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dewdewick · 3 months

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Shadows In The Dust |Chapter 3

Pairing/s: Finnick Odair x fem reader

Summary: At the age of 18 you thought you’d soon be free of the hunger games, unfortunately fate has a different plan. You are picked as a tribute for district 2 and thrust into capitol life.

Warning/s: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Trust issues, Death, Torture, Mental illnesses, manipulation tactics, Weapons, Swearing, Canon typical violence, Mentions of psychological distress, Use of Y/N, Fem reader, descriptions of clothing reader wears, explicit descriptions of weapon use

A/N: Idk why but I really struggled writing this chapter. I’m excited to move on to the actual games and get to the fun stuff! Everyone say thank you Beta readers for helping me actually buckle down and write this.

Word count: 4.1K

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Somehow Y/N was awarded a slow morning, able to sleep in until 9am and take a leisurely shower. Her sore muscles relaxed under the spray of hot water and she felt she could take a moment to breathe for once in the past few days. She looked at her painted fingernails as the scalding water hit her back. A crimson color meticulously sculpted into a sharp point, Aerith was all about details and she wondered if even her fingernails symbolized something; a message or warning. A few drops of water fell from her eyelashes and she looked to the panel on the wall, turning the shower off and grabbing a large towel from the heated rack.

She stepped onto the soft cushion of the shower mat and looked at the large mirror on the wall. Drying off while studying her appearance, the way her wet hair fell and how her skin looked. She studied her body and wondered how she would look in the no doubt extravagant dress that she was to be zipped into that night. She frowned in the mirror, the thought of this place and all its luxury made her stomach turn a bit, it was so much all at once. She looked away from her reflection, setting her hand on the electric hair dryer and letting it work its wonders.

She dressed in a comfortable set of lounge clothes, silky and soft to the touch. She looked into her room and sighed at the idea of going to breakfast, she just wanted the moment of peaceful solitude to last forever. Her stomach however did not and growled in protest, she groaned, walking out the door and down the hall. Finch and his stylist sat at the dining room table, nibbling on the spread while conversing with a light tone. She took a teacup and poured from the pot of hot chocolate, smiling a bit to herself at the sweet scent.

“Morning sugar” Finch smiled as he noticed her presence, she looked up from her cup as he addressed her. “Morning, sleep good?” she asked, sitting in her usual spot beside him. He turned to face her a bit more, “Not really, I'm not used to all the noise” he laughed “but I got some rest this morning so I’m ok.” he said, sipping his own cup. “Can't be tired for Caesar” Hebe teased him with the sort of smile an older sister might give. He smiled back at her and stuck his tongue out playfully.

Y/N grinned into her cup as she took another sip, it was nice to see these kinds of friendly interactions. After all, being in the capitol was mostly that fake kindness and too wide smiles that made everyone not participating uncomfortable. She reached forward and took a few breakfast items onto her plate, she had learned she liked what she had heard called a “crepe”. She spread whipped cream over the pastry and littered it with the fresh fruit available, taking a few sausages and eggs along the way.

“Whipped cream for breakfast?” Finch asked teasingly, She grinned and stuck out her tongue just as he had a moment earlier. “I have protein too, dont judge me” she said, a few giggles permeating her words. “And you wonder why i call you sugar” He teased right back, taking a bite of his breakfast. Hebe sat and watched the two teens with a sad smile, she had been a stylist for 10 years and knowing the impending doom they faced never got easier.

The 3 talked for an hour and a half, Y/N learned that Hebe had 2 children of her own and how her husband had passed away so her sister and mother lived with them. Luckily stylists made an obscene amount of money so Hebe could pay for anything and everything her children needed. Somehow she even managed to get a few details on Aerith, learning the old woman had a wife and one son who worked as a gamemaker. She cringed at the thought, knowing that the old woman's son had watched her scoring session and would most likely continue to watch her closely throughout the games.

At half past 12 or so Furisha and Enobaria walked through the doors, shopping bags in their arms. “New clothes for the show tonight?” Finch asked. She could tell he was a bit annoyed, “Oh yes! New shoes and dresses,we’re going to look divine!” Furisha said as she pranced into the room. Y/N patted Finch on the arm, doing her best to calm his annoyance.

He stood and motioned for her to follow, a furrow in his brow. She took one last bite of her crepes and quickly scurried after him. Sharing a look with Hebe as she followed, they both knew something was changing about him. He didn't seem as blithe and debonair the closer they got to the games. He walked to the balcony across the room, setting his forearms on the railing and staring down at the bustling city below.

“What's wrong? Not a fan of shopping?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood just a bit. He only let out a huff through his nose at the joke, turning his head to look at her. “I'm fine with shopping, just not fond of the time they’re doing it.” He explained “We go into the games tomorrow and they're just recklessly spending money.” He grimaced. She patted him on the back, her hand rubbing in small circular motions. “You know how Furisha is, and Enobaria…” She hesitated, thinking for a second. “She's been in the capital a long time, You know how the people here are.” She shrugged. He sighed, “I just don't see how they can be so nonchalant when 23 of us will be dead by the end of the week… enobaria especially.”

“She's never really been one to cherish human life, I mean her teeth are definitely a clue to her opinions on the games.” she assumed, continuing on “Unfortunately the people who we’re surrounded with aren't all that understanding of the headspace we’re both in, although Hebe might be an outlier in that field.” She spoke, wanting the cringe at her own words. “Luckily you've got me, and even though I'm terrified I'll do my best to help you get through tonight ok?” She continued, offering a small reassuring smile.

Being the man he was, Finch turned and engulfed her in a warm hug. His arms circled her ribs as he bent over and buried his face in the crook of her neck. He smelled like maple syrup and generic green apple shampoo, a boyish scent that reminded her of their real age, only 18 years old. Her arms circled around him as well, “I’m gonna do my best to protect you too ok? Not just here but in the arena, promise.’ He said in a low voice. The thought made her smile a bit; even if he just made sure she had a quick death, that would be a gift in itself.

“Can we just be kids until it's time to get ready?” she asked quietly, "No adult responsibilities and no talks of death.” He nodded “sounds like a plan sugar” Her arms moved down to rest on his chest as she pulled away from the embrace. “I might have an idea, but it's pretty dumb.” she smiled, a bit of a giggle in her words. His eyebrow raised and a smile finally came over his face, “oh and what might that be?” he asked.

“Find as many blankets as you can and meet me in my room in 10 minutes kay?” she said with a grin as she pulled away from him. His eyebrows knitted together and he gave her an upside down smile as he tilted his head to the side a bit. “What are you planning?” he asked as she opened the balcony door to head back inside. She only gave him a large smile and walked inside, dashing off to god knows where.

A few minutes later he knocked on her door as instructed with a pile of sheets in hand that he had stolen from a nearby linens closet. She opened her door and immediately grabbed the blankets from him, unfolding them and adding them to the structure she had built from her bed posts to a few chairs across the room. The fort was impressive, especially since it had only taken her about 10 minutes to construct.

“Help me add sheets” she instructed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. After a beat of silence, he unfolded sheets as he was told, draping them on the makeshift fort to cover areas she might've missed. She arranged two blankets to serve as tent flaps, crawling into the fort and disappearing into the darkness within. Seconds later her head popped out, “Hand me some pillows?” she asked,sticking her hand out. Once again he did as he was told, handing her pillows that she placed in the fort behind her. He crouched down, peeking inside the small space while she arranged blankets and pillows all around.

“What do you think?” she asked with a large grin “my sister and I used to make these all the time in our room growing up. We pretended we were living in our own little cottage out in the woods, or maybe that we had an apartment in the capitol.” she added, laughing to herself at the memories of her childish actions. He crawled into the fort, hunched over until he could get into a comfortable position. “What else do we need? Or do we just sit here and talk?” He asked, shifting so he faced her, laying on his side. “Next we get snacks, books and flashlights” she said with a giddy bounce of her shoulders. “Oh of course, what's a proper cottage in the woods without those things?” he said teasingly, giving her a wink.

She only giggled, crawling out of the tent and making her way out of the room. He noticed a few storybooks that she already prepared in the tent, fairytales and adventure novels that only people in the capitol could acquire. She was a funny girl, he hoped she kept that same goofy sense of humor and look of wonder in the games, when she could at least. His mind wondered for a second how their lives could have been if not for the games. They most likely would have grown up together, he wondered if they would be friends or something more. He shook his head, dismissing the thoughts and laughed to himself as he hunched over to crawl out of the tent after her.

The two grabbed snacks, drinks, books, sweets, flashlights and even more pillows. Placing everything in the small tent - like structure. Her eyes widened for a second before she was about to climb in, “oh my god i have an idea!” she exclaimed, rushing around the fort and picking up the small remote on her bedside table. She pressed a few buttons and the lights grew to a burnt orange color, the windows transforming to a desert scape like district 2. Quiet noises of animals filled the room, the sound of the breeze accompanying the scurries.

His face broke into a grin as the room changed, “just like home” he mumbled to himself. She made her way back around the fort and crawled inside, tucking herself up against one of the makeshift walls. He followed, the smile still on his face as he grabbed a sweet and popped it into his mouth. For once they both felt like kids, laughing as they told stories and read adventurous stories aloud to each other. Y/n read in different voices and made sound effects to match, painting an exquisite picture of the story she read. Finch felt himself becoming even more drawn to her. She was unapologetically herself around him and he loved it.

Hours passed like minutes, the two drawing closer to each other like magnets until they were face to face. She read in a soft tone as he played with her hair, his fingers toying with strands absentmindedly. She finished the chapter, looking at him with a small smile. “Any predictions so far?” she asked, a giddy tone once again in her voice. He thought for a second and spoke just as softly “I think he’s gonna kiss her, and then their friendship will be all changed and awkward.” He guessed, a teasing tone in his voice. His eyes flickered down to her lips for a split second, his tongue darting out to moisten his own.

‘And…what if it didn't? What if she liked it?” she whispered back, her eyes raking over him as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his slightly rough fingers moving over the soft skin. “So what you're saying is, hypothetically of course, their friendship might be the same? She might not be mad?” He asked, his face moving closer to hers. She simply shook her head and let her eyes close, waiting for his lips to touch hers. Instead she felt his forehead rest on hers, a shiver running through her.

She kept her eyes closed and let her forehead rest on his. “Is this weird?” He whispered, his fingers still running over her cheek and jawline. She shook her head again, “not weird” she whispered back. She just kept basking in the sweetness of the moment. Her stomach had butterflies and she was sure she would spaz out if she opened her eyes to look at his handsome face. “I wish we had more time, i wish i could really know you for you” He lamented, “I want-“ he started, his sentence interrupted.

A knock came to the door, the culprit opening it after a second. “Ok you two, time to start getting ready.” came the sweet voice of Hebe. The two teens parted from each other's embrace, Y/N poking her head out of the makeshift tent. “Be right there” the girl said with a dopey smile, Hebe only winked at her turning to leave the doorway “don't keep us waiting too long!” she called as she left. Y/N looked back into the tent at Finch “I'm gonna ask them to keep the tent up, meet me here after interviews are done?” she asked.

The boy gave her a grin “wouldn't miss it sugar” he said as he crawled past her and out of the pillow fort, offering her a hand once he stood. “You'll do great tonight, and I know you're gonna look gorgeous.” He said with the debonair grin she had seen before. She blushed “getting all flirty huh?” she teased. He only laughed, helping her up and kissing the back of her hand. “See you in a bit” she smiled as he parted from her, giving a wink as he walked out her open door.

She smiled to herself and sat on her bed, flopping back on it with a sigh. Part of her was ecstatic that this sweet handsome boy liked her but another feeling gnawed at the bottom of her stomach, fear. Fear of the unknown like the games and fear of the known, her budding relationship with Finch. Her thoughts were, like always, cut short by Aerith walking in. The tiny woman clapped her hands loudly, “up up darling, we have perfection to create.” the old woman demanded.

Y/N huffed out a breath and stood up, following the old woman who led her to the foyer. A clump of people waited for her and looked anxious to start picking and preening her to perfection. The group surrounded her, leading her to the elevator and then to an unmarked car that took her to the venue where she would get ready, they didn't even let her put shoes on first. She was rushed into the venue where the work began; her hair was put in giant rollers that felt somewhat itchy and her face was smeared with many different makeup and skincare products. A few people worked on her hair and nails while others poked at her face and neck with brushes for what felt like hours.

She was stripped of her comfy clothes and zipped in a long tulle ball gown. The dress glittered in the light, a dark blue fading into a purple color like the sky at dusk. The sleeves Fell off her shoulders and the deep sweetheart neckline accentuated her collar bones. A gooey substance was spread on her chest and rubbed into her skin, making it glitter and reflect light. Finishing touches were done on her hair and makeup before she was brought to a large 3 fold mirror for Aerith to give her approval.

She stood and looked at her reflection just as she had done that morning, studying her face and hair. She didn't look like herself, she looked like the capitol's version of her and it made the sinking feeling in her stomach grow. Aerith's heels click in unison with Furisha’s, the two women coming to study her in the light. Furisha held a box in her hands, opening it once they got closer.

Small iridescent glass beads made up a necklace and earrings, they looked like tiny flowers that she recognized. “Lily of the valley” she said aloud as Aerith took the necklace out of the box. “Beautiful, native to district 2” she said, pulling Y/N down to clasp the necklace on. The clasp clicked and she smiled “and poisonous” she added.

Y/N felt uncomfortable in her skin, a chill running down her spine. Furisha clipped the matching earrings on her ears “you really look like a princess darling” she said in a genuine tone. Y/N smiled back politely “Thank you” she said as she looked back in the mirror.

Brutus knocked on the door, “Almost ready? We still want to give some last minute advice.” He said loudly. Y/N took handfuls of her skirt, walking to the door and opening it. “Let’s do it, I wanna throw up and I can’t breathe in this dress.” She said as she walked past him.

The mentors had a little more than 15 minutes to give advice before peacekeepers lined all of the tributes up by district. A countdown started and obnoxiously loud music blasted through speakers, almost rocking the stage they stood behind. The trumpets blared a song very aptly called “war”, the signature song of the man currently rushing onstage. Caesar Flickerman.

The man was obscenely tanned and his hair was a bubblegum pink with matching eyebrows. His teeth were almost too white as he smiled to the crowd, a laugh coming out his mouth as he waved to the audience and took a microphone. “Happy hunger games!” He shouted as the crowd screamed.

Y/N looked up as Finch turned around in front of her. He wore a completely black suit that faded to a blood red at the limbs. A subtle detail and a subtle way to match the two. “I knew you’d look gorgeous” he flirted with a sly grin. Y/N reached up, fixing his crooked tie and patting his chest. “Thank you” she said with a small smile. He took her hand, holding in lightly as they waited.

The show began quickly, the tributes from district 1 going first. Ammo and Dutchess dazzled the crowd with their witty banter and upper class demeanors. Finally Finch swaggered onto stage, giving Caesar a firm handshake and smile. “I must say, you look very sharp tonight!” the television host commented, an outstretched hand offering Finch a seat. “Oh, never as good looking as you Ceasar.” Finch joked, earning a laugh from both the audience and the host.

“Well I must say I think we all thought you and your beautiful district partner dazzled us at the tribute parade! Didn’t they, folks?” Caesar said, riling up the audience momentarily. “Who’s idea was that amazing little stunt?” He asked, a large grin stretched across his face. Finch smiled that confident smile before speaking “It was my stylists idea but being honest it couldn’t have worked if Y/N wasn’t such a good partner, she can really go with the flow and be incredibly gracious about it.” He laughed.

Caesar laughed along “oh but we all know your strength really pulled it off, I mean look at those biceps ladies and gentleman!” Caesar said, pretending to fan himself. Finch only laughed again “I’ve been training a long time and at this point picking up another person is child’s play” he said, mock flexing to the crowd. His suit crinkled a bit at the shoulder as he did so, really showing the size of his bicep.

“Oh I bet the ladies back home just go crazy for you! A strong man with that smile and personality? Forget about it!” Caesar said with a wink “any lucky girl back home?” He asked, leaning forward a bit in his chair. “Oh no, I mean there have been girls but right now I’m just trying to get back to my family” he said with a genuine smile. “Well I can say for a certainty that if you make it back home you’ll have all the girls wrapped around your finger. I know your family would be overjoyed.” Caesar nodded

“I can only try my best, and I hope I’ll see you after all of this,” Finch said, waving to the audience. Caesar stood up and patted his shoulder as he did too. “And we can’t wait to see it all, may the odds be ever in your favor. Finch Glenn ladies and gentlemen!” The television host said, a shout at the end of his sentence and his signature laugh accompanying it.

Finch waved to the crowd once more and exited the stage. A gaggle of people met him offstage, Hebe praised him with a kiss on the cheek and Brutus gave him a pat on the back. Furisha babbled about how amazing he did and Enobaria smiled but kept her distance. Y/N gave him a thumbs up before looking out at where she was to enter the stage.

Caesar talked for a moment before finally introducing her. “And now for our lovely lady from district 2! The dazzling Y/N L/N!” He shouted, she made her way into the stage, holding her dress so she wouldn’t trip. The crowd cheered and Ceasar grinned. “My my! You look absolutely stunning my dear! Like a storybook princess!” He complemented, offering his hand.

She took his hand with a smile and let him twirl her gently. The dress glittered in the stage light, making the crowd whoop loudly. She smiled charmingly at Ceasar “Oh thank you so much, you are too kind.” She simpered. He led her to a chair, sat her down and she gracefully crossed her ankles. “I must say darling you certainly have a lot of admirers in the capitol already, and your stunt at the tribute parade certainly helped. Do you get a lot of attention back home?” He asked, a subtle wiggle in his brow.

She feigned a shy expression, “oh I’m not too sure about that, I think I’m a pretty average girl” she replied, batting her eyelashes. Caesar grinned at the crowd, “Beautiful and modest! What a catch am I right?” He said with a laugh, she smiled at him again.

“So y/n on a more serious note, what do you plan on doing in the arena? How do you plan to win?” He asked, taking on a more stern expression. She sat up a bit straighter flashing another grin “Oh you know I can’t tell you that, spoilers after all” she said with a wink at the cameras. Caesar gave another loud laugh, slapping his knee as he stood up and took her hand.

“Beautiful, cunning and agile! I think if you make it back to us you’ll be a true princess indeed!” He said as he kissed her knuckles. “Miss Y/N L/N everyone!” He shouted as the crowd cheered. She gave a wave and a small curtsy as she left the stage. Furisha gave her a large hug as she stepped offstage, blabbering about how good she did. Aerith gave a tight smile and Hebe kissed her cheek.

She looked around for Finch, meeting his eye as he was leaning back from the crowd. He walked over and took her hand as they spoke with their team, holding it tight. They watched as the rest of the rest of the tributes went on stage, mentors meeting them as they exited. Y/N once again caught the eye of the mentor from district 4, his dimples appearing as he gave her a smirk. She blushed and looked away, squeezing Finch's hand.

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

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daddy issues - chapter x

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I looked over at the man driving beside me, a feeling of comfort and gratitude suddenly washing over me. Over the last five weeks, Ransom had truly been the partner I had always hoped to have a baby with, even if we weren’t together in the way I originally would have wanted to be with my child’s father.

It almost didn’t matter though, because he was always around. Whenever I needed something, even if it was the middle of the night, he didn’t seem to mind that we lived on opposite ends of the city. He would drop by with my favorite junk food and leave without complaining.

I’d even started to let him sleep on the couch when I figured it was too late for him to drive back by himself. He never tried to make a move again, which was so relieving to me, especially since my pregnancy hormones were begging me to climb him like a tree. But also now that we got to spend actual time together, I’d come to learn he was a very interesting man. Sure, very immature in a lot of ways, but it almost added to his charm, somehow.

It didn’t help my goal of containing my attraction.

We’d gone to two doctor’s appointments and he truly was doing his very best to show me he was here for me - or maybe he just really was excited about having a child. If there was something I’d come to realize in our talks, it was that Ransom didn’t have a particularly loving childhood, so it warmed my heart to see how invested he was in making sure our kid wouldn’t go through the same things that he did.

“Hey,” I called out for his attention, reaching over his lap to squeeze his thigh. “Thanks for doing this with me.” His eyes were a bit wide when they met mine, but his smile mirrored my own.

“Thank you for inviting me. Can’t believe you trust me enough to want to introduce me to your parents.” That made me chuckle. His honesty was overwhelming most times, but it was also one of the traits I liked the most about him, now that I’d become used to it. If there was one thing I could be completely sure of, it was that Ransom Drysdale would not hide how he was really feeling to please anyone. And somehow, that calmed me down.

“Honestly,” I responded, excited with this opportunity to tease him. “Me too.” The insulted gasp that he released had me giggling right away, risking a glance to the side to check that he had actually understood that I was only teasing him. The way the corners of his mouth turned up let me know that he did.

“Okay,” he conceded, nodding but keeping his eyes on the road ahead. We were almost in my childhood neighborhood, I could recognize it even with my eyes closed. There was no logical reason for it, just an instinctive, deep calling, that made me feel at ease around the streets I hadn’t walked for so long. “I guess I deserved that.”

It was silent then, as he slowly drove us to the cul-de-sac my parents had lived in for the last thirty years. Nothing had really changed, and that showed a lot of the people who inhabited it. If Ransom was nervous at the prospect of meeting the grandparents of his future child, he didn’t show. Or well, I didn’t realize it.

“Hey!” I tried to match my parent’s excitement as they almost ran out of the house to meet us by the car, the second we’d stopped in front of the place I had grown up in. I barely had the time to prepare - I’d hoped I would have gotten a few more words in with Ransom, decide what we would say - but it warmed my heart to imagine them by the window, excitedly waiting for us to arrive.

“Oh my, you’re so big already!” My mom exaggerated, prompting me to roll my eyes as I noticed Ransom and my father shaking hands, our luggage already in my companion’s hands. “You really should have told us sooner,” she chastised, but I was prepared for that.

“Mom, c’mon. You know I had a lot to figure out, I didn’t want to let you guys know about a baby that I still had a high risk of losing, and on top of that, I had tons of classes to prepare.” My mom nodded, her eyes never straying from where her hand rested on my belly. I knew she understood it, she was just having a hard time grasping the concept of her baby having a baby.

“Shall we go inside?” Ransom followed closely, dropping the bags at the entrance when my father approached to give me his own inspection. I chuckled lightly at his furrowed brows until finally, he seemed satisfied with what he found and embraced me against his comfortable chest.

“Good to see you, kiddo. And I’m glad you’ve brought Ransom here for us to meet! We’ve prepared the room for you guys, would you like to go upstairs and rest? We can always catch up tomorrow.” Surprise had me blinking a couple of times, taking a second too long to understand what my father meant.

“The room?” I asked, right when Ransom confirmed it, “For us?” He didn’t sound as confused as me, but maybe a bit hopeful even, and it only made the situation even harder to comprehend.

“Yeah,” my mother confirmed, a patient smile on her lips. “We figured, you’re bringing a guy home for the first time and pregnant… It’s obviously pretty serious.” I was at a loss of words, mouth hanging open as I realized my parents were completely okay with the idea of me sleeping with a man I wasn’t married to under their roof, but what happened next really threw me on a loop entirely.

I felt Ransom’s arms around my shoulder, it was what prompted me to turn to the side and look up at him, but instead of finding him at his usual height, I was shocked with a kiss being deposited on my unexpecting lips, instinctively prompting me to close my eyes.

“Thank you so much.” That was all he had to offer after releasing my lips, and it wasn’t even directed at me. “For the reception, for understanding. I’m excited to talk to you more tomorrow, but for now, I think it’s better for the baby if I take this one to bed.”

Ransom’s P.O.V.

“Why on Earth would you do that?” I barely believed she managed to wait until we were both inside the bedroom, with the door locked, until she spit it out. I was almost certain she would confess the truth right there, laughing in my face at the prospect of actually being in a relationship with me.

“There’s nothing we can do about it,” I feigned nonchalance, shrugging and making a point not to look directly at her as I began to get settled, opening my suitcase and pretending to look for something.

“There was so much we could do about it! Practically anything other than pretend to be together when we aren’t!” Her exasperation irritated me. What was so bad about dating me? Why didn’t she want to be associated to me, the father of her child?

But I chose to take a deep breath, just like the therapist I’d been secretly seeing had taught me. I didn’t want to screw this up, I reminded myself, and I tried to see things from her perspective, instead of immediately focusing on my own feelings of insecurity.

“I’m sorry,” I immediately recognized it, and by the way she looked immediately disarmed, it was probably the right way to start. “I just figured it would be the easier way to go about this, considering what you’ve told me about your parents. I know they weren’t going to be excited about you being a single mother, even though I’m clearly more than excited to be a co-parent regardless of our relationship, and of course, I didn’t intend to lie, but when the opportunity appeared… I just figured we’d take the easier route.”

She didn’t seem to know what to say, and I could see by her expression that it made sense to her too, now that I’d explained. She didn’t want her parents’ interference, and she wanted this trip to go as smoothly as possible. It truly was the simpler way to deal with it.

“I can go downstairs and explain the real situation, if you want me to!” I offered, knowing now she’d be completely reassured of my intentions. “Really, it’s no bother. I’m sure they can fix the guest room for me.”

I turned around to leave, but her hand seized my wrist quickly. “Let’s not bother them, right?” It was impossible to stop the smile from appearing on my face when I turned around to look at her again, finding us much closer than we’d been before. Instinctively, without even thinking, I laced our fingers together, chuckling lowly at her cuteness.

“Right.” The moment felt heavy with something unspoken. I could still feel her lips on mine from when I kissed her earlier to sell the ruse to her parents. I hadn’t planned it, but it felt right for the moment.

It felt right at that moment, but I didn’t want to screw this up. So I put on my most charming smile, the same one that always prompted her to roll her eyes but giggle at me, and question, “Can I keep kissing you, then?” I put a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, my fingers running over her jaw when I found myself unable to pull away. “It’ll make it more believable.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, looking cute as ever with all of her suspicion, but ended up giggling and nodding. It allowed me to finally relax, and so I took the opportunity to look around the room we were in, taking notice of the posters on the wall, the little mementos, and picture frames on the shelves.

“So this is your childhood bedroom? This is hot.” I knew she had rolled her eyes at me, and I was glad we were now at a stage in our relationship where I could say stuff like that without her immediately kicking me out.

“Are you always hard?” For the first time that night, I hesitated. The truth was, and what I wanted to say was that it only happened when she was around, but I didn’t. I knew my silence could make her think I was some sort of creep, but it was better than admitting the truth.

I always wanted her, in one way or another.

“Are you sleepy?” I asked, an effort to change the subject, yet again resorting to messing with my luggage in search of something I didn’t need. “Did the trip tire you out?” Silence followed my question, and I understood she was thinking about it, even if I didn’t know what exactly she needed to think.

I grew tired of pretending to be busy, so I just turned around and faced her as I wanted for an answer, taking advantage of this time to admire just how beautiful she looked, particularly now that her belly had started showing. I don’t think anyone should look that good, not after a five-hour drive, and a burning sensation settled deep in my stomach - I couldn’t tell if it was desire or resentment, fear of ever having to stand back and watch her fall in love with someone who wasn’t me.

“Not really…” Her answer snapped me out of my thoughts, reminding me of what I’d asked. “It’s still so early…” Her eyes were on the night sky behind me, visible through the window of her childhood bedroom, and I shifted from one foot to the other as I waited for her to say something more, but nothing came.

“Well, what do you want to do?” I thought she’d take her time figuring something out - she’d taken so long to decide if she was tired or not - but instead, she surprised me with an immediate response, and an immediate response that almost gave me a heart attack.

“I want to suck your cock.”

It was my turn to not know what to say.

“W-what?” But she seemed decided. Instead of explaining, or offering any sort of insistence, she just shortened the distance between us, hand immediately curling on the edge of my pants as soon as it was within reach.

“Take this off.” I only lost five seconds in hesitation, perusing her eyes, trying to see if this was some sort of joke or test. When it became clear the only way I’d ever find out would be by jumping in head first, I decided to say fuck it.

My hands made quick work of my belt before unzipping my pants, letting it fall down my ankle, and she didn’t even give me the time to step out of it and kick it to the side before she sank down to her knees, taking my boxers with her.

She wasted no time wrapping her lips around the head of my member, already hard from my ever-present infatuation with her, not giving me the opportunity to protest the uncomfortable position she had put herself in. All thoughts of complaints or negotiations flew out of the window and into the night sky the second she started sucking, slowly but surely making her way to take more and more of my cock until her lips were grazing my navel.

My knees buckled and I had to hold the back of her head just to keep myself up, have something to hold onto to stay grounded. My eyes rolled back at the choking, slurping sounds coming out of her, and I silently asked God to allow me to cum this time. I didn’t think I’d survive if she decided to change her mind.

Her mouth felt good - so good. I couldn’t help but praise her. “Oh, fuck,” the curse fell out of my mouth easily when I looked down to find her staring up at me, mischief clear in her eyes. “Y-you’re very good at this.”

She kept on bobbing her head up and down my dick, giving me the sloppiest, most perfect blowjob I’d ever gotten, before pulling away with a pop and teasing, “Oh, yeah? You like it that much?”

Then the situation became overwhelming. My cock twitched inside her mouth, but I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want to cum and have to face her regret, I didn’t want to feel guilty for relenting and allowing myself to have this. So I tried to hold back, knuckles brushing her cheeks as I focused on controlling my breathing.

But of course, she’d never let me win.

“You know…” her sultry tone warned me that she wanted me to break, even before her hand curled around my member and began to pump it. “... I thought it was really hot when you were acting all jealous and possessive that night at the bar.”

I inhaled sharply, not only because of the implications of her admission but also because she’d enveloped my balls with her warm mouth as she waited for my reactions. “R-really?” As much as I hated hearing myself trip over words because of another person, I couldn’t hate her for the effect that she had on me.

“Yeah…” she moaned against my skin, sending the reverberations across my body. “I couldn’t let you know though, otherwise you wouldn’t learn… But you learned now, didn’t you?”

Her response was a moan, perhaps louder than I should have released, as I pulled on her hair in an effort to keep her away from my dick. “C’mon, Ransom!” She teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let go for me!”

When I shook my head, a pout appeared on her beautiful lips, and I just had to lean down to kiss it away. “Didn’t you like it?” She questioned when we parted, and I almost laughed, squeezing the back of her neck in a playful gesture.

“Oh, baby… Of course I did.” Biting my lip, I felt like I had to add, had to make her acknowledge it, “You’ve made me very, very happy.” When she leaned her head to the side, I already knew what she was going to ask.

“Then why don’t you want to cum?” That was a question I was dreading to answer, mainly because of course I wanted to cum, I just didn’t want to do it in her mouth. But if I had any chance whatsoever of getting what I truly desired, I’d have to voice it to her.

“Hell yeah!” I reassured her, making her laugh at my enthusiasm. “But not like this. Can… Will you let me touch you?” Time seemed to stand still as I waited for her answer, her eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t tell until she pushed me away and rose to her feet, walking towards her own luggage.

“No.” The word almost physically hurt me, and I deflated, falling down on the bed as I ran a hand over my hair, thinking about what the hell this would mean to us now. But then she was back, standing in front of me, a condom wrapper being waved right before my eyes. “I wanna ride you.”

I never wanted to fuck anyone this badly before. She got rid of her clothes just as eagerly as I took off my shirt, sending it flying somewhere across the room, and when she climbed on my lap, I had already put on the contraceptive. By the way she immediately sank down on my dick, it was clear that she was grateful for my speed.

“Oh, fuck,” I groaned against her shoulder, still able to hug her to me despite the small belly separating our chests. The build-up from the last time I almost had her, not to mention from minutes ago when her mouth was still around me had the fire in my stomach burning brightly in no time, as I sat back and watched her fuck herself on me.

“Y-you take me so well.” It came out louder than I intended, and she let go of her breasts to pull me to a kiss in an effort to silence me.

“Shhh…” She whispered, fingers running over my strands as she reminded me, “you have to be quiet, honey.” The nickname took me by surprise, my hands flying up to grip her hips as I took back the control she had so easily usurped from me. “Ransom!”

The way she moaned my name… I could get off just to her voice alone, and that’s what brought me to my release. Somehow, despite barely being aware of anything other than the way my cock throbbed inside of her cunt, I was able to make her cum, and watching her throw her head back and silently scream almost paralyzed me.

“Wait,” she commanded when I tried to lay her down. “Don’t pull out.” I melted against her, falling back on the bed and adjusting us so I could cuddle her to me while abiding to her wishes.

I think she was barely awake when I spoke again, not thinking at all as the words fell from my lips. “Does this mean we’re dating now?” And suddenly, her body wasn’t comfortably relaxed against mine. No, she jolted awake, sitting up and letting my limp cock slip from her while she clutched the sheets over her.

“What? Why?” I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be defensive, and disappointed, and overall hurt from her skepticism, but I knew I couldn’t. Not right now, not when I had a goal in mind and I was so close to it.

“Why not? We’re practically a couple anyway, you even brought me to your parent’s place! Now that we’ve brought sex to the table, what’s the difference between this and an actual relationship?” A long silence followed my words, a silence that felt heavy, suffocating even. Her eyes never left mine as she pondered over what I’d said, and in the quiet of the night, I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.

“Ransom, I don’t want to be your girlfriend.” I felt my heart breaking in a million pieces at her words, too stupefied to argue anything else. I suddenly was extremely aware of just how naked I was, and how uncomfortably the used condom was now sticking to me.

“I’m sorry, I just… I don’t really know you,” she continued, and despite how kind her eyes looked, I still felt like she didn’t understand just how badly she was hurting me. “We’ve never even been on an actual date.”

Surprisingly, that was the sentence that brought hope back to me. Even as she continued, “This was just… a one-time thing,” I didn’t feel deflated anymore, only excited. I knew she wanted me. It was just a matter of showing her that, getting her to admit it. And she had just told me how to do that.

“A one-time thing, huh?” I smirked, pulling her back into my arms, appreciating the surprise that took over her features at the response she certainly didn’t expect to get. “Like the night we made her?”

She chuckled against my chest as my hand fell over her belly. I was certain it was a girl, just as she was certain it was a boy. We had decided not to know, at least not now, and although most of the time the curiosity was eating me alive, I knew I was right.

“Yeah,” the mother of my child whispered against my skin. “Just like that night.” And with her hand covering mine, I slept soundly in a way I couldn’t remember ever doing before. I knew I would do whatever it took to keep her right here, in bed with me. Forever.

#my series #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale series #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale writing #ransom drysdale reader #ransom drysdale reader insert #ransom drysdale reader inserts

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viltrumitesuperboy · 4 years

Text

Babysitting Job (Peter Parker x Natasha’s Brother Reader)

Sorry for any errors within the plot. I wrote this over the course of two weeks. Reader’s powers not mentioned much.

Requested by: anon Could I possibly request a Peter Parker x Male Reader, where the reader is Black Widow's younger brother and has trained in martial arts and gymnastics and the like, but also has the ability of animal shape-shifting? Maybe all the avengers meet him for the first time when Black Widow finally gets him to live with her and Peter gains a pretty big crush on him?

Word count: 3352

You trained under your older adoptive sister for years. Natasha found out that you had been born with the ability to shift into animals. She brought you to her workplace where you would be treated as a person and not as a weapon like she had. You never stayed with her after you'd trained for a few years, leaving America to take other jobs. Every once in a while she'd check up on you, asking if you needed anything or if you could help her find some information. Even miles away, she still acted like your older sister and was just as protective.

Eventually you decided to finish your education in America, staying with Natasha at the Avengers Tower. She had an entire floor to herself, but rarely used most of it. She was a minimalist to an extent. She made sure you were settled before going to her briefing late, assuring you that she wouldn't get in trouble. If anything, you were sure that she'd scold them for starting without her.

You spent the first few nights extremely uncomfortable in the new place. You had never needed to stay somewhere for a long time, and even if it had only been a few days, you knew you'd be there for a while.

After a week, you were roaming about the R&D floors and bumped into someone.

"Oh, you," Tony Stark said.

"Who do you think I am?" you asked warily.

"Natasha's kid brother, right? With the powers? Listen, I have something for you."

"Uh..."

"Here. Have you seen this?"

He pulled out his StarkPad. You watched the video he pulled up, not wanting to interrupt someone who seemed like he was always in a rush. It was a boy with a lean figure, dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants along with a mask covering his entire head. You silently applauded him for being a beginner vigilante who wore something practical considering he probably couldn't afford body armour.

"This is Spider-kid. Well, Spider-Man. But he's young, and I want to keep an eye on him. You mind helping me out? Of course, I wouldn't tell you his identity without his consent, but he agreed that he'd be fine with me giving him protection after..." he trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hand as if you knew what he was talking about. "Anyway, you feel up to going to high school? You're young. You'll probably fit right in."

"Mr. Stark, I have no social skills. I assure you, putting me in a high school considering my powers and training is likely a danger to my mental stability and their physical well-being. I'm not going to babysit someone for you."

Tony's features seemed to soften a bit. He looked less like he was in a rush as much as he normally did. It was something he reserved for the people he cared most about.

"Look, I get it. People are hard to talk to. And I'm not saying this as Tony Stark, owner of a large company. I'm saying this as the reason I'm Iron Man. You've seen all that through files from Nat, right?" He awaited your confirmation, and you nodded. "Good. All you need to do is just be with Peter. And I'm sure you qualify to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. This can just be a mission and they'd be glad to know that my- uh, the kid is being managed by someone they can trust because at least they know Nat. It doesn't have to be anything else, not even a favour for me. Just a job."

You thought about it for a moment, then asked to see more of the videos. Stark held out the device for both of you to see and swiping through a few. You both stood there in the sunlit hallway for a while. He was barely trained and relied a lot on his powers. Maybe you could help him.

"I'll speak to Natasha today. I think I'll help you out, but talk to him first," you said finally.

"Great. By the way, I think he'd be a lot more comfortable if he knew that you were working with me," Stark said, just about to walk away. "He knows that someone will be sent to watch him, but he doesn't know who and he doesn't trust easily. He'd appreciate if you told him who you were right off the bat. Be careful."

"For him or for me?"

"Personally? For him. I think you can handle yourself."

He walked away, the device tucked under his arm as he made his way to one of the labs. It was obvious Stark cared for the boy, and you respected Stark for his efforts to make the world safer after what he'd gone through. If this was a job, this was one you'd take very seriously.

———

Your powers meant you could shift into animals, but you could also just take the attributes of any animal you knew to exist. It was much easier than turning into a large wildcat in the middle of a city street. You'd taken the climbing abilities of a gecko, leaping from another building to climb up the tower. There was a bandana covering the lower half of your face, just so you couldn't be recognised by cameras. You had just started to open the window when a reflection on the window blocked the lights inside.

"Hey, uh, what are you up to?" Spider-Man asked.

You turned to look at him, adjusting your bandana.

"Nothing, just going home," you replied, opening the window.

"Oh! Do you live here?" he piped up.

"No, but it'll be my home once I break in."

"Uh..."

"I'm just kidding. You can come in if you want. I know Stark has a soft spot for you."

"Mr. Stark? Really? I mean, I try to text Happy all the time cause I really want to tell Mr. Stark stuff sometimes but I didn't really think he actually-"

"Hey! Get inside!" your sister shouted from the kitchen.

You quickly slipped in, Spider-Man following and shutting the window behind you.

"What have I told you about coming in from there?" Natasha glared sternly.

"That there's an elevator and I should use it like a respectable person."

"Exactly. Go change and then help me out with lunch. Hi, Spider-Man. You know where to go."

"Yeah, sorry, Ms. Romanov. I didn't know you had a friend coming over."

"He's my brother. Now hurry up. Pepper will have your head if you're late."

The conversation trailed off, likely followed with goodbyes, as you went to your room. Lunch led to a very serious conversation about joining the secret government agency along with your first job: keeping Spider-Man in check.

———

The flash drive you received had the worst possible photo of Peter Parker you could imagine. It was as if they couldn't get an actual photo of him. Considering the fact that he was an official intern here, you figured that they might be able to get something that didn't look like an unfortunate accident from Picture Day. Because in person, he looked... not as stupid.

Going back to a public school was strange. You hadn't gone since you were a child, the rest of your education mixed in with the martial arts training you had to take. There were so many people, but at least they were ignoring you for the most part. The main problem was finding out where the hell B104 was.

"Um, are you lost?"

A girl with curly hair and a sketchbook to her side had a locker open next to you. You glanced at her putting books away and taking things out before responding.

"Yeah, I don't know where this is?"

She looked at your schedule, nodding as she shut her locker.

"Yeah. That's the basement. There's one science class down there," she explained. "I'll go with you; I have something there, too."

You thanked her as you both walked through the crowded hallways. She occasionally nudged people aside, giving absolutely no shits to the people standing in the way. Natasha would like her. When you accidentally mentioned it in a quiet mumble, she laughed. She claimed that if she ever met Black Widow, "it'll be over for all you bitches." You didn't doubt it. You both went down a floor and she led you to the room.

"I have to go a bit further down, but..." she quickly pulled out a pen and wrote down your room numbers on her wrist. "I have some classes close to these, so I can bring you there for the first half of the day before lunch. I'll see you after class?"

"Uh, sure?"

"My name's Michelle."

"I'm (Y/N)."

She stuck her hand out in a way that you became extremely uncomfortable with, not used to shaking hands. She seemed to notice your hesitation then held it up for a high five. You gave a small smile of gratitude and gave her one.

"I'm sorry, that's so awkward. Um, if you stick with me, I'll teach you the secrets of this school. Okay, there aren't really any, but you really look like more of a loner than I do."

You nodded awkwardly in response and turned to walk into your class without another word.

Michelle had about three of her classes with you, and you shared 4 with Peter Parker, two of which were before lunch. She walked you to the table she usually sat at, a relaxed gait to talk to you comfortably.

"Everyone kind of adopts their own spot in the cafeteria at some point. Those tables are usually empty, and that's where I sit. I have a feeling you're going to be spending your time there too."

You spotted Peter, who waved at you. Confused, you waved back, then Michelle voiced an excited greeting. You put your hand down after pretending to scratch your head.

"This is Peter and Ned. They're in some of your classes."

"Oh, you're the kid who broke one of the beakers today, right? Man, that's so weird. How did you manage that?" Ned recalled.

You weren't about to tell him that you hadn't broken it at all. It was sitting on one of the heating plates and you were trying to put it away, but it fell as you'd tried to catch it with your sticky gecko hands. It didn't work.

"I have super strength," you deadpanned.

The three laughed, somehow. You hadn't interacted with such a close friend group like this ever. Peter was an awkward teen just like the others, and you wondered how difficult it must have been for him to adjust to his powers in the middle of his schooling. If anyone noticed you staring at him, they didn't mention it.

———

You did not tell Peter that he was just your job.

He was completely oblivious to your role in his life and laughably terrible at hiding his secret. You once caught him pick up an entire row of lockers with one hand in between classes. He picked up a bottle that looked like it held arsenic and placed the lockers back down. The sunlight streaming in from a nearby classroom's glass window made you realise that this boy had no regard for his surroundings. He was incredibly stupid. You really had to tell him soon.

He'd visited the tower a few more times, and you'd sometimes see him practice with your sister. She'd look up at you in the doorway of the training room and glare at you, as if telling you that she was doing your job. You walked away before he saw you every time. Instead, you followed him around when he was Spider-Man, choosing when you wanted him to know you were there and when you didn't. You'd learned that from Natasha. He'd tried to get your attention a few times, knowing you were there, but you slipped out of sight every time.

Michelle started to ask you to call her MJ. Ned showed you pictures of the Death Star he and Peter built together. It suffered destruction twice in the past, but it was perfect now and sitting on display in Ned's home. Peter offhandedly mentioned that Tony Stark wanted to display it at the tower. Ned was all for it, and you wanted to hit your head on a wall. Peter consistently confirmed his parent-child relationship with Stark without realising it. It was a bit infuriating for everyone else who could see it.

Peter had started to become more awkward around you. He'd been more comfortable over time, but one day he just started to get fidgety and stammered a lot. It only happened when he spoke to you. You were aware that you were probably one of the very few people that he felt any romantic attraction to, and he probably felt like you were his only option. Unsurprisingly, you felt the same way. It sucked having only a few friends.

At some point the secret had to come out. You were just standing in the kitchen, opening the fridge for the second time like it would suddenly become interesting, and jumped once you closed it.

"Oh my god, Peter," you huffed.

"(Y/N)? What are you doing here?"

Your eyes darted to Natasha for help. Peter followed your line of sight to her. She shrugged and hauled her duffel bag further up her shoulders.

"I have a mission. I'll only be gone less than a week. Get groceries."

The elevator arrived in seconds and she went up, likely to the helipad. You both stood there in silence for a moment.

"That's my sister," you admitted.

"Hold on, so you're telling me the person I met sticking to a window was you? The new, awkward kid at my high school?"

"You're awkward too."

Peter began too look a bit uncomfortable just standing in front of you in plain view, like he was suddenly aware of how open he was.

"You were the one following me around the city too. When I'm Spider-Man."

You nodded, gesturing to the living room so you could both take a seat. He was quiet as you went to your room, coming back out with the flash drive you had on him.

"Stark wanted someone to watch you, and he doesn't have many younger options. Then Nick Fury apparently wanted to keep an eye on you, so it all worked out. Natasha talked to him about having me join, and you were supposed to be my mission."

"Then why didn't you tell me? Are we... friends?"

"Yes!"

Peter looked away from you and looked out the window, the same one you both climbed into a while ago. He looked down at the flash drive, his teeth biting his bottom lip. You slowly sat down next to him, being sure to keep some distance away.

"I just didn't know how to tell you. Stark said that I would have been fine if you didn't know who exactly was watching you. I didn't expect to become your friend."

He put the flash drive in between the two of you, sliding it back over. You looked at it, your stomach doing turns knowing that you never would have hurt him if you said something earlier.

"My sister's been training you because I couldn't. I've learned a lot from her, but I've traveled more than she has. And I can adjust my powers to be more like yours. If you'd still want me around, I can teach you more."

Peter stood up, holding his hand out like he was going to shake your hand. You followed suit, holding your hand up for a high five. You both switched your hand positions, then settled for a fist bump that wasn't quite coordinated.

"I know we're both a bit awkward and we don't know how to talk to people normally, but I don't think I'd ever give you up. I'd like to be more than a mission to you."

"Like a friend?"

"Whatever you want."

———

It was easier to be with Peter in the tower. You realised how little you actually know about the building, and the next few days were spent with the both of you walking to the subway together and taking it to where you lived. He always brought you up to Stark's personal floor, to both his and Stark's labs, then to the R&D floors that you stopped exploring ever since your interaction with Tony Stark. He showed you what people were working on if they allowed you both in, and you'd watch him work on projects when he figured he'd procrastinated long enough. Sometimes MJ and Ned would tag along because apparently both you and Peter vouching for them was enough for security to let them through. Of course you had MJ meet your sister. It was a terrifying experience.

You spent weeks training Peter, watching him crawl up walls and do flips with more grace than you ever could and learning from him, but also taking him down much faster than he could ever take down anyone else. He was resilient but needed the training that both you and your sister provided. And even if your sister had been doing this longer than you had, you had abilities she didn't that could match and counter Spider-Man's.

Somehow Peter got even more awkward. He was clumsy, and was only lucky he didn't break things (or his own body parts) because of his powers. You didn't really want to tell him that you knew why. If you didn't have your own response to how he felt about you, he'd think that you were rejecting him. Though conflicted, MJ decided to make that decision for you.

"Ned, wanna come with me to see Ms. Romanov while she's training?" MJ asked, slinging her sweater over her shoulder.

"Uh, I don't really-"

"We have lovebirds to leave alone. Come on."

Ned looked a little torn, considering he had either the option of staying and not letting his two friends talk alone for once or leaving and being constantly terrified of a woman and a teenage girl for hours. You felt he made the worse choice, as he followed MJ. Fool.

"Did you just call Ned a fool?" Peter laughed.

You put your hand over your mouth, but laughed with him anyway. You were both sitting on the same sofa that led to Peter finding out that he was a part of your job. His hand reached yours, putting it on top of where they rested on your lap. He pulled it towards him and held it like romantic couples usually do, with fingers crossed together. It took some struggle because you both moved your hands the same way. Once again, you shared a laugh, though this one was more strained and uncomfortable.

"You like me, Peter," you said, not an ounce of doubt in your words. "I've known behaviour long enough to know. And I like you too, but I'm scared that it's because you're the first friend I've had that wasn't my sister."

"I was supposed to say it first," he pouted. "I had those two leave on purpose!"

You laughed and lightly squeezed his hand.

"I mean, what's life if we're not going to take risks?" he continued. "You decided to go to public school after years of not making friends, and I went on a school trip, got bitten by a spider, and decided not to tell anyone. If it doesn't work out, we can still be friends, right?"

"Nat would force me to stick around you as part of the job. Keeping you around as a friend is just a plus."

"Well, don't think that I'm letting you off the hook for telling me how you feel first. I'm holding you to this." Peter pointed a finger menacingly at you, which you pushed away.

"Sorry for stealing your thunder. And speaking of thunder, Thor's coming in a few hours. You wanna hide his food and blame it on Barton?"

"Hell yeah."

#x male reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader #peter parker imagine #male reader #male reader insert #peter parker #request

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pixieungerstories · 3 years

Text

Quarantine - 4

Nick had changed his tactics. Now, instead of growling, howling and creepy laughter, he whispered. It was like living in an ASMR app. Somehow the lights were always dim and Nick was occasionally purring sweet nothings in my ear.

Someone came to inspect the wine. They had questions I could not answer, I parroted back the approved line that Nick was the one selling and they would need to call or email him.

A week later, someone came and took away a box that Nick had packed and there was a hell of a lot of money in my bank account.

Which was just as well, I had my hours further reduced.

I lay in bed that night staring at the ceiling and listening to Nick whispering about how he was planning how to spend the wine money on the house.

I was dancing around asking if I could use some of it to cover my living expenses. He wasn’t getting the hint. I realized that was very nearly fair. He had been very clear he was here for the house not for me. It had been his wine. Of course, I was the one who had the income from the wine sale to claim on my taxes.

“Nick? Would you pay me to paint the place?”

That made him stop.

“And why would I do that?” he breathed against my cheek, making me shiver.

“I have no idea how long I will be without work and I’m afraid of running out of money,” I admitted. “And of having strangers coming in, possibly bringing the infection with them. We don’t know if people can get Covid twice.”

He didn’t reply. In fact, there was no sign of him for the better part of a week. That was a whole other level of creepy. The house just felt empty. There was no one to talk to and I hadn’t realized how often Nick would brush past me until that stopped.

I was soaking in the tub on Saturday night, wishing for a glass or wine or a beer. There was still wine in the basement, but it was all the stuff Nick was saving for a special collector. It had come as a surprise when the wine appraiser said that I had drunk a twelve hundred dollar bottle of wine out of my coffee cup the last time I had cracked one open.

No, the wine was wasted on me and deliveries from the liquor stores were booked for weeks if I wanted to schedule a delivery.

The lights flickered.

“Nick?” I asked. There wasn’t any reply. I pulled the plug with my toes and climbed out of the tub. I had been avoiding the second floor of the house as much as I could but it was where the tub and shower were. The lights flickered again. There was a huge crash of thunder signaling the start of a summer storm, then the lights went out and the rain started.

“Shit.” OK, I told myself, no need to panic. It’s just a storm. I am just trapped in pitch blackness, in a storm, while naked and I have to not trip over my clothes and make it safely down steep and narrow steps by memory. The thunder rolled again, a huge almost double crash that had to be really close. My feet were wet and the tile was slippery.

“Nick?” I tried. “I could use a little help here.” I bit back a scream as the bathroom door creaked open. “Nick?” I whispered.

I shrieked when something brushed my hand then tried to relax as I realized it was a towel. I wrapped up and tried to feel ahead of me with my feet as I inched my way towards the door.

That familiar low voice growled in my ear, “it would be safer if I carried you down the stairs.”

I swallowed, then nodded. I was scooped up and cradled. There was no real sensation of movement until I was placed on my feet and he guided my hand to what turned out to be my bed. Then he was gone. The room was briefly lit by lightning and I swore for a moment I could see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen. The thunder followed in an instant rattling the whole house. I was glad I had gotten the roof fixed.

Looking toward the front window, it looked like the street lights were out too.

I hate storms. Objectively, I know that I don’t have to be afraid, but storms completely bypass the objective part of my brain and reach right into my fear response. I sat on the bed, shaking with fear in a way that I hadn’t felt since Nick tried to lock me in the bedroom.

“Lift up your hand,” he whispered, near enough to make me jump. “I can’t turn on your hedgehog night light but I can hand it to you.”

I tentatively held up my hand and he didn’t so much pass me the light as drop it into my hand. I fumbled for a moment before finding the right place to press to make it light up. It didn’t really help, but I slid back across the bed until I bumped into the wall and sat clutching it anyway.

“You are very afraid,” he observed calmly from somewhere to my left.

“I’m trapped in a haunted house, during a storm and I am only wearing a towel. This is where the sound track plays the creepy music and the audience tenses up in anticipation of my imminent death.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, so that when he did speak, I made an undignified squeak and jumped.

“You can’t see me bring you clothes.”

“What?”

“I can’t bring you your clothes unless you turn off the light.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t see me.”

I thought about arguing about whether it was that I physically couldn’t see him or if he just didn’t want to be seen. Still, I had trusted him to carry me down the stairs.

I turned off the light and fought not to hyperventilate. My robe was placed in my lap a moment later. That raised more questions. If I turned on the light to get dressed did that make it easier or harder for him to see me. Was the dinky little nightlight really going to keep him away in the storm?

I turned it back on and looked wildly around the room as it cast strange shadows.

“I used to like that,” he murmured. “The taste of fear. Its smell. All the little noise that humans make when they are afraid and trying to be quiet.” He paused and there was a moment of uncomfortable lack of talking filled with the sound of howling wind and driving rain. “I have never lived with one of you this long before. Your fear is different. You become afraid at times when I am unable to see the threat.”

“Like now,” I mumbled, as I scrambled into my clothes.

“No. This fear I can understand. Primal fear is very familiar to me. It’s my bread and butter, so to speak. You are afraid of when I am here and when I don’t answer and you are afraid of your job.”

I stopped for a moment and tried to understand that last one. “I am afraid for my job,” I countered. “If I can’t work, I don’t earn money. Without money, I can’t pay my bills. If I fall behind in my payments, the bank repossesses the house and this is an even more shitty time to be homeless than usual.”

“Hmmm.”

I shivered and tried to pull the blankets around me.

“You can lay down,” he suggested. “You would be warmer and more comfortable.”

“It would be easier if I could see you,” I muttered.

Nick snorted, “No it wouldn’t.” The wall where his voice was coming from got darker, then a swirling shadow detached itself from the wall and drifted towards me. It was vaguely humanoid but with soft wavering edges like ink dropped into water. His eyes still shone in the darkness.

“That’s a little scary,” I whispered “but I could get used to it.” Then he grinned showing entirely too many teeth and I started to doubt my words. The way he stalked towards me wasn’t entirely comforting either. The bed dipped under his weight and I found myself pulled into his lap. It was the first physical contact I had since he left. It was weird to realize that he was the only other person to have touched me in months. I tried to relax against him, he was warm and dry.

I couldn’t hear a heartbeat. It was weird. “You could rub my back, if you want. It was nice the last time you did that.”

Nick gave a low chuckle, then he began stroking me. We sat like that in the storm until the wind died down and I drifted off to the sound of the rain.

#quarantine #oh my god they were quarantined #shadow monster

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paper-n-ashes · 3 years

Text

sparks and embers - chapter 2

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Summary: Alexys is a doctor living a life of exclusivity on Raxus, hoping to survive through a peaceful existence, concealing herself from those she believes would use her, or kill her. When fate intervenes and instigates a perilous journey she’d been desperately trying to avoid, Alex finds herself caught in the middle of two sides in both war and love.

Chapter 2 - Consciousness

Words: 3.4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: mentions of blood and broken bones, medical procedures

Read on AO3

It was the light of morning that caused my eyes to flutter open, the hardness of the tiled floor beneath slowly recognised in an increasing ache pulsing through my body.

I was slow to move, measured actions helping to bring myself into a seated position, arms shakily holding me up at the sides. Memories of the previous evening flooded back in swift succession, along with the pain of immense fatigue that always followed the act of letting the Force do my healing for me.

Did it even work?

My hand gripped the hospital bed that his body remained slumped on and I pulled myself upwards, feet gliding along the ground under my legs until I could stand. The scene before me was still shocking, even in remembering all that happened. Eventually, I noted the even breaths seeping in and out of the pilot’s chest.

He survived the night. Well done.

The numbers on the monitor confirmed what the voice had said. Heart rate steady. Oxygen levels optimum. Blood pressure higher than it had ever reached the night before. Looking over the battered and broken man, covered in dried blood that had spilled to the bed and floor, I felt a rush of emotion break free from its cage in my chest, unleashing an irrepressible urge to cry.

I sobbed quietly, knowing it was both relief and exhaustion that the tears crawled down my face. I wasn’t really sure why it hit me so hard. I didn’t even know this man, and somehow his survival at my hands was overwhelming, bursting at the seams with a happiness I’d never experienced for a patient before.

But then I recalled what I’d done to make it possible.

Fear struck like a spark in the centre of my chest, rippling its way through my veins.

There’s no way I could explain this as a simple act of medical miracle. He’d know. Then they’d know. And everything I’d built would come crumbling down. I’d have to find a new planet, a new home, build a new clinic, leaving everything behind.

I just wanted to heal people. I didn’t want to be a part of either of their worlds, and I didn’t want to d-

A croaky moan escaped from the pilot’s lips, his eyes moving underneath the lids, struggling to open. He groaned louder, and it became clear all too quickly he was starting to feel his extensive injuries. Panic set in, realising I hadn’t had time to give him any anaesthetic or pain relief.

This was going to be a rough wake up.

A piercing whimper bellowed from his chest, startling me into focus. With the trolley at hand I wrenched open the draws in search of anything with a pain-relieving quality and prepared the med-injector with heavy fluid. He’d already started to move his limbs, presumably in a way to understand what was happening, and another strained yell echoed in the room, sending a shiver rocketing down my spine. I jammed the needle into the IV cannula port, pushing in the medicine without much of a thought to appropriate dosage.

I just needed to stop him moving.

He began hollering even harder, tears welling in his eyes as he started to thrash against the mattress. Snatching at his wrists, I slammed them back down on the bed.

“It’s okay! You’re okay! I know it hurts but you’ve got to give the painkiller time to work. I promise it’s going to be alright!”

His eyes flew open, an obvious distress burning from behind brown irises. They flickered over my blood-stained clothes, then locked into mine, pleading, begging for me to do something to take away the agony.

“I know,” I said softly, a more tender edge to my voice. “I know it hurts. I’m doing all that I can. Please just stay still. It will get better. Please.”

The pilot drew in a deep, haggard breath, his bottom lip trembling. Eventually his jaw clenched as our eyes remained fixed, a silent pact of trust hanging in the air. It took me by surprise, how easy it was to calm him, and I seized the chance to soothe him even further.

“My name is Alex, I’m a doctor,” I explained. “Your ship crashed just outside my clinic. You were hurt, badly. You fell unconscious and I brought you in here to treat your injuries.”

Such a simple explanation for the truly gargantuan effort I had performed.

I wonder if he’ll ever know how close to death he was.

It wasn’t the time to tell him now, not when he seemed so scared. There was some semblance of understanding in his features, dark bushy eyebrows furrowed in thought for a moment, only for his eyes to shut again as he withheld a pained cry. I released my grip from his right wrist, placing my hand in his to squeeze gently. An act of sympathy, something I had done many times for people in distress. Even the small movement was enough to make him yelp.

Kriff. I forgot his arm was broken.

“Sorry!” I squeaked. He was still wincing. “Let me try and fix that.”

It was obvious how wrong the angle appeared in his forearm, beginning to prepare more local anaesthetic into the injector handle. I shot the needle a few centimetres above the fracture, the pilot barely flinching. Compared to the rest of his injuries it would likely have felt like nothing at all.

“I need to set this okay? Your arm is going to feel numb in a minute or two. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

His nod was measured, careful not to move anymore than he had to. I left him for a moment to find my universal cast and a sling, giving the injection a few moments to filter through his tissue and into the nerves. When I returned I could see some of the pain medication had already started to take hold, the sting of discomfort in his eyes beginning to waver, his muscles losing their tension and relaxing ever so slightly into the mattress. I prepared the cast, cutting the shapes out for his fingers and thumb, getting it ready for quick application.

“Poe,” he said slowly, his voice croaky and filled with restraint. “My name is Poe.”

I met his gaze again, trying my hardest to put forward an aura of confidence, even in my exhaustion. “Nice to meet you, Poe,” I smiled. With a lightened touch, a finger trailed softly down his right forearm. “Can you feel this?”

“A little,” he whispered. It was clearly hard for him to find his voice again. “It’s kind of… fuzzy.”

“Do you think I could try and set your arm now? I can wait if you prefer.”

“I can handle it.”

Underneath his lips I could imagine gritted teeth, clenching hard, bracing for the pain. It occurred to me then maybe this wasn’t the first time he’d broken a bone.

Without another word I pulled the X-ray unit’s arm up towards his fracture site, hoping he didn’t notice the splashes of his blood smattering the machine. Pressing down on the image button revealed a better picture in comparison to the absolute mess his femur had been. Only his radius was broken, in an even line, no splintering to be seen.

Finally something easy.

With two hands around his arm on either side of the fracture, I poised myself for a quick pull and twist. Poe’s muscles tensed underneath my grip.

“Just try to relax, it will make it much easier,” I insisted.

He drew in a deep breath, and the tension released from underneath my fingertips. I’d learned in my experience not to tell patients exactly when I was going to perform something painful. Something about the surprise of it somehow made it hurt less. So with one fluid movement I pulled and rotated the bone back into place, knowing even before I shot the X-ray it would be aligned. Poe was crushing his eyelids closed, waiting for me to move again.

“It’s okay, I got it.”

His eyes opened, meeting me with a look of surprise. I’d already begun to position the cast, bending the malleable plastic to the contours of his limb.

“First try?” he marvelled. I nodded, while trying to rein in my ego. “Never had someone get it on the first try.”

I swallowed hard. “I, uh... I wasn’t so lucky with your femur.” I flicked through the previous X-rays, pointing to the multiple shots of my attempts to fix the break. His eyes widened, mouth in a small ‘o’.

“That was my leg?” he gasped, “And you put it back?”

Both of our eyes glanced to the wound on his thigh. It was closed.

But I didn’t put any bacta on it.

Poe’s disbelief distracted him from my own. What I’d done last night with my crude attempt at Force healing had managed to not only mend the life-threatening severing of his artery, but also somehow pulsed enough energy to knit his wound back together, leaving a sealed laceration where the deep hole had been. Dread filled me again, weighing down so forcefully I didn’t want to move.

How am I going to explain this?

“T-thank you. For getting the bacta into it so quickly. Must have some good quality stuff.”

Thank every particle in the universe. He suspected nothing.

I moved slightly to position myself in front of the trolley that stored evidence of the low quality bacta solution and salve I had used for his chest wound and burns, and feigned a smile of appreciation.

“Just doing my job.”

All of a sudden it seemed to hit him, the situation he was in. His questions came out in rapid fire, desperate for clarification.

“Wait, where am I? What happened to my ship? Where’s BB-8?”

He began to rise from the mattress, wincing at the many injury points as he pulled himself into an upright position on the bed. The quick movement evidently made him dizzy, as he pulled his newly casted arm onto the bed railing to stabilise a wobble.

“Woah, just hold on a minute there,” I snipped, doctor mode engaged. “You’ve still got some serious injuries that need time to heal. Nasty burns, a collection of broken bones and the remnants of a punctured lung. Now bacta can be a miracle cure but it still needs more time before you start moving around again, or you’re going to ruin all the progress I made.”

Poe looked as if he was going to argue, but as my eyes bore into his, he recoiled back into the bed, sighing from both the pain of movement and the lack of answers.

“I was in the middle of an important mission okay?” he stressed. “There are people who are waiting on me. I need to get a message back to the Resistance. To tell them I’m out of commission.”

I tensed. The thought of the Resistance coming here to pick up their injured pilot was enough to make my heart beat faster. Sure, maybe Poe didn’t suspect anything, but the likelihood of convincing force sensitive people like Leia Organa, or the scavenger girl….

Attempting to fool them into thinking I’d healed this man with a bit of brute force and bacta would be near on impossible. But I couldn’t prevent Poe from contacting anybody without arousing even more suspicion. I’d just have to go along with whatever he wanted until I could formulate some kind of plan.

“Alright, how about I get you my transmitter and you promise not to try and move until I say so?” I offered, the tone in my voice not really implying that no could be an appropriate answer.

“Sure thing doc,” he agreed.

Maker, I hate when people call me that.

I made my way over to my tech station, using the moment to give him a couple of the answers he’d been so desperate for. “You’re on a remote clinic on Raxus, about 3000 kilometres- uh… klicks, from Raxulon. Your ship… Well, I haven’t been outside since it exploded at my front door. And your droid unit… I haven’t seen.” I realised quickly how insensitive this information came out when I looked up from my rummaging to Poe’s horrified expression. He began to sit upwards again, giving even less care to his wounds, forcing me to rush back to stop him. “I haven’t checked outside yet!”

“Why haven’t you been out there?” he demanded, eyes flaming.

“Maybe because I was stuck in here saving your life? And how was I supposed to know you had an astromech droid with you?”

He huffed, seeing the logic in my question. “Can you please check if BB is okay?”

I raised an eyebrow, curious at how much emotion he was committing to this piece of equipment. All of the medical droids I’d come into contact with over the years were extremely flat personality wise. Intelligent and useful, but I’d never grown any type of attachment to them. Nothing like Poe seemed to have with this BB-8 droid.

“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll go look for the BB unit. Just please stay in bed. And… prepare for the worst.”

Underpromise, overdeliver. One of the many phrases I’d recited during my medical training. I just really hoped the latter would be the case in this situation.

The latch of the clinic door closed softly behind me, the crisp morning atmosphere somewhat refreshing for a moment or two, until I shook myself into focus to assess the completely destroyed X-wing ship consuming my vision. With sunshine finally illuminating the environment, rolling green hills of the countryside extending beyond the horizon, I scanned the blackened metal skeleton of the ship, ashes smattered all over the ground, glass and electrical wires splayed everywhere.

Well, this doesn’t exactly ignite hope.

Walking around what was left of the X-wing, I examined the surrounding area for any trace of a droid - not just the shine of metal, but the possible tracks left by a robot who was looking for its master. I walked slowly into the field behind the crash site, my eyes surveying every bit of ground, hoping to see any metallic glint that might indicate an intact droid.

Since the clinic was the only building for a few kilometres, there was hardly another structure it could be hiding behind, or lodged in. I almost wanted to keep walking, washing my hands of all of this, so I didn’t have to go back and tell Poe his obviously beloved droid hadn’t survived like he did. But another ruined machine caught my attention.

My comm-tower was flattened into nothing - steel, wiring and black plastic flattened into an artificial pancake.

Kriff, more bad news for Poe.

With my only means of communication squished there was no way any of my tech could send a signal far enough to reach the Resistance, let alone the next village over. And now I would have to make the weeklong trek back to Raxulon to get another one.

This day is kicking my ass.

With a long sigh, I ventured towards the ruined X-wing, assuming if I hadn’t found BB-8 by now, it must have been pulverised by the explosion I narrowly avoided last night. I searched the hollow structure of the ship, hoping for any scrap of metal that could be related to the droid, but it was all so black, covered in soot and melted, everything beginning to mutate into some other portion of the machine. When I skimmed over what was left of one of the wings, there was still a rounded hole I assumed BB-8 would have been housed during flights. An empty hole. There was always a possibility the BB droid could have gone searching for help beyond my clinic, but again, there wasn't a trace of movement in the dirt track leading away to the nearest village.

I think it’s time to be the bearer of bad news.

I extricated myself from the mangled ship, looking back towards the front walls of my clinic, noticing now the remnants of the explosion that had left countless dark stains over the light blue paint, along with a few cracks and impact points where metal had hit the cement. The bushes I’d planted a few months ago in time for this planet’s version of spring had been scorched, most of the green overtaken by grey and black soot. On closer inspection, it became obvious one had been split in half, the edges of leaves opening up to a large gap.

I quickened my pace and kneeled in front of the jumbled shrub, my hands diving in to push burnt leaves out of way, finally discovering a large metal ball of orange and white leaning on the blue concrete wall. A little cracked and dirty, but seemingly intact.

Oh wait, where’s the head?

Scurrying around on my hands and knees, I felt around the bushes once more, moving along the line of the wall. The twigs were scraping against the skin of my arms, but I was too excited for the possibility of some good news that I ignored the sting they caused.

Unexpectedly my hand struck something hard, pushing the stiff lower branches out of my view to find a domed head dug into the ground. Picking it up, I brushed away some of the dirt, surveying for any obvious damage. Its antennae was crooked, a few deep scratches slicing the metal, but it all seemed fairly superficial. With the head in hand, I strode back to the body unit, beaming with the thought I could ease even a little bit of Poe’s worry.

My delight was swiftly dissolved when setting the pieces together. I’d assumed the magnet would hold and the droid would spring back to life. Instead, the head slipped straight off, sinking into the ground once more with a muffled thud.

Yeah, that seems about right.

“I have good news and bad news,” I declared sheepishly as I walked into view of Poe, lugging in a separated BB-8. His face burst into an illustration of relief, then confusion as his brain finally registered the image of his dear friend separated into two pieces, and lifeless.

As I placed the metal components onto the hospital bed at the side of Poe’s leg, he looked up at me. “This is the bad news right?” His hands tentatively checked over the BB unit, attempting what I had done not minutes ago, and watched the head piece slide back over the metal ball and dive into the mattress.

“Um… Actually… This was meant to be the good news,” I grimaced. “The bad news is that my comm-tower was completely flattened by your ship. None of my transmitter tech is going to be able to send out any messages until I can get another one built.”

Poe’s jaw clenched, and I only noticed now the dark stubble that glittered the lower half of his face.

“And when would that be exactly?” he queried sharply. I didn’t like the tone of his voice.

“At least another week if I left now. But I can’t leave you like this, you’re still in critical condition.”

It was obvious he was hiding his frustration, hands scrunched into balls. “They can’t wait that long.”

I scrambled at any answer that might settle him. “I mean, maybe some of the villagers could help, but there’s no guarantee-”

“Then get them to help!” he exploded, making me step back. At seeing the startled look on my face he softened, realising the severity of his demand. “I’m sorry, but this is just… so important. I know you’ve already done more than I could have ever asked of someone, but I still need more of your help. The fate of the galaxy depends on it.” His eyes glistened with hope, a silent plea, sending a cold wave of unease down my spine. He held a bandaged arm out, hand open, reaching toward me.

I didn’t want to be a part of this. It was exactly what I had run from for so long. Even now the immediate urge was to bolt out the front door, leaving behind this stranger who could unravel everything I’d built.

But there was something about the expression on his face, the desperation in his eyes, calling out to me. I was all he had right now. I was his only lifeline to put him back on whatever journey he had been travelling before fate made him, quite literally, crash into me.

“I mean, if the fate of the galaxy depends on it…” I mumbled, placing my hand tentatively in his. “Okay. I’ll help you get back home.”

Next Chapter

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houseof-harry · 4 years

Text

What Happens in Jersey Pt. 8 | G.D.

A/N - she’s finally here! I’m sorry it took so long, but it had to meet my impossibly high standards. Get hype! Read the last part here!

Word Count - 4.7k

Warnings - none :)

Recap:

He sucks a breath in, his thoughts racing through his head a mile a minute. He had no clue how much you’d misinterpreted what happened with Jessie and how much you were unaware of how flexible he could be with his job and how much him and Ethan were looking to come back to the East Coast anyways. And most importantly, he had no idea you were unaware of how much he cared about you, your happiness, health, and well-being.

But before he can say any of that, you’re walking towards the door.

‘Y/N-“

“No. It’s Jessie’s fucking graduation party, we’re not going to ruin it.”

And with that you were out the door, not even looking back at him.

***

The rest of the party went well, without any hiccups. You even got to spend some time with Ethan, which you really enjoyed. He was always so stressed free it seemed, and he was even able to make you laugh.

Only when it started to wind down did your anxiety pick up again. You saw the Dolans making their rounds, saying goodbye to everyone they knew. Of course they saved you for last, Lisa and Ethan saying their goodbyes before leaving Grayson alone with you.

“Please let me take you to eat something.”

You can hear the desperation in his voice, and he makes it difficult to do anything other than agree with him. You simply nod, going to grab your phone. You don’t even care that you’re not hungry, you hope that maybe what you’d said had finally resonated with him and this could be the last time you have to have this type of conversation with him. You’d finally be able to like him from a distance, safely.

He brings you about 20 minutes from Jessie’s house to a small diner. The parking lot was almost empty, just a few cars that you assumed belonged to the staff. It was only 5 o’clock, so you assumed business would pick up soon.

“What’s this place?” You ask as you both walk to the entrance together. He holds the door open for you as you walk inside.

“Found it when I first got my license. I love my family, and Ethan especially, but I needed some space sometimes. Would come here and get some coffee and food and be alone.”

You nod, looking around the inside. It was exactly what you’d expect from a diner that hasn’t been changed in 50 years. How cliché.

A young girl walks towards you smiling, telling you to sit wherever you’d like. You thank her and Grayson pulls you to what you assume is his favorite booth.

Once you were both settled, you started looking over the menu. “What’s your favorite?” You ask him.

“Well, now that I’m vegan I just get fries, but I know the burgers are really good. Know that, somehow, you’ve been craving meat.” A shiver runs through him as if the thought is absolutely horrible.

You giggle, nodding. “Yeah, a burger sounds really good. But I need my own fries.” Now that you were here, smelling the grease and the food you knew you couldn’t resist having what he suggested.

His exaggerated disgust continues as he collects your menus. The comfortable feeling you got around him right now made you even more hopeful. Maybe he’d listened to you, and you could be friends. Back to a good old friend baby.

“I thought you should know Ethan and I are touring a couple houses tomorrow.”

Your smile fades as you look at him, your brows now raised. “Here?”

He nods. “Yeah. Well, in a couple of different towns, but all less than ten minutes from a train station so you can get to the city easily.”

You lean back against the smooth plastic of the booth, your skin sticking to the hard material. “For me?”

“Yeah, when you get a job.”

“Like I’d live there?”

He nods, confused with your confusion. “Yeah, we talked about that a few times. Me taking care of it all and stuff.”

You shake your head, the brick of anxiety right back in your gut. “No, no no. Helping is one thing. Buying a house is a whole other thing. I can’t rely on you like that.”

“Why do you say shit like that, Y/N? It’s okay to not be able to do this on your own, you didn’t get pregnant on your own. I understand it’s scary, I do. I’m scared too. But, this is gonna happen no matter if we ignore it or not and I’d rather get on our shit so we can do right by our baby.”

You sit there for a minute, processing his words. As much as you’d like to admit it, he’s right. You’re already halfway through your pregnancy and you haven’t done much to prepare for when the baby actually gets here.

“I just-“ you suck in a deep breath, looking away from him. “It’s hard for me to trust people. I’ve let people in to be hurt and let down by them when they were supposed to be nothing but loving and supportive. If they couldn’t do that, why would you be able to?”

Although your response was vague, Grayson is almost positive you’re talking about your parents. The same parents you’ve only mentioned once and it was only when he asked. Before all of this had happened, Jessie had let it slip that they weren’t great, but again he went into little detail. He wanted to know what had happened, what they could have done to make you so unwilling to trust people, but he also knows better than to pry.

“I don’t know what else I can do to prove I want to go through this with you, be here with you and raise our baby together. I even looked into the school districts of all the towns we’re going to tomorrow, I’m here for this. I don’t want to help you because you need it, which it’s okay if you do, but because I care about you. I think you’re strong and amazing, you’re probably one of the most respectable people I know.”

You sigh, sinking further into the booth. Your walls were quickly being knocked down by every word that came from his mouth, but there was still that part of you that didn’t want to believe this could be possible.

“What happens if you don’t like me anymore and don’t want to live together?”

“Y/N, we can go over a million what ifs, but that one’s ridiculous. No matter what happens to us, you’re still the mother of my baby and I will do whatever it takes to give them the best life possible. If it was absolutely necessary, I’d find another place to sleep.”

You nod, playing with the hem of your dress. “What about when you’re in LA and I’m working?”

“My mom can help when she’s not working, but at this point E and I are going to be based in Jersey and only going to LA for when we need.”

You raise your brow, sitting up straighter. “So you’d be here most of the year? For the baby?”

He nods, his hands coming to rest on the table, interlocked with one another. “I mean we’ve wanted to do this for a while anyways, but this just kind of put a fast forward on it.”

“So you won’t become spiteful or anything?” You don’t mean to sound judgmental and rude, but that’s definitely how it comes across.

“Y/N, no. I want this, I promise.”

Before you can conjure up another make believe situation, the same girl who greeted you came over and asked for your orders. You took Grayson’s advice and got a burger, and Grayson got the same soda you’d shared at the hockey game to go along with his fries.

Once the server is gone, his eyes are back on you, a small smile on his face.

“Can I come look at the houses with you guys?” You ask quietly, unsure of how he’d feel about that.

He nods enthusiastically, the smile widening on his lips. “Of course, yeah. We’re looking at four. Here, let me show you pictures.”

He reaches for his phone, but you shake your head. “No, I want to see them all fresh. Get a feel for them as I experience them.”

“I like the way you think.” He continues to smile, his body much more relaxed than before. “We’re meeting the realtor at 9 tomorrow morning.”

“I can make that work.”

***

You had about ten minutes before the twins would pulling into Jessie’s driveway and you were washing your dishes from the breakfast you had made for you and Jessie.

“So you’re really gonna live with them?” He asks from next to you, drying the plate you handed him.

You nod, a sigh passing your lips. You’d managed to keep talk of Grayson minimal with Jessie ever since March, but this was unavoidable.

“Yeah, makes the most sense. He’s really keen on giving our baby as much of a family we can no matter what, and I agree. If we all live together, it’ll be a lot easier to do that.”

You almost felt like a changed woman overnight. Last night, you and Grayson had stayed at the diner for almost three hours. You talked a bit more about the houses and the baby, but most of it was just catching up for the almost two months you didn’t share much with one another.

Him and Ethan were working on a new collection for their fragrance company, they had been doing all types of videos they loved, and the decision to come back to New Jersey. They had known that it would always be their home, but they were really excited to come back. LA had become too much, they felt more like themselves here.

You decided to tell him how the end of your semester went, how sad you were to be done with school but how excited you were to finally be able to do something you loved. When you were able to get a job, of course.

You both even found yourselves sharing things about your childhood, both good and bad. He told you about some of the hard things he experienced with bullying and you shared about your anxiety growing up. You didn’t go into detail, but it gave him some insight into how you thought now, why you were so timid in letting him in. It made him wonder what you saw in Jessie and why you so easily were able to trust him. But, he didn’t want to get into that.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

You felt frustration slowly start to bubble in you, feeling like you were quickly going to end up in the same situation as last time if you didn’t bite it in the butt.

“Jess, yes, I do. And no more questioning Grayson from you, I do it enough for the both of us. You agreed to just focus on us, not him. I’m not putting up with this shit again.”

Jessie leans back against the counter, his arms crossed after having dried the last dish. “I know, sorry. It’s just the last time you stayed with him it went south fast.”

“It went south after you got into some weird ass bidding war over me. But it’s different now. We’re good again and I’m working with Gray to be good with him, too.” You dried your hands, going to grab your phone to make sure you could see when Grayson texted you. Now you were more than itching to get out of the house.

“So you want space?”

You pause, pondering his suggestion. You’re sure he asked it just to hear you say ‘no’, but it honestly wasn’t a bad suggestion. Before you could really have them both in the same space it would be easier to figure out where you stood with both of them.

“I mean…maybe.”

Sure enough, he looks at you bewildered. “Y/N, come on. You can’t be serious.”

“I have to actually give him a chance. You had me for two months, and look where it’s gotten us. We’re good again. I need to at least try with him, I owe him that.” Your words almost surprise you as much as they do Jessie, but they’re the truth. You never gave Grayson a chance and yet he still continues to show how much he’s willing to support you and the baby.

“And you can’t do that with me being around?”

A sarcastic laugh bubbles up from your throat as you look at him in disbelief. “Not with the way you acted before, and definitely not the way you’re acting now. Not until you can actually be friends with him again.”

Jessie clenches his jaw, nodding while refusing to look your way. “We were never really friends. Only liked Ethan.”

“So then start to like him,” you snap and before he can respond, your phone buzzes with Grayson’s contact. You hold your hand up to Jessie before he can talk again, answering your phone. “Hey.”

“Hi! We’re outside.” Grayson’s voice floods your senses and for a moment, you feel better. Unfortunately, a moment is all it can be because you watch Jessie leave the kitchen, his jaw tense and his hands in fists.

“Be there in a minute.” You hang up the phone, quickly moving around the kitchen to get your things. You take a moment to breath, releasing some of the tension in your shoulders. You want to try and enjoy this day so bad, and the ball is in your court at this point. Either have a good time with the twins or let Jessie ruin it even when he’s not there.

Before you can overwhelm yourself with your thoughts, you go to the door and walk outside. You smile as soon as you can see the happy grin on Grayson’s face coming your way. Ethan was settling into the back seat, so you took it as your cue to sit in the passenger seat.

As soon as you open the door, Grayson is greeting you. He is spewing information about your day to you while you buckle and get comfortable, your hand instinctively covering your stomach over the seat belt.

“Ready?” He asks, his gaze on you.

You nod, your eyes meeting his. “Yeah.”

His smile falters a bit at the level of your voice. You were quiet, much less excited than him. As he started to drive, this scared him. What if you weren’t ready for this, and you had lied just to appease him? He was confused, because your dinner had been so good. He couldn’t stop thinking about you all night. The way you sounded telling him your fond memories from summers at the beach, or the less nice stories about your family. The way you’d look at him like you were almost a bit scared, but never enough to stop looking or talking. He felt like you’d finally started to let your walls down a bit, but it felt like they were right back up now.

The rest of the car ride is pretty quiet, your thoughts back at Jessie’s while your eyes followed the trees you passed. You were scared, genuinely. If Jessie didn’t get his shit together, a break wouldn’t be enough. You didn’t want to lose him, not after everything you’ve been through. But he needed to let you and Grayson figure out what you wanted to do.

The car pulled into a parking lot of a shopping center and next to a white SUV. A woman with blonde hair, tan skin, and crisp clothing stood behind it with a wide smile on her face. You guessed she was around 40, but you couldn’t be sure. You couldn’t tell if it was botox or just how perky she was, or even her colorful skirt and white blouse that was buttoned at the top. She seemed like she played tennis at the country club on the weekends with her friends. But, who were you to judge.

You heard her chipper voice greet the boys while you climbed out of the car. You let out a huff as your feet hit the ground, your hand gripping the door to keep your balance. You take a second to yourself to breathe, calming yourself. There’s no need to be so pessimistic all the damn time, right?

You make your way to the other side of the car, a tight smile making its way onto your face as the three people come into view.

“You must be Y/N! It’s so nice to meet you! I’m Beth.” Before you can even react, Beth is bringing you into a tight hug. You hug her back for a moment before stepping back.

“Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Grayson’s told me all about you and your little bean! May I?” Her hands over your stomach and honestly you don’t want her touching you, but saying no might make things awkward. And you might be finding your future home today, so you nod your hand and her hands are on you immediately. You shiver, her cold fingers causing goosebumps to cover your upper arms. Grayson notices and wraps an arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him.

“I remember being pregnant with my babies. Still carry some of that baby weight with me,” she chuckles, her hands moving from your stomach to her own. You say nothing because she probably weighs less than you did before you were pregnant. All you could was pray this woman was as good at finding homes as she was at giving you a headache.

“So Beth, where’s the first house we’re looking at?” Ethan asks and you’re beyond grateful. You weren’t a huge fan of the attention to start, and Beth just seems so…condescending. But, you decide to continue to act as normal as possible because you’re sure your hormones make your annoyance with the woman ten times higher than normal.

Thankfully, Ethan’s question gets Beth on a roll of describing the first house and the town it’s in as she tells you guys to get in her car.

Grayson opens the front door for you but you shake your head, pushing Ethan to sit there instead. If you sat in the back with Grayson you’d be much more able to focus on the positives of what Beth has to say without her voice giving you even more of a headache. Plus, sitting next to Grayson didn’t sound so bad.

The boys both don’t question you at first, and it’s only once you’re in the back, opting for the middle seat to sit closer to Grayson that he gives you a questioning look.

“You good?” He whispers, and you’re sure the two in the front can’t hear him over Beth’s full on monologue. You weren’t even sure she was talking about the house anymore.

You nod, giving him a small smile. “Yeah.”

“You won’t feel sick?”

“No, I don’t really get morning sickness now anyways. Plus I was cold, didn’t know it was gonna be cloudy today. Would have worn leggings or something.” You move so you’re right up against him, his warm skin soothing your anxious heartbeat.

Between going to tour fucking houses with your baby daddy (and his twin/soon to be your roommate) and your tiff with Jessie this morning, you were anxious. And you’re at the point in your pregnancy where everything makes you anxious because you don’t want anything to hurt your baby, so it’s just been a really stressful morning.

“Oh, so you’re using me,” he chuckles, his arm finding itself right around your shoulder again, pulling you as close as you possibly can be in the backseat of a car without literally being on his lap.

You giggle as you nod, wrapping your arms around his torso as you rest your head on his chest to look out the window. “Yeah, pretty much.”

The rest of the car ride is filled with Beth talking about herself and sometimes pointing out local things you pass as you get closer to the home.

You only lift your head once the car is stopped in front of a metal gate, a huge house standing behind the fence.

“So like I said, this house has a finished basement and a pool in the backyard,” Beth continues to drone on, but you can’t find it in yourself to listen even though now it would probably be useful to.

It was a massive fucking house. There was literally a separate five car garage you could see, the white shutters contrasting the blue shingles that lined the entirety of the exterior. There were flowers lining the walkway up to the front door, and you thought about how perfect it all looked. White picket fence, the whole nine.

Your stomach started to bubble with your ever persistent anxiety again as the reality of the situation hit you. Hard. You were literally going to be living in this house, or some other perfect house, with Grayson Dolan and your baby.

You let Grayson help you out of the car, and you walk with him up to the front porch and through the door. The inside was just as perfect as the outside, and it didn’t sit right with you. It felt pristine, but not homey.

Beth and Ethan speed past you, his interest being in the backyard. Grayson walks around with you wordlessly until you’re in the living room where he lets go of your hand to look at the pictures above the fireplace.

You look around, looking at the crème couch on top of the off-white carpet. A glass coffee table was in front of it, and there were a couple of magazines splayed out across the top. You know that the décor doesn’t come with the house, but it all seems so…fake. Like no one actually lives there.

“What’s wrong?” Grayson asks you, and you hadn’t noticed he’d turned around to watch you. “And don’t say nothing, that’s what you always say but I know your thoughts are racing.”

You sigh, crossing your arms. “When did you learn to read me so well?”

He laughs, walking closer to you to wrap his arms around your waist. “I mean all I do these days is think about you, look at you, worry about you. Makes it a lot easier to notice when something is making you uncomfortable or something. But you make it easy, your face and your eyes give you away pretty easily.”

You gasp, your hand coming to cover your mouth as you giggle. “Really? Like no poker face?” “None,” he laughs.

“Damn.” You wrap your arms under his arms around his upper torso, letting your face rest on his chest. His heartbeat makes you feel a bit better, grounding you despite the fact you feel like you’re on a movie set for a family show.

“So what’s wrong?” He gives you a squeeze.

“I mean, if I’m being honest it started this morning when I kind of fought with Jess,” you sigh. He tenses at the mention of Jessie, not saying anything so you can elaborate more. “I basically told him when I move out I think we should have some space because it’s only fair I give us the same chance to mend our relationship I gave him.”

Grayson’s heart swells at this. He literally thinks he’s the Grinch, but instead of starting with a shrunken heart, his has grown so big it might burst out of his chest. This is the first time you’ve ever really admitted to really wanting to work on any type of relationship to him, which is big. Communication has never been your forte, and the same goes for himself.

“He’ll come around,” Grayson reassures you.

“Will he though? I don’t think he realizes that there isn’t a choice for me in a way. Like a part of him is still waiting for me to just drop you or something.”

Grayson swallows hard, the thought of you fully breaking off any relationship with him making him almost break out into a sweat. He’s not sure what he would do if you did that, what that would mean for your baby.

“And I think it’s eating away at him slowly, which is making it harder and harder to try and go back to how we were. Because I can’t just act like you’re not important to me, and it’s not fair of him to expect that of me. I just don’t know what to do.” You’re pretty much whimpering at this point, nuzzling your face into his shirt, the warmth radiating from him making you feel a bit better.

“Well, you know you can’t change him so for now let’s focus on the house we’re going to raise our family in, and we can address the Jessie situation later,” he suggests.

You take in a big breath before looking at him, a tight smile on your lips. “You’re right. That’s what I was trying to do originally, but it clearly wasn’t working,” you giggle.

He rubs up and down your back to soothe you a bit. “It’s okay. What do you think of the house, at least?”

You look around the living room once more before meeting his gaze again. “Honestly?”

“Of course.” “Feels fake. Like it’s too perfect. I can’t imagine us actually relaxing in here after the baby’s finally gone down to sleep, the kitchen looks like you’re not even supposed to cook in it because who has white everything? I know I’ve never cooked for you and although I have nothing but great ratings, I make a mess. Not that I don’t clean it, but I’d be so much more worried about it. We need a place we can actually live in, not somewhere that’s aesthetically pleasing. We need a home, not just a house.”

He thinks about what you said for a minute, looking around the room. “You’re right.”

You frown, watching his face. “Why do you look disappointed?” “It was my favorite online,” he mumbles.

Guilt hits you immediately as you rub your hands up and down his back. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it in a bad way, it’s a really nice house.”

He shakes his head. “But you’re right, it has to feel like home. Somewhere we can see our baby growing up. All the white kind of reminds me of a doctor’s office.”

You nod, your nose scrunching up at the thought. “Yeah, it’s too sterile.”

“I’ll get Beth and E and we can go to the next one.” He pulls away from you to walk away.

“Are you sure?”

“If it’s not feeling like home to you, then it’s not the right place. I’m positive.” And with that, he’s gone.

The car ride to the next house felt like two minutes even though it was probably around 30 because you were sat in the back talking with Grayson again. Time didn’t seem to exist when he was there, and neither does any other person.

So when your conversation is interrupted by Beth, you snap your head forward to see you’re at another gate. This time, however, the house is hidden behind the trees.

“Did you guys hear that?” Her voice is still bright as ever, but you can hear the annoyance as well.

“No, sorry,” you mumble.

“So this property is on a lake. It has its own dock and pretty much the whole back of the house are windows looking over the water but you’re far enough from shore to still have the privacy you were looking for.”

The car continues down the pebbled driveway as you look out the window. It’s basically a forest, all you can see is lush green and the blue sky that peaks through the opening caused by the driveway. Soon enough, the pebbles open up into a huge, circular driveway and a giant house wraps around the far side of the stones. It was a blueish gray with white detailing that looked just worn in enough to look cozy. The plants and flowers that surrounded the driveway and walkway were full and bright, adding to the warmness and welcoming you felt looking at the wooden front doors.

This is it.

You don’t want to say anything out loud to any of them yet because you haven’t even seen the inside yet, but this is it. This is your home.

#Grayson Dolan #Grayson Dolan blurb #Grayson Dolan imagine #Grayson Dolan concept #Grayson Dolan smut #Grayson Dolan fic #Grayson Dolan fanfic #Grayson Dolan fanfiction #Dolan Twins #Dolan Twins blurb #Dolan Twins imagine #Dolan Twins concept #Dolan Twins smut #Dolan Twins fic #Dolant Twins fanfic #Dolan Twins fanfiction #What Happens in Jersey

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tenacityreturns · 3 years

Note

“ i’m not used to letting people close. i don’t like being vulnerable— but i want to, with you. i want to let you in. ” / aokaga :)

@peachmuses

sleepovers have a habit of building a special kind of courage in the deepest hours of the night. thoughts he never thought he'd voice are whispered and received, then returned in kind. sleepovers with friends are bad enough. do you think you can do stuff in heaven? kagami had asked kuroko one night. then, with that same blind courage fostered by hours of time spent in trustworthy company, he continued before kuroko had a chance to speak: i hope so. i wonder if my mom plays much basketball. she used to, sometimes, y'know? she liked volleyball more, though.

but sleepovers with aomine are different. they're closer. scarier, somehow. it's so much easier to relax into aomine's arms when they're lying on the couch. when kagami shuts his eyes, and he can feel rough fingertips absently smoothing across his hairline, he feels as safe as he thinks he’s ever going to be. he knows he’s safe. he’s loved. when they're falling asleep, bodies exhausted after a last minute one-on-one, and it's his turn to brush his knuckles down aomine's arm until the very last second, he feels his love wholeheartedly. it’s impossible to be near aomine and not touch him, and not touch him gently. so softly, like he’s glass that could shatter at any second.

this kind of peace had never interested him before. kagami had understood wanting to make out with someone, but just lying there? how could he ever want to do that? and yet, falling asleep without him felt cold now. kagami didn't devote much thought to the trajectory of a relationship. now they're together, they've gone beyond the teasing and play-fighting to reveal a special tenderness below that he could never have imagined even if he'd wanted to. isn't that cheesy? isn't it so lame to be so happy and quiet with someone like aomine? aomine, his rival. aomine, the guy who winds him up just for fun. the guy who can't give a genuine compliment about something without sliding in an insult of some kind? it took so long to convince him to try some of kagami's cooking, for instance! and then to hear that aomine liked it took even longer. he's so annoying.

and he's here. awake at 2am. kagami can't sleep if he knows aomine's lying there, staring at the ceiling. what if he’s worrying about something? what if his thoughts are dark again? this isn’t a fight he wants aomine to be in by himself ( though kagami knows there’s not much that he can do to help ).

"relax," kagami murmers, pulling the covers up to his cheeks. he turns and watches aomine blink. his eyes look heavy.

"hadn't thought of that," comes aomine's half-whispered reply.

yeah, so it hadn't been that useful. alright. he'll give him that one. kagami shuffles closer, coming to lay his head on the other pillow, and tangle his fingers in aomine's closer hand.

“you wanna, like, talk about it or anything?”

“i’m not used to letting people close. i don’t like being vulnerable— but i want to, with you. i want to let you in."

he exhales. it’s more than he’d been expecting to hear. but that makes two of them. kagami's got walls higher than he knew how to climb, let alone lower to allow people in. he doesn't like talking about any of this, either, but that doesn't matter. the fight or flight forming a ball of worry in his gut, in his throat, have no pull. kagami's fighting them. he's determined. the problems they're talking about aren't his, though they sound familiar enough, but it's aomine talking about his own problems. he nods.

“it’s hard to trust people like that. with me, i worry, i guess, like---” he exhales, “i mean to say that it’s scary letting people in. i feel like once i show people the shit i go through, they’ll think it ain’t worth their time,” his gaze doesn’t waver as aomine turns his head to look at him, “i’m not tryin’a make this about me, i’m just trying to say i get it.”

aomine opens his mouth like he’ll say something, but stops himself last minute. instead, he leans over and kisses him. it’s chaste, and sweet, but kagami’s worried that aomine thinks he made it about himself!

“i’m sorry if i say the wrong thing,” kagami continues, hand on aomine’s cheek, thumbs brushing cheekbone, “you know what i mean?”

“yeah, i do. this time, i’m not thinking about anything.”

“you’re not?”

“no. i’m just--- heavy, i guess.”

kagami doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t. he raises to his elbows and drops little kisses across aomine’s face. blue eyes close, he feels a smile dawn, and is encouraged that this is at least one right thing to do. when he has lost count, he draws back, hoping to find that perhaps aomine has fallen asleep after all. alas, aomine opens his tired eyes once more.

“let’s do something. lemme make you some food.”

“food? it’s like 2 in the morning.”

“yeah. come on. if you can’t sleep, you should get up.” one of the few facts about his mother that kagami had been given was that when she couldn’t sleep, she’d go get cereal and read a book. he doesn’t remember her doing it, but he’s carried that with him since asao told him. it helps! as he stands, he realises that aomine hasn’t moved. kagami is so tired that standing makes his head spin, but he pushes through it. “come on, babe. trust the method. my mom used to do it and it worked for her.”

“your mom?”

“yeah.”

aomine climbs out of bed. “will you tell me about her?”

kagami looks over uncertainly. it’s embarrassing how little he actually knows, and it’s hard to be vulnerable, but he wants to let aomine in. and maybe it will be a decent distraction from whatever is making him feel heavy? or isn’t this just turning the attention on himself? is that bad, or good? a distraction, or stealing the show, somehow? aomine’s eyes lie in shadow, as with the rest of the room, but kagami feels him in the dark. feels the trust, the gentle vulnerability of admitting what he had. kagami takes his hand and smiles.

“her name was hikari,” he began. sleepovers have a habit of building a special kind of courage in the deepest hours of the night, huh?

#peachmuses #aonon.#drabbles.#answered.#mum tag.#kagami: its gotta be between the hours of 2am and 5am for me to talk about my mother. otherwise i am too guarded.

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

Text

Black Cloth and Star Systems- Fusion AU

Ao3, MasterPost, More of This AU

Legally speaking this is the second installment in my fusion au, and u should definitely read the first one!! but it is not necessary to understand this one.

Relationships: Romantic Analogical, (briefly) mentioned romantic Royality

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, minor insecurity (it is Logan after all), one (1) kiss, excessive cuddling, Virgil and the Logan/Virgil fusion both have monster-like traits (big teef, pointy ears, nocturnal eyes, etc.), the fusion is also agender because I said so, and seriously lots of flowery descriptions cuz I was really having a good time with this one. Oh, and lack of sleep/unhealthy sleep schedules, brief mention of paranoia (very very minor), and I think I accidentally implied that Virgil has ADHD but that’s par for the course.

Word Count: 3,797

Logan stared at the ceiling of his room, tired eyes tracing over the patterns etched into it. They were irregular, scrawls and lines that bumped up from the plaster and stretched on and on. If he squinted, they could almost look like maps- charting and directing the reader across a very foreign land, and in addition the reader might not be good with following maps, which would explain why this one seemed so vague. Or maybe it wasn’t showing a place at all. Nowhere real, at the very least.

Oh, what the fuck was he talking about. The ceiling was a goddamn ceiling, and Logan was exhausted.

Sleeping would be the ideal solution, and it was something he definitely wasn’t opposed to, but by this point it was borderline impossible. Logan could shut his eyes, but he knew all he’d see would be that blinding flash of pink light. He could try and try to relax beneath his blanket, but still he would see double-set of eyes, swirling between emerald green and cinnamon brown, set behind big cutesy-framed glasses. He’d picture those two pairs of arms, that staggering display of height, and the body that was decorated with gold and crimson and sky-blue.

What he was seeing was beyond understanding, and it was all that he could think about. His friends had fused. Patton and Roman, out of pretty much nowhere, had become one being right before everyone’s eyes. One burly, talkative, and endlessly fascinating being.

Like any person who persistently sought knowledge, Logan had taken to investigating the new creature at once. He’d had questions, burning questions, but Patron- as he’d named himself- had requested some alone time in his new form. It was a perfectly reasonable ask, so Logan resolved to postpone his interviewing until Patron was ready. But then, just as he was looking forward to finding out more about him that next morning, he was back to being two sides. Two sickeningly sweet sides who were way too caught up in their new relationship to answer any of Logan’s questions copacetically (All their answers had been full of purple prose, talking about how fusing was just the most amazing thing, and providing no real insight into it at all).

Logan, presented with bizarre occurrences and offered no explanation, was understandably restless, abuzz with curiosity, and frustrated. And, if he was being honest, he was interested in the topic beyond what could be considered objective study, as well.

Very interested, in fact. He found himself wondering that… perhaps… Was he also capable of fusion?

Yes, the best way to learn about it would be to experience first-hand, so that would solve that problem. But that was hardly Logan’s entire reason for wanting to try it; Patton had soundly reported that forming Patron helped his and Roman’s communication by miles. Specifically vis a vis their more affectionate emotions, which really ended up being the thesis of the whole ordeal. It was, fundamentally, a very affectionate thing.

Logan sat up abruptly, shooting a glare at his door from across the room. This was getting ridiculous; it would be a horrible idea to try something as significant as fusing with so little information on it. Just because it seemed self-explanatory didn’t mean that it was, and the results could be unstable and catastrophic!

But.

But it wouldn’t be. There was the side he knew- the side he trusted- well enough to believe that it wouldn’t really go so awry.

Logan was making excuses.

What was there to be explained verbally that wouldn’t be much easier to just experience? Patron had proved two things: 1, fusing could happen, and 2, fusing could un-happen without issue. Any of the specifics would be figured out best by firsthand experience, that was pretty evident.

So Logan was making a few excuses, and maybe he was a bit scared about the whole thing, but so what? It was a moot point anyway, because Virgil would never want to participate in it, anyway. The idea of fusion would only upset the anxious side, maybe send him spiraling, and that was the last thing Logan wanted.

With a groan, Logan flopped back down onto his bed, resuming his studious observation of the popcorn-patterned ceiling.

…

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

Logan dragged himself up yet again, flinging the covers off of his legs harshly. He sat, immobile, glaring down just past the foot of his bed for an uncertain amount of time. He then heaved a very over dramatic sigh, kicked his legs over the side of his mattress, and stood. He set his feet down as though the carpet had personally wronged him, trodding across the room and throwing his door open with the same temperament.

The hallway was pitch dark, but Logan barely noticed it. He made his way down the stairs, the map of the Mindpalace splaying out in his head and directing him as well as light would. As soon as he hit the bottom of the stairs, his (moody) stomping ceased, for the time being. He tipped his head to one side, confused, as he listened out.

There was a perfect silence.

An abrupt perfect silence. The very specific type of quiet that was too clearly manufactured. Such a- a tense hush could only be brought about by someone deliberately holding their breath.

Logan shuffled his feet, peering into the blackness. Something shifted over by the couch, and the gleam of two reflectively-paneled eyes made themselves apparent. Logan yelped in fright, stumbling over his legs and bumping his back into the wall.

There was a thump from across the room, a curse of ‘oh, shit’, and another shimmer from those eyes, animalistic and narrow.

“Logan?” A gravelly voice asked, “Is that you?”

Logan blinked, staring at the dark silhouette that had come to stand before him. Animalistic, perhaps, but very very tall, and very very person-shaped.

“Virgil?”

A lamp clicked on, washing the room in low and orange light, revealing that the creature was indeed Virgil. He looked considerably more human, now that he could be seen past his imposing outline- and he also looked more tired.

Somehow, despite all of the other oddities in their situation, Logan found himself preoccupied by the smallest detail.

“Your eyes, Dear,” he drew forward for a closer look, “How haven’t I noticed? They’re reflective!”

Virgil shrugged impassively, leaning down to let Logan hold his head and examine the unusual feature.

“You can’t really tell unless it’s very dark out, or if you know what you’re looking for. I guess it just never came up.”

“But you can see in the dark, then?” Logan asked, perfectly aware that he sounded more than a little awed. Virgil just snorted, looking endeared.

“Yup,” he popped the ‘p’, “Is it that big of a surprise?”

Logan turned the question over in his mind, but after a moment he shook his head, no. Virgil already had a multitude of unique attributes- his fangs, his claws, and a few more distinct things that only appeared when he got particularly stressed. (All of the sides had traits like those, actually. Of them, Logan was certainly the most average- the only discrepancy had to be his slightly exaggerated proportions, and even that couldn’t compare to some of the others’.)

Virgil hummed vacantly, shifting his weight a few times over. He kneaded his shoulder, glancing down at Logan with sudden interest.

“So, what’s up with you? It’s like, three in the morning.”

Logan stiffened, but tried to disguise the worry.

“I could ask you the same question,” he deflected, ineffectively. Virgil only smirked in response.

“I mean, I guess you could: paranoia, pent up energy, general inability to focus- you know, the stuff that keeps me up every night. You, though,” Virgil hovered over him, making him tilt his head back to keep eye-contact with their height difference. Logan felt his face flush, though it was only partially due to embarrassment. “You don’t stay up late, L, like ever.”

“I’ve just been thinking a lot,” he once more evaded.

“You’re always thinking,” Virgil responded with a laugh, but he stood up straighter and gave Logan his space. Logan glanced up, confused, only to get a shrug by way of reply. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, babe. I’m not gonna, like, interrogate you. I just… wanna make sure you’re okay, is all.”

“Oh,” he smiled, “Yes, I am. Thank you.”

Virgil gestured to the couch, returning the smile.

“Wanna stay up with me? Might help you get your mind off whatever it’s on.”

Logan relaxed at that, nodding a bit sleepily as he followed his partner to the sofa.

Virgil’s arm was twined around Logan’s waist, holding him into the taller trait’s side as they sat comfortably on the couch. In the near pitch dark, Virgil’s laptop was propped up against the coffee table, the screen lit up by slightly unnerving YouTube animations.

Truth be told, though, Logan had paid attention to exactly none of them. He had a few reasons for this: one, he was very sleepy. Two, Virgil was warm- much warmer than himself, as Logan had always had strangely cold skin, and the heat was calming. And three, he was still caught up in his own thoughts, albeit less frantic and frightened versions of them by this point.

He knew that Virgil could easily sense his anxiety, but still, Anxiety did not pry. Add that to the many-paged list of reasons why Logan appreciated him as much as he did.

Appreciate him he did, yes, and he also- he trusted him. Completely. To such a degree that, in the serene partial-silence between the couple, Logan found himself wondering what would happen if he just… told Virgil? If he explained what was on his mind, would it really upset him as much as he feared? The idea of fusing, well, just talking about it couldn’t be too much of a disaster. They were too strong, too stable for that.

“Virge?” Logan didn’t turn to look at him as he spoke. The name was really just a murmur on his lips, uttered noncommittally and with the hope that it might just go unheard.

With a soft click, the video paused, and Virgil shifted.

“Yeah?”

Oh. He was really doing this.

“Could I ask you about something?” Logan would’ve left it at that, but feeling Virgil tense up beside him, he hurried to elaborate: “It’s nothing bad, my love, I just- it’s what’s been worrying me, this evening.”

“Uh- ask away, I guess..”

Logan took a deep breath, feeling his heart rate increase concerningly. He was thankful for the lack of light in the room; if the embarrassed heat spreading across his face was any indication, he likely looked just as nervous as he felt.

He exhaled, trying to focus on Virgil’s arm around him instead of the worries. Everything would be alright.

“You remember when Patton and Roman fused, I trust?”

There was an almost subtle intake of breath from Virgil.

“Yeah, I wasn’t about to forget something like that, L.”

“Right, of course,” Logan found Virgil’s hand and wound their fingers together, fiddling with them. “I just wanted to know your thoughts on the situation.”

There was a beat.

“Um. I’m just relieved that they could get back to normal, I guess. I was sorta worried they’d get stuck- which doesn’t make a lot of sense in hindsight, but with how clingy they both are, I mean…”

Logan hummed, encouraging him to go on, despite the intelligent side’s swiftly fading hope.

“But, like, now that I know they’re okay, I guess it’s not really any of my business?” Hesitation laced Virgil’s voice, as though he wasn’t sure what he was meant to say. “Other than that, though, I just think it’s kind of weird. Like, the whole idea of it. Fusion.”

“‘Weird’ in a negative sense?”

“I don’t know, man,” Virgil huffed, “I mean, I’m not a big fan of cartoons but- it’s weird like it’s interesting, weird like I wanna know more. If that makes any sense.”

Oh. That was promising.

“It does make sense,” Logan whispered, desperately emphatic. The glow of Virgil’s eyes turned to him, wide enough that they looked like little full moons.

“Did you-” he stopped short. Inhaled sharply. Then asked it all in a rush: “Are you asking because you wanted to try it? With me?”

Logan stayed silent, gripping too-tight to his boyfriend’s hand. He sounded… surprised? But maybe not upset?

Oh, who was he kidding, he’d never been able to read tones, really, and it was too dark to try and figure out Virgil’s body language. He’d just have to go blind on this one.

“Yes,” Logan blurted, immediately holding his breath for a response.

Virgil was as stiff as a board. His hand was frozen in place, his gaze boring into Logan.

“Are you sure?”

His tone was soft, sweet, and so so careful. Logic blinked. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Virgil, but he knew that it wasn’t something so… gentle.

“I- maybe? It’s not necessary, if you don’t think you’d be comfortable with-”

“That’s not what I was asking,” Virgil interjected, “I wanna know if you’re sure that you want this, not how you think I feel.”

Logan mumbled an apology, feeling oddly chastised. He collected his thoughts and tried again.

“Yes, I’m sure. I- I trust you, Virgil.”

Virgil relaxed considerably, his head dropping to rest in Logan’s hair.

“Okay. Good.”

And with that, he went quiet again. The show was not unpaused, though. Logan wondered if he was meant to say something, and if so he wondered what it was. But in the end he couldn’t make any sound at all.

Virgil’s hand slipped out of his, instead moving to the back of his neck. Logan instinctively leaned forward with its direction, letting himself be held close. In turn, he wrapped his arms around Virgil’s waist, turning sideways into him. He was close enough now to hear the beat of the anxious side’s heart, which was always rather quicker than anyone else's. This time, though, it was like a hummingbird’s, hammering loud and excited.

Logan tilted his head (as much as he could) in confusion. Had the conversation somehow affected Virgil more than it first seemed? Was something about the situation that spiked his anxiety? But that didn’t add up, either, because his breathing was completely even, and he wouldn’t let anyone be this close to him if he really was panicking.

Before Logan could ask what- if anything- was wrong, Virgil nestled his face in his hair, holding him impossibly tighter. And at that point, they were pressed flush together head-to-toe. And that was what made it click.

Oh, they were doing this now. This- this was Virgil’s way of attempting-

Logan hooked his ankle around Virgil’s, clumsily attempting to reciprocate the- erm, the Thing That They Were Trying. Heat rose in his cheeks at even the thought of it.

What was he supposed to do? Was there some way to activate it? Was it enough to simply touch, or was movement required to fuse? What if they couldn’t get it to work at all? That would make plenty of sense, Logan was logic and what was the possibility that he’d follow the same rules as, say, Roman-

“Hey.”

Logan glanced up, his neck straining at the angle. Virgil was gazing down at him, pupils expanded with fondness, his fingers easing through the hairs at the back of Logan’s neck.

“Calm down, okay?”

Logan might have commented on the irony of that, but Virgil was leaning forward and pressing their lips together oh-so gently, and all his thoughts flew out of the proverbial window as he kissed back.

It was soft, light, maybe a little clumsy. The touch was barely-there, really, just ghosting. And then it wasn’t there, at all. The feeling faded, as did so many others, but neither of them were moving apart- or at least, they didn’t think that they were. If anything, they seemed to be getting closer, and closer, but-

Closer to what, exactly?

They opened their eyes. Wait, no, they blinked a couple of times- ah, there, they opened all- five?- of their eyes. Not only was it no longer pitch black, but it seemed that lights had been conjured above them, dozens of tiny purple and blue tea lights that cast the living room in a pleasant glow.

Had- had they caused that? Somehow?

Conjuring on accident- how did they manage that? And what else could they do? What couldn’t they do, though, in this new form? Something like them was bound to have limitations.

They stood up sharply, and immediately cracked their head against the ceiling. They yelped in pain, silently amending that standing up straight while indoors was the first limitation to note. They hunched over, managing to keep upright if they just bent their knees and tilted their neck. And that brought on a much more important investigation into themself: their new physical form.

They were obviously very tall, but also sort of- long in general? Their limbs, their fingers, their face, every feature was very narrow, almost spider-like. And, on the topic of spider-like limbs, they had two sets of arms; one in the usual place, but another placed behind that, curving around from just under their shoulder blades. In addition, their fingers, lithe and spindly, were six on each hand. Despite the unordinary length to many of their appendages, though, they were still noticeably muscular. Wide shoulders, a defined abdomen, and sturdy legs.

With a sharp wave of their hand, they conjured a full-body mirror to hang in front of them, promptly leaning over to examine themself.

Their face was made of edges; sharp cheekbones, pointed ears, and blocky glasses that covered all of their eyes but the middle one. They ran their fingers through their shaggy, curled up hair- a good deal of which fluffed forwards past their forehead and into their face. It was mixed colors, swirls of purple and blue blending together in soft, bouncy locks.

They had interesting features aplenty, but one thing stood out dramatically. One thing that drew their attention at once.

The mouth.

Their lips were dark- almost black, with hints of color toned under it. They dragged a finger along it, but it didn’t wipe away like makeup. They opened their mouth, revealing long needles of teeth, dozens and dozens of them top and bottom- all except for the upper canines. Those were thick, overly large, and tinted with purple. They ended in dangerous looking points, shoving out past the new side’s lips even when they closed their mouth, appearing much like an arachnid's venomous mandibles.

They took a step back from the mirror, experimentally poking their big fangs. To their surprise, the teeth moved; just a wiggle, but enough to show that they were mobile, that they could be flexed and retracted. Well, that was...

That was sick as hell.

Now, to investigate their outfit: they were a little monstrous, sure, but also very smartly dressed. They wore a navy blue plaid waistcoat, laid overtop of a pastel purple sweater, which in turn was beneath a plain, black, short-sleeved button-up shirt. Their tie was a simple white with subdued flecks of violet and sapphire, dotted to look intentionally asymmetrical.

Their lower half also bore a layered aesthetic: sheer lavender leggings beneath strategically ripped black jeans. They also wore a short, tight skirt over it, the color and pattern matching that of their waistcoat. A few chains dangled from the belt loops on their hips, clinking a little as they moved. They had sleek black shoes with small platforms, something vaguely Demonia-style. Altogether, the look was a strange blend of elegant and alternative. Strange, but very, very, very… becoming, to say the least.

They couldn’t help staring at themself. Actually, ogling might be the more accurate word. They were hot, was that vain to say? If it was, they didn’t particularly care, because it was true. Of all the things they could have been together, confident wasn’t expected, but it was more than welcome. Because- damn.

Five minutes of gawking at their own reflection wound up being enough, in the end, and they forced themself to wave the mirror back out of existence. There were so many more things to consider about themself, after all, and that just couldn’t wait any longer. There were infinite things to know, God, they were a new creature entirely.

It was… it was overwhelming. They had so many questions. They had so many concerns, millions of them, and millions of thoughts that didn’t fit into either of the aforementioned categories, thoughts that existed just to fill up space in a head that suddenly felt overpacked. Too many minds in such a reduced space.

It’s okay, they thought, sucking in a deep, slow breath, One at a time, Dear.

There’s too much. I can’t see it all. I can’t explain all of it.

Which half of them was that? Was it… both? Both of them, comforting and receiving comfort? What an impossible creation they’d become! Wait, no, they had to focus on calming down before they gave that any thought.

We can’t get to all of it, they agreed with themself, Some of it, though, certainly.

Like what?

They thought for a moment.

We could start with a name?

Oh. That’s probably important.

Yes, just a bit.

They let their breath out in a laugh, pulling their sleeves past their hands and curling their fingers in the fabric. It took only a second of contemplation before, quite promptly, they knew what they were going to be called from now on. They knew their name, and everything else began to click into place from there.

Livril.

They sighed, contented, and sat back into the corner of the sectional. They didn’t exactly fit, curling up on the couch as they had before, but they were easily flexible enough to find a way. Now that they knew their name, they could really start learning who exactly Livril was.

There was so much they could learn from this, so many things they could enjoy this way. What music did they like? (Probably sad. Most certainly folk punk.) How did they speak? (sharply, they would guess.) How did they move? (Quick, startling, definitely fidgety.)

And that was hardly all, though it was a good start. There was so much more to get to, and they intended to answer all of it as soon as possible.

...But that ‘as soon as possible’ would probably be in the morning, because Livril fell asleep exactly two minutes after their head hit the couch cushion.

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob

#sanders sides #ts #analogical #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #ts fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #fusion au #sanders sides fusion au #logan #virgil #WijjFusionAU #look i havent watched steven universe in like a year but dammit if fusion isnt cool as hell #anyway livril could make fun of me and id thank them

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mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

Text

Good Tidings We Bring || Morgan & Nell

TIMING: The day after the solstice

PARTIES: @nelllraiser & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Are we out of the woods yet?

CONTAINS: soft witches, mention of sibling death

Morgan poured her energy into walking steady and holding her package without crinkling the paper or dropping it. She hadn’t been to this house in so long, all she remembered was that first time, coming to dinner and being so petrified that she would be accepted by the Vurals. That they would believe she had something to offer, that she was more than the awful things destined to follow her. Rejection, she was old friends with. The way it cut her was almost soothing. So she never would have dreamed walking up to the house unannounced, asking to be let back in. But Yule was the time of light in the dark, and the miracle of the world turning back to light. There was never going to be a ‘good’ time to try, so it might as well be now.

Morgan knocked, swallowing what little was left of her pride. When the door opened, the speech she prepared dissolved into one clumsy outburst, “I want us to be good again, can we please be friends?” She stuck out the present with both hands. “These are for you. A-and a few extra for your sisters, but mostly you. I mean, you’ll be able to tell, uhh…” It was all very undignified, but after everything Morgan had done, she didn’t figure dignity was something she was going to come by soon anyway.

Hard choices such as the attempted exorcism in lieu of torturing Constance were something of a familiarity to Nell at the time she’d made the decision to go against Morgan’s wishes. By then she’d learned well enough that sometimes the greater good came at the cost of your personal good, but that didn’t mean it had been easy to knowingly destroy the bond of her and the witch turned zombie. She’d been the villain in someone’s story before— willing to take on the burden of severed ties and judgmental words if it meant that there’d be less pain for others in the end. It never got easier, especially when the severance in question was someone like Morgan. So as she opened the door to a familiar face that had been long absent from the daily rotation of her life, she did her best to squish down the flare of hope that bubbled up, quickly replaced with worrisome apprehension. Thankfully that too was fleeting, and her initial faith was restored, eyes cautiously bright with the renewal of her initial reaction “You want to be...friends?” she asked tentatively, as if she wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Morgan’s jumbled words, feeling as if there was another shoe about to drop. Without thinking she reached out to accept the box that Morgan had brought, staring at it a touch too long. Was she meant to open it now? Or wait? Her momentary silence was less than intentional. Apparently where Morgan was struck with an inability to stop her words, Nell didn’t know where to begin her own. “I don’t understand- aren’t you upset?”

Morgan had replayed this conversation a lot in her head, most of them involving Nell interrogating her, or saying I told you so or asking for proof about her being really, really sorry and really understanding all the ways she might have been mistaken. She hadn’t thought that Nell’s question was about how she felt. Morgan looked at her, stunned and grasping at air now that she no longer had the present to cling to. “U-uh, well...I was. And, okay, I don’t think it was fair to lie to me. Doing what you think is right is one thing, but pretending to help is something different, but that’s just...not important right now. Or it’s not more important than you. And…” Morgan shrugged haplessly. “What I wanted didn’t even work out anyway. It was bad. I got all this stuff and I hated almost every part of it and yes, in retrospect, only having informed support from my evil friends should have been a tip off, but I just couldn’t. And Constance poltered anyway and people died because of that, which is also because of me and so, no, I don’t know exactly how I’m going to trust you like I did before knowing you can just casually do that, but I don’t want be so stuck in my pain that I destroy everything that’s important to me. So if you can...I don’t know,” Morgan shrugged. “If you feel like it’s not destroyed yet, I’d like to be the kind of friend that does more than just send you sad birthday presents. I’d like to try. And I’d…” For some reason this was the most difficult part of all. Morgan tried. I’d like to be a witch again. A witch without magic. A mundane witch, who burns too much incense and works her will with glorified mind tricks and normal people stuff. The kind I used to smirk at and feel sorry for. In the end, she couldn’t. “The rest doesn’t matter right now,” she said. Holding herself up with all the strength she had, she looked at Nell with hope. “But what do you say, Nell?”

Quick on the heels of Nell’s hopeful question was the memory of the sourness the conversation between herself and Morgan that had followed the failed exorcism held, the bitterness of it still lingering in her mouth despite the sweetness that was trying to cut through the ugly sensation. Following behind that was the anger that had filled her when the news of the Common had broken— the knowledge that Constance had killed again and that this time it had been seven lives taken, and that Blanche had been caught in the crossfire as well. How could Morgan have let it come to that? You don’t know me at all, do you, Nell? It had been written to the younger witch after their initial fallout, and for a moment Nell wondered whether the words were truer than she’d thought at the time. How could she be surprised about the deaths and injury that had come to pass and still claim to know the woman that stood before her? Stars, Nell, you are the closest thing I have to family right now besides Deirdre. Family didn’t always know every inch of one another, and that was a lesson she’d learned well when Bea had died, a lesson all her sisters had learned. And then Nell had learned it again when she’d been kicked from the coven, her family ripped out from beneath her feet. But Morgan had been there. Morgan Beck, the woman who was saved from the choice of whether or not she’d follow the coven’s decree by the grace of literal death and her subsequent separation from the witches. She was family that Nell couldn’t afford to lose after having the rest of it already taken. Morgan Beck who Nell was certain wouldn’t have followed the demands of the coven and their banishment of the Vural daughters even if she hadn’t been the victim of a family curse. The same curse that had brought them to this exact moment in time that had Nell fiddling with the paper of Morgan’s gift that was still held between Nell’s uncertain hands.

“I don’t think it’s destroyed,” Nell answered in a tone that was surprisingly quiet in lieu of the jumble of emotions that were avalanching through her chest. She swallowed hard a single time, trying to make sense of the words floating in her head, all of them demanding to be spoken at once, but struggling to pluck them from the churning sea of what she wanted to say, what she should have said, and what she was going to say now. “I just- I’m not a fixer, Morgan. Not when it comes to people,” she finally managed to settle on, voice trembling with the effort to try and contain the dull tones of her sadness, the heat of her former anger, and frustration of being unable to find the medium between them. “I’m really fucking shitty at it. I never know what to say, or how to talk about things without getting upset again.” Even now she could feel the beginnings of her temper being dampened by the knowledge that whatever she was feeling about the situation, Morgan was most likely experiencing it ten-fold— the love she still held for the zombie making the witch unwilling and unwilling to dole out any more pain onto her. “I...I want to try, though.”

“...You...you dont?” Morgan repeated Nell’s words slowly in case she’d misheard. The young witch was so uncharacteristically quiet, she couldn’t be sure. She stayed clenched, feeling her impending disappointment hanging over her like a pendulum in a horror show. She’d done shitty things, and the earth didn’t judge or get angry, but people did and had every right to. Nell especially. But then she spoke again.

“You can be upset with me,” Morgan said softly. “I uh...I did a lot to be upset about. And you don’t have to... I don’t know if there’s such a thing as a ‘fixer’, you know? It’s not a box you get sorted into or not. You just learn and you try and maybe it happens faster for some people than others and--” She reached out her hand, fingers contracting and flexing as she tried to gauge whether she could, should, touch her. “We can just take it a little bit at a time and uh…” She sniffled and smiled bravely. “Can I hug you? Real question. N-no is super understandable. But--” It would be great if she could. It would feel like forgiveness even if she wasn’t yet. “Can I? Is that weird?”

“No...no, I don’t,” Nell affirmed, thinking of all the times she’d lost friends and counted them long gone, not at all accustomed to getting a second chance, but willing to take it and hold it tight nonetheless. “And you can be upset with me,” she quickly echoed, knowing things wouldn’t instantly be right. The witch’s shoulders relaxed, sagging in the slightest as Morgan did what she always did— somehow always having the perfect and right words for the situation and Nell’s self-consciousness. “Well then...I guess we can try, right?” She watched as Morgan’s hand opened and closed like a door in front of her, offering Nell a way in should she want to take it. Uncertainly she reached for the offered touch, using it as a way to pull Morgan into the hug she’d asked for. Her arms were softer around the zombie’s shoulders as she embraced her, still tired and sore from her less than comforting ventures at Neveah’s demon mansion the night before but holding on despite it. “I don’t think it’s weird,” she mumbled. Perhaps it was a little stiffer than their hugs had been in the past, but if this was the form the peace offering was taking, Nell wouldn’t be the one to shove it away. “Did you wanna come in? I actually have a present for you, too.”

Morgan clung to Nell as tight as she dared. They fit so easily against each other, head to head and hand to hand. The movement wasn’t fluid or effortless, but Morgan could almost feel the energy that still existed between them, flowing in and around, back and forth until it could reach some kind of equilibrium. Nell still wanted her in her family. She might be the only Vural to think so, but she was the only one that mattered.

“Come in?” She repeated, lifting her head from Nell’s shoulder. “Are you sure? I mean, that it would be okay--?” She tried to peer into the house, waiting for Bea or Luce or some spectre of guilt to pop out and declare that she wasn’t allowed to come inside at all, ever, and furthermore, she had no business asking forgiveness from Nell or anyone else. But no one came out to spoil the moment, and Morgan didn’t have enough fear or sense to turn away from Nell’s offer. “But I do. Want to. You didn’t have to get me anything though.” She pulled away, sniffling as she smiled. “But thank you, Nell. Really, really. Thank you.”

Nell bit down her lip as Morgan squeezed, trying to swallow the pang of pain that surfaced as Morgan’s arms unintentionally found the bruises and cuts she hadn’t healed from her and Adam’s continued infiltration of Ma’al’s demon cult. Those in visible places were always safely healed away, but the ones beneath her clothes and long sleeves were kept in secret. After all, Nell had to save every ounce of strength she had for what happened within the mansion’s hellish walls. But she also needed to keep unwanted questions at bay, unwilling to have her friends tangled in the mess she’d thrown herself into. Brushing away the darker thoughts of her current affairs, she pulled back to focus on Morgan, letting the brightness of the zombie’s face and their renewed friendship brush those shadows away. “Of course I’m sure,” she insisted, confidence re-entering her voice. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have offered. And I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to.” Nell gave Morgan’s hand a last squeeze before moving to tug the other woman over the threshold of the home, leading her to the living room where she’d kept the gifts she was planning on giving. “It’s this one,” she began as she handed Morgan a carefully wrapped package, her nerves returned for this moment as she hoped she’d gotten this right.

Morgan took a moment to look at the gift. If it wasn’t so wildly inappropriate, she would get out her phone and take a picture of it, so she could always remember the care that her friend had shown her, the love she didn’t deserve made visible in a carefully tied ribbon and a full package. She wanted to remember that care like this still existed. That even after doing some of the worst things she’d ever attempted, someone like Nell still wanted to give to her. But she would have to settle for her memory and hope that a hundred years or more down the line, she would be able to see Nell and this gift just like this. “Should we open them at the same time?” She asked, taking the package from Nell. “That’s how we did it at home when I was a kid. I’ll be careful with the ribbon. at least. It’s all so pretty…” She smiled sheepishly, moved and almost embarrassed by how much this meant to her. She nodded to Nell to indicate go and tore into the wrappings.

The first thing she saw were the Yule smudge sticks, so potent that she caught a whiff of cinnamon and pine. It was like the Yules from her childhood all over again, when they hung freshly cut firs and holly from every door and entryway. When the tapers ran down the sides in gothic, runny clumps, and the candlelights flickered and their shadows leapt along the wall like pixies in flight. It was everything. Underneath: vials of bath salts, colored in cleansing tones and filled with herbs that symbolized renewal, a fresh start to wash away the hurt that still stuck to her. And beneath that-- “Oh, Nell,” Morgan gasped. “How did you know? About any of this? I haven’t told anybody…” Her eyes filled up again. “After everything happened I went to Strawford Cemetery and tried to do a chord removal. I know it’s all like, jedi mind tricks, but I swear I felt lighter and I felt...something. Not a live energy something, but a connection to something. And I know you’ve been trying to tell me this all along, but I actually feel it now…” She clutched the package to her chest, gripping with all her might. “I want to be as much of a witch as I can be. I want to belong here, and put out things that...help, even a little. And that’s vague and dopey and I haven’t figured out anything more specific yet, but I just want you to know why this means so much. Thank you.”

Nell unwrapped her own gift with much less delicacy than Morgan opened her’s, the still present nervous energy making her a little overeager as she tore into the pretty packaging. She almost forgot to look at her own gift as she heard Morgan’s reaction to the present she’d been gifted, but her attention was easily re-captured by the crafting tools inside the box, instantly recognizing them for what they were. The hoops, twine, and other assorted supplies tugged at some place between her heart and gut, nostalgia gripping her as she counted a set of three. One for her and each of her sisters. “For wreaths and Yule!” Morgan had to have known this would be the girls first season without their family and coven, and given them something to do together in response, no doubt truly understanding the gravity of the girls’ situation and the way it seemed to stifle the usual traditions of the holiday. The cocoa supplies and taki bags beneath it all were obviously meant solely for the youngest witch, and Nell touched the gifts with a thoughtful hand, still in slight disbelief that Morgan was even here in the first place. “Thank you, Morgan. I- well, I love all this.” But what she loved most of all was that Morgan had wanted to give her a gift in the first place.

“I didn’t necessarily know,” Nell continued, still unable to shake the last of the nerves that had settled around her and Morgan. That would be normal though, right? They’d said they wouldn’t turn back into place at the drop of a hat. “I know it’s not anything remotely the same as you, but after the stuff that I went through well- I could only begin to imagine what you might have felt, and even though I didn’t lose my magic, I know that I would have still wanted my family after it. And everything I grew up with and stuff. Even if I...hated it at first.” That’s why Nell had grouped the witchy books under the bath salts and Yule sticks wanting to return them to Morgan long after the witch had lied and said she’d handed them over to Nisa and the coven. “It’s not vague and dopey,” Nell instantly rebutted. “We- we need it too, you know. Need another witch here.” Their mother’s coven was long gone out of their lives, but perhaps they could make a little one of their own. Looking down at her present, Nell waited a moment before making another offer. “You know- you could always make them with us. I could call Bea and Luce and see if they can come right now.”

“Yeah! I figured, something all of you can do together might, you know…Nothing’s going to make things like they were before, but they can still be good. And maybe this new turn of the wheel will be better too.” Morgan said, gushing with relief now that her gesture had been accepted. “But I didn’t want you to have to share your whole gift, that’s lame, right? So hopefully you can use them to enjoy the rest of your day, or any other traditions you get to do, or just, you know, cozy time to yourself. You do still get time like that, right? Anyway, I’m glad you like it…” She trailed off, uncertain how to proceed.

At Nell’s insistence that she consider herself another witch around, that she should stay with them for the day, Morgan’s eyes watered again. “O-oh, I don’t… I meant these for you and your sisters, and you should have your special time together, and I don't want to be the reason anyone…” Doesn’t come. Leaves you alone during yuletide. Morgan shrank back, out of the doorway, her bright smile only a little weighted by sadness. “But I do, want to be around. Maybe after the regular new year? I’m just gonna be traveling, for my birthday, as it turns out. But still-- I’d like to. Just, you know, not at the risk of making things weirder or harder after everything I’ve done…” Her resolve gave way for a second and she dove back to Nell for another swift press of a hug before ducking out the doorway again. Maybe for Imbolc we’ll have a big cleaning party together, huh?”

Nell nodded with a half-sad smile, unable to pretend as if the loss of her coven didn’t sting at the mere mention or thought of it. Still— Morgan’s comforting words were more than welcome, and brought back a trickle of warmth to drive out some of the cold and drafty winds of the hole left where her family had been. “Thank you, Morgan. I know you’re right.” Unfortunately, the knowledge that new and good things would come didn’t always help to lessen the wounds of the past. That would take time if such wounds could ever be truly healed. “And yeah- of course I’ve always got time for hot chocolate.” The brief answer was an easy enough way to brush away the real answer of her having been far too busy with the twisted rituals and gatherings of the cult amongst the other day to day problems of White Crest that claimed her attention.

Morgan’s reluctance to join in the festivities wasn’t all that surprising, and Nell didn’t feel the need to push it at a moment like this. It was probably for the best if they wanted room to breath and return to normal or create whatever their new ‘normal’ would look like. “Oh shit, well- I hope you have a good trip. You’ll have to tell me about it when you get back, obviously.” There was a flare of jealousy in Nell as she offered Morgan the well wishes, remembering her own travels around the world before she’d returned to White Crest. She doubted she’d ever experience something like that again, not when there were so many things and people tying her to White Crest now. “We’ll figure it out, though. With all of us. And then we can do that big cleaning party with some midnight margaritas, and maybe even make some Brigid crosses.” As she headed with Morgan back towards the front door of the home, Nell held the zombie’s present to her chest, the anger that had gripped her earlier finding a temporary solace that let her enjoy the bond that had been restored on this day. No doubt it’d return when they had to speak of things less pleasant than travel and parties and gifts. But for now, she could simply enjoy the hopefulness buzzing within as she leaned against the doorframe, giving her farewell. Finally, she would relax in the knowledge that it wouldn’t be their final one. “I’ll see you later, Morgan.”

#good tidings we bring #wr nell #wr chatzy #wr nell chatzy #sibling death tw #wickedswriting

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ajokeformur-ray · 5 years

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For the headcanon thing (if my suggestion even counts as one); how about Arthur joins or is joined by reader in the shower/bathub? I don't mind smut since it'd fit but I think it would also work SFW, however it's up to you - knowing your writing it would be great and sweet either way! :)

Thank you so much nonnie! I was gonna do both SFW and NSFW for this one but I posted the filthiest thing I’ve ever written yesterday (A Bloody Smile) so I’m gonna go with soft and sweet SFW for this one!

It seems kinda obvious but there’s nudity in this; no smut though! Just two weary adults sharing water.

Enjoy!

It was the end of just another day for you and you wanted to go home.

Well, no… You wouldn’t mind walking through your front door but even then, surrounded by pieces of you and your comforts, you wouldn’t really be home.

Not until you saw your Arthur.

Only when his arms surrounded you would you be home, and thoughts of this keep you company throughout the day, partially filling the void in your heart put there by his physical absence.

Your journey home somehow took forever and yet no time at all; so consumed were you by thoughts of going home to Arthur.

People gave you strange looks for smiling so widely on your way home, but you barely noticed them.

They didn’t have the one thing that you did and you almost felt sad for them.

Almost.

They would never know the absolute gift that was loving Arthur Fleck and being loved by him in return.

But you did.

You knew how lucky you were and it was for this reason that, in the moments you were conscious of it, did you wear your smile proudly.

Let them stare. It wasn’t like you were ever gonna see any of them again, anyway.

You practically ran up those horrible concrete steps, racing through the filthy streets of Gotham.

With the thrill that came from knowing that in minutes would you be seeing Arthur, you had the physical energy needed to forgo the rickety old lift entirely and soon you were at your shared apartment.

Despite your excitement at finally being in the place you knew Arthur would be, you entered slow enough so that, if he was lingering by the doorway, Arthur had enough time to get out of the way.

You had once hit him with the door on your way in, not knowing that he had his face pressed up against it; looking for you through the small peephole.

You had apologised a 1000000 times that night and each time had Arthur giggled and kissed you; he didn’t mind. It wasn’t like you had done it on purpose, though it had stung a little.

Not that he would tell you that.

He had just laughed through the slight pain ‘til he hadn’t felt it anymore, just like he dealt with everything else in his life.

This time, though, there was no one there.

You weren’t even slightly disappointed that Arthur hadn’t been waiting for you at the door like an excited puppy when their human goes to the kitchen. Not even a little. Nope.

You ignored the little voice in your head that called you a liar.

You could hear the radio being played in the bathroom, and you followed the sound easily; as if there was a rope between Arthur’s body and your own.

You were being pulled to his side by the mere knowledge that he was just on the other side of the door and you were powerless to stop yourself; not that you ever would.

Arthur was a force unto himself and never would or could you resist him.

You knocked three times in rapid succession with the second knuckle of an index finger and let yourself in, smiling at the sight which greeted you:

Arthur in the bath, bubbles everywhere.

It was in his hair, on his face, all over his body; he even had some bubbles on the tiles.

You had known that Arthur liked bubble baths but even this surprised you for a few seconds before you smiled gently at the man sat in the tub.

He was so soft and you loved him so much for it.

“Well, someone’s having fun.”

Even though you had knocked, Arthur still jumped at the sound of your voice.

You smiled at him and raised a hand in a tired greeting. “Hey.”

“Hi!” A small smile quickly dominated the whole of his mouth as Arthur took in the sight of you.

His smile soon turned into a frown, his strong dark brows creased in the middle; deepening the early wrinkles already there.

“You look tired.”

You shrugged, walked fully into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

“No more than you do.”

As Arthur spoke, you made your way over to him, toeing off your shoes and tugging off your coat, your bag and anything else that was strictly for the Outside World, which you wanted nothing to do with for the rest of the day.

It took so much from you and rarely gave back; so it could all go away for now.

So long as you had Arthur, you had everything.

You sat on the edge of the bathtub, your fingers sliding into Arthur’s wet curls.

His eyes closed in bliss as you lightly scratched his scalp.

“Have you washed your hair yet, honey?”

“No,” He hummed, “Was hoping you would be home in time.”

That was a daring admission in Arthur’s book and you rewarded him with a kiss, having to lean over in a slightly awkward manner to do so.

With your lips on his, your fingers in his hair, did tensions build, but you didn’t want that.

You just wanted to relax in his presence and have Arthur relax, too.

You pulled away from the kiss just in time to see Arthur looking dazed as he opened his eyes and you smiled, reaching over to grab the shampoo that he preferred to use - yours.

It made his hair smell like you, it made his pillows smell like you, and it helped him so much during the day to have pieces of you all around him; so that it was hard to deny the reality.

His delusions were far less vivid, less controlling of his perception of reality, when he had solid evidence to say that you were real.

You got to work on washing Arthur’s hair, massaging his scalp as you worked the suds through his dark curls; Arthur’s face was tipped towards the ceiling, a rare serene smile on his lips.

Periodically did you murmur instructions - tilt your head back a bit more, keep your eyes closed, stay still for me - and Arthur listened to everything.

Sometimes he would moan quietly or arch into your touch.

He was so touch starved that even the simplest of touches were almost sensual to him.

Every time he moaned, you would say something like “you’re so good for me, love” or some other small praise, which would only make him smile a little wider.

You just wanted to love him so hard that his life seemed infinitely better with you by his side.

Little did you know, all you had to do was stay - even without all these tender affections was Arthur’s life made better by your existence.

You rinsed out the suds and then conditioned his hair, grinning at the thought of how soft and fluffy it would be when you were done.

Maybe he would even let you brush it.

You knew he would - he trusted you completely.

When at last his hair was done did Arthur’s hand encircle one of your wrists as his intense greens met your eyes.

Though he said nothing, you saw his wants written on his face as clearly as if he had written join me? on his forehead in ink.

You stood from the side of the bath, undressed without a care - you ignored his hitched breath, his choked inhale, and put a hand on his shoulder - move forward - as he did so, you climbed in behind him, using your grip on that same shoulder to tug him back into resting against your chest.

You cuddled until the bath water started to grow cold.

You made it a point to press kisses to the bruises which littered Arthur’s back so densely that it was rare to find a spot of unblemished skin.

You were glad that he couldn’t see your face; it made hiding your tears that much easier.

You kissed every single bruise, trying to heal him with the strength of your love.

If such a thing worked in real life then never again would Arthur feel even a twinge of pain for the rest of his life.

As you cuddled, you spoke about your days, traded jokes, and just basked in each other’s company.

There was nothing you loved more than quiet nights like this, and even in the future when he grew darker, more sure of himself, when he traded what the world expected of him for who he really was, did you still enjoy and cherish nights like this.

For always would you come home to each other; no matter what.

The Arthur Fleck/Joker Defense Squad @writings-of-a-gen-z @x-avantgarde-x @insomniabird @mavalenovaninagavi @itwasrealenough @morrisonmercurymalek @rand0ms-fand0ms @rafaelina-casillas @aclownthing @rebs-doom @vivft @help-i-am-obssessed @autumnaffection @taintednihilist @vladtoly @mg-woolf99 @misstgrey92 @that-s-life @dopey-girl-blogs @seeking-dreamland @sweetheart-syndrome @heartxfdesire @xmusichealsthesoulx @0callmejude0 @the-one-that-likes-riddles @hannibalsslut @folliaght @freeeshavacadoo @bingewatchingmylifegoby @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything @okamiredfoxx @sp0okysp0oky @the-pandorabox @mardema @jibanyyan @honeyflvredcoughdrop @emissarydecksetter @jokerfleckk @epidendroideae @chuuntas @stillmabel @pumpkinpeyes @onehystericalqueenposts @the-jokers-wolf @nalsswa @justahyena @arianatheangelworld @soullessblondbitch @gothamslittlejester @twentyonestarrynights @sirianfromsixties @kissmeclownman @joker-is-my-hero @lazyloosah @lovesickkloxx @ladylovelyluna @live-love-loki @clownerybbxx @tragicarthur @anmach123 @rommie-chan @arthurflock @lucyboytom @anti-peach @immortal-bi-bitch @hearthurfleck @crazieroutthere @curlystark @hailmary-yramliah @sagyunaro @playinthedarktillitsgoldenagain @jokeringcutio @xenthefox @mijachula@stcrrynightsinneverlcnd @cheyennejonas22 @mrjfleck @pauli1100 @smitten-susie @actualkey @callmejokerfleck @jaylovesbats @itsforyoubitch @ridiculousnerd @killerprotector3579 @soulsdontbreaktheybeeend @fantasticwinnerclodexpert @arthurs-sweater @pinkie44pie @tsukiakarinobara @prettyxlittlexpsychoxprincess @elodia-gahan @yours-mia @rustyt33th @parkdonghoons @lady-carnivals-stuff @hobi-hobi-kyo-kkyu @jupiturde @incognitofish @j-sux @nothing-but-a-comedy @tahliamalfoydepp

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captainsjack · 4 years

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here’s something no one asked for: hcs for shawn & gus based on this post:

who hogs the duvet: shawn. somehow, without fail, he gets himself wrapped up in the blankets like a burrito. he doesn’t mean to, maybe he’s unknowingly always cold at night, but he always somehow manages to get tangled. normally, gus would be annoyed, because, well, who wants to sleep without blankets, that’s no fun. but shawn also always sleeps practically on top of gus, one hand clutching gus’s shirt. (that was something that had been constant since they were kids - whenever they had sleepovers, squished in either of their beds, shawn would always latch onto gus in his sleep). so, even though gus has less than 5% of the blankets, he’s never actually cold, because he has shawn wrapped around him.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going: both. and neither. shawn and gus see each other for more than 90% of the day (canonically too), so there’s really no reason to text and call each other that much. but if they’ve split up for a case, they’ll check in, or if gus is at work, shawn will text him memes or cute dogs he’s seen throughout the day. these idiots can’t go 3 seconds without talking to each other (as we’ve seen in the psych 1 movie trailer, helLO), so it’s a guarantee that they’re either always together in person, or having some sort of conversation/meme sharing exchange over text, or are on the phone when gus has a break from work.

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts: honestly, both. i don’t know what constitutes as ‘creative,’ but they’re both over the top thoughtful with their gifts. shawn knows everything there is to know about gus, and he remembers every small, insignificant, off handed, comment he’s made about things he likes. so shawn will track down that specific, first edition, one of a kind, comic book from the 50′s or something, that gus mentioned half-heartedly five years ago. (gus is, always, without fail, speechless that shawn managed to buy something so rare, and the fact that he remembered in the first place). gus is a romantic. he’ll plan a surprise vacation for them, or a super nice dinner, or he’ll get concert tickets to a band he knows shawn loves even though he can’t stand them. for gus, it’s always about the experience, since he knows shawn will at some point lose almost everything he’s given. (although he always gives a pineapple with his gift too).

who gets up first in the morning: gus (of course). he goes to work early, and meets shawn at psych later. but, when he has the day off, shawn won’t let him get out of bed until at least 11. gus doesn’t complain.

who suggests new things in bed: shawn. well, he’s the one that brings it up at least. he’s gotten really good at being able to tell when something excites gus - the way his vision darkens, shoulders tense, he unconsciously sucks in his lower lip just a bit. usually, it’s from a scene in a movie (princess leia in the gold bikini anyone?) or maybe it’s one of the costumes shawn has to wear for a case (american duos, cowboy!shawn, etc). either way, shawn can tell when gus is turned on by something new, and he’ll either surprise gus later, or he’ll pause the movie right then, hands already working on gus’s fly. (gus doesn’t get how shawn always just knows, but he’s definitely, definitely not complaining).

who cries at movies: gus. he’s a sympathetic crier, ok? he can’t help it. shawn finds it amusing every time, but then gus will just say “princess bride” and shawn shuts up. (for some reason, that’s the one movie shawn cries during, and he’s always thought he hid it well, but apparently gus has know this whole time).

who gives unprompted massages: both. when shawn gets particularly bad headaches (sensory overload), he’ll lay on gus’s lap and gus will massage his temples. when gus is stressed about a presentation or test or something, shawn will forget about whatever he’s in the middle of doing and automatically massage his shoulders.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick: again, both. it started when gus got a bad cold one winter. shawn fussed over him in typical shawn fashion, but he also couldn’t stay away, no matter how much gus told him to go so he wouldn’t get sick himself. when gus is sick, shawn curls up next to him, kisses his face, his lips, his shoulders, and eventually gets sick himself (it’s not his fault, ok? he really, really does try to stay away. but.. it’s gus. he can’t. you can’t blame him). then eventually gus recovers, and it’s his turn to take care of shawn. it’s happened so often, that whenever one of them gets sick, it’s easier for them to both just take the week off and be sick together.

who gets jealous the easiest: canonically, both. before they got together, they each had an unhealthy jealousy of the person the other one was dating. i definitely don’t need to go into detail here, just watch the show. however, this subsides once they do actually start dating. they’re both the most important person in each others’ lives, and have been for four decades. there’s a level of trust there that can’t really be compared to anything. so once the threat of a significant other (one that’s not either shawn or gus) is out of the way, there’s no reason for jealousy. they have each other and that’s all they’ve ever wanted.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music: shawn. he likes to think he’s cool, but when it comes to music, he listens to the most embarrassing things.

who collects something unusual: gus. we’re told in 2x03 that he collects coins (although coins aren’t really that unusual). something cute i noticed though, is that in 2x09, after it’s established gus collects coins, shawn and gus are playing hangman during a case, and shawn draws the stick figure as gus. when he shows the drawing to gus, the stick figure has a high top fade, and has a little speech bubble (or it could be a thought bubble, idk) that says “i love coins!”. anyway, i just thought that was absolutely adorable. for shawn, it’s not technically a collection, but he’s saved everything gus has ever given him for the past 40 years. for some reason, he’s super careful with gus’s stuff, but will have to go out and buy new socks multiple times a month because he keeps losing them.

who takes the longest to get ready: gus. he has a process, ok? the only thing shawn really does to get ready is his hair, and that doesn’t even take long. somehow, every morning without fail, shawn will be waiting in the living room for an extra 20 minutes waiting for gus to get ready. he doesn’t get it. (also when they first get together, it’s almost impossible for either of them to actually get ready because they keep getting distracted by each other and every 5 minutes they just end up making out).

who is the most tidy and organized: gus (duh). he has systems, and routines, and rules, and everything has to be done a Certain Way. shawn, of course, is the complete opposite. it’s not that he doesn’t care, really, it’s just that, well, either he forgets, or there’s something else that he’d rather be doing. this becomes a problem when they finally move in together. gus (rightfully so) gets annoyed at shawn’s utter lack of respect for the house and their belongings (like jackets strewn across chairs, shoes not on the shoe rack, dishes left on the table). eventually, gus makes a chore chart. shawn makes fun of him for it at first, but then gus gives him his don’t-even-play-with-me-shawn-you’re-never-going-to-win-this-argument look, and shawn shuts up. it takes a while for shawn to get used to the schedule and to actually remember to do things, but eventually they create a rhythm that works, and gus relaxes.

who gets most excited about the holidays: both. every holiday. they’ve always done over the top things together their whole lives - whether it was christmas, thanksgiving, halloween, or new years. the psych office and their apartment are always decorated with the tackiest and most extravagant decorations. since they were kids, they’ve always spent hours on end decorating each others’ houses together. now they get to decorate their own house.

who’s the big spoon/little spoon: it depends. when they’re watching a movie, either they’ll lay on the couch together and gus will be the little spoon, or they’ll be sitting up, and shawn will curl into gus’s side, head on his shoulder (gus’s head resting atop his), shawn’s arm hugging gus’s waist. if they’re in bed, they both kind of spoon each other. they lay facing each other, legs intertwined, gus’s arm wrapped around shawn’s waist. shawn will have his head buried in the crook of gus’s neck, while the both of them share his pillow. shawn’s hand either rests on gus’s upper-arm squished between the two of them, or he’ll be holding onto gus’s shirt. gus’s lips and nose will be squished against shawn’s forehead and shawn will smile into gus’s skin. however, sometimes shawn gets into bed later than gus, and when he does, he wraps an arm over gus side, and gus’s hand finds shawn’s in his sleep, and he interlaces their fingers and pulls shawn’s hand to his chest. shawn presses a soft kiss against gus’s shoulder and gus leans back into him. they both move around a lot during the night, but when they wake up, either gus will be on top of shawn, clinging to him like a koala, or vice versa. their cuddling takes many forms, but no matter what, shawn and gus are always wrapped up in each other.

who gets the most competitive when playing games and/or sports: gus. it’s not fair - shawn’s memory and observational skills give him an advantage. whether they’re playing those road trip dog/license plate/letter spotting games, or cards, or whatever, shawn, without fail, always wins. they’ve had to take a few hiatuses along the years after gus got particularly frustrated. however, when shawn cheats, gus always knows and then that game is banned too. they also play trivia games, and those are the ones that only gus wins. shawn gets just as upset as gus does when he loses, and that adds to their collection of Games We’re Not Playing For An Undisclosed Amount Of Time. also, shawn and gus have game nights with juliet and her girlfriend. it’s the only time they at least try to be civil, and most nights go off without a hitch (until they get home and either shawn or gus starts pouting). one of their favorite games to play is catch phrase. shawn and gus always win because they share one (1) collective brain cell and therefore only need to so much as look at each other before the other guesses the word. juliet and her girlfriend have banned that game many times as well.

who starts the most arguments: trivial, light-hearted bickering? both, always, all the time. they love it. actual, real arguments? almost never. the only arguments they’ve had are canon. shawn sleeping with joy, obsessive jealousy, destruction of relationships, whatever else has been mentioned. i honestly can’t think of anything they’d argue over. but if they do, they’re mature about it. 40 years of trust and communication allows for mature dialogue when either of them is upset. if they need to, one of them (mostly gus) will leave to cool down before they talk. but they always communicate when they're leaving (if they do) because of shawn’s fear of abandonment. the arguments never last long, and they’re honest about their feelings. the make up sex is particularly great (because like i said, these idiots can’t go 3 seconds without each other).

who suggests that they buy a pet: neither. they don’t mean to. they’re on one of their monthly bunny petting dates, and somehow - neither of them know - they walk out with a pet bunny and about a dozen toys. they name him mr. floppingtons the 3rd.

what tv shows they watch together: saturday morning cartoons. since they were five, they’ve always gotten up early together and watched them, cuddled on the couch, eating pancakes.

what other couple they hang out with: jules and her girlfriend. lassie and marlowe. sometimes the chief and her husband, or mcnab and his wife. ya know, all canon things.

how they spend their time together as a couple: the same way they’ve been spending time together for the past four decades (it takes everyone at the station about a month to even realize they’re dating now). except now they get to make out and cuddle, which makes everything 1000x better. when they first get together though, it’s hard to actually get anything done around the office. they set out with good intentions - really, they do - but it’s just so hard to work with your boyfriend without getting distracted. especially when you’ve spent the last 20 years pining over him. you can’t blame them, really.

who made the first move: don’t even ask me this, i have way too many ideas. it could’ve been 2x11 (after the whole mira thing), 3x02 (shawn’s fucking “are you kidding me, he was voted most likely to succeed. you think he’s going to date me?” you’re telling me gus didn’t ask him about that? bc boy was obviously shook). or 3x08 (gus canonically tells shawn he loves him when he’s taken hostage. shawn tries to bolt into the bank when he learns gus is in there. so much heartbreak and tension in this ep oh my god). or 3x09 (shawn let’s it slip that he only slept with joy because gus wasn’t there, so what was he supposed to do? “wait, you’re telling me this had something to do with me?” “...no”). or 4x09 (this is self explanatory, i mean shawn literally is kidnapped and shot. also how cute/heartbreaking would it have been if he called gus instead of jules). 4x11 (the whole ruby thing, i mean, come on). 4x13 (the last 7 mins of this is just gus heartbroken that shawn is confessing to jules. i mean, this guy tries to prevent shawn from telling her he loves her...). or oh my god 5x02 (goddamned gay cinema here when shawn sees gus tap dance. “that’s my partner!” uh,, shawn, buddy, literally no one in the audience knows you work together, now they all think you’re dating. you’re telling me, shawn wouldn’t have just grabbed gus and kissed him on the way to the blueberry because his love was just exploding out of him? ok.). and all the fake dating for a case to love confessions tropes??? buddy i could write novels for these two. also any time any one of them has a girlfriend, i bet the other is so obvious with their jealousy it just leads to accidental love confessions. or a “kiss me before we die?” “you can get the kiss when we survive - so move!” thing?? HOW DID I LEAVE OUT 5x16 !!!! gus’s “i don’t blame you” confession turns into a “i’ve been in love with you for 20 years and i’m not dying without telling you” confession!!!! or we can even go so far back as to shawn and gus dated in high school and then shawn left abruptly and there’s angst. and then he comes back to sb and they talk and they’re friends again and then oh, wait, i’ve never actually stopped loving you these past 7 years, fuck, what now? and then we get a married since before s1 au. or au where gus doesn’t follow shawn to san fran and they’re both miserable and shawn breaks up with jules and goes back to him and gus has a hard time forgiving him because shawn fucking left again. OH WAIT HOW DID I FORGET ABOUT THE RACHEL THING!!! i haven’t seen that ep in forever but remember when henry tells gus that gus is the most important person in shawn’s life and shawn doesn’t want to share him and that’s why he sabotaged gus’s relationship?? cue gus putting everything together and marching right over to shawn and kissing the crap out of him. ALSO gus stops shawn’s wedding when the preacher says “speak now or forever hold your peace.” OR au where gus is getting married and shawn stops his wedding. or literally any possibility of them almost dying and them confessing to each other. someone stop me i’m just spilling all my wips right now. see there’s too many possibilities for these fucking idiots i-

who brings home flowers: shawn. he’ll be walking somewhere and just pick up flowers that remind him of gus or that he thinks gus will like. by the end of the day, he’ll have collected a little bouquet (half wilted) and he’ll give them gus to in passing, with a soft kiss on the cheek. it’s something he does without thinking, and something that brings tears to gus’s eyes everytime.

who is the best cook: gus. if they’re not ordering out (which is rare), gus does the cooking. once, shawn tried to surprise gus with breakfast in bed and almost burned down the house. now he’s only allowed to watch.

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years

Text

Once Bitten Twice Stupid prt.53

Lance was blushing so hard he was surprised he had any blood flow to his dick. Stripping him slowly, Keith’s hands had been shaking, neither of them knew what to do, but that was okay because they were working this out together. His scent might have changed, but he felt fully focused on Keith. Keith, his beautiful little anger loaf of a boyfriend.

Dipping into the supplies brought by Curtis, Lance was almost glad the hunter had forced them on him. With Keith slotted between his legs, he was hyper focused on his boyfriend being hard for him. He wanted him. He wanted to do with this him... and God did Lance want this, while fearing it at the same time. This some whole next level shit. Next level boyfriend shit that made him feel a little lame for not knowing what to do. Kissing Keith was like dying and going to heaven. Sex... he expected it to hurt, but his heart was pounding with excitement, his needy body already growing wet

“We don’t have to if you’re not ready”

Keith shook his head, Lance swallowing hard as he stared into his boyfriend’s beautiful purple eyes

“I want to be with you”

“You are... you have me. I’m completely here with you”

“I... don’t know what I’m doing”

“That’s okay. We’re figuring this out together. Just go gentle on me”

“I will... um... lube first”

“That’s a great start...”

“Right...”

Lance didn’t laugh as Keith popped the cap on the lube, then realised that he couldn’t open the condom packet with lubed up fingers. The first condom ended up tearing, his boyfriend getting more flustered and nervous by the minute. Lance wanted their first time to be special, but he also wanted to make things easier for Keith

“Hop up for a second, I’ve got an idea”

His idea was rolling over to get onto his hands and knees. That was Keith could see what he was doing... despite it being kind of embarrassing to be completely on display for his boyfriend. God, he was fucking nervous. Each movement behind him had him jumpy... and when Keith’s lubed up finger rubbed against his opening, he damn near forgot how to breathe as he buried his face in Keith’s pillow. He wanted to crack a joke to ease the tension, but he didn’t know what to say. After 44 years of nearly exit only, his arse wasn’t sure what to make of the digit pressing lightly against the his opening

“Ok... I’m gonna... well...”

Lance tried not to fight the initial discomfort. He knew he needed to relax his body, but his boner had already gone soft as his body went “what the actual fuck do you think you’re doing to me”. Feeling Keith’s finger in him was odd, more so when he moved it. It was kind of unpleasant, yet Lance was also feeling those cramps of need starting to build. Nervous over all of this, he wanted that feeling to build. He wanted that to strip away his fears

“Does... it feels alright?”

“Mhmm...”

Nope. It didn’t. But this was Keith. He wanted this with Keith. It wasn’t the romantic hotel room for the night, buuuuut, maybe it was better this way. They were in a safe place. Keith knew this was safe place. Once the initial awkwardness passed, they’d have gotten their first super clumsy time out the way.

Two fingers felt weirder. Keith sounded as if he was really getting into it. His breath catching, as he watched his fingers moving in and out against his sweet spot, sending conflicting feelings through his body. He wasn’t fond of the intrusion, but that spot... felt amazing. Flipping the cap, cold lube drizzled over his arse made him suck in a breath

“Lance?”

“‘m okay... cold”

“Okay”

Keith asking him if he was okay made Lance fall in love with Keith all over again. Reassured he was okay, Keith’s movements grew bolder, Lance shorting out mentally. His heat was getting it now, teeth elongating, as that discomfort finally got the hint to fuck off.

When Keith moved onto three fingers, Lance felt like his arse was being split in two. Head shooting up. Eyes wide. A whole lot of “nope” from his arse, with a whole lot of “yes” from his sweet spot

“Lance?”

Gritting his teeth, he was going to get through this

“Don’t stop”

“You’re really tense... if it hurts...”

“Don’t stop. It’s okay... just... fuck...”

“We don’t...”

“Keith, it’s okay... keep going”

“I don’t want you hurt”

“You’re not hurting me...”

“Okay... um... this is really hot watching... my fingers... in you”

Lance bit back his groan at Keith enjoying watching himself fingering him. He wanted his boyfriend to feel good... He wanted to feel good. Never sticking anything up there mid heat, and touching himself there was different to what he’d tried to train his body to be used to. Now he was getting what his ego craved, everything felt almost too much.

By some small miracle, Keith stretched him enough that the burn had subsided. His heat smacking him as Keith’s fingers slid from inside him. Being full felt weird, being empty felt... empty to a painful degree

“Babe?”

“I want it”

“Let me know if I need to stop”

Keith should have been high on his scent like every other time. His boyfriend fighting the pheromones in the room to put his well-being first. Feeling overly emotional, this wasn’t how Lance wanted to do the next bit. He wanted to see Keith. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and kiss him. Feeling Keith rubbing against him, Lance needed to tell Keith that

“Wait... I want to see your face”

Keith was patient as Lance turned back over and shimmied down the bed. He didn’t feel terribly sexy, but he did feel a whole lot better facing his boyfriend. Reaching out with both hands, he cupped Keith’s face

“Okay... I’m ready”

“If I mess up...”

Lance smiled softly, it was kind of a given they would stuff up somehow

“It’ll still be okay because it’s you”

Keith nuzzled into his palm

“I’m nervous”

“Me too. But I want this with you. Now ravage me”

Keith snorted, pressing a kiss to Lance’s hand

“I’ll try”

“Then let’s do this”

Keith slipped twice as he tried to press into Lance’s wet heat. Third time lucky had Lance’s back arching as he gasped, semi trying to shoot up the bed to escape the feeling, while simultaneously trying to shoot you the bed and ruin this for both of them. Maybe Curtis had been onto something with the suggestion of toys. Slowly burning himself balls deep, Lance had his eyes scrunched up, breathing out the window, that jolt from being filled sent specks of red across his eyelids

“Babe?”

“Gimme a sec”

“This isn’t going to work”

The slow drag of Keith’s dick made Lance gasp. They’d made it this far

“Don’t pull out!”

“Wha...”

“Just... move slowly... and kiss me”

Keith’s rhythm took a while to find. Stuttered and clumsy, his boyfriend tried to hold back, his kisses making up for any loss in technique, even if Lance was near bent into two so Keith could reach his lips. Hyper focused on each movement, his heat simmered in the background, letting him focus too much on what Keith was doing to him... all of it adding up, but not quite enough to push him over the edge and into that orgasmic high. It wasn’t an “oh Jesus” moment when Keith came, a whinied kind of grunt forced from Keith’s nose, as his body tensed, pushing down on Lance with what felt like was full weight. Being caged by Keith felt good. Like the moment was protected from the outside world and those who’d disapprove of them being together. Riding out the last of his orgasm, Keith’s lips crashed into his, blood spilling across Lance’s gums, in a way that made him want more. Gradually the kiss ended, Keith panting against his lips

“Did you come?”

“Not yet...”

His boyfriend looked disappointed

“But, this was our first. And that makes me happy”

“You didn’t come”

Keith went to pull out, Lance clenching around him

“Don’t... let me get off having you in me”

Keith didn’t seem sure

“Sit back... I’m close”

He was. His arse was throbbing like mad, his body so close to coming that he barely had to jerk himself off before he finally came across his stomach. Keith’s eyes were like a hungry predator as Lance’s damn near rolled back in his head. Slumping back, Lance’s legs shook like crazy, hand still wrapped around his dick as he milked the last drops from his spent dick

“I could watch you do that all day”

Blushing, Lance couldn’t deal with the praise

“I could have you fuck me all day”

Keith pursed his lips, Lance would have kicked himself if he didn’t feel so satisfied

“I don’t... was it bad?”

“No. No. Babe, trust me. It was weird, but it wasn’t bad”

“Weird good?”

“Weird verging on next time I’m gonna come so fucking hard”

“So it was okay?”

“Very okay. And you’re very okay. Pretty good for two virgins, if I say so myself”

That made Keith smile. Fuck. It should be illegal to be that cute

“Does it hurt?”

“A bit... but that’s because we haven’t done it enough... I’m very much okay with this”

“Good... I thought...”

“You thought because I didn’t come it was bad. It wasn’t bad. But we did make a mess”

Suddenly Keith’s eyes were going wide

“The puppy! Shit... we forgot about the puppy!”

Listening out, he could hear Shiro worrying about what was taking them so long. So much for enjoying some post sex snuggling

“It’s okay... I’ll tell them I needed something... but are you okay?”

Keith nodded, worrying his bottom lip before replying

“It... you feel good”

With the way his arse was throbbing, he’d hope Keith felt good

“I’ll take the compliment. And I’ll take round two later. For now we need to clean up. You’ve got blood on your face”

“You’ve got more on yours”

“But I’m a vampire, I’m used to it. Blood tastes gross to you humans”

“So you’re fine with my blood?”

Keith had got him there. Maybe he was a little too fine with Keith’s blood, which wasn’t what he wanted to be

“Kissing blood is okay, drinking not so. Now, are you going to pull out? Or is this a new thing we’re trying”

“No... I’m... I forgot...”

“You forgot you were still inside me?”

“You distracted me by jerking off”

“Ugh. Right. Totally blame me. I see how it’s gonna be now”

Keith missed the joke

“How what’s going to be?”

“Never mind. We need to take a shower”

Keith’s after care with almost too much. Sure, Lance’s knees buckled when he went to get out of bed, but now his boyfriend was hovering. Not in the mood to cook, he’d sent Curtis and Shiro to pick up pizza, while Keith fed his puppy. Shiro gave him a look that pretty much told him he knew what they’d been up to, but Keith insisted Lance was being paranoid.

Blue was no impressed by their new family member, hissing no smacking the puppy on the nose when got to close to her. Lance was now curled up on the sofa with Blue in his lap, while Keith was laying on the floor, playing with his puppy. Through Curtis they’d been told the others were in Platt watching a movie, which gave Lance and Keith pretty much the whole house to themselves... if you ignored the other two hunters. Scratching Blue’s head, he was off in his own world. He’d had sex with Keith and now he couldn’t stop thinking about the next time... And the fact his heat had been weird. He’d had too much brain power. His heat had been weird. It’d edged in, taken some of the edge off, but not stripped away his inhibitions. He’d felt the start of need, then the loss of Keith’s fingers... but he’d been amazingly clear headed and it was weird. He hadn’t blurted out the things he wanted Keith to do to him... and he hadn’t lost control... his ego hadn’t come into it.

Sitting down beside him, Keith drew him back of out his thoughts, as did Blue clawing him in her rush to escape the puppy in his boyfriend’s lap

“Are you okay? It seemed pretty hard on your body”

Keith had asked thing in the shower. In the bedroom as he tried to pester him into accepting help drying and dressing. In the kitchen... and now again. The shower had been nice, Keith washed his hair for him, and his legs, and his arse... and held him when Lance couldn’t be bothered getting out the shower. He wasn’t even that sore anymore, just throbby... and dying for snuggles with his boyfriend. Snuggles because his boyfriend wanted to, not because he felt he’d broken Lance’s arse.

Sometimes you just have to cuddle the man yourself. Drawing his legs up, Lance wrapped his arm around Keith, resting his head against his boyfriend’s shoulder

“I’m okay. I was just thinking about how weird it was”

“You... didn’t like it?”

Using his right hand, Lance let their new puppy chew at his fingertips, wanting to bond with the little pup, and the comfort that having a pet brought

“It isn’t that. My body was weird. It was like my heat was there, but it wasn’t there and it felt calmer. Like I could focus on you and wasn’t all foggy, but it was still there. I don’t know if I’m making sense. It was weird. But you weren’t what made it weird”

“Is that why you didn’t come?”

“No. I’ve been pretty much all about “exit only” down there. I’m already thinking about the next time”

Keith kissed his hair

“As long as you’re okay”

“I was okay in the bathroom, I was okay getting dressed, I’ve been okay sitting on the sofa patting Blue. I’m okay, babe. I might just hit you in the dick if you ask again”

“I thought maybe it... it wasn’t special enough”

Nuzzling Keith’s shoulder, Lance felt all silly with love again

“I think I liked being here better than any rich hotel room. Figuring out things with you, when we’re in a safe place, that’s all I could ask for”

“I’ll do better next time”

“It’s not something you have to get better at. It’s something that’ll get better as we work out what we both like”

“It still looked like it hurt”

“Well, little Keith is pretty manly... I’m still really confused about my heat”

“Do you think that’s why Coran suggested something physical like that because it keeps to clear headed?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know how to explain it to you. But I’m glad I could focus on you. Without my body being stupid”

“It’s you’re head that’s stupid, not your body”

“Did you just call me a “Stupid Head”?”

“Maybe”

Hit by an infamous boyfriend burn, Lance pouted, faking his hurt tone

“Babe, I’m wounded. Absolutely wounded. How could you say that in front of our fur son?”

Keith smiled at the puppy affectionately

“It’s not my fault he’s got big ears”

The puppy cocked his head. Playing with Keith had worn him out, his tail flicking lazily as he huffed and dropped his head back down again

“You’re going to give him a complex. Baby boy, your ears are perfect”

“He is kind of perfect. Thank you...”

Lance hummed happily. For the first time since his Mami got sick, he was actually truly happy and it was all thanks to Keith

“You’re welcome. Now where’s my pizza, Shiro and Curtis are taking forever”

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid

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whentommymetalfie · 4 years

Text

Breathe Again -Chapter twelve

-Talk to me-

prologue//one//two//three//four//five//six//seven//eight//nine//ten//eleven

Chapter Summary: Tommy continuous to struggle with food and just about everything else. But there are good moments in between.

Alfie comes to a realization.

Warnings: Force feeding, disordered eating, hallucinations, panic attacks. And a bit of nsfw stuff

Tommy rearranges the apple pieces in front of him with the tip of his fork. Moves them all into a pile on one side of the bowl. Moves a few of them to the other. Alfie doesn’t say anything but he can feel the annoyance rolling off him in waves, because they’ve been at this table far longer than he deems acceptable and his patience is running out. He skewers a single tiny piece and puts it in his mouth. Chews it thoroughly and tries to not cringe when he swallows it.

It’s difficult again today. Every time he thinks it’s getting better it seems to get worse again-

“Why is it so difficult, Tommy? Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?” Lizzie’s patience has also run out.

It’ll be easier afterwards, once he’s done eating. Alfie will read to him and do the crossword and they’ll go outside and then Alfie will read to him. All those good things. He tries repeating that to himself and ignore the way his pulse fluttering so close to the surface. As if the skin on his wrists has become so thin that he can feel the vibrations through it, always rabbit paced and shallow.

Porcelain clatters as Esther finishes the last of the washing up. She hasn’t said anything in a while but he knows she’s worried.

Alfie gets annoyed, Esther gets worried. That’s how it always plays out.

His stomach lurches so he puts the fork down and watches the sunlight glint in the silver.

Over the sound of his own heartbeat, he just barely hears Esther tell them she has to run off to the shop, and Alfie’s grunted answer. (Yeah, yeah alright, ‘s fine. See if the oranges are any good. Maybe we could expand Tommy’s rather short list of acceptable foods, hm?) It’s followed by a long sigh and he tenses up, can’t help it. Alfie will be angry, he’ll get sick of him and-

The door closes as Esther leaves. Paper rustles.

“If you want to go for that walk you’ll have to eat,” Alfie says firmly. “That’s the deal, yeah? Can’t be spending all that time trotting along blustery fields, expelling what little energy you have and then pecking at whatever’s put before you like very small and very fucking picky bird. Hear that? You have to eat. It’s non-negotiable.”

Have to, you have to-

“Tommy, you have to eat.” Lizzie looks so sad, always looks sad, but now her mouth twitches into a tight lipped, annoyed frown. “We wouldn’t have to do it the other way then, I know you hate it.”

Make you, they’re going to-

“How did they manage to get you to eat back home, hmm?” Alfie grumbles and the paper rustles as he turns the page. “Sure you were little more skin and fucking bones when you showed up here but at least you were…. somewhat alive, so they must’ve managed it somehow.”

He wrings his hands under the table, wants to scratch, claw at the scar and-

The tube scratches and tears his throat when it’s forced down and he can’t breathe. He fights but there are too many hands there.

“Hold him, for God’s sake-”

“You’re hurting him!”

“I assure you Mrs. Shelby, this is a very safe procedure, it’s simply hard due to his fragile mental state. He doesn’t understand that we’re trying to help.”

“I can fucking see that. He’s terrified!”

“If you want your husband to stay alive, this is unfortunately a necessity.”

Lizzie’s face is blurred at the edges, far away, then close, it’s hard to see through the tears and he wants to reach for her. She’ll tell them to stop- She can see that they’re hurting him, that he wants them to go away.

But she doesn’t tell them, instead she looks at him, knuckles white as she grips her arms.

“Tommy, they’re only trying to help, please try to calm down-”

“Tommy-” There’s a large, familiar hand on his shoulder, one that is warm, warm and strong and solid. A chair scrapes over the floor as Alfie moves closer. “It’s alright, stay with me.”

“God, I can’t do this-“ Lizzie’s voice keeps ringing in his head and the bullet itches and burns inside his skull- Alfie grabs his hand and pulls it away from his head. The old urge to run claws at him -run, hide where they can’t find you- fighting with the newer, stranger one, to huddle close to Alfie, bury his face in the safety of his washed out shirt and wait for everything else to go away. Until it’s just Alfie’s voice and Alfie’s heartbeat in his ears. He doesn’t have to make the choice. Alfie puts a heavy hand on the back of his neck and he falls forward until his forehead meets with soft fabric and a broad chest. Alfie hushes him. Rakes his fingers gently against the nape of his neck. He’s shaking. Breathing so fast that the air is getting caught in his throat.

“Shh, Tommy, ‘s alright. I’ve got you, yeah?” he mutters. “It's just you and me here, so right now we’re the only people that matter. Just keep breathing, and listen to me, not anyone else, alright? Can you do that for me?”

He nods into Alfie’s chest, whatever he says, whatever he says, he’ll listen he’ll do as he’s told- Shouldn’t make decisions because there’s something wrong something wrong with his head he knows, knows he can’t trust himself-

“You need to listen to the doctors, Tommy, they’re only trying to help.”

Listen to the doctors, not to the voices even if Grace tells him to and he shouldn’t listen to her either and it’s so hard to know which of all the voices he should trust-

Alfie still hasn’t shoved him away, hasn’t stopped combing his fingers through his hair, as if the clinging doesn’t bother him that much. Tommy can’t figure out why sometimes he’s not allowed to be close at all and sometimes Alfie will hold onto him- He can’t help moving closer then, it’s as if his body does these things on its own accord, he’s drawn into that warm, strong embrace.

And he’s safe.

Safe, safe safe Alfie keeps him safe and he should listen to Alfie and as long as Alfie lets him be here and listen to his heartbeat and feel how warm he is he’ll be okay.

Finally, the panic fades enough for the fog engulfing him to clear, the voices going from a screaming chorus to more a quiet hum in the back of his mind. It leaves him exhausted, hanging limply in Alfie’s arms.

“You can’t make me,” he whispers.

Alfie hums, but it sounds like a question. “Can’t make you do what, Tommy?”

“Eat.”

“Yes, he can, he just hasn’t figured out how yet. Just you wait…” He pushes his face deeper into the fabric of Alfie’s shirt, hoping the sound of his heartbeat will drown out Grace’s voice. Alfie sighs. The fingers move up into his hair, softly tangling through it. Rhythmically, soothingly. It makes Tommy want to melt, crawl closer until there’s nothing but Alfie’s safe heat surrounding him.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Alfie mutters and the arm around him shifts the tiniest bit, pulling him impossibly closer. “Fuck, I can’t… make you do anything. That’s what makes all of this so hard, innit? Granted no one’s ever been able to make you do shit, so nothing new there.”

He swallows down the bile suddenly rising in the back of his throat, replying shakily, “I’m trying.”

“Yeah, yeah I know you are,” Alfie says and his voice is soft. As if it’s at night and they’re in bed together. He adds quietly as an afterthought, “Why is it so difficult, hm, Tommy? This whole… eating thing.”

“I don’t know.”

“Downright talkative today, aren’t we?” Alfie’s throaty chuckle rumbles against his ear. It’s a nice sound. “Well, how about you try to eat… let’s say at least half of that, while I finish reading the paper, hm? I’ll read it out loud for you, doesn’t that sound good?”

“Can we go for a walk?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure we can. You don’t- well, that was a stupid thing to make threats about. We’ll continue with the walks. Even when you can’t eat. Won’t do you any good to stay inside, I reckon. But first we try eating, alright?” Still with one arm around him, he reaches for the bowl and sets it down in front of him. Tommy doesn’t lift his head from his chest. “And as long as you don’t go dropping apple pieces all over these trousers you can stay here.”

“They’re wrinkly.”

Alfie raises both eyebrows so far up they could disappear under his hair. Tommy points at one of the creases to clarify.

“Oh, so you mean to tell me it doesn’t matter if you also get them dirty on top of that? I am incredibly offended at whatever implications you have, because let me tell you I do have some fucking standards when it comes to my attire. The nerve of you-“ continuing to mutter under his breath, Alfie starts flipping through the paper to find the right page. Tommy picks up the fork again, relaxing further into the half embrace he’s in.

And his head stays rather quiet for the rest of the meal.

…

Today they go a bit further on their walk. The air is so cold it stings going down his lungs and Tommy takes huge drags of it in between the cigarette smoke.

“Should’ve given you a pair of mittens,” Alfie mutters, eying his trembling hands. They’re cold, but he doesn’t mind. Makes them feel real.

“Well, I promise you they’re fucking real whether they’re shaking or not, I can give you visual confirmation of that, mate,” Alfie says and for a moment he wonders if he can read his mind but perhaps he’s just spoken out loud. It happens sometimes.

It’s easier to be outside. Surrounded by rustling grass and creaking branches and with the wind brushing across his face. Out here he can breathe.

“Probably should’ve made you wear another scarf too,” Alfie goes on in that same grumbling tone and it makes something strangely warm fill his chest if only for a moment because it makes him feel like he cares-

“Why would he care? Who are you trying to fool, Tommy?” The retort is as quick and biting as always,

He moves a little closer to Alfie and shakes the voice out of his head. Alfie doesn’t comment on it.

Alfie takes him to a wooden bench, one he’s never seen before. Not that there’s been another bench either, as Alfie points out when he sits him down to rest despite Tommy’s quiet protests. He doesn’t need to rest right now. But if Alfie thinks he does then it’s probably good to listen. He should listen to Alfie. And the view is nice; a grassy plane covered in frost and far away, the ground stoops into a cliffside. Beyond the drop he can see the ocean, calm and blue. It’s not as threatening when it’s so far away. Alfie is seated next to him, enthusiastically describing different types of clouds and what they mean for the weather. Which is apparently a subject he’s got plenty of musings on. Tommy can just sit there and listen, finally feeling the unease from this morning’s breakfast settle. Until Alfie, still with his eyes fastened on the clouds, says, “Alright, so this food issue… I’ve been thinking, trying to figure out how the hell they managed it back home. And, though it’s taken me longer than it should have to come to the conclusion, I can only assume there was some force involved.”

His heart drops into the pit of his stomach and his ribcage seems to shrink around his lungs, pressing all the air from them. The shaking starts almost immediately, along with the frantic breaths, the panic so sudden and strong that it makes his head spin.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Alfie adds, still without looking at him, “About… anything really but about this in particular. But I will keep asking things, you know. On occasion. Can’t be good to bottle all of that up.”

He hunches his shoulders and makes himself small, so small that no one can see him, no one can see him or be angry or disappointed or-

And he says nothing, but it’s too late because Alfie understands anyway.

“Fuck,” he sighs. “Fuck, yeah, alright. I should’ve figured.” He rubs a hand over his face and sets his elbows heavily on his knees. “No wonder it’s so difficult now. Probably should’ve guessed it earlier but I suppose I didn’t think- well, it seems a bit extreme is all. Then again-“

Tommy gets off the bench and sets off over the frozen grass towards nowhere in particular. Just away from here. Far away. But he doesn’t get far before a hand closes around his arm.

“Right, we’re done with the questions for now. But you’re not running off, especially in that direction because there are some very steep and high cliffs there. And I still have today’s crossword to finish which is a task I truly require your expert albeit quiet expertise on.”

He stares down at the grass. The warmth from Alfie’s body seeps into him as he steps closer. Grounds him there on the spot.

“I won’t pry,” Alfie adds, voice soft now. “And you don’t have to worry about any of that here. Alright? Just… sit down, yeah? And look at the clouds and trees and all that nature you seem to appreciate so much.”

He sits down again. Draws his arms closer to his chest in an attempt to keep them from trembling.

True to his word, Alfie goes back to talking about the clouds. The next time he pauses many minutes later it’s only to shoot Tommy a look and say, “Don’t mind the cold my arse, your lips are turning blue.”

He shrugs, which is only met by another loud huff. “It’s fine,” he says then.

Alfie watches him for another moment before taking his scarf off and shoving it in his direction.

“Oh, for fucks sake just take it,” he says when Tommy doesn’t move.

He doesn’t know what to do.

Alfie wraps the scarf around his neck all the way up to his nose.

“There you go. A little better, innit?”

“You’ll be cold.” The words are muffled by the scarf but it’s warm and soft and he can’t bring himself to take it off or push it down. And Alfie looks so pleased.

“Nah, I’m fine. See, I’ve got at least a few extra pounds, curtesy of Esther’s cooking, to keep me warm as opposed to you,” he says and pats his stomach, shifting to lean back I his seat and let his head drop back, closing his eyes. The sun has come out from behind a cloud, spilling warms rays of light over them.

“I for one think the sun is best enjoyed when it’s cold out,” Alfie says. “That way you don’t have to deal with the fucking sweltering heat of it. See, that really is the curse of ‘weather’ isn’t it? Always just too fucking much of it-“ he launches into a whole speech on the subject, still with his eyes closed.

Tommy closes his eyes too, focusing on the warm rays on his face, the sound of Alfie’s voice, the distant rustling of branches and the clear, cold air filling his nose. In and out. It feels warm when he exhales it, catching in the scarf around his face. The scarf smells like Alfie. Alfie smells like... soap. Pipe tobacco. And something else that Tommy can’t put his finger on.

Right then, his head is blissfully still and quiet.

Like the wind swept away all the bad things.

It’s quiet for a long time.

Finally he ralises Alfie’s gone quiet too.

He has to open his eyes to make sure he’s still there, that it’s real.

Alfie’s just watching him, eyebrows furrowed and head tilted ever so slightly. Which isn’t too unusual, Alfie often stares at him with a kind of strange intensity, as if he can look straight through him. Even before. When they’d sit in his office in Camden. In that other life. But now there’s something else there, his eyes look strangely soft and it must be the warm sunlight. It makes Tommy’s heart skip a beat in his chest. Because it’s been so long since someone looked at him that way. Soft. Almost affectionate. He knows he must be mistaken, so he’s left wracking his brain trying to understand, ending up staring back at Alfie as he does.

Alfie’s arm is resting on the back of the bench, right by Tommy’s shoulders.

When did they end up so close to each other?

“There’s this myth,” he says quietly, still looking at him. “The Greek sun god Helios -because those fuckers couldn’t be satisfied with one God, no, they had to have several, but that’s beside the point. Well, Helios, he would ride across the sky with his carriage, dragging the sun behind him. And he was a beautiful fellow, wasn’t he? Like all those Greek Gods. And this… forest nymph caught a glimpse of him one morning. Fell head over heels of course. After that she sat there watching him, every day-” Alfie’s breath is creating white puffs of smoke around them. “She sat so still that one day, eventually, she turned into a flower, would you believe it. That supposedly explains why they turn their petals towards the sun. You know? The flowers.”

Tommy blinks and nudges down the scarf to uncover his mouth.

“Flowers?”

Alfie hums. “Yeah. Flowers. So you might want to be careful about sitting there in the sun for too long.”

“It’s not a true story,” he reasons, unsure whether Alfie is serious or not. Maybe he’s misunderstanding? It used to be much easier to read between the lines and untangle the things people told him. Alfie smiles and his eyes are so warm and he wants to understand but all his thoughts have come to a grinding halt.

“Well, you never know,” he says. “I mean neither of us were there to witness it but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. But it’d suit you, being a flower. Bet you’d even like it too, then you could really run off of only sunlight and a bit of… water.” He trails off at the end, going quiet.

They’re so close Tommy can feel his hot breath against his skin. Fingertips grace lightly over his shoulders.

And then all he can hear is his own heart beating against his ribcage and he wants to- wants-

Alfie blinks and clears his throat, shifting his entire body away to stare out over the sea instead.

“Should be going back, I reckon. A scarf only helps so much, especially for a fragile little thing such as yourself. You’ll catch a cold and I’ll be hearing about it from Esther forever.”

Then he stands up and starts walking back towards the path, pace brisk and steps determined.

Tommy struggles to keep up all the way home.

---

“So, I had a dream last night…”

They’re in between books. Alfie’s just finished the last chapter and can’t be bothered to wander out to the bookshelf to find the next installment in the series, he’s quite comfortable here with Tommy curled up against his side. And Tommy seems to be on the verge of falling asleep anyway, just needs those few extra moments to be fully lulled into it, so, a pointless dream story it is.

“And in the dream, I had to hide from a pack of wolves.” Tommy hums and nudes him with his nose, a clear sign he wants Alfie to continue stroking his hair. Alfie obliges. “Which might seem cowardly but I can’t be held responsible, right. Well, apparently the only place to hide was in this aboveground bunker. A dome shaped one.”

Tommy yawns seems very sympathetic of the wolf plight. It’s still a kind of wonder seeing how much this calms him down: being close, having Alfie’s fingers combing through his hair. Alfie has to admit it makes him rather proud.

“Only it was packed with other people also hiding from the fucking wolves, but who apparently had planned this better than me. So I decided to climb on top of it instead. Not a good plan, let me tell you, but what are you gonna do, right? But climbing on top of a dome shaped metal structure is a lot fucking harder than it looks…”

Tommy’s breathing has gone steady and deep and he stops talking, just lies there listening to it, feeling his own eyelids becoming heavier and heavier until they’re impossible to keep open. So he lets them fall shut.

…

The duvet rustles a little as Tommy shifts and it quickly pulls him out of his slumber.

“Still awake?” he asks quietly. “Want me to go get another book?”

There’s no answer, so Alfie opens his eyes only to find himself staring straight into Tommy’s. They’re so bright. Seem to shine with their own light even in the darkness of the bedroom. Bright and so fucking blue. Bluest eyes he ever saw... Tommy shifts a bit closer. Their foreheads almost touch. And he bites his tongue, clenches his hands into fists to resist the urge to close the gap between them. He can do that. Can control himself and these… urges.

Until he suddenly can’t anymore.

And he kisses him.

It’s all a blur after that.

Tommy’s lips are soft and pliant against his, willingly parting and letting him take control. Alfie does. He deepens the kiss and wraps an arm around Tommy’s waist, tugging him closer. He rolls him onto his back and Tommy goes along with it, lets him do as he pleases. Even spreads his legs for him, willing and eager, as if he was fucking made for this and only this. Alfie grinds against him, ruts him into the mattress as he presses kisses against every patch of skin he can reach. He’s so hard his head is spinning. This red hot desire that eradicates all other thoughts except the urge to bury himself to the hilt in tight, wet heat-

“Alfie,” Tommy breathes in a hoarse, broken voice. “I need…”

“Yeah? What do you need, love?” he asks, trailing kisses down his jaw. “Tell me.” Tommy just whimpers, and the sound sends bolts of arousal down his spine. Slender legs wrap tightly around Alfie’s hips, heels digging into the backs of his thighs.

“Please-“

“I want to hear you say it.”

Tommy looks up at him, meets his eye steadily. No panicked flickering or disconnected fog, just this clear, blue gaze. Finally present. And it knocks all the air from Alfie’s lungs. There’s a hand on the back of his head and then Tommy is pulling into another kiss, voice trembling against his lips, “You. I need you.”

Alfie opens his eyes and finds himself surrounded by inky blackness, heart pounding in his ears and with the feeling of soft lips still lingering on his mouth. Tommy is there, curled up on his side with his back against him, Alfie’s arm wrapped around his narrow waist and holding him firmly against his chest. And Alfie is fucking rock hard, the very obvious erection pushing into the small of his back.

He virtually throws himself away from Tommy and out of bed, and it’s a fucking miracle that he stays asleep. But he does. He’s stays asleep, because he was asleep thank fuck, hands tucked under his chin and with his favourite blanket clasped loosely in his fingers. Alfie just stands there next to the bed, trying to calm his frantic breaths and force down the mix of panic and lingering arousal. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck-

Tommy shifts a little and curls up tighter into his protective ball, as if he already feels that he’s alone in bed, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

Unable to think clearly Alfie staggers into his own bedroom, tearing off his sweaty shirt and discarding it on the floor. Needs to cool down, remove any traces of the dream. The trousers go too as he moves on to the bathroom and goes to stand in front of the sink, filling his hands with ice cold water and dunking his face in. It does little to help. His blood still runs red hot, and he’s still hard as fucking marble. Tommy’s ragged breaths echo in his ears and he can almost feel those legs wrapped tightly around his hips.

Fuck, fuck, he can’t be thinking this, can’t be doing this. Tommy is completely dependent on him. He’s… vulnerable and helpless and trusts Alfie with his fucking life for some goddamn reason.

And here he is, dreaming about fucking him in the same bed where he’s held him through countless of nightmares.

With an angry grunt he goes to his own bed, lying down flat on his back with his hands shoved under his head. He’ll sleep it off, right? Just lie here, calm down, and tomorrow this will just be another meaningless dream. But he still has Tommy’s voice ringing in his head, whimpering and moaning and he can just imagine those long eyelashes fluttering closed as he-

His resolve crumbles within seconds and he shoves a hand into his shorts and wraps his fingers around his cock. It’s so hard it jumps in his fist and he rubs a thumb over the swollen head.

“Fuck me, Alfie, please-“ Tommy spreads his legs for him, willing, wanton. Completely his and only his. Looking up at him with those huge, blue eyes, full of adoration.

He’d be gentle, make it good for him. Fuck all that tension and all the bad things out of him, until he’s so exhausted that he sleeps soundly for once. Tommy would quiver and cling to him. And he’d make him come so hard-

“Alfie-“

He comes within a few seconds, his entire body shuddering, imagining Tommy under him, around him, tight and wet and hot.

The guilt afterwards is almost suffocating. No repetition of ‘it’s just a fucking dream’ helps to soothe it because he can only live in denial for so long and he knows deep down it’s so much fucking more than that.

He doesn’t manage to fall asleep until the first rays of sunlight stream in through the curtains.

#alfie x tommy #Tommy Shelby #Alfie Solomons #peaky blinders fanfiction #breathe again #TW: disordered eating #tw: panic attack

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make-it-mavis · 4 years

Text

Homesick (Entry #30)

(cw: long post, drunkenness, brief discussion of abuse, brief mention of sex) ----------- 01/16/88 12:26 AM

Hey.

If you were really reading this right now, you might question why I called this a good memory in the last entry. Well, bear with me. I think a lot of good things are made better when they’re in relief of the bad. And relief came.

It really did.

That night, we both said a lot of things we regretted. And after that, we said a lot of things I sometimes wish I could forget. If I could forget what you said, it would be easier to be mad at you. To pretend you didn’t care about me at all. Maybe then, I wouldn’t miss you near as much as I do. Maybe, somehow, I could actually want to let you go.

And, y’know, if I remembered all this when I woke up all ashy and dazed on Fix-it’s bed on the 7th, maybe I could have started blaming myself for your death a whole lot sooner and saved myself that whole breakdown at Tapper’s.

In the bathroom, I did what I could for my cut. You were low on first aid supplies, for some reason. It looked way less gnarly with the blood all wiped off, but it was definitely deep enough to need stitches, of which you had none. But there’s always a hammer back in my game for such things, so I just bandaged it up for the time being.

When I came out of the bathroom, it was near pitch black. You’d closed the blackout shutters all the way. You slipped past me for your turn in the bathroom. We didn’t even glance at each other as we passed by.

My eyes took a bit longer to adjust than usual, but that didn’t really matter. I knew your home like the back of my hand, you know. I even painted a broom and swept most of the glass shards out of the way (I have to assume I missed a few, since I was too drunk to think of painting a flashlight, or even just opening the shutters back up). But it was a quick and half-assed effort. I really just wanted to go to sleep. The thought of crawling into your bed kind of made me ill at that point, so I curled up tight on the couch, facing the back cushions so you wouldn’t see my face, not even bothering to pull the blanket down.

I listened to you in the bathroom. Not on purpose -- I was attracted to the idea of pretending you weren’t there for the rest of the evening -- but there was literally no other sound to drown you out. I’m still not sure what you did in there. I expected to hear vomiting, or at least drunk grumbling, but all I heard was the tap running uninterrupted, like you weren’t even using it, for what must have been a full ten to fifteen minutes.

I heard you open the door, turn off the light, and pass by me without stopping. Your bed creaked in alarm, like you’d just dropped yourself onto it. After that, the place fell silent.

I tried really hard to fall asleep. I kept my eyes shut tight, relaxed my body one part at a time, ran through my old songs in my head, et cetera, but nothing was working. The room was spinning, the silence was excruciating, and I just couldn’t stop hearing the things you’d said to me. They’d cut so deep and were just burrowing deeper and worming around my insides. The things I’d said to you kept me up, too. That stricken look on your face, like I’d whipped you around and stabbed you in the back. You looked the very same way I felt right then, lying there in complete disbelief that the sprite I trusted more than anyone in the world could have agreed with the cruel voices in my head.

Really, more than anything else, I was overcome with the cold question of what we’d just done to each other and how we were going to fix it.

I couldn’t tell you how much time passed before either of us moved, but it was a fair bit. I heard your blankets rustling. You were restless, tossing and turning, making the springs creak. Couldn’t say the same for me. I was still as a rock, and tensed like one, too. I was just trying to pack it all down. To shove it all in a chest and lock it. I didn’t want to think about any of it, but, as you might have guessed, I had no choice in the matter.

I heard you stand up.

I expected you to walk past me again to the bathroom, but you stopped next to me. For a few minutes, as far as I could tell, you just stood there, but then I felt the couch cushions past my feet shift kind of awkwardly, like you couldn’t decide if you wanted to sit down. Eventually, you settled for sitting on the floor, your back against the couch. You said nothing, but I heard you anxiously tugging fibers from the carpet.

I wanted to tell you to go away, but I decided to wait. I was curious as to what your deal was.

When you spoke, you spoke quietly, but it was still enough to make me jump.

“Does it hurt?”

“What?”

“Y’know,” you paused. “Your cheek.”

I thought for a second, probably a second too long, and lied. “No.”

You kept inhaling like you were about to speak, and stopping. After a minute, you managed to say earnestly, “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

I wasn’t in the mood. I grumbled, “Go to bed, T.”

“But you do know that,” you insisted, kind of urgently. “Don’t you?”

I did know that. I was just… so bitter. I was still pissed at you for the things you said to me. The cut didn’t matter to me in the slightest, so I was annoyed that you were making a big deal of it.

I sighed hard. “Well, you sure didn’t try not to, either, hotshot, but whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

“No, actually. It kinda does.”

I said, a bit louder, “No. It doesn’t. Just go back to bed. I don’t want to talk about it.”

You matched my volume, “Well, I do.”

“Why?!” I snapped, still refusing to turn around. “Why do you want--”

You cut me off hurriedly, “Because I can’t let you think I enjoy it!”

“Enjoy what, Turbo?!”

“HURTING you!”

We both went quiet. I heard your back drop against the couch again, as if you had been twisting around towards me a moment prior. My heart was racing. It was time for me to be lost and confused again, with an overwhelming desire to hit the brakes. But, really, by your silence, I guessed that you were in just about the same boat as me. But you were trying, despite that. I supposed I owed you the same effort. So I drunkenly staggered forward in this harrowing conversation.

“Well…” I said quietly, “you used to.”

Pausing briefly, you asked, “What?”

“But I liked hurting you, too,” I said, uselessly. “That’s how we met, ain’t it? At least how we got to know each other. Let our fists and broken glass do the talking.”

You sighed roughly. “That was a long time ago. And besides, that’s not what I’m even talking about, and you know that. I’m not talking bar fights and sparring matches. I’m talking…” you trailed off in thought, but couldn’t quite find the words, “...this mess.”

I considered what you were telling me, and I was a little surprised by it. “...I know you didn’t mean to. And I know you don’t enjoy it. Obviously, I know that.”

You didn’t answer.

“T…” I continued, softer, “just how often do you think you hurt me? It’s not a lot.”

You still didn’t answer, so I kept going, carefully.

“I mean… yeah, you’re not exactly always a breeze to hang out with, but, come on, you know me. I’m not easy all the time, either, but that’s how I like things. You know that if I really thought you liked hurting me, I wouldn’t be here, right?”

I barely heard you breathe, “Yeah. I know. That’s the point.”

I asked, “What?”

You didn’t answer, so I asked again, “...T?”

Voice low, you explained slowly, “If you don’t like something, you clear out. I know. I’ve seen it happen. You’re not the type to stick around if you’re miserable. I just…” you took a deep breath, and spoke as if you were carving the words crudely out of a slab, “I want… to keep it from getting… to that point. It’s like… like what you said. I never… try to make you unhappy. I never… really want to. Y’know. But it’s not… not like I try that hard to stop it from… happening. And look what not trying did tonight. I--” you stopped for a second, and I heard you steady your breathing, “I cut… your face open… and I didn’t even notice.”

You took a deep breath, and let it hiss slowly through your lips. I felt frozen. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to have a response yet. Thankfully, you continued. “And if that ain’t enough, I mean… I… said… a whole lot. A whole lot a’ stuff I… really didn’t mean. I was mad. I was pissed at you for saying--... I think… the only reason I said what I did was because I knew it would hurt you, and I… hate… that. I really just… wish I hadn’t. That’s not… That’s not how I wanna be. I wanna--...”

Through the pounding in my ears, I heard your hand fall defeatedly against the floor. “I hate this. I just know I’m makin’ this worse, somehow. Just… don’t… don’t--... Don’t run off just yet. I don’t know what my deal is-- and, yeah, I know somethin’ ain’t right, okay-- and I’m trying-- I’m trying to figure it out, and I will, but I’m--” your voice lowered, “I’m gonna… try harder. ‘Cuz I didn't try tonight, and… if anything like this happens again, you’ll--... I just… need you to know that I don’t enjoy all this, ‘cause… I mean, it’s obvious what everyone else would think, right? They’d take one look at that cut on your cheek and say…”

I waited, and prodded tentatively, “Say... what?”

I heard fabric shift against your shoulders as you shrugged. “That… you oughtta have nothing to do with me anymore. ‘Cause I’m no good, and it’ll just happen again. Right?”

I waited for your words to sink in. They were slow moving, but soon enough, I figured it out. And, honestly, I was taken aback that you would have looked at things from that angle.

“So… what, you think this means…” I asked carefully, “you think this one stupid mistake means that I’m not safe around you?”

You replied quickly, “No. You are.”

“But you’re… You’re freaked out that it looks that way. You think this makes it look like I’m your victim, or something.”

“No--” you stammered, “I don’t know. You don’t have to say it like that.”

“How should I say it?”

“I don’t know, just…” you sighed a bit. “You know… Them lowlife scumbags who keep girls around just to use ‘em as punchin’ bags?”

At that, in a weird way I can't quite explain, I think something in my heart broke for you a little bit. Just knowing you were battling the fear of that over a dumb mistake that I easily could have made myself.

I asked softly, “Is that… what you think you're doing?”

“No,” you answered quickly, and I heard you turn. “I'm not. I swear I'm not. I’m nothin’ like those guys.”

“I know,” I said plainly, as if it had to be obvious. But I presented as gently as I could, “But it just sounds like… you think I'm gonna think you are. You think you’re gonna chase me away.”

You were quiet.

“T…” I said. “I know you better than that.”

You said quietly, “I just want you to believe me when I say this won't happen again.”

“Say it, then.”

“What?”

“Say it won't happen again.”

You paused. “I swear this won't happen again.”

“I believe you.”

You went quiet. I knew that I hadn’t quite gotten through to you, but I wasn't sure how to. There were so many things running through my head that I didn’t know how to say. Maybe I was afraid to. I don’t know.

I just kept getting tripped up by one thing. You were so, so terrified that I was going to leave you in one way or another. It’s not like I didn’t know what that felt like. I knew all too well. But the fact that you would have felt that way about me, well… that raised some questions. Ones I was not about to ask you. Some were about how you felt about me, but… I think way more were about how you felt about yourself.

One thing was for sure. I didn’t want you to be afraid for a second longer.

Fumbling in the gentlest voice I could manage, I said, “T… Tonight has sucked. Royally. I’ll give you that. But… it’s all just been a stupid mistake. I know you. You get pissed and act like a jackass. I do the exact same thing. That’s all this is. You’re talking like this happens all the time. Like I’m stuck with you and you’re constantly doing me wrong. If this were fun for you, I feel like… this would be a regular thing, but it’s not. If you enjoyed it, you’d do it all the time. When was the last time we even had a fight?”

You thought for a while. “I don’t remember.”

“Me neither.”

I hadn’t actually thought about it, but it was true. We’d gone so long without fighting that I didn’t even remember the last time anymore. It was a weird thing to think about for some reason.

“But,” you said, “there hasn’t been one this bad before, either.”

That was also true.

“Well… first time for everything.”

“And last,” you added lowly.

For a little while, we were both quiet, but I could tell you were in silent distress. I heard your feet shift a bit against the carpet and your fingers tug at the fibers again. I was a bit reluctant to ask, because I was already so emotionally spent, but, damn it all, I wanted you to feel better.

I asked, “Hey, T… you okay?”

You didn't answer right away, but after a moment, I think I heard you whisper, “I feel like I’m losin’ my mind.”

I asked for clarification, “T?”

I heard you shrug, and I heard your breath stammer, voiceless, before you said in a voice more humble than I ever would have thought possible for you…

“I just… wanna be good for you… Mav.”

My heart just about skidded to a stop, hearing exactly what I had thought about you that very same night. Remembering the way you said that and what it meant to me, just… hurts. It hurts so bad how much I miss you. Because you were good for me -- damn what anyone else might have said. You were the best thing in my life, and now you're gone.

This is one of those good things I try to forget. I try to pretend you didn't say that. I don't know if it eases the pain, but it makes it different.

Missing something good is just so unbearable for me right now.

But in that moment, while I still had something good, I was near speechless. There was only one thing I could think to say, only one thing that really made sense to say.

“...You are.”

I sort of wanted that to be the end of it, but you didn’t move. You were silent as the grave for a few minutes. I wasn’t sure you were even breathing, until I heard you inhale to speak, and pause.

“Mav…”

I just waited for you to continue.

You began to say, “Listen… about the stuff I said…”

I flinched. I was still raw from all that. I said quickly, “Whatever. It’s fine.”

You insisted, “Don’t give me that. I know it’s not.”

“‘Kay, maybe not, but it happened. We both said things that we know were crappy. So let’s just settle on that and forget about it. It doesn’t have to be a big deal if we don’t make it one.”

“Mavis,” you said, clearly frustrated, “will you quit snubbing me for one second? I don’t-- I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here, but will you just let me try--”

“T. It’s fine,” I was starting to get anxious. “You didn’t tell me anything I don’t already know. It’s whatever, alright? Please go back to bed.”

“No, you don’t know it,” you insisted, to my surprise. “You don’t, because it’s not true. The gamers… The gamers do love you, Mav.”

That wasn’t the first thing I’d heard you say that night that I never thought I’d hear in your voice. I was too stunned to respond.

You continued, “Y’know, in their gamer-y sort of way. I’ve always known that, and I’ve never quite got why you don’t. But I guess you don’t know nearly as much about ‘em as I do.”

I felt a prickly sort of misery weigh down on my body.

“No, they don’t, T. You don’t get it,” I grumbled into the couch. “A Good Guy could never understand.”

“Oh yeah? Well, lemme ask you this--” I felt you turn around a bit and lay your arm on the cushions, “Do gamers punch in your combo just to play as you?”

I wasn’t sure where you were going with that, but I didn’t like it. I could feel a nerve being slowly pressed. I said, “That’s my program, yeah.”

You pressed harder, “Do they smile and get all excited and call their friends over when they see you?”

I wanted you to stop. Really bad. “Yes, Turbo, but--”

“And do they sink more quarters into your game to see you again?”

“It’s-- That’s complicated--”

“Do they?”

“YES, but only--”

Your hand clapped against the couch. “That’s gamer love! And I’d know more about that than anyone else in this arcade, so now you--”

I snapped. I twisted back to fire at you, “If they LOVE ME so much, how could they THROW ME AWAY like I’m NOTHING?! If THAT’S what love is, I don’t WANT IT!”

In the dark, your eyes stared back at me, wide, still brutally honest. I waited, but you didn’t have an answer. Your gaze just fell to your hand, and then you fell back into position, back against the couch, looking away from me.

I’d screwed up again. I already told you that the gamers never loved you. In a way, I just told you again. I said that if the gamers drop you like garbage, they don’t love you. And you were so afraid that’s what they were doing to you.

I turned back to curl against the corner of the couch again, feeling like crap, feeling like I ought to have just shut up for the rest of the night. But, Devs be damned, you were actually making an effort to set things right.

You.

So, as much as I hated it, as foreign as it felt to me, I had to try to right my wrongs.

I said softly, and sadder than I intended, “Turbo.”

You barely grunted.

“I don’t think you’re being ridiculous.”

I paused, but you said nothing.

“And…” I swallowed, “I say that, because… I talk like it doesn’t matter to me anymore, when this happens to me. When the gamers… drop me. Like I’ve gotten used to it, so it all runs together and I’m just… numb to it. That’s… not true. It’s not. I mean, I’m used to it, sure. But it still hurts. It hurts every damn time. I see it coming, I know it’s going to happen, but it still stings. I can’t… imagine what it’d be like, what it’d feel like, if I…”

I didn’t want to say. I just hoped you understood. Apparently, you did, because I heard your muffled voice say, “No… you can’t.”

I said, “I shouldn’t have said the things I did.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

“But, well, the thing is… I’m not pissed at you. I’m pissed at them.”

I took a second, and you waited.

“Just when I think I have them figured out, when I think they’re about the worst they’re gonna get, they go and pull something like this. It doesn’t make sense. Why would they do this to you? With me, it’s-- I mean,” I sighed, my heart pounding, feeling myself begin to spill things I didn’t want to, but my drunk ass couldn’t stop. “I get it. It sucks, but I get it. I’m an Easter Egg -- it’s part of the job. No one’s supposed to want me for too long, I’m supposed to be temporary, I’m not supposed to be loved the way you are--”

I heard you cut in with a “Wait--” but I stopped you short.

“No-- No-- Don’t. It’s fine. I know it’s true. I know it, okay? I’m just not made for it, and I get that, I get that. And, yeah, sometimes it’s easier to believe that’s not true, and that the gamers don’t love anyone, which is why I said what I did. But let’s be real, here. It’s like you said. I’m the only sentient Easter Egg here, I stand alone, and it makes sense for them not to love me--”

“Wh--” your voice jumped up in pitch, “I never-- That’s not what I--”

“Yes! You did!” I snapped a bit, “And, y’know, screw you for saying that, and everything, but I know it already. I know it doesn’t make sense for them to ‘waste their love on me’ when there are more important sprites around, like you. Them loving you? That makes sense. That’s the deal. That’s the program that’s supposed to work. So then how-- how--”

I clenched my teeth and dug my nails into the couch fabric, willing myself to not start yelling again. The same ugly anger from earlier pushed up my throat again, only this time, it was not misdirected. I knew exactly who I was angry at.

“How DARE they turn around and do this to you?! A Good Guy, the arcade champion, the one sprite I never thought I’d see going through the same garbage they put me through. I hate watching you go through this, because you shouldn’t have to. It’s all just because they’re fickle and uncaring and-- and-- they’re not WORTH the sort of pain they can deal out. They’re not worth mine, and I know now more than ever that they’re not worth yours. So that’s why I-- That’s…” I sighed, slowing myself down. “...That’s why I got all pissed at you. I hated that you were giving them any time of day. That you were hurting over them for even a second longer than they deserved. I thought that you ought to know that they ain’t worth it, and I was frustrated that you didn’t. ‘Cause if you knew, then… maybe you wouldn’t be so upset. So I tried to tell you… and make you see things the way I do. But I screwed it up. I went too far and just… made it worse. I don’t… really blame you for getting upset and… biting back. I wish you didn’t say what you did, but… I get it.”

After a pause, you spoke quietly and slowly, “I was already pissed when you came back in. I’d been pissed all night. ...All week, probably. Not at you, but… having you come back in and start gettin’ in my face and shouting and sayin’ some… really crappy things, that just…. I didn’t need that, y’know.”

I felt fifty pounds heavier. “I know…”

“And that, well… you made me mad, yeah, but it was so much more than just you. Everything just… exploded. You didn’t really make the bomb, you just lit the fuse. I dunno if that makes any difference to you or not, but…”

“I guess it does. Maybe.”

“I mean, what I’m getting at here is… Yeah, you screwed up what you were trying to do. You did make things worse. But I’m already so freakin’ messed up right now, there was only so much damage you could do. Don’t… give yourself too much credit on this, y’know. Don’t convince yourself that you did more than you actually did.”

My mind was starting to float away. I felt a quiver start to grow in my bones. The emotions that had started to snowball were sticking to me like steaming tar. All the mental hits I’d taken, all the hurtful things you said, started to bleed through whatever crappy bandage I tried to cover them with.

I tried with all my might to not let it show. I answered, voice low, “...Okay.”

“And hey,” you wheezed what might have been a weak laugh, “Whatever, right? I’m a tough guy. You ain’t gonna get to me. And you’re a tough gal. Right?”

Right. ‘Right’ is what I wanted to say. It’s what I should have said, because I am a tough gal. But, Devs above, I did not feel tough when you asked me. And that fact… started to bring tears to my eyes. I should have been able to keep it together. But I was drunk. I was hurt. And I could not stop thinking about the very worst thing you’d said. ‘Wasting their love on you.’

When I didn’t answer, you prodded cautiously. “...Right, Mav?”

I couldn’t control my words anymore. My emotions just took the wheel by force. I drew in a shuddering breath, and tried to say steadily, “Yeah. Of course. I’m good. But just-- Just one--”

Against my willpower, I sniffed. I heard you turn, and felt you staring. I’m quite certain you had never seen me cry before, unless I did during a night of blackout drinking. I make a point to have as few people see me cry as possible. But there was very little I could do about it that night.

Bracing myself against the pitiful display I was plunging into, I stammered, “T-- Do-- Do you really think I’m--...”

I heard you barely breathe, “...Wha--...”

I spat out, broken up by growing sobs, “D’you-- think I’m-- I’m a waste-- A waste of--”

And I completely broke down. Full on pathetic drunk sobbing, half-muffled by my feeble attempt to hide my face in the couch corner. If I could have, I’d have shrunk down and hidden my entire body inside the couch. I’d never felt so naked in my life, but I was helpless to move. The full-body crying was incapacitating, and showed no signs of stopping.

I remember hearing you practically leap to your feet, and not move at all. You watched me for what felt like forever before I realized that you’d been muttering distressed and confused curses under your breath. Of course you didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what I wanted you to do.

That’s when I felt your fingertips make contact with my shoulder, and I jumped. You pulled them back instantly, and stammered, “Ah-- No, no-- I just--” before taking some steadying breaths, and asking shakily, “Mav?”

I couldn’t answer.

You finished your question anyway. “...Can I touch you?”

I appreciated so sincerely the fact that you asked, as I always did, every time. I’m not sure what I expected you to do, but I nodded. I thought maybe you’d… rub my back, or something. I don’t know. What you actually did was… Well, I don’t know how you managed to do it so quickly.

You grabbed my arm to turn me over and yanked me right onto my feet, fully upright, so that you could just… hug me.

Really, really tight.

My arms just kind of floated at our sides while you buried your face in my shoulder. You were shaking nearly as much as I was. I was too disoriented to get what was happening right away, but when I heard your voice, and heard how it barely sounded like you with how high and cracked it was, I had to question reality for a second.

You were crying.

I never thought I’d see the day. I wasn’t even sure it was possible, honestly. I just couldn’t picture it. But there it was, literally clutching onto me. Equally hard to believe were the words spilling from your mouth.

You rambled quickly, muffled against my shoulder, “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t. I’m-- I’m sorry. I should have freakin’ said so sooner. I didn’t mean any of it. I don’t think that about you, I swear I don’t. I don’t know why I said it. I’m sorry. Don’t cry, Mav. Please. I’m sorry-- Devs, I’m sorry…”

Apologies. From you. Like… real ones. Not that I have the best track record with them either, but… wouldn’t you know it, you got to me.

My shock wore off, and I went back to full bawling. I finally hugged you back, so tight my arms ached, at which point you squeezed even harder than before. And it all came pouring out of me.

I sobbed grossly, “I’m sorry, too-- I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything I said. I take it all back. I take it back. I can’t believe I-- Damn it all, I’m so sorry, T!”

And we stood there, a couple of wobbling disasters, sobbing more than our stupid drunk brains could handle, slurring out apologies and clumsy comforts. We were pretty pathetic. But I think we really needed it. Everything started falling out. Apologies for this and that, regrets, bad feelings, reassurance. All the crap we had been trying to tiptoe around in our previous conversations. It just burst out like a broken dam. Then, eventually, I remember… you started stressing yourself out. Again.

You kept asking me not to leave. I tried to assure you I wouldn’t, but it seemed like the more I tried, the more you convinced yourself that I would.

You said in broken whispers, “Stay. Please. Please don’t go.”

I told you for the hundredth time, “I’m not leaving. You know I won’t.”

“Everyone else is. Everyone’s leaving me. I’m losing everything. Say I’m not losing you, too. Say I didn’t mess this up. Say it’s not over. Please.”

“T-- T, listen to me,” I said, and I managed to pry you back enough to grip your face and look you in the eye. I caught only a glimpse, but it was enough. I keep saying how I saw things in your eyes that night that I’d never seen before, but… seeing them shine with tears, full of this inconsolable, miserable, impossibly lonely fear, just… I would barely have believed I was looking at you, if I didn’t feel your code under my hands. I knew you so well, better than anybody. I saw sides of you that I know no one else ever got to see. That always made me feel… special, I guess. But I always got a sense that there was a side you kept under lock and key, even from me. And I never pressed it, because I hid mine from you, too. But that night… I’m pretty sure I met that side.

I tried my best to handle it gracefully.

My glimpse was over the moment you saw how I was looking at you. In an ashamed sort of way, you squeezed your eyes shut and bowed your head. In my attempt to be reassuring, I pushed my forehead against yours. You did not shy away from that.

I said slowly, trying to rein in my tears, “T… I’m not… leaving.”

You shivered, just barely shaking your head.

“I’m not,” I repeated. “Look at me.”

You opened your eyes, and they were at once so vulnerable and so guarded, as if your misery were impenetrable. You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t have to. I could tell that you wanted to believe me, but just couldn’t make it stick.

I asked, “How can I make you believe me?”

“I don’t know…” you muttered, letting your eyes fall closed yet again.

“What if I…” I grasped at straws, hoping I’d figure it out if I held you there long enough. “What if… What if I promised? Like… big time promised?”

You gave a flat, dismissive laugh in your throat and lifted your head away from mine.

I asked, “What?”

“As if I’d believe a promise from you.”

“Excuse me?”

You looked at me again, “Look, no offense, Mav, but… I’ve seen you make a billion promises in the time I’ve known you, and I’ve never, ever seen you keep one.”

You had me there. I said, “...Okay, but, those were all little ones that didn’t matter. This one’s important.”

“If you can’t even keep little ones, what makes you think you could keep a big one?”

“Oh,” I suddenly felt offended, “you think I can’t? Like I can’t make my own choices?”

“All I’m sayin’ is you’ve always been a creature of impulse, Make-it.”

I hated how right you were. There seemed little I could say to argue against it, but I scoured my brain for anything useful. I didn’t find anything to help me win the argument, but I strayed into a train of thought that made me rethink the whole ‘promise’ idea entirely. I reminded myself of a few… unfortunate things. Reminded myself why it would be a bad idea to go making commitments that had little to no chance of being reciprocated. I wasn’t too eager to set myself up for that good ol’ pain of abandonment, not from you. I was afraid enough of that already.

So I looked down and said, “Whatever. Bad idea, I guess,” before prying myself out from your arms and walking over to your bed.

“Woah,” you staggered a bit, “hey, what--?”

“I dunno how to convince you, T, but… I think I’m too tired and drunk to think of something right now,” I said as I started to half-heartedly get undressed. “Let’s go to bed. Maybe I’ll think of something tomorrow.”

You didn’t come any closer at first. You just spoke in a suspicious voice, “You never give up that fast. You’re tellin’ me you just agree with me outta nowhere?”

“No,” I said as I tossed my belt to the floor and got frustrated with my smock for having so many damn buttons. Occupied with a stuck thread, without even a thought as to what I was saying, I told you, “I just wouldn’t want to make that promise to you unless you made it back.”

You pondered that for a second, and your voice wandered a bit closer. “‘Kay, ‘kay, seems… fair. I get it. So… what, you think I wouldn’t do it?”

I paused. “Well… I dunno. Commitment.”

“Oh… you think I wouldn’t keep it. You think I’d get bored of it, and ditch you anyway. That’s it, ain’t it?”

“Well, thats--” I fumbled, frustrated. “That’s what you think I’d do, ain’t it?”

“You’re deflecting, Mav,” you observed astutely. “We’re talkin’ about why you think that about me.”

“That’s-- It’s just--” I started to get really anxious, to the point that I tried to slip out of my smock before I finished unbuttoning, and got way too confused about why it got caught on my pants. “That’s just… That’s just how it works for me, T.”

I didn’t hear your footsteps, but… I distinctly remember feeling your heat radiating from behind me, and the way it made my bare shoulders suddenly feel so cold. You stood right behind me, and you said in a low, serious voice, “Why you…? This is… This is some more Easter Egg crap, ain't it?”

I managed to get my smock off, finally, but I held onto it. I stood still, worrying my fingers over the fabric, hoping that if I said nothing, the conversation would just fly away on its own.

Obviously, it didn’t.

You continued, “Okay. Okay. Yeah, I was listening earlier. I heard all those ‘supposed to’s you yammered out.” Impersonating me in a quiet, high voice with an exaggerated accent, you said, “‘Supposed ta this, not supposed ta that, bla bla bla.’ Look, I know I hit a sore spot earlier, but… really? I dunno where this Easter Egg rulebook is, or whatever, but… I ain’t never heard of Make-it Mavis following the rules. ‘Specially not fake ones.”

I just squeezed my smock, trying to bite back tears.

Then you said, in a voice unnaturally soft for you, “And… gag me for being so corny, but… That’s… probably what I like best about her.”

Tears came. They came hot and silent -- gentler, this time. I just shook and lowered my head, until the touch of your hands startled me upright. You just held onto my hips, ducking your thumbs under my shirt to rub my skin. I’m not sure you even realized you were doing it. But, y’know… the warmth of your hands felt so damn good. I’m not sure why that, in particular, feels so weird to say, but… here we are.

You spoke up again, your tone a bit firmer, “You said you know me, Mav. If you know me, how could you think that some made-up rule you’re all hung up over would stop me from doing literally anything? It wouldn’t stop me from walkin’ to the freakin’ fridge and drinkin’ a soda, let alone keepin’ a promise I was serious about. I’m Turbo. I’m Turbo-freakin’-tastic. I only ever do what I want.”

“By that logic,” I butt in, fighting to keep my voice steady, “You shouldn’t doubt my promise, either. I’m Make-it Mavis. You’re supposed to know me, too. You oughtta know that I only ever do what I want. It’s all I’ve ever done.”

You waited, and prompted me quietly, “And what do you want… Make-it Mavis?”

I mumbled, “I… want…”

My words started to get stuck. I realized I was about to attempt a whole heck of a lot of words that I didn’t know how to use outside of songwriting. I’d sang sappy, flowery crap before, because… whatever, it’s just music.

Saying it and meaning it… now, that threw my head for a loop. I was lost. But I gave it my best shot.

“Hopefully, the same thing you want,” I drew in a steadying breath, and exhaled, “...To stay together. To stay… with you.”

You went completely still for a second, until you whispered, “Yeah…” and squeezed my hips, “...ditto. So… you oughtta know that if I say-- if I promise that I’m not gonna leave… y’know, all I’m doing is promising to do what I want. And that, you can always trust me to do.”

Hearing everything you were saying was… surreal, I guess. We were already talking about things I never thought I’d open up to you, even just the tiny bit that I did. But on top of that, you were saying such… real things. I know you had trouble with that, even more than I did. But I think all the hits you’d been taking knocked so many layers off of you. You were so cold and afraid that you just couldn’t afford to waste time and energy faking it. Drowning yourself in root beer all night probably had a thing to do with it, too. And it’s not exactly that being real and open was coming easy to you that night -- you still stammered and stumbled, but you were trying. You were really trying. And we both know that opening up isn’t easy for me, either, but… seeing you do it just pulled me right in, and I could hardly stop myself as the night went on. It was more than a little uncomfortable. It was agonizingly wrong. But, Devs, was it incredible, too.

But as great as your words sounded… I didn’t know how to let them sink in. Everything I’d learned about my lot in life was shutting you down with an infallible counter argument. No matter what you said at first, even if you meant it, over time, you would change your mind.

I stared at your bed, and I tried to pretend I wasn’t really speaking. “...But how do you know… that’s always gonna be what you want? Like… how can you promise you’re never gonna change your mind?”

“I-- Well--” you coughed a short, stressed laugh, “I don’t know… I mean, I could ask you the same question, couldn’t I?”

“You’re deflecting,” I told you, and I finally let my smock slip from my fingers. I was certain that I would not change my mind, but I had no idea how to say so in a way you’d believe. I wasn’t… even sure how I knew, honestly. But I did.

“Alright, fair enough,” you replied. Just then, you stepped closer to me and slipped your hands around the front of my belly, sort of rubbing and squeezing in ways that felt more distressed than affectionate. You leaned your head forward above my shoulder, and said, “If you really need an answer, then… I mean… I’m gonna plagiarize a bit here and say that I know… hopefully the same way you know.”

Your grabby hands were starting to make me jumpy, so I held them still over my shirt and breathed deeply. I said, “That’s not a real answer, T. How do you think I know… exactly?”

“Mmm-- Why… don’t… you...” you mumbled, and I saw your face turn towards me from the corner of my eye, “tell me?”

I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t freakin’ know. I got a tad frustrated at the circles we were talking around each other. So I leaned a bit to turn my head back and give you a look, but in my drunken grace, I tipped my center of balance right over your bed. I toppled right over it, and, naturally, took you down with me, knocking your head right against the wall. You yelped and cursed and whined like a princess, lying next to me and holding your forehead.

And, obviously, I burst out laughing. Which felt like a cold drink of water after everything we’d just done. You were offended, of course. Shoved my side a few times and buried me in blankets and accused me of enjoying your pain. By the time I wormed my way out of the blanket trap (which took way too long), you were leaning back against the pillows at the head of your bed. You’d finally taken your shoes off and stopped using your jumpsuit as pants, so you at least looked a bit more ready for bed, something I was mostly glad of. But you still looked anxious and pensive, folding your arms and staring at your feet. I knew we were far from done.

After taking off my shoes and jeans, I joined you at the head of the bed. I just mirrored your position, sitting next to you and looking straight ahead. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to start, or if you had something else to say. But I figured that we did technically leave off on my turn.

“So…” I started awkwardly, “What do you think? Are you ready to believe me?”

You were quiet for a long time, but answered plainly, “No. Will you believe me?”

I wanted to, but I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. “No.”

“Great. So, what now?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “I mean… Can you really prove you’re gonna keep a promise… before you actually keep it?”

You considered that. “I… dunno. Not this sort, I guess. You have to just, sorta… do it.”

“Well, let's see… I mean, the passage of time is proof,” I offered. “I think the only way you’ll be convinced that I’ll do good on my word is to just… look over one day, see I’m still there, and go, ‘Hey, it’s been long enough now, I bet she really will keep her promise.’”

You scoffed. “You? It’d take a good chunk of time to convince me of that.”

“I’m an Easter Egg, I’ve got more time than I know what to do with. BFD. We’ve been hanging out for, what, nearly five years now? I can do that again. Easy.”

“Five?” you laughed, unimpressed. “BFD. Five is nothing. Definitely not convincing.”

I looked at you, suddenly feeling like I’d been issued a challenge. You peered at me from the corner of your eye, with a look that just confirmed my suspicions.

Eyes narrow, I said, “Did I say five? I meant ten.”

You rolled your eyes. “Is that really the best you can do?”

“What’s the best you can handle?”

“More’n ten, that’s for sure.”

I leaned into you. “Twenty.”

You closed your eyes. “More.”

“Thirty!”

“More.”

My brain grinded to a halt. I took a step back from the silly little game we had clumsily fallen into and thought about what I was saying. About what you were saying. It’s not in our nature to surrender to each other. We would just keep climbing higher and higher, stretching on until…

I leaned back from you and stared, a realization settling into me that stoked a painful heat in my chest. You didn’t open your eyes, even after a good long while. I got the sense that you’d stopped playing around, too. But I knew you were waiting for me to say it.

I said slowly, “It… would really take… forever to convince you, huh?”

You paused, and I saw you swallow before you cracked your eyes open a bit and said, “Yeah. It would.”

We stared at each other for a minute.

You asked quietly, “...Well? You… still think you got what it takes?”

Everything in me was still screaming to abort, to not be so monumentally stupid. But what you said about breaking the rules really stuck in my crazy head. I was determined to not let the voices in the back of my head win this one. It was a big risk, sure. But what’s my life without stupid, crazy risks?

So, like a big, dumb idiot, I breathed, “Yeah. Easy.”

I saw you take a deep breath, and you started tugging a bit at the rolls in the sheets. “Okay. Cool. Good,” you nodded, the faintest tremor in your voice. “And… what do you think? Would that convince you?”

I answered without even thinking, “I don’t know. I’ll see when we get there.”

A lone, wet laugh cut from your throat, but then you went quiet, fidgeting and looking me up and down. I wasn’t much better off, but I thought I’d go ahead and ask what you must have been thinking.

“So, now… do you wanna do this?”

You nodded once. “...Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Heart pounding, I sat back and looked forward, amazed at the strength it was taking just to raise my right hand. I did so, and I lifted my pinky finger. You did the same with your left at my side, but we didn’t hook our fingers just yet. We waited a long time before saying anything, for any number of reasons. You were the first one to speak.

Barely above a breath, you said, “Promise you won’t leave.”

I whispered back, “Promise,” and said to you, “Promise you’ll never ditch me.”

You replied, “Promise.”

I was ready to shake on it then, and even tried to hook your finger, but you pulled away a bit.

“Promise you won’t go,” you repeated, your voice starting to quiver.

I was thrown, but mostly, my heart just ached.

“Promise,” I assured you.

“Say you won’t go.”

“Turbo.”

You were stressing yourself out again. I could feel you shaking next to me. I don’t think you were crying, but I’m sure you would have started hyperventilating again if I let you keep going. You were in such rough shape, and while I had every intention of staying with you forever like we said, I sincerely hoped it wouldn’t actually take that long for you to believe I wouldn’t leave you. The thought of you living with that fear forever was just… awful. If only you could have seen inside my head and known that I was telling the truth.

I said slowly, “Get this through your head, okay? ...I promise this'll last. But you gotta promise, too.”

You took a long, steadying breath, and waited for the words to come to you. “I promise… I didn't mean all that crap I said. And I'll never… y'know, I'll never hurt you again. And I’ll stay with you. Promise.”

I clenched my jaw, affronted by how many times I'd cried that evening, and refusing to add one more to it. “‘Kay,” I half-laughed, “why'd you make yours better than mine?”

You were startled by your own chuckle. “‘Cuz I'm better than you.”

“Yeah. There he is.”

You laughed through your nose.

Heartbeat in my ears, the room starting to spin, I crossed my pinky over yours. “...Forever?”

And you hooked it. “Forever.”

I felt a chill of sweat in my palms as I stared at our intertwined pinkies, that tiny bit of physical contact, the very first safe touch I managed to hold for over a minute with you back in the days of our beginnings. The sight just threw me back, and it made me marvel at how far we had come. It all started when I humiliated you for pay. We got in a bar fight. We fought again and again and again, because I just loved messing with you. Then you messed with me back. Suddenly we’re hanging out. We’re singing, we’re dancing, we’re joking, we’re being no-good punks and kickin’ ass. Then we touched. We kissed. We made out. We had sex, for Pong’s sake. And somehow, we ended up right there, locking pinkies again, swearing that this bizarre, chaotic, spectacular ride would last forever.

When the Twins hired me to prank their insufferable Good Guy all those years ago, I never would have predicted it would lead to this.

I had no idea how lucky I was.

Just that moment, I had something to say to you. I’m gonna be honest with you, here -- I don’t remember what it was. All I remember is that when I turned my head to say it to you, your face bumped right into the bandages on my cheek, and I cursed.

I said, “Nana Litwak, Turbo, watch it!”

“Oh! Geez!” You jumped back, releasing my hand to bring your hands to my face, apparently making a drunk, knee-jerk attempt to fix your mistake. Your fingers poked onto the bandages again, and I smacked your leg.

“Well don’t freakin’ touch it!”

“Sorry! Sorry, geez,” you slurred, not quite taking your hands away. You just held onto the lower halves of my cheeks, coming in for a closer look. Well, that’s what I thought at first, anyway. I was just about to complain more when you showed me what you were trying to do the first time you bumped me.

You just… kissed me. Right on the mouth, out of nowhere.

By startle reflex, I gasped and jumped back a bit, just enough to break the kiss. You still held my face close enough that I could actually see the red irises in your wide eyes. I could tell you were a bit freaked out by my silence, thinking you’d just made an ass of yourself, but that… wasn’t it.

The second I felt you kiss me, something in my mind turned over, and all those memories I’d been reminiscing on seconds before… tilted. Just the slightest bit. And I saw them all from a new angle, one that I realized had been there the entire time. I even felt pretty stupid for not seeing it sooner. But just that tiny new angle sent a swoop of gravity in my stomach that nearly took the strength from my bones. I felt the whole world fall silent, and I got the feeling that… this was it. This was my last chance to walk away before getting in too deep. I thought I had a choice to make.

But I found something else, looking back on those memories. I saw just how many chances I had to walk away from you. How many times I could have played it safe and kept you at a distance, the same way I’d do with anybody. Each and every chance that came, I let pass by. I never took a single one. I was kidding myself that night, thinking I had a decision to make. I’d already made my decision.

I’d made it a hundred times over.

I saw you start to pull away, a look on your face that clearly spelled what you were about to do. You would try to play it off, maybe say that you were drunker than you thought, maybe suggest we forget about it and just go to sleep. Fat chance.

You started to say, “Look, I--”

But I told you, “Save it,” and pulled your face back to mine.

You jumped right back into it with this overwhelming sort of urgency, struggling to decide the best way to hold me, like your life depended on keeping me close. I couldn’t stop myself from doing the same. I felt like I wanted you all to myself, even though there was no one else to take you.

It was… weird. Weird and gross.

Which is strange in itself, because it’s not like we’d never kissed before. It was just the wrong context. We weren’t just making out for the heck of it. We weren’t fooling around. We weren’t teasing, or joking, or bored, or high. It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t steamy. You did push me down against the pillows, but no hands wandered. It carried on quite a while, but it never escalated -- we just took it for what it was. And, honestly, I think we were both sort of afraid to stop and think about what the hell we just did. About what it meant. About what might have changed.

It pains me in so many ways to say this, but… again, the fact alone that we were kissing wasn’t gross. What was gross was the fact that… it was the very first kiss we had that felt… anything but platonic.

It was also our last.

And our best.

When we were done, we still held our faces close for a minute. I’m not sure how you looked, because I refused to open my eyes. I was too… nervous, I guess. About what, I’m not sure. All the same, you dropped to lie by my side, and pulled me into a firm embrace under your chin. You didn’t move after that, save for deep, shaky breaths. I could hear your heart pounding.

I wasn’t sure what to do. I shifted and got a bit more comfortable, and you pulled me back in just as tight after. I laughed awkwardly, “Sheesh, T. Clingy much?”

You said, “Just holdin’ you to your word,” muffled against my head.

“Funny,” I said, “my word feels an awful lot like your body.”

You huffed a single chuckle. “Lucky you.”

I scoffed a bit, but as the humor died down, and I was thoroughly soaked in the heat of your body, a sort of peace and anxiety settled into me at the same time. All was dark. All was warm. All was still and quiet, save for your heartbeat. If I tried, I could have easily imagined that your trailer was floating somewhere far away, so far that the drama and abuse from life in the arcade was out of earshot, out of sight, out of mind. I wanted it to stay that way. I wanted it so badly that I was worried you would let go too soon, and the moment would end.

So I wrapped an arm around you, held onto your shirt, and muttered against your chest, “Don’t… Don’t let go.”

Your fingers squeezed my shoulder, and you said quietly, “Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

It was my turn for insecurity. To need reassurance. I repeated, “Just-- just say you won’t let me go.”

“I ain’t lettin’ you go, Mav.”

“You’ll never let me go.”

“Never.”

“Like we promised.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Yeah, like we promised.”

We sure did promise.

I can’t tell you how gut-wrenchingly, heartbreakingly painful it is to look back on that, knowing you broke your promise almost immediately. Knowing how badly I wanted to believe you. Knowing how badly I wish my promise had saved you, even for just one more day.

But you were already too far gone.

If there’s anything good I can say… it’s that I’m glad our last moments were meaningful. I’m glad to have had even one night with you after I figured out how I felt.

How I feel. How I’ll feel forever.

Like I promised.

Now, unfortunately, I can’t say for sure what happened here. You see, the GC in my code really began to dig its claws deeper, and my hallucinated memory took a turn for the abstract and unreal. Lying there with you, I suddenly felt cold air blow in on me in stark contrast to your warmth. At first, I just shivered and curled tighter, but once I realized something was off, I finally opened my eyes again.

Your trailer was gone. Your game was gone. It was just you, me, and your bed, floating on a patch of ice on a calm, black ocean that stretched on forever in all directions. And up above, oh… up above was a sky full of more stars than I ever thought possible. It was like someone had spilled a bag of sugar across the night sky, and every grain glistened so brightly. There were no clouds, no moon. Just stars. Some of them started to streak across the sky and fall away into the horizon.

In my awe, a thought occurred to me. I’m not sure why it did, which really leads me to wonder… Did I really say this to you, or was it part of the hallucination?

I said, “T… all that stuff you said… about no one remembering you once you’re gone… Do you really believe that?”

You didn’t answer.

“It’s just… you know, I’ve always thought that I… when I go, there will be so many gamers who never knew me in the first place. That’s always freaked me out. But with you, I’ve always thought… Well, I look at you, your game, and your life, and it’s always been clear to me that… you’re unforgettable. You’ll go down in history, one way or another. I don’t know how to convince you of that. I sort of… thought you always knew it. You sure acted like you did. But… I know this won’t count for much, but believe me when I say… Even if somehow, everyone else forgot about you… I never would. As long as I’m alive, there will always be at least one sprite who remembers you. Even if no one remembers me, I’ll remember you. You can add that to my promise.”

I pushed my face back into your chest, and said, “I promise I’ll never forget you.”

I sure hope I said that. I hope you heard it.

I just don’t know.

Because the second the words left my mouth, you released me and sat up, holding your face with one hand and shaking. My heart nearly stopped. I was afraid it was something I said. I sat up when I heard you start sniffling.

“T? What is it?”

You just coughed wetly.

It was then that the suffocating smell of gasoline hit me like a brick wall. Eyes watering, wheezing, I covered my nose and mouth with my shirt. I didn’t understand until I looked out at the ocean again, and realized we weren’t floating in water at all anymore.

It was gasoline. Miles and miles of gasoline.

This overwhelming feeling of dread came over me, like I knew what was coming. I had to get us out of there, but my paint tools were nowhere to be seen. I reached out to you, to try to warn you, but when you turned your face towards me, I choked on a scream.

Your eyes were flickering like broken lights. One of them was throwing off sparks and cracked in like broken glass. You were crying these popping, spitting streams of black oil, and thick plumes of smoke were curling out of your mouth.

I was paralyzed, but you tried to play it off with a smile. “Hey,” you said, your voice crackling like a failing radio, “I’ll be fine. Come find me in the fire, later.”

A star fell, and the ocean went up in flames.

Then it all went black.

And I never saw you again.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #turbo #make it mavis #original character #homesick #this is the longest one lmao

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furidojasutin · 4 years

Text

Title: Fire on Fire

Pairing: Fraxus (Freed x Laxus)

Universe: Canon

Rating: K+

a/n: If you wanna, listen to the song ‘Fire on Fire’ by Sam Smith because this was basically the inspiration for this and... feels. Lots of feels. It’s beautiful??? djwkfw Anyway yea, I actually managed to write something up before bed so I’m throwing this before I’ll get my Zzzzs!

My father said I'm too romantic He said, "You're dancing in the movies" I almost started to believe him Then I saw you and I knew

Laxus thought about his childhood and teenage years more often than he would like to admit to himself or anybody else, really. He thought about how it could have been a nearly perfect childhood, how he could've been as happy as a kid could be, keep doing stuff that normal kids do and be excited about the smallest things, carrying the people along with his own excitement.

He'd had all of this at some point, with his grandfather. He may have been a sickly child but he was still not miserable. There had really been a time where he could be careless and happy and simple and pure. It was all thanks to Makarov. His mother couldn't be there for him, although he refused to believe that she would have been anything else but an amazing mother. So it was Gramps and him. He was happy to have him.

And then there was his father who took everything from him, everything.

His innocence, his happiness, his kindness, his bond with his grandfather.

It was cruel, it was pain, it was brainwashing and false beliefs. That bastard of a father had managed to ruin so much of his life, such a big part. And the worst is, that Laxus almost lost himself entirely to it, and other people that were actually dear to him. Very dear.

Like his grandfather.

Laxus clicked his tongue in disdain. At times he tried to tell himself that, at the end of it all, Ivan just made him stronger. He wasn't saying that he was grateful for anything Ivan put him through, it was disgusting, but he had made his body and his mind much stronger. Hatred was a bad motive to follow, but somehow it had worked out and now he could throw everything back at this fucker. He was older and he was powerful, so much more powerful than him now.

Yes, Laxus had fucked up a lot along the way, and that was an understatement. It had taken a long time until he had gotten back onto the right path... But he had found it now.

Somehow he had managed to get caught in those kind of thoughts in the middle of the night. That, and when he kept stirring in his sleep restlessly and eventually woke up, he noticed that the place beside him was empty. It wasn't supposed to be empty.

His instincts, and some prior knowledge, had led him to the living room. He immediately spotted a messy head of green hair and... was that a light snore? Laxus' lips formed a lopsided grin at that discovery. He would have something to tease Freed with the next morning.

“Stubborn idiot, told him that he was gonna fall asleep,” he muttered, strictly as though Freed could hear him. There was a soft touch in his deep and usually rough voice and the rune mage didn't move, didn't give any sign that he had heard Laxus talk.

He wasn't only older and more powerful. Eventually he had realized that there was something that was just as important as the power to protect the people he cared for. He had gained something back that he had lost a long time ago.

His happiness.

He didn't want to claim that his soul was entirely at peace. Was that ever the case for anybody anyway? But it was definitely more at peace in certain moments, in certain company.

His exile had given him more than enough time to think a lot of things through and reflect on moments, on events, on people. His grandfather was with him again. The guild had his support and he had theirs, and their trust, what was still a big miracle to him. Evergreen and Bixlow were the best friends he could have ever hoped for, and so was Freed.

Freed had always been... a little different. For so long, Laxus had failed to realize this. For so long, he had been blind to Freed's feelings for him and the feelings he had harbored and closed off in his own shadowed heart.

Maybe it's 'cause I got a little bit older Maybe it's all that I've been through I'd like to think it's how you lean on my shoulder And how I see myself with you

Soft-footed, Laxus approached the couch and looked down at his sleeping boyfriend. Somehow, the messy hair managed it to make Freed look a different kind of handsome although the image almost got destroyed by the slightly parted lips and the little snore.

Laxus shook his head, a loving touch in orange eyes that was reserved for Freed only. Red gale-force reading glasses were still sitting on Freed's nose, position far from perfect. A book was resting on the sleeping man's stomach. His right arm was sprawled across it and his left was dangling from the couch. So so fast asleep.

This image was not objectively perfect, but it was to Laxus. It was also a bit amusing, but Freed still looked peaceful. He deserved to have a sound, steady sleep without nightmares disturbing it, too. Freed’s had dark aspects in his past as well and he had also been right there when Laxus tried to take over the guild. It had been so fucking stupid. They had hurt their family, tortured and almost killed.

There was so much to be grateful for and in these times, good bonds and peace definitely belonged to those things.

They were safe here and alive and that really wasn't something either of them still took for granted. So many things had happened in the past and so many dangerous things could still happen in the future.

There were still a lot of things Laxus was learning but he appreciated every single moment Freed and him got together. This, this was peace.

Sometimes Laxus only had to look at Freed to be overwhelmed with feelings. There was so much he hadn't realized before, about Freed and about himself. Whether it was the sound of Freed's hearty laugh or how he himself had learned to laugh more genuinely again. The sight of Freed's smirk, teasing or cocky or bursting with confidence. How he could relax so much easier when it was only the two of them. How Freed soothed his nerves and seemed to know just what to say. The way he was always there by his side, no matter the circumstances. How he had never shied away from talking back against him when he was doing or saying bullshit. How he was a great sparring partner and best friend and lover all in one person.

How he loved him unconditionally.

And how Laxus realized that his love for him was just as strong, and that he had suddenly begun to feel like they could do everything and anything together.

Perhaps he had only woken up so his restless thoughts could take him here, to their living room, so he could look at Freed and feel at ease. Feel how the nature of his thoughts turned to something positive, instead of focusing on the negative things of his past.

I don't say a word But still, you take my breath and steal the things I know There you go, saving me from out of the cold

If he picked Freed up now he risked waking him up. If he managed to carry him to their bedroom without waking him, then the Freed would either thank him in the morning or he would be stubborn and try to make Laxus believe that he only dreamed that and that he had been in bed all night, just to approach him later and thank him after all.

Laxus huffed at the thought and decided that he didn't want to risk rousing Freed from his sleep, at least not by carrying him. He started with the reading glasses, stealing them from Freed's nose with caution. The man only crinkled his nose slightly, but nothing else. Carefully, he sneaked the book away from under Freed's arm and put it on the table. He continued to pick up the scattered papers and the dropped pen, then he grabbed the empty mug that had contained a steaming cup of tea hours prior and brought it to the kitchen. When he returned, he snatched a blanket from the arm chair and covered his boyfriend with it. For a moment he thought that Freed had muttered something but even if that was the case, he couldn't understand it.

His decision was made and Laxus planted himself in the arm chair right next to their big couch. He couldn't sleep right now anyway and perhaps Freed would wake up by himself. Then he would not only have caught Freed in the act but he could also go back to bed together with him. A double win, if you will.

For the longest time, he had lost the belief that anybody could ever made him feel the way Freed did. Holding Freed in his arms, having Freed hold him, it made him feel warm from the outside. And he made him feel warm on the inside. Being with him had somehow lit a flame within him that never ceased burning, instead it seemed to grow stronger with every experience, every day, every moment he spent with the man and every meaningful past experience he recalled.

Freed managed to make him feel breathless and out of control and helpless in the most wonderful ways possible, and he had never even assumed that these feelings could ever be wonderful.

They could. Freed made it happen.

Freed was capable of so many things Laxus had assumed impossible. Freed was powerful, intelligent, attractive... and those were only the most superficial, the most obvious attributes. There were so many aspects and sides of Freed as a person, and some that not everybody would get to experience, to see.

Some that were exclusive to Laxus now and this was a feeling that he held onto because he still couldn't fathom what he had done to deserve this twist of fate, to earn this love from Freed.

But he knew that he didn't want to screw this up, that he didn't want to lose this. That he didn't want to lose Freed.

When he looked at Freed, Laxus saw his partner. They were a perfect team and no enemy would ever stand a chance against their storm. When he looked at Freed, he saw his friend who would be honest with him and who he could be careless around.

When he looked at Freed, he saw the very man that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

In thrall to his thoughts and the emotions they brought forward, Laxus had to give a silent laugh. It was an attempt to stop his eyes from watering and he had to sniff hard, dragging the back of his hand across his face before looking at his sleeping boyfriend once more, whispering.

“Fuck, I love you, Freed.”

Fire on fire would normally kill us With this much desire, together, we're winners They say that we're out of control and some say we're sinners But don't let them ruin our beautiful rhythms 'Cause when you unfold me and tell me you love me And look in my eyes You are perfection, my only direction

It's fire on fire

#fraxus #fairy tail #freed justine #laxus dreyar #freed x laxus #ft #Sel writes #my stuff

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