only be Argelia.

Cora chatted with a customer queuing to buy tickets for the second show for a few minutes and by the time he left, Argelia had disappeared. As soon as she had dispatched everyone who came to the box office, Cora began to peruse the contents of an envelope filled with clippings from old local newspapers. Baekhyun's number with the whip was mentioned in several articles dated two years earlier and was not mentioned again until a month ago. She knew that circuses changed performances and performers moved from place to place, which made her wonder where he would have performed in the days he wasn’t traveling with today's circus.

When the first show finished, a tall young man appeared, the same one who had danced with Talia, she still didn't know his name but she knew that he was in charge of organizing the smaller tents and lighting the place.

“I’m Adal. Baekhyun sent me to take care of the box office. You have to go back to the caravan to try on a maillot.”

Thanking the messenger, she headed for the trailer. When she entered, she was surprised to see Argelia, folding the clothes she had left hanging on a makeshift clothesline. Cora felt doubly insulted: first for seeing someone with their hands on her clothes and then for being late. She wouldn’t add to those sins being rude.

“Would you like a cup of tea, maybe a soda?”

“No. I'm Argelia LeBlanc but I guess you already knew that.” Upon closer inspection, Cora noticed the circus owner was wearing more striking makeup than she would have chosen, not that it didn't suit her but combined with the clothes, somewhat provocative, and those extravagant accessories, it was clear her aesthetic had been influenced by life in the circus.

“Baekhyun likes order and he’s known to eat well. You hardly have anything in the fridge.” A deep emotion crossed Argelia's face, revulsion combined with almost palpable hostility. Instantly, Cora realized that Argelia LeBlanc would never be her friend.

“I know, I plan to do it soon. Thank you for telling me.” Argelia looked ready to pounce but Cora knew who would lose, so she pointed to the two sequin maillots on the back of the chair.

“Are those the maillots I have to try on?” The woman nodded with her head. Cora picked up the one on top and realized that it was nothing more than a sequined piece of cloth.

“I have a feeling it will cover me very little.”

“That's the idea. This is the circus. The public expects to see a good portion of skin.”

“And does it have to be mine?” Argelia watched her critically, evidently expecting her to straighten her back. But after beginning to understand how they behaved in the circus, Cora knew when not to clash in arguments. Sincerity was the only defense against experts in malice.

She went into the bathroom and removed all of her clothes except the panties but when she put on the tiny garment she realized that the cut on her leg was so high they could be seen. She undressed again and started again. When she was done, she looked at herself in the mirror and felt like naked. Two vertical strips with blue sequins covered her breasts, and a wider horizontal strip crossed them. The body of the maillot was nothing more than a fine veil of golden net.

“I don't think I can go out with this.” She exclaimed through the door.

“Let's see…”

“It's too re–” Her words were interrupted when she saw Baekhyun leaning on the sink semi-dressed for the performance. She wanted to run back to the bathroom, and if Argelia hadn't been there, she would have. Why did he have to show up when she was dressed like that?

“Come closer so we can see you.” he said.

Cora stepped forward reluctantly. They were both silent and she had the feeling of being an intruder. Baekhyun didn't say anything, but scrutinized her in such a way that she felt naked.

“Turn around.” Argelia ordered. Cora blushing turned around again.

“It's a show for families, I don't want her to show up like this.” Baekhyun said, closing his eyes with the idea of recording the image just seen in his head, but also seeking control over himself.

“You're right. She doesn't have enough attributes to fill it out properly. Let's see if the other one suits you better.” The woman opened her leotard without warning and pulled it down, leaving Cora naked to the waist. With a gasp, she grabbed the pool of sequins and the net that had slid down her belly, but her fingers were clumsy and it was like trying to catch air. She looked at Baekhyun, who was standing with his ankles crossed and his hands resting on the counter behind her.

“God, you blush like a virgin. Haven’t you ever gotten naked in front of a man?” Argelia's lips curved into a smile.

“Enough, Argelia. Leave her alone.” Baekhyun stepped between the two women, almost as if he wanted to hide Cora's nudity, which was ridiculous, as it was from him that she wanted to hide.

“Give it to me. This one is best.” The loose sleeves of the white shirt flapped as he ripped the red sequin jersey from Argelia's hands. He looked at it and handed it to Cora with some tenderness. She grabbed her jersey and ran into the bathroom.

When the door was closed, she leaned against it and tried to breathe normally, but her heart was pounding and her skin was burning. Finally she put onthe maillot, and was relieved to see that something more than the other covered her. The sequins of all reddish to orange, in the shape of a tongue of fire, climbed from the crotch to the bodice, where they stuck to her breasts in an irregular and jagged way. The leg openings reached almost to the waist, showing a good portion of skin. She opened the door and reluctantly left the bathroom, at least it covered her waist.

“Where is Argelia?” There was only Baekhyun, leaning on the edge of the table with his hip. Cora gulped and chewed on her lower lip.

“She had to speak to another of the employees. Turn around.”

“You were lovers, right? Was she married to the owner of the circus when you were with her?”

“Not now. Now stop gossiping and let me see you from behind.”

“Wanting to know more about you is not gossiping. I've been looking at some old newspaper clippings and I noticed that you didn't do the circus tour last year. Why?”

“So… What difference does it make? That's none of your business.” Baekhyun was the most reserved person Cora had ever met in her life and she knew she wouldn't get anything else out of him.

“I don't like this jersey. I don't like either of them.”

“You look like an artist.” Since she didn't turn around like he asked, Baekhyun got behind her. The young woman hated being exposed like that and pulled away when she felt him touch her shoulder.

“Stay still. It couldn’t be criticized even by the most conservative.” He grabbed her waist with his other hand.

Baekhyun had gotten so close that her breasts brushed against the soft fabric of his shirt when she turned to him. She shuddered. He lowered the hand he had placed on the girl's waist, sliding it along the bottom edge of the leotard and placing it on the girl's lower back, millimeters from where her buttocks began. Fiery flames shot through Cora from head to toe. She pulled back a little, not because she wanted to sneak away, but because she wanted too much to stay where she was.

“Remember what you told me.” Without taking his hand away from where it was, Baekhyun tilted his head and nuzzled her neck, warming her skin with his breath on her ear. He leaned back and she could see the amber specks gleaming in his eyes.

“Maybe I don't care too much anymore.” Cora's heart raced and she knew she couldn't have escaped even if she wanted to. He looked up and felt as if everything had vanished and there was nothing but the two of them.

Baekhyun's mouth seemed strangely tender to her despite her harsh gesture. He parted his lips and covered her gently, while at the same time, he held her even more against his body. His chest felt broad and heavy against her. When Baekhyun molded his mouth to hers, she experienced a moment of astonishment. His lips were tender and soft in contrast to the rest of her person.

Cora offered herself to him since she couldn't do otherwise. He stroked her lower lip and brushed the tip of her tongue with his. The sensation made her feel slightly dizzy and she wrapped her arms around Baekhyun's waist, feeling the silky fabric of his shirt under her fingers, then she slid her palms down his biceps. He moaned against her mouth, then his tongue plummeted down on hers. The kiss went wild.

Baekhyun lifted her against him and pushed her back, pulling her up onto the counter. Cora clung to his back to keep her balance. He stepped between her legs and the decorative chains on his hips dug into Cora's inner thighs. The soft feminine moan resounded like an echo in the warm masculine mouth as he felt Baekhyun's hands on the back of her neck.

“You're beautiful,” he gasped, looking at her. He began to kiss her again while his fingers tangled with the hair on the nape of her neck, making gentle strokes that didn’t stop drawing her towards him. It was too much for her. The brush of the belt jewels on her thighs, the soft caress of his hands.

“Five minutes to the show! Baekhyun!” Someone banged hard on the caravan door.

Cora jumped off the counter like a guilty teenager and, turning her back to him, nervously adjusted her hair. She felt hot, agitated, and terribly irritated. How could she be so eager to give herself to a man who hardly ever said a kind word to her? She shot into the bathroom but stopped when she heard Baekhyun's soft, husky voice.

“We will continue later, dulzura.”

While Argelia was checking the box office and flipping through a pile of old magazines in the office, Cora sold the tickets for the second show. She did it in a mechanical way, smiling at the customers automatically. Even though she spoke non-stop, she could only think of the passionate kiss she had shared with Baekhyun and barely paid attention to what people were saying.

She melted at the memory, but at the same time she felt ashamed. She shouldn't have given herself to him with such abandon when he had made it clear to her that she shouldn't romanticize about them.

As soon as the music for the show's presentation stopped, Argelia left the red car without saying a word, closing the box office behind her. Cora knew that although Argelia would be indifferent, something was bothering her and she couldn't help but believe it was related to her caravan partner, much less stop thinking about what had happened between them.

As she was about to leave the locker, the phone rang and she turned to answer it.

“Circo Gran Fele, how can I help you?” Said Cora, somewhat hesitant, it was the first time anyone had called.

“With Byun Baekhyun, please” said a male voice.

“Sorry, he's not here right now.”

“Could you tell him that I called you? You already have my number. Tell him that Dr. Kim's studio is trying to contact him.”

“I'll give him the message.” She hung up and wondered who the person was as she jotted down the message for Baekhyun. There were too many things about him that Cora didn't know and to tell the truth, he didn't seem like he was going to tell her.

She heard the music that announced the start of the show, the voices of the workers moving from one side of the room to the other, and the usual sounds as they prepared to enter the dance floor. On her way to the caravan, she heard two voices arguing.

Cora noted the tone of Baekhyun’s voice, he was furious. He looked at Argelia and then at the whip that he had curled around his fist –although the woman did not seem as scared as she was– Saturday night was payday for employees and some were already drunk, so he had the whip as a deterrent. However, it was not the workers bothering him.

The promise that Baekhyun had made to Mael LeBlanc on his deathbed caused him to have constant confrontations with his widow. Argelia LeBlanc was his employer and she was determined to put pressure on him as much as possible. But he was determined to respect Mael's wishes. It was a compromise that didn’t satisfy either of them and it was inevitable that an open war would break out between them.

The two shared a long complicated story that stretched back to the summer when Baekhyun had convinced his parents to attend a function. But everything began to get complicated when he turned fifteen and spent the holidays traveling with the Gran Fele circus.

The aerialists Paris, like every year, were also on tour that summer and Baekhyun fell madly in love with the queen of center court, who was twenty-one at the time. He spent nights dreaming of her elegance, her beauty, her boldness. The girls he had known so far seemed like little girls compared to the delicious and unattainable Argelia Paris. In addition to feeling a certain affinity for her because they both sought perfection in their work and a will similar to hers, Argelia also possessed an egocentric streak that her father had nurtured and that Baekhyun had never had.

Basil Paris had made Argelia believe that she was better than the others, however, the trapeze artist also had a softer and more motherly side and, although she was very young at that time, she acted as the first consolation for the other members of the group company, scolded them when they misbehaved and advised them in love affairs.

But Basil Paris had something else in mind, although Baekhyun's circus skill wasn’t as impressive as theirs he had improved over the eight years of seasons, but in Basil's eyes it wasn’t acceptable enough to become the progenitor of the next generation of aerialists Paris and Argelia had pleased her father by falling in love with another man.

Jealousy had eaten away at Baekhyun and he had vowed to improve in all aspects of his life from then on.

Summer came to an end, and Baekhyun was preparing to go back to school. The same day that Argelia unexpectedly entered her fiancé's caravan and found him stripping one of the tightrope walkers.

He would never forget that night, when the show ended he found the girl waiting for him.

“Come with me.” It didn’t occur to him to disobey her. Argelia led him to the edge of the compound, where they ducked into a small dark space between two caravans. Baekhyun's heart began to pound at her dark, clandestine purpose as he lost himself in the musky scent of her perfume.

The trapeze artist had looked deeply into his eyes. Without saying a single word, she opened her blouse and let it fall from her arms. He had imagined something like that hundreds of times, but fantasies hadn't prepared him to touch such a body, ever.

“Kiss me.” He had shuddered with satisfaction and humiliation. Argelia had then pressed her lips against his, offering him a long, deep kiss. Then she stepped away and turned between the caravans. It was then that he realized that her fiancé had been there the entire time, watching them. The hard, triumphant gleam in her eyes told Baekhyun that she had known it at all times and the feeling caused by that betrayal was so devastating that he couldn't breathe. She didn't care about him. She had only used him for revenge.

Argelia turned again and sealed Baekhyun's lips with a kiss. He understood that cruel display of self-love, like her, he would never let someone or something threaten what he was, no matter the price he had to pay. Despite hating her for using him as a pawn, he couldn't help but respect her for it.

Argelia spent the next few years as a leading artist in the world's great circuses and didn’t tour with the Gran Fele circus until her career began to decline. By then her father had already died and she, single and childless, had become the last Paris.

Mael welcomed her back to the Gran Fele circus and set the show around her. Furthermore, in his infrequent phone conversations with Baekhyun –who had stayed by his side– he revealed enough of him, for him to deduce that Mael had a crush on her.

Baekhyun and Argelia had reunited two summers ago, and it immediately became apparent that there had been a shift in the balance of power between them. In his early twenties, he was in the prime of his manhood and had nothing left to prove, while Argelia's best years as an artist had passed.

The fire of passion crackled between them, but this time she was the one looking for him.

Baekhyun didn't want to hurt Mael and, at first, he ignored her insinuations. However, it soon became apparent that the circus owner was resigned to the two getting involved and, with his peculiar idiosyncrasy, was offended when Baekhyun continued to snub the woman he valued above all else. Finally, Baekhyun let her into his day to day and although he appreciated her, he didn’t love her. Not anymore.

“Why haven't you gotten married?” Baekhyun asked her one night sitting at the table in the luxurious caravan, where they were preparing to enjoy the second meal of the day.

She put a plate of food in front of him and went back to the kitchen to get hers. But she didn’t return to the table. She stood still staring at the food she had prepared.

“I guess I was much too ambitious. You already know that there are things that cannot be had. I will not marry just anyone, much less without stability. Stability and lineage. It's a good combination.” She took a bite of food and put her fork back on her plate. Then she looked closely at Baekhyun, with a provocative glint in her eyes.

“You know Mael told me years ago that I shouldn't have let you get away. I’m the last of my generation and you… can start one.”

“I have no intention of starting it. I'm sorry but you'll have to look for circus lineage elsewhere.”

He had suspected at first that such kindness had a reason but he refused to believe that he could be used as a pawn for the second time in his life.

Their fiery relationship carried on, so lustful and peaceful that he paid no attention to the increasingly possessive way she treated him or how, little by little, she began to consider him her equal. Despite the subtle changes in Argelia's behavior, he wasn’t prepared for what happened that summer afternoon in the compound, that day she confessed to him and when she did, he realized that she wasn’t speaking genuinely.

She was determined to change his mind with the same determination she had once used to achieve the triple jump, and it was only when he was packing to leave after his last performance at the circus that she realized that he wasn’t joking. He had never lied to her. He didn’t love her and he wasn't interested in marrying her.

When she finally took in that sharp rejection, everything Argelia believed about herself was shattered and she went mad. It was at that moment that she did the inconceivable, which she would never forgive. It was when she begged him not to leave her. She had bowed down her pride, the thing that made her who she was.

At that moment Baekhyun could see how the supposed love that she felt for him turned into hatred. A week later, Argelia married Mael, a man almost twice her age who bore no children, and he was the only one who knew why. His rejection had hurt her to the core of her being and she could only rise from her ashes by joining someone powerful to put her on a pedestal again.

↬ author’s note: Today's chapter explains a lot why Baekhyun is so reluctant to relationships, but can Cora change his mind? tell me what you think! hope you enjoy it! as you know, any feedback is welcome ♡ (as always) thank you for your help and i love you Oliv.

#baekhyun fluff #baekhyun smut #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun x oc #baekhyun x you #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun au #baekhyun circus #circus au #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo au #exor circus #baekhyun serie #baekhyun series #iluso amor

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abbacchiosbelt · 4 years

Text

Dear Heart — Pesci x F!Reader

A commissioned piece, 3069 words. CW for pregnancy.

It had been a morning like any other – you’d kissed Pesci goodbye after you’d cooked a tasty breakfast for the both of you before starting on your work for the day – yet you were unable to get things done for one single reason, and said reason wasn’t going to let up until you took care of it.

Shoved underneath the bathroom sink sat an item that would tell you your future – and the reason you couldn’t concentrate. With a glance at the clock, knowing you won’t get anything done until you take care of the thoughts piling up in the back of your mind, you sigh and resign yourself to heading to the bathroom to dig the test out of the cabinet.

A bright purple package stares back at you from your hands.

A pregnancy test.

There wasn’t any particular reason you had grabbed the test at the store yesterday. Sure, you and Pesci hadn’t been trying, but you hadn’t been trying to prevent pregnancy either. It was a conversation the two of you had gone over before, both of you dreaming of a nice cottage in the Italian countryside with a family of your own. The idea wasn’t anything more than a dream with Pesci’s line of work, but the two of you held on to hope.

Any symptoms you felt (nausea in the mornings, fatigue), you chalked off as general health issues. Pesci was concerned, but you waved him off and told him you were just fine, that you just needed to add some more vitamins to your daily routine. Still, when you saw the tests at the store yesterday afternoon, something in the back of your mind told you to grab one. It was just a precaution – maybe you wouldn’t even use it soon, but it’d be nice to have for the future…

Or so you thought.

Instead, you were gingerly unboxing the test and placing the few components packaged with it on the bathroom sink. You wondered if you should call Pesci and tell him what you were doing, but you knew that it would only result in your anxious boyfriend worrying for the rest of the day. It was out of love for you that he’d worry so much, but you didn’t want him to be distracted when his job was… Well, you didn’t want to think about the realities of his job at the moment. Shaking your head, you take the pregnancy test itself out and resolve yourself to take it.

You’d drunk enough water earlier that the main part of the test was easy – it was the waiting that was killing you. Five minutes had never felt longer. While you waited, you thought about what would happen if it were positive. Pesci would be thrilled and so would you, but the reality of the situation would come crashing down on the two of you as soon as Pesci informed his mentor, Prosciutto. He had warned both of you to avoid this very scenario for your safety. Relationships were dangerous, and relationships that brought forth children were practically unspeakable in their line of business.

Still, Pesci had told you that he’d keep you safe no matter what. (He was fiercely protective – dangerously so, you’d heard from some of his teammates during a night at the bar. Pesci had blushed and pretended he didn’t know what they were talking about, but you knew they must have been telling the truth from the way they nervously interacted with you. It wasn’t as if Pesci sought to control you in any way, so you found his protectiveness cute and reassuring.)

Pesci’s previous words help to ground you as you wait out the five minutes, practically running back into the bathroom when the timer on your phone goes off. With a deep breath, you look at the test. On it were two pink lines, the bright color a stark contrast against the dull grey shade of the testing tool. You blink once, slow, and pick up the test to inspect it. The two pink lines are clear close-up just as they were clear from the test’s spot on the sink.

Pregnant.

The next few hours are a blur as you run to the store and buy 3 more tests, all of them confirming the fact that yes, you were pregnant. As much as you want to call Pesci and tell him the news, the possibility that it’d leave him distracted at work was a chance you weren’t willing to take. Instead, you would impatiently wait until he got home, busying yourself with chores that didn’t even need to be done.

Pesci arrives home around 8 PM, earlier than usual, and with an easy smile on his face when he walks through the threshold of your home.

Pesci had been lucky enough to be assigned an easy mission that involved getting intel with Prosciutto and the two of them had managed to get it early without involving anyone else. His mentor had clapped him on the back and praised him for a job well done, rewarding him by letting him head back home instead of writing up the mission report. Prosciutto said he would handle it, claiming that Pesci could pay him back another time.

Anything that got Pesci home to you faster was worth it in his book, so he hadn’t thought twice of Prosciutto’s offer and had rushed home the second he was told he could leave. All day he’d thought of coming home to you and kissing you, perhaps cooking a nice meal together before snuggling up close to watch a movie together in bed. As long as he was with you, though, Pesci didn’t care about the specifics.

When he doesn’t see you immediately, he frowns just a little. You were always home to greet him.

“Amore, I’m home.” He calls, anxious. “Where are you?”

His heart twists in relief when he hears you reply only a moment later. “Upstairs! I have something to show you.”

Pesci’s eyes widen before he quickly kicks off his shoes and hangs his coat, eager to find out what exactly you were going to show him upstairs. Despite the ribbing from his teammates, he truly was innocent when it came to you and expected something cute, like you showing off a new outfit for him or giving him a silly gift you’d bought. Of course, other types of surprises would be welcome, but Pesci would be happy with anything.

When he arrives upstairs, he finds you in the bedroom perched on the vintage reading chair Prosciutto had given Pesci as a housewarming gift. There’s a wide smile on your face, which never fails to make Pesci smile himself.

“What is it?” Pesci asks, heart thrumming with excitement.

“Check the bathroom counter and then come back out here, please.” You reply, your smiling growing wider. Pesci has no idea what’s going on, but he’s happy to comply. He takes a few steps into the bathroom and peers at the counter, seeing four items laying on the counter that almost look like thermometers. When he steps forward to take a closer look, he sees they each have a panel in the middle with two pink lines. Pesci is confused, for a moment, until he reads to the side of the panel.

‘1 Line, Not Pregnant. 2 Lines, Pregnant.’

His heart drops and his mouth gapes open – he doesn’t even think before he runs back to the bedroom and falls to his knees in front of you, his head level with your knees as he looks up at you in awe.

“Is it… is it true?” He asks, hopeful. The proof was on the pregnancy tests, but he didn’t want to believe it until he heard it from your mouth.

“We’ll need to confirm it with a doctor, but…” You reply. He can hear the way your voice is shaking like it does before you’re about to cry, but there’s something different about it this time. “Yes. I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.”

“A baby,” Pesci breathes. “Amore, I’m so happy!”

Pesci stands and wraps his arms around you, gentle but with as much love as he can muster. He feels you start to cry but when he peers down, you’re smiling – he can’t help himself from starting to tear up as well.

He’s not sure how long he stands in the bedroom with you, arms wrapped around each other, and babbling about how excited both of you were.

All he knows is that he’s got two people in his life to protect now.

After a doctor’s appointment two weeks later and a medical confirmation, you and Pesci are officially parents-to-be. As much as both of you want to scream it from the rooftops, Pesci’s team are the only people that are informed. It’s unlikely anyone would come after Pesci, but for the time being, you’ve agreed to stay in your home most of the time. While going out was nice, there was plenty you and Pesci could do at home to prepare and bond with your growing baby.

It started slow – the two of you were overwhelmed with all there was to do in preparation for your incoming family member. Childproofing the house, converting the spare room into a nursery, deciding what hospital to attend, what books to read… Though you were both overwhelmed, Pesci managed to keep you grounded when he’d place his hands on your tiny bump and simply smile, cooing at you and the baby.

“It’ll be a while yet before you’re here, piccola, but your mom is already doing an amazing job.”

The way he’d speak to you bump always had you smiling and blushing up a storm. While Pesci was complimentary before, he now praised you like you were a goddess, looking at you with such reverence and awe while he spoke to your growing child about you.

Only a few weeks later, another doctor’s appointment ends with the news that you and Pesci are having a baby girl. Pesci had sheepishly stood next to you, hand in yours, while the doctor explained the ultrasound.

“I bet she’ll look just like you, amore.”

The confirmation that your baby was going to be a girl shocked you and Pesci into motion, your previous worries thrown to the side whilst the two of you began to prepare for the baby. It had almost felt like a dream before – like you might wake up at any moment and find out that none of it had happened. The tiny flutters in your stomach of your daughter kicking confirmed that it was real – that you and Pesci were going to have a new baby girl in mere months.

Pesci had taken it upon himself to paint the nursery to keep you away from the paint fumes, so you had made yourself useful by beginning to put together the crib that his teammates had gifted you. The room itself was going to have an ocean theme – while you wanted to decorate her crib to match, you knew it’d be safer if it was bare bones. Besides, you’d have the rest of the room to decorate with Pesci.

Pesci calls you into the newly painted nursery as soon as it’s safe to present his work. You can hardly believe your eyes at the beautiful mural he’d painted on the wall opposite of where the crib would go – a long, sprawling ocean was painted across the wall while a gorgeous sunset spanned across the sky, clouds and seagulls painted amongst the background. You knew he was talented, but he’d kept his painting skills hidden from you.

“Do you like it?” Pesci shyly asks. To think he was nervous about such beautiful art made your heart hurt – people had been so unkind to him in the past. You waddle as fast as you can over to him and pull him into the best hug you can muster with your bump in the middle, nearly tearing up. (Your emotions had been all over the place lately, thanks to your hormones.) Pesci sighs happily in your embrace. “Is that a yes?”

“Oh, Pesci,” you say, leaning back to look into his eyes. “It’s perfect. She’ll love it.”

He looks off to the side, cheeks flushing, but the smile on his face shows that he’s clearly pleased by your praise.

You already know that he’s going to be a wonderful father.

Weeks pass as you and Pesci continue to busy yourself with baby preparation. It was harder on your end, having to stay in the house, but it wasn’t terrible. Pesci was enthusiastic about going out to get whatever was next on your shared preparation list. Every time he came home, no matter how many trips he’d made that day, he’d lean down to give you and the bump a kiss.

Each night, you read to your baby while Pesci laid next to you with his head on your bump. It was adorable – you’d taken a picture and promised not to share it, though you had set it as your phone’s wallpaper. It was too cute not to. When you’re finished for the night, Pesci always kissed your bump and reminded your baby girl how lucky she was for having a mom like you. You can never resist turning it back to him, telling your baby that she was beyond lucky to have a dad like Pesci. (No matter how much it made him blush and stammer.)

Even in the final month of your pregnancy, your mood soured by your aching back and sore feet, Pesci remains steadfast in his support. You were truly happy to have him by your side – you couldn’t ask for a better life.

Well. There was one thing that could make it better, of course, and that was finally having your baby.

You’re having a perfectly normal night at home – dinner was already eaten and cleaned up, there wasn’t anything on your to-do list, and you were already tucked snug in bed with Pesci right next to you.

Your perfectly normal night takes a turn when you feel a sudden cramp in your lower half.

You wonder if you should wake Pesci up, but resolve yourself to waiting it out. 10 minutes pass before you cramp again, and then 5 until you’re absolutely sure your contractions are getting closer and closer together.

“Pesci!” You whisper-yell, shaking him gently from his sleep. He opens his eyes drowsily, his eyes opening wide once he sees the expression on your face. “It’s time—”

You don’t even finish before Pesci throws himself out of bed to gather up everything you needed to take to the hospital, coming to your side of the bed last to help you up with a panicked look on his face.

“W-we’re all ready to go if you’re sure,” Pesci says, his voice shaky. He might have been even more nervous at this moment than you were. You take his hand and stand up, leaning forward to kiss his cheek in reassurance.

“We can do this.” You say, soft. “Everything will be okay. Let’s hurry so we can meet her soon, darling.”

Pesci doesn’t have to think twice after your soothing words – the two of you are en route to the hospital only minutes later.

Everything is a blur as soon as you step foot in the hospital. Nurses rush to your side as Pesci hurriedly checks the two of you in, the smooth nature of your original birth plan thrown to the wind as your contractions come faster and faster. The pain is unlike anything you’ve felt before, but the thought of what you’re enduring it for helps to keep you grounded.

By the time you’re set up in the hospital bed, Pesci is back by your side and watching the staff like a hawk as they prepare to help you birth your baby. The once nervous expression on his face is gone – he must have called Prosciutto on the way up and received a stern pep talk. Despite his stern expression directed at everyone else, Pesci’s smile is soft when he approaches you and offers his hand.

“Squeeze as hard as you need, cara.” You nod at his words, unable to respond as another contraction starts up. There’s no more time to think about what happening as the doctor arrives and gets you set up – before you know it, you’re grimacing in pain as you squeeze Pesci’s hand while the doctor and nurses urge you to push.

You’re afraid you might squeeze Pesci’s hand off with how hard you’re applying pressure, but his grip never falters as he stands steady next to you. Even the blood and reality of birth isn’t enough to sway your normally anxious boyfriend – instead, he stands strong and ready by your side.

You feel like you’re in a haze when you hear the doctor switch from saying ‘push’ to ‘you’re almost there, just one more push’—

So despite the pain and how much you just want to collapse back onto the bed, you brace yourself for one final push – and then you hear the room light up in chatter as your daughter finally emerges, carefully taken by the doctor before she is placed back into your arms against your bare skin. Both Pesci and you had decided you wanted to hold her close as soon as you could – there was no harm in it, and you’d only have this chance once in your life.

The nurses bustle around as you and Pesci watch your little girl’s eyes open for the first time. She was quiet, staring at you and Pesci with wonder, slowly blinking as she took in both of you. On top of her head sat a green tuft of hair, making Pesci ecstatic.

“She looks just like you,” Pesci says, admiring both you and your new child. “But she has my hair!”

“Hmm, I think she’s a good mix of both of us, caro. But that hair is definitely yours.”

The rest of the night is spent with your baby girl in your arms, Pesci by your side as you both gaze at the life you had created together.

Though there’d be time for a celebration later, for now, you’d spend time with your family. You couldn’t ask for anything else.

#my writing #commission #fluff #pesci #pesci x reader #pregnancy #pregnancy cw #extra fluffy #non-graphic birth scene #family bonding #vento aureo #la squadra #jjba fic

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hoe-imaginess · 4 years

Text

Kakashi Hatake x blind!s/o

STOP this was so cute I had to write immediately. Chose Kakashi because he jumped at me and demanded it

and thank you so much!! (hope you’re staying safe as well!!!)

With the sun going down, the glow of activity in Konoha’s streets was diffusing. Shopkeepers closed their doors for the evening, and vendors packed their merchandise and disassembled their stalls.

Kakashi strolled through as the village quieted itself. One of the shopkeepers, recognizing him, waved in greeting. He waved back, sluggish despite having taken a relatively early leave from work.

Though the hour was a rare but generous one for Kakashi to find himself on the path home, he was exhausted to his bones and had to more than once remind his feet to carry their own weight and stop dragging along the dirt.

He loosed a sedative breath.

Paperwork had done in him that day, and though the notion of sliding under his sheets and picking up a novel he was close to finishing was a tempting one, he didn’t think he could scroll his eyes over another inch of lettering without going nauseous. He decided he’d let his pillow have his attention the rest of the night. He needed sleep, desperately.

And so deciding, took a shortcut down a narrow alley which would bring him closer to his street. Turning out of the the alley, he glanced another shopkeeper, stooped to the ground and gathering something in their hands.

When they stood, unaware that Kakashi—who was himself errant of his surroundings, courtesy of exhaustion—was at their heel, their pivoting motion put them in his path and they collided. The shopkeeper’s belongings were knocked from their arm’s clutches.

Senses returned, Kakashi managed to snatch one or two of the tumbling items, which he now saw were various books and pamphlets, before they toppled down into a heap with the rest.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered quickly, going on his haunches to retrieve the others, as he did so, noticing the shopkeeper bent down with him. “I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s okay,” she said, her hands roaming over the ground in search of the fallen objects. He was too muddled by his own inattentiveness to notice the oddity of her seeking movements. “I didn’t see you, either.”

Only once they’d gathered her capsized belongings did he glance up to greet her with his eyes, and only then as he took his careful inspection did he understand why her previous comment had been fastened with such a... nimble, humorous undertone.

She was blind. The glaze of cloudiness over her pupils was indicator enough—a paleness unlike those of the Hyuuga, Kakashi saw—but not the most telling demonstration; though she faced him, she didn’t appear to be looking at him, her eyes idling somewhere around his chest, centering where they felt most agreeable without the proper perception to guide them.

“Sorry,” he muttered again, now stranded with an advancing fluster, and stood to his feet slowly, rising in punctual fashion only when she followed suit.

“It’s okay,” she insisted again.

Behind her on the shop windowsill was a box, which she reached for and claimed with surprising precision. Once she’d slipped her reclaimed books inside the box she proffered it to him, and realizing, he carefully placed his own salvaged items along with hers.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” she granted, smiling kindly, eyes still settled comfortably on a horizon of her choosing, somewhere under his chin. “I might have heard you coming otherwise.”

“My fault, really,” he amended. “I was... I’m sort clumsy when I’m tired.”

But the desire for sleep had absconded his head, and the uncomfortable debacle pumped alertness back into his system. It was silly of him to be so debilitated by this, he knew, yet the pulsing nervousness in him went undisputed.

Another box filled with books caught his attention, previously stocked and placed against her shop door.

“Can I help you with all of this?” Unthinking and without a reply to inspire him, he bent to take the box. “Are you packing up for the day?”

The box included scrolls swathed in metal clasps. She knew he’d claimed it in his arms when the clasps rattled noisily against one another. “I am,” she said. “These are the things I keep out here, on display. And I appreciate the offer, but I can manage. I live a ways down.”

Her nod in the direction at her back confirmed that assistance would take him in the opposite direction of his home, but a searching and restless energy had curtailed his desire to go there.

“I really don’t mind,” he insisted, a touch of over-enthusiasm in his tone. A kind description of willingness in his expression clearly would do no good; he would have to compensate how he could to win her assurance. But he swore he could hear the sheepish skittering of his own voice, and hoped she didn’t hear it, too.

“I do it every day on my own,” she said, with what he presumed was a practiced patience; she still smiled at him, but there was a curve in her lips now that was aware of his fluster and unabashedly amused by it. “Don’t go out of your way.”

Readjusting the box already in her grasp to rest upon her hip, her free arm extended to him, inviting his relinquishment of her other possessions.

Fearful that his persistence might offend, but unwilling to so carelessly resign, he debated his next move until his hands decided course for him; they held the box to his chest resolutely.

“It’s the least I can do,” he said, moving, making his foot falls pointed and auspicious as he took a step in her desired direction. “I’m off work early today, anyways.”

“If you insist,” she yielded with a little laugh, still committed to her friendly smile.

He watched her carefully as she walked in tandem at his side, holding his tongue when he saw some foreboding dip in the terrain’s evenness, or a fellow villager on a direct course to bump into her. But each of these encumbrances she remedied flawlessly, with an unhurried detour in her gait or an acute twist of her body. Clearly she had been telling the truth when she mentioned this being normal routine. Kakashi was almost convinced that she had memorized each and every step of the route.

“Kakashi, is it?” she spoke up, pulling his focus from external anxieties.

“Uh—yes.” Before he could form his next inquiry—though given its presumptuous nature, it would have been a hesitant one to produce, anyways—she anticipated his puzzlement, and granted him mercy by way of an unprovoked answer.

“I’ve heard your voice before,” she explained. “It’s easy to remember voices. Once that’s the only thing you can go off of, at least.”

There was no self-pity in her voice, which in turn, invited none from him. He imagined that was a purposeful tactic of hers.

“But it’s also the chakra,” she went on. “Everyone’s is a little different. Not by much. I’m not a sensor by nature, but I rely on it now. The body will adjust, give a little in one respect when it feels a lacking in another.”

Kakashi looked at her. She was still smiling her little smile, as though this wasn’t the first time she had reasoned through the phenomena and wouldn’t be the last. Nor was the explanation without a sort of confidence; she appeared to have no qualms of her condition, and spoke of it with such steadfast acceptance that it was no doubt she gave it much thought at all anymore.

It was a nice thing, he decided, but it returned to him a meek warmth of shame that he had been so blatantly skeptical before, that he had made such a show of charity in response to his own preconceived doubts.

“That’s interesting,” he replied. “So... you weren’t a sensor at birth? Or at least, as far back as one can really remember that sort of thing...?”

A sweet chuckle sounded from behind closed, smiling lips. “Exactly. I don’t remember much, but I do know when I first started noticing.”

The proceeding conversation put him at ease, made the guilt he felt for trudging along in a hopeful correction of his earlier embarrassment slowly ebb away. She was kind, and clever, too, with an unfairly natural quick-wittedness about her. She made him laugh more than once: a genuine laugh that felt good and warming to be loosed through his wearied body after such a long week.

“I can take it from here,” she said, and came to stop in front of a house.

Kakashi slowed at her side to give the abode a quick admiration: small, but modest and seemingly comfortable. Potted plants lined her windows, well-nurtured vines and flowers sprouted over the edges.

He entertained no hesitation when she reached for the box in in his hands; he gave it over, but, feeling suddenly restless with its desertion, stuff his hands into his pockets to keep them from fidgeting.

“Thank you,” she told him. “I hope this didn’t put you on too much of a detour.”

“Not at all.” He swore her eyes were higher in their post now, though not quite where they could yet make an imitation of eye contact. But Kakashi found it comforting, in a way, and for his own indulgence would resign it as something purposeful and not coincidental.

“You live near my shop, don’t you?” she was asking.

He nodded. “I do. A bit farther down...” Without prompting, he knew what should be offered to mark a pleasant end to their short—regrettably short, if he was being honest—chat, and to secure they might be granted another one soon. “I’ll make sure to stop in when I can. I read quite a bit. Is that all you sell? Books and the like?”

“Among other things. It’s a little ironic, isn’t it? Why own a book shop if you can’t make use of the books? Most people get a laugh out of it.” As if to prove a point, and furthermore soften the vexatious innuendos, laughed at her own notion. “I have my reasons.”

Though he was curious to hear those reasons, the sun was going down behind them, orange and warm, but a reminder nevertheless, that their encounter was a chance one and better left concise for the time being.

“I’d like to hear them at some point.” He would settle on saying that much. Another lukewarm suggestion, a way to tease a future promise of reunion.

“I’ll be happy to tell you. Do stop by, when you get the chance.”

“Will do.”

“Goodnight.”

“Yeah, goodnight.”

He waited until she had felt her way up her porch, opened her door, and closed herself inside—all of this, while still supporting boxes under each arm—then he set about back the way they had walked.

The attentiveness to conversation which usually suffered him through unwanted dialogue had diffused, yet that adrenaline, the one which kept him as engaged as his duties usually needed, still remained. Clearly, it hadn’t been unwanted dialogue after all.

There was a comforting hum relaxing his limbs as he walked, making the hands buried in his pocket slump cozily with the ease of gravity. Liable as he was to avoid trivial contact which exasperated him when he could, especially with his job making sociable demands of him already, this brief run-in had been all parts trivial but none exasperating.

Had such an incidental thing really been so eventful that it continued to swarm over him long after he had left her? Long after he had walked by her shop again, taken a good few minutes to admire it, before heading home?

It was like a little glow, one that hadn’t been there before, clinging to him now that they had parted.

Even when he arrived home and climbed methodically under the sheets, the glow went with him, straying his mind from the invitation of sleep and instead recounting the evening’s events.

Piecing together every little facet of the encounter was like a game, a silly and overkeen game which kept his brain up far longer than his body would have liked.

What was that thing she had told him as they walked, about having in her collection one of the oldest scripts written on The Land of Fire’s river systems? And had she really been returning his attentive glances, as though she had noticed him staring, or was that a trick of his mind? Had he said goodnight first? Or had she? And did she have that same smile on her face when she said it?

Some of the answers were stolid in his memory; others he fought to elucidate, for no reason other than the fact that he wanted to appreciate their encounter in its true, undiluted form.

Such confusing and superfluous thoughts. He was being so stupid, he told himself. Stupid.

But when he twisted under the sheets and finally set his mind to finding sleep, little inklings of memory, her face, her smile, her laugh, continued to ripple beneath the surface.

#kakashi hatake #kakashi imagines #kakashi #kakashi x reader

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stillchaoticlogic · 4 years

Text

Falling

Pairing: Raihan x Reader

Falling in love is easy...

It's falling out of love that's the hard part.

As you try to run from old feelings you meet someone who is determined to bring the spark back into your eyes. Raihan isn't sure what happened in the past and he doesn't care. He's got one shot to make you his and he's going to take it.

Begin at the End

You gaze in disbelief as, with a final fire blast, Hau’s Incinaroar sends your Ninetales to the ground. Your eyes widen and you summon her back into her Pokeball robotically. You smile at the new victor and you know, for the first time in three years what freedom tastes like. You walk towards Hau, no longer a boy of fifteen, but a young man of eighteen, and Alola’s new champion. You feel nothing but relief as you shake his hand and congratulate the shell-shocked male in front of you.

You can practically feel the world jump to life as a new champion joins the ranks. You walk out of the arena for the last time. You wish you could say it’s bittersweet, but all you can feel is the joy of escape.

The hallway leading to the locker room is long and dark. You notice a figure leaning against the wall near the end, you don’t pause just keep walking until his voice pierces the silence.

“Did you throw the match?”

You stop and turn towards Kukui, your friend and co-worker, the man you had fallen in love with. The man you could never have.

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me…”

“It doesn’t matter if I did or I didn’t… I’m no longer the champion of the Alola region. As far as I’m concerned I’m a free woman now.”

“You make it sound like we’ve been holding you prisoner.”

“I came here to escape the limelight and yet you were determined to throw me into it all over again. I did as you asked! I built your league, I chose and trained your gym leaders and I put Alola on the map. I would like to be left alone now.”

“(Name)... what happened? I thought you liked it here… You’ve been so distracted lately… and now your loss…”

“Hau will be a great Champion, he grew up on the islands and his grandfather will help him. He will be a wonderful leader and a shining light to trainers here. Don’t worry, your league will be fine.”

“But-”

“Kukui I need to go. I can’t stay here anymore…” You mutter forlornly as you continue on your way leaving him to his thoughts in the darkness.

That night as you sit gazing at the TV screen a ping on your phone alerts you to a new message.

Hello (Name)!

This is Leon, Champion of the Galar region! It has been brought to my attention that another champion has taken over your mantle. Your final battle as champion was absolutely smashing, by the way! The Galar League would like to invite you to consider heading our own league. We are aware you helped to build The Alolan League from the ground up and after the recent loss of our own chairman we are looking for someone to take his place! We believe you would be perfect! We understand that this is a large commitment, so we would like you to come to Galar to get a feel of our League. All expenses will be paid by the committee, of course!

I look forward to your reply!

Leon

You gaze down at the email before you and you can’t help but feel desperation come over you. A way out! A purpose! A distraction! Better than all of that… An entirely new region away from the man you aren’t supposed to be in love with.

Your reply back is simple:

I’ll leave tomorrow.

(Name)

Your escape from Alola is quick and quiet. You are dressed in a pair of ripped blue jeans, with a black top and a blanket like ruana along with your combat boots. You board the plane that almost no one is on and sigh in relief as the plane takes off. Perhaps you will feel more guilty about running off without an explanation later, but right now you need the solitude.

***The Galar Region***

Raihan can hardly believe his eyes as he watches the replay of the championship match. The (Name) (L.Name) lost to some kid? Raihan is mad about her and had looked up to her for the last couple of years. She is cool, confident, and funny with this cunning wit that he loved. He loved to watch her battle because it was always wild. He could tell that she had grown up battling with these intense strategies and insanely powerful pokemon. They were all powerhouses in their own right; his favorite though, is definitely her Garchomp.

He had noticed the last few months things had been different. She seemed bored in her battles and where she had always been quick-witted and charming during the post-battle interviews, she was now short with her answers. He was a little worried about her, but he had also never met her before, so it’s not like he can just slide into her DMs and start asking personal questions. This last battle had confirmed his suspicions though. She looked relieved when she lost. The champion that he looks up to would never be relieved to lose. Raihan frowns over his eggs as he continues to watch the report.

The distinct ring of his phone woke him from his musings. Raihan would normally ignore a call so early in the morning, but it’s Leon and he had been helping him look for someone to replace the chairman.

“What could you possibly need this early?” Raihan asks as he answers the phone.

“Raihan! She’s coming! She’s on a plane and she’s arriving this evening!”

“Who is?”

“(Name) (L.Name)!”

“What? How?” he asks in bewilderment.

“I sent her an email last night! She replied while I was asleep and she said she’s leaving today! It’s a ten-hour flight from Alola! She’s going to be here tonight!”

“She lost her title yesterday! How is she already getting on a plane!”

“I don’t know! But we need to book a room and arrange tours and dinners! You know she would be perfect to run the League! And we’ve been looking for months!”

“I know man… I know… Let’s just take this one step at a time…” Raihan says with a sigh as he leaves his uneaten eggs on the table and heads to his room to change. He hadn’t been expecting his idol to arrive in Galar tonight, but he’s not complaining about it.

***Later***

You pull the ruana closer around you and adjust the sunglasses. Your steps are quick and sure as you head towards the front of the airport. The nice thing about being a champion is the perks it affords you as you flash your credentials. You walk over to the luggage carousel and pluck your bag from the belt when it comes around.

You notice a small crowd formed around a couple of people. Upon closer inspection, you see Champion Leon and the eighth Gym Leader Raihan. You walk closer to them and only stop when you hear a small gasp. You look down at the small girl and smile as she squeals.

“Y-you’re- (Name)!!”

“I am! And who are you? You ask as you bend down to speak to her. You don’t notice the silence that has taken over the crowd, or the awe in which they look upon you.

“I’m Claire! You’re my favorite!” she declares in excitement.

“Why thank you! Do you have a favorite?” you ask indicating the pokemon on your belt.

“Aurora!” she squeals.

You tap the top of one of the Pokeballs and Aurora pops out. She gazes around at the crowd before addressing the 8-year-old girl in front of her. You smile at the look of wonder and awe on her face.

“She’s...beautiful!”

Aurora sits regally beside you then yips at the little girl and bowing her head. Claire looks up at you, you give her a nod of permission then she takes a hesitant step forward and gingerly touches the soft fur on Aurora’s head.

“She’s fierce in battle, but a total sweetheart otherwise.”

Aurora lets out a soft cry as she looks back up at you. You run your fingers through her soft fur.

“Thank you!” Claire says as he gazes up at you in wonder.

“You’re welcome!” you say as you pull a card from your pack. You sign it before you hand it to her making her gasp.

“This the best day!” She exclaims as she rushes back to her parents. They look over at you with gratitude before beaming down at their daughter.

Aurora taps her Pokeball with her nose and a moment later she is nestled inside against your hip.

“That was...really cool of you to do,” Raihan says as he walks up beside you. He takes the bag from the floor beside you silently offering to carry it for you.

You shrug in reply, “She’s sweet and how can I turn down such a face?”

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon, but I’m glad you could make it! I’m Leon!” Leon says as he steps forward.

“I’m sorry it was such short notice, but I need a break from Alola. I know I didn’t really give you any time to prepare anything, so just take your time with things. I’m in no rush.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re hungry! There is a great steakhouse near here if you would like to go? My treat of course!”

You give Leon a soft smile, “That’s very kind of you to offer, but I’m tired from the flight. Perhaps something quicker?”

Raihan, who had been letting Leon do the talking and silently psyching himself up, interjects, “What about pizza?”

“A man after my own heart…” you say as you give him a smile, he happily returns it.

Sitting at the pizza place you feel yourself relax a little bit. Leon is doing most of the talking and Raihan seems to be shooting you glances every now and then but doesn’t speak much.

“I was thinking that you could take a day tomorrow to get adjust, maybe we could show you the town. Then we will start the tour of the gyms and give you a breakdown of the League.” You rest your head on your hands as you listen to Leon. You can tell both of them are nervous, most likely due to the upcoming Gym Challenge. Their former chairman has been stripped of his title and is currently atoning for, well almost destroying the world. They need someone to run things, and you can tell from the bags under Leon’s eyes that he’s been burning the candle at both ends.

“Don’t be so nervous, I think this will be a good fit for me. I’m mostly curious about the challenges and your gym leaders. My understanding is you don’t have an elite four? You do a challenger competition then a tournament leading up to the championship battle. It’s a little different than what I’m used to, but I can roll with it,” you say with a shrug.

Leon’s shoulders sag in relief, “I’m glad you think so, things have been crazy trying to figure out what needs to be done for the upcoming challenge. I don’t think I can coordinate that and fulfill my champion duties. Raihan and several other gym leaders have been helping out, but they won’t have time for long. I think you would be a great fit and I hope you think so too.”

“No, of course not, you all have things that need to be done for your own gyms. Also, I’m not trying to be presumptions but it sounds like the job is mine if I want it.”

“It is,” Leon says with finality.

“I think that was the easiest job interview I’ve ever had,” you say with a smile as you take a bite of the pizza in front of you.

Both men look relieved as they bite into their own food.

The next day dawns with a text message from Leon stating he’s got some business to attend to, but Raihan will be showing you around. So you’re not surprised when Raihan is waiting in the lobby for you with a cup of coffee and a danish.

“Did you bring me coffee and food? Watch out… I may decide to marry you on this tour.”

He laughs as he hands the treats over to you, “I wouldn’t be too opposed to that…”

You pretend not to see his wince and the silent chiding he gives himself.

“Oh? So you like getting married to women you just met?” you say with a smile over your coffee cup, teasing him.

“Ehh more like getting married to women I admire. I’m kinda a huge fan of yours…” he trails off and looks down obviously embarrassed.

You smile as he attempts to hide his face from you, “I think that’s awesome that you’re a fan. You’re a really amazing trainer so it’s an honor that you like the way I battle.”

He looks up in surprise, “Really? You’ve seen me battle?”

“Of course! I don’t want to play favorites or anything… but I’ve been hoping you’d take the title for a few years now. You’ve got a… wildness… that Leon doesn’t have. Kinda reminds me of...me…”

“I’m not going to lie… Several of your strategies have inspired a few of mine. That battle you had with Lance a few years ago… That was intense!”

You laugh, “Lance is an old friend, every time we get together I goad him into a battle. He taught me a lot about dragons and battling in general, he’s a little stiff, but he’s great at what he does. He mostly just thinks I’m the little sister he never wanted.”

“You know a ton of great champions and trainers don’t you?”

You shrug as you head off down the street towards the taxi he called, “It comes with the territory… When you make champion I’ll make sure you meet the right champions to further your career.”

“When?”

“We both know it’s going to happen… You have too much passion and drive for it not to.”

Raihan stops at the casual way you proclaimed his victory over Leon as if it had already happened. As if it’s set in stone. Do you really have that much confidence in him?

“Well if you keep talking like that then we just might have to get married today,” he says with a laugh as he bumps your shoulder.

You giggle as you climb into the taxi, and for just a moment you feel light and free with the giddiness of hope that this is where you need to be.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my Raihan fic! I think it’s an interesting dynamic and it’s going to be fuuunnnn! I basically just want awkward yet smooth Raihan flirting with me making me feel like a queen all day. Come at me....

Anyway! Please let me know your thoughts!! Also, do you like the thought of certain parts being told from his POV? Let me know and I’ll play with it if you do!

#raihan x reader #pokemon raihan #pokemon raihan x reader #gym leader raihan #pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon swsh #pokemon fanfiction #pokemon imagines

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

Text

Bloodstone | Part 5

Summary: You knew all about the ring your grandmother had told you about and yet when the stone fell from it one fateful day, you weren’t truly prepared for its return, nor who it came back with.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

Genre: fantasy / romance

Warnings: none

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

“I don’t want to go,” Yoongi mentioned softly later in the day, a stack of books secured under his arm to take back to the store with him for further study. Your best friend glanced at Namjoon still brooding over the discovered journal and then sighed. “But I really need to go see if I can decipher more about these books so I can help further.”

“Go, I’ll be fine.”

“You ring me if anything goes awry.”

It was your turn to look in Namjoon’s direction, the divinity feeling your stare and turning to smile at you. Yoongi watched you both and sighed again. “You’ll be fine, I guess.”

“Of course. And thank you for bringing some spare clothes with you. I’m sure Namjoon will appreciate something else to change into later.”

“Yeah, right. I mean, best friend duty and all.” Rearranging the books, Yoongi leaned in to brush his lips over your forehead before departing out the front door.

Rocking on your heels and clapping your hands together, you returned to Namjoon’s side. “I think as much as we want to understand everything that’s going on between us and the past bloodstone love story, we should call it a day.”

“Call it a day? Will that end the sun?” Namjoon wondered innocently and you bit at your lip to suppress a giggle.

You still weren’t used to how strange he was.

“It’s a saying. It means to stop working on the task before you and relax. Actually, we should cook something for dinner. You could help me?”

Namjoon was up immediately, the journal now discarded. The one thing you had learned after lunch was that he could eat. He practically led the way to your kitchen area and stood there peering at the empty takeout containers you left on the bench from earlier.

Shaking your head at his eagerness, you turned to pantry and then grew embarrassed. To you, not having a lot of variety in food didn’t matter too much. You weren’t the most proficient in the kitchen but you got by – mostly with the help of pre-made meals. And you were in dire need of a grocery store trip as it was. Laughing awkwardly, you grabbed out two packets of ramen and held them up at Namjoon.

He inspected the bright packaging carefully. “How do we get the food out of them?”

“That’s easy, we open it.” Ripping the seam on the back apart, you then reached into another cupboard for a pot. Namjoon watched as you filled it with water and then turned to your stove top. You gestured for him to back up a little. “I need to ignite the element by pressing this button and that will boil the water.”

“You don’t need to build a fire first?” he asked, bending down to look for signs of an archaic way of cooking for this modern city life. You grinned when he gasped at the flame lapping up the underneath of the pot on the stovetop immediately. “You said you’re not magical but what just happened?!”

“Science,” you simply answered, and pointed to the dry noodle stacks. “When the water is ready, we’ll add all the ingredients.”

It wasn’t much of a meal when it was done, yet Namjoon looked at you as if you were a chef in a Michelin level restaurant. You knew it was down to easiness of your appliances but you couldn’t help but feel proud for some reason.

And after his first mouthful, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. “This is flavoursome!”

“It’s basic food here. I admit it’s not much of a filling meal. But it will get us by until we go to the grocery store tomorrow.”

“We’re going where tomorrow?”

“A marketplace,” you attempted and Namjoon hummed in understanding.

You watched him enthusiastically eat another mouthful before joining in, sharing your first meal alone with your strange new roommate.

After dinner, you continued to amaze him with turning on the devices that had remained off throughout the day. You sat down and showed him what a television was, checked your emails on your laptop and then introduced him to the shower.

“The water stays very warm in this magical abode, Y/N,” Namjoon proclaimed after returning from the bathroom, now dressed in some of Yoongi’s pyjamas.

You giggled when you realised he had put the shirt on backwards. “I think you have a bit of a predicament with your top. The buttons go to the front, not the back.”

“Really? I thought it was rather peculiar. The texture and the fact that there’s only three buttons,” he murmured, yanking it off in front of you without much regard.

You felt all the air expel from within you as your eyes fixated on his torso. Was gemstone milling such a strenuous job? Perhaps since Namjoon had been looking for firewood under the element that he was used to doing a lot of manual labour to run his household. Whatever it was, his soft, dimpled cheeks had fooled you away from his muscular build underneath his clothes.

You chewed on your lip in a daze.

“Y/N? Do I have it on the right way now?” he asked, waving a hand in front of your glassed over eyes, snapping you out of your reverie. Fumbling with coherency, you nodded repeatedly.

“Yep, all good!” you hastily commented, smiling brightly. “I’ll uh, just go and get you a blanket to set up on the couch and then we’re good for bed, okay?”

“Thank you for your hospitality.”

“It’s not a problem!” you shouted as you darted down the hallway, taking some time to gather your clarity. And once you had assured Namjoon was set for bed, you switched out the lights, headed down to your bedroom and slipped under the covers.

Except, you couldn’t sleep.

Rolling over in your bed, you groaned in annoyance. Of course, it would make sense that you were unable to drift off, given the intense experience today had offered.

However, you knew it wasn’t that.

Was the bloodstone at work here? You had struggled to sleep without the stone last night as well, given it was the first time in many years without it. And whilst Namjoon was only in the living room, the stone felt too far away, chilling you down to your bones.

“Seriously,” you mumbled out loud, shaking your head. “This is such a weird reaction.”

Getting up, you shifted down to the main area of your house as quietly as you could. You could see the glow from the doorway and smiled with relief.

It called you closer.

With the lights out, Namjoon felt an immense wave of concern. Just what could be done within this situation you and he had? He had barely been gone a day and this fantastical world amazed and equally frightened him. There was the incessant worry of his sister going without him as well.

Had she discovered he was gone by now? Who had she turned to for assistance? He knew Marian was much more practical than he was, and yet, after his father’s death, he had taken it upon himself to protect her as best as he could. Was she lonely now?

It bothered him that with all these pressing thoughts, you still overruled his mind. Little expressions lingered, subtle touches still felt upon his skin. He wanted to know more about you, out of the flashbacks the stone had offered him. Namjoon craved to understand how you felt about everything.

It was overwhelming to be this connected to someone who was once a mere stranger.

The stone is making me feel all this, he reminded himself, rolling over on the couch with some resentment. It irked him to wish that it wasn’t because of some stone that he was at your side right now. It was laughable and impractical and –

“Namjoon?” you quietly called out, making him sit up. You wrung the front of your nightgown within your hands and smiled weakly. “I uh, I can’t sleep.”

“Me either.”

“Too many worries?”

“Too much of you on my mind,” he admitted, which seemed to have an affect on you.

“Oh,” you breathed, nodding once. “I’m bothering you.”

“Somewhat.”

“I’ll go then.”

“No, I mean,” He paused to get up and approach you. “I am bothered. Mostly because the stone holds power over me. I don’t know what my real thoughts are and what comes with being linked to you like this.”

“It makes sense. I have felt that way a lot today too.”

“At least we’re not alone,” he whispered and you nodded in agreement. Reaching out tentatively, you placed your palm on his chest.

His skin tingled.

“I like being close to the stone,” you murmured, fixated on his chest. “It’s familiar.”

“I’m not,” he cautioned and you nodded again. “Does that bother you?”

“Maybe a little but I wonder how long it will take until you become too familiar to me?”

It was a good question, one in which Namjoon wanted an answer to as well. The stone suspended between you gave no concrete solution and you both sighed at the same time.

“Do you mind if I ask you to sleep in my room?”

“Would it help you?” Namjoon hesitantly asked, finding it more difficult to breathe after the proposal.

You, however, grew hopeful. “Very much so.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor beside you,” Namjoon offered, returning to the couch for his bedding and carried it down to your personal chambers. After a bit of fussing from you both over the setup, you eventually climbed back into your bed, rolling onto your side and dangled your arm down to where Namjoon laid.

He took your hand and it wasn’t long until your even breathing signalled you had comfortably fallen asleep.

However, his mind was plagued with how this would all play out.

You had no idea Yoongi was in love with you, and Namjoon didn’t want to believe he could fall for you as well.

Not yet, anyway.

_________________

Part 6

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