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imagines-to-quench-thirst · 1 year

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Stupid man

Word count: 1900

Pairing: Batman x fem!reader

Summary: Bruce uses 'code 4' while encountering the Scarecrow resulting in defining the next moments that would shake up his family and his future

Warning: brief depiction of the fight and sad Alfred and sad Dick

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"..."

"Batman."

"..."

"Batman!!!"

"...Code 4..."

"Bruce! Bruce, stay with me! Dick, Bruce needs help!"

"On it, Y/n."

Y/n examines the live cam seeing the infinite black ground covering it. Her hands quiver over the control, hoping her man will live to witness another day. Steps crumble toward Batman Y/n, sighing a breath of relief and sitting on the closet chair.

"Thank god you are here, Dick."

"What?! No, Batcomputer... I am 3 minutes ETA."

Fear poisons her veins as Y/n listens closely.

"What's wrong, Batman!? Scared?"

Y/n's eyes glaze on the computer screen, her voice letting out the villans name, her voice matching with Bruce's

"Scarecrow"

"Do not worry, Batman. You will not die...Not yet, but your veins will pollute themself with my fear of toxins. I cannot wait to see if this will break you or make you into my Scarecrow. "

Another pair of feet grumble down, rushing in while grunts cascade from Scarecrow.

"Move away from him, buttface!" Dick roared, smashing the straw-filled enemy, managing to cuff him down in 4 agonizing minutes for Y/n. The police sirens howled into the Gotham sky, taking the Scarecrow away.

"Batcomputer, we are coming back."

"Copy."

The Batmobile drove in as Y/n observed anxiously, already preparing an operating table for Bruce. The door opens with a swift movement, Y/n placing herself under Bruce's weight and Dick helping out. Placing the wounded brute on the table, Alfred comprehended what he had to do. His stoic face examined the patient's body, witnessing his sweating going faster, his face painting itself in a heartbreaking expression, eyebrows stitched together, mouth emitting pained groans and vocal no's, eyes rolling back the white canvas painted with tiny green veins.

To her, it all collided in her mind, he was wounded deeply, and he could die. He is human. He isn't indestructible like he vowed to her when she uncovered his secret. She could wake up tomorrow and find him 6 feet under. His hands could not hug her or console her. His smooth voice could not comfort or call her when she lost her way in the manor.

She was mad to think that there would be this his end. Dying of old age for the Batman?! She was mad to think that... and more so to believe that he would survive this so easily.

Her expression zoned out, looking at Bruce's hands. With an "I could have done what I could, now we wait for it to pass" from Alfred, Y/n walked over to Burce, clutching his hand and sitting next to him, her face blank as ever.

Alfred gave Dick a comforting hug wishing his son would survive this live nightmare. Alfred walked to Y/n as Dick stood at Bruce's other side while Alfred spoke softly to Y/n.

"Mistress Y/n, rest. I will mind him."

With no glance adverting towards the lovely father figure, Y/n spoke, "No. I will stay with him. You two go rest and...and I don't know."

Alfred and Dick exchanged glances between themself, knowing fully well there was no room for discussion, the ambiance feeling incredibly heavy by the moments that let up until now. Moving away from the couple, they let the bat calls echo on the stone walls, encapsulating the worst moment in their lives.

~~~~~

Trying to stay awake after almost 40 hours of torturous silence and stillness, Alfred put his foot down at the utterly tired woman.

"All right, Mistress Y/n. Sleep now...IN the Master Bedroom."

Y/n responds in a burb of words, "No... He...Wake...Want to see... Blue eyes... no sleep...coffee..."

"You already had your 10th cup, and I pledge that you now have coffee running through your veins. Go rest. Now!"

Alfred pulled her away, dragging her to the much-needed rest letting involuntary Alfred watch over his adoptive son.

~~~~~

Time passes as it does while Bruce feels the cold ambiance of the Batcave. His eyes open, noticing Alfred's dead pained gaze. Alfred spluttered some words that were more so sounds with no context as he looked at Bruce sitting on the table. Alfred steps in front of his family, hugging him, not feeling the weight that passed his heart, the deadly weight he would drag into the ground with him. Bruce jerks in the hug his cold skin touching against the warm cotton-laced fabric of his butler.

"How long was I out?"

Alfred brokenly whispers, "Too long. We already thought the worst, Master Bruce. Don't do that again."

Pulling back, Alfred sighed a breath of relief. His brain rolled back all of the fondest memories he had with Bruce, and it was most of his life, but now seeing his blue eyes blinking, his mouth moving with words but Alfred hearing not one, just feeling the alleviation in his heart.

"...Y/n?" The voices blur seemed to die down for Alfred, bringing him back, hearing Y/n's name.

"She is resting. She needs it. Mistress Y/n was by your side while you were at your most alarming. No sleep, food, just coffee, so many cups of coffee."

Alfred expressed in a tranquil tone seeing Bruce stand up on frail legs. Alfred stood in his spot, judging whether or not to speak and stop Bruce from walking, knowing full well where he was going. But Bruce was stubborn, not more than Y/n but more so than Alfred, leaving Alfred with a slight chuckle leave his lips.

"My goodness."

Bruce staggered step and step up the manor towards his master bedroom, not seeing much around himself, seeing solely stairs, his feet, and his left hand grabbing the rail for dear life. Bruce felt weak, he felt lost and shaken up, his mind filled with the remainder of nightmares, and he felt broken with all this unwanted movement in his body, mind, and soul. Bruce needed help, but he didn't want to ask. Bruce was ashamed to ask; he was a protector, yet there was no protector in him. One step more, he felt stronger, lighter, and more capable. As if...

"Need help, B-man?" Dick asked with a glint in his blue eye. The evident relief shows on the boy's face as he places himself under braces shoulder and puts Bruce's arm over his broad shoulders. Bruce let the grip of the handrail and leans on his son, letting him guide him up, feeling a tiny bit better now.

"You gave everyone a great scare. Don't do that again. Lost a lot of sleep."

Bruce croaked with a laugh. "And I'm guessing you replaced it with coffee."

"How did you know?" Dick questioned as they reached the top of the steps, a few efforts away from the bedroom.

"Had a hunch." Bruce responds. Standing tall, Bruce hugs Dick, with the utmost emotion in his heart, towards Dick, a young boy who he gave shelter when he lost his parents, finding a few golden threads that connected them. Giving Bruce a new way to look at life, a moment that told him he wasn't the only one in this position. There were always other people to help, and this small boy, now a proud man, was standing in front of him, proud of helping him grow up in a safe home and letting him define a new generation of justice.

Dick froze in this moment. He felt Bruce's arms around his body, noticing the familial warmth radiating from his father. Hugs weren't rare, and yet they weren't often as well. Well, they were starting to get more often lately, thanks to Y/n influence.

Communication is complex for Bruce, his primary source of love and communication was cut off a long time ago when he was eight, left only with his butler, who was also mourning, attempting to be a family figure for the boy. Life resumed, and Bruce continued to keep himself and others around him at arm's length, not comprehending what he was doing wrong. Only when he met Y/n. Who told him that communication would build him into a better person and father figure to Dick. Bruce preserved it in his mind, not acting much upon it until this moment, a moment where he felt that the right move would be a hug and the words...

"I love you..son." Bruce spoke clearly enough for Dick to pull back and look a second of puzzled look on his face before taking a chuckle out of it

"You still have a concussion."

Dick stepped away from him down the stairs, his steps seemingly crammed with joy, hearing the words he had heard from Bruce maybe a handful of times. Bruce limped gradually towards his bedroom, opening the heavy door with a slow swoosh, not wishing to wake up his girl. There she was. Sleeping on her side, her back facing him. Her curves were covered by the thick duvet cover that was dubbed an 'expensive heating blanket that could swallow me whole, and I wouldn't mind' by Y/n. His muscular weight dipped the bed slightly as he sat down, looking at Y/n shift towards him, her eyes still shut, laced with sleep.

"Poor thing... Why didn't you eat anything? Why didn't you drink water like you always tell me to? I feel so stupid to have to put you through this to know how much I love and need you. When I had nightmares, one of my nightmares was seeing you walk past me, not knowing me, not kissing my cheek or holding my hand—just passing me, not even looking at me. And when I wanted to reach your hand, you looked at me with disgust and kept moving. Only for me to yell for you and watch you walk...away. I would never have thought I would see another day where you are in my life, our house, and our future."

Bruce's hand reaches for Y/n kissing her knuckle lightly just enough to stir her awake. Her eyelashes fluttered open, her eyes catching Bruce's figure concealed in the night sky's color. Standing up slowly, Y/n looked at his hand holding hers, examining his hand carefully, caressing her palm, drawing little shapes, tiny invisible hearts, and stars. Y/n looks up into his blue eyes, expressing uncertainty.

"Please, tell me this is real."

Leaning down to her, Bruce kisses her lips softly, answering in a hushed tone.

"I am here, sweetheart."

Y/n eyes twinkle and shake with tears brimming over the edge of her waterline as they begin to cascade down her cheeks. Bruce kisses her cheeks, dabbing away her tears. Y/n drew Bruce to herself, hugging him for dear life, hearing his strong heartbeat beating in a serene rhythm.

"Don't do that ever again, stupid man. Stupid, stupid man." Y/n cried out to her man, feeling herself ache with the reality of his job and life purpose.

"I won't, darling. I will never leave you again.'" Bruce promised, caressing her back gently, soothing her as she cried out. Bruce knew what happened to him was life-changing in more ways than one, and it nearly broke his family apart. Bruce was definitely in his peak physical shape, but mentally, he still had to shape himself into a man worthy of being a good son, a great father, and a one-of-a-kind future husband.

But that will, for now wait, and so will the ring that was hidden in Bruce's drawer for another day.

Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think ❤️

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gamesception · 3 months

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Sception Reads Cass Cain #37

Batgirl (2000) #17 - August 2001 Writer: Kelley Puckett Pencils: Damion Scott inks: Robert Campanella Colors: Jason Wright

Cass's book as been pretty downbeat for the last few issues. The tone of Cass's book overall is pretty sad and heavy, and normally I'm all about that angst, but the book can't live on angst alone, so have to have some brighter moments for contrast, you've gotta take the pressure off every once in a while if you want to keep building it or you just burn out the scale. So this issue brings us a refreshing change of pace, if only to give Cass and the reader a bit of a breather.

Sorry if this one goes up late. I'm running behind time wise, but I don't want to take a minimal approach to this issue, it's pretty important and has a lot of great moments. Do pease read it for yourself first, though.

The issue starts with this pretty cool sequence showing Cass's perspective as she gets distracted by the woman running away and lets this random goon land a punch on her. I like how the slideshow effect of the three repeated panels really emphasizes how much time Cass had to dodge this punch.

Followed by this great 'like father like daughter moment after she knocks the guy out where Cass and Bruce both have the same surprised and befuddled "Hmm" reaction to what just happened, with the same expression on their face and everything.

The perfectly synchronized training afterwords is also great, as is Bruce's worried expression. I can't keep copying every page over, we'll be here all day, but this issue really is great. One of my favorites. Again, go read it for yourself if you haven't.

Anyway, on the one hand this is such an indictment of Bruce. We the audience know that 'somethings been wrong' with Cass for a while, basically the entire time. She's consumed by guilt to a near suicidal degree and the loneliness and isolation of her lifestyle - even before she was forced out of Bab's clock tower but especially since - has left her without any companionship beyond her own self destructive thoughts, and the mission she's so dedicated to as her only hope of redemption continuously exposes her to the worst of humanity. So yeah, that Bruce didn't already know something was wrong, that he didn't anticipate how his decisions were making things worse, that he only notices that anything's off at all once Cass's mental state is bad enough that it's affecting her performance on the job? Yeah, that's pretty bad, if also so completely him.

On the other hand, you can see the concern all over his face. He should have seen this coming, he should have noticed it sooner, but now that he has he is very genuinely worried on her behalf, and that does count for something, even if he'll need help figuring out what's wrong or what to do about it.

And that help just so happens to call in the form of Barbara Gordon, who can hack in to delete the government's digital records on Cass's face, but needs her to sneak in and destroy the physical records.

At first Cass and Bruce don't feel like this is worth bothering with, as neither sees any value in her potential future civilian persona worth taking this risk to get it back, but Babs points out how they might yet connect the data they have to Batgirl and that convinces Bruce, which in turn convinces Cassandra because she absolutely does not think for herself these days.

I love this Jab Babs gets in at Bruce as Cass leaves, though I do wish it was made a bit more explicit that the *reason* Bruce has been keeping Cass on such a 'short leash' is that he doesn't fully trust her ever since David sent the video of her killing that man way back in issue number 4. On the surface Bruce is still deep in denial over it, but some part of it has to know, has to doubt at least. As is I'm pretty sure that's intentional subtext but because it's not explicit in the text I could just be reading in something that isn't really there.

In infiltration mission is pretty cool, starting with this sequence where Cass steals a key card off of a guard's bead chain, copies it, and puts it back without him noticing, which has Barbara admitting that the 'short leash' is starting to make sense. Just what exactly would Cass be capable of if she were allowed to run free?

....

The mission is successful, the files and physical evidence destroyed, and Cass's out-of-costume persona is free and clear. She can visit Barbara again, can see the sun again. Can. But will she?

Babs clearly doesn't think she will, at least not on her own, and so she goes to Bruce about it

It's a nice scene. I've missed Bab's presence in Cass's book the last few issues. This 'arguing over what's best for Cass' bit is fun, and also important characterization. I love how Bruce's expression as he says "Mole creature?" makes clear that he recognizes Bab's comment as a criticism of him and his lifestyle.

Of course, Bruce has a different idea of what's been bothering Cass. Not the isolation, not how /he's/ been treating her, but the mission. Everything's the mission for Bruce, and Cass is just like Bruce after all. The thing is, as right as Barbara clearly is here, Bruce probably isn't wrong either. Cass, like Bruce, dwells on her 'failures'. But taking down the villain responsible never actually makes Bruce feel any better.

Barbara still presses him to just order Cass to get some sun. The fact that she shouldn't need Bruce to tell her to do that, that this level of devotion and lack of independent motivation is a bad thing in and of it self, is too big of a problem to tackle today.

And to his credit Bruce relents!

I love these panels. You can feel how overwhelming the light is after so long in the darkness. Also good work from the colorist, showing this transition by going from all dark and cool colors that dominate her book to these warm (but washed out and too bright as her eyes struggle to adjust) colors. I mean, it's a fairly obvious trick, like being wowed when a musician changes chords, but it just works so well here.

And it's not just the sun, it's the people. Not just cass literally going from darkness to light but also going from being surrounded by victims and criminals, by the suffering and the cruel, and emerging into a wider world full of all the breadth and diversity of the human experience, loud happy annoyed worried people walking and running and shouting and living their lives that Scott does such a great job conveying with just a single page full of different and interesting faces.

And afterwards she's so happy, having picked up a rose from, somewhere, we don't see that bit. But of course Bruce needs to interrupt this moment of happiness.

So Cass does go to confront gov't man.

but clearly she doesn't actually feel better about what happened afterwords.

Her symbolism happiness rose, only so recently acquired, is already wilting. It's clearly not the sort of thing she can go to Bruce about. So, for once, now that she can, Cass actually reaches out to Barbara for help. About the rose. About what it means that getting justice for repentant sniper man's death didn't make her feel any better about it.

It's a great little scene to end out the comic. Symbolism's a bit on the nose, but it works. it's sincere.

The angst and darkness of the last few issues has been a lot, but it makes this bit of brightness feel all the more impactful. The underlying issues aren't resolved, it's still a problem that Cass has basically slotted Bruce into exactly the same unhealthy role that David used to occupy in her life. It's still a problem that Bruce let her do that. A real confrontation when Bruce can no longer deny the fact that she killed someone is still looming, as is her death match with Lady Shiva. But she's not quite so isolated now, and she's re-established a connection with someone who might actually be able to help her work through some of this stuff.

This might be the issue that best demonstrates the importance of Barbara Gordon in Cass's story, the key role she plays balancing out Bruce's influence. these interpersonal relationships and how they feed off each other - Cass/Bruce/David, Cass/Bruce/Barbara, they're the core of what makes Cass's book and Cass as a character so compelling.

......

Side note: I've waffled in the past over how much crediting to put at the start of each of these posts in terms whether to include inker and/or colorist even though I rarely comment on those issues. I'm wondering if I should also list the editor each time, as they also potentially have a pretty big say over what does or doesn't end up in the books, and keeping track of changing editors might be informative as to other changes in direction, or might show why some of Cass's side appearances work better than others?

For the Record, at least as far as her solo book goes, the editor as of issue 17 is Michael Wright, who took over from Dennis O'Neil starting in issue 14, the one where Bruce moved Cass out of Barbara's clock tower and into her own cave. Dennis O'Neil had been the editor of the book since issue 3 and co-edited issue 2 with Darren Vincenzo, who was the editor for issue 1. I think Michael Wright stays as editor for the rest of Cass's Batgirl run, save maybe for some one off exceptions here or there? So noting editors would be more for the sake of guest appearances.

There's also the issue of who's in charge at DC. As of issue 17 that's still Jenette Khan as President and Editor in Chief, but eventually Dan DiDio takes over, and it'll be worth noting when that happens. The fandom tends to assign him a lot of the blame for 'ruining' Cass's character, but as mentioned a few times already they also tend to date that downturn purely to the end of her ongoing title and heel turn in 'One Year Later.' I claim the decline started setting in much sooner then that, but I don't remember whether it started before or after DiDio's tenure as EIC began.

That's still a long way off from where this blog currently is, though.

Thankfully.

#Sception Reads Cassandra Cain #Cassandra Cain #Batgirl #Bruce Wayne #Barbara Gordon

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altheasmeadow · 1 year

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Next Time

Warnings: None?

Pairing: Yunho X Reader

Summary: In which he fell for her, but did not believe that she would fall for him so he tried out a few things first

The woman slumped into the booth, the restaurant seemingly empty making her doubt that the food would even be that good. She was tired, worn from her day at work, but when she matched with a guy who had charmed her pretty quickly she agreed to the date easily. He wasn’t too far off of her usual type, he was very ambitious and confident from what she can tell. The last month hadn’t been easy with her dating, each week her dates had just been slightly different than the last. In the first week the man had been way too polite. It was almost too good to be true, he just didn’t feel authentic. The date ended with a sad smile and the phrase “Maybe next time,” which had been the recurring words that had followed the next three dates. The second date was slightly more pushy, but his eyes seemed way kinder than his actions leading her to be put off by him trying too hard. The third was interesting, the woman wasn't mean nor too nice but her eyes carried so many emotions, oddly the eyes of her dates were seemingly copy and pasted each time they were identical, scaring the woman slightly. The only issue with this date was the uncanny feeling associated with her, her face was just a mesh of all of her female celebrity crushes, nothing seeming genuine on her at all. The fourth date was the worst, it was too freaky, he looked like the human version of her favorite cartoon character, the one she had mentioned to her previous date in passing. He even had the same mannerisms.

She was burnt out from the promises of “Maybe next time,” She rested her head on her palm as she waited, sighin to release some tension when suddenly a man began rushing to the table in a frenzy, “I am so sorry I’m late, I got held up at dance practice.” The man sputtered, his puppy-like features begging for forgiveness, not wanting to give her a bad impression.

“It’s okay, I just got here.” She smiled reassuringly at the man who mentally rolled his eyes, she was always early to dates, at least 10 minutes so he knew she had waited a bit.

“So have you ordered a drink?” He wondered, not knowing if she had been waiting for him.

“Just water, I’m a little burnt out from work tonight.” She sent a sympathetic smile his way to which he responded with a reassuring grin.

“I just wanted to make sure you got a drink, what do you do for work?” He wondered, though he already knew, he couldn’t give anything away.

The two fell into a steady conversation with ease, the woman taking quick notice of the similar eyes the man shared with her previous dates; however, he seemed much more genuine than the previous four, he was himself. Which was his last resort, he wanted to make sure he was her type before having to be shifted into someone else for the rest of his life just to be happy with her, thankfully she was seemingly more attracted to his authentic self than any of his other forms.

“Wow, this food is really good!” She gasped out not having expected the explosion of flavor on her taste buds.

“On your profile you said you loved it so I looked through reviews of most of the restaurants and settled on here, its a relatively quiet part of town so it's never too busy here.” He grinned as he watched her features melt into awe.

How could someone be this sweet?

By the time the date ended, she was enchanted. Somehow he was a perfect man and it was the most refreshing revelation after the worst dating month in history. She honestly didn’t want this date to end.

“So, Next time?” The eerily familiar sentence sent shivers down her spine, however with the energy she gained from the relaxing date she grew the urge to continue the night.

“Actually, Would you like to come over? I have wine and games.”

And suddenly there were no more sad maybe next time, the next time was always a promise with lingering excitement.

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jtheplante · 1 year

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All Hail King Julien survey! 🎉

Feel free to copy & paste, then give ur own answers! 👍 Stolen from @fairfaxandy

1. What do you think about All Hail King Julien?

Worst show ever

2. When did you first watch the show?

I knew this show existed for years. WHY DID I SLEEP ON IT FOR SO LONG??? Anyway last June I think I finally gave the 1st episode a chance, I was bored & looking for something new. The 1st episode is only okay so I didn't think much of it. A few weeks later (early July) I decided to give the show a 2nd chance. Episode 2 is meh, but it was Episode 3 w/the absolute gay furry thirst trap that is Karl Fanaloka that won me over & sealed my fate to watch the whole show 🔥

3. Favorite season?

Season 2 is probably the best season of any show ever in history. Exiled as a whole is also amazing but sadly dips in quality for a couple episodes IMO

4. Favorite episode?

Um have u even watched my episode rank video?? I put s3e6 (Jungle Games) as my #1, but as time's gone on, I think it's really s5e11 (KJ Is Watching You AKA the Orange ITN Black parody episode). Ted is peak and this episode is his peak 🔥

5. Least favorite episode?

As said in my ep rank video!! The S3 opener - O Captain Where Aren't Thou (both parts). Jokes fall flat, KJ's parents are a pain to watch, & the pirate crew is so forgettable I can't name a single one off the top of my head

6. Favorite scene?

Um the whole show but the hardest I laughed at any moment was when Ted suddenly exploded on stage while singing for no f*cking reason

7. Least favorite scene?

s3e4 the episode basically opens with a minute of nasty visualized farts & everyone vomiting on each other. I like gross-out to an extent but this was TOO. MUCH.

8. Favorite characters?

1st: Ted my beloved 💗💗💗 he's so much like me it's scary

2nd: King Julien - a VERY close 2nd. His energy & ability to stay goofy in even the worst situations inspires me to be the same 🔥

3rd: Karl - Gay thirst trap hottie social reject misunderstood sad backstory creative genius who just wants love 😭😭😭

4th: Mort - Objectively the best fictional character of all time. Sure he delivers the funniest moments in animated history but I don't really feel a connection with him like I do the top 3

5th: "Uncle" Julien - sass and ASS 🍑🥵 I love villains who are unapologetically assholes. His redemption was forced & stupid

9. Least favorite character?

Maggie - I love farts but it 100% depends on who. If it's a hot guy then 😍😍😍 but this is an old woman so 🤢 & that's like her whole character

10. Favorite ships?

Jaurice - absolutely adorable couple, heck I get teary eyed just thinking about them, gosh I'm so gay. Anyway their ship is extra special b/c KJ is usually hedonistic & horni, but with Maurice it's so wholesome & romantic 🥺

Julieddy & Karlien - These 2 ships have their own unique dynamics, but I put them together b/c they're both a gay man desperately wanting a man they can't have. This kinda situation always fascinates me & I can relate myself...

Karl x Chauncey - we all kno who Karl wants the most, but the fact that he has a happy life with Chauncey makes me happy 😌

Pandy - Be gay do crime

Ted x Horst - tbh if Ted finally divorced & married a man instead, Horst is a genuine contender

Nurse Phantom & Dr. S - the way they bicker is hilarious

KJ x Rob - Gay booty bumpin hotties enough said

11. Least favorite ships?

Clage - I've already ranted about it a million times it's just crap

"Uncle" Julien x Zora - like I said, forced & stupid

Willie x anyone - Willie's too innocent y'all

12. Have you ever cried while watching?

I'm an overly emotional gay man I cry over litcherally everything. I practically choked to death crying the first time I saw Maurice fall 😭

13. Favorite songs?

-Theme song superiority 🔥🔥🔥

-True Bromance is a gay anthem for the ages

-All Eyes On Me (Photronique) 🔥🔥

-I also like Swagnificent & Big Stacks

#all hail king julien #ahkj #king julien #dreamworks

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crumbledcastle28 · 2 years

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Din Djarin: Breathe

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: You thought the worst feeling in the galaxy was watching the man you love leave you for another woman, but when that woman turns out to be your friend, it tears you apart.

Warnings: angst, swearing, reader is sad and insecure, Din is confused and oblivious, Omera makes a cameo, but I promise the ending is worth all the tears :)

A/N: this trope is one of my FAVORITES to read for Din. So many incredible authors have absolutely nailed this, so I thought I’d give it a shot. Total credit to all of those amazing people. You all inspire me every day. If you feel I have copied you or another author you know, please let me know. I’d never want to make anyone feel stolen from.

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, reblog, or ask, it would be much appreciated <3

(Gif gotten from Pinterest)

Watch.

That’s all you could fucking do was watch.

Watch, as the one thing you felt was finally yours and yours alone was ripped from deep within you, taking all of your organs and bones and soul with it.

It left you unable to think, to feel, to breathe.

You could barely drink water, let alone eat a full meal. Your stomach was a wreck and your brain was shot. Forming any sort of thought that didn’t revolve around him was…hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.

There was no point in trying to pry him away. He was a part of you now, attached to every good memory you had, every happy song you heard, every warm summer breeze you felt on your cheek.

He was always there. And he always would be there.

Just not with you.

You saw it in the way he looked at her. The way his body language changed when she came around him. He would straighten his back, broaden his shoulders, and make himself look more and more like a Mandalorian.

He didn’t look like Din. He looked like a Mandalorian. A warrior. A provider.

He just made himself…better. A sharper shot. A wittier comment. A louder chuckle.

It fucked with your head more than it should have.

Why did he feel the need to impress her, but not you? You were only partners, but did he see you as.. less? Like you wouldn’t leave him, no matter what he did? Or that you were too dumb to catch on to what he was doing?

You always stopped yourself when you started to go down that road. The Din you knew wouldn’t think like that about you. About anyone.

But like you said, he was acting more like a Mandalorian than he was Din Djarin.

Din Djarin

Did she know his name? Did he tell her his name? His full name? His true name?

You prayed, for the first time in years, that she didn’t. And you didn’t felt one ounce of guilt about it…

…in the beginning.

That was until you had spent over a week on Sorgan, and the everyday routine started becoming more and more like second nature. Not only did Omera, the beautiful, bright-eyed widow from across the huts, manage to catch Din’s eye, but she also managed to catch yours.

Why did she have to be so damn sweet?

I’ll get that for you Y/N.

Would you like to join us by the fire?

We made some more clothing for you. We noticed how much you shiver during dinners on cold nights.

Of course you can explore! I’ll take you on a tour, if you’d like.

Perfection. She was perfection.

And everything that Din deserved.

To make things even worse, not only did Din start acting odd around her, but he also started acting odd around you. When she wasn’t around, and it was finally just the two of you.

He wouldn’t share as much about his days as he normally would. He would shrug off your questions and stare off into thin air, surely thinking about her and her alone. Especially when you brought her up in conversation, whether that be something fun you two did together, or something that the two of them did together.

Either way, he would freeze up, puff up, and shut up.

And that was it. That was when you knew.

You’d leave him here, to live, and you’d fly off in your ship, to attempt to survive without him.

You were already preparing for that moment.

It was going to shatter you to the tiny pieces you were before you met him, but this time, he wouldn’t be there to pick you up.

You really, truly loved him. If the trip to Sorgan proved anything, it was that. And if that meant you had to leave him behind, so be it.

If you love something, let it go.

“Y/N?” his deep baritone cut through your thoughts. “What’s wrong?”

You looked up from your plate of food, and your eyes met his dark gaze. He insisted on watching you eat your dinner, since you had hardly touched your previous ones.

“Nothing Din. Honestly.”

He sighed. “Really?”

“Yes,” you responded quickly. “Really.”

He leaned forward in his chair, and you kept your elbows on the dinner table.

“Please Y/N. I know when you’re lying to me.”

“I’m not—I’m not lying,” you said, but your voice crack gave you away. You looked down at your dinner bowl, scarcely touched as usual, but his watch on you didn’t seize. It burned into you like a brand.

You squeezed your fists together, almost denting the spoon you had in your dominant hand, and tried to calm your breathing. Tears began to mist your eyes, and you could barely see Din stand from his chair and kneel before you. He took your hands in his, and your hot breaths blurred the outside of his visor.

“Come on Y/N, breathe,” he said to you, squeezing your hands. “Talk to me.”

You didn’t feel how madly you were gasping for air until he spoke those words to you. And having to look him in the eye, knowing how much he loved her and not you…

You crumbled.

“I just—Din I can’t—“

“It’s alright,” he said, defeated. “You can say it.”

He knows, you thought. Fuck he knows.

You thought you’d be stronger during this moment. You knew it was inevitable, and you thought you had been preparing for it for the weeks you had been on this planet.

But you weren’t. Every bone in your body was screaming for you to get on your knees and beg. Beg for him to want you.

“I just—am I ever going to see you again? After this?”

Your tear-stained face reflected back to you in his shiny beskar.

“After what?” he asked, softly. Delicately. Like he was trying to make this easy for you. Bracing you for the fall.

“You know what I’m talking about Din.”

Din.

That name felt so foreign.

He sighed, almost inaudible, and let his head fall down a bit, looking at the floor.

“Please look at me.”

He didn’t move his head, but you felt his eyes bridge together with your own.

His eyes, that you’d never get to see.

But she would, the burrowed, fucked part of your brain thought. She would, and I will never.

He sighed again and swallowed, before saying in a deep, sad voice.

“Of course.”

And your silent sobs weren’t silent anymore.

“Of course we will see each other again Y/N,” he said, working his hands up to your wrists. You could barely hear him over your weeps, and your foreheads were basically touching.

“I’ll…I’ll come and visit you.”

“That’s not the fucking same and you know it.”

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like to be angry at him. But you also didn’t like the thought of his spot on the Crest being vacant.

Your heart felt completely hollowed.

“I’ll…I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N,” he continued. “Whatever it takes. Even if that means having to fly to Sorgan twice a week—”

What?

“—I will see you. I swear it on my life. I’ll get Grogu to his people, and you can stay here. With…with Omera.”

Me? Stay?

“Wait, Din—“

“No Y/N,” he said sternly. “I—I’m not going to like it, but I think…I think you belong here.”

I belong here?

“Din, listen—“

“Y/N, please—“

“—I’m not staying—“

“—you’re safer here!”

You froze.

“You’re happy here. You deserve to be away from me and all my…my shit.”

He swore. Din never swears.

“You can stay here. With Omera. With these people,” he said, and his leathered glove left your hand. It drifted up to your cheek, and you sucked in a breath. At the sound of the noise, he pulled it away.

“You’ll be happy,” he said, his own voice cracking, and looked to his left. Finally breaking the eye-contact.

You, however, weren’t done yet. A tiny drop of hope rippled through you for the first time in weeks, and you had to grab on to it. As tight as you could.

You touched your fingertips to his cheek, turning his gaze back to meet yours. The sharpened metal was cooler than you expected, but just as flawless. You’d always wanted to touch him here, and from how close he was leaning into you, it looked like he wanted you to as well.

“Wait,” you began, voice cracking again. “You want…me to stay?”

“I—“ he began, but his own emotions choked him. “I assumed…I assumed you would want to. With how much you talk about Omera.”

“So you don’t want to stay? With her?”

“With who?” he asked, helmet tilting to the side. He always did that when his mind was blurry and confused, and it was one of your favorite quirks of his. You always imagined how his forehead would wrinkle together and his mouth would hang open slightly.

And for the first time in days, you really, genuinely, laughed. You giggled so hard that tears began to fall from your eyes again, and you didn’t even know which emotion was causing them.

“What—“ he said, defeat and haziness brushed over his voice. “What’s so funny?”

“You…you honestly think I want to stay?” you asked, smiling.

It felt good to smile.

“Well…yeah…I thought you,” he shook his head, “am I missing something?”

“Din,” you said, tracing your knuckles against his cheek, “the only reason I like it anywhere is because you are there.”

His chest armor rose, and his breaths under his modulator became heavier.

“So…” he began, “why were you crying?”

You wiped the dried tears from your cheeks.

“I was crying because I thought you wanted to stay,” you said, and poked the middle of his chest.

“Me?” he asked. “Why would I—“

“It doesn’t matter,” you interrupted. “All I know is that you’re not leaving me.”

He released a breath from his mouth, and pulled you out of the chair and into his chest. Your knees hit the hard floor of the temporary wood hut the two of you shared, and all the emotions from the last few weeks came pouring out of you.

He held you close, and let you fall apart.

You heard a few muffled cries from him as well, and after a few moments, he tucked his hand into the nape of your neck, massaging your hair. Your hands were tucked underneath your chin, and your cheek was pressed as hard against his armor as it could.

“I thought—” he choked. “I thought I’d be strong enough. To fly off without you next to me.”

More tears squeezed from your eyes, and he rubbed his helmet against your hairline.

“It turns out I’m not. I’m not strong enough to be apart from you.”

“Din,” you mumbled and pulled away to look at him. “You are strong. The strongest and bravest man I’ve ever known.”

You traced your pointer finger down the indent where his mouth would be.

“I was about to beg you to stay with me, so I am no better.”

He held the back of your head and pulled you back into him.

“I guess we are both hopeless,” he joked, and you managed a laugh.

You continued to sit there, breathing in his metallic smell, and your lungs finally felt full of air. Your stomach felt settled, and your brain was finally cleared.

He wasn’t leaving.

“You thought I wanted to stay here with Omera, didn’t you?” he asked, and you squeezed your eyes in shame. You nodded against his chest piece, and he sighed loudly. He placed both of his palms on your cheeks, and he connected his forehead with yours.

“There is no woman I would rather be with than you,” he said, deep and groggily.

But confidently.

“I’ve never met anyone who has such a…such a power over me. You are in every choice I make, and every regret I feel. That’s why I got so defensive when she was around. I tried to make myself tougher, stronger, better. All so that I could—“

His breath caught in his throat.

“—all so that I could impress you.”

It was all for you. The whole time.

The whole time.

“And when you would mention her, I would get so quiet. I didn’t know what to say, and I felt like I was about to vomit every time I heard her name. She’s a lovely woman, but I knew she was slowly taking you away from me. I could barely look at her.”

He nuzzled into you even more, and you brought your hands to his cheeks as well. Holding each other up.

“I thought you were trying to impress her,” you said, and he breathed a small laugh.

“I never once thought of doing that,” he replied, and you hummed softly. Finally relieved.

“Maker I love when you smile,” he said, and you grinned even wider. “I missed that.”

“I missed it too,” you replied.

A sudden burst of confidence bubbled up from your gut, and your head was so light and airy that you didn’t even think twice before speaking.

“I think I love you Din Djarin. I really think I do.”

His thumb brushed your cheekbone, and he bumped his forehead into yours before responding.

“I’ve loved you since the day I heard your voice.”

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

The Devil’s Tongue

Summary: A mask of virtue hides a man riddled with lust and while his stoicism proceeds him, even he can’t withstand a begging girl.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x OFC (3rd person POV)

Warning: 18+. Manhandling, abuse of power, MaleDom/FemSub, some thigh riding, unprotected sex, deflowering, loss of virginity, mild mentions of blood, sex in front of mirror (auto-voyeurism), profanities, bodily fluids, possessive behaviour.

Words: 4.5k

A/N: Many thanks to my muse @agniavateira for supporting me through this story and for betaing. This was inspired by a certain scene in the film. My pervy mind took it elsewhere. Sincerely, I am not sure how I feel about it, so I’ll let you be the judge while I’m having my panic attack.

Please reblog and give feedback if you enjoyed. 🖤

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Title: The Devil’s Tongue

The treacherous moon was already high in the midnight sky and winds of melancholia whispered through the ivy leaves that grew timidly around the window’s panes. Despite the solace of night, her blood seeped with venom, and vicious thorns grew beneath her skin.

Striding through the desolate corridors of Holmes’ estate, Vanessa fumed while listening to the sounds of the old house: the creaking of the floorboards, the glass panes rattling in the wind, and the scratching of mice that ran between the walls. A kerosene lamp hung heavy between her sweaty fingers; her knees cracked as she marched forward to face her master.

Same as every night, Sherlock hid in his library to chase adventures behind thin sheets of paper. He was not to be disturbed, though he left her no choice.

Sent her away he did, claiming that her service was no longer needed even though she was promised a home at the estate, despite Enola’s departure. The worst of it was that he didn’t even bother telling her himself, but simply sent another servant to announce that she must pack her belongings tonight.

‘Like hell, I would!’

Vanessa willed her heart to beat slowly as she tiptoed, cursing every wooden plank that grated beneath her feet. It’s been over a year since she started working for the Holmes family, and despite battling her concupiscence tooth and nail, Mr. Holmes has possessed her very existence. Sleepless nights left her yearning to drink the mead of his mouth and feel the slapping of his skin onto hers.

Wistfully, the brooding detective only stared at her with a lustre of ice. But the notion of never seeing him again felt like holding a blade pointed to her chest; the wish to confess nibbled in her gut like a pesky little fish.

‘At least I will have the chance to say farewell…’ she mused as she finally reached the open doorway of the library. It was a cosy cavern, stuffed with endless shelves of books and vases of pink roses to mellow its austerity.

Wood burnt to a crisp within the hearth, its aromatic scent bleeding into the air and a light layer of ashen mist wafted over the chamber. There sat her master, resting comfortably on his maroon leather armchair with a book in one hand and a pipe pressed between his succulent lips like a king on a throne of solitude.

Silently she stared, brow furrowing at his sight. It baffled her how a man can be so oblivious to the dangerous power he had over women. Sherlock was as divine as the coldest day of winter: eyes of crystal snow, curls darker than the night, and sharp facial features that gave a tinge of intimidating flavour. The ancient god Hades would have been jealous of his divinity. Even in these serene moments, Sherlock’s presence exhumed dominant masculinity, consuming oxygen like the fire that burnt in the mantle.

Clad in a white cotton shirt loose over his broad chest, he calmly turned a page on his book and sighed.

It was impossible not to sense her nearby. The young woman was a breeze of autumn wind: spiced yet soothing, bringing the omen of a season’s change. She tried very hard to hide her feral nature, abiding, serving, and acting polite. While she fooled everyone, including herself, he detected the brazen kiss that raged within her.

Nights were riddled by dreams of dismantling her shackles, only to bind her further to himself. And yet, every time he looked at her a loathing rage gnawed inside. To him, she was a dire trap meant to expose the thing that hid behind his mask of virtue—a reckless savage, sick with twisted desire.

It took true power to send her away. Yet, here she was, barging into his shelter to pour another drop of simmering turmoil into his already seething blood.

“Can’t sleep, Nessie?”

Vanessa jolted with a startle. His deep voice threaded tendrils of dark silk around her heart, attempting to draw it further out of her fragile ribcage. Maintaining attention on the book in his hand, Sherlock’s mouth twitched into a cold grin of respect, sensing her glare stabbing at his nape.

“You might be a mouse, but you have the stomp of an elephant.”

Forcing the book shut with a soft thud, Sherlock turned his head aside, daring to catch a glimpse of her. His pretentious smile died, and a surge of passion seized at his groin. Like the virgin Persephone, she stood before him wrapped in a sheer nightgown, the creamy fabric barely hiding her delicacies. A mystic glow of sweet honey and amber gold rimmed her flesh, kissing down her clavicles and leading his enslaved gaze to the soft heaps at her chest.

By courtesy, he should have looked away, but the wish to incinerate the silken threads that retained whatever left of her modesty whispered in his ear like a little devil that sat on his shoulder. It was cruel of her to provoke him like this.

Quirking an eyebrow with disdain, he finally battled the sight away.

“Something ails you, girl.” Sherlock’s rich baritone dropped. Touching the pipe to his maw, he took a long whiff and suckled his lip. “You seem unnecessarily emotional,” he noted dryly, pretending as if her appearance was a mystery.

Noticing the uncaring shift in his tone, she scowled and stepped carefully into the room. Placing the lamp on a nearby stand, she purposely stepped into his line of sight and looked at the frowning detective with the feral wilderness growing inside her chest.

“You’re sending me away tomorrow,” an unmistakable hint of rage seeped between the cracks in her voice. Grasping her knuckles, she began striding back and forth across the Parisian rug as if lost in her own musings, “why? What have I done to you?”

A small huff escaped his nose, and he rubbed a finger beneath his bottom lip. His patience spread thin as the young lady scurried about with hysteria. The mere idea of bending her over and teaching her some discipline caused the fabric of his trousers to stretch over his engorging desire.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, it was simply my decision.” He answered, striving to sound neutral and remorseless. “A lady’s maid without a lady is useless in a place like this. But now, Vanessa, it’s late, and I’d like to get back to my book. No reason for you to stand here in your... undergarments.”

Lips agape and feet nearly colliding on to one another, Vanessa paused on her steps. His words crept a chill down the length of her spine, making her cheeks blaze. Passionate and irrational, she never even noticed her lack of chastity when she left her room.

“I… didn’t think much, I was upset…”

‘Of course, she didn’t think much. Irrational, savage thing.’

A string twitched in Sherlock’s cheek, and a dark errant lock fell rogue upon his pale temple as he turned his head aside, adamant to brush her away. His self-restraint was but a delicate, dying leaf, hanging by its last yellowing strand.

“I came here to ask you to…”

“I’m afraid it’s not negotiable.” Sherlock interrupted and swatted his hand flat on the leather binding. His stern glance floated out the window, focusing on a large spider that threaded lines of silver amidst the peeling frames. “You will find a new job in London, a better house,” he apprised and took a deep inhale, turning the book over to open it where he paused. “Now please leave before we’ll both hurt one another.”

‘Before I will pierce cavities in your soft flesh.’

Stunned by his dismissive, arctic demeanour, her stubbornness and frustration only grew to monstrous proportions. With clenched fists and water pooling at her lids, she grunted and took a courageous step closer, standing at the fore of his couch while shaking her head.

“No!”

“No!?” he scowled, eyebrows lowering with dismay. “You forget your place, woman.” He flashed her a quick warning look, his icy glare tinted midnight black as he stood at his wit’s end.

If only it didn’t make her heart shrivel with wanton. Their proximity perilously close, Sherlock’s strong scent pervaded into her lungs: a musky blend of whiskey, leather, and fine tobacco that made her thighs wobble. Before she could even register what’s happening, her knees were brushing the thick carpet, her decorum and dignity gone.

“I want to stay here. With you.” Slender like stalking vines, her fingers crawled onto the armchair, squeezing at the smooth leather with pitiable desperation.

“Keep me, please!”

“Vanessa,” Sherlock drawled, still refusing to meet her gaze while his thumb circled deep into the coarse binding. Furious tides rose in his eyes, whisked by the rageful storm that inhabited his mind, “Do not make me regret this night.”

He didn’t want to hurt her, but she was pretty when she begged.

“You don’t know what it is that you’re asking, I am not the gentleman you think I am.”

Ignoring his warning, she insisted. Daring, needy talons rose from the armchair to claw at his arm, clutching it with demand. Even through barriers, a surge flushed between their bodies.

“Sherlock,” she half-whispered, crystal droplets of sadness gliding down the smooth slope of her cheeks. Not caring the least as they dribbled onto the soft sleeve of his shirt, leaving tiny stains that dampened his arm.

“Guide me, teach me, make me yours!”

Nostrils flaring and breath rigid, the large man finally snapped his stare at her with the sanguine hunger of a starved vampire. The mask of his virtue fell shattering to the floor, and a harrowing silence took over the room, diffused only by the sound of crackling embers and Vanessa’s shaky breath.

“Remember this tomorrow when you’re raw and hurting; this is what your begging bought you, little Nessie.”

A strangled gasp died at her sternum as his hand suddenly grasped her throat. With a quick yank, she was up on her feet, her toes barely scraping the ground as the hulking man held her up to his face.

“Oh the things I’ll do to you..” he whispered as his thumb dug deep onto her cheek and the rest of his fingers etched at her throat.

Swinging on his boots, he swept her across the silent halls. His stride a dark ceremonial gyrate, the creamy fabric of her pristine nightgown floating mid-air like a sheer tongue of white morning mist.

“I will make you mine as you begged,” he rasped barbarically, one hand pushing the door open while the other held her attached to his chest, “I will teach you what you asked…” his lips brushed her ear, his breath hot over her cheek, “your first lesson begins... in my bed.”

With a swift shove, she was forced into his realm. Feet stumbling upon the tepid wooden floor, her ears throbbed with shock. Her hands reached to grasp onto the engraved bed column to prevent herself from falling.

His bedroom smelled of dying roses and smoked wicks, echoing the putrid decadence that gnawed at Sherlock’s mind. A dozen melting candles burned in every secluded corner, their little orange tongues licking the reflection of a sizable mirror that stood opposite of his large bed.

A dull metallic click broke the air, followed by Vanessa’s sputtering breath as she saw him lock the door. Her faith sealed - now caged in the lair of the beast. Reduced to his own shimmering shadow, Sherlock advanced toward her, ripping his shirt off.

Fingers biting into the wooden pole, Vanessa stared, unable to determine if it was a man or a lycan god who stood before her. Every breath made his bare torso look menacing. Under the deep dusky twilight, his muscles curved and stretched, coated by a virile, dark fur.

Curious, her gaze followed the striking veins and the trail of unkempt hair that paved its way down his fine abdomen and disappeared beneath his trousers. Guiding to that which she feared and wanted at once.

Eyes of blue flame shone with absent remorse, brows arched with a pretentious demeanour as he reached a hand to seize her to him. “Your innocence dies here tonight,” he hissed in her ear, “from now on, you’ll be my little whore to plough as I please.”

The air died in her lungs as his firm chest collided with hers and his knee forced her legs apart. Bulging and muscular, his thigh rose to brush at her clit, the thin fabrics a shy barrier.

Shuddering, she swallowed hard in a dire battle to find her voice. “I will be whatever you need me to be,” she retorted as the thought of being exploited by her master released fluttering butterflies of fear and excitement in her chest.

Sherlock smirked and captured her jaw between his finger and thumb as he leaned in. Torrid lips hovered over her own, offering a phantom kiss to distract her from the greedy fingers that pushed the sleeves of the gown off her shoulders.

Like warm milk it poured down her body, exposing her delicacies to the night and to the gluttonous hands that kneaded her breasts while he flicked his tongue over her closed mouth, tasting the plumpness of her lips.

A true creature of the underworld, Sherlock’s touch was cruel like his promises; he took as he pleased, leaving his sigil seething on her skin. Her sputtering gasps served as an opportunity to invade her hot cavern. The detective’s kiss was even more ruthless, his tongue smooth as silk seized and conquered her breath.

She could feel him streaming in her blood, tasting him all the way down through her gut. Dark and intoxicating like poisonous absinthe, the promise of death swung amidst their hot, serpent-like dance.

Yet she only yearned to drink to her demise.

As if under a stupor, she swayed to his spells, bucking her hips to ground herself on the meat of his thigh, leaving the coarse fabric wet with sticky arousal. A condescending grin tugged at his lips, and his hand rushed to the back of her head, weaving through her hair and yanking her back.

“Already the wanton harlot,” he spat, swiftly turning her over and holding her against his chest. “Look at yourself,” he growled hoarsely in her ear, forcing her doe eyes to stare at their reflection. Sherlock rested his dimpled chin on the top of her head with his brows lowered like an apex predator examining his prey.

His hand disappeared behind, hastily fumbling with his trousers, “You wanted me to show you, you want to see,” he called as his trousers piled at his feet and he carefully stepped out.

Something hefty and hard nudged at the small of her back, turning her veins into thin tendrils of ice. Abysmal panic coiled at her gut at the realisation that Sherlock meant to reshape her as the vessel of his primal urge.

Hand snaking around her belly, he snatched her to fall back onto the mattress with him pillowing her fall. Her firm buttocks slid across his hairy abdomen, hands fumbling to grasp his thick thighs while her eyes flared at the sight of his hardened cock displayed in front of her in its full generous size.

It was nothing like the medical illustrations she saw in books: bulging tendons swerved across an imposing, meaty rod. Ridges rippled across its girth like soft silk, and the heart-shaped head dripped of glistening, pearly arousal.

Curious, her trembling hand wandered to feel him, stunned by the liquid-like texture that engulfed the absurd rigidness. By order of her touch, he twitched and swelled, causing the radiating heat at the apex of her groin to palpitate.

Pressing his lips to the shell of her ear, Sherlock growled, “Do you like what you see, little one?”

His taut hands reached to grasp her thighs, spreading her wide over each of his legs and holding them apart to expose her untouched sleek at the mirror. The thundering in his throat was nothing but animalistic as he glowered at her perfect sight: his little Nessie, his little untainted flower blooming fresh with dew, yearning to be plucked.

“Look at yourself,” Sherlock demanded with a whisper drenched of fervour. His coarse hand dragged to capture her chin and forced her to face the salacious spectacle reflected before them. Her breath shuddered; she saw their skin mapped onto one another, their bodies entangled and their souls unmasked.

How could something so forbidden be so beautiful?

“I dwell in the darkness, Vanessa.” Sherlock explained, his voice stroking her temple as his lips inched closer, “You must know that, you must have me as I am.”

He laved his tongue over her cheek as if he was tasting the sweetest delicacy and reached for his erection, stroking the pulsating girth between his fingers. Eyes still glued to their likeness on the glossy surface, she glanced as he pressed his pink, meaty tip between her dripping petals.

“Watch as I take something from you that can never be given back, something that will forever belong to me.”

“Sherl….”

His name died on her tongue, the moment forever lost in a loud shriek. Savagely and unceremoniously, he pried her virginal cunt open the way a predator rips at its prey’s throat. His massive shaft tore through her purity with no resistance to fight back against his brutal invasion.

Pain rattled its way through her entire entity while the dark spectacle of the loss of her innocence played right in front of her eyes, spurring grievous tears. Lost to the bliss of her warm cavern, Sherlock chanted in loud groans, continuing to force himself all the way between her squeezing walls. Remorseless of her cries, he never stopped until every hollow inch inside her was full of his cock and his sac smacked against her stuffed opening.

“My! You feel good!” He panted with astonishment, his virility twitching within the lush sanctuary between her thighs. Noxious pride flowed in his veins at the reflection of the naked young girl, spread open with him inside her.

“Do you like having me inside you, my little harlot?”

“God!” Vanessa screamed, stunned by the sensation of him swelling at her core. His invasion seared, her legs trembled against his in a plea to be kept together. But he only stretched her wider, hooking both hands below her thighs.

“It will feel good in a little while,” he promised and slowly shifted his hips back. Inch by inch, his cock slid out of her now defiled slit, coated by blood and a sheer layer of arousal. It was something of decadent theatrics; his broad chest puffed against her spine, a blissful hum leaving his bobbing throat at the image of the crimson stain that decorated his sword.

“From this moment and beyond, this belongs to me,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck and planting wicked, butterfly kisses along the tender slope, “do you understand? Your little cunny is my property, your moans, your pleasure, all belong to me.”

Her cunt clenched around nothing as she watched his full length slipping out, tainted by broken purity, the empty void leaving pure urgency to course through her tendons. Hopeless for something she couldn’t even recognise, she whined and writhed on top of him. Her eyes levitated from their sexes to meet his icy glare.

“Sherlock, please, more! Please put yourself back inside me!!!”

“Fuck!” Sherlock rasped in awe of her wanton, his control nearly lapsed. Fingers digging into her thighs, he undulated his hips and pulled her down the length of his throbbing erection. Low melodies of pleasure rolled on his tongue as her wet cunt pressed around him again.

Gawking at the mirror, she nearly fell apart in his arms, cries of daze escaped her as Sherlock's drove back into her sleek. Every bit of his flesh unfolding hers, disappearing within her body to defy the loneliness aching in her cove until his entire shaft was lost in her depth and the tip of his cock hit something lush and tender. She could have sworn she felt him waver deep in her gut.

“Sherlock!!!” she cried, shutting her eyes at the sharp twinge that shuddered through her core.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes, dove,” he warned, and the authority in his voice left her no choice but to obey. Wickedly, his fingers slithered to the little nub of flesh above her slit and ruthlessly tugged at it to expose more of her battered sex. He continued to pound into her mercilessly, quickening the rhythm with each one of his thrusts.

“Look at you, taking me so obediently. Perhaps I was wrong about you, perhaps you are easily tamed.”

The thick bones of his hips crashed into her rump vigorously, his girth violently splitting her protesting walls. He was fast, wet, and hard inside her, his cock drilling into her over and over, every plunge stripping more layers of her soul and pushing her higher toward the heavens.

Enslaved to the beguiling aphrodisiac, she squirmed on top of him, her body beginning to push down to meet every thrust. The vision of herself being brutally taken by the large, civilised beast made the blood pool at the seams of her womanhood and tingle with frustration.

A shuddering quake began to spread within her, spiralling out in a sequence of spasms sourced at the spot where they connected. Bliss and ecstasy shattered her body and a sudden flush of pleasure exploded through her body as she came all over his cock.

Engulfed in her milking cunt, Sherlock could hardly believe what beheld his eyes. His beautiful nymph, coming undone around him, ethereal and divine. Her blissful chants a song to his ears only, she was like dryad humming a hymn to call upon a lonesome hunter.

“‘My Vanessa, I wanted you for so long.” He called, fucking her wildly through her orgasm. “Tell me you want me to come inside you,” he choked out on his grunts, her sugary walls closing around his thickness like a predatory flower, demanding to suckle his sweet elixir.

Still riding her climax, she shook her head, hesitant of speaking such profanities. But the stern glower on Sherlock’s face instantly forced her into submission.

“I want you to come … come inside me!” She panted and then screamed as another wave of intense rapture swept her away.

Her squeezing cunt forced the thick stream to vibrated through his shaft, making him drill into her with zeal. His fingers clutched her waist as he slammed her down onto his swollen cock, burying himself the deepest he could. Vanessa yipped as something hot sprouted into her, flooding her womb like a soothing kiss that slowly began trickling between their tight flesh.

Still locked in an embrace, they shivered together. Soft maple hues glimmered over their wet skin, their bodies heaving against one another while a symphony of pants and gasps filled the silence.

Sherlock’s glaciers sought to capture her reflection, a dark, brooding look on his sweat-silken face while his lips ghosted over her shoulder. There was no question in the rough expression of his face.

Nothing spoke louder than the possessiveness that pierced through the sharp reflection.

~*~

A tender stream of sunshower kissed her lids awake. The cerulean sky winked at her through the open window while her senses gingerly regained their functions after what felt like graveyard slumber. Finding herself alone, she wondered for a moment if the night before was only a fantasy; but this bed was too soft and far too large, and the sensation of shame licking between her thighs told her otherwise.

Even in his absence, Sherlock’s presence lingered. His pungent sweat layered on her skin, and from her torn seal trickled the pearly, forbidden essence of his loins. She allowed herself a moment of coy bliss, pressing her lips upon her bare shoulder to kiss the taste of him off her flesh when the thud of inching footsteps and creaking wood made her sit up with fright as if her presence was forbidden.

Huddling the blankets around her chest, she gulped as the door flung open.

Already dressed in a clean shirt, a vest of golden brown, and a long black jacket, the hulking man offered her a small wrinkle on his brow. Fine silks were folded on his forearm, and his eyes fell upon the naked beauty in his bed. A shadow of dark desire danced upon his slanted smirk as he noticed the little inkling of dry blood on the edge of the mattress.

“Slept well, my little Nessie?” He asked, passing a finger over his neatly combed locks before gesturing for her to approach him. Obedient as ever, his little servant quickly climbed out, immediately regretting her haste as a spear split through her core. With jolting legs, she swallowed her discomfort and approached him with her head lowered to the floor.

“No, we will have none of this,” Sherlock chided, his finger stalking beneath her chin to fix her stare on his. Their gazes met for a shy second and then he stepped back, unfolding the fabrics held beneath his arm.

A waterfall of black and crimson flowed down, hanging from his hands.

Vanessa’s eyes rounded with wonder; being a woman of lower status, she never owned anything as beautiful and expensive as the dress he held before her.

“Lift your arms, dove,” Sherlock commanded and she did as he bid.

The soft fabrics felt like warm liquid washing over her skin as Sherlock carefully slipped the dress over her head. His hands smoothly roamed her body, tugging at the delicate fabric to fit over her figure. The tall detective stepped to stand at her back and began working the laces of the corset embedded into the gown.

One by one, he tightened the silk binds as he pulled at the laces. Vanessa slightly hissed when her breasts squished against the generous cleavage.

“Forgive me,” Sherlock mumbled as he heard her distress, “I am not used to such… arrangements.”

“Arrangements?” she asked naively, though it quickly dawned on her that her dear master never had a wife or a mistress, which didn’t come much as a surprise after witnessing his bohemian desires the night before. And yet, no regret touched her heart as Sherlock pressed his hand over her torso and perched his chin atop her head once again.

“Look at us.” His lustrous eyes carried to the mirror, guiding hers to follow as he stroked his hand lower to flatten the folds of her dress and pushed her hair over her shoulders with the other.

“Don’t we make a pair?”

Glancing forward, Vanessa took a deep inhale. Crimson and black were unusually beautiful as they graced her figure. The rim of the cleavage was beaded with fine black jewels that gave her appearance an elegant, yet erotic flavour.

Taken by her new design, she allowed herself to be swallowed into Sherlock’s beautiful darkness.

She wouldn’t have him without it.

___________________________________

Additional notes: I don’t own Sherlock Holmes or Enola Holmes franchise. Thanks to @wondersofdreaming @wolvesandhoundshowltogether and @sapphirescrolls for moral support.

#henry cavill #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x ofc #Henry Cavill fanfiction #henry cavill sherlock holmes #henry cavill x reader #sherlock holmes x reade #enola holmes fanfiction

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peeterparkr · 3 years

Text

jaundiced & surreptitious; Anthony Bridgerton

sham, pride and illicit affairs | fic masterlist

read part one here read part two here read part three here read part four here

summary: you once loved each other, your hand belongs to him but it’s promised to another.

jaundiced: affected by bitterness, resentment, or envy. surreptitious: kept secret, especially because it would not be approved of.

word count: 8.3k (sorry I like writing)

pairing: anthony bridgerton x reader

warnings: anthony is an idiot, this is really idiots who are lovers, like genuinely they’re so stupid. poor benedict has to deal with him.

wanna be tagged?

read part one here read part two here read part three here

next part.

Okaaaay so thank you so much for your support! I can’t believe you guys liked it as much as I did! Especial thanks to @steve-harringtonnn and @erodasghosts for helping me out with this chapter!!!

Anthony would often disregard the pain he’d felt before. He would never say it out loud but he had lost faith after his heart had been broken. The sun had never been as warm. Grieving was one of his favorite activities to live by, silently, to himself. The bloody-minded Anthony would die before ever admitting that his feelings had been impaired.

He was obstinate, he was well aware of that. And he was scared, and he wondered where he’d gathered the courage to walk through the crowds to her two nights before, as if it hadn’t pained him. Perchance his pride had led him there, or maybe his broken heart looking to be healed did. The wandering thoughts that would cease every so often.

Anthony loved to mourn, or make sure people think he was mourning. He often tried to be the smartest person in the room, he always failed. But he tried, and he counted himself on it.

He was flawed, he knew that. But he would try his best, so he’d pride himself on. However he could not forgive himself for being flawed enough to be rejected by Y/N.

Her eyes were carved in his mind, and he’d be reminded of her every morning when the sun dared to warm his skin, and with every flower petal that he saw her eyes would find their way back to his most wounded intellect, her eyes were her biggest sin, though he could be blamed for other blunders, he thought her sight was the biggest offense, for her eyes could see through any of his lies and hypnotize him enough to lose his reason, or the lack of it. How inconvenient he found that every beautiful morning belonged to her, and it would only hurt his heart. How inconvenient was it that her entire soul mesmerized him.

It was hard not to see her as a villain, however, maybe that’s why he tried avoiding the music, dancing was but another warning, triggering him of the night he’d seen the dress flying as she vacated the ballroom. And every time he found himself in the middle of a ballroom, he felt agony and despair. Anthony had always feared death, but he realized that he had already died once, when she’d left the ballroom. Being away from her had killed Anthony, and to be dead while still having to survive could be one of the most dreadful and painful things to endure. Anthony was now sure he’d died on that night, and he was sure that whatever death might feel like it wouldn’t be as painful as to be away from her. He thought his pain would be forever, that eternal sorrow.

His hand had felt cold since she’d left. Though, one could argue that his hand had been warm since the night before, as if he’d finally come back to life. The act, as most immoral as it was, had been the closest he’d been to a heavenly discovery of love and life. A very magnificent distraction.

There was light again.

He would deny it, but the darkness was the time he felt the loneliest, hence why he had searched for Sienna’s love, an escape from the life he would’ve loved with y/n. He was so desperate to be covered on something else, to erase y/n from his body that he’d try to find the closest thing to love on someone.

Worst thing had been he did find it, in a very unconventional way.

He would rather be a rake to the world than to ever admit that he had been broken-hearted. A man shall never seem weak to the world, though he was broken. Hushed to the night.

Yet, now he wanted to scream to the world that he was loved by the woman he loved. An iridescent glow coming from his chest, as he rode back home.

He had chosen the prettiest of the flowers, though they were very little to recommend and they’d look pathetic and sad beside the beautiful woman.

Anthony never liked being seen as a fool, yet he should not mind looking like one with her. Why would he be ashamed to say he’d fallen for such a remarkable lady.

Gardenias and peonies. He knew she’d love them. Not roses this time, he found the roses to be very contrasting to the delicate gardenias.

He couldn’t hide his eagerness as he’d arrived at his former household. Though he had not slept, he couldn’t have more energy. He hopped to the drawing room, in expectation to see the possible suitors that would come for Eloise, though she was not eager for them, and was rather trying to avoid any significant encounter.

Anthony couldn’t hide the beam, as he tried the sweets that his mama had displayed.

Eloise was plopped on the couch beside Benedict, as Violet tried to beg her to sit with grace and poise. Eloise had the latest copy of Lady Whistledown as Benedict tried to peek and read.

“Stop reading that nonsense,” Anthony said. “Such a lovely morning, is it not?”

Benedict scrunched his nose at his brother, mostly confused. Anthony stole one of the desserts Benedict had on his plate earning a groan from him.

Lady Violet watched her son, “I would like to address your behavior last night.”

The younger siblings smirked, knowing well that though their brother was an adult, he would often yet be scolded by their mama.

Benedict chuckled, “How come, mama, his behavior was rather impeccable.”

Eloise giggled. Anthony glared at his siblings.

“To suggest a fake proposal,” Lady Violet said with severity. “Most imposing irrationality. You shall not play with such calamities.”

“Do not worry, mama, a real proposal shall come soon enough, I shall be more rational in the future, ” Anthony declared. “Just this morning I sent Lady y/n flowers to thank her for her… most stimulating company,” Anthony coughed. “And as an apology for my behavior.”

His younger siblings looked up with confusion.

“Are you going to propose to Lady Y/N?” Asked Eloise.

Anthony cleared his throat, “I did not… say that.”

Eloise frowned. “Did you not find her disagreeable? Or why else were you bickering-?”

“Please, Eloise, that is Anthony’s way of courting, and I’m sure Y/N found it just as stimulating and flattering,” Benedict hissed.

Eloise cackled, “as if y/n would rejoice in any avow Anthony could make.”

“How come, brother you seem to be captured again in some possible infatuation when only last night you merely only barked towards the Lady?” Benedict inquired. Anthony tried to avoid his brother’s remarks.

Of course, he would not tell them how his night had been accomplished, and how the despair had transformed into a very pleasant evening. He shall keep the secret for it was, though most pleasant, very unsuitable and outrageous for the standards of the society. Though Anthony did bear some guilt for the scandal and the impropriety he thought it was most formidable to try and deny the linkage had been but an ardent reminder of his noble sentiments for the woman.

“As you mentioned, brother,” Anthony remarked snarkly, “Lady y/n and I share a very perplexing demeanor to show our affection towards each other.”

“Perplexing? Stupid, you mean,” Benedict mocked.

“Is there affection?” Lady Violet inquired.

Anthony huffed, “I guess there is no reason for me to harbor and censure my sentiments anymore,” he admitted. “However I shall not give any other explanation to this subject.”

Benedict glared, “Why the sudden change? I thought you did not regard y/n so dearly.”

Anthony paced around the room nervously, he did not want to address his feelings. How stupid would it be to admit he felt alive, and that he was entranced by her.

“She is a good friend,” Anthony alleged. “Why are you enquiring my sentiments? I would’ve believed you’d be wallowed with my announcement.”

His mother grinned, “I am.”

“I am not,” Benedict laughed. “Forgive me, but you can understand my confusion, are you suggesting you are friends now?”

“We have been,” Anthony hissed. “In any case, I’ve always been fond of her.”

“I must signal how your bickering has hindered us from believing there is some kind of attachment,” Eloise pointed out as she watched her eldest brother.

Anthony rolled his eyes, it had been a point in their bickering, to hide to them and themselves really. But really, challenging each other was but their way of admiring their wit. Anthony was stunned, not only with her beauty but with the way she spoke her mind. He was always left wanting more when it came to her, she rarely gave him anything but a headache, and apparently that was something very compelling to earn his heart. Not sure why.

Benedict laughed, “I think I understand now Eloise, we seem to have forgotten how big of a fool our brother is, the elusiveness Anthony has shown towards Lady Y/N has been but a lame attempt to tempt Miss Y/N and delude her enough for her to give some attention to our brother. Has it not?”

“Has it succeeded?” Inquired Eloise.

The night before was only proof it had. And it had not been elusiveness, he was transfixed on the lady’s wit, he couldn’t keep up with her, that was the reason. He was dotted with her surliness, the way she’d wag his words. Anthony loved being a fool for her, such a capable woman she was. However, it shall be noted he loved being fooled by her intellect and the false peevishness, not by her exclusion.

“What has?” Questioned Colin, as he had walked into the drawing room. Lady Violet was rather annoyed the only men in the room were but her own children and not any possible suitor for Eloise.

“Anthony’s bickering,” Eloise looked up, as she reached for a box of sweets to nibble by her own. “Apparently his arrogance and stupidity were but to woo Miss Y/N,” explained Eloise.

Anthony winced,“May we change the subject? I believe it is a matter of more importance—“

Colin laughed, interrupting him. “I believe those attempts have succeeded, were you not here last night? Was Miss Y/N not looking forward to not running away this time? Even after Anthony suggested such a scandalous scheme?”

Anthony rolled his eyes, “Are you not to go elsewhere?”

Benedict grinned, “Why? Are you not to share with him your news?”

“News?” Colin frowned with curiosity.

“Apparently our brother might attempt to court Miss Y/N,” Benedict mocked. “I believe.”

Colin faked surprise, “Really? Are we suggesting that Anthony could have any sort of sentiments that aren't self depreciation and remorse?”

Benedict and Eloise laughed, hardly. Their mother only directed a glare towards them.

“How amusing,” Anthony barked. “However, if you must know, there is affection towards her and I must try and delight her,” Anthony cleared his throat, Benedict snickered. “And I hope she gives me the honour of accepting my hand.”

He knew that the bomb he had dropped would be enough to shut his siblings. And it was.

Lady Violet smiled, ignoring her sons and daughter’s remarks. “Are you really planning on proposing?”

Anthony tried to hide his excitement, and embarrassment, for the matter, he’d never been keen on showing any kind of excitement for any infatuation. Besides, he didn’t believe it himself, how he would dare to propose. “I am not sure where my compliments might take me, however I am not here to talk about my attention and regards to Lady Y/N, we are here to try and persuade any respectable man to bestow any attention to our lovely sister.”

“However, you shall make sure your infatuation is reciprocated,” Benedict advised. “Be sure the lady will not leave amidst dancing.”

“I believe it was Anthony the person who gave me the advice that eventually my heartbreak from Miss Thompson would disappear, and that it would be as if I had never loved her at all.”

Anthony glared.

“Yet he is going after the person who broke his heart, did your own precepts fail you?” Colin asked.

It was something that did bother Anthony, and that he did fear, he knew y/n to be the most unexpected and inopportune to make her decisions. She often hesitated and reconsidered her thoughts Y/N was very volatile and her emotions would go from extreme affection to utter rage and while it was something he often appreciated, it was something he feared now. He feared the remainder of his heart would be scattered across the place. Anthony would never say out loud how much he feared ballrooms now. Almost as much as he feared bees, but he wouldn’t ever admit it. He knew he was but a fool to fall for y/n, eerie and untamable. He didn’t regret it, however.

Anthony coughed, “I could’ve never erased my feelings for her.”

Eloise glared at him and then finally turned to her copy of Lady Whistledown. Anthony rolled his eyes, it was no secret he didn’t like reading Lady Whistledown. He would try and not feed her with anything. He was definitely not a vivid reader. He found her rather vapid, if he were honest. He was never a fan of gossip and avoided it, most of the time. However, since Lady Y/N’s arrival, he could not help but read whatever Lady Whistledown could say of her, just to feed his dislike against her. She spoke of y/n in a way that was most repulsive. Derision seemed to be the only language the woman spoke.

He did not like the way the pesky Lady Whistledown spoke of y/n, or her history with him, if he was to be honest. Anthony resented that she’d written about his own pride and his heartbreak when there was barely any information he understood himself about it. It was for them to know.

However, he was rather relieved that Lady Whistledown did not know of the… affairs he’d held with Lady Y/N. Though now guilt was killing him, he did not regret it. He felt alive whenever he was with her, and he didn’t feel alive often.

After the heartbreak, he had decided to lock his heart and never use it again. Though Sienna had managed to almost get it back, his heart had not felt the warmest but until the night before.

And though he had promised to never use his heart again, there he was again, with a foolish smile.

“She is talking about you again,” Eloise pointed out. “And Lady Y/N-”

Anthony chuckled, “Expected,” he commented. “Now, dear sister, there is no soul here and I must say this is not my fault,” he cleared out. “I have not jostled any suitors from you, I know better.”

Benedict scoffed, “She jostles them herself, no need for us to.”

Violet took a deep breath. Anthony smirked as he picked up a cup of tea.

Eloise turned cold as she finished reading. “She is to be married-”

“Who is?” Violet grinned. “You? Most certainly-”

“No, mama,” Eloise commented, and then watched Anthony. “Y/N’s hand is promised to Lord Collins.”

The cup of tea shattered on the floor, though the Bridgertons were not sure if the shattering porcelain had been what they’d heard breaking. Anthony’s face had gone stiff and pale.

“I beg your pardon?” Was all he managed to ask.

“It says it here,” Eloise explained.

Violet snatched the paper from her daughter, “Is she toying with the lack of heart Anthony Bridgerton holds and is she trying to fool everyone just to appeal more to Lord Collins, who according to the ton has her hand promised already?” Read out loud.

“Did you know about this, mama?” Questioned Collin.

“I certainly did not,” Violet assured her son, and turned to the eldest who was going through a very familiar feeling. He did not say a thing, he only clenched his jaw and widened his eyes.

There he was again, transported back to the night when the moon had not made an appearance, and when the poison had flourished from the floor to apprehend him down to his sorrow. He felt as he had been pushed off yet again down a precipice.

Benedict and Colin only watched him, expecting the very worst. Instead, Anthony only took a deep breath. Anthony despised having his heart broken, and instead decided to be angry, for its a manlier sentiment. He stormed off the room anyway, quietly.

“Am I supposed to follow after?” Questioned Benedict, and then proceeded to, seeing as his brother rushed down the stairs and off the household. “Anthony!” He broodingly called.

Anthony pushed his way through, not noticing there were gentlemen going up to see his sister, he was rather too angry to even add more jealousy to his displeasure.

“Anthony,” Benedict called again.

Anthony ignored.

Benedict ran this time to stop his brother, stopping the fuming man as he glared at him. “What?”

“I believe I should stop you before you do anything stupid, which judging by your look, you’re on your way to do so,” Benedict barked not letting Anthony through.

Anthony gave him a warning glare, “Let me through.”

“You’re being an idiot,” Benedict said.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to do,” Anthony said

“And that is why I must stop you,” Benedict said. “If I don’t know you any better you’re on your way to kill Lord Collins.”

Anthony scoffed, he had not thought of that idea but now he found it rather exhorting. “I am on my way to speak to the Lady,” he tried walking through but Benedict stopped him once again.

“Shall I know what’s going on through your head? Last night you both were opposed to even being on the same room and then this morning you come with the idea of proposing, I do not even know what is-”

“I love her,” Anthony snapped. “That is what is going on through my head.”

“How did you even change your mind-” Benedict paused and then watched his brother. “Did you go and see her?” He asked in a faint whisper.

Anthony coughed and looked elsewhere, “I did not, I just realized my childish act was but an antic to evade my actual feelings for her.”

Benedict did not buy it. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t see a reason why you shouldn’t,” Anthony glowered.

“You really don’t?” Benedict bristled. “What amuses me is that you try to justify your childish acts and stupidity with love when we are both aware those are but a matter of your personality.”

“How amusing,” Anthony scowled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Benedict grabbed him by his arm, “I shall think you know better than to go and throw a tantrum to Miss Y/N. I know you’re capable of fucking up, but this goes beyond your usual behavior.”

Anthony opened his mouth to defend himself but knew he couldn’t actually contradict him. “I do not plan on throwing a tantrum, I will only recover the flowers I sent her this morning, I find it improper to try and court an engaged lady.”

“So you will not fight for her, then?” Benedict queried, astonied.

Anthony did not know if he could. “Shall you suggest I do?”

Benedict coughed, “I would think it would be reasonable but… In a civil way, not in an Anthony way.”

“An Anthony way?” He questioned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Since her arrival your stupidity has escalated in immeasurable ways, I certainly am very impressed because I did not believe that to be possible and yet you are here,” Benedict cackled.

Anthony glared.

“Look,” Benedict sighed. “We could give this more thoughts, and see the best way we can proceed with this, however, today we shall get our lovely sister to the park, she needs to be seen,” he reminded him. “You can be stupid later.”

He would, Anthony knew. He was the most illogical human being when it came to Lady Y/N, and he did not know how to proceed. He was lying, he actually had planned on throwing a tantrum to her, for he was not yet to be fooled again and let there standing like a complete idiot.

And a complete idiot you were too, you were the one in need to throw a tantrum, for you did not want to meet Lord Collins and you certainly did not want to be betrothed to him. You were well aware that he was a fair gentleman, and you knew he was one of the most eligible bachelors the ravenous mamas were hunting for, but you did not want anything to do with him.

You thought of it, the possibility to ruin your reputation, it could be a way to untangle yourself from said arrangement. What if you admitted that you were corrupted? How big of a scandal would it be?

No, you would not dare to bring Anthony down. Not now that he was being so soft to you, and that was not Anthony in the slightest. Though it did surprise you he had not yet stormed into the room like the complete idiot he was.

Had he… read it?

You knew Anthony better, he probably did not follow the gossip, and if you were lucky he’d think that Lady Whistledown was but inventing things. She was not but if he used any kind of reasonable sense he would know better. But this was Anthony and he used anything but his mind to think, and he would not be reasonable. He never was before and you doubted he’d be now.

“I cannot marry him,” you said to Lady Danbury, who had been watching you pace around the drawing room for a while now. The flowers Anthony had sent were displayed in the middle of the room.

You were not sure but you could tell Lady Danbury suspected something, she’d always been observant but the woman’s stare was telling, she could easily see past your sweating hands.

“I’m afraid I’m not the one to make that decision,” Lady Danbury commented.

“Shall I write a letter to my father to beg him to not offer my hand?” You asked. “Don’t I have any saying on it? It’s my hand.”

“I would think you’d need to have another proposal,” The woman explained to you. “However, I am not sure if there will be any more.”

“There might be,” you mumbled, and continued to rush through the room, as if moving faster would get your thoughts fast, too. “Can I reject his hand?” You questioned.

“He will grant you security,” Lady Danbury watched you, “He is a respectable man.”

“I am well aware he is.”

But I do not… love him, you thought.

Yes, the man was respectable, and a very handsome one, but rather cliched. Eager, but the man was rather thoughtless. You knew his conversation was boring, only compliments and questions about the weather, he was very boring. Always agreeing, and what fun was it in someone always agreeing with you. And he liked to talk about the moon and made it seem like the most horrendous and tedious thing to ever be seen, he liked to talk about anything, but not any kind of pleasant conversation. Very tiresome if you must admit, full of banalities.

Probably you’d have a very insipid life if you were to marry such a bland and hacky man. One that most ladies would want, however.

Anthony, on the other hand, the brooding and plucky man, always had you on the edge. He was an adventure for you. He was incredibly handsome. Or maybe he wasn’t and it was just your nonsensical sentiments for him blinding you.

“Lord Collins can offer an idyllic calm life.”

“I can recognize that,” You admitted, you made your way to the window, a window where you’d talked to Anthony the day before. You took a deep breath, you could see the back house in the garden, a place that you found most intimate now. That was idyllic for you, the taste of his lips, to feel like it’s a June afternoon when it’s a cold December morning only because his smile warned your heart just enough.

You were sure Lord Collins wouldn’t be able to offer that, and that he would not like to avoid the balls because he loved them, though you despised them. You knew he would not listen to your piano forte, though the melodies you played were very tepid, and telling.

You knew you’d have to walk through his household, bored every morning and share the most ordinary conversations, leading to a miserable life, only because your hand had been promised to a man who you did not love, but who was adequate. Only because your instability had not been able to accept the proposal of whom your heart held dear.

You still stared at the cottage where you could see the shadows of your hands. What if you escaped? Forever. Would he escape with you if you dared to ask him?

“I presume security is the outcome expected from a marriage,” you said. “Love is a bonus, is it not?”

Lady Danbury yanked her head. “I suppose so.”

“Is marriage really only but a security arrangement? Or is it merely to satisfy men's lust and appetite.”

The woman coughed in surprisement, “I would rather not engage on such improper subjects of conversation.”

“Is it not?” You frowned. “I believe marriage to be only that, to bare children, to relieve men from their sins. Build a legacy.”

“I believe marriage is also to prospere,” Lady Danbury added. “When a marriage is founded on love then it shall be the most prosperous, not sinful.”

“Yet here I am, with an offer to a disagreeable partnership,” you barked. “I thought those arrangements to be deemed contemptible.

“Lord Collins is not disagreeable,” Lady Danbury coaxed.

You sighed, “I guess not, he is a fair man, and most kind,” you admitted. You didn’t want to give in to your fate just yet. Seemed old fashioned, very 18th century. You were assumed to tolerate him, and you knew your father would not choose a beast for a husband for you. However, you did not want to dread this, to be offered tolerance and not love was an atrocious destiny. “I presume he can offer me a calm life.”

Lady Danbury watched you, “However, Lord Bridgerton might be able to offer such a life, too.”

You smiled, “He most certainly would not.”

She raised her eyebrows, “Oh?”

“No, not calm, Anthony is anything but calm,” you chuckled. “Maybe that is why the life he could offer me would be most enticing.”

You knew that it would be fun, exciting. And that he would not mind if you woke up early to see the dawn, and he would join you and not expect you to be the most respectable lady, but he’d respect you, if you wanted to be respected that is .

Lady Danbury only caressed the flower petals and walked to you. You needed to perish the thoughts of love, though.

“You’re never one to watch with melancholy,” She pointed out.

“Oh, I certainly am, gloomy as I can be, and am I expected not to?” You wondered. It was the worst chastise one could have possibly thought for you, to marry a boring man. To marry to tolerate.

“I guess not,” she admitted.

You sighed.

“He is yet to propose,” Lady Dabury remarked with mischief. “I know Lord Collins is respectable enough to want to court you properly.”

“He wants to court me?” You questioned.

Lady Danbury smirked. “Yes, though he is aware your hand is promised to him, he is someone who will pursue your love.”

“My heart belongs to another,” you stated. “He will find it rather impossible to pursue my love.”

Lady Danbury chuckled, “How impossible?”

“Only one man has been able to conquer my heart, and his way of doing so was rather eerie and unusual.”

Lady Danbury smiled.

“I must ask, do you believe that if I ensure another proposal I might be able to rid myself of such entanglement?” You questioned. “After all, he’s not yet asked for my hand.”

“Do you think you could ensure it?”

“Probably already have,” you said.

“And who may that be?” Lady Danbury asked, not because she did not know but because she wanted you to say it out loud.

Before you could, a servant announced, “Lord Collins is here.”

Your heart stopped, your bethrote. And suddenly the perfect morning you had had just hours ago had disappeared. You knew you could not stop the rain from falling but this particular sorrow was not the best way to receive the man who had your hand promised. You would not be able to smile and you would not be able to have any kind of courtesy.

He walked in, though, the man was clean and proper. Handsome, with flowers. Red roses, freshly cut you could see. You saw one petal fall down as he approached you. How convenient, you thought, for you could find the petal on the floor more interesting.

It felt cold, and you were unaware why. You’d fancied yourself in love with another man who was not offered your hand.

“Lady y/n, good morning,” he said. “How radiant you are this morning.”

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes, you were never fond of compliments. You also had the urge to run away. You wouldn’t, though it was tempting. He was a respectable gentleman, and respected he should be, no matter the opinions you held of him. You found him very dull.

Lady Danbury nudged you lightly, seeing as you had only remained quiet with your eyes wide open and with a wide strained smile.

“My apologies, I seem to be inattentive this morning,” you answered. “Good Morning, my Lord,” you said. “Thank you for your compliments, and flowers.”

Lady Danbury watched you with dashing hopes.

“I was hoping I could tempt you with a promenade on this fine day,” Lord Collins grinned. “I know how fond you are of walking.”

“How lovely,” you said.

How dreadful, you thought. You were, though, fond of walking. Gave peace to your mind, and it had helped you those months before, to try and suppress the memory of the eldest Bridgerton. It had most certainly failed you.

Before you could even think of escaping, you found yourself promenading with Lord Collins, the sunlight was indeed lovely, and there was barely any sign of the storm from the night before. Lady Danbury was following shortly behind.

Was there any sign of your compromised body? You wondered if they could tell, maybe it was noticeable.

You wondered if Lady Danbury noticed how jaded you were, as you faked to listen to the man talk, and talk, and talk. Whoever told men they were interesting to listen to was clearly deaf or another idiotic man, for who could ever find joy in listening to such banal and brainless individuals. However, he did not cease his talking. He never listened to you, you’d barely said any words.

It gave you time to go away to whatever world you could escape to, and you thought about how much Anthony did listen. He did converse with you, and he did listen, mostly, you knew, because he loved to pride himself on being brooding and pensive and quiet. You could say that it was because he was but a fool and not a single thought roamed his mind, but whatever his reasons were, you loved that he would listen, even if it was only to contend and fuss you.

There was magic in Lord Collins, you had to accept that. The man was so interested in listening to his own thoughts that he did not realize you were not nearly even paying a gram of attention to him. You guessed that if you did end up wedded to this man, the positive outcome was you did not have to try and pretend to be interested, for he would not notice.

Your mind was trying to find a way to reject him, knowing that Lord Collins was honorable enough to accept your rejection. But how would you reject him?

Why had it been so easy to reject Anthony, the man you loved, but it came nowhere as easy to reject Lord Collins, a man who you had no sentiment for, perchance just indifference. And would you even be able to? Your hand was promised, and though you believed Lord Collins to be a fine gentleman, you knew he could show his dark side, every man had one.

Though you’d met him before, he had claimed to love you. Lord Collins had once said it to you.

But you didn’t love him, you couldn’t possibly. How could you? After Anthony, no one would ever touch your soul and heart like he had. Though he was a wrecked mess, he was the man who you decided to hold dear to your heart.

Perhaps you could admit you were corrupted, and maybe Lord Collins would end the disgraceful engagement that was yet to come.

Your glance diverted on the park, the trees and the flowers that had bloomed this season, lovely, or so bad Lord Collins pointed out. The other couples trying to court, and their respective chaperones. Vicious mamas in the haunt, some of them sending you the most unwelcoming glares.

You were walking near the tents, you saw the Featheringtons’, with their bright colored clothing, you wondered how they could be so deficient in their clothing taste. You did not know what had happened to them, a man was standing nearby and you knew barely anything about their story after Lord Featherington passed. Penelope was your favorite of the Featheringtons, you often believed her to not belong in such a pitiful family. You acquainted them from before, knowing that Prudcence and Philippa often showed their slight infatuation with Anthony. You never blamed them but thought of it rather foolishly. Though at some point you did find it annoying, how dare them fancy the same man you did, though you were thankful that Anthony saw them as piteous as you did. You wondered if they had continued to try and impress them with their dubious talents, you had nothing against them, honestly, before you’d learned their infatuation you liked them just fine, however after learning they fancied him, you were not as courteous with your regards.

It was no secret you were a jealous person, but Anthony was, too so it balanced. You always were thankful that Anthony despised dancing, as much as you did. You barely could deny any invitation to dance but at least he did not dance with anyone else.

You kept your way, and then another tent was seen, the Bridgertons. Displaying the family in their splendour, as they were sitting , with Eloise quite unamused. You knew she’d rather be dead than to face any possible forms of courting.

Your breath failed you, as the dress felt rather tense. You did not want to see the Bridgertons and you knew Eloise had most definitely already read Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers. She would know, and besides, the man was by your own side.

Lord Collins, still absorbed in his own conversation, pranced beside you. You tried not to see the family, knowing that they’d end up feeling your stare and Anthony would see you.

Did he know?

But your glance could not be stopped, as you then glanced again, and it had been as if it was planned, for his sight was locked with yours. His eyes widened as he watched you. With terror.

In all honesty, all you wanted to do was to drop and shove Lord Collins out of the way and run to the man who’d compromised you, body and soul, but who you loved nonetheless.

But he was glaring at you. Or at Lord Collins, or at both.

You saw him quickly rise to his feet, for he had been plopped on a stool. He didn’t do anything but to stare at you, as if with merely staring he’d be able to get the man away from you. His eyes tried to work as daggers, and they often did, his glance though most adoring to you, was now nothing but frightening.

You knew Anthony well enough to know he was tormenting with jealousy, and if you knew him well enough, you could tell he was idiotic enough to believe that Lord Collin’s sentiments were reciprocated.

Anthony was fuming, though you were not sure if it was jealousy, or if he believed to be fooled again. You wished it was only jealousy.

He was about to walk your way, but you saw Benedict rise to stop him, he failed.

Anthony was making his way to you even when his family had tried to call for him. He ignored them, he was good at doing that.

Lord Collins wasn’t even aware of how you had lost your breath and how you had held some type of staring contest with the oldest Bridgerton, whose hands were in fists as he decided to go on a different route instead, Benedict on his heels. You watched him approach the Featheringtons, you saw eagerness in Lady Featherington as she ushered Philippa to join Anthony.

You scowled, what in the world was the man doing? You believed him to be stupid, but stupid enough to make a Featherington join him in his promenade was rather a most idiotic decision.

Your eyes were glued to him, unbeknownst to Lord Collins, as Philippa was rather ungraceful as she walked along Anthony. Benedict was also joined by the other sister, Prudence, who also seemed to be happy to be joined by a Bridgerton. You could listen to their absurd giggles from afar.

Did Lord Bridgerton think the Featheringtons would bring you jealousy? If anything the animosity was for the thought alone that he would think it would bother you.

But Anthony was walking fast, and poor Philippa could barely keep up with him, you chuckled to yourself, it was amusing to think the poor girl believed she was actually being courted and rather not used as a jealousy device.

“Collins,” Anthony called as he was close enough, Philippa watched you. “Lady Y/N, how delightful to see you both here.”

Benedict threw an apologetic stare at you, before yanking his brother’s arm. Prudence gushed after.

“Lord Bridgerton,” Collins gave him an unfeigned smile, as he was finally restored from his conversation. “Such a fortunate coincidence, ladies, how beautiful you look this morning.”

You wondered how big of a coincidence it was.

“Anthony,” you quickly said but then cleared your throat, “My apologies, Lord Bridgerton, how delightful to encounter you,” you said. “Philippa, Prudence,” you smiled at them as they tried to not glare at you. “Lord Bridgerton,” you saw Benedict struggling to keep a calm facade.

“Forgive me, I shall defer my raptures for another occasion,” Benedict said. “I’m afraid we are promenading with these ladies,,” he tried pulling Anthony back but the man did not move.

“I am sure you can keep promenading just fine, Benedict,” Anthony warned. “It won’t hurt us to engage in some conversation.”

“Who would’ve thought we would concur here?” Lady Danbury said from behind as she approached you. “Lords Bridgerton, ladies.”

“Lady Danbury, may I say you look astonishing,” Anthony said and then directed his glance at you.

Lady Danbury watched him with suspicion. “I’m flattered,” she said. “I’m pleased to see you gentlemen opportuning this lovely day to parade with these ladies.”

Philippa grinned, as she kept watching Lord Bridgerton’s face, as if his face had some kind of magnet she had to be glued to.

You thought of it pathetic, from Anthony of course, as you could see his obvious chagrin. You knew that he was not fond of them, because they were always trying to raise their… talents, if one must call it that way, to find a proper husband. They often failed.

“It is a lovely day,” Anthony agreed. “Seems to be the proper weather after having to engage on such a turbulent night, the storm was unpleasant.”

“Was it, my Lord?” You quickly enquired. “I would have believed you were very fond of the rain, and… turbulent storms.”

Anthony glanced at you, he was disappointed but he knew you did not talk about the rain. “You are mistaken,” he said severely. “I do not like to fret on the rain when I am not well aware if it will cease. I find uncertainty disturbing.”

“I believe the rain to be rather bitter,” Philippa intruded.

You did not even look at her, “I do not,” you said. “I believe we can find beauty in the rain for most dreary that it can be, especially when it offers such a sight.”

Lord Collins grinned, “I agree with Miss Y/N, the rain is rather soothing.”

Anthony scoffed, “Of course it is soothing, when you’re aware the sun will eventually dawn.”

This was not about the rain. But neither the Featheringtons or Lord Collins was aware of that.

“I believe the rain to be essential,” Lady Danbury interrupted. “We shall enjoy the beauty of it when it starts and when it dares to cease,” she spoke starkly. “However, Lord Bridgerton, I must praise you for the flowers you sent this morning, they were lovely, were they not, Miss Y/N?”

Lord Collins blinked in surprise. “Flowers?”

Philippa scowled at you.

“Lovely, indeed, thank you, Lord Bridgerton for the most exquisite flowers,” you said.

Anthony ignored your sight.

“Flowers?” Lord Collins asked again.

“Yes, I sent Miss Y/N some flowers to thank her for her company last night,” Anthony said with arrogance, you blushed immediately knowing exactly for what company he was thanking you for. “She joined my family and I for a lovely dinner. Besides I find the lady to be deserving of the most magnificent flowers.”

Benedict frowned watching between Anthony and you.

Philippa cleared her throat, “I love flowers,” she commented.

“How considerate,” Lord Collins said, you could tell he was not fond of Anthony. He was probably aware of Anthony’s proposal, or attempt to propose, and it was no secret that in your past season, Anthony would not leave your side.

“Yes, her favorite,” Anthony continued, ignoring the lady beside him.

“Roses?” Lord Collins questioned.

“I like roses,” Philippa commented.

“Gardenias,” Anthony snarked with a smirk. “She’s fond of gardenias, are you not, Miss?”

“I find all flowers delightful, however I do have an attachment for gardenias,” you admitted. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton for remembering.”

He wanted to scoff, he cleared his throat instead. “My pleasure,” he said. “ I must admit the true reason for me to approach you,” Anthony slurred his words with poison. “I recently became acquainted with the news, so I am here to congratulate the two of you, I heard about your engagement.”

He knew, then.

Benedict squeezed his eyes shut, he seemed tired of his brother.

You blinked with fake surprise, “Engagement? Oh, we are but promenading, I was not aware walking led to a betrothal. Shall I assume you and lovely Philippa are to be married as well?” You asked with a smug smirk, knowing he’d be bothered.

He was, Anthony glared at you. He knew you were faking ignorance.

Lord Collins huffed, “You flatter me, Bridgerton, thinking I am already to be married to this beautiful lady, however, I know better than to assume the Lady will marry me without a proper proposal.”

“I think I’d be aware if I was to be married,” you hissed.

“Absolutely, you would be aware, how could you not?” Anthony raised his eyebrow.

Benedict watched, “Seems that this is the first time the lady hears of the news.”

“It happens to be the first time,” you lied.

“How convenient,” Anthony said with gritted teeth. “Well, I am not to engage in gossip, however-”

“Lady Whistledown announced it,” Philippa commented

“Yes,” Anthony confirmed. “The ton happened to be loud enough for your engagement to be announced on Lady Whistledown’s society papers.”

“Well, if we were to believe everything she writes then I’d be worried if I were you,” You claimed watching Anthony. “She seems to not be fond of you, my Lord. Are you suggesting we shall believe everything she writes?”

Anthony clenched his jaw.

“The Lady’s right,” Lord Collins said.

Anthony cackled, “Excellent news then,” Anthony said. “I offer my apologies to you, both.”

Lord Collins watched him with disdain.

“Is your hand not promised, then?” Asked Prudence, finally making an appearance behind Benedict.

Everyone turned to her, but Anthony directed the most special glare at her. No one dared to say a thing.

“Fair question,” Anthony intruded.

“And one that is too bold to be enquired,” Lady Danbury stepped in. “I advice you young Lady not to meddle in Miss Y/N’s business, and rather take care of your own matters.”

“The Lady shall decide if she concedes me the honor to take her hand,” Lord Collins answered.

Anthony chuckled, “I shall wish you good fortunes.”

You took a deep breath.

Benedict cleared his throat, “I believe we shall continue our stroll.”

Anthony did not move.

“Excellent idea,” You conceded. “We shall not waste the lovely weather, a promenade is most invigorating.”

“Shall I suggest walking and talking, then?” Offered Anthony. “I think the activities are not exclusive.”

You closed your eyes, you did not want to continue engaging in the conversation.

“How amusing you’re suggesting that, Lord Bridgerton,” You poisoned. “Here I would have assumed you’d rather have some solitary time with ravishing Miss Featherington here,” you derided.

Philippa grinned.

He raised his eyebrows, he was trying to tell if you were jealous. You were not, if anything you were amused of the entanglement he’d dragged himself into with his attempt of bothering you.

“Are you not finding this conversation pleasing?” Anthony questioned you. “I would have believed you to be more fond of conversing.”

You chuckled, “I rather be taciturn and quiet.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he smirked. “Shall we?” He started to walk. You directed a glare at his younger brother who only sighed.

Lord Collins raised his brow, “The Lady is quiet, I do not know why you’d find that hard to believe.”

Anthony laughed somberly, “You seem to be puzzled, Collins,” Anthony remarked. “Miss y/l/n is never quiet, unless she is engaged in other kinds of activities.”

He was being an arse.

“Other activities?” Philippa questioned.

“Lord Bridgerton is speculating,” You cleared up. “I assume he is suggesting I’m quiet when I play the pianoforte, or embroider.”

“Absolutely,” Anthony grinned. “However, I’ve been acquainted with you my whole life and I must remark you’re a woman who finds interest in chatter.”

He was mocking you.

“Not when I find it impertinent,” you sassed.

Lord Collins smiled, “A talented and accomplished woman.”

Anthony raised his brow, watching him. He was hurt, but he then proceeded to watch you as if asking you if you were serious with this.

You tried to look away, you could not believe how big of an arse he was and you could not believe his stupidity. Had he suggested you were aware of the engagement? And would he do anything about it or just keep being an arse? If he rushed his proposal he might be able to free you, however you knew Anthony to be an idiot. And you knew the man to be su full of his pride, that he would possibly try to be the biggest idiot he could before making any reasonable statements. You were in the need to have a word with him.

Lord Collins started talking again, Philippa listened this time. Eagerly. Seemed like the pair was rather absorbed in their own conversation for your own fortune. Behind, Benedict was trying to not die of awkwardness as Prudence and him were not even trying to engage in small talk. Not even about the weather.

Anthony was only peeping at you every now and then, brows furrowed. You slowed your pace, letting Lord Collins be wrapped in his words enough to not notice you’d fallen behind with Anthony.

“I suppose it is unworthy to try and explain I was oblivious to it,” you whispered.

Anthony shrugged, “You must understand why said statement is hard to believe,” he growled.

“It is honest,” you said.

“I’ve always known how fond you are of keeping secrets,” he barked. “Forgive my hesitation, but my doubts are not unwarranted.”

You glared. “Your behavior is.”

He grinned, “Fine, then I shall withdraw, I do not wish to vex your pleasant morning,” he said.

“Anthony,” you bellowed.

“I must excuse myself,” Anthony announced loudly for Lord Collins to turn around, it seemed Lord Collins only listened when it was another man speaking. “I need to disengage from this pleasant promenade.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Lord Collins, always a pleasure, I hope we can meet again soon, perchance at the ball this weekend, however I shall not retire without giving you fair advice over Lady Y/N, be careful, for her hand and heart always seem to belong to someone else,” he hissed. “Excuse me,” he then said softly and smiled at Lady Danbury cynically before storming off, leaving everyone in shock.

Benedict closed his eyes with strain as he was left with the two Featheringtons now at his care.

“I despise my brother,” he declared.

You only clenched your jaw, you agreed, you despised him, too.

next part

ext part (coming soon) feedback is appreciated!

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winterscaptain · 3 years

Text

players.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: it's loving haley hotchner hours!! hope you enjoy :) as always, let me know what you think!

words: 1.3k warnings: none

summary: “what is that unforgettable line?” - samuel beckett. au!november 2008

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

“Has Aaron ever told you how we met?”

“I know you two met in high school, but that’s about the extent of it.”

Haley laughs and puts her drink down. “You’re in for a real treat, then. Come with me.”

It’s one of those afternoons in which Aaron’s taken Jack to go have some fun for a little while, leaving you and Haley at the house. It’s been nice to rest while your shoulder slowly knits together again, nice to chat and channel surf. Really, it’s been nice to have a friend at all.

She leads you to the garage, where built-ins support stacked boxes all the way to the rafters. There’s so much stuff. A few boxes are on the floor, packed with a few George Washington University sweatshirts, a law textbook, and a few framed photos of Jack.

You’d hazard a guess that’s close to the last box Aaron has here.

Haley bypasses it in favor of a more aged box on the back. She becomes you over and unearths it, opening it. You are by no means prepared for what awaits you.

The box is full of faded framed photos and stacked scrapbooks, some with Haley’s handwriting on the front and others with typeset. Haley pulls one scrapbook in particular, the pages warped with age and stuffed with various momentos.

“This is the first one I ever made, starting the spring of my freshman year of high school. Aaron shows up…” She flips through the pages. They crackle under her fingers. “...here.”

She turns the book and you take it in your hand, balancing the bottom while she bears the weight. As always, her thoughtful conscientiousness almost brings a smile to your face.

In the scrapbook, little polaroids litter one side, while the other has a playbill cover. A “Players” page is pasted in, with two names left uncovered by doodles.

Haley Renee Brooks

Aaron Hotchner

One of the photos catches your eye. “Is that…?”

“Aaron in tights and a pirate hat? Yes.”

This is gold.

You bring the book closer to you and flip through it carefully with Haley’s help, finding more evidence of Aaron’s brief stint as a thespian. He’s undeniably adorable as a teenager. He looks different, of course, but between the hair and the eyes -

And that smile

You recognize the man you’ve come to know.

Haley, of course, is also adorable. The mid-eighties look cute on her. She looks mostly the same as she does now. Her jawline is more defined, the beginnings of smile lines starting to form around her eyes and mouth, but those are only indicators of the twenty-five years between the photo and the woman before you.

“If you tell him I showed you this, no I didn’t.”

You laugh, passing the book back to her. “Scout’s Honor. Total silence. I will, however, require copies of these for blackmail purposes.”

She rolls her eyes. “Over my dead body, darling.”

You look around for a moment before asking. “So… what exactly does that have to do with how you met?”

“I prefer the way he tells it,” she says, “because when I tell it I look like I’m padding my ego, but…”

Her blue eyes wander as she tells you about the boy who landed in the wrong classroom on August 20th, 1985 at 2:13pm, as if she’s seeing it as she’s telling the story. Maybe she is.

The nameless senior was tall, lanky, and looked rather brittle. He hadn’t grown into his limbs yet and there’s a hawkish look in his eye. He met Haley’s curious gaze. She smiled at him.

It’s only a moment before the boy leaves for the right classroom.

“He had the building number wrong. It’s no surprise, really. Our schedules were copied by hand, as copy machines were expensive. The guidance counselor’s handwriting was nearly illegible, but it sealed our fates.”

She goes on to tell you that the boy came back the next day, enrolled in the class for the duration of the semester.

“He then, bravely, became the worst third pirate in the history of theatre just to impress me.” She pauses, a little pensive. “He told me a couple of years ago that the day came into the wrong classroom was the same day he knew he was going to marry me.”

The admission brings a flush to her cheeks and a fond smile to her lips. You can see the affection written all over her as she recalls the memory. She shakes her head and puts the scrapbook back, closing the box and leading you out of the garage.

“We started dating when the show closed. It was silly, of course, and very high school, as relationships went. We only kept going because he was so close for college - just over the bridge into the district.”

You follow her back into the house. “Did you guys ever break up?”

She snorts. “All the time.”

That makes you laugh. You can hardly picture it.

“I’m sure you can imagine how rational and reasonable I was at sixteen,” she says, her voice full of jest. “I put him through hell, but Aaron was always impossibly patient with me, even and especially when I didn’t deserve it.”

“Really?”

“Really. I know he’s probably...not that way at work, but even through all of this -” she gestures vaguely to the air around you and you know she means the divorce. “- he’s always been that way with me.”

You’ve seen Hotch at home now more than a few times and it’s been illuminating to see the changes in him as he crosses the threshold. Reconciling those differences in him, knowing Haley better, it all paints a layered, detailed portrait of someone you already care about.

Haley catches your attention again when she speaks. “I’m glad he has people watching out for him.” There’s a strange, almost sad, smile on her face. “He gets lonely.”

+++

When Aaron pulls up in the driveway, you and Haley are stuck watching whatever movie you landed on when you got to talking, too attached to give it up.

The door opens and Aaron sets Jack on his feet, helping him with the tiny zipper on his coat before attending to his own.

“How was your day, boys?” Haley gets up and goes to the kitchen, where you know a little tupperware full of cut fruit waits for Jack.

You offer him a little wave as he catches sight of you and processes your presence. Hey.

“Well,” he says. “How was your day, Jack? Want to tell Mom about it?”

The pass-off is funny to you, but you suspect Aaron doesn’t want to oversell it.

“So fun!” He runs and jumps onto the couch as Haley rounds the corner.

Her eyes are bright, animated, when she asks, “What did you and Daddy do?” She sits next to her son, her feet pulled under her as she leans on the back of the couch.

As Jack relays the events of the afternoon, there’s an odd moment when Aaron catches himself. He reaches down to ruffle Haley’s hair, but freezes with his hand outstretched. You can see the wheels turning in his head and you almost feel bad for catching him at all.

HIs hand closes and he shoves it into his pocket before he sits down in the armchair beside your end of the couch with a sigh. You pretend to be completely focused on Jack, so as to not embarrass him.

“So,” he asks you. You turn. “How was your day?”

There’s a moment where you share a little look, maybe even a laugh.

“Good. My day was good.”

“Good.”

+++

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#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #tali talks cm #tali writes fanfiction #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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tanzaniiite · 4 years

Text

CHANCE • SINGLE DAD DAICHI

requests: CLOSED

warnings: none!

word count: 1.9k

series masterlist

a/n: can you tell i like single parent aus?

*chanting* single dad daichi, single dad daichi, single dad daic–

“You’re not my dad”

“No, I’m not”

“My dad’s a cop so if you’re thinking about kidnapping me, I suggest you think again“

You laughed at the twelve-year-old’s words. Daichi was right, she was a fireball. “I know, I’m a.. friend of your dad’s. He got caught up at work and asked me to pick you up” You explained, adjusting your purse on your shoulder. The pre-teen raised an eyebrow, “A friend of my dad? Lady, that’s the oldest trick in the book, you need to step up your game if you wanna kidnap a kid in this lifetime” She claimed, crossing her arms over her chest. You laughed some more, covering your mouth with your hand, at least she was being cautious.

“Okay, it’s good you don’t trust me but here’s why you should. I’m a good friend of your dad, Daichi Sawamura. And because he got caught up at the station, he wanted me to swing by and pick you, Suzuki Sawamura, up from school” You explained using the keywords your boyfriend instructed you to use. Suzuki stared at you for a while before shrugging, “Okay, you’re good” She said before hopping into your car. Letting out a relieved sigh, you shot Daichi a quick text.

You put your phone in your pocket before getting into the driver’s seat. “You ready to go?” You asked looking at Suzuki through the rear-view mirror. She shrugged, “I guess,” She said clicking her seatbelt into place. The ride back to Daichi’s place was quiet and albeit awkward. Honestly, this wasn’t how you pictured meeting your boyfriend’s daughter for the first time. Sneaking a glance in the rear-view mirror again, you saw here tapping away at her phone, not paying attention to her surroundings. You mentally rolled your eyes, typical kid behavior, can’t say you’re surprised.

What did surprise you, was her speaking up out of nowhere. “What are you to my dad?” She inquired catching your eye in the mirror. “Well I’m a good friend of his, we went to high school together. So I’ve known him for a long time” You stated diverting your eyes back to the road. You weren’t sure if Daichi has told Suzuki the two of you were dating but you wanted to play it safe, just in case he hasn’t. However, the pre-teen didn’t look convinced. “How come he doesn’t talk about you then?” She pressed. You bit your lip, not gonna lie, that stung. Does Daichi not talk about you or was she just trying to get a rise out of you? Your boyfriend did say she was mischievous like that.

“Probably because we fell out of touch after high school and recently reconnected about a year or so ago. And does your dad let you in on everything about his life?” You asked rhetorically. Suzuki looked slightly taken aback by your comment but quickly recovered. She shot you a slight glare before turning to look out the window. Shit. You prayed you didn’t fuck that up. The last thing you needed was for Daichi’s daughter to not like you. Especially because you wanted to get to know her and get closer to her.

Reaching Daichi’s place, you parked your car in the driveway and before you could even unbuckle your seatbelt, Suzuki got out of the car. You watched as she used her own set of keys to open the door and close it behind her. Yeah, she was upset. Fuckkkkk. Pulling out your phone, you texted your boyfriend.

You groaned, slamming your head against the steering wheel. What a great first impression on your boyfriend’s daughter! Lifting your head from the wheel, you slapped your cheeks a few times. The only thing you could do now is make amends. Getting out of the car you made your way to the door only to find it was locked. You let out an exasperated sigh, you deserved that. Digging out your copy of the keys, you opened the door to find Suzuki at the dining table doing what looked like homework.

She didn’t even bother sparing you a glance as you came in and locked the door behind you. This was going to be difficult. You placed your bag on the couch and made your way to the dining room. Sitting in the chair next to her, you decided to break the uncomfortable silence. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened in the car... I’m sure your dad tells you plenty about his life” You reassured fiddling with your hands nervously. Suzuki glanced up at you, “No. You’re right, my dad doesn’t tell me much. He used to but not anymore” She murmured going back to her homework. Oh? Now you were intrigued.

“What’d you mean?” You inquired placing your arms on the table. The brunette sighed and placed her pencil down, “After my mom and dad split up, my dad was in a bad place. He didn’t get abusive or anything, he was just… sad. Like all the time. And I guess he would sort of confide in me because we were in a similar situation. He lost a partner, I kind of lost my mom. And I got used to that, now he doesn’t tell me anything.” She huffed, “The worst part is that I know he’s hiding something from me. But I don’t know what, I wish he’d just tell me” Suzuki explained glaring down at the table. Suddenly you felt kind of bad. Daichi didn’t tell her about you because he most likely didn’t want to upset her as well as make sure your relationship was solid before introducing a new woman into his daughter’s life.

You placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Alright enough talk about your dad, I’m sure he’ll tell you when he’s ready. But for now, let’s do something fun” You suggested. Suzuki raised an eyebrow at you, “Something fun? Like what?” She asked confusion laced in her tone. You smirked slightly,

“I’m glad you asked”

Daichi sighed as he parked his car behind yours in the driveway. He wanted you and Suzuki to get along. Ever since he and Michimiya split, she hasn’t had a stable mother figure in her life. Sure, Yui got her every other weekend and on holidays but he had sole custody so that wasn’t exactly stable. Hopefully, the two of you could get along because, to be honest, Daichi loves you. And deep down he feels like he’s always had, even back in high school.

Opening the door, Daichi was surprised to hear… giggling. Based on what you texted him earlier, his daughter didn’t seem like she was in a giggling mood. Then again, that was almost two hours ago. Taking off his jacket and shoes, Daichi made his way to the bathroom, the source of the giggling. He stopped in his tracks as he saw you and Suzuki sitting on the floor, doing what looked like some sort of spa activity.

“—and can you believe he tried to convince the coach he was perfectly fine? After taking a dive like that and not going to the infirmary?”

“That does sound like my dad”

Suzuki stated before gasping. “My mask is dripping!” She exclaimed trying to push the homemade avocado face mask back into place. “Wait wait, let me do it. You’re going to mess up your nails” You stated moving her hands away and fixing the mask yourself. “There. Trying tilting your head back a bit so it doesn’t drip as much” You advised, demonstrating what you meant. Suzuki nodded, following your instructions. As she tilted her head back she saw her dad standing in the doorway with a wide smile on his face.

“Oh, hey dad” She greeted waving slightly. Daichi just smiled more, “Hey pumpkin, having fun?” He asked. Turning to face him properly she nodded, “Yeah, your friend is really fun” She claimed, smiling slightly. Daichi’s gaze drifted to you once you spoke, “You’re only saying that because I told you some of your dad’s embarrassing high school stories” You laughed. Hearing that made Daichi’s smile faltered a bit, “You told her embarrassing stories about me? How am I ever going to get my rep as a cool dad back?” He asked rhetorically.

“Dad, to be honest, you never had that rep to begin with”

Suzuki stated, blowing on her nails to dry them. This caused you to burst out into laughter with Suzuki following suit. Daichi couldn’t help but chuckle, he was glad the two of you patched things up. “Haha. Y/n can I speak to you for a minute?” He asked nodding his head to the kitchen. You cleared your throat and nodded, “Sure. Aw man, Suzuki you got me in trouble” You teased getting up and dusting off your pants. The twelve-year-old giggled, “Sorry” She apologized as you and Daichi moved to the kitchen.

Once he made sure Suzuki was out of earshot, Daichi pulled you close to him and placed a chaste kiss on your lips. “Glad to see you guys made up” He whispered. You shrugged slightly, “It wasn’t anything serious, plus there’s nothing a face mask can’t fix” You claimed. “Yeah well, it seems like she likes you” Your boyfriend stated. You looked up at him, “You think so?” You asked. Daichi smiled slightly and kissed your forehead, “I know so” He claimed. You smiled and embraced him, nuzzling your face in his chest. Sawamura hugged you back. The two of you stayed like that until you heard someone clear their throat.

“Do you kiss and embrace all your friends, dad? I gotta tell Uncle Koshi and Azu what they’re missing”

Suzuki said standing at the entrance of the kitchen. You and Daichi pulled away quickly and stared at the pre-teen. “Um.. pumpkin–” Daichi started, only to be interrupted by Suzuki raising her hand. “I already know, I’m not dumb dad. You don’t have any regular girl friends except for Aunt Shimizu” She explained crossing her arms. The brunette chuckled shaking his head, “Nothing gets past you huh?” He asked rhetorically, ruffling his daughter’s hair. “Nope!” She exclaimed smiling brightly. You could only stand back and watch your boyfriend interact with his child, he was a good dad.

“So since you know, what do think of Y/n?”

“She’s nice.. nicer than mom. You should keep her”

Suzuki said, causing you to smile slightly. You weren’t exactly the biggest fan of Michimiya back in high school and especially after you found out what she did to Daichi. So to hear you were nicer than her from her daughter felt good, you can’t lie. Daichi raised an eyebrow, “Oh really? Well, I plan on keeping her around” Daichi stated, smiling at you, “what do think about that?” He inquired turning back to his daughter. The twelve-year-old glanced at you,

“Can we do more spa stuff?”

“Absolutely”

“Can you do my nails again?”

“For sure”

“…what about my hair?”

“Suzuki, of course. I want to spend more time with you”

You said moving next to Daichi and bending down in front of her. The pre-teen looked suspicious, “You sure? You’re not just saying that because my dad’s here? Because we’re a package deal. You can’t have him without me. And I’ve been told I’m a handful” Suzuki stated. Daichi snorted while you laughed slightly. “Yes, I’m sure. Don’t worry, your dad is a handful too” You said whispering the last part. Suzuki giggled, “Okay fine. My dad seems to like you so I’ll give you a chance”. You smiled and gave Suzuki a fist bump,

“Thank you, a chance is all I ask for”

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tokoyamisstuff · 3 years

Text

Dark Side Of The Moon Ch. 2 - Dark! Loki x Reader

Chapter 2: “On The Run”

Chapter Summary: Even though you can’t help feeling drawn to the lunatic that looks like your deceased lover, you try to surpress your feelings and flee to find your friends.

Warnings: Loki is fucking crazy, Violence, Torture, Jotun! Loki, Mentions of Death, Abuse, Unhealthy Relationship, Mentions of Rape

Words: 3360

[Story Masterlist]

Masterlist to my other works right ->Here<-

“And the shark, it has tears,

And they run down its face.

But the shark lives in the water -

So the teardrops one can’t see.”

- Rammstein - Haifisch

Taglist: @winterglcw @commonintrest @emmojoy @satansbra @just-someone-who-likes-to-write

“She died through my hands.”

That sentence replayed over and over in your head, forming a continuous loop as you silently formed those words with your own lips.

“It’s not him!” you called out to yourself, since your reason had seemingly disappeared ever since you first saw the person that was a perfect copy of the man you once loved.

You were rolling around on the bare floor, shivering as you softly punched your head to not get lost in thought again. The emperor didn’t even have the basic decency to give you any clothes back, only having the Citauri throw you into an old dungeon to keep you prisoner - or whatever he’d plan to do with you.

That man was so different of your Loki.

And the timeline both of you were currently in had exceeded your worst expectations, making you wonder if fate just wanted to torment you.

In this universe, Thanos never even got so far as to collect all of the Infinity Stones. Loki Laufeyson had won the battle of New York and took over this world, then somehow double-crossed and killed the Titan. So right now, he possessed the power of the Tesseract, as well as the Cascet of Ancient Winters. For what reason he kept that Jotun relic was unknown, probably out of nostalgic sentiment you assumed.

Afterwards, the God of Mischief had killed his brother Thor in bad blood, as well as torturing Natasha - the exact way he threatened her back in your world, when he was in his cell. Clint was still his servant, as it seemed. You had seen him when they took you to his cell.

He couldn’t get rid of all the Avengers, however - even though their current location was unknown. They were in hiding for many years now, probably trying to get their hands on the other Infinity Stones.

Also noticeable was the fact that this universe had neither Hela, nor Captain Marvel - so one good and one bad thing to compensate for each other. Not that they’d be a match for Loki in his current form anyway...

And there was no Dr. Strange on this version of Earth, your last bit hope to escape disappearing as you learned about this fact.

That much was all you had learned by now, mainly through tricking and manipulating some of your guards into giving you information.

All in all, you only knew for sure was that this world’s Loki was a terribly trong, murderous sociopath, intoxicated by power and loneliness.

And you had become the focus of the little emotion left in him.

It was hard trying to surpress all the voices and memory submerging in your mind. So there was nothing left for you except for rolling up into a ball, lying on the cold floor as you prepared to be washed over with sadness and guilt once again.

_____

“Would you help me recieve the greatest honor by becoming mine and mine only, Lady Y/N?”

How could you ever forget this moment?

Back on the Asgardian refugee ship, your Loki had asked you that very question, now popping up in your mind once again.

Every detail was still as bright as daylight, preserved deep into your heart.

You clearly remembered the small, green box he had summoned out of thin air, presenting you a plain but still incredibly beautiful ring. The golden piece of jewlery formed a snake eating itself - a symbol of infinity and wholeness.

It was just his way of being thoughtful.

“I-I prepared this a while go, to be precize...but I never thought of being worthy” he had stammered and you found yourself speechless, admiring that very scene playing in front of your eyes. “A-Anyway, after all that happened, I realized that all moments I spent happy, were when I was with you. I don’t want to lose you again, Y/N! And I feared, well...that it might be too late to ask someday.”

It was most unjust that this most blissful moment would be interrupted by a great rumbling shaking through the whole spaceship - and even before Thor would crash Loki’s proposal, both of you were aware just what kind of danger you would have to face soon:

Thanos.

Your numbers had already been decimated by Ragnarok, all that’s left being some civilian refugees, injured and traumatized. The only ones capable of fighting left were Loki, Thor, Heimdall, you and the Hulk.

Yet all of your struggles were to no avail, only able to watch and scream and bag at the Titan, so he’d at least spare those innocent lives as he mercilessly slaughtered woman and children alike.

“Fucking monster!” Pulling out a gun, your mind went completely blank as you gave it some last, desperate attempt to save or avenge just anyone.

No bullet would even come close enough to pierce his skin, as Ebony Maw would deflect them to hit yourself and people close to you. “I’m not the only one you should see responsible for this outcome” Thanos scoffed.

“What do you mea-” Your voice got swallowed by a pained groan as you saw Loki, kneeling in front of Thanos and revealing the one thing he was after:

The Tesseract.

“You......took it?!?” The only thing managing to escape your throat was a high-pitched yell as Loki’s face contorted in disappointment and regret - just now realizing that he had put you all in danger.

They would’ve never went after you if it wasn’t for him. He had doomed his race, failed you and what was left of his family.

“How could you put us all in danger?! I thought you had changed! You swore it with your life, Loki! That you loved me more than you desired power!”

No answer.

Instead, the god would prepare one of his speeches, directing words of undying fidelity at Thanos and his arms. And even though it was meant to be lies, a play to make the threat feel save, every single word hit your heart like knives.

“How could I ever marry someone like you?!” feeling as if Loki most recent, selfish act was suffocating you, you could only whisper - yet he understood very clearly, the facade dropping in an instant. “I-I hate you...traitor...”

If only you knew that those would be the last words you’d ever direct at him...

Loki materializes a dagger, desperately trying to make up for his biggest mistake yet, and at least save you, the light of his cursed existence, and the only thing he had ever done in his life full of wrongs.

But Thanos looked right through the charade from the very beginning, using the stones to trap Loki in their hold - and then, grabbing the god’s throat.

“You have what you want, Thanos!” Thor tried to bargain, “There’s even less than half of my race left. Please, just let us go!”

“Oh, I will” he spoke stony, then shifting his attention to the god in his hands. “But first, I’ll do you a favor and erase that disgraceful pest all of you were too weak to take care of.”

As he was struggling for air, gasping uncontrollably as he tried to free his neck from the Giant, Loki’s glare wandered to you - and when your eyes met, both of your hearts skipped a beat.

He smiled. In the face of death, the last thing he wanted you to remember was the good things after all.

And seeing the ring on your finger, how couldn’t he? Loki knew you were about to say yes - and knowing this was more than enough for someone like him.

After all, the God of Mischief was used to happiness being taken away from him as soon as he thought it to be okay to open up to someone.

But you were safe. That’s all that counted for him!

It was like his eyes were telling you “It’s gonna be alright. I’m sorry, Y/N...I love you.”

You don’t remember much after that, having a mental breakdown as you had to watch the love of your life perish - and forever thinking about how you had turned him down just seconds before.

A part of you had died with him back then.

_____

The creaking sound of the cell’s door made you jump from your dream - but the person which entered was one you had never seen before.

A monster.

It’s silhouette very much resembled Loki, yet his skin was painted in a dark shade of blue, with thin linings carved across his whole body. He had fangs and even horns coming out of his temple to add at that.

The beast’s eyes were shining in a threatening red, glistering contrastful in the dark hallway. But the worst were those black irises, absent of any form of compassion - there seemed to be only rage, confusion and hate.

“Fuck!” you screamed, terrified and fearing for your life. Shuffling until your back hit the wall of a corner of the room, you defendingly put your arms in front of yourself. “Go away! Don’t to-ouch me!”

Loki cleared his voice as he put the Casket away, not making any efforts to revert his outer appearance back to ‘normal’. He had admired it on his way to your cell, like he’d do many times a day when he was reminiscing about the day he learned about his heritage...

...and how he had killed Odin, his adoptive father, with that very relic, afterwards clearing the universe of that despiseful race of the Jotunn - making him the last of his kind.

“Oh my” a dark voice finally declared, “Seems like ‘your’ Loki never dared to show you his true form. Pathetic.”

No, that wasn’t completely true. Your lover had at least told you back then. But when did you ever have the time to talk things over and heal, being dragged from one fight to another?!

The Jotunn felt great joy as he towered over you, gleefully watching your naked body cowering to his knees, covered in goosebumps and shaking heavily. Your breath was clearly visible while you tried to cover your shame as best as you could, wary glare never leaving the abomination that was just lurking right in front of you.

“Wha- OUCH!” you hissed as the Frost Giant took ahold of your wrist, monitoring the pain spreading across your face as his touch would frostburn any skin he was touching with ease.

Loki grinned menacingly as he let go off of you, admiring his handywork as the first layer of your skin had already died, crumbling away to reveal your pink flesh.

“Oh, how I missed that” he explained, much to your surprise ripping a piece of his own clothing apart to cover the wound with it. “Your kind is so easily broken. It’s always fascinating to watch.”

“Just kill me already, you freak!”

Well, Loki had in fact spent hours after hours thinking about how to handle you, and yet he couldn’t decide. Obviously he would’ve killed you right away if it was otherwise, but he still had a soft spot for you somewhere deep in his heart, after all.

And it upset him more than he’d ever admit. So he tried to assert his dominance, to ease the feeling of weakness and loss of control.

“I’m only doing you a favor, woman.” The god would touch your cheek, making you flinch away - but this time, it wouldn’t hurt. Never would he dare to scar this most beautiful face!

“The man you loved was just the same as me, yet it seemed he wasn’t completely honest with you. What you are seeing right now is the form of a Frost Giant...the monstrosity you chose to love.”

“L-Loki…”

It was no surprise that he saw tears filling the rim of your eyes - yet out of a whim, you pulled your arms around his neck, tears wetting his robe. He gasped, unable to act in any way as he stiffened in the pose.

That was by far not the reaction he had been expecting - and he surprised you as well. You had thought him to instantly shove you away, beat you agaib or even bite - but he just kneeled there, not daring to make a move.

"Why?” Now his voice was much softer, pained even. “I’m a monster. I hurt you. So why?”

“I’m so sorry” you whimpered, words being interrupted by heavy sobbing. “I try to fight it, I really do. But I just can’t, I-I”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“How could I be? It’s you, Loki...no matter what you look like.” Eventually, you’d face him again, wiping the tears out of your face when for another moment, you made yourself forget that this was a completely different person. “I was just surprised, that’s all. Letting me see this form out of nowhere...”

“Y/N, I’m not the same as him” he retorted, knowing very well what it’s like to lose oneself in daydreams and illusions to ease the pain of loss. His sight wandered around the room instead of your face, stating “I did horrendous things, dear. Tormented and killed countless. It’s unforgiveable.”

“So did he” you stated, even though you knew those two Loki’s couldn’t be compared. “And you should already know: I feel dead inside, ever since he died.”

“You really loved him, didn’t you?” When you nodded confidently, Loki sighed ashamed, reluctantly touching your wrist again. A warm magic would flow through you, healing the wound in no time. “I wish she had felt the same for me...”

For a while, both of you were plainly sitting in uncomfortable silence, with Loki even lending you his cloak to warm yourself up.

“It’s not him” you told yourself once again. “It’s not him. It’s not him. IT’S NOT HIM!!! That man is dangerous and instable. He can’t be trusted!”

And then, finally, you dared asking, cutting through the thick air:

“What exactly happened to me, in this world?”

Loki’s face contorted in agony, rubbing his face as if in deep pain. “Is this really necessary? I already told you. She died because of me.”

“More details would be nice” you retorted bluntly, not really caring if he was to have a violent outburst again. Curiosity got the better of you at that moment.

The emperor’s voice was low and husky, and just now you realized how damn tired he looked - with dark rings under his eyes, and more pale than you had ever remembered him.

The weight of his sins sure had taken a stroll on that sensitive man.

"I saw the ring” he uttered deeply affected, “That’s something I could only dream of. Thinking about it, I think she never really loved me in the first place. Or maybe she just grew tired of my lies. Understandable, I have to admit...”

“Yes, it was quite the opposite, even” he continued after a long, strained breath of his. “She hated me. Joined the Avengers and tried to kill me, several times. Only years later I learned about the truth: Already far in the past, back on Asgard, she betrayed me. After I fell off the Bifrost, she thought myself dead - and consoled herself by bedding my brother. I had to kill him, I-I-I just had to!”

Loki’s hands were shaking so frantically you could feel it from over there, mad eyes darting over your physique to take in your reaction. “After they finally lost, I took her prisoner. Seven months of trying to make her mine, no matter the methods. Mind-controlling her would not be satisfying. So I tortured her, played games with her sanity, and- I’d rather not speak about how else I violated her.”

“You, wha-” Now you were the one shivering in horrid anticipation, “You raped me...?”

No answer. Instead he just finished this disastrous story.

“One day, I went to her cell like I always did. I hoped once her mind was broken she’d stop struggling to be mine. But she never did. You Y/N’s are quite the fighters, as it seems.”

“Wha- wwhat happened to me...I mean, ‘her’?”

A loud whine escaped his vocal cords as he hit the wall right next to your face, making you suck in a pained breath.

“She used her chains to hang herself. There was nothing I could do. Ever since then I knew I’m cursed to inflict pain on anything I hold dear.”

"D-Don’t give me that self-pitying bullshit” you wanted to shout at his face - but the cramping in your heart as well as the hyperventillation made talking impossible.

How could one do something like that to a person they claimed to love?!

“Go” you whimpered, already shuffling away from him and he could hear anguish and fear drop out of every vocal, and he realized you were having a panic attack. “Please!”

Loki closed his eyes, letting out one last, deep sigh. He knew he owed you that much.

“Very well.”

That whole night, you spent crying and screaming to your hearts avail, unable to process your current situation and newfound knowledge.

So that would be your life from now on? Being hurt mentally and physically, frostburnt and hurt and violated against your will - all while looking at a face that remembered you of happier days?

Never!

Things were just like that evil Loki said: You are a fighter!

And if you couldn’t help that crazy man, you would at least help yourself! The Avengers are still out there, somewhere. You needed to escape and help them!

How could you have been so blind all those years?

Loki - your Loki - would have never wanted to you give up. He’d want you to survive and live your life to it’s fullest, trying to make the best out of everything you’ve got.

Just like he always did. That much you had learned from him.

“I’m sorry, Loki. If I die, I can’t even remember you...I love you…”

Breaking out succeeded faster than you could ever think it would take - because when you’d finally get out of your fetal courl and wandered across the cell, you realized Loki didn’t properly close the heavy steel door back when he rushed away from you.

“It’s not him. There’s no helping that man. I have to find my friends, I-”

Still shocked and scared and traumatized, you didn’t even realize that someone was watching you, not even questioning that the hallways were oddly empty.

You sneaked out of an open window, bare feet feeling the morning dew as you shook away Lokis cloak and ran as fast as your feet could carry you.

There was it - the fence.

No one could tell you what kind of world would await you outside of that property as you swiftly avoided some guards, rushing through the all so beautiful garden.

But as soon as you reached out to climb the railing, you felt someone balling a fist in your hair, harshly holding you back and causing you to stumble and fall.

“I thought you to be different…” an all too familiar voice grumbled. Loki didn’t even want to hear any apology or excuse, kicking your guts so heavily that you had to throw up, cramping on the ground.

“Don’t you dare to run away ever again!” he now yelled furiously, "She tried it too...so damn.many.times…!”

But before you could even respond, he suddenly began to cry uncontrollably. “I thought you would stay. Do you think I like to do this?!”

His voice was laced with grief and regret, yet he kept on forming countless bruises on your body. “Why can’t you fucking love me, hel?!”

You didn’t know how long his violent crying fit lasted, with him weeping as he let off some steam on your helpless self.

There was no trace of the hurt, regretful man left you talked to in your cell earlier. After being finished, having reclaimed a fraction of composure, Loki pressed your face in between his hands, ripping on your mangled body to face him.

“Fate gifted me another chance to possess you, Y/N. And I will form you into a magnificent pet, I promise.”

_______

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enchantedblackrose · 3 years

Text

Like I Love You

Jay Halstead/Plus sized Reader

Summary: Jay arrives at your apartment to pick you up for a date, but you're filled with self doubt.

¡Warnings! This potentially could be triggering. Poor body image, possible body dysmorphia, specific mentions of feelings of not being enough because of physical appearance

<Please, please lmk if I need to add any warnings.>

Loosely inspired by One Direction's Little Things

Like I Love You

Your head throbs as hot tears of frustration continue to fall from your eyes.

It was absolutely ridiculous to be this upset trying to pick out a decent outfit. After all, you've been successfully dressing yourself since age three.

But you don't have the mindset of a toddler. You're a jaded young woman with society's disgusting definition of beauty constantly shoved in your face.

Deep down you know better. You know that the numbers on the scale give no indication of your beauty nor do they dictate your worth.

Sighing and trying to remind yourself that you are pretty, you again glance in the full length mirror. Standing there in nothing more than a top and underwear, fresh tears immediately fill your eyes. You only see flaws. Resisting the urge to poke at the cellulite near your thighs, you focus on your shirt. But the sleeves are cutting into your arms making them look weird. No, not weird. Fat. The too tight sleeves cause your arms to bulge. And the material clings to your soft tummy. You pinch the excess belly fat between your thumbs and index fingers, wishing you could squeeze it away.

You feel so ugly and gross. Angrily you pull the shirt off and throw it clear across your bedroom, where it joins a pair of jeans you couldn't breathe in and numerous other offending articles of clothing. None of which you look good in either.

You find an oversize t-shirt and slip it on before you just collapse on that very spot of plush carpeting.

Tears still roll down your face. All you wanted was something cute to wear. To be pretty. And go out with your boyfriend for a date night. He's a detective for the Chicago police department. The hours are already long and sometimes abnormal, but this week he, and the rest of the special unit he's a part of, were logging extra hours on a particular difficult case. You haven't seen much of each other recently so you were especially giddy when you received his text earlier in the day saying there had been a break in the case which meant he could swing by your place and take you out on a proper date. Your reply had been almost immediate, telling him how wonderful that sounded.

You were surprised to hear from him again, still promising to take you out, but proposing you both meet up with his coworkers after dinner for some drinks. He included "begging" and "puppy dog eyes" in the message.

Though you wanted to, you couldn't exactly say no for several reasons. You had already agreed to the date, so he knew you were free. Part of you suspected that he had done it on purpose. You'd accuse your favorite detective of entrapment later.

You also were fully aware how much Jay wanted to introduce you to the coworkers he considered friends, having been invited to go out with them several times before. You kept putting it off.

Not because you had no interest in meeting everyone. Rather, the idea fed your worst insecurities.

What if they don't think I'm good enough? They're going to wonder what he sees in me. Then Jay will start wondering too.

Wanting to do this solely for Jay's benefit, believing he deserved this after the hellish week at work, you went to your bedroom to plan your outfit. That's how you ended up in this nightmare. You only want to look your best, like you belong with Jay.

Nothing in your closet said that though. The truth of the matter was no one like him should be with someone who looks like you.

Cries turn to sobs. You draw your knees to your chest, hugging them tightly.

You hear the door to your apartment unlock, Jay using his copy of your key to let himself in. Hastily, you wipe at your face, not wanting him to see you like this; yet you can't find the will to stand. A loud, nasally sniff escapes you.

"Babe?" His still unaware voice calls out from the hallway. "I got us reservations." You don't answer back right away and you hear his footsteps approach.

Having found you, he stops in the doorway. "Whoa. What kind of nuclear clothing explosion happened here?" He indicates to the mounds of clothes which surround you and cover the better part of the carpet and bed. His laughter dies as soon as he sees your tear-streaked, puffy face. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" his worry evident in both his voice and light eyes. He looks you up and down, frantically searching for any sign of what has you like this.

You mumble incoherently.

"What?"

"I don't have anything to wear."

"The floor begs to differ," he teases. You glare back, in no mood for jokes no matter how well intended. He holds up his hands signaling he meant no harm before he pulls you to your feet. "What's going on?" You huff a heavy sigh in reply. His hand caresses your cheek and softly "hmms?" at you encouragingly.

"Nothing fits right," you confess. He hesitates unsure how to respond, so you continue. "I look extra fat in everything."

Jay frowns. "I doubt that very much. You always look good. I love how you look dolled up when we go out and I love when you're in an old tee and sweats."

"That's nice of you to say-"

"Well I didn't say it to be nice. I said it because it's true," he cuts you off.

You give a tiny, weak smile. "I hate how I look." Your voice cracks. New tears sting your eyes.

He brushes the few teardrops that manage to escape with his thumb. "Baby, what are you talking about? You're beautiful." His voice is soft with a hint of sadness hearing you talk this way.

"This is not beautiful." You pat your flabby stomach, then your thighs.

Carefully stepping to avoid the clothes which litter the floor, Jay makes his way to your bed and sits on the edge, still mindful of the garments piled there as well. He opens his arms, indicating for you to sit on his lap.

"My huge ass will probably crush you," you mutter.

"Baby-"

Exasperated you throw your arms up, "I look nothing like you!"

"Well I'm a guy and you're not so…"

"Stop. I mean you look like a freaking model. That face and those abs for days." You catch him looking smug, no doubt a witty remark is at his lips, but one glance at you and he leaves it unsaid. You continue. Your voice hushed, "I'm afraid of what people might think or say when they see us together. It's why I've been so reluctant to meet your friends."

His eyes sadden. He reaches for you, gently pulling you to his lap. When he speaks, his voice is soft, but stern, almost begging you to believe his words. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I honestly had no idea, but listen to me, please. The only people who get a say about our relationship are in this room right now, okay? So our opinions are the only ones that matter. You. Are. Beautiful." He pauses only to shush you when he sees your mouth open. "The way your mind works fascinates me. Your sense of humor is amazing. You continuously show compassion for others, which in this world is not always easy. I swear your goodness is innate. Your laugh is intoxicating. When you smile...I wish you could see how your face lights up and your body turns me on exactly how it is. I have never been attracted to anyone as much as I am to you. I love you."

Jay's words move you, but they're not enough to silence your insecurities. "Even though I don't have a thigh gap?"

His brows furrow. "I...don't know what that means."

"It means my thighs touch each other. They're not supposed to."

"Says who?"

"...society."

"Society's ugly, not you or your thighs." His fingers trace nondescript patterns on the bare skin in question. "Besides, thick thighs save lives."

"Jay!" You laugh despite yourself. He smiles in return and presses his lips to your temple.

"I love you too. You know that, right?" You ask, realizing you hadn't said it back and he nods. A hand intertwines with his as you look in his eyes, "I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

"You're not. We all have insecurities or things we don't like about ourselves. I just wish you weren't so hard on yourself. I'm sorry too if you felt I was putting pressure on you to meet everyone."

"Not at all," you shake your head. "That's just me being me."

"Still, if my friends have a problem with us being together for any reason, they're not the people I think they are. Truly though, they'd love you. Hell, if we didn't show up together I could see one of them hitting on you," Jay pauses if imagining it. "But seriously. They'd adore you. First, because they're going to see firsthand how good you are for me. Then because you're you. Funny, smart-"

"But I want to be pretty, Jay. And look like we belong together."

Jay sighs, but not out of frustration with you. He's only concerned."You are. And we do. I know nothing I say is going to magically change how you see yourself...I get that. You have to be the one to work this out. I really wish you could see yourself through my eyes and love yourself like I love you. Maybe then you'd understand you're so worthy of self-love. I promise, I'm right here and I'm going to keep reminding you how beautiful you are in hopes you'll start to see it."

Your hand caresses his cheek as you fight the urge to cry again. He leans into your touch. "You do help," you tell him because it's true and to reassure him. "I'm so lucky to have you. I'm really going to try to not be so down on myself. Besides. I really don't want to ruin any more of our nights."

He waves you off. "A night trying to get you to see your beauty is not ruined. And the night's still young. We'll do whatever you're up for. Go out for a bit. Stay in and order food. Whatever."

A small smile appears on your face. You quickly peck his lips with yours. "I just want to wash my face before we do anything." Jay nods. You slide off his lap and head to your bathroom across the hall.

The light flickers for a second as soon as you hit the switch. You go to the sink, turning the water on and letting it run to get to the perfect temperature. Standing there, you glance into the vanity mirror. Your face is still slightly puffy with a few soft pink splotches across your cheeks from all your crying. You splash the water on your face and repeat the action several more times before using a fluffy towel to pat dry your face. You stare back into the mirror. And smile. It reaches your eyes and illuminates your face. You reach a realization. However fleeting or permanent, you don't know. But right now in this moment, you feel it.

You're pretty.

#jay halstead #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x you #plus size reader #chicago pd #chicago pd imagine

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ahsokasleftbicep · 3 years

Text

Name and Soul: Chapter 4

Alright, let's get this angst moving!! Hope you enjoy it!

@mqgriett @darkangel4121 @thelambandthewolffe @maulscrosshair @trash-dino-5000 @lightning-wolffe @killtherandomness @shadowwing1324

Crosshair x F! reader

Word Count: 2017

Warnings: SPOILERS for episode 4, Tarkin being awful, Rampart being ugh, Sad Crosshair, internal conflict, Hunter and reader tensions, injury, a single curse word

The firing range was dark and empty, just how he liked it. Crosshair moved from his crouched position to his stomach, reloading his weapon and taking aim at the practice droids. Bang. Bang. The droids drop, sending a hollow thud throughout the room. He knew Tarkin was watching, he always did. So did Nala Se. They talked. Anytime Crosshair looked up at the observation room, he saw the two talking. Probably about her. Private L/N. His head hurt, well the right side did. Like a constant headache, it never went away. It was only worse when he was around the regs. Or his squad. They annoyed him. The man paused his training and then stood up, packing his gear. I need to get the mission done. I need to find them. Find her. Kill them. Take her. Easy enough… right. Every time he thought about her, that little metal ring felt heavier than usual. Oh well.

“You be careful okay? Stay with Hunter and Echo, look but don’t touch. Got it?” You brushed off some dust from Omega’s shirt.

“Yep! I got it!” The girl smiled at you before walking over to Echo.

Things had gotten much more complicated over the last few days. There were no more rations and the ship was on a wanted list. These sort of situations could be handled normally, but with Omega, you all had to think of the best way to keep her safe. Some tensions had been growing also, between you and Hunter, everyone felt it. You knew that the Sergeant had good intentions, but he had yet to acknowledge anything that happened on Kamino. With Crosshair. Wrecker tried to tell you that it was how he hid it, but it still irked you. Hunter had been just as devastated as you, and he kept it all in. You drove the past few days from your mind, looking at Echo in his getup.

“Looking good Echo.”

The man raises his hands and turns in a circle. “I know.” The two of you look at each other before breaking out in chuckles.

“Does the headpiece feel okay? Any recalibrations before you guys head out?” You take a quick look at the controls.

“Feels good so far, I think it’s fine.”

The sergeant came over from talking to the Sullustan dock master, securing his pack.

“Let’s head out.”

“Do you have any credits left after paying him off?”

“I have enough to get what we need.”

“Well, be careful.” You speak monotonically.

“Will do.” The two men and Omega start walking towards the market.

You walk towards the ship, towards Tech and Wrecker.

“Why do they get to go sightseeing again?” Wrecker lifts a large metal piece away so Tech can scramble the ship's signature.

You move out of his way, removing your top armor to help Tech with the ship. “It’s a supply mission. And besides, it’s not the first time we’ve seen this planet.”

Tech cleared his throat. “Uh Y/N? Can you get this small piece in here?... Please.”

“Yes!” You walk up to the ship, stepping up on a box and reaching out for the part. “Got it!”

“Much appreciated.” Tech fixes his goggles before heading back towards the inverters.

“Do you need anything else at the moment?”

“I don’t believe so, but thank you Y/N.”

“Sir? You asked for me.” Rampart walked into Tarkin's office.

“Ah Rampart, yes I did.” Tarkin looked up from a datapad. He put the device down and folded his hands.

“Is everything okay sir?”

“Yes, it is. I was curious about your progress on Private L/N’s file.”

The vice admiral sat down. “I have found a little more about her life before the Clone Wars. Nothing that we can use to our advantage yet. She has no family; they were killed in a raid in her village. A civil war broke out shortly after and she was drafted. She got into the Academy based on skill and exceeded in marksmanship among other things. GAR offered her a job when the war started, she joined Clone Force 99 shortly after.”

Tarkin listened and hummed, “Has there been any luck in finding her? Or the clones.”

“No, L/N’s training serves her and the clones well. No sightings nor upsets have been reported.”

Tarkin stands and looks through the glass window. “Very well then. Maintain your search. As I said, L/N’s skills will be useful to your project. Once you find something, send the sniper out to retrieve her.”

“Understood sir.” Rampart rose and walked out. I will find you, L/N. Whether you like it or not.

“Wrecker, Tech, Echo, Y/N. I lost Omega. Someone attacked us.” Hunter’s voice comes out scratchy through the comm-link. Your head shot up looking between Tech and Wrecker.

“Somebody who?” Wrecker responded.

“A woman. Highly trained. She’s after the kid.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Wrecker grabs his helmet, you grab your rifle and run off, the large man following behind.

“Y/N, your armor-.” Tech called out but you were already gone.

You and Wrecker run through the streets.

“I have eyes on Omega, she’s in the maintenance tunnels. Head northwest, at 155. And hurry, she’s got company.” “Wrecker you take that way, I’ll come from the back.” You say as you approach the street.

“Got it.”

You run through the street, hitting a couple of people, not that you cared about being polite at the moment.

“Wrecker, come in?” Silence. “Wrecker. Do you copy?”

“I do not see Wrecker, but Omega is hanging from a tower in the skyway.”

“Oh no.” You breathe out, trying to run faster.

Some speeder pulls up next to you. “Y/N! Get on!” It was Hunter, he held his hand out.

You grip his arm and pull yourself up. “I got the woman, you get Omega.”

Hunter speeds up, and you crouch on the back seat.

“Where’s your armor?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, that makes me feel better. I’m not losing another member of my team.”

“We don’t have time for this, Hunter.”

“He-.”

“Stop! He’s not dead, he hasn’t disappeared. So stop acting like Crosshair just vanished.” You raise your voice. “Focus on Omega.”

You approach the tower only to see Omega fall into a shipping vessel. The woman jumps in afterward. The woman fires at the speeder, but Hunter swerves out of the way. A moment later the back of the vessel starts tilting, taking the woman… and Omega along with it. The woman falls onto another ship. Omega dangles on a strap, way too far above the ground. Hunter is about to grab her-

‘You guys! Look out!” The woman rams into the speeder, tossing you off and sending Hunter in a spin.

“Y/N!”

You’re able to grab onto the back of her ship, pulling yourself up. The woman grabs her weapon but you knock it out of her hand. She kicks you in the stomach before you slam her into the controls of the ship. She kicks back before grabbing a smaller blaster, and then your shoulder starts to burn. Your right shoulder is shot, the skin burned and irritated. Shit. You stumble back.

“Y/N!” You hear two voices at once, one being Omega.

“It’s okay, just stay there.”

The ship starts to shake, when you look behind you, you see that Hunter shot out one of the thrusters. This throws off your balance and you fall over the edge, gripping the end with your good arm.

“Y/N! You need to drop!” You see Hunter hold up a pyro denton. You look around you, seeing a tarp below you, covering some stand.

“Throw it now! I’ll be okay!” You come just above the tarp and let go. You land on the cover before connecting with the ground. The ship explodes and not a moment later, Hunter comes up and puts you on the bike, with Omega.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” The girl looks at your shoulder and winces.

“I’m fine, this isn’t the worst injury I’ve gotten.” Despite the wound being mostly cauterized, the shock and minor blood loss made you woozy. Everything just faded out. Someone picked you up, probably Hunter.

“We need to go. Now. Get a medkit.”

You woke up with a groan, your shoulder was sore and bandaged in a sling. You threw your legs over your bed and walked out into the common area.

“What did I miss?”

Omega jumped up and ran to you. “Y/n, are you okay? You’re going to be okay right? You got hit and then-”

“Omega.” You hug her. “I’m okay, it takes a little more than a blaster wound to take me down.”

The girl hugs you back, relieved. The others gathered around, Hunter looked pissed.

“Did we find out who that woman was?”

“Bounty hunter, based on her skills.” Hunter returned, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Makes sense. And she's after Omega.” You pat the girl on the head. “We need to be more careful.”

Everyone nods and heads back to the cockpit, except Hunter.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t need the lecture, Hunter.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?” You bite back, adjusting your sling.

“Look, I know you’re upset about Kamino, and what happened with Crosshair-”

“No, I’m upset that out of everyone on this ship, you are the only one who has yet to acknowledge him. When Wrecker mentioned Crosshair, you shut it down.” You stood up moving closer to the sergeant. “I know you’re hurting just as badly, but the longer we leave him on Kamino the worse it’s going to get.”

“We’ll get him back-”

“When we stop running, maybe start planning. That’s a start.” You turn towards your room, your eyes brimming with tears. “If you don’t come up with something, and fast. I will. And I will do it alone if I have to. I am not going to leave my husband there to rot and be Tarkin’s attack dog.”

“CT-9904. What is your experience with Private L/N? Is she reliable?” Tarkin asked the gray-haired man.

“Yes, her skills were helpful on missions.” The man tensed, his mind racing. What’s he got planned for her? Don’t listen to him! Leave Y/N alone! Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP! FOCUS!

“When you bring her back, you will be in charge of training her after her conditioning. From there, she will become a part of your squad. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” The clone was dismissed and walked past Rampart. He caught a glimpse of a file, your file, on his datapad. Why is everyone so interested in her? It’s not like she’ll come willingly, she’s a traitor. I miss her. She LEFT me. She loves me. No, she doesn’t. She couldn’t.

He sat on his bunk, thankfully the barracks were empty. Images flashed in his head, of you, your laugh, your smile. He grabbed his head and fell to his knees, shaking. Hot tears fell from his eyes as he wept to the empty room.

“Y/N?” Omega peeks through your door. You are cleaning your rifle. “Should you be doing that?”

You chuckle, “Yes, but it’s taking a little longer than usual… Do you want to give me a hand?”

The girl perks up, “Really?”

“Yeah, consider it your first lesson on taking care of your weapon.” You move over to make room for Omega.

“Where do I start?” The girl picks up a rag and looks at you lost.

“Here, see that little gear right there? That’s one of the most important parts. If you don’t take care of it, the rifle can jam…”

You repeated the same words that Crosshair said to you, minus the sarcasm and occasional curse. Word for word of what he said came out of your mouth as if you traded places. For a moment, it felt like he was right there with you. You thought you heard someone crying. Someone weeping. Like they were right there with you.

#name and soul #clone trooper crosshair #crosshair x reader #the bad batch #omega tbb #omega #tbb spoilers #star wars #fennec shand #if you want to be tagged in this story dm me

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miss-choco-chips · 3 years

Text

Bird Watchers

It was something like an open secret in Gotham, that even though all it’s heroes were open to help no matter the situation, each one of them had a special affinity to certain matters.

For example, children from all districts knew to yell for Nightwing if they found themselves lost and scared. Small business owners often painted little Oracle symbols on their doorsteps, to warn away possible thieves with the knowledge that Gotham’s cryptic hacker had their eye on them. Working girls would send a quick prayer to the Red Hood before seeing their seediest clients; and as such, knew who to call for if things took a turn for the worst.

And Red Robin… well. His was a very specific bunch.

---.---

Warnings: depression, suicide attempts, overdose comic-typical violence (discussed, not explicit). Hurt-comfort all the way, baby. There’s also one scene, with the redhead, that I copied from the comics.

(it’s almost 2 am, I wrote half of this in one go, don’t @ me for mistakes. I’ll edit tomorrow. Maybe.)

---.---

The first time he stopped a suicide, he had just turned thirteen. The suit still felt wrong, too loose in all the places where Jason’s bigger presence would have been a better fit. Too small, too brainy, not brash enough, not good enough.

He would never think himself worthy, but he was all Batman had. There were no other candidates, not ones he could have thrown the job at without risking Bruce’s identity, so he’d have to make do.

But even so, he had been gaining a little confidence over the past few months. His training with Shiva, and Dick’s and Bruce’s focus on making him as ready for the streets as humanly possible, had ensured he never encountered a situation where he couldn’t handle himself, or get back up in time to avoid any casualties.

Except for right now.

“Hey! Don’t do it, please!”

Yeah, maybe yelling at the man precariously balanced on the edge of a how many feet tall building wasn’t his wisest moment. He’d berate himself later. Now was freak out time.

Said man stumbled for a second before regaining his footing and turning to look at Tim. He couldn’t be more than forty, with a bit of an overgrown beard and tired eyes. He had something clutched in one hand, tanned and calloused from work, the other over his chest, probably due to the scare of having a bat suddenly appearing behind him.

“R-Robin…”, he gasped, shook out of whatever reverie he was going through for a second. “W-what… I mean, why are you…?”

‘Okay, Tim, breath. Can’t call B, he’ll notice, get startled and jump. Can I catch him if he does? My grappling hook is made to withstand more than my weight, but if I can’t handle the strain of swinging us both to safety…’

He couldn't risk it.

“Good evening, Mr…?”

Surprise and good manners made the man automatically answer, “Ed. Ed Harrinson.”

Encouraged, Tim took a tiny teeny step forward. Ed’s entire body shock and he leaned backwards. Tim froze, fear keeping his breathing and heartbeat hostages for the time being, stopping the first and kick starting the second.

“Mr Harrinson, I’d like to ask you to step away from the edge? I’ll call an ambulance for you, and…”

“No!”, the man screamed, suddenly over his surprise, a look of determination trying to masquerade his obvious exhaustion. “If you call an’one, I’ll jump.”

Tim wisely kept the ‘you were gonna do it anyway’ to himself. He nodded slowly, hands emerging from the confines of his cape to show Mr Harrinson the lack of a communication device.

“I won’t, then, but may I come closer? Please?”

It was on the last word, high pitched and wavering, that the man cracked. With wary demeanor, he waved him over, pointing to a patch of rooftop a little far but close enough for Tim to feel comfortable- or as comfortable as he’d get, in these circumstances.

As he approached, he could feel the man analyzing him. The little gasp when he stood by his side didn’t go unnoticed.

“You are… smaller than I imag’ned. Too small for a bat. My boy’s taller than you” he mused, likely to himself, but Tim grasped onto that bit of information and clutched at it with both hands, desperately.

“I’m short compared to my peers, so maybe I’m the same age as your son. How old is he?”, he asked, in his most conversational tone. Fear still had a grasp over both his lungs and heart.

Something in the man’s face shifted.

“He… he just turned fifteen.” Older than Tim, then. Ed continued, “He’s… ”, in a second, the sadness was replaced by pride, “he’s grown up p’tty well, if I say so m’self. A fine young man, that kid. He’ll go places.”

For a beat, Tim tried to imagine his own dad here. As much as he’d hate to see Jack in Mr Harrinson’s place, he couldn't help but wonder if he’d be talking about him the same way Ed spoke about his son.

He… didn’t think so. If on the verge of death, thoughts about his son would probably be the farthest from his dad’s mind.

“You sound like you love him very much. He’s a lucky guy” he said sincerely, a tendril of hopefulness still twisted around his stomach. His hands weren’t shaking any longer, finding solace in the fact that the man in front of him didn’t look like he was about to jump right that second.

Mr Harrinson’s face fell.

“Got served an’ unlucky hand, with an old man like me”, his eyes went back to the abyss, to the empty, poor litten streets below them. “Go ‘way, kid. Leave m’ be. Notta business what I do. Gotta do this f’r my kid.”

Fear came back, full force.

“I- Sorry, but I can’t help but think about your son”, he blurted out, the only bit of information he had about the man was his only tendril of hope. “Someone who loves his child as much as you seem to must be a good father. A father that… would be missed dearly, if lost so young.”

Mr Harrinson looked even more devastated. Tim was doing this all wrong, wasn’t he?

“There’s no other way t’ keep’im safe!'' he yelled, and for a minute Tim thought he had decided to jump then and there. Instead, he dropped to his knees, hands to his head, paper still clutched in one fist. “They’ll get to him if I don’t! Once I’m dead, they’ll just leave’im alone!”

Tim crouched next to him, tentative.

“Who is ‘they’, sir? Maybe I could help…”

Ed was already shaking his head.

“Nay, they said not to go to the bats. Kill my boy, they will, if I do. Seen them offing others for less, so I believe them.”

“Ah, but I’m too short to be a bat, am I not?” he smiled, wobbly at best but sincere. “Besides, who’s gonna tell them you spoke to me? I”, he gestured to his mask, “know how to keep a secret.”

He considered for a beat, before tired shoulders fell, defeated. He offered the slip of paper towards him, unseeing eyes on the street below.

Robin read the note carefully, noting the sloppy penmanship and cheap paper as well as the message itself.

“Mr Harrinson…”

“I know”, he whispered, “I know working for the Black Mask wasn’t my best idea. But m’boy needed to eat, and the landlord was gettin’ impatient. And now, for whatever reason, boss wants me dead. And if I make ‘im dirty his own hands, he’ll dirty ‘em twice and send me with my son for company to the other side. Felix is too young, and he’s good. Can’t let ‘im pay f’ his old man m’stakes, ya hear me?”

Tim thought his words over carefully.

“Mr Harrinson… I don’t think this comes from Black Mask himself”, for one, Blackie wasn’t one to avoid blood on his gloves, nor to send such a shitty note. The man lived for the drama, like most A-listers did, and he’d never forgo the aesthetic of an expensive peachment and beautifully worded threat. Also, if he wanted this man gone, he would have put a bullet in his head the second he clocked in; and if it were revenge he was after, he wouldn't have gotten a warning note but his son’s head sent to him instead.

He folded the paper and put it into one of his multiple pockets, free hand going to the man’s shoulder.

“I know Black Mask’s M.O, mister, and this is not it”, no need to spook him further by describing what it was, though. “Probably just a colleague who wanted your position, or has a grudge for whatever reason. And that, I can help you with. If you work with me on this one, we can both make sure Felix has his Dad making breakfast for him tomorrow morning, and all the days after that. After all”, he smiled, no longer uncertain now that he had firm ground to work with, “your son is going places, and he’ll have to be well fed to reach them, right?”

Mr Harrinson’s smile must have had magical properties, Tim thought. There was no other explanation for the way it returned his breath back to his body.

---.----

The next time he saw a jumper, a few months later, he was slightly more ready for it. Bruce had congratulated him on his work with Mr Harrinson, and the subsequent raid they could make on one of Black Mask’s warehouses thanks to the man’s information, but Tim hadn’t been satisfied until he had read every single mission report on the batcomputer about attempted suicides. And succeed ones, too. Need to know what went well and what didn’t, after all.

So when he saw the fifty-something woman crying on top of a tower in City Hall District, he didn’t almost-crash in his attempt to get there in time. He landed softly, making just enough noise to let her know she wasn’t alone, but careful to not startle her.

“It’s a little cold up here, Lady. If you’d like, I can walk you home?”, he tries for cheeky, despite the cold fear nesting in his stomach like a grumpy, spiteful bird.

The woman, sitting by the edge, turned her head to look at him. The movement called attention to her long, strawberry blonde hair, neatly braided, and her pretty diamond earrings. The face under her perfect make up was gaunt and pale, tear tracks cleaning paths of skin to his trained eye.

Despite him interrupting what probably were very private thoughts, she smiled at his approach, kind and polite. It didn’t reach her eyes, but the intent to put him at ease was generous enough.

“I may be a lady, but any adult worth their salt would insist on walking the young child home, instead of the opposite. Besides”, she patted the rooftop under her,” I live here, so it’s not a long walk at all.”

Tim stepped closer, carefully.

“May I sit?”

“I could use the company for a bit”, she accepted, head turning back to the city below.

They sat there for a few minutes in silence, before Tim’s soft voice broke it again.

“Is there anything I can do to help convince you not to do it? Please?”

The lady smiled. “You are a very sweet boy.”

“That’s… not an answer. Can I at least know why?”

“Won’t it torment you, in the future, if we speak now?”, she asked a question of her own, turning to face him again. Despite her words, there was nothing but kindness in those deep green eyes. “If you don’t know me, I’m just another one who jumped. If we talk, I’m afraid I might stay with you long after I’m gone. You are too young for that kind of weight.”

Tim swallowed.

“That’s easily solved, Miss;”, Dick’s rule of thumb; if unsure, always call a lady Miss before Mrs “don’t do it.”

She spared him a long, meaningful look, and he slumped over.

“Not my best, I know, but I’m kinda freaking out now?” She wasn’t like Mr Harrinson, no motive he could see, no strand to pull and unravel her pain. “Please, just… why?”

She patted one of the hands gripping his own knee. His other hand rushed over hers, sandwiching her cold, slim fingers between his gloved palms.

“There’s nothing left for me. I have a nice job, live in a pretty side of town, have friends, and still… it feels so empty. So… Meaningless. Why even bother?”

Tim chewed on her words silently. He was way out of his depth. A tangible, physical problem? He could solve those, no biggie.

Depression, though… that was a different giant to tackle. Was he even prepared enough to?

A strong gust of wind made the lady with braided hair shiver. Without thought, Tim unclasped his cape and draped it over her slim shoulders.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, head tilted like a curious woodland animal. Tim felt strongly protective of her, of this kind, sweet lady, who said she had it all, except the one thing that mattered to her.

“I’m used to it”, he shrugged. “This suit is very warm, but cold air often trickles down from the neckline and… well. Gigs of the job and all that.”

The lady tutted, frowning for the first time since Tim arrived.

“That won’t do, young man. You need a scarf. The nights will only get colder from now on.”

He shrugged again.

“I just… don’t have the time to buy one. And I had one, but… There’s these kids who often hang out by the park, and they were so cold, I just couldn't swing by and ignore them. So I gave them my scarf to share between them. I’m just kinda bummed that I don’t have more to make sure they all stay warm.”

The braided haired lady hummed for a second.

“Well… I knit”, she started, carefully. “I don’t have children or grandchildren to give my final products to, so they’ll go to waste after I’m gone. If you’d take them out of my hands, you’ll do me a favor.”

Tim wanted to say no, unwilling to make this any easier for her, but the chance of getting her away from the edge was enough to quell his voice.

She went and came back within minutes, a big cardboard box balanced over her shaky arms. He rose to help her, meeting the woman halfway through the roof, a good distance away from the abyss.

“This red one would look good with your suit… oh, and the green one, to keep with the theme! Or maybe the yellow one… Shame pink would be such a bad fit for your colors, because that wool is the best I worked with…”

Tim’s hand carefully took said carf out and looked it over. There were about six others in the box.

“I could take this to those kids I mentioned before… It’d still not be enough for all, but more to share between them means less cold.”

She hummed again, looking at the unfinished projects on the bottom of the box.

“If… If you give me a few days…” she muttered. “I mean, I’m in no rush”, a hand vaguely gestured towards the rooftop’s edge. “I could spare a few days finishing those, and you could take them to these kids you spoke about… and maybe, I can help make a few children less cold with this silly hobby of mine.”

Elated beyond words, Tim nodded vigorously, waxing poetry about her work and about just how excited little Ellie would be with this soft, pretty pink scarf.

His patrol route could use a few detours, after all, if that meant keeping Braided Hair Lady away from her roof.

---.----

He was just returning from a late supply run when he bumped into The Cats.

It was in an alleyway, a block off from Mrs Eloise Denvarow (formerly known as Braided Hair Lady). The older woman had caved after three months knowing each other, of Tim passing by her apartment once every other night to pick up her baked goods or knitted masterpieces, to distribute between street kids and working girls, and told him her name. It was said in passing (“Stop with that ‘Lady’ thing, honey. It’s Eloise”), as if lacking importance, when in reality it meant the world to him. Sure, he’d already known, having run a background check on her the minute he came back to the cave after stopping her from jumping, but there was that implicit vow between them, that she wouldn't tell him her name and jump, wouldn’t make him carry its weight on his shoulders forever, so it was… it was a promise, on her end, a reassurance, and Tim wasn’t even embarrassed that he cried in her arms like a baby for ten minutes.

So here he was, a month after that, still riding that high, when the desperate call from below caught his attention.

There were two teens on the dirty ground, nested among cracked bottles and old newspapers. The girl was lying in the boy’s arms, with him screaming for help.

“Robin! Thank fuck!”, he almost sobs, arms visibly tightening around the girl. Tim wants to ask how he knew to call for him, and if the proximity to Mrs Denvarow’s place was luck or not.

But it wasn’t the time to ask.

The girl was pale, which only highlighted the bruises on her face. Someone with a big fist punched her. It doesn't seem likely, considering just how distraught the other kid is, but he checks his hands just in case; fortunately, too small for that kind of damage.

She’s also breathing erratically and, when he puts a gloved hand to her neck, he realizes just how crazy her pulse is.

Fear Toxin? Except Scarecrow is still in Arkham as far as he knows, and even if he had gotten away recently, he needs time to develop his precious chemicals. Joker’s Venom and Mad’s Hatter drugs don’t have quite this results, and Ivy doesn’t usually attack street girls just for kicks; they are also too far from her usual turf for her to be a viable suspect.

So, that leaves very few choices.

“Overdose?”, he ventures a guess, hand already fumbling through the pockets on his belt.

The other boy sobs harder, nodding while looking down at the girl in his arms. Tim gently takes the girl from him to position her straighter, to help her down the vial he finally found in his belt. It was supposed to help flush out any chemical in a few minutes, tops; they usually used it when a new type of Crazy Criminal Drug made its way to the streets and they didn’t have the time to properly prepare an antidote. It was strong, and vicious in its path to devoid the body of any and all external agents, which was why it wasn’t a preferred method; who’s to say the civilian in need of a flush isn’t in some important medicine? The Big Flush, as Dick calls it, lacked any kind of finesse or discrimination.

But it was their best shot right now, so there goes nothing.

There’s silence while they watch the girl’s progress. He doesn’t bother asking if he called for an ambulance; they are obviously minors, probably homeless, and even if the Wayne Foundation takes care of children’s hospital fees, they’d avoid it to keep themselves out of the foster system.

But then, the kid kept talking.

“I… I found her near Grant Park. I… I didn’t know what to do, so I dragged her here. She/” and then he breaks again, hands grasping one of hers, as if letting go meant he was giving up on her and he couldn't bear it.

“Grant Park is only five blocks away,” Tim thinks out loud, mind already a mile away “and Moench’s Row illicit night clinic is about the same distance from there as this place. Why did you bring her here?”

“She… Alley… Oh, her name’s Allison, by the way. And I’m Thomas. Tom.” Introductions, miraculously, seem to do the trick here and calm him down. “Nice to meetcha.”

Tim’s not deterred by his toothy grin, but he has to admit he’s kinda cute. Like, stray cat cute.

Huh. Alley, Tom, cat… Yeah, that checks.

“What happened with Allison?” he presses softly, one arm still keeping Alley up and against his chest, the other hand on her pulse point, taking note of the way the heartbeat seems to be stabilizing. The puking fest was gonna start soon.

“She… It was on purpose.” Tom confesses, eyes going clouded for a while. “She tries to not be home, yknow? I met her in kindergarten, and even then she’d try to hide behind the teacher’s desk in hopes they’d forget about her and close the building with her inside. Anyway, we pretty much live on the streets these days, and Alley… she’s very depressed. I convinced her to see someone a while ago, even stol/ I mean, earned the money for it myself”, he’s quick to correct, eyes glancing up to see if he was smooth enough to cover it; which he wasn’t, but Tim was in favor of letting that small one go, “and they gave her a prescription for antidepressants. She’s been kicking it down the road, but she’s gotten a lot worse and I wouldn't lay off her case about it, so she sneaked back home to get some money from her folks to pay for it.”

By the way the kid looks at her bruised face with unmeasurable guilt, Tim knows she didn’t go unnoticed.

“And… I don’t know. We were supposed to meet up by the Commerce Street Highway, but she was late, so I walked around for a bit and… I saw her there, on a bench. She was/ she was still conscious then, and she told me… she said ‘these aren’t what the doc gave me, but they took the pain away all the same’.” Again, Tom chokes on his own emotions. If he had any free hands, he’d try to put one on his shoulder for comfort. “I don’t even know what she took, or where did she get it from!”

Tim has heard whispers of loan sharks and drug dealres camping toghter by the Fashion Distric, just north of Grant Park, so he can make an informed guess as to how that happened. Also, he now knows what he’ll do the rest of the night, once these kids are safe.

When Tom has gotten a grasp of himself, he pushes again.

“So, why did you bring her here?”

He shrugs, a bit abashed.

“Well… I mean, everyone knows about how Mrs Denvarow is the one giving clothes and food away, and that you help her distribute it. Well, not everyone, but… you know, the street kids. We flagged her building with a yellow skull and everything.”

A yellow skull grafitti, Tim’s mind translates, is the street equivalent of a ‘don’t fuck with this place’ sing. A sort of protective sigil. He wonders how he missed it.

“And… This is kind of your thing, right? So I figured you’d be better prepared to deal with it than some overworked clinic that might even not have enough free equipment to help us. Good think I did, too” he gestures at his friend, whose face is now looking flushed; a sign both of growing health, and of the upcoming puke. Tim’s quick to turn her so her back is to his chest, head tilted down just in case.

As if rehearsed, Alley chose that exact second to empty the contents of her now flushed stomach. Tim would need a sample of that, to catch the responsible dealer.

Tom held her hair away from her face while Tim kept her steady, and she blinked bearily at them after it was done, still not completely lucid but a world away from the girl she was ten minutes ago.

“She’ll still need a hospital.'' Tim informs Tom sternly. The boy had taken his friend in his arms again, softly rubbing her back to help with the uncomfortable ache leftover after puking your guts out. “The Moench’s Row clinic should be able to help with any side effect, but she’s safe for now.”

He nods, thanks Tim again and again and politely refuses his help to take her to the clinic. They part ways, both parties probably thinking this would be the last time they saw each other.

Still, their situation sticks with Tim during the rest of his patrol, and he decides to stop by the clinic, just to check on them. His knuckles still ache from the absolute beating he delivered to the ones who gave Alley the money and sold her the drugs, so he’s in better spirits and hopes to spread it to the kids.

Alley is awake when he visits, and her shy, little smile is enough for the rage inside of Tim to die down. The bad guys dealt with, the civilians safe, everything in its proper place.

He sleeps a bit better that night.

---.----

He almost doesn’t see him.

Actually, he probably wouldn't have, deeply lost into his own head, had the guy been anything other than a redhead. That exact shade of orangy-brown auburn, that he would have to pick up from his workbench at Titan’s tower after Bart had decided to ‘keep him company’ during his all-nighters.

It was ironic, how now he would give anything in the world to have those same strands of hair fucking up his experiments, if only for the impish, ‘please-don’t-kill-me-I’m-an-angel’ smile he would receive in exchange.

“Hey”, he greets, landing softly at the man’s right, sitting a few feet away from him, too tired to even stand up on common ground. “What’s happening?”

He shouldn’t be doing this. He really, really shouldn’t. His own mental health was less than stellar, and even thinking about it made him feel worse. He didn’t deserve to feel bad, not when civilians were in the hospital after his latest fuck up, Cass was missing, Cassie barely hanging in there, the family a mess with Damian’s lovely introduction, and… well. Every other person he knew…

Point being, there must be someone else, in a better inner place, that could speak to this guy. But since no one seemed to be patrolling this route, Tim could only hope to stall him long enough for a more capable vigilante to show up.

The guy looks startled, then angry. He has green eyes, he notices, under the glasses. Not sure why that sticks to him.

“What are you doing here? You’re not going to try to stop me, are you? You’re not going to swing down and catch me in mid air or something, are you?”

He seems defensive, but Tim notices a bit of hesitancy. He has worked with less.

(He wishes he had more energy to do more with what little he has)

“No. If I did, what’s to stop you from doing it again later, or tomorrow? I can’t be with you every second. If you want to do this, you are going to, no matter how much I don’t want you to. And I don’t want you to, just so we are clear.”

The guy still looks suspicious, but he hasn’t taken that last step forward, so… a win?

“I just needed to sit down for a minute. ‘been thinking about all the ways I’ve screwed up lately, and…”

Auburn-hair deflates a little, turning away from Tim to examine the night sky. “Well, that makes two of us.”

The bat signal lights up the night. His newfound companion looks at it, then him. “Do you need to get that?”

“Nah. Batman will, and if he needs help he’ll call me.” Tim shrugs. He needs a coffee-power-up. He needs to sleep. He needs for his loved ones to not be dead.

He needs to see if there’s anything he can do for this guy.

“So, do you want to tell me why you’re doing this? So someone can go to your family and friends to let them know?”

After all, if it was him who did it (and… wasn’t that food for thought?), he’d like Bruce and Dick to know why. To not… to not blame themselves.

Redhead looks annoyed again. Uh. A short fuse, this one.

“Don’t try any psychology, or try to make me feel guilty about hurting anyone… this isn't about anyone but me.”

He shouldn’t say it, but… “That’s pretty naive, but whatever. Tell me anyway.” He smirks a bit, then “Unless you’re in a hurry or something.”

He hears the guy (he really should ask his name) as he tells his story. A cold, clinical part of his mind recognizes the symptoms described almost unconsciously by the guy as depression. He would know, after all. The other part of him, the part that made him Robin, that made him human, discarded the label; there was much more to this guy than his illness, and he would treat him like it.

“So here I am,” he finishes, now sitting side by side with Tim, both their legs hanging above the bustling city. “Now’s when you tell me how stupid this is. That other people have much bigger problems, there’s hunger and war, and I’m weak because my problems are nothing next to stuff like that.”

Tim thinks of a father, desperately thinking his death would save his son’s life, when in fact it would have only made it worse. He thinks of a woman, so full of love and warmth, looking into the abyss and feeling empty inside. He thinks of a couple of kids, one hanging to life with nails and teeth, the other hanging to her just as fiercely.

He thinks about himself. About looking at a future version of himself, hating what he sees, and deciding to drown the bud before it can even flower. He thinks of sickly green water, of cloning equipment in a laboratory, of a phone falling to the ground after delivering him with more bad news.

He’s still in a bad place, still probably not the most capable person to be doing this, but a part of him is sure this is the right answer. The only answer.

“No. Your problems are worse than anyone else’s, because they are yours. I’ve... felt bad like you have, and some pretty bad things have happened to me.”

Red hair looks as tired as Tim feels, so it’s a surprise that he has enough energy to glance at him worriedly, hand stretching a bit in his direction in a half-formed attempt to comfort.

“You guys make it look so easy, swinging around, having fun… Things get bad for you, too?”

Tim looks down, and smiles. It’s a sad, bitter thing. He thinks about parents lost before ever connecting to them, about a girlfriend going away, a sister lost to the madness of their lives, about two best friends gone, one even dying in his arms.

He gives no details. Doesn’t talk about it all, just shares a little bit of himself. It’s only fair, after hearing about this guy’s demons. Misery loves company, doesn’t it?

“So what do you do? How do you deal with it?” the guy asks when he’s done, looking at Tim by the corner of his not-very-dry eyes.

Tim forces himself to remember. “One of the things I’ve learned is that it gets bad for everyone sometimes, Superman, Batman… everyone. I remember that I’m not alone, that things do get better. Sometimes on their own, most times when you work at them. And when I have trouble remembering those things, I find people to talk to.”

Most of those were dead, but Tim is hit with the epiphany that not all of them are. He still has people. He still…

“And you’ve got people like that? That you can talk to?” asks the guy, tone both worried and hopeful. Tim stands up, does his best to look calm.

“Yeah. Your folks, and old friend, even a trained counselor you’ve never met before… someone who has a totally different perspective because they’re not as close to your problems as you are. Maybe they give you advice, and that’s great… or maybe they just listen. Sometimes, that’s all you need. Anyway, that’s how I deal with it when things suck. And it works. Want to come down from there and give it a try?”

The guy gets back to his feet, as Tim watches from behind. Having been in this situation before, the fear grabbing a hold of him isn’t new, but it's different. He thinks he's too worn down. It takes the edge off of any emotion.

Except hope. Hope still hurts like a sharp knife when it’s snatched away. He prays it won’t be, right now.

Green eyes (Jason- that’s who they reminded him of) look down, deep in thought. Then he turns, smiles at Tim. There’s hope in him too.

“Yeah, why not?”

They get down together. He gives him a few numbers and they have breakfast together. The guy promises to call his English teacher, at least. Tim promises himself to call his brother.

At least, he still has Dick.

---.----

He’s been putting off doing his rounds since he came back, he knows. But…

It changed him, a bit. Going around the world, dealing with his grief while staying on his toes, ready to break down one second and having to field off attacks from all sides the next, with the Demon’s honeyed whispers echoing in his ear and mind.

He’ll never tell anyone, just how tempting it had been. How much he had wanted to reach for that offered hand. To lay his head on someone’s shoulder and let the responsibility bleed from his.

Tim will never tell anyone, but he’ll always know. And it’ll always make him hate himself a little bit more.

So, he’s different now. And he’s scared- that the people he gave hope to, that he talked with, that he could never stop thinking about, even halfway across the world- that they won’t like this new, worn down him.

That Mr Harrinson the Good Father, Braided Hair Lady and her sweaters, the inseparable Stray Cats, the girl with the bright yellow cardigan, the kid with the scarred wrists, the woman with beautiful star-like freckles that she’ll hopefully pass on to her baby, the gentle giant man with calloused hands, the petite but fierce young teen with defiant eyes and dead name, the soft spoken girl with the loudest laugh, auburn-haired boy and his hopeful and sympathetic green eyes… and so, so many more. They all knew him, maybe not at his best, but certainly better than now. The boy that kept them from jumping had been a bright, magical Robin. The teen that came back to their city was dark, weary Red Robin. It felt kinda like he had cheated them, returning this broken version of himself to their doorsteps.

But he had to go check on all of them. Even if Cass (and it was such a relief, that even after he lost everything else, the return of his sister could at least be a speck of light in the mist of misery surrounding him) had promised to do so, there were so many of them… and she couldn't possibly remember everyone, all the time. And if anyone had fallen through the gaps… if anyone had stood on a rooftop, waiting for their Robin to save them, only to think ‘nobody cares’ as he didn’t show up…

Tim gets sick only thinking about it. If it did happen, then he needs to know. He has to carry their names with him, that’s the least he can do for failing them.

So he’ll go check on them… anytime now. Soon. The moment he gathers enough energy to climb back to his feet and get his grapple hook out.

...The city looks full of life, beneath him. Like it feels the return of its Knight. The end of the internal quarrel among it’s vigilantes, that almost tore it all apart. The relief in Nightwing, the hesitant peace in Red Hood, the mellowing of Robin.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the worst ways)

Maybe it also feels Red Robin’s emptiness. Maybe that’s why it's so lively down there, like the ground is calling to him, just as it did when Ra’s broke the window with his body.

He thinks... he won’t have to check on anyone, if he jumps. And that way, there will be no name to carry with him to his grave.

“Robin!”

“Stop!”

“Don’t do it, please!”

He startles. Hadn’t even noticed when he got to his feet, nor that one of them was hanging over the abyss. The fact that he wasn’t alone on that rooftop any longer hadn’t even breached his usually perfect spatial awareness.

They didn’t call for him, but the voices sounded distraught, they were close, and he was a former Robin, so he turned around, tired, but with obedience and service too ingrained in him to consider denying help to whoever it was.

It turned out, he wouldn't need to go make his rounds any longer. His rounds had come to him.

There were… too many people on this roof. It was way too crowded.

“Robin!”

It was one voice now, not a mixture of them, so he could identify the one yelling his former alias. Allison broke from the mob of people (and there were more still, filling in from the open rooftop door, like a never-ending stream…) to run to him, looking like she might have just jumped into his arms, if not for Tom clutching her hoodie to stop her a few feet from him. Good move, considering he was still balancing precariously on the edge.

“Alleycat?” he whispered, a little blown. She looked so different (magenta looked amazing on the tips of her hair, and she totally pulled off that lip piercing), but he’d recognize those eyes anywhere. He’d been so relieved, when she first opened them after that dangerous overdose.

“We were so fucking worried, dude”, came from Tomcat just behind her, still gripping her hoodie (still keeping her safe; some things never change).

“I…”

“Where were you?” Maddie, not longer yellow but still wearing a cute cardigan, stepped up too.

“I’m… I’m not Robin”, he blurts out. They… knew it was him? It… like, obviously there was a new Robin, Damian was (still, but probably not for much longer) smaller than him, but to immediately know that he was…

“Yeah, no shit. I’d know that long hair and noodle limbs of yours anywhere, kid. Known you too long to be fooled. And the new kid’s really trigger happy with that lon’nife of his... You’re still the Robin I prefer, and fuck if I understand the name passing you heroes do” Mr Harrinson spoke from the back of the crowd, one hand clutching his kid’s shoulder, the other arm around…

“Braided Hair Lady?”

Eloise smiles at him, soft and warm as ever, a little shy when his eyes go to the arm hugging her close and back to her. He recognizes some of her handmade scarfs around the necks of plenty of people on the roof.

“I… wasn’t aware you all knew each other.”

A petite young teen steps forward, walking until they were shoulder-to-shoulder with the Strays.

“Most of us met through the app, and then introduced the others. There’s more, of course, but not everyone could meet here. Samantha’s baby was born just two months ago, so she chose to stay home, but we promised her pictures, so you’ll have to say cheese soon birdboy. Also, I found my name. I’m Cal.”

Allison’s smile broadened and she sneaked an arm around Cal’s waist.

“They are the new Straycat. Calico cat’s are the cutest shit ever, aren’t they?”

Well… Having someone as badass as Cal watching Tom and Alley’s back would sure make Tim feel a lot better about both kids being out in the streets.

Were they still on the streets? He’d need to find out and fix that, soon.

Then it hit him. “What app?”

Auburn-hair smiled from his place, at the front of the crowd just behind the Cats.

“Felix over there,” he pointed over his shoulder at Mr Harrinson’s son, who smiled shyly at Tim, eyes shining in gratitude and admiration like they always did when Tim did his rounds and checked on his dad, “defended you in a GothamHeroes forum once. Some bratty douchebag was complaining about you landing over his car or something and this kid went for his fucking troath.”

“I was in that chat too,” spoke Tom, smiling a little too savagely for a kid that sweet. “He tore the idiot to shreds, speaking about how you saved his dad’s life and took it upon yourself to make sure he was still okay even weeks after you met. I mentioned how you saved Alley and Mrs Denvarow, we exchanged numbers… then we met Cal during one of our rounds handing out Mrs D’s scarfs and food. They were weary of everyone else, but trusted us because they heard you talk about the clothes and baked goods... And Cal’s friend Gina worked with Samantha on the streets and told them about her story...”

“Soon, it seemed like people personally saved by you were just… popping out of the snow like daisies” Blair laughed, and it was still the loudest, brightest noise. The night seemed a little clearer, the air a little fresher for it. “Felix made his own private chat and added us, and we added everyone else we knew… The word went around about it, and more and more people joined in…”

“It’s really a wonder how you had any time to fight crime, seeing how often you were apparently comforting jumpers on the roofs” Ailbert, still as gigantic and gentle as always, raised a hand from the middle of the group. He had a little girl on his shoulders, probably the baby niece he had taken in after his sister’s death.

“Then the new kid appeared and Gotham went to hell on a basket, and no one saw you around any longer”, Elijah, wrists no more scarred than the last time he saw him, his arm tangled with Maddie’s, went on. “We were… well, we were a bit confused.”

“Speak for yourself, Cal jumped Red Hood one night, held him at knife point and demanded to know what the fuck happened to our Robin. We were like, zero chill.”

“Sorry, they did what?” Tim was definitely in the twilight zone now.

“No thoughts, head empty, only murder”

...Tim needed to give Jason a quick call. Also sign Cal up for anger management. And probably, judging by the way both Alley and Tom were looking at them, get one of the adults to give them the talk.

Mrs Eloise smiled at him, and like always it served to calm his nerves. That woman was a different kind of magic than Alfred, but magic indeed. “Anyway, dear, what matters is that we were worried about you. And then this incredible young man, Aaron,” she waved at him, and he winked one of his green eyes in response, “suggested we kept in closer contact with one another, so anyone who spotted you could inform the others.”

Aaron shrugged, his auburn mane of hair bobbing with the movement. “It just seemed like it’d be easier to have an alarm set up, since messaging everyone would take so long… and then someone suggested making a map of Gotham so we could have clearer routes for the kids handing out Mrs Denvarow’s stuff… and someone wanted a shared blackboard to write theories on where the fuck you were with others… and a few demanded a space to share photos, possible sightings or old selfies with you… It kinda spiralled and I thought it’d be less of a chaotic mess if I made an app that could do all of that, instead of all of us using multiple apps for the different fixtures everyone asked for… Since this is Gotham, we also added some Rouge Alarm for whenever a criminal was set loose. It helped keep us safe, and if we knew when crime was happening, we could pay attention to which heroes answered the call…”

“And then, you fought that firefly guy the other day”, Felix said, still by his dad’s side, still looking as awed as ever when looking at tim. “I was in the crowd, and I recognized you within a minute.”

“I don’t really understand technology that well, and the group chat was such a mess that day” Ailbert lamented, but he was still smiling. They all were.

That hit Tim then, hard.

They all looked so happy to see him. To have him back. They had been waiting for him to be back, banded together to make sure they’d all know when he did.

“You looked so sad the last time we saw you” Blair added softly, sadly. “And… when you saved Aaron, you told him about such sad things…”

Elijah winced “And I heard the Midnighter fell from Wayne Tower a few weeks ago, but then he was never seen around again, and your suit looks kinda similar, so that was probably really you… and, that fall…”

“We were very worried” repeated Eloise, but her eyes didn’t lose their warmth. “But you’re back now, and we can keep track of you and each other now, so it’s all good. It’s wonderful to have you back, love.”

This was an out of body experience.

Something must have shown on his face, because Cal snorted.

“We adore you, you dumbass. You are our hero.”

Alley smiled. “You are our Robin.”

Tim fell into her arms, and away from the roof’s edge. The rest of the crowd was upon them in seconds, all eager to pat his back or joke about the cowl hiding his hair from their hands.

He met eyes with Aaron, over Alley’s shoulder. He looked like the hope Tim had helped plant in his heart all those months ago had flowered, and the petals filled his heart.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the best ways)

“You should download the app too, so you always have someone to talk to. Look it up. It’s called BirdWatchers, because we’ll always look up and out for you. Because when we wanted to jump, you lended us your wings to fly instead.”

It was like this fucker wanted Tim to cry.

“Welcome home, Red Robin.”

#My writing #Tim drake #batman fanfic #red robin #trigger warning:#depression #suicide attempts #discussion of suicide #overdose #mental illness #hurt comfort #Tim doing the comfort and being the hurt #until he gets the comfort #happy ending #wholesome #I swear the tags are scary but it IS wholesome #Tim drake centric #my writting

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hongjoongtrasher · 3 years

Text

the beauty and the beast (chapter 1)

word count: 2k461

angst

series masterlist

Synopsis:

When you move to a new city due to your father's job, you don't expect to stay for a long and so decided not to get attached to the world around you.

But still, you are "the new girl", unwillingly attracting people's attention because of your family's background. Your strict father expects a lot from you, not to say perfection. And when you are sit next to a certain Jung Yunho, you didn't expect your life to take a radical turn

You don’t even remember when you stayed more than a year in the same city. It probably started around the age of 3, when your father got his promotion he wanted for so long. That’s how your family used to move every year, or even shorter than this. You don’t remember having a childhood friend, and worst, have you ever had friends ?

The unfamiliar view of the busy city at your window made you remember that once again, you had to unpack the few items you owned. You quickly discovered it was more a burden to drag along unnecessary things that would later be a pain in the ass to unpack and pack forever. Only school books, clothes and some other accessories were keeping you company in this new room. So impersonal, cold. But it would stay this way, since you knew you’d probably move on again in few months. While tidying your room, you heard a knock on your door, making you look at it to see your father.

« Y/N ? Can we talk for a bit ? » he asked, a poker face on.

« Yes father. »

Father. From the moment you could speak, he always told you to call him father. No dad, or affectionate pet names. It was just showing the gap that have been created so far between you both. Your mom ? You don’t even remember her face. You learnt from your grand-mother a long time ago that your parents got divorced when you were just a newborn. The reasons to this separation are staying difficult to know, but your father never talked about her in your presence. You always thought that somehow she didn’t want you, that was probably the best reason you could thought due to the lack of her tries to contact you for 17 years. So instead of a mom, you grew up with a nanny who was still living with you and your father. She was a sweet and caring person, always making sure you weren’t lacking anything. You owed her a lot, knowing she was the one who was basically raising you up, of course with the directions of your father.

You soon arrived in the large living room, as impersonal as the rest of the luxurious apartment your father got from his work. It was neutral as possible, but still anybody could notice the taste for luxury he acquired with the time. Trophies, some modern canvas you couldn’t even interpret, a large TV with home cinema etc. Your father was sitting in his black leather armchair, in his usual white shirt and black suit. And you just sat down on the white sofa, waiting patiently for him to start.

« I got you a place in a school from a friend of mine. » he began, and you felt your body being rigid.

Studies were his obsession when it comes to you. You always had to be first, having the best grades, the best in every field you could reach. That was probably also the main reason of why you never got close friends. Because you were « Miss Perfect Brain » and the only child from a wealthy family, most of people thought you were just like one of those entitled kids who would think they are the one ruling in this world. But you were not. Actually, you never wanted any of those thing. How many times you wanted to go to clubs after class ? Just hanging out with kids from your age, sharing hobbies etc…But you never could because your father would always send you to study classes after your school schedules.

« The school ranking is pretty good, so I think you are able to reach 1st place right ? » he continued, his cold glare piercing your body, making you tighten your fists on your knees.

It would be a disaster for you to be 2nd. Actually not really for you, but for your father. With him, it was first or nothing, and nothing would results as punishment for you. Even since elementary school, he would force you to copy the mistakes you’d done until 2 in the morning, « to make you remember not to do the same mistakes again ». Sometimes depriving you from eating until you would perfectly recite the lesson. As a child, you had spent nights crying in your pillow, hating your father for being so mean to you, and today, you just gave up. As long as you were doing as told, everything would be fine, right ?

You nodded as an answer, finding the courage to finally look at his strict face.

« Y/N, this year is going to be a decisional one for you. After graduation, you’ll go to Korea University and study international business. Don’t deceive me » he announced, making you gulp at the end of his sentence.

Of course it wasn’t what you wanted. But what did you want in the first place ? You didn’t know. You couldn’t find any perspectives for yourself. And of course, you didn’t have a word to say.

« Yes Father… »

And without adding any words, he stood up and left for his office, leaving you alone in the living room. You wanted to cry, to yell how unfair it was for letting someone decide for yourself. You throat was dry and your fists were trembling from madness until you felt a comforting hand on your shoulder. It was Sookja, your nanny and the housekeeper. She probably heard the whole conversation, and was knowing perfectly how you felt at this moment.

« This is so unfair… » you mumbled into your breath, trying to hold back your tears of pure rage.

« I know sweetie… » the old woman sighed. « Maybe he will let you do what you want later » she tried to soften your mood, but it was already ruined.

You sighed and stood up, just shrugging to join your bedroom again, head dipping first into your pillow. You didn’t feel like unpacking, so you just stayed in your bed, until your nanny came to inform you dinner was ready. As usual, you were eating alone. Your father never ate with you, because of his schedules. How funny it was to see that even on your birthday he would be absent, justifying himself to be busy but that he would « make it up for the next year ». Weariness eventually took over sadness. This was your daily life, and you didn’t expect it to change now…Unless.

It was your first day at your new high school. You were so nervous that you had barely eaten on the morning. You were apprehending people. Of course you were used to see new faces all the time, but this time was different. You were arriving in the middle of the first semester in a school where everyone from your prom was knowing each other’s, and to crowned everything, your father was accompanying you this morning to greet his friend, the principal for this year. The more the black Audi was entering the school yard, the more you wanted to become a mouse. You hated so much those looks of curiosity, or full of judgment. Your father intimated you to get off the car, which you did, looking at the floor while the Principal was waiting at the main entrance. You didn’t hear the following conversation, your heart beating too fast and in your ear. Some students stopped to watch the scene, and some of them at the windows were taking pictures. How embarrassing. Little did you know a group of boys were also watching from the first floor.

« Heh, is this the new girl everyone’s talking about ? » hummed a blonde boy, his chin in the palm of his hand while he was leaning on the window sill.

« Seems like it » answered a tall boy, a lollipop in his mouth. « Dude, she looks hot »

« Mingi, you even haven’t seen her face yet » groaned the little blonde again.

Mingi shrugged and said. « Hongjoong, she’s rich, so she’s hot »

« You’re an idiot » sighed the said Hongjoong, rolling his eyes in exasperation. « What d'you think Yunho ? »

Yunho stayed silent during the whole conversation, hands in his pockets as he was watching the scenery before scoffing. « She’s just a little rich bitch » he mumbled before turning from this, going to his classroom.

You had to stay at the professor’s room, so that the Principal could introduce you to your homeroom teacher. Strangely enough, all the teachers seemed too nice. Of course they were. The shadow of your father must be planning around. « Let’s go introducing you to your new comrade » said your teacher enthusiastically which made you forced a smile. You silently followed him to the door where he made a sign for you to wait. Your heart was about to explode, as you could hear the sounds for chairs and people chatting in the classroom. You didn’t know how much you waited in this hallway, but your teacher appeared again, calling your name. You jumped a little, not expecting this time to come…so quickly. Gulping again, you slowly passed the door to present you in front of everyone, your eyes scanning the room. « Can you please introduce you ? » Asked your teacher, everyone’s waiting to hear the sound of your voice for the first time. You really wanted to run away and never come back, but you couldn’t. Your father would definitely kill you.

« H-hi, my name is Y/N, nice to meet you » you said, quite unsure of yourself.

Some kids applauded, which made you blush from embarrassment.

« Alright, Y/N you can go sit next to Yunho there » said your teacher, pointing at the front row at the very left of the room, not to say the corner.

Your eyes landed for the first time on the boy called Yunho. His black wavy hair were hiding his forehead and also his eyes, but you could definitely feel he was glaring at you. Not staring, but glaring as if you did something wrong. But what could you have done wrong ? Was sitting next to him a crime ? You awkwardly sat down next to him, feeling the cold tension radiating from the silent boy next to you. At some point, you really felt uncomfortable, to the point you didn’t dare looking at him a single time. You tried your best to focus on the class, nervously holding your pen. Surprisingly, the first two hours of class went by fast, but you still haven’t talked with Yunho, and he seemed not trying to neither. When the bell ranged, announcing the first break of the day, you gathered your things before you heard his deep voice for the first time.

« Move. » he ordered in an annoyed tone, his tall figure dominating your frail one.

Your heart stopped beating for a second, suddenly scared. He seemed mad at you for God knew which reason, but you quickly moved to let him pass, looking at your feet while you could hear a « Tsch… » from him.

What the hell was happening ? Why this boy was hating you from the start ? You took your phone and went to the girls toilet, to regain composure, but still, you felt a dark aura from him. While you were thinking about this, you heard girls gossiping outside the cabinet you were occupying.

« Did you see that ? She is next to Yunho ! »

« The poor girl, I bet she won’t stay next to him for a long time » said another girl, in a mocking way.

« She doesn’t know he’s a total douchebag tho. »

« Hey ! He’s still hot. But yeah, a douchebag »

And they laughed before exiting the place. What does this mean ? You began to get really worried about this Yunho. He seemed to be a bad guy, but was he really ? You inhaled deeply again before going back to your classroom, expecting to see Yunho again, but he wasn’t here anymore.

Class started again, and you couldn’t help but wonder where Yunho went and why he left. Your new Korean literature teacher didn’t seem surprised when doing roll call. « Ditching classes again huh ? » he mumbled before going on.

At lunch time, you searched for a place to eat alone. You didn’t feel like going to the cafeteria or stayed in class to eat, so you went to the rooftop, surprisingly empty. You expected to see at least one or two people…But anyway, it was better for you. Leaning against the wall of the staircase, you took out the lunch box Sookja made for you with your favorite food inside as a good luck charm for your first day. It slightly made you smile and brought you some comfort. You didn’t want to think to anything, just having some peace until you heard loud laughs from the stairs, making you panicking and quickly packed your lunch to see a group of boys who seemed as surprised as you to find you here.

« Oh, isn’t the « New girl » ? » smirked the small blonde guy.

You quickly looked away, mumbling a « sorry » before trying to pass over them, but an arm blocked your route.

« Hey, you could at least say hi when someone’s talking to you » groaned the tallest from the pack.

You felt intimidated. You just wanted to leave, without creating any problems. You looked up at the tall guy, scared about what he was about to do next until you noticed wavy black hair. Yunho was here also, and he didn’t seem to pay attention.

« I-I’m sorry, I just want to go p-please » you said weakly, the panic gaining your body each second passing by.

« Tss, is that how rich bitch like you are behaving huh ? »

This was escalating quickly. You were too scared to do anything, when you saw the tall guy’s hand reaching out for you too rapidly, making you flinch.

« Mingi. Stop. »

It was Yunho’s voice. As you shut your eyes tight, you slowly opened them to see an annoyed Mingi, rubbing his nape in frustration while the blonde guy was shocked. Yunho looked at his friends.

« Hongjoong, let’s go somewhere else » he added to the blonde guy.

Hongjoong nodded and slighlty pushed Mingi away to the stairs, only Yunho staying still, his dark orbs fixed on you in silence.

« Hey, I really hate people like you, but I didn’t want Mingi to do something bad, so you better go now. » he warned, giving you a cold shiver in your back.

Why was this always like this ? No matter where you go, people always hate you, or fake to be friendly to you because of your status. You felt tears filling your eyes, but you with the few pride left in you, you left Yunho alone on this rooftop, running away from him until next class. You were certain of a thing, Yunho hated you and you're far to know he'd soon take advantage of you.

chapter 2 coming soon ! please let me know what you think about this first chapter <3

taglist: @palegardenrebel @mirror-juliet @twancingyunhoe @yeosangmystar @dreamer95 @tinyteenieateez @yunsangoveryonder @tenebrisirae

Couldn’t tag : @nz-pichbg (comment to be added in the taglist)

#ateez angst #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #yunho imagines #yunho fanfic #yunho angst #yunho series #ateez series #yunho fluff

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peakyxtommy · 3 years

Text

Better Days - Thomas Shelby x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Dark/Hurt/Comfort/Sad Fic/Slight Fluff

WC: 3.1K

Summary: Reader is having a bad time & Tommy comforts her

Gif Credit: @bonniebirddoesgifs

It was another morning of waking up with the weight of the world on your chest. The heavy feeling of dread, as if you were walking around with a cement block in the middle of your heart. A day where rolling around to the other side of the bed and pulling the covers over your head seemed better than leaving to the outside world. Staying under the covers had the illusion to block out the light, to block out the pain you felt deep within you. A sadness that seemed to linger, never leaving your side. A continuous cycle, that seemed to never end. Always ready to swallow you whole, but never knowing when it would come. A monster in the closet, always lurking, searching for ways to collide right into you at the worst times possible.

When your feet collide on the cold wooden floor to carry yourself to the bathroom, to start with the routine of your morning, you already knew what kind of day it was going to be. Of mentally checking off the list of tasks to get you from one step to another. You try not to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, afraid to look into your eyes. Eyes that held so much pain and sorrow, eyes that have seen enough heartache. Eyes that have seen joy and happiness, wondering how you could feel the bittersweetness of both sides.

Once dressed and partially fed for the day you continue on through the notions of the day. Repeating the words back to yourself, to feel a sense of quiet, that you were actually going to make it through the day. The long hours of repetitive activity and small conversation with those that you encounter through the day. Masking who you are, pretending that things are okay as they seem. Feeling more energy suck out of you as the hours float on by. Your mind becomes bogged down like a boat in a storm on a foggy night in need of a lighthouse to guide it back safe to shore.

Minding counting down the hours until you could return home and hide. Hide from the world, your problems, and from the one you loved deeply. Shamed and guilt ridden to share the thoughts that held your mind captive on a loop, like a personal tape, running endlessly inside you. The tape that recounted every wrong, every lie, every misstep you have taken.

As soon as you stepped through the door and had your final conversation of the day thus far with Mary, it felt like a small win. You go and find comfort in the darkness and the burrow of blankets on your bed, surrounded by the warmth and love you so desperately craved, wanted to feel. Hoping the pieces would form back together again.

“Mary, have you seen (Y/N)?” Tommy asks as he comes through the door, placing his coat on the rack. You were usually out in the open when he came in early reading on the couch or in your craft room.

“She’s upstairs, lying down Sir.” The woman speaks with a soft tone.

“Is she feeling ill?” He questions with raised brows as it was still early in the evening.

“I think so Sir, she hasn’t eaten much these past few days. I went up a while ago to check on her but she’s sleeping, she’s been out for a while.”

“Thank you Mary, I’ll handle it from here.” He speaks ushering the maid off and heading toward the stairs. He was cursing himself internally for not noticing your emotional state sooner. That’s how he found you, when he creaks open the door. Your frame huddled under the covers, facing toward his side of the bed, with the small lamp by the bedside on.

He reaches the side of your bed, he sees the remnant of wet tears on your face. He takes a seat on the bed, hand reaching out to gently rub your arm to awake you from your slumber.

“Love, I’m home. Time to get up.” He whispers as you awaken to his voice and comforting touch.

“‘Hi Tommy.” You whisper back with a small smile. A smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“How was your day?” He says in a low tone, noticing the way your eyes close for a moment and the pout that appears on your face.

“Not good.” Is the only response that leaves your still pouting lips. It hurts and silently frustrates him that you two are the same in this regard but you are still the better of the two when it comes to others. Internally when you are struggling you're just as bad as him but in the opposite of taking it out on yourself and your body instead of the booze and smokes. He had gotten better than the first few months of your relationship of knowing when you were getting sad and things weren’t going good.

“Do you want to talk about what’s really bothering you?” He asks in a gentle manner not wanting to badger you but would if you didn’t speak the truth before you went to bed. He knew you always needed space when you were upset and then would let him in. The blue eyes that look so soft in this moment stare into yours with concern and worry. It hurt knowing you were hurting him in this way by remaining silent. You didn’t know why you’d do this still to this day and even as long as you two have been together. You were independent, strong, and prideful at times, but were the most scared when you had to open up your dark thoughts to the soul that loved you like hand craft jewels themselves.

“Maybe later. Need to shower.” You finally sit up and take his hand in yours just craving his touch and he reciprocates the action.

“Have a proper meal, heard you haven’t had much of an appetite these past few days.” His hands squeeze yours, thumbs rubbing circles on your hands.

“Yes, we’ll have a proper meal Mr. Shelby. Whatever it is you want we will have it.” You respond, resting your head against his chest for a moment.

“You go shower and I’ll see what I can get started in the kitchen.” His warm lips press into your forehead.

“Alright, I’ll meet you down there in a bit.” You give him a small smile and press your lips against his cheek, legs swinging over the edge to stand and stretch, him copying your motions. As you walk past him, he grabs your hand to get your attention, causing you to turn to look up at him.

“(Y/N), I love you. Whatever it is, we can handle it together.” You nod your head at his words ready to cry about them as you go run your shower. You watch as he leaves the room, the door closing shut behind him. The flick of a switch and twist of a knob, you find yourself undressing and climbing into the porcelain tub. Those were the days you sat in the hot shower, letting the droplets burn the skin. Wondering about why life has you so down, so paralyze by fear, you could barely breathe. You were drowning under the water and no one was there to pull you out.

That is where and when you were the most vulnerable. Alone. The most earth shattering sound releases through your lungs and tightens them back up as it moves through your body. You wonder how one person could have a multitude of tears stored in them that was infinite. It would only last for so long before you felt you could continue on with the task at hand that would bring you closer to the relief you were waiting for.

It was a rare sight to see and was one that you enjoyed when it did happen. It warmed your heart and brought a genuine smile to your face, despite the heaviness in your heart. You leaned against the frame, watching him in an element he was secretly good at but didn’t have the time to do.

Let alone did he ever sit still to finish an actual meal half the time but he would try his hardest for you because meals were sometimes the only part of the day you two would spend together. He was busy and worked at all hours of the day but you had a regular day job. He would try to come home early in the evenings to eat with you even if it meant he had to go back out or continue work in his office, or spend it with you. Sometimes you worked long hours or would have to bring work home that needed completion after hours.

He was wearing his round spectacles, which you enjoyed as it made him look more attractive than he already was. He was annoyed and embarrassed about them at first, but you’d always find a way to remind him how much you loved them. His sleeves were rolled halfway up revealing his strong forearms and ringed fingers that were slicing lettuce on a wooden cutting board. White dish cloth hanging from his shoulder.

“Looks like you’ve been busy here, Chef Shelby.” You teased making your presence known as he glances up at you with a playful stare.

“Only the best for you. How long have you been standing there?”

“Not too long, I had to take the chance to admire what’s mine.”

“Only yours forever.” He passes you a slice of cucumber as you take a seat at the island.

“What are you cooking tonight?”

“Sausage, mash potatoes, and salad.”

“That sounds great. Thank you Tom.” You both grin at the other as you watch him play chef in the kitchen. It was satisfying as you haven’t had a moment to feel this good in the past couple of weeks. You sat talking about his day and him telling you a funny story of the younger Shelby clan over dinner.

You still had lots of stories to discover about the man in front of you as did him. It was ever evolving when one would share a new story, that would come to the conscious so vividly like a dream of the incident happening again. It wasn’t often Tommy told stories of his past but when he did was usual in moments like these or when you two were up late at night together talking like two young lovers in love.

It was moments like these where it felt easier to breath, even if it was only temporary.

A moment of bliss so delightful, it was beginning to stitch the pieces back together.

Distractions could only last for so long even good ones. You found yourself back in the reality of your sadness as the silence lapsed between the two of you. It wasn’t awkward but you knew you still had to talk to the one person that cared for you better than did sometimes and vice versa.

You both were resting with your backs against the headboard of the bed, settling down for the remainder of the evening. Your upper body was half laying on his broad chest and head was resting against right in the crook of his neck. Your fingers were tracing circles on his bare torso mindlessly, mind away in the abyss.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hmm?” His hot breath whispers in your ear, lips pressing to your temple.

“Too much. It’s like my brain is a broken record and there’s no silence. I can’t shut off the thoughts and it’s clouding my thinking. Everything feels heavy and meaningless. Everything is the same day in and out. Life is passing by and I'm stuck in the middle watching it flash across my eyes.

The fear sets in like a weight in my stomach. It tenses my body and makes it hard to breath, to focus. It sets in first thing as I wake and lasts until it's time to go to bed. I can’t catch a break from it. It’s been hard trying to go to sleep, I feel fatigued all the time.

The weight of existence is swallowing me back down to the depths of Hell. When I close my eyes at night all I can see is this darkness. I’m in our house and running away from this shadow that keeps chasing me. It always finds me no matter where I run or hide. When I call out or try to find you, you never come. It always ends that same, with the shadow coming to swallow me but I wake before it ever can.”

The hot tears come back, falling against his chest as he listens to your inner monologue. The deepest part of who you were, on display for him to nurture with endearment. Your thoughts never scared him because of the life he lived through. Every time he held your fragile and aching body with heart wrenching sobs into his body in moments like this, frightened him. Distressed him to know that you were hurting this deeply. That you were carrying this alone and he hadn’t noticed.

You were the sweetest of souls and free spirited. You were smart and a hard worker. When he first met you, he knew that you would be sticking around for a while. Once he fell in love with you, it was over for him. You were everything he wanted and more. He did his best to please you and give you everything you wanted. You were the most beautiful woman he laid eyes on. He wanted to have children with you in the future. He wanted old and gray with you.

“Love, it’s okay I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here. I’m always going to find you. I’m always going to protect you and will never let anything happen to you. I’ll always save you.”

He holds you close as you continue to cry.

“Love, calm down. Let’s breathe or you’re going to make yourself sick.” He lifts your head, his heart aching more at the sight or your dreary face.

Once he manages to get you to breathe at a normal pace. He gets to make his way to the bathroom. Returns after a minute with a warm rag to wet your face and a cup of water to drink. As you sip the water he wipes your face with the warm cloth. The water quenches your throat and the warmth from the cloth soothes your body while your husband soothes your mind with his affectionate actions.

For that you were grateful. Grateful for a man like Thomas Shelby despite his flaws, that he too even loved you despite yours. He was charming and funny in private when it was just the two of you. He always knew how to get your attention in the softest way and would do anything to see you smile. You held the moon, the stars, and the whole universe in your being for him.

Grateful that a man like Thomas Shelby understood sadness, grief, and the horror of what it felt like to not be able to escape from your dark thoughts. The thoughts that get stuck like leaves in the gutter, waiting to be cleaned out, or it can’t make way for the next rainfall.

He would know how to stitch you back together. It was in those moments of unraveling the strings that held you so tight together, would untangle and pull you closer to him.

“What do you want me to do to help you? I’ll do anything you want. Take time off work, you can quit your job and get a new one. We can go spend time away from town and go on a trip. I want you to know that I want you to be happy and I'll do anything in my power to help you get there.

Don’t listen to the negative voices in your head, love, does you no good. Think of all the amazing things you are. You are an excellent wife and help the company greatly. You are confident at your job and work twice as hard as me. You’re a heartfelt daughter and aunt. Watching with the nephews and nieces makes me know you’re going to be a wonderful mother.

You’re the love of my life. I love you so much, wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you weren’t here. I want old and gray with you, but we need to have some kids first.” His big warm palms hold your face, caressing your cheeks with his fingers.

“Thank you Tommy. I love you so much.” Your lips press against his chaste and slow moving in sync as your noses would bump slightly with minor movements.

“There will be better days ahead love, I promise. When you close your eyes dream of me. I’ll come save you. I’ll be here when you wake up, I'm all yours until further notice.” His lips pressed against yours for the final time that night, as the lights were off. He was on his side holding you to his chest, as your body mirrored his as you laid your head on his chest, his arms holding your back.

You knew in that moment, you didn’t need to say anything. He knew you and your heart for all that it was worth. He would come and help you water your plants as many times as you needed help. He would help you build your garden back until you were blooming yet again.

He was your lifeline, that came to save you time and time again. You would do the same for him. Your love for another ran deep, deeper than both you admitted aloud sometimes. Both being able to tell through little actions and thoughts that would occur daily, he was your livewire.

As your eyes closed you dreamed about something good for a first time in a long time. It was as vivid as a fresh painting on a warm spring day. It was a flash forward of your life. Of being with Tommy, having children, and being old and gray together.

You slept in peace of knowing there were going to be better days ahead.

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