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pandoraslxna · 1 year

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ok but w step bro! neteyam w/ “just the tip” 👀

Infected

Stepbro Neteyam x female omatikaya reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: While on a hunt with your stepbrother Neteyam, he comes in contact with something that makes him act… strange.

Warnings: explicit smut, stepcest (means they’re not siblings related by blood, reader is adopted!), aged up characters, sex pollen, mild dub-con, dry humping, p in v, quickie, semi-public, creampie

Notes: gif made by the amazing @eclipseatsea <3 Anyways, I wrote this in one sitting wtf??🧍🏻‍♀️

Na‘vi translations:

Thanì - little star

Neteyam is hot. No, not that kind of hot— I mean yes, that kind too, but right now he feels hot. Feverish even.

His skin is glistening in a thin layer of sweat, breathing slightly uneven and rapid and eyes almost fully blown. The yellow of his iris has decreased into a thin ring around his pitch black pupils.

You hastily blurt the information of your stepbrothers condition into your throat comm, pacing back and forth in worry. Occasionally, you glance back at Neteyam, who was barely able to hold himself up on his feet, his back now resting against a tree trunk. Every time you looked at him over your shoulder, he seemed to slide further down the trunk, until he was finally sitting down on the ground. His eyes were still glued on you the whole time, following your every movement. You saw the way his nose scrunched and his ears laid flat against his head, his tail trashing against the ground behind his back and if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought that he was still hunting.

"Sweetheart, listen", Jakes voice finally snapped you out of your thoughts, "That sounds like he’s been infected with something. Did you two touch or eat anything strange? Got stung by something?"

"No? I- I don’t know, dad, I really don’t", you sigh, "How much longer until you’re here?"

"Twenty… maybe thirty minutes." Not before the eclipse starts, you think, chewing on your bottom lip as the anxiety grows worse. "Make sure he doesn’t fall asleep until I’m there and try to get him some water."

"Yes, yes okay, alright." You nod, even though he couldn’t see it. "Please hurry."

"Breathe, don’t panic, babygirl. It’s going to be alright, I’m sure it’s nothing bad", your stepfather reassures you and the soothing tone in voice actually helps you calm down a bit. "Check him for any stings, wounds or other injuries, okay? And if you find anything, report it back to me."

"Yes, sir."

You tried to focus on that order, because if you were to think even for one second about anything else, you would’ve lost your composure once and for all. Immediately after the line went dead, you turn back to Neteyam. He’s still sitting there, silent, unmoving, just looking at you.

"Dad will be here soon", you mumble, more to comfort yourself than him, as you step closer. "He said I need to check you for injuries."

There’s the slightest movement, barely even a nod from Neteyam as you kneel down in front of him, giving you permission to touch him. With shaky fingers and your heart pounding inside your chest hard enough to break your ribs, you reach out for his hands. You feel his palms first, then his wrist, but nothing. Your hands move further up, checking his arms, shoulders, his chest. Your mouths feels dry, but again, you can’t find anything. Not even a splinter or the tiniest scratch. He seems completely fine. You would’ve thought that there was nothing wrong with him, if it wasn’t so obvious that there was clearly something very wrong with him.

It’s when you’re about to check his back, shuffling closer and leaning forward for a better view, that he suddenly pulls you by your wrists and makes you straddle his lap. The air around you both felt electrifying now, every one of your senses coming alive all at once. You gasped his name in surprise, your face turning bright red from the intimate position you found yourself in, with both of his arms encircled tightly around your middle.

It’s been a while since someone was last this close to you and you couldn’t help but notice every single inch of bare skin that was now touching yours. Your thighs on his, his arms around your middle, your hands on his chest—

But then Neteyam hisses through clenched teeth and buries his face in the crock of your neck and it immediately snaps you back to the fact that your stepbrother was sick. He was sick or injured or eywa knows what he was going through, but it seemingly caused him this much pain and distress, that he was seeking comfort in you.

Cause that’s what it was, right? That’s why he pulled you into his lap. Right?

"A-Are you in pain?"

What a stupid question, you thought, face scrunching up in embarrassment. Of course he was, you knew that already. But what else were you supposed to say to him? You just had to say something, because sitting in a position like this with someone you considered family and not saying anything would’ve made this even more awkward than it already was.

"Hmh", Neteyam only hums. His breath is warm against the skin of your throat, a constant reminder of how close he was to you like this.

"Where?"

Why did that even matter? Maybe you thought, hoped, that he could show you where, that he would point to somewhere and help you understand what was wrong with him.

Well, lucky for you, that’s exactly what he did. With his arms still wrapped around your middle, Neteyam pushed you down harder against his lap, his own hips rising just enough to grind his hard cock against your clothed cunt. "Right there", he groans lowly and in that moment, it felt like all the blood in your veins rushed straight to your head, making you feel dizzy with heat.

You don’t even know why, but instinctively, you try to push yourself off and away from him. Okay scratch that— you knew exactly why. It’s not that it didn’t feel good, it was the fact that it didn’t feel right. Neteyam was your stepbrother, someone you weren’t even supposed to touch like this! Whatever it was, that made him act the way he did, he surely wasn’t himself right now. He would’ve never… or would he?

You shake your head as if to shake the thoughts out of it, hands finding purchase on his shoulders and you attempt to lift yourself off of him again, but his arms hold you secured against him. "Stay. Please", Neteyam murmurs against your collarbone, "You make me feel better."

"I, uhm… I don’t think that’s a good ide—"

You’re interrupted by the sound of your own surprised squeak, when he suddenly lifts you up and quickly, probably a little too quick, lays you down against the ground with a thud. Your back was pressed against the soft grass now and his full body weight laid on top of you, his arms on either side of your head caging you in completely.

Your heart races, hammers against your ribs like a Fkio in a small cage. A new wave of heat spreads all over your body when Neteyam presses his nose against the skin of throat, inhaling as deep as his lungs could expand.

Your arousal and natural scent were so potent on his nose, it was making his mind hazy and his cock strained against his loincloth so tightly, he thought it would tear the fabric at any second. You were trying so hard to hide your own arousal, but he could smell you— could see your flushed face, hear your panting and feel how you tried to squeeze your thighs together, if it weren’t for his hips to be settled in between them.

Neteyam inhales again and his eyes flutter close. He does so, while he continues to grind his cock against your core. The outline of his length getting dragged over your folds and his tip bumping against your clothed clit makes you whimper softly, your noises only egging him on more.

"W-What are you doing?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. You sound so small and uncertain– uncertain if you could allow yourself to feel good, to enjoy this, despite the guilt of doing something so forbidden with him.

"I’m sorry. Feels better when i do that", Neteyam responds, burying his apologies into your skin, "Makes it hurt less." He doesn’t sound uncertain, or guilty for that matter. He sounds desperate, breathless. Like he’s holding himself back.

You could feel Neteyams tail wrap itself around your calf and his breath ghost over the shell of your ear, but then you shake your head and swallow thickly, like it pains you to say this, "You should… probably get off of me."

Not even a second passes, before you feel him grind himself between your thighs again, hard cock gliding over your most private parts, the fabric of your loincloths only adding further to the rough friction and you could feel the wetness pool right there, soaking the fabric.

"Sorry I just… I can’t think. Can’t stop." Neteyam whispers, sending a shiver throughout your entire body.

It was the truth. He had tried to downplay the effects so as not to worry you even more, but ever since he had accidentally inhaled that weird pink dust of this strange looking flower, the one he wanted to pick for you when you had your back turned to him, it had been hard to breath. His lungs, loins, skin, everything felt on fire.

The first touch of your hands on him, skin to skin, had felt like a mouthful of fresh water, cooling down his insides. The first relief he‘s had in hours.

But it still wasn’t enough. He needed more. He needed you.

"It’s okay, i know you’re in pain but—"

You nearly moan, just barely managing to catch it before the sound leaves your throat, when he bumps against your clit again. The sounds he coaxed out of you made his blood boil inside his veins.

You had to remind yourself that this wasn’t supposed to feel good, that you were in the middle of the forest, that he was your stepbrother, that his father, your stepfather was on his way to your position, but eywa— eywa, does it feel good when he moves like this…

Neteyam growls into the crook of your neck, bucking his hips just a little harder against you, and it sounds strained, reflecting the state of his body perfectly. "Please, thanì, c‘mon. Fuck. Just the tip, please."

"Teyam, we… we shouldn’t. Dad– Dad will be here a-any minute now." It’s a weak attempt to try and reason him. You’re not even convinced to stop this yourself, if you were being completely honest with yourself. Biting your lip, you had to conceal another whimper from escaping, as he continues to hump you like he was experiencing his rut. At this point, you weren’t sure how much more you could take of this, without giving in to your desires— to his desires.

Neteyam should feel sick about this. He should feel sick about it, but all he could feel was the heat in his guts, the painful throbbing of his cock and the soft of your skin pressed tight against his body.

A warm breath tickles your throat once again, feeling Neteyam inhale and exhale deeply, nosing your skin as if he tried to imprint your scent on his nostrils.

"I‘ll be quick, I promise", he groans, "Eywa, you smell good, r-really good."

As his mouth wanders to your jawline, kissing and sucking, his forehead comes to rest against your cheek and you gasp. He’s burning, his skin feels like it’s been set aflame. This is worse than any fever, worse than any rut.

"O-Okay", you finally agree, all resolve shattering to pieces.

Neteyam moves quicker than you were expecting. One of his hands wedges itself between your bodies, hastily pulling your loincloth to the side, just enough to gain access where he needed to. There’s no time, it seems, no time to take it slow as he fumbles with his own loincloth, flicking the fabric up and out of the way, pulling his leaking cock out from under his coverings and lining himself up with your entrance. He really couldn't think anymore, not of any consequences, not with all the blood pounding through his angry cock, desperation clinging to his body, making his mind hazy and eyes half lidded.

When he pushes your legs up with his free hand, folding you nearly in half, you’re spread wide open for him to push inside, inch after inch. The stretch as he buries himself to the hilt drives every single thought, every worry, every ounce of guilt right out of your head. Neteyam moans, he moans loud and wanton and it’s a sound of relief followed by a deep groan rumbling in his chest.

You never imagined that there was so much space inside of you, but your stepbrother happily claimed all of it, every last bit.

Eywa help him if he doesn’t savor this, because he didn’t know the next time he’ll be able to do this again, if he was even ever allowed to. You’re warm and wet and soft and tight, so tight. Great mother, it felt like his mind was going into overdrive as he began to thrust into you.

His face was still buried into the space between your throat and shoulder and he didn’t plan on moving anytime soon. He’d stay like this forever if he could. Neteyam wants every single breath he takes to be filled with your scent from now on. Whatever it was, that made him act like this, it made him so painfully aware of how sweet his baby sister smelled. How good she tasted, when he ran his tongue over her pulse point and how incredible she felt, wrapped around his cock like a little sleeve made just for him.

"T-Teyam, f-fuck!", it’s a high-pitched whine, followed by a little punched out noise that doesn’t sound like anything that’s ever come out of your mouth before. His movements are jerky and rough, all for the purpose of chasing his own pleasure. The obscene squelching sound from him pounding into your pussy, mixed with streams of moans filled the air around you within seconds.

"Sorry, sorry, I’m— fuck, I’m sorry. You just feel so good, can’t slow down", Neteyam groans into your ear, his words being the complete opposite of his actions. The movement of his thrust are deep and fast, knocking the air from your lungs and causing your eyes to roll all the way back into your head. With the way he was hammering his cock into you, you could feel the mushroomy head of it kissing your cervix over and over again, pummeling against your g-spot on the way.

It’s okay, you want to say. You would, if you were still capable of forming any words on your tongue that weren’t just mewls and curses and brabbled nonsense.

Neteyam was surely aiming to fuck the very soul out of you like this. Your hands clawed at his back, nails digging into his skin and holding on for dear life as you felt your cunt turning into a gooey mess, thanks to the mixture of his pre-cum and your own slickness leaking out of you already.

"So good, feels so good, thanì", you hear him moan next to your ear, fangs grazing your skin as he licks and nibbles on your shoulder. "O-Oh fuck, you feel amazing. So wet and t-tight."

Between the thrill of being caught and Neteyams brutal pace, it didn’t take long for you to hit your peak. His cock expertly finds all the places you couldn’t reach yourself, all the spots that make pleasure curl your toes and starbursts explode behind your eyelids. Neteyam licks the sweat from your collarbones like it’s something to be savored, moaning at the feeling of you squeezing his cock like you were trying to milk him for all it’s worth.

"Teyam, Teyam I’m close, you’re gonna make me come!"

Right on cue, Neteyam hiked your leg up higher around his waist. The new angle allowed him even deeper access and you throw your head back at the new sensation. The second you felt his cock throb inside of you, your orgasm crashed down upon you like a sheet of ice– your legs squeezing around his waist, arms tightening around his neck so much that he had trouble breathing. But that didn’t stop him from fucking you like it was the only thing you were made for.

"Gonna.. haa fuck, I’m gonna cum inside you."

Neteyam feels his orgasm building like he’s been waiting for it for years, like someone had edged him, like he hasn’t had a release in forever and then it hits him like it never has before.

"Take it, shit, just take it, take my cum!"

He squeezes his eyes shut, biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood, because if he didn’t, he would’ve latched onto your shoulder like a palulukan into its prey. His hips stutter, abs tensing and then he slams into you as deep as he could go, groaning your name as rope after rope of his cum fills you.

And then, the heat inside of him was gone.

As the last droplet of his seed was successfully pumped into you, Neteyam finally felt his head clear up and he came back to himself. The both of you stayed like that for just a moment, with him panting into your neck, both of you trying not to think about what you had just done.

When Neteyam finally pulls out of you, it’s gingerly, tenderly even, almost like he didn’t want to hurt you. As terribly sore and used as you felt, somehow there was a secret shard of happiness under it all. You wondered, if his coy smirk was any indication that he felt the same.

By the time Jake finally arrived, the only evidence of your sins was his cum dripping down your thighs, soaking the fabric of your loincloth.

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pitchsidestories · 4 months

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know that you're not alone II Leah Williamson x Reader

Masterlist I word count: 2279

“You know, you can always tell me what’s going on in your mind…“ Leahs words made you look up in surprise. You hadn’t even noticed that you were lost in your own thoughts. With a sigh, you sat up a bit straighter on your team mates couch; “It’s just…“

“It’s what?“, Leah prompted you to continue. She was sitting on the opposite side of her living room on a piano stool. You also didn’t notice that she had stopped practicing.

“I’m not where I thought I would be with 26… and it seems like everyone else has got it all figured out with with marriage and kids…“, you explained truthfully. Leah smiled empathetically at you; “Trust me, no one’s got it all figured out yet.“

“Well, you do.“, you shrugged in response, taking in her perfectly tied pony tail. “I do? I have nothing figured out.“, the defender laughed. You pointed at the piano; “Your career is flying and I don’t know how you manage all the things you do at the moment.“

She was currently learning to play the piano for a performance with the BBC Concert Orchestra and you couldn’t help but be impressed by her eagerness. “I don’t have it either. I don’t manage all these things by myself.“, Leah replied, shaking her head.

A moment of silence passed between you two. “I’m so sick of it, Lee.“, you complained. “Okay, wait.“, Leah started, turning back to her piano but you interrupted her; “No, why don’t those things matter too? That we play for a great club? Have amazing friendships?“ “It does matter. We might not get measured by that but it does.“, Leah replied, before you could continue your rant.

As she played the first notes on her piano, you looked at her in confusion; “What are you doing?“ Your team mate remained silent and carried on playing. You recognized the song quickly and groaned; “Oh no. Not Cat Burns.“

“Hey, don’t complain about her music. She’s great.“, Leah scolded you with a laugh. “You’re obsessed with her.“, you rolled your eyes, amused. The defender gave you a death stare with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth; “Shut up and listen to this song.“

Thankfully, instead of singing the song for you, she turned it on and continued playing along. “Okay, fine.“, you gave in and had to admit that the lyrics of the song really resonated with you.

Still, you had to make a comment about the song text; “Wait, why is she singing about the troubles of being 26 when she’s just 23?“ Leah rolled her eyes at you; “It doesn’t matter what age. The twenties are always confusing and I have a feeling the thirties won’t be any better.“

“Kim and Jen seem pretty comfortable.”, you disagreed winking. The blonde gave you an amused look:” Yeah but I can tell you, they still don’t have a clue what they’re doing?” “Yes, I guess you’re right with that.”, you admitted chuckling.

The softness in the defender’s features disappeared again and the usual stern expression returned when she demanded:” I am. Now listen to the rest of this song.”

With closed eyes you let the lyrics comfort you like a warm hug from a friend, by the end of the song you had to swallow hard: “Okay, I might still not like her music that much but the song hits right there it should be.” “You just have no taste.”, Leah shrugged.

As usual you couldn’t help but to tease your teammate a little bit: “Rude coming from someone who’s music taste is stuck in the 70s.” “Not my fault that they don’t make music like that anymore.”, the blonde responded with a dramatic sigh.

That didn’t stop you from adding:” But you’re not from the seventies, you’re a nineties girl.” “And? I can still appreciate that music.”, Leah replied unimpressed.

To appease her you took the place next to her, already placing your fingers on the keyboard:” Let’s play another song together.” “Which one?”, she curiously turned her head to face you directly.

Sheepishly you grinned at her starting to play the opening of North London forever:” What about this one?” “My favourite one.”, she answered laughing. You loved making your normally serious friend break out of her shell and hear her laughter fill the room.

Later that day Leah offered you to stay overnight, as usual you were sleeping in the same bed side by side but when you woke up the next morning you couldn’t believe your eyes. “Lee stop stealing my sweaters.”, you scolded her not quite as serious as you liked it to be.

In a sassy tone the defender remarked: Too late.” “Also, it’s winter break you don’t even need to go to the gym.”, you told your teammate.

Stubbornly she packed the final things into her sports bag: ”And? I still have to get up at some point.” “But your bed is so cozy.”, you countered, wearing an innocent smile on your lips.

For a moment Leah paused in her movements: “You can stay in my bed if you want.” “Thanks. When are we supposed to meet the girls again? So, I know when I have to get ready?”, you asked her as you were closing your eyes. Promptly the defender reassured you before heading out of her home: “You have a few more hours.”

With a sigh, you snuggled back into the warm blankets, snoozing for a bit longer. Leah, on the other hand, was trying to focus on her exercises in the gym instead of Keiras video call. “Lee, you have to tell her how you really feel about her…“, Barcelonas midfielder was telling her.

“It’s not that easy, Kei.“, Leah replied between two sets of lunges. Keira sighed; “Why not? I think it’s pretty simple. Honestly, didn’t your self-help books teach you anything about that?“ “Actually, no. They don’t tell me how to tell my team mate that I might have a crush on her.“, the defender rolled her eyes.

“You’re lucky that football is my love language and I only have experience from dating other players, so here’s my advice. Are you listening?“ Instead of Leah, Keiras girlfriend Laura replied to her question; “Yeah, I’m listening.“ “She wasn’t talking to you!“, Leah laughed.

Laura grinned into the camera at the Arsenal player; “I know but I’m still curious.“ “You two need to shut up to hear my advice though.“, Keira reminded the two. Leah took her phone to see her friend better and patiently sat down on her mat; “Enlighten us.“ “Stop being afraid and go for it.“, Keira advised her.

The defender frowned; “Just a short question about that statement.“ “Sure, go on.“ “How many girls did you ask out again? And how many times were you asked?“ Keiras cheeks immediately turned red while Laura hysterically laughed in the background.

The Barcelona player grimaced and admitted; “They always ask me.“ “And now tell me why I should listen to you again?“, Leah asked with a smug smile. “Because I’m your best mate and I want you and her to be happy.“, Keira replied, making big innocent eyes at her friend.

Leah let a few seconds pass before she shrugged; “We’ll see.“ “Can’t wait to see you guys later.“, Keira smiled happily. “Me neither.“, Leah answered before resuming her strengthening and mobility exercises.

When Leah came back from the gym, you were wide awake, having showered and dressed yourself. When your guests showed up in the evening, Leah and you were just in the process of preparing dinner.

You left your team mate alone with the pizza dough and opened the door; “Kei and Lau, hi. You’re lucky we already prepared everything to do the pizzas!“ “And we’re starving!“, Leah yelled from the kitchen. “Same here.“, Keira laughed back and you stepped aside to let the couple into Leahs kitchen.

The Arsenal defender couldn’t help but to smirk at her comment: “I knew you would say that.” “Stop only talking and let’s start doing the pizzas.”, you reminded them why you four were in the kitchen. The mentioning of food made Lauras stomach growl:” Please.”

“Did Lee already told you?”, curiously the Barcelona midfielder turned to you. In confusion you lifted your eyebrows:” What do you mean with she told me.” “Keira shut up.”, Leah demanded while hitting her playfully on her arm.

With a soft chuckle Keira lifted her spoon so the Arsenal defender could see it: “Be careful I’m having the tomato sauce in my hands!” “I don’t care.”, the blonde replied cheerful. Clearing your throat, you intervened: “But I care about the pizzas.”

“We have enough sauce, don’t worry.”, Leah reassured you. You could feel your muscles relaxing as she softly touched your shoulder. Optimistic the Roma player added:” Yes, they will turn out great.” “Ours yes.”, Leah grinned cheekily putting her free arm around your waist just as to underline who she meant with ours.

Eyerolling Keira countered: “Excuse me I have a Roma player in my team.” “Yeah, but she’s Austrian. Laura doesn’t know how to make a pizza.”, the defender interjected feisty.

Not too impressed by the blonde’s teasing Laura asked her interested:” So it’s a competition of who will make the better pizzas.” “Yes.”, you nodded. Your teammate confirmed: “It’s now.” “The game is on.”, Keira answered, while throwing flower into your direction.

Surprised you looked down at your clothes who were covered in white now:“Keira what the hell?” “Barca isn’t good for her. She would have never done that a few years ago.”, Leah sighed out loud. Laughing you continued:” Yeah, she’s getting too confident now.”

After you four put the pizzas into the oven you told them:” I’ll go to the bathroom now and get myself cleaned.”

While you were away the Barcelona midfielder whispered into her close friend’s ear:” Go after her Leah.” “To the bathroom?!”, the defender exclaimed. Winking Keira cheered on her: “Uhm you’re usually in the locker room with her, so there’s nothing you have not seen yet.”

“There’s a difference between a locker and a bathroom, Keira.”, Leah shook her head. “Don’t be a coward, Leah.” “I’m not.”, she pouted.

A few minutes later you nearly walked into your teammate as you opened the door from the bathroom: Oh sorry, Lee.” “Oh, don’t worry.”, the blonde waved it off. You could sense that something was off with her, so you wanted to know:” Are you okay?” “Uh sure.”, Leah licked nervously her lips.

“You looked like you were about to say something…“, you prompted your team mate to speak. “I… uhm…“ Leah was never lost for words, you knew that.

You cocked your head, watching her closely, before trying to encourage her; “Remember the ‚You know you can always tell me what’s going on in your mind‘? That counts for you too.“

Finally, Leah sighed in defeat; “Are you sure you want to hear it?“ “Yes.“, you nodded determinedly. Another few seconds passed. “I like you.. not just like team mates or friends. You get me like no one else does.“, Leah revealed.

For a moment your breath stopped; “You mean…“ “Yes. But you don’t have to say anything right now. We can just continue the evening like nothing ever happened.“, Leah explained.

She was about to turn away from you and go back into the kitchen but you held her back; “No, I don’t want to forget it.“

With hopeful eyes, Leah looked back at you as you started to quietly sing live more & love more by Cat Burns under your breath; “'Cause if there's something you wanna do, just do it. Don’t let your head stop your heart from moving.If there's someone you wanna talk to, talk to ‘em. Who knows who we'd be if we just live more and love more.“

Biting her lip, the defender listened attentively. When you stopped, she lifted her eyebrow; “I thought you didn’t like her music!“

“Oh, I think our pizza is ready.“, you changed the topic, innocently blinking. Leah suppressed a laugh while you went back to the kitchen, where Keira and Laura had placed the pizzas on the table.

“Ours looks prettier“, Keira declared pointing at big smiley face on their pizza. “No, it doesn’t!“, Leah protested. “Yeah, it does!“ “Children!“, Laura interrupted them with a laugh. You sat down, taking a slice of your and Leahs pizza and happily biting into it; “As long as it tastes good. That’s how you actually recognize a good pizza.“

“Yours definitely looks like it was made with love.“, Laura commented, winking at the two of you. “Laura!“, Leah exclaimed but her face had turned a slightly pinkish colour. The Roma player shrugged; “Just saying.“

“You’re right though, Laura.“, you smiled and reached over the table for Leahs hand. Laura returned the smile; “I know.“ Leah shook her head about the girls on her kitchen table; “I hate you all.“

“No, you don’t.“, Keira countered. “Sadly. But I could need a kiss right now for all the bravery it took to say those things.“, Leah explained, looking at you with a slight pout. You raised your eyebrow, laughing; “From a team mate and friend?“

“Coming!“, Keira answered and stood up from her chair. “I didn’t mean you, Kei!“, Leah grimaced before leaning towards you and kissing you for the first time.

You were so caught up in the kiss that you didn’t even register Keira saying; “Rude. Do you have it on film, Laura.“ “Yes, I got it.“ When you two pulled apart, you saw the other couple happily looking down to the photos on Lauras camera.

#Spotify #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso community #woso #engwnt #lionesses #arsenal wfc #keira walsh #laura feiersinger

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adriennebarnes · 1 month

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Puppy Love

Paring: Henry Cavill X Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Henry Cavill walking Kal and when Kal runs off, he meets a woman who has a dog that looks just like his…

Warning: no translated Spanish, spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: it’s based off the 1996 live action movie of 101 Dalmatians, they’re meet cute was ADORABLE

Henry was at home making breakfast when Kal walked in with his leash in his mouth, wagging his tail.

“What’s the matter, Bear, you want to go for a walk?” Henry asked, serving his breakfast on his plate. Kal barked as a reply. “I’ll eat first, then we’ll go for a walk.”

When Henry finished his breakfast, he pulled out his jacket form the closet and got everything he needed to take Kal on his walk. They left his house and the two were walking all calm until Kal spotted another Akita heading to the dog park with its owner and since halfway through the walk, Henry had Kal off leash (my dad does this with our dog though we tell him not to, Kal RAN to follow this mysterious Akita.

“Kal, come back here!” Henry started chasing after Kal, saying excuse me to everyone, trying to decline people who wanted photos with him as politely as he could.

Y/N was in the dog park with her Akita, Pucca, named after her favorite cartoon. Y/N had set up a picnic blanket since it’s such a beautiful day.

“You wanna play fetch, Pucca?” Y/N asked her dog and she barked as a response. She threw the back and when Pucca came back, Y/N was surprised that Pucca brought a friend who was also an Akita. “Well hello there, peludo.” Y/N began petting the fluffy dog and found his collar. “Hi Kal, where is your owner? Que tipo de persona deja a su perrito solito por aquí? Bueno, do you want a treat? Yeah right, I think you two deserve it.”

Y/N pulled out a bag of treats that she always carries and gave them two small treats each. “Fetch?” Y/N asked and she threw the ball, Pucca ran after it but Kal laid down on the grass, next to Y/N.

“Flojo.” Y/N said jokingly, letting Kal but that’s when she saw a big man try to take Pucca. “The fuck.” Y/N got up.

After getting stopped by a few people, Henry finally spotted his dog.

“There you are Kal! Don’t run off like that again, you are on a tight leash now.” Henry said, attaching the leash to ‘Kals’ collar. “Let’s go” Henry tried to move but the dog wasn’t moving. “I’m not happy right now, Kal, don’t make this difficult.” He reached down to carry the dog until he heard a woman’s voice.

“What are you doing with my dog?!?” The woman shouted.

“Listen miss, this is my dog.” Henry said.

“No she’s not, now put down MY dog before I slap you.” The woman said.

“This is my dog Kal.” Henry said.

“Oh you’re Kal’s owner. Well, that Akita’s name is Pucca.” Pointing to the dog Henry is carrying. “That Akita is Kal.” She said pointing to the Akita on the blanket a few feet away. “Can you put Pucca down now?”

“My apologies.” Henry said, immediately unclipping the leash and leaving Pucca on the ground and Pucca ran to join Kal. “I’m Henry.”

“I’m Y/N. How could you leave Kal unsupervised? What if there were actual dognappers in this park?” Y/N asked him.

“I didn’t leave him unsupervised, he ran off.” Henry asked.

“Well he clearly didn’t have a leash with him so muy responsable no es, verdad?” Y/N said.

“Well our dogs are unsupervised right now, you’re not very responsible either.” Henry said.

“It’s a dog park! As long as your dogs are trained and not reactive, they can roam around. I know most of the people on this park as well so I’m perfectly fine.” Y/N said. Henry and Y/N walked to where her blanket was and sat down so they could keep an eye on their dogs.

“Alright, I’m sorry for almost dognapping Pucca. What kind of name is that, by the way?” Henry asked and Y/N gasped offendedly

“Pucca is the name of an adorable cartoon girl that practices ninjitsu. What about Kal, hm?” Y/N asked.

“Kal is named after Superman, I played Clark Kent so I thought it was fitting.” Henry said.

“You played Clark Kent? Henry Cavill played Clark Kent in the Man of Steel movie.” Y/N said.

“I am Henry Cavill.” Henry said amused by the fact she doesn’t know who he is.

“Let me just Google this, one second. Holy shit, I just yelled at Henry Cavill, I am so sorry for suggesting you are a bad dog owner, I’m sure you’re not.” Y/N apologized and Henry laughed.

“How do you not recognize me?” Henry asked.

“Like I know you by name just not by face.” Y/N said (I admit that was me last year 😂😂)

“You never saw any of my movies?” Henry asked.

“Nope, should I watch your movies?” Y/N asked.

“Only if you want.” Henry replied and he looks at Kal playing with Pucca. “They see, to really like each other.”

“Well there aren’t many Akita owners, they aren’t for everyone.” Y/N commented.

“Since they get along really well, we should keep in touch.” Henry said, looking at Y/N.

“Are you trying to get my number, Superman?” Y/N asked.

“Yes I am. That way I could I also make it up to you.” Henry said.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, you already apologized.” Y/N said

“Well i still want to go on a date with the woman who was willing to slap me for her dog.” Henry said.

“I would have done worse too if i didn’t think you could beat my ass.” Y/N said and Henry chuckled.

“I would never lay a hand on a woman. So where would you like to eat?” Henry asked and Y/N giggled.

“Okay, coqueto, are all Hollywood actors this forward or just the British ones?” Y/N asked.

“Actually I think it’s just me.” Henry said and winked at the end of his sentence.

“In that case, i obviously like Latin food, but an Italian place would be good. Vámonos, Pucca!” Y/N yelled and Pucca moved her head and ran to Y/N to sit by her feet. Y/N told Henry to get up so she could fold the blanket.

“You wouldn’t leave without giving me your number, would you?” Henry asked.

“Give me your phone, coqueto.” Y/N said and Henry did just that. “There’s my number, call me whenever you want to set up a playdate or just a date. It was nice meeting you and Kal.” Y/N said and left with Pucca but stopped to pet Kal one more time before leaving the park completely.

“What do you think, Bear? Do we have a chance?” Henry asked and Kal barked, wagging his tail. “I thought so, let’s go home.”

The End

I think depending on the plot, Henry Cavill’s nicknames are going to be different

@warriormirkwood

#hispanic reader #latina #hispanic #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavil x y/n #henry cavill fic

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rheasesposts · 1 year

Text

friends?

neteyam sully x fem!navi!reader

summary : Neteyam and Y/N have been dancing on the edge of friendship and love for too long. Factors play in to make them confess their undeniable feelings.

——————————————————————————

“What a sight!” Y/N whistled as she caught Neteyam and Se’ii, an Omatikayan girl, in a compromising position (she is touching his arm). The two give her horrified looks, and Y/N snickered, “I am only teasing.”

“You better be.” Neteyam huffed as he walked to Y/N’s side, leaving Se’ii to stare at him longingly before she left, which Neteyam didn’t notice, but Y/N did.

“She likes you.” Y/N told him. “Give it a shot.”

“No, she is not my type.” Neteyam shrugged off his best friend’s suggestion and continued his way to his family’s home. “She is too talkative.”

“I am talkative, and we are best friends.” Y/N scoffed while taking the lead to High Camp. Neteyam clicked his tongue as his ear went back in slight annoyance.

“You know it is different with you.” Neteyam justified and hopped onto a floating platform and helped Y/N to it once she caught up. “I like when you talk. Se’ii not so much.”

Y/N gave him a harsh look, “That is just plain mean, Nete.” He pulled on her tail and disregarded her words. “She is trying to gain your affection.”

“I don’t want it. And I don’t want Ney’et, Baila, or anyone else’s affection. I am fine how I am.” He listed off be other girls who have tried and failed to capture his love. All brutally unsuccessful since he doesn’t give them a fair chance anyway.

“Those girls were all perfect options to be your Tsahik.” Y/N spoke as they reached High Camp and entered his family’s tent. “Beautiful, smart and polite.”

Neteyam simply flicked her forehead and sat on a blanket and stretched his legs out. “Too bad for them, I guess.” He laid down his upper body and patted the cushions next to for Y/N to come rest beside him.

“You are unbelievable.” She said and did as he requested. They turned on their sides to look into each other’s eyes when they talked. “Ele’hi talked to me today about becoming mates.”

Neteyam raised his nonexistent eyebrows and smirked, “And?”

“I declined his offer.” Y/N informed and picked at the string on a purple cushion. He gazed at what she was doing and grabbed her hand to stop her from ruining the cushion completely. He then pulled the hand up to where his heart would be.

“Why?” Neteyam whispered to his best friend of eleven years. She stared at their entangled hands and pursed her lips.

“Didn’t feel right.” She mumbled back. “I knew I wouldn’t be truly happy with him.”

“That’s nice, that you know.” Neteyam assured the slightly frazzled girl. “I can’t imagine actually turning down someone offering that to me.”

“Yeah, because you don’t even give the opportunity.”

Neteyam dragged her closer and put his arm around her waist. “You are too concerned about my love life.”

She placed a braid behind his ear as she replied, “Curious about your interesting dating tactics. They’re clearly not working.”

“Hey!” He laughed, and she beamed at his easygoing tone. “I don’t need a mate when I have my best friend right here.”

“That’s not the point, Nete.” Y/N reprimanded him and fiddled his the choker he wore on his neck, the blue bead being her main focus. “Soon, your parents will force you to have a mate.”

Neteyam stared at her fondly and traced the freckles on her face, “Maybe not.”

Y/N shook her head and eventually snuggled into his chest and shoulder. “Stupid boy.”

The day passed on with Neteyam talking about this pool of water he found near the old shack, and Y/N listening intently. But Eywa was against her as Y/N’s eyes slipped shut and her breathing slowed. Neteyam noticed immediately and just pulled her tighter, sensing the exhaustion in her body. His family came in and out, leaving once they saw the sleeping girl.

“Oh, Nete has a little girlfriend.” Lo’ak wooed, and Kiri slapped his forehead. “Ow!”

“Will you be quiet? She is sleeping.” Kiri uttered and perched onto a wooden stool next to the fire in the middle of her home. Neteyam thanked Kiri in his mind, but unfortunately that didn’t stop Y/N from waking up and letting out a tiny groan. “Great, you woke her up.”

“Lo’ak, you idiot.” Y/N joined in on making fun of her best friend’s brother. She lifted herself up and stretched her arms up. “That was a nice nap. Thank you Neteyam for being my pillow.”

“Any time, my fpom.” Neteyam said and got up as well. “Are you eating here tonight?”

“No, I must return home to my mother, she will be worried if I stay.” Y/N pouted and tapped his hand twice before leaving the Sully residence. Neteyam watched, lovingly, as she walked out of sight. Kiri and Lo’ak chuckled as their brother was so obviously whipped for the Na’vi girl.

“No Y/N?” Jake questioned as he came into the tent with Tuk holding his hand, Neytiri not far behind them.

“No, her mother wanted her home.” Neteyam supplied the answer and proceeded to take off his arm cuffs and knife sheath. He always left the choker on because Y/N and him made it together when they were around twelve, and he wanted her with him, at all times, no matter the way.

Lo’ak teased his brother, “And now he is sad. His girlfriend has gone away.” Neytiri pinched her youngest son’s ear, and he whelped.

“She isn’t my girlfriend.” Neteyam huffed and sat next to Kiri. “We are friends.”

Jake and Neytiri shot each other glances and kept quiet because they didn’t want to urge Lo’ak on and upset Neteyam further.

“Anyway, Grandmother has had Y/N take up jobs in the healer’s tent, and she is doing wonderful.” Kiri complimented her friend. “A natural.”

“That’s great to hear.” Jake placed a hand on Kiri’s back. “Y/N will help the clan tremendously.”

“Yes, healers are Eywa blessed.” Neytiri slyly commented at Neteyam and brushed past him to retrieve fruit. Neteyam looked at his parents with confused eyes.

“What a thought.” Lo’ak cryptically spoke.

“What?” Kiri sassed and rolled her eyes.

Lo’ak hummed, “Y/N would make a good Tsahik.” Neteyam dropped his jaw and shook his head.

“You people are insane.” Neteyam hissed with his family all holding in laughter. “Why are all of you trusting to set me up with Y/N?”

“No reason, my son.” Neytiri rattled her eldest son’s shoulders before the whole family heard an uproar outside. Jake and Neytiri sprinted to see what all the shouting was about. Neteyam trailing, hot on their heels.

“You absolute vonvä’! What makes you think you can touch me? What is wrong with you!” Y/N. Neteyam knew her voice like it was his own. He and his parents found her in the center of a circle with a bloody nose and red knuckles. Na’vi were holding her back from Ele’hi who was visibly beat up and angry. “I cannot believe you!”

“Hey, hey, what’s going on here?” Jake boomed over the group of Na’vi. They all stopped conversing and stared at their leader. All eyes turned to Y/N, still shaking with fury. “Y/N?”

“This dickhead over here decided to unrightfully place his hands on me, so I showed him why I am the best warrior of my age group. Simple self defense.” Y/N scoffed and tore her arms from the people holding her. Ele’hi threw his hands up in the air in disagreement.

“Did you touch her?” Neteyam furiously asked. Ele’hi widened his eyes and began apologizing. “That’s not how this works. Apologize to her.”

Ele’hi spun to Y/N, but she didn’t care for an apology and swiped past him to the healer’s hut. Jake dismissed all the people gathered and followed Y/N with Neteyam and Neytiri.

Mo’at was tending to her nose and fussing about the how the blood was everywhere.

“Y/N.” Jake barked at the girl, and she snarled under her breath. Not particularly at him, more at the situation. “What happened?”

“I told you.”

“There is more, my child. I can feel it.” Neytiri’s hand went on Y/N’s arm as the girl inhaled deeply. Neteyam stayed silent and to the side, consumed with rage.

“I denied being mates with him earlier. Clearly he didn’t accept no for an answer.” Y/N clenched her fists but whimpered after they hurt to close and reopen. “I am not some fil. I cannot be manhandled by some ignorant boy.” Tears were streaming down her face, and Neteyam’s heart broke as a sob escaped Y/N’s throat. “He said I was worth nothing. I was only around because of Nete. He called me a prince’s whore.” Y/N broke down in the tent, and Neteyam quickly cradled her as she weeped relentlessly. He soothed her head with strokes of his hands and whispered “you’re ok” into her ear.

“Y/N, did he hurt you more than we can see?” Jake fumed. Y/N through her tears only shook her head “no.” Mo’at resumed her cleansing of Y/N’s knuckles and ignored when Y/N would sneer from the pain. “Who are his parents?”

Neytiri responded, “Kwisla and P’lae.”

“Damnit, those are some brave warriors.” Jake cursed and put his hands on his head. “Sucks they have an awful son.” Neytiri nodded and helped her mother with Y/N’s injuries. “What do we do?”

“He gets the shame of being disrespectful to Y/N.” Neteyam firmly said. “You could also ban him from hunts for months.”

“Not bad.” Mo’at snorted and finished up with Y/N before telling her grandson to take her home safely. Neteyam did and Y/N’s mother, Beysr, thanked him endlessly. When Neteyam returned to his family, his parents waited up for him so he could most likely express his feelings.

“What are you feeling?” Neytiri used her calming voice like she does with Jake when he is stressed. “There is no need to keep it in.”

“I can’t stand her being hurt. She doesn’t deserve that, and that boy is disgusting and yaymak. He doesn’t deserve to live any longer. He touched her! Put his filthy hands on her! Didn’t show respect.” Neteyam exclaimed with his feet pacing the floor. His siblings were sound asleep by this point in the night, and he was happy for that. “When she cries, I feel my soul in pain.”

Jake rested his hand on his son’s shoulder, “Neteyam, you love her.”

“Of course I do. She is my best friend.” Neteyam mumbled. Neytiri lightly smiled at her son’s cluelessness yet knowing nature.

“Neteyam, you know what your father means.” Neytiri clutched Neteyam’s hand. “She is more than a friend to you.”

“She doesn’t feel the same.” Neteyam hung his head dejectedly. “She goes on and on about the girls I could be dating.”

“She is projecting.” Jake claimed. “You two are the perfect match.”

“Are you sure?”

“You have to know that for yourself, my son.” Neytiri squeezed his hand one more time before she and Jake went to their bed. Neteyam thought on what his parents revealed and found it to be true.

He did love her more than a friend. She was his life. His breath. His reason. His soul. And everything in between. She was his everything. She knew him more than anyone else, all his regrets, secrets and mistakes and loved him for it anyway. She was the one. The only girl right for him. Ever. And he had to tell her. Once he knew his mother and father were sleeping, he creeped out of his home trekked to Y/N’s.

“Y/N.” Neteyam murmured into the tent and opened the flap, and Y/N whipped her head to him from where she was standing by the fire, thinking. He waved her over, and Y/N went to him without question, but not without glancing at her mother for a brief second. Neteyam eyes flickered to her mother too, but he just grabbed her hand and pulled her to a bioluminescent bridge right outside camp.

“Why have you brought me out here, Nete? If my mom finds me not home, I will be skinned.”

Neteyam breathed deeply before bringing her hand up to his heart, like he did when she was napping, and Y/N flashed her eyes to it then directed her stare at his bright, glinting eyes. Y/N awaited his response, but all he could do was marvel at her beauty. Her perfectly braided hair, her deep gold eyes piercing through him, her freckles lighting up like a constellation, her blue lips slightly hanging apart, her body naturally standing so strategically on the bridge. So instead of words, his other hand brought her closer to him, and out of habit Y/N planted her arm around his back. Y/N was the smallest bit shorter than him and craned her neck backward to look up at him properly. His lips grazed her cheek, and Y/N shuddered moderately and gripped his back steadily. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” Y/N hushed him and removed her hand from his chest to his face. “Is this what you brought me out here for?”

“Mhm.” Neteyam now was the one shush her and smashed his lips on hers. The molded closer and touched each other ,respectfully, all over. Their mouths moved in sync together and their hands were freely roaming. “Y/N.”

“Neteyam?” She replied and kissed him again. He couldn’t force his Y/N away, and now that he knew her kisses were ethereal, he added them to the list of why she was the one for him. “So, is this you saying you like me?”

“Silly, my love, I love you, I am in love with you.” He corrected Y/N with a soft grin. “I see you, my Y/N.” She giggled and covered her face as she blushed. But he didn’t have any of that and moved her hand out of the way to look at her slightly shaded face. “You are beautiful.”

“I see you, my Neteyam.” She returned the statement and pecked his cheek. The fresh lovers stayed out all night, exploring their new love relationship. It wasn’t much different from their best friend relationship though. The two didn’t think of the consequences of when they returned in the morning to High Camp. “Our parents are going to kill us.”

Neteyam nuzzled his forehead into hers. “I do not care.” She pinched his arm and started running back home. It became a race quickly and by the time they reached High Camp, their shrieks of laughter could be heard by everyone in the Hallelujah Mountains, including Jake, Neytiri, and Beysr. The three were rage filled as their children came basically bouncing in wrapped in each other’s arms.

“Neteyam!” Neytiri shrilled, and approached her child with Jake and Beysr following. Y/N and Neteyam peered at one another, both on the verge of chuckling at their situation. “Where were you?”

“Fantastic question! What is this?” Beysr said, tone drowned in venom and pointing at Neteyam and Y/N holding hands.

“I did what you told me to.” Neteyam defended, and Jake softened his stance after that. “I confessed how I felt.”

“That doesn’t mean sneaking out and being gone until morning.” Neytiri hissed at her son, but let up a bit after she realized how happy he looked being simply next to Y/N.

“Your actions have been unacceptable.” Beysr called to her daughter, and Y/N put her head down. “But young love only happens once, so I’ll allow it. Just once.”

Neytiri, Jake, and Beysr beamed as Neteyam and Y/N shyly smiled and tugged one another closer.

From inside the Sully tent, Lo’ak and Kiri high fived.

#neteyam x reader #neteyam #avatar x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you #neteyam sully #sully family #neytiri #jake sully #avatar #loak sully #kiri sully

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writeyouin · 4 months

Note

LMK shadowpeach x foreign fem reader? Its readers first Christmas in China and wants to spend it with the monkeys! Got them a Christmas gift too that’s fitting for the three of them. For some cute fluff, she made some delicious treats from her home country (I probably would make them fry bread or fruit related sweets of the sort)

Sun Wukong X Macaque X Reader (Poly-Shadowpeach) – Chinese Christmas

A/N – So this went a myriad of ways in my head and I kept changing it, and now it’s super different to what I first thought was going to happen. Anyway, here’s the end result, and I got to do some cool research on Christmas in China which was really interesting.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

“Would you please calm down?” Macaque growled at Sun Wukong, annoyed since his partner was being more irksome than usual.

Granted, the pair had recently made up after all their years of fighting, but sometimes… Well, the Monkey King had a lot more energy than Macaque, and he wasted it in frivolous ways, always bouncing around and rarely bothering to stay still unless he was choosing to be inconvenient and lazy, in which case it was impossible to make him get up and do whatever was required of him.

Sun Wukong was equally displeased with Macaque, who didn’t seem to be taking his plight seriously.

“Calm down?” He wailed, his search continually frantic as he flew from mountain top to mountain top. “Who can calm down at a TIME LIKE THIS?! (Y/N)’s missing!”

Macaque rubbed his temples, feeling a headache begin to form. “They’re not missing, they’re probably just at their house or-”

“ON CHRISTMAS?” Sun jumped in front of Macaque, grabbing him by the shoulders and wrapping his tail tightly around the darker simian, “Not a chance! I planned everything for today. We were going to go ice skating, get some wrapped apples, sing karaoke, drink hot chocolate, go to that new noodle bar- There’s just no way (Y/N) would miss all that.”

“… Fine. If you must continue this inane search, could you use your gold vision and get it over with already?”

Sun raised a mischievous eyebrow and smirked, “And miss out on the fun of the search?”

Macaque sighed irritably, “You’re seriously having fun with this?”

“Well yeah. What’d be the point if I found (Y/N) immediately? It needs to be dramatic.”

With that, the Monkey King got back to his search, whilst Macaque stepped away to take a breather, and possibly to brood if the mood struck him; relationships were exhausting. As soon as he left Wukong, his sharp hearing picked up your voice at the bottom of the mountain.

“Shoot-” You said upon clearly dropping something.

Macaque smiled as a more forceful expletive followed, and listened more intently. Evidently, you were carrying something and your bag had split. He chuckled and took pity on you, waiting till you had recovered your items before casting out a shadow portal that brought you directly in front of him.

Having been ready to take a step that was no longer in front of you, you stumbled into Macaque’s open arms.

“You always trip,” He commented drily, “You think you’d be used to that by now.”

You smiled up at Macaque, pecking his cheek before replying, “I don’t think I’ll ever be used to that. You always do it when I least expect it.”

“Then you’ve got to learn to expect the unexpected.”

“If I did that, there would never be an unexpected event and my life would become oh so dull.”

Macaque began a witty retort, but he was drowned out by Wukong who hurried over to meet you, crushing you in a hug, clingy as ever. Whenever you were around, there was hardly a moment wherein he wasn’t holding onto you in some manner.

“Peaches!” He exclaimed joyfully, using your affectionately awarded nickname, “I knew you wouldn’t abandon us on Christmas. Where were you? You’ve already wasted half the day.”

“It’s only ten,” You protested.

“Yeah, well I would’ve been there for you at six if we were meeting at your place.”

That was a lie. If it was up to Sun Wukong to come to you, you knew that Macaque would have to drag him out of bed and that it would take him hours to wake from his sleepy state.

“If I say I brought presents, will that make it up to you?” You held up your bag; Macaque smiled when he saw the knot you had tied in the bottom to patch the split.

Sun immediately pushed you away to snatch up the bag, though his tail remained wrapped around your wrist.

“Share,” You reminded him, bringing Macaque back into the loop.

“Can we open these now?” Sun asked, already tearing at the gold paper which marked the presents meant for him.

“Apparently so.”

Macaque was much gentler with his sliver foiled presents. You hadn’t bothered to write any cards or tags. You couldn’t read or write Chinese, and your simian companions were equally unskilled in your native language. Instead, it was easier to treat them like the sun and the moon and wrap their gifts accordingly.

There were some generic little presents at the top of the bag, but soon your loves got to the gifts you had spent months lovingly crafting. Shawls, knitwear, and repaired clothing that both of them had mourned when damaged in battle made the bulk of the gifts. In a second smaller bag were the presents you had made fresh the night before. They were treats you missed from home, sweet breads, pastries, sugared fruits, and brandy snaps.

“Oh yeah,” Sun Wukong bragged, taking the first bite of a cream-filled sugar cone, “We’re going to have a feast tonight.”

“If we make it to tonight alive with all you have planned,” Macaque stated drily, though he spared an affectionate pat to Wukong’s head.

“All you have planned?” You asked, uncertain as to what anyone could do on Christmas Day when everywhere was closed. Alas, you were thinking of home, which differed greatly from China in many ways, Christmas traditions being one of them.

“Well, duh.” Sun Wukong placed a hand proudly on his chest and stood in a heroic position atop a newly summoned cloud. “Do you really think that I, Sun Wukong, the Monkey King and Great Sage Equal to Heaven would have anything less than a perfect day planned for my two true loves?”

“Funny,” Macaque chuckled, tying his new shawl around his neck, “I thought your two true loves were sleeping and making Wukong Dating sims.”

“Oh yeah? And what about you? You only love puppets and being all dramatic and emo.”

“And I love it when my boys don’t argue,” You said, stepping between them before their little spat turned into a contest which would inevitably lead to a fight. Granted, the three of you were a throuple now, but Sun Wukong and Macaque still had a lot of bad blood and unresolved history; some days were more difficult than others when they were learning how to choose love and forgiveness over anger and spite.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

Wukong grinned and held you to his side, throwing his free arm up as if physically showing you the day’s schedule while he listed everything off.

Macaque approached you and took your hand gently in his, “Is that all okay? It’s probably a lot different to where you come from.”

You smiled bittersweetly, thinking about all the traditions you would miss out on and how Christmas was more family-oriented where you were from.

“It’s- It’s different to what I’m used to, but… I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I’m just happy to be with you two.”

At that, Sun Wukong softened. He stood in front of you, his tail curling around your waist, “Hey, we don’t have to do this if it’s too much. We can try your traditions if you want.”

“Next year,” You promised. “I want to see how you do things.”

Sun Wukong smiled at both you and Macaque. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He had spent far too long alone, and now he had two people he could spend the holidays with, and even more friends who you were all going to meet; he wouldn’t have it any other way.

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 5 months

Text

The Other Half Part Twenty Three

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Notes: This is a long one y'all. There's more angst, BUT there's a fluffy ending, so. Ya just gotta trust me.

Length: 6K

Warnings: Angst that ends in fluff, so you're gonna suffer, but you're gonna be happy about it; canon-typical violence; a D-level DC villain that's usually more of a Superman baddie, but he's fought Batman once or twice, so.

Summary: When Michelle had announced that she would be moving to Keystone City, you’d burst into tears. Your other friends had passed it off as you being overcome by the news of your oldest and dearest friend moving, but Michelle knew you, and she knew better. It hadn’t taken her long to drag the truth out of you.

“I never liked him.”

Michelle’s flat insistence makes you splutter a laugh through your tears. You sniffle, raising both hands and scrubbing at your eyes, knowing that you're almost certainly ruining your makeup. You’ve tried to put on a brave face, but Michelle has known since you arrived that something was off. She’s banished everyone else from the kitchen, giving the two of you a quiet space to talk. The odd swell of laughter and conversation reaches you every few moments, reminding you that you’re having an incredibly sensitive conversation just a few feet away from people that would probably sell it to the Gotham Gazette for one corn chip.

“Yes, you did,” You argue, raising your hand and scrubbing a tear away.

“...I mean, a little.” Michelle rips a piece of paper towel off of the roll, passing it over. “Did he tell you why?”

You dab at your eyes, trying to piece a reasonable explanation together—one that wouldn’t shock Michelle and expose Bruce’s secret.

You had waited up for Bruce all night, but he’d never come back. At least, he hadn’t come back to you. You’d realized when you’d gone down for breakfast that Bruce had returned, but slept elsewhere—down in the bat cave, maybe, or in an entirely separate wing of the house? But there he was at the table, genially listening to your father discuss whether or not the Metropolis Metros had any chance of making the playoffs that year. You had gotten yourself some coffee and sat at the opposite end of the table, unable to catch Bruce’s eye. He was avoiding it; he was avoiding you. He’d kept that up as you’d seen your parents to the car, as you’d hugged your mother and dodged her attempts to discuss what had been said last night. You saw the firm handshake that Bruce had shared with your father, the strained smile that he’d managed as your father had insisted that he hoped that there weren't any hard feelings.

The two of you had stood side by side as the car pulled out of the driveway, hands to yourselves, eyes set on the fading red tail lights until they were out of sight.

“Can we talk about it?” You finally hedged.

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about.”

You turned to watch him stride away, stunned. It took you a moment to follow, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up.

“I think there’s a hell of a lot to talk about!”

“I don’t agree.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because they’re right.”

“Excuse me?”

“They’re right!” Bruce barked, whirling around to face you. You froze in place, eyes widening as his yell echoed in the foyer. “I can’t keep you safe.”

“You have kept me safe—You do keep me safe, Bruce!”

“If I could, you never would’ve gotten kidnapped in the first place!”

“I got out of there because of you—”

“You got in there because of me!”

“There are people in this world that are just plain greedy, Bruce. There’s nothing that you can do about that, it is not your fault.”

“It’s my fault that you of all people were taken, and as long as you and I are together, you will continue to be a target.”

“I don’t care!”

“I do!”

“Oh, so you get to go out every night and put people away and get the shit kicked out of you even though you know I hate it and that’s fine, right? Bruce Wayne can make his own damn decisions and put himself in as much danger as he wants, but I get into one little situation and that’s it? You’re decided? I don’t get a say in this?”

“You get a say. You have had a say, but I am through knowing that I’m endangering your life.”

“Well let’s think this through, then. Who else are you putting in harm’s way? Lucius, for one—”

“That’s enough—”

“You’re endangering Alfred. Are you telling him that you’re through putting him in danger?”

“Do not bring Alfred into this.”

“It’s a bullshit argument, Bruce.”

“I’m done talking about this,” He warned coldly, turning away from you. You didn’t let him get far, keeping a pace or two behind him as he strode toward the study.

“What if I’m not?”

“I don’t give a damn.”

“What do you want, Bruce?”

“I want you to leave!”

He stopped short again, but there was no danger of you slamming into him this time. In fact, you took one step back, then another. You searched Bruce’s face desperately as your entire body felt like it was going to cave in on itself. You shook your head a little, hands flexing at your sides as you forced yourself not to reach out, not to tug him in and hold him close and beg him, plead with him to reconsider.

“You don’t mean that,” You insisted.

“I do.” Bruce’s gaze dropped to your shoes.

“Look at me.”

“I’ll have Alfred pack your things—”

“Look me in the goddamn eye and tell me that.”

“You can stay at the penthouse until Michelle can move you back in.”

“Bruce, don’t do this—”

“You can take as long as you need.”

“You—” You reached up, grasping the lariat necklace and yanking it roughly. You felt the clasp break roughly against your skin, heard diamonds scatter as you tossed it at his feet. “You are a fucking coward.”

You hadn’t let him see you cry, but you were sure he’d heard you. You’d hardly made it into your shared bedroom before you’d knelt down and let out a raw, sharp scream—one so long and so loud that you were hoarse when it finally broke. You had spent the day hiding out in your room, and had only managed to stop crying just long enough to fake a few smiles at Friendsgiving.

When Michelle had announced that she would be moving to Keystone City, you’d burst into tears again. Your other friends had passed it off as you being overcome by the news of your oldest and dearest friend moving, but Michelle knew you, and she knew better. It hadn’t taken her long to drag the truth out of you.

“We just, um…” You sniffle. “We just haven’t been seeing eye to eye on a lot of things lately.”

“Marriage? Kids?”

You shake your head at her plying.

“A lot of things.”

“...Does this have anything to do with the fact that your parents were at Thanksgiving?”

“Let’s just say their visit was less than stellar.”

“Oh, hon, I’m sorry,” Michelle shakes her head, taking your hands in hers. You give them a gentle squeeze in turn, eyes swimming as you look down at them. She’s quiet for a few moments before she plies:

“What are you going to do?”

“...May as well move to Metropolis,” You admit. “Mom and dad are there, you’re leaving, and Bruce…” You clear your throat. “There’s nothing keeping me here.”

“Will they let you transfer at work?”

“Something tells me they’ll have the bright idea first thing Monday morning.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“He’s stubborn. Once he gets an idea into his head, he won’t shake it.”

“You can be damn stubborn, too.”

You nod a bit. “I can, but I’m just…” You shake your head as the tears well viciously again. “I’m so damn tired, Mish. I can’t keep fighting for him if he doesn't want me.”

“Honey,” Michelle sighs, crowding close and drawing you into her arms. You curl your hands around her arm, keeping her close as the sobs begin to shake you again.

“How is the weather there?”

“We’re really resorting to speaking about the weather?” You smile. “My my, times are desperate. Did you pull the lilies up yet? Must be getting cold over there.”

“Now who is speaking of the weather?”

You chuckle at Alfred’s reminder, shaking your head. The two of you go quiet on your sides of the phone. You focus your gaze on your mom’s macrame plant hanger, shifting from foot to foot. You know how Alfred is (“Just fine, as always, dear.”), but you don’t dare ask how Bruce is.

“Have you settled in?” Alfred presses before you can bring anything else up.

“Um…” Your brow furrows. “The office is nice—bigger desks.”

“And the apartment? The car?”

“I’m with my parents. I don’t have a car.”

Alfred is quiet for a few moments before he offers: “Master Wayne—”

“I know what he did,” You cut in quickly. You'd gotten the email from the newly Wayne-owned apartment building, as well as the message to pick your new car up from the dealership when you'd arrived in Metropolis. “I don’t want anything from him.”

Alfred sighs softly on the other end, and it makes your gut twist. You lean back against the kitchen counter, looking down at the floor.

“...How is he?” You finally mumble.

“He misses you.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

“Buying you an apartment and a car?”

“I don’t care about things, he knows that. If he cared, he would pick up the—...Damn phone,” You trail off in a mumble as you hear yourself growing more and more frustrated. You tried calling him three times before you left Gotham, but you hadn't gotten a single response. You haven't bothered to try since.

“Anyway,” You clear your throat, “You never answered me about the lilies.”

“I have a few weeds to pull up before I cover the beds.”

“You should do that soon. It’s only going to get colder. Are the lights up in the city yet?”

“They are.”

“Must be nice. I love Gotham at Christmas.”

“How is Metropolis?”

“It’s nice! It’s nice. It’s fine. Pretty. Good lights. Not as good as Gotham’s, but good.”

“Are the accommodations at your parents comfortable, at least?”

Comfortable. That isn't the word you’d use. These days, you’re sleeping on a lumpy pullout couch in a cramped living room, living out of a duffel bag. They’re meant to be spending their days comfortably, not with their heartbroken daughter sleeping in the living room and trying to put the pieces of her life together. You’re grateful to them for opening their home, and you feel so ungrateful for feeling crowded, but a week ago, this was not the life that you pictured—

You raise your hand to pinch the bridge of your nose to stem a wave of tears.

“Mhm!” You nod, though Alfred can’t see you, hoping that the affirmative movement will bolster the firmness of your tone. “S’nice, it’s cozy.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Yeah! Yeah, thank you.” You clear your throat. “I should get going for work soon, I’ve got a meeting to prep for.”

“Of course. I'll send the remainder of your things tomorrow."

“Sounds great. I’ll call you soon.”

“It will be lovely to hear from you then.”

“It’s lovely to hear from you now.” You smile bitterly. “Bye, Alfred.”

“Goodbye.”

You lower the phone and hang up, raising your hand to swipe at the few tears that have managed to slip. Work, you have got to get to work. Your parents' place is a quick bus and train ride to and from the office, but you’ve been getting in early to get up to speed—and with the hopes of avoiding the paparazzi.

There aren’t nearly as many as there were when you were in Gotham, but so far, you’ve had a handful lingering around the front door when you leave. They always throw out questions—Why’d you leave Gotham? Did you and Wayne break up? Did he cheat on you? Why aren’t you living in the apartment with your name on it? Are you ever going back to Gotham?

You hadn’t bothered to answer a single question, just kept your head down and strode toward the train station. They had the decency not to follow you on, or back to the apartment. When you arrive this morning, there isn’t anyone with a camera outside the building. You give the receptionist a friendly smile before you head to the elevator, pressing the up button with a knuckle to keep from dropping your phone or spilling your coffee.

The office is quiet when you step inside. You can see a couple of other people there, but they don’t acknowledge you as you settle in. You open your laptop, humming to yourself as the laptop begins to boot up. You heard a few carolers performing Silver Bells on your way to the office, and it is stuck in your head now. You rest your chin on your hand, trying to picture what the grounds’ gardens must look like all covered over. You can picture Alfred crouching down, covering the raised beds with chicken wire, with Bruce pulling it taut from the other end—

You shift in your seat, trying to push the thought of Bruce away.

He’d be bundled up, too, maybe using the spare pair of gloves that you bought for Alfred—

Ugh, stop it! Stop, just banish him from your mind. That’s probably impossible, sure, but you can pretend, right? You click on the internet app, and freeze when you see the loaded article on the homepage: Bruce helping a model out of a car. You recognize her. You're sure that you’ve seen her at a couple of Liz’s parties. You can’t quite remember her name, though…Your eyes stray to the description before you force them away again, pulling up your email and biting the inside of your cheek to keep from letting tears fall. It feels like all you can do these days is cry, no matter what you do. You know that getting over Bruce is going to be slow-going.

Your hand strays to your neck, where the lariat necklace used to sit…No. Nope, letting it go. Taking out your headphones, putting on your favorite angsty playlist and letting it go.

“How was your day, honey?”

You poke through your container of leftovers as you lean against the kitchen counter. You give your mom’s question a placid smile, and don’t bother to say a word. You know that an admonishment isn’t far behind.

“Oh, don’t stand and eat,” She tuts just a moment later when she spots you.

“I’m fine standing, mom. I've been sitting all day.”

“Your day, honey.”

“It was okay. We got the invite for the Christmas party, it’s next week.”

“Everyone was nice?”

“It’s an office job, not my first day of kindergarten.”

“Well,” She sniffs, “Forgive me for asking a question.”

You roll your eyes.

“Everyone's pretty nice, yeah, but...I don't know. We reviewed this application for a toy maker who wanted to set up a workshop for the holidays, but the board wound up turning it down. I thought it seemed like a good cause,”

“Oh really, that’s nice.”

Nice. She isn’t listening—but you push on anyway:

“It’s a bummer, you know, this Schott Jr. guy’s application was kinda…Sad. It was a little childish, though. I think the writing on the grant really messed up his chances.”

“You can tell me about it later, hon. I have my quilting group tonight.”

God, your mother has more of a life than you do these days. “Well, have fun. Where’s dad?”

“Late shift.”

“Out on Neville Island? Jeez, how late are they gonna keep him?”

“Your father is a big boy.”

“I know, just…”

Your mom casts you an almost pitying look. “This isn’t Gotham, sweetie. He’ll be fine.”

You nod a little, peering down into your remaining leftovers.

“Have fun at quilt club,” You add as your mom heads for the door.

“Sure! We’ll keep it down when we come in!”

“Yeah, I know you all get really wild while quilting.”

“Oh, and honey?”

“Mm?”

“Try not to spend the night sulking. Maybe…I don’t know, go to a bar, pick someone up—”

You choke roughly as you accidentally inhale the bite of food. You regain your breath, throat throbbing as you gasp, “Mom!”

“The only way to get over someone is to get under someone! Okay, I’m going, I’m going,” She insists, holding her hands up in mock-surrender as she edges for the door, taking up her quilting tote bag. You scoff, turning and practically flinging the remainder of the leftovers into the trash as you hear her footsteps retreat down the hall.

“Only way to get over someone is to get under someone,” You mumble, “Fucking…Unreal.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, glancing toward the trash can. Maybe you shouldn’t have thrown out those leftovers. You’re still hungry. Maybe you ought to get yourself out of the apartment, grab some food. Or...You reach into your pocket, drawing out your phone. You don’t call Alfred again—instead, you dial Michelle’s number and walk over to the couch, plopping onto it. You wince a little, glancing down at the cushions. You really should be more gentle with it, you are sleeping on it all the time.

You set the sound to speaker as you wait. It rings…And rings…And—

“You better not be calling to tell me that you’re back with that jerk.”

You can’t help but smile at Michelle’s candor.

“I haven’t even heard from…Him.”

“That jerk. Call him a jerk.”

“Mish, please.”

“Well, he is. But I guess I’ve said it enough for both of us.”

“How’s Keystone City?”

“Honey, I have never seen so much corn in all my damn life.”

“Is it doing the men out there any good?”

“It would have to be super corn if it did.”

“How’s the apartment?”

“Oh my god, it's fucking huge. Half the price we were paying in Gotham for double the size. You should move down here. With our joint funds, we’d be able to build our own mansion.”

“Mm, I don’t think I could move down just yet. I’ve only been at the Foundation for three months, and just moved to this location a week ago. If I up and left now, I’d lose my job in minutes.”

“We could find you one down here.”

“Is it very busy down there?”

“No. But maybe you could do with slowing down a bit.”

“Maybe. Hey, have you gotten your tree yet?”

“Have you?”

“The couch folds out right where it would go. Mom’s thinking of getting a small one that she can put on the kitchen counter.”

“She wouldn’t.”

“...I think it’s guilt,” You admit. “She’s why I’m here, anyway.”

“Ugh, you’ve hit the point of blaming your mother. Finally—took you long enough.”

“Well,” You grumble, “She wasn’t thinking, but her not thinking kinda got me on her couch. You know what she told me before going quilting?”

“What?”

“That I should go pick up a stranger.”

“What?” Michelle screeches, and you wince, turning your head away from the phone. “Oh, my god! Are you mortified? I would die, oh my god!”

You giggle, a lightness taking over you for the first time in several days.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, the sexual tension between me and the electrical sockets are slowly creeping up. I’ve gotta find my own place.”

“If you need a reference—”

“I’ll call you—”

“I will lie through my teeth.”

“You’re a dear.”

“...Have you spoken to him?”

No. “No.”

“Have you blocked him?”

No. “Yes.”

“Do you miss him?”

Terribly. “Maybe.”

“...Okay, here me out—”

“Oh, no, Mish—”

“I’m just saying, maybe your mom is on to something. Not like that, but—have you taken a moment for yourself since you got to Metropolis?”

You think for a few moments, shifting back on the couch.

“...No, I’m just working,” You admit softly. “I feel like if I let myself do anything but work, I’ll just…I’ll fall apart.” Your words quiver as you say it.

“I’m not saying don’t think about it,” She reassures. “I mean…It was almost a year with him, you know? Just…Don’t let that be the only thing that you think about.”

You sink back into your seat, lips pursing as your eyes begin to wet.

“I don’t,” You protest weakly. Michelle sighs on the other end, and you know that you haven’t fooled her for a moment. You shake your head, resolved to push the conversation in another direction:

“Are you going to paint any rooms in your apartment?”

“...I got a few paint samples.” You can hear how reluctant Michelle is to move on, but feel a swell of gratefulness when she does. “Mostly blues and greens. I’m thinking of some kind of turquoise for the kitchen.”

“Some kind of turquoise? Isn’t there only one kind of turquoise?”

“You know, I used to think that, but the paint section of the store proved me very, very wrong.”

You tuck yourself in early, knowing that you won’t be asleep by the time your parents get in. Still, you’d rather fake it than have them ask you if you had a nice night in. Worse, your mother could ask if you’d gone out and gotten under someone, as it were. You stare up at the ceiling, trying to focus on taking slow, even breaths.

You can’t help that Bruce creeps up in your mind.

What’s he doing right now? Is he creeping through some alley? Swooping down on a wrongdoer? Conferring with Gordon?

Elspeth Emerson, that’s that model’s name. She’d hardly spoken a word to you the couple of times that you had met her. Come to think of it, you couldn’t remember what her voice sounded like.

Can you even remember what Bruce’s voice sounded like?

“I want you to leave!”

You wince at the thought, and you roll onto your side, as if you can pull away from the memory. Yes, you remember what Bruce’s voice sounds like. How long will it take until you forget? You peer through the curtains, chest muddling with pangs of regret and sadness as your mind begins to race—to wonder if things would be different if you’d just fought a little harder—

But how many times can you give your love to a man that’s trying to push you away? A man who only took a few days to get over you—or at least to go out and make it seem like he’s moving on?

He must have known that you wouldn’t use that apartment, or that car. He must have just wanted to seem like the bigger person, as if he wasn't the one that had sent you packing. You huff softly, raising your hand to swipe your tears away as they begin to leak. It’s no use; a few slip. It’s only a moment before the trickle turns into a stream, dampening the pillow beneath your head.

You fall into a rhythm. It isn’t a rut—it is decidedly not a rut. You manage to get up and out of the apartment before your parents are awake in the morning. The paparazzi stop lingering around the office, because your existence ceases to be news. You stop flinching at the mention of Bruce’s name; you stop hearing his voice as you try to fall asleep. The ache of missing him doesn’t disappear, but it lessens, some. You don’t take your mom’s recommendation of getting over Bruce by getting under someone else. You consider it, sure. You download a couple of dating apps, but you never actually make a profile. There’s just nothing about it that feels right.

You speak with Alfred almost daily—usually on the phone, if not over text. You don’t ask about how Bruce is doing, and he doesn’t tell you.

That doesn’t stop you wondering.

“What the hell is that?”

“Did you see it?”

“It’s so cute!”

“Do you think it’s some kind of office Christmas gift or something? A little teaser before the holiday party later?”

“You hear Wayne’s gonna be in attendance? Someone said they thought the saw him in the elevator. Do you think it’s because of…You know—”

“Who cares—Hey, does that thing move or is it just a decoration?”

Your coworker’s chatter draws your focus, and you turn away from your laptop. You can see people crowding around something by the elevators. You stand, joining them and peering around them to try and get a look at what they’re talking about. You can just catch a glimpse of a brightly colored, 5-foot tall nutcracker. Your brow furrows as you take in the fuzzy beard, the crisp blue paint of the nutcracker’s coat, the bright gold buttons, and the rifle tucked at its side. You nod at the painted script on one of the boots.

“What’s that say?”

“Schott and Son.” One of your coworkers steps forward, stepping around it and eyeing the back. “There’s a button back here!”

Schott and Son. God, why does that sound familiar?

“Press it!” Someone else urges. You hear the gears crank and whir, quickly covered by a music box rendition of the Nutcracker Suite. You smile a little, as the Nutcracker’s arms move as if marching. You all startle, then laugh as it steps forward and does a short bow. It reaches around itself, and your stomach churns as it grasps the butt of its rifle. You take a step back, warning,

“Uh, guys—”

“Lighten up,” Someone scoffs, “It’s just a toy.”

Their insistence is stifled by a gunshot, leaving the tip of the rifle smoking. You hear two panicked huffs before someone screams. You whirl around to see blood pouring from your coworker’s shoulder. Their scream is chased by others as the Nutcracker ventures deeper into the office, firing again. You scramble away as the others do, running for whatever cover you can find. You stumble as someone gives you a shove, practically climbing over you to get out of the way. You crawl along the floor, getting beneath a desk and tugging a chair in. You fold yourself in as tight as you can, clasping your hands together and fighting to keep your breathing and quiet as you peer out, watching people scramble to get out of the way of the Nutcracker.

Fuck, you left your phone on your desk, so you can’t call 911—Surely someone has, right? Someone’s heard the commotion from another floor, or an alarm has gone off, something—

You hear a horrifying thud, chased by a few more gunshots. You wince with the furious bashing sounds, raising your hands to press over your ears. You focus on your own pounding heart, your rapid breathing—

The feeling of the chair shifting beside you makes you scream and open your eyes.

The sight of Bruce crouching beside your desk makes you crumble.

“...It’s nice.”

It’s a feeble attempt at a compliment and a conversation starter. It’s also an insane understatement. It seems that Bruce didn’t only buy you this apartment—he’d had it furnished, and filled the fridge and cabinets with groceries, spices, all of your favorite goodies. You look from the fully stocked bar cart by the kitchen over to the living room, where Bruce is hurriedly closing the curtains over the lowered shades.

Maybe it shouldn’t be such a surprise that the apartment he chose is so big.

Just being the bigger person, You remind yourself, He doesn’t want to be the bad guy.

Bruce finally turns to look at you. You see his lips twitch with something unspoken before he purses them and swallows thickly. He looks so wan—pallid, and tired. He’d looked it when he’d found you beneath that desk, after apparently smashing the shit out of that Nutcracker with a printer. The ride to this apartment (in the car that he had bought for you and had driven to the office) hadn’t made it any better. Neither of you had spoken.

“You never, um…” You clear your throat. “What are you doing in Metropolis?"

“It was requested that I make an appearance at the holiday party.”

Your gaze narrows slightly. You smell bullshit...But you're not really in the mood to litigate it right now.

“Right.”

You turn away, finally, shrugging off your coat and tossing it over the back of a chair as you head for the bar cart.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Wayne. Great, even.” You take up a clean glass, setting it windowsill beside the car before you reach for the bottle of whiskey. “You want some?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“More for me, then.”

“Are you sure you wanna do that right now?”

“I can’t think of a better time.”

You reach for the seal, struggling to twist it off before you fling it away. You grasp the bottle firmly, trying to ignore your shaking hands as you lift it and the glass. You can’t steady them no matter how hard you try, but you pour anyway, some of the liquid sloshing over the sides and onto your fingers—

You go still as Bruce crowds up close to you, grasping your hands and forcing them down. The glass connects with the windowsill with a sharp, shrill sound; you wouldn’t be surprised if it was chipped, if not cracked. You squeeze your eyes closed as you just feel him—the heat and strength of him up against your back; the gentle press of his face against your hair, and the sound of him drawing in a deep breath; the warmth of his hands, steady over yours. Your lower lip begins to wobble as Bruce intertwines your fingers, using his grasp on your hands to curl your arms around yourself.

“Good thing I wasn’t in Gotham,” You quip dryly, forcing your stern tone over the your rapidly fracturing resolve, “Or today could’ve been a real disaster.”

You shake Bruce off, stepping out of his arms and snatching your glass from the sill, striding more deeply into the living room. You hear Bruce sigh behind you before he hedges:

“What do you want me to say?”

“An apology would be nice.”

“You want me to apologize for wanting you safe?”

“Was I safe today?” You snap, whirling to face him again. “Was that—Killer nutcracker something I was safe from? You can’t anticipate every moment of my life, Bruce. No matter where I go, I could be in danger. What, do you want me confined to a room somewhere and permanently out of harm’s way? What if someone breaks into that room?”

You search his face, desperate for some kind of recognition, some kind of understanding. Bruce shakes his head, his gaze dropping shamefully to his shoes. You lower yourself into an armchair, peering down at the amber liquid, watching it shift with your still-shaking hands. You hear Bruce cross the room before his shoes come into view. He grasps the wooden coffee table, tugging it closer and sitting on the edge of it.

“I just don’t…I don’t like the idea that someone could come after you again, with the purpose of getting to me, or getting something from me,” He admits softly. “I can’t be the reason that I lose someone I love. I can’t do that again.”

You lift your head as Bruce’s voice breaks, heart stuttering as you see his eyes well with tears. You set the drink aside, taking his hands in yours.

“I know that it scares you. It scares me, too. But Bruce, you cannot protect me from everything. But you do—” Your voice breaks as your face twists with upset, “You do protect me, from so much. You protected me after the kidnapping, you protected me today. If you hadn’t been there, I don’t know what would’ve happened…’Sides between this and the attempted robbery at the store, I think I’ve proven that I can get into plenty of trouble all by myself.”

Bruce huffs a shaky laugh through his nose as he nods. He raises your joined hands to his lips, pressing kisses to your knuckles.

“I’ve missed you so goddamn much,” He murmurs.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“I want…” He winces at the phrasing, and seems to reconsider. “I mean…Would you consider coming home?”

Home. Your chest aches with it—with the thought of the mansion, and Alfred, and the covered garden beds.

“Bruce…I love you so much. I want us to have a life together, but…” You shake your head, steeling yourself as his face falls, “But I can’t keep having this argument. I can’t be pushed away from you over and over again and keep wanting to come back. This nearly broke me—No, Bruce,” You chase his gaze as he averts his, holding his eye as your tone grows more firm. “I understand that you want me in one piece, I get it. But how the fuck do you think I feel, night after night, knowing that every time you leave may be the last time I see you?...If I come back,” You hedge carefully, “This is…It. If we implode, or you change your mind and throw me out again, we’re through, I mean really through—”

“That will never happen again.”

“But—”

“You have my word.” He says it firmly, holding your eye as you held his. “I…I acted like an asshole. I didn’t want you to leave, but I thought it would be better for you.”

“Nothing about this has been better for me.”

“I know, I see that now. I’m sorry.”

You nod a little, looking down at your hands.

“...You just want me back in Gotham so you can keep a closer eye on me.”

Bruce chuckles softly, raising a hand to cup your cheek.

“I want you back in Gotham because nothing has been right since you left.”

You tip your face into his hand, letting your eyes slide closed and allowing your tears to fall as you accept the gentle touch. Bruce shushes you softly, smoothing your tears away and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Tell you what,” He murmurs. “Why don’t you call your parents, let them know you’re alright and you’re spending the night here before we go back. I’ll figure out getting your things back in a couple of days.”

“They’re not gonna like that…And the Foundation’s going to be pissed.”

“S’okay. I think they’ll understand you transferring back after what happened in the office. They've cancelled the holiday party to secure the building, make sure that thing didn't have any extra surprises hiding anywhere.”

“Speaking of which,” You lean back, scrubbing your eyes. “There’s someone you should look into.”

“What do you mean?”

“The uh…The Nutcracker, it had a name on it—”

“Schott and Son.”

“Right. Winslow Schott Jr. put in an application for funding from the Foundation, but it was denied.”

Bruce’s frown deepens. “When did this happen?”

“Uh—Two weeks ago, maybe? He left a few angry calls and emails, but then he dropped off, so we figured he’d given up.”

“Did he have a company he applied through, or was it just him?”

“Umm…” Your brow furrows as you try to remember. “It was…The Toymaker, or…The Toyman, something like that.”

Bruce hums, nodding. “I’ll have Fox pull the file, see what we can find.”

“Okay.”

You stand and step away, and only make it a couple of steps before you hear Bruce stand. He catches hold of your hand, folding you into his arms. You go willingly, pressing your face into his neck and drawing in a deep breath as you cuddle close.

"Bruce?"

"Mm."

"Why are you really in Metropolis? I know you, you hate these parties."

Bruce's thumb sweeps along your lower back as he peers gently at you.

"I needed to see you," He admits softly. "It was just supposed to be for a minute...But I was headed to your floor, and I heard the shots, and..." His face goes tight, his jaw tensing. "I couldn't stop myself."

"I'm glad you didn't," You give him a small, reassuring smile. "But I'm a little biased." You reach up, gently sweeping your fingers across his stubbled cheek.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” You accuse.

“Told you,” He mumbles, “Nothing’s felt right since I lost you.”

You tip your chin, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Then it looks like you found me just in time."

Next Part

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Bruce Wayne x You #Bruce Wayne/Reader #Bruce Wayne/You #Bruce Wayne fic #Bruce Wayne imagine #The Other Half

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xueyidweams · 15 days

Text

rambling once again (aventurine x cat-person gn!reader) (this kind of pattern is what I’m talking about.) (read more bc this became quite long, sorry!!!)

Aventurine in his life of working for the IPC has come across a lot of stealers or kids trying to find their food for the day. he usually gives them some money and send them on their way. however, he really didn’t expect for someone to try and rob him in Penacony, in the dreamscape no less. Somehow he didn’t sense the man hurling himself towards him and grunted in surprise as he was pushed down, before he could even open his eyes the man was off of him and running away with claw marks all over him.

dumbfounded, he gets up and looks around, only to find two cat eyes staring at him… except they weren’t a cat… well.. half cat half person? He thought the species went extinct long ago. though, you were living proof of the opposite. you helped him sit up, he felt your claws brush against his knuckles and you felt the coolness of his rings on your paw-hand. observing his every move with utmost attention, your feline eyes following his every mimic and body movement.

“well thank you kind stranger—“ you accidentally cut him off as you smell him closely and realize who he is, he smells just like those bastards from the IPC! way too rich to be true smelling! your ears curl backwards and you pull yourself away hastily as you run away from him. He blinks as he sees you run, so fast… is this why the IPC hunts you all down like you’re all one of a kind? He yells after you, “Hey wait! just listen to me, please!“ you look back at him, your teeth snared and your pupils as slanted as they can be, “leave me alone IPC scum!”

you turn a few corners and your eyes widen in horror to see a dead end… what the hell, you know this place like the back of your hand! did they build this just now or have you been hanging in the unfinished part for way too long? the hairs on your tail stand up and your ears curl back as you hear his footsteps, taking a step back your back meets the wall with an oomph.

“Hey look— don’t be so hostile, we don’t have to be enemies. you can trust me.” yeah right. with those eyes? they’re unnervingly pretty and somehow frightening. your gut is telling you to run but your heart is hammering way too fast in your chest and the sound is drowning out his voice and you feel like everything you’ve had to endure to not fall into IPC’s slimy hands again has all been for nothing and—

you feel a hand on your arm, you look up and meet his eyes. then you feel the warm tears staining your cheeks, your tail hugs your leg as your ears droop, “look. please don’t give me up to them, i’ll literally do anything. do you want any dirty work done? i can do it! please just leave me alone, i don’t want to go back i can’t go back!” you see his eyes… soften somehow. to him, you’re a stark reminder of who he was, maybe still is. the way you fight so hard to protect the most precious thing to you, your freedom reminds him so much of the unsavory memories that he doesn’t notice he is squeezing your arm a bit hard and some of the fur is stuck on his rings. you flinch and grimace and he untangles your fur from his rings, he pulls his hands off of you.

he coughs in his hand and looks at you once more, voice softer yet firm. “im not going to hurt you or give you up. that’s not my job anyways. i just wanted to thank you, for helping even though it could put me in serious hot water. cats hate water right?” you half rolls your eyes at his teasing remark, “yeah yeah pretty boy, cough up some cash if you want to thank me. thanks for not turning me in but empty sentiments won’t feed me when i have to wake up from this dream.”

he smiles and takes off the ring from his index finger, he looks at you, “can i hold your hand?” you feel a slight warmness spreading through your face and squint your eyes, “fine but don’t try anything funny!” he chuckles and takes your hand in his gently, “wouldn’t dream of it.” he slips the ring on your ring finger, winking at you. “you can sell this for at least five hundred thousand credits, plenty to eat hm?” you look at your finger, the ring and at him as your heart does summersaults in your ribcage. you’ve never… even as a tease you’ve never been flirted with this is—

he takes advantage of your stupor and strokes your shoulder, squeezes slightly and gives you a smile. “you haven’t seen me and i haven’t seen you, yes?” you nod, speechless but thankful. he turns around and you finally get your voice back, “wait!” he looks back, his eyes watching you with interest. he raises his eyebrows, “thank you. i dont know what else to say but i’ll never forget this. and i wasnt’… joking when i said i could do your dirty work. so if you need something and i can get it done, i’ll do it free of charge.” you manage to tumble out as your voice trembles a bit, still shocked. his smile returns, “I’ll think about it, maybe fate will make us cross paths again huh?” he gives a little wave and starts walking, “oh also, do take care of your fur, it’s rather soft.”

you look dumbfounded, your face morphing from surprised to angry to flustered but he has already left. you look at your ring finger again and play with the ring, maybe the aeons have pitied you now?

‘he’s really pretty…’

you think to yourself as you pocket the ring and think of all the fish, meat and bread you’re gonna eat. and maybe you’ll try that soul glad thing.

#should i continue this?#hsr aventurine #honkai star rail #aventurine #aventurine x male reader #aventurine x reader #hsr x reader #aventurine honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader

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kyber-crystal · 2 years

Text

head in the clouds || bradley “rooster” bradshaw

summary: after a mission gone wrong that almost costs you your life, you and rooster get into an argument. said argument ends up revealing more about him than you thought you knew

words: ~1.7k

warnings: mentions of near-death experience(s), allusions to trauma, blood, and angst. this has a vv happy ending tho i promiseeeee.

a/n: i can’t stop writing. someone please stop me. i need help

They didn’t call you Viper for no reason.

You struck down your enemies hard and fast, and flew exactly like your father. Some even opted to calling you Maverick 2 rather than your actual callsign. (The real reason for the name was because you’d gotten bit by a snake as a kid, but you elected to forget that moment.)

“Viper, stand down. You’re dangerously close to enemy territory. Start heading back,” Rooster warned. “You have exactly forty-two seconds before you get on their radar and they’re on your tail. This isn’t something you can do alone.”

“I can handle it,” you grunted in reply as you gripped the yoke of the plane, now 100% in control. Adrenaline shoots through your veins and you can’t help but crack a smile. A little turbulence wouldn’t kill you; you’d be fine.

You heard Rooster’s shouts of objection and concern through your mic, but kept going. Today was not the day for giving up and going home early—it never was, and never would be. You were not going to go down without a fight.

You’re determined to prove yourself—to your father, but also Rooster. You’re dead set on impressing everyone with your skill, even if that meant flying into danger. And risking your life in the process.

It was all part of the job, anyway, so what was the big deal?

You’re pulled out of your sea of thoughts by a blaring alarm. The lights dim, and your heart races. What the hell was going on here…

A sudden jolt of turbulence makes you jerk forward in your seat, and you tighten your grip. “Shit,” you muttered a colorful string of swears under your breath. One quick glance up ahead and to your right shows two enemy fighters closing in on you, and closing in fast.

“Damn it,” you tried to keep your calm as you activate the flares, making a straight climb upwards in an attempt to evade the adversary. “No no no no no, please—”

The controls panel flashed a bright red, and the alarm kept going. “I got hit. I think I lost an engine. They caught me.”

Rooster’s blood turned to ice at your statement. “Viper, you need to turn back now. Can you make it out?”

“No!” you shouted in reply. “I’m locked in. Back and sides. I don’t know if I can m—”

“Viper.” You couldn’t hear what he’s saying as your suffered another hit to the side, and your jet dipped. You were losing altitude and balance and you felt yourself getting lightheaded. “Viper, do you copy?”

“Heading northwest at 430 knots. Increasing speed to 490,” you responded, voice shaking, “Running low on missiles.”

At this point, you’re hanging on by a thread, and staying awake is becoming more and more difficult. You’re able to get a missile lock on the bogey up ahead with seconds to spare. But then your plane shoots downwards, and you start spiraling out of control.

“Rooster, I need to take them down.”

“No, you don’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “Viper, eject now. There’s no other way out of this.”

“I already got one! I need to take down the other, and then I’ll land this plane!”

“Y/N, listen to me.” Your father comes online, and his voice is stern; commanding. “You need to get the hell out of here and eject. Don’t risk your life more times than you need to. You’ve done your job already.”

“Dad…”

“Y/N. I’m not gonna ask you again—”

The ringing in your ears grew louder and louder. Your head was heavy and all the color drained from your vision. You fell back against your seat.

You barely managed to press the button in time, hands shaking and heart palpitating. Your head hit the canopy as you ejected, and the world tilted on its axis, spots crawling across your vision.

The last thing through your mind before everything goes black is the clear panic in Rooster’s tone.

You’re snapped back to reality by someone shaking you awake. With blurry eyes, you make out Rooster kneeling over you. Behind him is what appears to be your jet, crumbling as it went up in flames.

“Y/N, how many fingers am I holding up?”

You squint. “Two…?”

Rooster goes cold. “Three. Y/N, you’re not in good shape. Mav’s on his way with backup. We’re taking you home now.”

“Home?” you croak out. “Why are you here? I’m supposed to be dead.”

“You’re not dead, thank God,” he exhaled, running a hand down his face. “Thank God you’re alive.”

Blood mixes with the sweat and tears on your face, and it looks like you’re crying red rivers of ash. You press a hand to the side of your forehead, and it comes away stained dark crimson. Your head is still swimming, and it takes everything Rooster has not to panic in front of you. You’ve seen enough, and the last thing he wants is for you to see him freak out. Even though he is very much so freaked out.

“It’s going to be okay, you hear me? It’s going to be okay.” He’s breathing hard, and he’s trying his best to stay calm. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”

Your eyes flutter shut, and you lose yourself in the dark void of nothingness.

When you come to your senses once more, you’re in the med bay. Across the room from your cot is Maverick slumped over in a chair, mug on the coffee table next to him. He must’ve been here all night. He senses that you’re awake and makes his way over to you.

“Sweetheart,” your dad starts. “You scared the living daylights out of us.”

“Are they gone?” you question, referring to the bogey fighters you’d encountered earlier. “Tell me they’re all gone.”

“Hangman and Coyote swooped in and handled the rest. The job’s done.”

“That’s good.” You close your eyes and smile. “That’s really good.”

“You suffered a bad concussion, three cracked ribs,” Maverick explained. A familiar look of hurt flashes across his face, and your heart drops. You know that look. “You’re very lucky to be alive.”

“Yeah.” You swallowed hard, and try to sit upright. “I know.”

He helps steady you, placing a careful hand on your back. “Easy there. Don’t be so rough on yourself or you won’t recover as fast.”

“Where’s Rooster?” you croaked out. “Is he here?”

“In the hallway. He missed two training sessions since we flew back in with you,” he explained. “Refused to leave your side. I tried getting him to go out but he’s stayed camped out on the floor waiting for you. Do you want to see him?”

You nod. He leaves the room, and comes back a few seconds later with an exhausted-looking Bradley Bradshaw. Rooster’s shoulders slump in relief upon seeing that you’re okay.

He sits down by your side, the bed dipping under his weight. You’ve never seen this softer side of him before and it makes your heart ache in more ways than one.

“Hey.”

Rooster shakes his head. His voice comes out hoarse. “You almost died out there.”

“When’s the last time you slept?”

There are tears in his red-rimmed eyes. “You had a narrow brush with death, and the first thing you ask when you wake up is about how much I slept? Are you serious?”

“Rooster…”

“God forbid you actually got yourself killed,” he breathes out. “I’d never forgive myself for it.”

“But I’m okay, and that’s what matters.”

“No, it’s not okay! You’re not understanding the point here. Your overconfidence almost cost you your life. If you had gotten out of there a second later…” He begins to raise his voice, but trails off as he notices you wince. “...We’d be taking you back home in a body bag.”

“Forgive me for putting myself in danger and being a self-sacrificial brat,” you scoff. “It’s not like I was trying to stamp down the enemy or anything. If I hadn’t been out there when I was, even more chaos could’ve erupted.”

“And would your death be worth a fraction of victory?”

“Yes.”

“My god, you’re insufferable,” Rooster sighs. “It’s unbelievable that you have such little regard for your life.”

“How is my life any of your concern? What does my well-being have to do with you?”

“I can’t lose you the same way I lost my dad,” he finally says, and that’s when it hits you. This is how Goose died—something had gone wrong as he was trying to eject, and he never returned to base. Guilt overwhelms your senses as you realize he must be reliving his worst nightmare all over again—through you. “Y/N…you’re all I have left. And I’d be damned if you leave this world without knowing how I feel about you.”

Your mouth runs dry. “...What?”

“I’ve been put through hell enough times. I’m begging you…please don’t make me go through it again.” Rooster’s voice is cracked and hoarse as he places a hand against your cheek. “At least promise me that.”

You cup his face in your hands, thumbs skimming over his cheekbones. Heaven’s sake…even sad, he looked so breathtaking. “I promise.”

He moves in to close the distance between you and you meet him halfway, lips colliding together. His hands are shaky as they run through your hair, and the kiss is frantic and rushed and in far less ideal of a situation than either of you could’ve imagined. But it’s more than you could’ve asked for, and because of that, it was enough.

Rooster pulled away to catch a breath, but you pulled him back seconds later and kissed him again. You’re most likely going to lose your breath but you couldn’t care less in that moment. Fate kept you alive when you shouldn’t have been, and it was fate that would bring you back into his giving arms.

“From here on out,” he holds you tight, resting his head in the crook of your neck, “you’re sticking with me, no matter what.”

“I’m not complaining,” you hummed in contentment. “I’d like that very much.”

tags: @rentskenobi @tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @valorax @lifeisfullofupsanddownsliveit @sarcastic-sourwolf @ice-mans-world @burnedbrisket @fangirlinc @marveljunkie45 @knowledgefulbutterfly @levis-butterfingers @organabanks @coastingline @skylynch03 @chaoticassidy @hbstre @fantasias-creativebubble @mercury-mae @light-the-moon @winteryoungie @aie1840 @thisismypointofview @worldsoldestpizzaslice @minivture @i-wish-everything-would-be-okay @t-stark35 @thesunsetphantoms @danirose-0420 @thespeeder @lyn-lc

#top gun: maverick #top gun #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #miles teller #miles teller x reader #top gun fanfic #top gun x reader

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clangenrising · 19 days

Text

Month 14 - Newleaf

“Hey, Bee Face?”

Russetfrond had been starting to drift as he watched Mystique train with the apprentices but her voice pulled him back into focus.

“Yes?” he frowned out of habit despite the fact that he and the kittypet had been getting along a lot better lately. They were honestly getting along a little too well for his liking, although the guilt he felt over his first major indiscretion as a warrior wasn’t enough to stop him from continuing to be indiscreet. It had become an excitingly ill advised routine to sneak off with her every couple days for a bit of private fun. She’d promised to keep it a secret even if she didn’t seem to understand why and he had been grateful.

He realized he was drifting again when she said, “Hello? You there?”

“What?” he blinked and Floodpaw and Barleypaw chuckled softly to themselves.

“I said,” Mystique frowned, looking green in the face, “I think I’m done for the day. I don’t feel so good.”

Russetfrond nodded. “Alright, then we’ll break.”

“Aw, come on,” Floodpaw groaned, “We barely did anything!”

“She’s not feeling well,” Sparrowpaw chided him, “It’s not like we can’t train without her.” Russetfrond suppressed a smile of pride.

“Yeah, come on,” Barleypaw said, “Why don’t we take turns doing two on one fights if you really want a challenge?”

“Mm, alright,” Floodpaw relented. Russetfrong gave a grunt to Mystique that meant ‘let’s go’ and she nodded, falling into step beside him. They left the sandy training ground and started back towards camp as the sound of fighting resumed behind them.

“Ugh,” Mystique moaned, “I feel like I’m gonna puke.”

“Please don’t,” Russetfrond grumbled. Still, he glanced sideways at her in concern. “Did you eat anything strange lately? Any rabbits?”

“What?” Mystique scrunched her nose at him. “No, why?”

“Sometimes they catch a sickness that can kill the cats that eat them,” he said, “but if you didn’t have a rabbit it's fine, then.”

“Wait, why do you eat them if they could kill you!?” cried Mystique.

“Because we need to eat?” he rolled his eyes. “You can usually tell if they’re sick before you catch them. It doesn’t happen often.”

“If you say so…” said Mystique. She took several slow, deep breaths through her nose as they walked and Russetfrond realized she must really feel sick.

“We’ll have one of the healers look at you when we get back to camp,” he said. “They’ll give you something for your stomach.”

“Okay,” she said, sounding strained. “You guys don’t have any pumpkin treats do you?”

“No, we do not have pumpkin treats,” he growled, “It’s the middle of spring!”

“Why should that matter?” asked Mystique. “The Folk have them all year round.” She dropped her gaze and mumbled, “they always make my tummy feel better…”

“Tummy? Really? You are such a child.”

“No, I’m not,” she said defensively, then flirtatiously, “you would know.” He blushed and lashed his tail, glancing around to make sure no one had heard.

“Shut up,” he hissed, fur prickling with embarrassment.

She snickered impishly. “It’s fine, Russie, there’s nobody around!” That only made him more embarrassed.

“You don’t know that for sure,” he snapped. “We’re almost to camp, just-!” He stopped and took a moment to flatten his hackles and lower his voice. “Just be quiet please?”

“Okay, okay,” she relented with a bit of a laugh. “You’re so touchy, Bee Face.”

He grunted and said nothing else.

They slipped down into the camp. Goldenstar and Scorchplume were sharing tongues by the Stoneperch, Fogkit and Slatekit were picking out prey for their meal, Pantherhaze was sunning on top of the warriors’ den. It was quiet and lovely. Russetfrond nodded to Goldenstar as he passed and she nodded in kind, then turned to listen as Scorch whispered in her ear. She smiled and twined her tail with Scorchplume’s and Russetfrond frowned. He still didn’t like that Goldenstar had fallen for such a scheming fox. Still, it wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it. When Goldenstar got an idea in her head there was no talking her down.

He and Mystique entered the healers’ den. Aldertail and Oddstripe were talking near the herb stores and when Aldertail noticed them she squeaked and dropped into a frightened ball. Oddstripe sat up straight, his big ears grazing the roof of the den, and smiled awkwardly.

“Russetfrond! Mystique! Oh, what brings you in today?”

“Mystique’s stomach is sick,” Russetfrond said flatly.

“Oh, alright then, why don't you settle into one of those nests and I’ll come help you in a second,” said Oddstripe. He turned back to Aldertail and whispered to her a bit. She nodded mutely and then quickly slank out of the den, hugging the wall farthest from Mystique. The kittypet tried to shoot her an apologetic grin but she wasn’t looking. Mystique sighed.

“I wish she wasn’t so scared of me,” she said as the warrior’s tail tip disappeared.

“She’s been through a lot,” Oddstripe said, lips pursed tight. “We’re working on it. Anyways!” He stepped up to her and leaned in to sniff her breath. “Tell me about your symptoms.” Russetfrond settled into a lean against the wall, watching impassively.

“Uh… I dunno,” Mystique shrugged. “I’ve been queasy since breakfast. It got worse just a little while ago.”

“Any gut pain?” Oddstripe asked, “Dizziness? Fever? Issues making dirt?”

“No,” Mystique looked away uncomfortably, “none of that.”

“Hmm…” Oddstripe frowned in thought. “It couldn’t be… would you mind letting me look at your belly?”

Mystique glanced back at him, tried to hide a grimace, and then said, “Sure.” She settled onto her side and lifted her arm to give him better access. He sniffed around, used his paws to push some of her fur out of the way, and then laughed to himself.

“If I had a mouse for every time this has happened,” he grinned, sitting back.

“Every time what has happened?” Russetfrond growled.

“I’ve discovered a sudden bout of nausea was morning sickness!” Oddstripe said brightly. “Congratulations, Mystique, you’re going to have kittens!”

“What?” Mystique and Russetfrond said at the same time.

“You’re pregnant!” Oddstripe reiterated pleasantly. “Nausea is a totally normal symptom of the early stages of pregnancy. I’d say you’re probably a week or two into it based on how you’re pinking up.”

“That’s impossible,” Russetfrond was on his feet again. “She’s a kittypet!”

“Not all of the Exalted are altered,” Mystique twitched her ear in annoyance.

“Why-!” Russetfrond nearly shouted but caught himself. Gritting his teeth, he said in a more discreet tone, “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“‘Cause it’s not a big deal!” Mystique rolled her eyes.

“Not a big deal?!” His jaw was starting to ache with how hard he was clenching his jaw. “Mystique, did you get your brain replaced with bees? Of course it’s a big deal! I didn’t think that-” He stopped himself again when he remembered that Oddstripe was still right there. The healer was staring at him with wide-blown eyes and a mouth pursed into a tiny, scandalized line.

Russetfrond swallowed. “Uh, Oddstripe, look-”

“Oh, don’t worry!” Oddstripe quickly said, waving his paws in front of himself. “I’m not judging you or anything! I just feel like maybe I shouldn’t be here, I can give you guys some privacy-!”

“No!” Russetfrond blurted. “I mean… Thank you, but you can’t tell anyone.”

Mystique groaned loudly. “Ugh! This again!”

“It’s important!” he said to both of them.

“Of course, Russetfrond,” said Oddstripe, “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to, but…” He glanced over his shoulder, “It’s not going to stay a secret for too much longer. I mean, Sagetooth is going to do the math and know it had to have been someone in the Clan, y’know?”

Russetfrond shut his eyes tightly. This was a nightmare. “Right. Of course.” He started kneading the ground in an attempt to calm himself. “Just… I’ll handle it, just don’t say anything before I do, alright?”

“Of course,” Oddstripe said again. “I’ll let you two talk.” He turned and stepped out of the den with a swish of his tail. Russetfrond sighed and started to pace.

“This is bad,” he said.

“No, it’s not,” Mystique said. “Look, I’ll just go back to my Folk and they’ll take care of it.”

“What do you mean, take care of it?” he glared at her.

“If you’re upset that there will be kits around,” she said as if it were common sense, “I’ll just go to my Folk and, once they’re weaned, the Folk will take them and place them with Folk of their own! It’s fine!”

“What? No!” Russetfrond whirled on her. “Absolutely not!”

“Why not?” protested Mystique, “I’ve done it before.”

“I don’t care,” said Russetfrond. “You’re just going to abandon the kits?”

“It’s not abandonment, the Folk find them homes!” Mystique was getting angry now, her claws sinking into the moss of the nest she was in. “If you don’t want kits then why do you care?!”

“It’s not that I don’t want kits,” he said, trying very hard not to shout, “it’s that I don’t want anyone to know that we’ve been messing around!”

“Why not?” she cried again. “Literally, who cares?”

“I do!” he snapped, tail lashing. “You’re a prisoner of war! I’m not supposed to- to- fraternize with you!”

Mystique laughed mean-spiritedly. “Oh, okay. That never stopped you from letting me pin you down and-”

“Stars Blood!” he hissed, blushing profusely. “Will you shut up for once in your life? This is serious! I’m the deputy! My- my reputation is on the line!”

“No one will care,” Mystique rolled her eyes. “Even Odd-face said she was fine with it-”

“He,” Russetfrond stressed.

“Ugh, whatever!” Mystique tore a line through the edge of the nest. “My point is, who’s gonna be mad? It’s fine! Stop stressing out!”

“You don’t get it,” he shook his head.

“Okay, then explain it to me, moron,” said Mystique, her voice catching in the back of her throat in irritation.

Russetfrond snarled, tearing himself away from her steely gaze to start pacing again. “Fine,” he said. “In the Warrior Code it says that our Clan needs to come first. That means we aren’t supposed to form relationships that could compromise our loyalties, with members of the other Clans or rogues or kittypets.” He shot her a stern look. She rolled her eyes. “So when cats find out that we’ve been together, my loyalties will be called into question. I could lose my position as Deputy.”

“Will you though?” Mystique frowned, “Cause Goldenstar is all over Scorch and that doesn’t seem to be an issue.”

“Scorchplume became a warrior of RisingClan,” Russetfrond said, still pacing. “So if you joined the Clan then maybe it would be fine.”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Mystique shook her head. “I still wanna go back to my Folk so they can handle all this stuff.”

“First off,” Russetfrond growled, “We’ve already told you why you can’t go home. You would be a liability and that’s not even accounting for what Razor will do when he knows you betrayed him.” Mystique’s ears pressed back against her head briefly. “Secondly, you’re not giving our kits away to become kittypets.”

“I don’t want them!” Mystique protested. “I’m not in any rush to be a mother.”

“So you’re just going to let them snatch your kits away from you?”

“It’s not like that,” she laid her head on her paws, lips skewed to the side petulantly. “I’ve done it before and it was totally harmless.”

“You’ve done it before?” he asked, paling. Did cats in the city just not raise their own children? He was horrified.

“Yeah,” she shrugged like it was no big deal. “I wasn’t even a year old, fooled around a bit too much, got knocked up. The Folk fed me twice as much and gave me extra attention and helped me through the birth. Then different Folk came to visit and play with the kittens and eventually they all went home with a new family.”

“What happened after that?”

“I dunno, I never saw them again,” she shrugged. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“Would you stop saying that?” he hissed, dropping his chest to the ground in a frustrated arch of his back. “It is a big deal! If you don’t want the kits, then that’s fine,” he spat the word, clearly not convinced that it was, “but they’re my kits too. I want to be there for them.”

Mystique groaned. “Ugh. You’re not gonna give me a choice are you… If I try and leave you’ll just drag me back to that stuffy old den.”

“Yes,” he said, glaring at her. She sighed and spread out over the ground like a kitten throwing a tantrum. It was moments like these where Russetfrond remembered how much he hated her. If only he had been able to remember the whole time, this wouldn’t have happened.

“Then I guess we’ll do things your way,” she said eventually.

“Good,” he said. “And we’re done messing around.”

“Oh, come on!”

“I’m serious,” he said firmly. “I should have never been so weak in the first place. This is StarClan’s sign that I need to get my act together.”

“No it’s not,” said Mystique, “it’s what happens when cats have sex together. Not everything is some magical sign.”

Russetfrond lashed his tail one last time and said, “Just keep your mouth shut about our activities together. I’m going to handle this.”

“Whatever,” she groaned to the ceiling. “I don’t caaaaare.”

He shook his head and stalked out of the den. Oddstripe was sitting a short distance away and looked up as he did, offering a hopeful smile.

“So?” he asked.

“I’m going to talk to Goldenstar about it,” said Russetfrond. “Just keep her and the kits healthy, alright?” He made sure to lower his voice just in case.

“I will,” said Oddstripe dutifully.

“Thank you,” Russetfrond sighed. At least he could take solace in that. His head was swimming. He was going to be a father. A single father, at that. He didn’t feel ready. He felt a thousand different dreams and plans shattering away like ice under his paws. He had dreamed of meeting someone strong but gentle, someone devoted just like he was, and courting them like a proper warrior until they were certain this was what they wanted. He had dreamed of raising kits with someone his mother could be proud of. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about what she must think of him now.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Oddstripe said, brushing his tail over Russetfrond’s paws reassuringly. “I’m sure everyone will understand.”

“It’s over anyway,” Russetfrond said, feeling sick himself. “I never should have been so foolish but I’m certainly not going to let it happen again.”

“I know what you mean,” Oddstripe said, a pained smile on his face. “But have faith. Kits are a gift, even if they come from less than perfect circumstances. I’m sure they will be a blessing to you when they arrive.”

“I know…” he sighed again. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh, of course, Russetfrond,” smiled Oddstripe. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Gratefully, Russetfrond stepped away to go find Goldenstar. This wasn’t going to be pleasant. It was time he started acting responsibly, though.

#clan gen #clangen #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats oc #warriors oc #clangen oc #clan gen oc #Russetfrond #Mystique #Aldertail #Oddstripe #TW Vomit #Kit Announcement #clangenrising

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toriisasimp · 23 days

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Chapter 1 of ?: Just Ask

An Egon Spengler x fem!reader Mini Series

Prompt: Yet another Ghostbusters press event is nearing, and once the secret is spilled of a certain scientist who wants to take you as a date, you decide to investigate for yourself.

Warnings: None!

A/N: First chapter of a mini series I’m working on. Not sure if it’s actually going to be a mini series or a full fic, but we’ll see! Egon and reader have already kind of been flirting with each other. You’ve also been working at the firehouse for a few months now. Enjoy! <3

It was nearing dinner time, and Janine had clocked out early for a date with Louis. You bid her goodnight with a warm smile and wave, and settled yourself behind the receptionist desk, propping up your feet and opening up one of the books you sneaked from Egon’s collection in the lab.

Finally, some peace and quiet..

You hear your name shouted by Peter, who comes stomping down the staircase with Ray hot on his tail.

“Go cool your boyfriend! He won’t listen to us!”

“..He’s not my boyfriend, Venkman.” You specify blankly, only briefly peeking over the top of your book to eye him coming around the corner and walking up to the desk.

“It sure seems like he thinks so.” Ray pipes up, folding his arms.

“What did you guys do to upset him now?” You flip the page, ignoring Ray’s comment.

“We didn’t do anything. He’s just throwing one of those dramatic fits of his where he shuts completely down and doesn’t speak to anyone, other than snapping at Ray for eating all the Cheez-Its.”

“Valid reason to be upset.” You shrug it off. You and Egon are both extremely territorial over your snacks. So much so that you end up labeling them with a permanent marker so the other boys know what they can and can’t touch.

“Not the point. The point is, you need to go up there and work your..” Venkman wiggles his fingers. “Womanly magic to get him to break. It’s getting annoying.”

“What? Not having him correct your incorrect scientific so-called ‘knowledge’,” you throw up some air quotes, “That you just spew out on a whim is annoying?”

“YES.” Ray and Peter both speak at the same time.

You huff and slide the bookmark back into your book before shutting it, pulling your legs off the desk and setting the book down before you rise up.

“It could be that he’s upset because of the gala.” Ray murmurs, more in Peter’s direction.

You pause halfway to the steps, turning your head back around.

“What gala?”

The two of them look at you like they’re a deer in the headlights.

“Whoops.” Ray grits his teeth.

“The gala at the Museum of Natural History? The one you guys got invited to? What about it?”

“You see, he was going to-” Peter starts talking, before Ray sends a fist to his gut from the side.

“Peter!”

“What?” He throws his hands up. “She’s gonna find out soon enough!”

Ray rolls his eyes and grumbles, looking away as Peter rubs the spot on his stomach before continuing.

“He was going to,” His voice lowered a few notches. “He was going to ask you to be his date. But I’m convinced he’s having some emotional conflict and mood swings because he doesn’t think you want to go with him.”

You stand there, in slight shock. “He told you this?” You perk a brow.

“He tells us a lot, kid.” Ray speaks up again, folding his arms once more and leaning against the desk with a slight tilt of his head.

“Of course, ‘bro-code’ or whatever. I get it. I’ll ask him about it-”

“NO!” They both stand swiftly.

“Why?” You stop again, at the bottom of the steps.

“That man will literally, and I mean literally, have our heads if he finds out we told you about that.” Peter pleads.

You go back and forth glaring at both of them, rolling your eyes before sighing.

“Fine, fine. I won’t ask about it.” You slowly start making your way up the steps to the next floor. “But please, give us some privacy. Do not eavesdrop.”

“That’s the spirit, go rub one out for your man!” Peter whoops, and you shake your head.

“You’re disgusting, Venkman.”

At the top of the steps, the soft music from a boombox on the kitchen table grows louder, and you spot Egon, with his back facing you. He’s at the corner workbench, hunched over a microscope.

You slowly approach, tugging your shirt sleeves over your hands and folding your arms. You admire him for a moment, how he’s so focused, his hands subtly turning the knobs of the machine to scope in on the slide he’s examining.

“Spengler,” You speak up, and Egon doesn’t even jump, he just murmurs your name in acknowledgement as he stays put in his hunched position.

“Are you doing alright?” You walk up to the bench, leaning against the corner, tilting your head slightly.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be alright?” He speaks again, finally rising up and turning to scribble down some notes in a nearby open notebook.

“Just checking in..” You murmured defensively, approaching even further to stand next to him. “What are you working on?”

“Logging ectoplasm samples,” He turns back from the notebook, catching your gaze for a short moment before hunching back down over the microscope. “Could you help me put them into the system?”

Egon knows how much you genuinely enjoy assisting him in the lab, and you’ve told him to always ask if he wants help.. Or just wants some company.

“Can I see it first?” You motion to the microscope.

“Sure.” He nods, stepping back and giving you space to see the slide for yourself.

You step up to the microscope, squinting one eye so you can see into the scope. The plasm is moving on the slide, the cells wiggling ever so slightly. You stand alone for a moment, before you feel Egon’s hand come to gently rest on your waist.

“What can you see?” He asks, a bit softer.

“Well, it looks like it’s doing a little dance!” You giggle, still intrigued by the slime.

“It’s Psychomagnotheric, which means it responds to human emotional states around it. Positive and negative.”

“You must be pissed or something, cause it’s moving a lot-”

“Aaaand that’s enough of that.” You feel both of his hands on your waist now, pulling you back from the microscope.

“Maan, I was just kidding!” You pout, throwing your hands up and laughing.

“Grab the computer, please.” He shoos you away, and you put a hand up, shaking your head before you spin around and snatch the chunky laptop off the workbench across from you, turning and sliding into one of the swivel chairs at the table before opening the laptop. Egon slides over his open notebook, full of listings and observations of the slime you had looked at.

You immediately get to work putting in the notes into the logging system. You feel an itch in your head to bring up the gala.

“I heard that gala at the museum is in a few days. Are you going?” You ask. Start vague.

Egon freezes at the microscope, rising up to look at you.

“Are you?” He asks in return, not answering your question.

“That depends, are you?” You shoot back, perking a brow and pausing your typing.

You swear you see a slight tint of pink on Egon’s cheeks, as he shifts and leans against the workbench.

“I’ll go if you go.” He states as casually as possible, even though his discomfort is visible.

“I was gonna go if you went.” You shrug, trying to making it as relaxed as possible.

“We could go together.” He adds, his eyes not leaving yours.

You glance down at the computer for a brief moment before looking back up at him, taking your turn for the heat to creep up to your cheeks. You silently nod.

“Are you going to wear a tux?” You ask before your brain can stop you.

Egon tilts his head, a subtle smirk playing at his lips.

“Why? Does it matter to you?”

“No, no! I’m just.. curious. If it’s black tie, then I’m just.. just curious!”

“Curious.. right. Well, I don’t go to many social events, but perhaps I’ll make an exception and see what I can find.” He keeps his eyes on you, folding his arms across his chest- the smirk still stamped to his face.

An exception?

You nod. “Sounds good. We’ll go together.” You state again, setting it in stone- sending him a smirk of your own before looking back down at the computer, returning back to your work.

Egon eyes you for a few more seconds, noticing how the light of the desk lamp hit your face.. Jesus.

He quickly turned back to the microscope before he could get caught gawking over you, returning to the task at hand as well.

Both of you continued your work, and you were first to call it a night- around 2 AM. Egon’s hand brushed over yours as you handed him back his notebook, and he bid you goodnight- watching you walk away and disappear into the sleeping quarters.

Little did you know, he was sharing your same thoughts that night- imagining what the other was going to look like at the gala. But another thought teased your mind as you fell asleep.

If the slime reacted to positive and negative emotions from humans..

What else would it react to?

#egon spengler #ghostbusters #ghostbusters afterlife #ghostbusters frozen empire #peter venkman #ray stantz #winston zeddemore #egon my beloved #fanfic #self ship #x reader

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nyaagolor · 7 months

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AA Siblings Week Day 6: Regrets

I found out about AA siblings week less than 12 hours ago but I still wanted to do something for it, so I made a short Gavin brothers oneshot! Below the cut so as to not clog the dash :]

When Klavier and 5 and Kristoph is 12, the two of them always go to the park together. It’s across a busy street, but Klavier is old enough to know what to do now. He can wait for the light, he knows when it’s safe to step into the road. Even still, though, he finds himself taking his brother’s hand when it’s offered. Kristoph is his older brother, after all. He knows what’s best, even when the lights say otherwise.

When Klavier is 9 and Kristoph is 16, Klavier gets into the habit of playing with his brother’s hair. Kristoph had always had long hair— so blond it’s almost white, ringlets braided and cascading over his shoulders like a golden waterfall. It’s silky soft and brilliant, so Klavier likes to run his hands through it when he hangs off the back of Kristoph’s office chair, prattling on about his day. Kristoph would sit there in silence, pretending to work on his homework— because Kristoph is very talented and very smart and very, very busy— but Klavier knows he’s listening because of the way he smiles when Klavier trips over a word he picked up from his brother. Klavier would talk until his lungs ran out of air and Kristoph’s braid came undone from all the tussling and Klavier would lean in closer and think to himself how special am I to see my brother with his hair down. He imagines what would happen if anyone else would have tried. Kristoph would give them an icy stare, he thinks, and say some words that Klavier doesn’t quite understand but that he knows are scary and smart. The perpetrator would slink off, tail between their legs, and Kristoph would look at Klavier with a knowing, downward glance and a smile. “Only my brother can do that” he imagines him saying. The words would hang in the air, unspoken but obvious. Kristoph reaches back, ruffling his brother’s hair in turn. It spikes up in every direction, the darker roots now visible. Klavier hangs limply off the chair, not bothering to fix it up, and feels himself spin a little when his brother gets out of the chair to lift him up and away. Klavier is nine years old— he doesn’t need to be carried off to bed anymore— but he’s tired, so instead of protesting he just buries his head in his brother’s shoulder. The shampoo smells so nice. Kristoph cups the back of his head, fingers running through his hair, and Klavier falls asleep.

When Klavier is 12 and Kristoph is 19, Klavier gets Kristoph to braid his hair for the first time. They’re sitting on the floor of the bathroom, Klavier in his brother’s lap and facing the big polished mirror with a smile on his face. He had grown it out for just this purpose, and though it wasn’t half as long as Kristoph’s, it’s enough. “You can brush your hair by yourself, you know,” Kristoph says. He sighs like he’s exasperated, but Klavier can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. He picks up the hairbrush either way. Klavier tries his best not to shiver at the feeling of Kristoph’s fingers brushing his scalp. His nails are long and well-manicured and his skin is soft. It’s a wordless affair, and so Klavier talks and talks and tells whatever stories he can think of. He knows Kristoph isn’t listening when his noncommittal hums come at all the wrong times, so he tries to focus on the feeling of hands in his hair and doesn’t think about it too much. His brother is very talented and very smart and very, very busy, so Klavier doesn’t blame him for being too tired to pay attention. “Can you braid my hair?” Klavier asks. Kristoph pauses, and Klavier suddenly thinks about how cold his brother’s hands are. “Fine,” Kristoph says, and the tension that had been in the room evaporates like it was never there in the first place. Klavier fills the silence and Kristoph’s hands expertly twist his hair and they sit there on the bathroom floor in a blissful kind of rhythm for a while. When Kristoph is done, Klavier looks back up at the mirror. The braid is elegant, the ends barely coming to rest on his shoulder. He grins at the mirror, eyes sparkling, and squeezes Kristoph’s hand as he thanks him. They really look like brothers now, Klavier thinks, and he says as much with a giggle. When he remembers the moment years later, he realizes his brother wasn’t smiling.

When Klavier is 14 and Kristoph is 22, Klavier cuts his hair. It’s jagged at the edges and too short to braid, some unruly golden mess. Kristoph makes a face that tells Klavier he hates it, but he insists it suits his little brother just fine.

When Klavier is 17 and Kristoph is 25, Klavier decides he needs to change his look. The morning of his first ever trial, he’s in the middle of doing his hair when Kristoph comes in, eyes dark and expression pinched. Klavier says something snarky that his brother does not respond to. Kristoph holds up a piece of paper. Klavier had yelled at him when he heard the news about the defense attorney, the feelings twisting like a nest of rats in his gut. All of it felt like some kind of horrific joke. He doesn’t remember what he said, only the heat in his chest and the hair gel dripping from his fingertips. He doesn’t remember what his brother said back to him, other than that they fought, and that his brother left the paper on the table. When Klavier accuses Phoenix Wright of forgery, his hair isn’t done and the paper is folded neatly in his pocket. He had seen a lot of witnesses break down before, seen people plead and beg and get violent, but it feels a little different from behind the bench. The man across from him puts his head in his hands, threads his fingers through his hair, and cries. It’s quiet, and Klavier wants to do nothing more than fill up that silence that’s weighing uncomfortably on his chest. He never imagined he would see Phoenix Wright with his nails digging into his scalp, shoulders trembling, hunched over and pulling in tiny, gasping breaths. A cold breeze drafts through the room when the door opens and tickles the back of Klavier’s neck. It makes him feel small, like the prosecutor’s bench is nothing more than a fancy office chair and he’s hanging off the back, looking over his brother’s shoulder at things he has no way of understanding. They walk the defamed defense attorney out the door without protest, Kristoph not sparing him a passing glance as he comes to stand at Klavier’s side. He puts a hand on his shoulder. It’s cold. “I think I’m going to grow my hair out,” Klavier says, and Kristoph squeezes his shoulder. Klavier’s hair may not be as soft and his braid may lay a little differently, but he thinks he can be proud of it all the same. Klavier keeps his promise, and the spikes soften into ringlets that fall pristine down his shoulders as the months go by. He can no longer feel the cold on the bare skin of his neck. His hair gets softer. So does he. The next time Kristoph smiles and hands him a piece of evidence, he does not hesitate to take it.

When Klavier is 23 and Kristoph is 29, Klavier almost drowns. He’s sitting in the bathtub of his parents house, an earlier interaction with his brother still buzzing in his mind. His brother had said something about one of Klavier’s cases offhandedly and Klavier doesn’t quite understand how Kristoph had known anything about it. It reminds him of his first trial, when Kristoph knew about the forgery, and his seventh, when Kristoph knew about a hidden piece of evidence, and his twenty third, when Kristoph knew about the witness’ secret before anyone else, and the twenty ninth, and the thirty second, and the forty fourth. Kristoph knows things that he shouldn’t. Klavier never thought to question it. His brother is very talented, and very smart, and very, very busy, but… Daryan had told him these were for the times when he wanted to forget. Klavier doesn’t quite know what’s in them, so he takes only two and sinks deeper into the water. It’s warm and soothing and the cacophony of questions that had filled his head not a moment earlier begin to dissolve into the bath. The sound of the faucet fades. Klavier’s braid comes undone, his long, golden hair looking ethereal as it floats in the bathwater. He closes his eyes and tries not to think about anything. When Klavier wakes up, he can’t move. The water has gone cold. Long strands of golden hair drift lazily and block his view of the ceiling. He wants to scream, but his whole body is slack. Helplessly, he lies there, his lungs on fire as the ringing in his ears get louder and louder. Almost numbly, he wonders if this is how he dies. Klavier Gavin feels cold hands on his scalp, claw-like nails raking down the skin as someone grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls. The world bursts into color. His lungs fill with air. It’s loud again, and he can hear the faucet running, the sloshing of water. Klavier stares at a face that looks just like his own and wonders if he looks just as horrified. His brother is screaming at him, angrier than Klavier had ever seen him. Kristoph’s face is twisted into an expression that Klavier can’t quite place, his voice pitching and entire body trembling. Klavier can’t hear a word he says through the ringing in his ears, feeling like he’s still underwater. His brother cups Klavier’s head in his hands, threading his fingers through the wet curtains of Klavier’s hair. Through the haze, it almost looks like Kristoph is crying.

When Klavier is 25 and Kristoph is 32, Klavier is told he looks like the devil. He bites back a retort, unsure whether he wants to argue that his brother cannot be the devil she means or that they don’t look anything alike. He ends up saying neither.

When Klavier is 26 and Kristoph is 33, Klavier finds himself staring in mirrors a lot. People say they look the same, but Kristoph braided their hair when they were kids. It was perfect, and no matter how many times Klavier practices, it’s not perfect. He can’t get it to lie the same way. Sometimes, Apollo tenses reflexively when he sees Klavier. It’s almost imperceptible, and it makes Klavier’s heart pound hot and angry in his chest. Kristoph was always softer than Klavier could be, a bit more put together. His hair was a little lighter, his gaze a little clearer. Kristoph had an elegance to his features that you couldn’t just copy. That’s why when Klavier looks into the mirror, even with his glasses on and his hair down, he doesn’t see Kristoph Gavin. He isn’t sure how anyone else could either. There is a pale imitation of the man staring back– someone with none of the charisma and all of the regret. Klavier remembers the feeling of the paper folded in his back pocket. He remembers words he parroted and the ruffling of his hair, the evidence he did not question when Kristoph smiled down at him and the feeling of his brother’s hand on the back of his neck. His hands were always cold, his hair silky soft. Klavier would never be as effortless as Kristoph. They look nothing alike. They have the same hair, but on Klavier it’s different. He was not a copy of his brother– he couldn’t be, because it isn’t even the same. He couldn’t get it the same. The gap between them bothers Klavier more than the forged evidence. It’s stupid, and selfish, in the grand scheme of things, but has to know if everything he thought he knew was as manufactured as Kristoph’s court record. He has to know what was real and what was some twisted kind of insurance. He has to know if his brother loved him as family or an accomplice. No one will answer those questions honestly. The feeling he’s trying to capture eludes him, and when Klavier clenches his fist and yanks on his hair, he wonders if those feelings he remembered never existed at all.

When Klavier is 27 and Kristoph is 34, Klavier visits his brother. He sees sunken eyes, a braid undone. Kristoph stares desperately from the other side of the glass, and Klavier wonders with a sinking feeling if this is the reflection that will stare back at him when he is 34. Do they have the same curse? The same inherent fakeness? Do the miniscule differences of a forgery make a difference at first glance? Klavier leaves without a word.

When Klavier is 28 and Kristoph would be 35, Klavier sits alone on the floor of his bathroom with a pair of scissors. He waits for the other shoe to drop, for a voice to cut through the quiet with a bite behind the sweet words. He’s alone now, scissors in his hand and twirling blond strands littering the white tile. There is no fanfare, no resounding applause. He cannot hear the echoes of his guitar or the ache of a crescendo in his throat. For once in his life, he doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence. He pulls another handful of loose strands free, tangles of gold slipping through his fingertips. It feels like the cutting of dead branches. When he goes to look, a stranger’s face stares back at him on the scissor’s polished blade. The scissors close with a snip, but the toned skin and choppy hair is no more familiar. It’s hollow symbolism. He presses the blades closer to his scalp and cuts away the last of Kristoph in silence.

#klavier gavin #kristoph gavin #ace attorney #aasiblingsweek23 #mod vex #vex writing #first technically complete AA fic! yippee! (<- nervous)

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fangirlwriting-stories · 5 months

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How To Cross Lines You're Unaware Exist

Summary: A guide by Maddie and Jack Fenton.

Author's Note: I've written the obligatory vivisection fic! That means I get my fandom gold access card now, right?

...

Danny isn’t sure how he actually made it back here, when he thinks about it. He can’t walk, and it would take too much energy to turn his tail back into two legs. He’s floating slowly and shakily down the street, only able to muster the energy to turn invisible whenever he sees someone coming. But when he looks up, he sees home— his house— Fenton Works— the only place he has to go right now. Jazz is home from college, there won’t be anyone in her dorm, and there’s no way he could get there anyway. Sam’s parents hate him too much for that to be an option. Tucker’s still away at Robotics camp for another week and he— he’s going to need someone to help him. It’s probably a good thing Jazz is home, in that light.

He musters whatever he can gather up and turns intangible, then pushes himself upwards off the nearest building, straining himself as much as he can bear, which is thankfully enough to get him up and through the wall to his bedroom. As soon as he makes it inside, he collapses, landing hard on the ground of his room with a loud crash. He hears a startled yelp from the bedroom down the hall, and then Jazz’s bedroom door opening.

“Danny?” she calls. “Is that you?”

Before Danny can call out some kind of answer, the sound of a car approaching comes from outside on the street, and a jolt of terror launches him across the room and locks his door. He slumps down against it, and lets out a couple pained whimpers. His chest does not like the decision he just made, though it was really an involuntary one.

The door slams open downstairs, and Danny hears his mother’s voice, frustrated and loud. He hunches over on himself, which his chest doesn’t like either.

—fire his chest is on fire and he’s screaming can’t they hear him screaming why won’t they STOP—

“Jazz? Danny?” his mother calls a second later. “We’re going out tonight! Can you both come down here for a second, please?”

Danny shoves his hands over his ears. No, no, no no no no.

—he’s long passed the point of being above begging, especially when the GIW brought them in, but they’re not stopping either and the begging is doing NOTHING why is the begging doing nothing they listen when he begs for pizza for dinner how is that more important than this—

“I don’t know if Danny’s home yet, Mom!” Jazz calls, and Danny can hear her moving down the hall and towards the steps.

“Wait, what? It’s almost midnight, Danny’s not home yet?” comes his father’s voice.

Jazz’s footsteps stop, and Danny hears two sets of footsteps coming up the stairs.

He’s pretty sure he knows what’s coming, so he gulps a couple heaps of air before, a second later, he hears a knock on his door.

“Danny, sweetie, are you in there?” his mom asks from the other side.

—“it really is impressive an impressive mimic,” Mom says, “the screams sound almost real”—

A gentle knock on the door. “Danny?”

“Y— Ye— Yeah Mom,” Danny manages, somehow. “I’m here.”

There’s a pause. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

—“and these organs look almost human,” scientific fascination is abundant in her voice, the same intrigue that’s there when Jazz explains something about psychology or Danny rants to her about the stars—

“I’m f-f-fine,” Danny forces out, biting down on the pained cry that’s trying to escape. “You s-said you were going out?”

“We were going to,” Mom says.

“The GIW helped us capture Phantom, but then it escaped,” Dad adds. “We were going to go after it, but are you sure you’re okay, Danno?”

—“Mads, cut a portion of that one off,” Dad says, with all the delight he has when asking for a second brownie. “The one that looks like a heart.” A sigh, like how he sounds when Mom says no. “And then we’ll have to sew it back up. Ghost or not, it’ll need time to heal if we want to examine it more.”—

“I’m fine,” Danny says through gritted teeth. “Go, go find him.”

“I can take care of Danny,” Jazz says quickly, and Danny can hear them shuffling towards the steps. Jazz must be pushing them that direction. “You shouldn’t leave a ghost to roam free, that could be dangerous!”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Mom says, sounding very much unsure herself. “But we’ll keep our phones on, okay? Call us if you need anything?”

—stitches pulling his chest back together, every part of him still on fire, he can feel his heart starting to grow a new valve—

“Of course,” Jazz says, and her voice is harder to hear now. They’re downstairs. “And don’t worry, I’ll call you if something happens with Danny.”

“Please do,” Mom says, muffled slightly by the sound of the front door opening. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be gone, but even if we don’t catch it, we’ll try to be home before morning. The GIW are out looking too, I’m sure we’ll get somewhere.”

—screaming his way through what little he has left, the scream breaking equipment, opening holes in the walls, pushing his parents back against a table. Flying, flying, get AWAY—

The front door closes, but Danny doesn’t move. He’s exhausted, but he’s pretty sure if he relaxes, he’ll pass out, and then he’ll change back, and then he won’t wake up.

There’s a long, long pause, and then the car drives away, and then footsteps start up the stairs.

He hears another knock on his door.

“D-Danny?” Jazz says. There are tears in her voice. “We’re… we’re alone in the house now.”

Danny slams his head back against the door and wails.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #maddie fenton #jack fenton #jazz fenton #tw injury #tw vivisection #tw violence #my fic

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strixcattus · 1 month

Text

Chapter II: Scorpion/Frog

This is new.

History

This is new.

Most of the cabins Cold has seen were in ruins, or close to it, in all appearances having stood unoccupied for years. This one is… not.

It almost looks as though it grew into its shape, its walls a tangle of roots outlining windows and doorways. The roots disappear into the packed-earth floor and coil around a muddy shelf where the blade, as it occasionally does, is perched. The door forwards looks ill-fitting in its frame, and the hinges and handle almost look like they’re formed from some sort of cord.

This is new. Which means there’s probably something new to do here.

How fortunate.

He takes a moment to consider the blade. That heroic one always used to say it gave them more options, didn’t he?

He’s not here this time. Neither is the Narrator, come to think of it. And Cold is in his own body instead of watching through that other one’s eyes. That’s new, too.

May as well take the blade. It’s always worth it if it gives him more new things to try.

The stairs down are as much of a tangle of roots as the rest of the cabin. It’s not surprising, though it is unfortunate. If he were going to be dropped into a new cabin, couldn’t it have been one with more to see?

“Something nasty finds itself on my stairs,” the voice of the Princess calls from somewhere below, and Cold freezes.

This… is new. All the other Princesses he’s met didn’t deign to start talking until he was face-to-face with them.

“Why don’t you come down so I can take a look at you?” the Princess asks. “I promise I won’t bite.”

Is he supposed to say something here? He supposes it doesn’t really matter. If this cabin is like the others—and it will be, eventually—he’ll get a chance to try again. And again, and again, and again.

“No talking, then?” she continues. “Fine. I don’t need to hear your voice to know who you are. Come on, let’s… chat.”

Let’s.

Cold descends the final few steps into a cavern of roots. Of course. The Princess crouches at the other end of the basement, one hand tucked behind her back.

She’s more corporeal than most of the Princesses he’s met. Her hair is unruly, with a few loose sticks stuck in it, and a crown of twigs sits atop her head. Her ears are pointy, and a long tail curls behind her, a tuft of fur at its tip.

This is new. Almost interesting, even. Certainly she’s nothing like the Princesses he’s met before, at least in appearances.

She eyes him. “Are you going to say anything, or are you just going to stand there holding that blade of yours?”

That’s right, he’s supposed to talk now, isn’t he? Can’t rely on that other one to do the talking for him? That’s new. And not necessarily in a good way.

“I’d rather not stand here forever, no,” he says. That’s probably a good start to a conversation, right?

The Princess tosses her head. “Good! Neither would I.”

And now they’re at a standstill again. He’s listened in on a little conversation in his previous experiences, hasn’t he? He ought to be able to have a little back-and-forth with her, right?

“Why shouldn’t I kill you right now?” he asks. This is almost frustrating. How did that other one keep this sort of thing up?

The Princess’s face splits into a grin. “Dropping the facade, are we? How about this: You don’t kill me, and you won’t find out what happens if you try.”

That is hardly a fair trade. “And what if I want to find out?”

“Then try me.” The Princess leans forward, teeth bared in an expression that only somewhat still resembles a smile.

Well. If she wants him to “try her,” he’ll just have to oblige.

He’s halfway across the room before the Princess even seems to realize he’s begun to move, knife grazing her shoulder as she ducks out of the way. As he turns to finish the job, a handful of dirt sprays upwards from the floor of the cabin, spattering his veil with dust.

In the moment it takes for him to shake the occluding particles away, there’s a clatter of chains, and once he can properly see again, it becomes clear that the shackle which ought to have been around the Princess’s wrist is now lying, empty and undamaged, on the ground.

Claws dig into his back from behind, pricking him through his cloak as the Princess attempts to drag him to the ground. He obliges, digging his elbow into her form as he lands on top of her. She wriggles her way out and makes a move to reverse their positions, and he slashes wildly with the blade, noting the moment it hits some sort of resistance and the Princess hisses in pain.

Then her hands have reached around to claw at his face, and he stabs at her wrists whenever his arm is free to do so, and the two of them tumble across the cabin floor, leaving a trail of blood (mostly hers, some his) and feathers (entirely his, unless she’s hiding something) behind them.

This is new. He’s never had the chance for a fight like this one before. Whenever it came down to violence, the Princess had always sorely outmatched him. This is better.

It’s going to get boring soon if this is all she can muster, though. At least he’ll probably die eventually and get to see something else.

The Princess tears herself away from him, crouching at one end of the cabin. The wounds on her look shallower than Cold would have thought. She’s good, if not good enough to actually kill him.

She’s laughing. Why is she laughing?

A creaking begins to emerge from the walls of the cabin, and Cold glances behind him to see that the roots have begun to move, growing inwards to seal off the exit. This is new. Is it the Princess’s doing? Is that what she finds so hilarious?

“Do you hear that?” the Princess spits between cackles. “Those are the roots of the wild, and they’re not going to stop until there’s nothing left in this cabin but them.” She folds her arms as the roots begin to grow into the space between the two of them. “Well? Cat got your tongue? No last regrets to voice before you’re crushed into oblivion?”

Cold blinks. “Why would I have any regrets?”

“Wh—” the Princess stutters. “We’re about to be crushed to death! Don’t you regret trying to kill me now?”

“Not particularly.” A root nudges Cold’s leg, and he obligingly steps out of the way and leans against the wall behind him. May as well make sure he has a comfortable seat to watch the show. “To tell the truth, I’m actually quite intrigued.”

The Princess only sputters as the roots close in further, lifting the two of them off the ground. A shame. He was just starting to get the hang of this “banter” thing.

At first it’s actually quite cozy to be nestled between the roots, even as they force his limbs into place. The Princess stares through it all, mouth agape.

Then the pressure reaches a more respectable level. There’s a pop in one of Cold’s shoulders and a snap around his ankle, spikes of pain shooting out from both locations. The Princess’s limbs, too, are twisted away from her, bones creaking under the strain. She’s going to die the same as him. Was that her gambit all along? Kill them both and hope for a good show when he realized he was going to be crushed to death?

Pity. For her, not him. Being crushed should be interesting enough on its own without anyone trying to make a speech.

Roots push inwards on his ribcage and begin the work of turning his hands and feet into a pulp, pain melting outwards from each pulverized digit. The form of the Princess is slowly warped away from a human shape, red bleeding through every visible inch of her skin.

There’s a root beginning to press up against Cold’s forehead. That’s unfortunate. If it moves too much further, it’ll crush his skull, and then the whole affair will be cut short.

Even so, he shouldn’t complain. This is plenty new, and whatever comes after it is sure to be just as fascinating.

By now the pain is impossible to source, pressing in from every extant part of his body. The Princess’s jaw is no longer open, nor could it be, from the roots pressing in on her skull. Cold’s vision begins to swim red.

I wonder how much longer I’ll get to stay here before—

His train of thought is cut off with a pop. Everything goes dark, and he dies.

He awakens in a cabin. The ceiling, his first visual contact, is a tangle of roots. As he sits up and scans his surroundings, it becomes clear that the walls, too, are a tangle of roots. The floor isn’t, but the roots from the walls still burrow into its packed dirt surface.

It’s the same cabin as before.

This is new. And not in a good way. There’s only so much to do in a single cabin, and Cold’s certain he’s already experienced the most interesting of it. Maybe he ought to conserve his choices to make them last as long as possible, if he’s going to be stuck here forever.

Or he could try to leave. He’d never done that when he was with that other one. It could be interesting. It’d certainly be new.

The door to the outside holds fast when he tries the handle. Some experimentation reveals that its hinges, while not the flimsy cords of the basement door, aren’t fully stable, but they’re still stronger than anything Cold can muster up. It’s locked. So that’s why he never left.

The windows are open, though, and easily wide enough to slip through. Cold lifts the blade from the table and slips it into his sleeve in a single, fluid motion, then sticks his head through the window.

Or, he would have stuck his head through the window, if the window hadn’t decided to stop him.

He taps the window with his beak again, then harder when it refuses to budge. Then he slams his forehead against whatever force is keeping him inside, and only receives a headache for his troubles.

Whatever it is, it’s smooth, and barely feels like a thing at all even when he runs his hand along it. And whatever it is, he’s not getting through without a fight.

He grips the blade tightly in his hand and brings it down on the whatever it is.

His arm bounces back violently, pain blossoming through the side of his hand. It’s as though the whatever it is is perfectly content to allow the blade through, but exerts special restrictions on him.

How nice. He’s special.

Whatever’s going on, he isn’t leaving this cabin until it lets him. A classic game of the Narrator’s, one that only ends when the Princess says it does.

He’ll just have to go back down the stairs and see what buttons she has left to press.

The stairs are exactly as they were the first time around, not a remnant of the moving roots to be seen. Has the Princess reset as well? She must have, if the world remains intact.

“Back for more?” her voice taunts before he’s halfway down the staircase. “The first time wasn’t enough to send you running home?”

He finishes his descent in silence and once more locks eyes with the Princess. She’s back where she stood the first time around, hand once more tucked behind her back.

“Still have that blade, I see. So you haven’t learned your lesson?”

Cold shrugs. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do this time.”

She raises her chained wrist from behind her back. “Then let me spell out your options for you. One: You attack me again, and we have a repeat of our little dance. And two:” She lets the chain fall from her arm. “You decide to play nice, and maybe things will be a little less painful for you.”

A little less painful? Not necessarily a reason to cooperate, but being crushed to death probably wouldn’t be as interesting after a few go-arounds. “And what if I do neither? What if I go back upstairs and leave you behind? What happens then?”

“Why don’t you try and see what happens?” the Princess asks with a grin.

All right, then. He’ll try it and see what happens.

He’s just turned to put his foot on the first step when the voice of the Princess comes from behind him. “Wait, you’re not actually going to leave? Even after what happened last time?”

Cold glances over his shoulder. “You said to try and see what happens. I want to see what happens.”

The Princess grits her teeth and sighs. “I was going to crush you again, all right? I would have had the roots of the cabin upstairs crush you just like the ones down here. Curiosity sated?”

…He retreats from the staircase. “Yes. Curiosity sated.”

The two return to their positions at opposite ends of the room. “Well? Are you ready to help me now?” she asks.

This part isn’t anything new. The Princess can’t leave without him. It is new that she’s flesh and blood, though. She can’t use his body as her key out of the cabin, not as though the door would open for him, either. Do they simply need to both be at the door outside?

And what would she say if she learned that they were both trapped? Now that would be interesting.

“All right,” he says. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

The Princess creeps forward, shackle abandoned on the floor behind her. “You’re going to march right up that staircase, and I’m going to be behind you watching your every move. Then you’ll open the door for me, and the two of us will never have to see each other again. Deal?”

Sure. Why not. “Deal.”

He starts up the stairs, and the Princess follows close behind. The roots don’t move from their positions forming the walls of the tunnel back to the cabin—perhaps the two of them really will leave, and Cold will get to see what the Princess thinks of their predicament.

Then clawed fingers dig into his back, and he finds himself falling, colliding with the stairs and with the walls until he and the Princess are both sprawled out along the basement floor.

He doesn’t bother trying to sit up. “What was that all about?”

“What was that about?” the Princess spits. “I was doing what I had to to make sure you didn’t turn that blade on me halfway up. Don’t tell me the thought didn’t cross your mind.”

It hadn’t. “I could have done that? I didn’t know I could do that.”

The Princess sputters, then there’s the sound of movement from where she landed, cut short by a gasp of pain. Cold attempts to lift himself to take a look, only for his limbs to fail to respond as a spark of pain shoots down his spine.

He’s been immobilized. This is new.

“Well. I guess we’re both going to die here,” the Princess says from somewhere Cold can’t see. “Again.”

“It’s not the same as last time,” Cold argues. “Last time we were crushed to death. This time we have broken spines. It’ll be a lot slower. We’ll probably starve… or is it thirst that happens more quickly?” That tiny one ought to know, what with his obsession over preventing any harm to their physical body. He’ll ask the next time he sees him, if he remembers any of this by then.

If he ever gets out of this cabin.

The Princess huffs. “Stop talking about how long it’ll take to die. I’d like to waste away in peace.”

That’s fine. He didn’t have much more to say, anyway. Maybe he’ll try stabbing her in the back the next time around, just to see what it feels like.

He awakens in a cabin. The ceiling, as before, is a tangle of roots, and so are the walls. The blade is back in its position on the dirt shelf.

When he stands, there’s a faint ache in his back, but it fades quickly enough. No doubt the Princess is in a similar situation.

He takes the blade without a second thought. Maybe he should stab her in the back this time. It could be fun. It’d definitely be new. But then she’d probably fall on top of him, and the two of them would end up lying on the floor of the cabin with broken backs again, and how many times can that sort of thing happen before it gets boring?

There is something else he’s never had the chance to try. Wasn’t there that one voice who swore up and down it was one of the most entertaining things one could try in these cabins?

Cold raises his arm and flings the blade out the window. It disappears beyond the hilltop before he can see it land.

Well. “Entertaining” may not be the word. It was worth trying, at the very least. Something new. And now the blade is gone, so the only thing left worth trying is heading back into the basement.

The Princess doesn’t utter a word until he’s face-to-face with her, this time. Her arms are folded, chain already lying on the ground beside her. “Well? Back for more?”

“You were the one who killed us last time,” Cold points out.

“And?” The Princess sticks her nose up. “I was acting in self-defense. You had a blade. What else was I supposed to expect?”

It is so, so unfair that Cold had to find out he could have stabbed her in the back after he’d already experienced a broken spine. “And now I don’t. Let’s try this again, shall we?”

The Princess approaches him, tail low. “After you, then.”

“I’d rather not.” He won’t see anything new if he lets her attack him from behind again. “After you.”

“What, don’t trust me?” She leans towards him, lips curled in something approaching a smile. Her canines are particularly long. “Little old me who would never drag the two of us to the bottom of a staircase leaving us both with broken backs?”

Cold looks down at her. “You just did that.”

She shrugs. “I had to try. Can you really blame me after you attacked me out of the blue?”

“It wasn’t out of the blue,” Cold says. “You told me to.”

The Princess’s face freezes for a moment as though she’s replaying their first meeting in her head. “That… was a threat,” she begins, voice shaking. “I was threatening you.”

“I know.”

It takes a moment for the Princess to manage anything except working her jaw in an imitation of words. “Th-there’s something wrong with your brain! You’re not normal!”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to say something along those lines.” Cold shrugs. “Are we leaving or not?”

The Princess grimaces. “I suppose. After you.”

“I already said I’d rather not. After you.”

She shrugs. “Can’t fault me for trying. Fine. After me. But I’ll need some insurance first.” She holds out her hand. “Why don’t you hand over that blade of yours? I know you’ve got it hidden away somewhere.”

Oh. That will pose a problem.

“I don’t have it,” Cold begins.

“And you expect me to believe you just left it upstairs?” The Princess folds her arms. “Nice try. Give it.”

“I don’t have it,” Cold continues, “because I threw it out the window.”

Again the Princess is struck silent for a moment. “Do you expect me to believe that?” she snaps, far too late to have nearly enough impact. “Where is it, really?”

As though he would know. “Somewhere in the woods outside. I didn’t see where it landed.”

“You’re really sticking to this story?” the Princess asks. “Fine. Give me that cloak, then, so I know you’re not hiding anything.”

Hand over his cloak? He supposes that’s a logical thing to ask. If he isn’t wearing his cloak and she can see his hands, then she’ll have assurance that he isn’t hiding the blade anywhere, regardless of whether she believes he threw it out the window. There’s no reason he shouldn’t acquiesce.

But… he doesn’t want to. Why doesn’t he want to?

The Princess continues to stare at him, tapping her foot. It almost looks more like an animal’s paw than a human foot, sharp claws glinting in what little light reaches the basement. That’s new, right? The others weren’t like that, right? When they had visible feet at all, that is.

She’s not going to budge until she’s gotten ahold of his cloak, is she.

Cold sighs and shrugs off his cloak. “Give it back when you’re done with it,” he says as he tosses it to the Princess. It’s a completely unnecessary request. He’s a bird. He doesn’t need additional clothes on top of his feathers.

The Princess snatches the cloak from the air and immediately begins rifling through it. Cold blinks as a couple feathers dislodge themselves in her search. “How does this thing even work?” she asks, stretching the hood far beyond what it was meant to accommodate. “Are there any pockets in here or what? And where are the sleeves?”

“The pockets are on the inside. And you could find the sleeves if you were looking at the shoulders.” Cold digs his toes into the dirt of the basement while the Princess continues to tear apart his cloak.

Eventually, the Princess seems to have decided the only way to comprehend the garment is to attempt to wear it, and tosses it over her shoulders, wrestling with the fabric for a moment before one of her arms actually manages to pop out through a sleeve with the sound of tearing cloth.

Something snaps, and Cold can’t tell whether it’s figuratively or literally. He strides across the basement, Princess too occupied with navigating his cloak to notice him until they’re face-to-face. By the time she does react, it’s too late for her to stop him.

He grabs her free wrist—which is currently punching the inside of his cloak—and wrestles it into the opening of the empty sleeve before letting go.

The Princess growls and pulls away, but slips her arm through the rest of the sleeve. “I didn’t say you could touch me.”

“I didn’t say you could destroy my clothing. We’re even.”

She huffs, but she’s clearly more focused on locating the empty pockets than arguing. “It’s your fault for not wearing something that makes more sense. How does this even work?”

“I don’t have to explain that.” Cold watches as the Princess turns. The cloak is clearly too long for her, hem dragging in the dust—though, there’s not too much of a reason to care about that, right? It would have gotten dirty either way. They’re in a dirt hole. “Can I have it back now?”

“You weren’t lying about leaving the blade behind,” the Princess begins, hands still in the pockets of Cold’s cloak.

How much longer is she going to stall? “I told you. I threw it out the window. Are you going to give that back now?”

The Princess arranges her face into a thoughtful expression. “I suppose…” She breaks into a grin. “No. After me.” Before Cold can react, she’s already slipped past him and begun ascending the stairs.

He’s never been mugged before. That’s new.

He starts up the stairs, Princess easily keeping her distance. It’s fine. Soon, they’ll both be in the cabin proper, which means they’ll both be trapped in the cabin proper, which means the Princess won’t be able to keep running and he’ll be able to take his cloak back and assess the damage.

Why does he even care so much about this? It’s only an article of clothing, which as established he does not need.

The Princess reaches the top of the stairway and turns back to him. “Thanks for the cloak,” she says as she slams the door.

A lock clicks, somehow. There wasn’t even a lock on the outside of the door.

This, unfortunately, is not new. Why does he always seem to be the only person who isn’t allowed to lock a door?

He can hear the Princess rustling about on the other side. “You weren’t lying about the blade being gone,” she says, followed soon by, “Ugh! What’s wrong with these windows?”

“Don’t you need me to let you out?” Cold asks. “I think that’s how this is supposed to work.” It isn’t, at least not this time, but it’s not as though she needs to know that.

“Yeah, I’ll pass. I’d rather not have to leave with you, especially now that you’re probably plotting ways to get back at me.”

That’s hardly fair. Cold hasn’t gotten to plot even once through this whole ordeal. She’s been the one doing all the plotting. “Can I at least have my cloak back now?”

The Princess laughs. “Trying to trick me into opening the door, are you? Even if I didn’t see through your plot, I wouldn’t give it to you. I’m actually starting to like this weird thing. I think I’ll keep it.”

He wasn’t even plotting! And it would have been a good plot, too, if he’d actually intended it as one. This just keeps getting more and more unfair by the minute.

He’ll have to wait until things reset again. Starvation should set in eventually, or he could try to hasten things. He doesn’t have the blade, but that shouldn’t necessarily make it impossible to speed up the process, should it? He’s got hands. He might try to use them.

He awakens in a cabin before he can attempt anything. Everything is roots, again, just as it’s been for the past three times.

As he raises a hand to adjust his veil—it’s started to slip, somehow—he freezes at what he sees when it crosses his vision.

Or rather, what he doesn’t see. Which is to say his arm is not in a sleeve, which means the Princess still has his cloak. This is… new? Things are supposed to reset whenever they reset. With some changes, to be sure, but everything has been the same in this cabin every other time.

The blade, fortunately, seems to not have fallen prey to the same effect. It’s right on the table, exactly where it’s meant to be, having had the good sense to obey the laws of this world.

The Princess expects him to show up with some sort of plot. When he inevitably doesn’t have one, she’ll concoct one on her own. She’s clearly much better at this sort of thing than he is.

Why is he, of all voices, here, of all places? There would have been much better candidates for this. Surely some of the other voices would have easily been able to outthink her.

But he’s no good at scheming, and he’s about out of ideas. The Princess clearly has no intention of trusting him. And she took his cloak.

He’ll just have to hand the decisions over to her. Maybe she’ll be able to think of something new.

When he reaches the basement, the Princess is grinning. Successfully pulling one over on him—without dying herself—must have put her in a good mood. That, or stealing his cloak.

“I see you’ve got the knife this time,” she says. “Where’d you have it hidden away?”

Is it really so hard to believe he’s capable of honesty? “I already told you. I threw it out the window. It reappeared when I woke up.”

The Princess shows no sign of belief. “What are you even planning to do with that thing? I thought we’d established trying to kill me would only lead to both of us being crushed to death.”

Her eye contact breaks at the sound of metal hitting the ground near her feet. A pretty good toss, in Cold’s opinion, given they’re on opposite ends of the basement.

She reaches to pick up the blade, gaze flicking back up to Cold as though this might somehow be a trap. As though he’d be able to think of one.

Then she crosses the basement, blade in hand, the sleeves of Cold’s cloak covering part of its hilt. He really needs that back.

“I wouldn’t have done that,” she begins once they’re face-to-face. “Why did you?”

“Trade for my cloak back?” Cold asks.

The Princess laughs. “You have to set the terms before you give away your only bargaining chip. Did you not bother to think a single part of this through?”

Oh. Right. He knew he’d been forgetting something.

It’s fine. He doesn’t need to care this much about an article of clothing. “I gave it to you because I’m out of ideas. Maybe you’ll be able to think of something new to do, if you’re so intent on scheming against me.”

She stares at him for a moment, gripping the blade. Then she turns it around in her hand and plunges it into his chest.

Of course that would be her first thought. He doesn’t know why he expected anything different.

The Princess must be able to pick out some sort of expression on his face, because she hesitates and asks, “What? Were you expecting something else?”

“I wasn’t expecting anything. I just…” He looks at her. “I’ve already been stabbed. I was hoping for something new.”

She stares at him, mouth agape, as he falls to the floor.

He awakens in a cabin. It’s the same cabin. It’s always been the same cabin.

…Except this time there are shoots of some sort pushing up between the roots of the walls and sprouting from the floor.

And the blade is gone this time. That’s new, though it’s not surprising. If the Princess gets to keep his cloak, surely she can keep the blade as well.

He’ll just have to go down and ask for it back.

The new shoots continue to appear as he proceeds down the stairs to the basement, weaving between the roots that form each step. The basement itself is speckled with green everywhere he can see, and a few beams of light are able to filter through new gaps in the roots of the ceiling.

The Princess is curled in on herself at the other end of the basement, clutching the blade in both hands. Her tail curls around her feet. She hasn’t bothered to take the chain off her wrist yet, or even hide it.

She’s still wearing his cloak. At least it looks like she’s properly buttoned it since stabbing him.

“What do you even want?” she asks, not bothering to look up. “Why do you keep coming back down here? Just leave. You’re allowed to.”

Her voice sounds… drained.

Cold steps closer to her and sits down a few feet away. “I can’t leave. The door doesn’t open.”

The Princess looks up. Her eyes are ringed with red. “That doesn’t make any sense. I’m supposed to need you to leave with me.”

Neither of them says anything for a minute, until the Princess speaks again. “I don’t get what’s going on in your head. I killed you so many times, and you never tried to take revenge. I locked you in the basement and you gave me the blade. Why aren’t you angry about all of this?”

“Anger is an unproductive emotion,” Cold says. “It wouldn’t benefit me to feel it.”

The Princess stammers. “Y—you can’t choose not to feel anger. It just happens.”

“Not if you don’t let it. It’s the same with other emotions. Everything’s so much easier once you stop feeling them.”

She laughs, her tone devoid of humor—or much of anything else. “There’s something wrong with your brain,” she says. “Normal people don’t think like that.”

“And why should I care if there’s something wrong with me?” Cold asks.

“I guess…” The Princess lowers her gaze to the blade in her hands. “I guess… you don’t have to. Just… answer one question for me.”

“Why did you give me the blade?”

Again with the interrogations. Is it really too much to believe he’s telling the truth? “I already told you. I ran out of ideas. Trying the same things again would have been boring, so I decided to let you choose. That’s all it was.”

The Princess bites her lip. Her crown of twigs has a little sprout growing through it, Cold notices. “You never lied to me, did you?”

“No.”

For a moment the two of them continue to sit in silence. The Princess is the one to break it, pushing herself to her feet and allowing the chain to fall from her wrist. Cold follows her with his gaze.

She takes a shaky step towards the stairs and glances behind her. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

Cold follows her up the stairs and into the cabin. This time, when they reach the top, the Princess steps back to allow him through the doorway.

They stare at the closed door for a moment. If it doesn’t open for either of them, there’s no logical reason it would unlock now that they’re both here.

“You should try it,” the Princess says. “I think I’ve used up your trust.”

It doesn’t actually matter, but fine. Neither of them really has any advantage over the other. Cold steps up to the door and tugs on the handle.

It creaks open.

That’s new.

He steps into the woods outside, Princess on his heels. The trees appear to have been reduced to stalks of black charcoal, and the ground is largely devoid of growth save for a few sparse clumps of grass. The hilltop is ringed with large, thorny vines, and a few red roses sprout right where the cabin meets the ground.

This is when it ends, isn’t it? Hopefully he’ll have his cloak back the next time he’s awake.

He and the Princess stand in silence for a moment. Then another, and another. Nothing happens.

When he turns to her, she’s already looking at him. “This is new, right?” she asks. “It doesn’t normally work like this, right?”

They both already know the answer to that question.

This is new. It might even be the most interesting thing to happen since Cold first found himself awake on a path in the woods.

He doesn’t say that, though. What he says is, “Can I have my cloak back now? Or the blade?”

The Princess just laughs. “Can’t fault you for trying, I guess. Maybe I’ll give them back later.” She starts down the path into the woods. “Or not. Come on, I want to see what’s out there.”

#slay the princess #outside context problem #voice of the cold #the witch #stp fanfic #fun fact: by word count this chapter is TWICE AS LONG AS FEAR/SAFETY

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unamused-boss · 7 months

Text

Trumpets and Boots (part 1)

(this story has strong topics in it, you have been warned!)

Robin Buckley x fem!hargrove (reader/Oc)

Warning, Strong topics: homophobia, child abandonment, troubled sibling relationship, child abuse, underage drinking, Homophobic language, strong language

The POV will be in second person but the "reader" will have a name.

I will not tolerate any negativity in the comments regarding sexuality or religion!

Summary: When Amelia Hargrove came out as gay to her family… lets just say some didn’t have to good of a reaction. When they’re finally reunited things become a little complicated.

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California: 1981

You and Billy were getting ready to head out to a party at one of your friend's houses for the night and you crush Samantha Jenkins will be there tonight. You are hoping for a very lucky game of spin the bottle tonight or seven minutes in heaven. You were quickly applying your favorite color of eye shadow to your eye lids for the night. It was glittery. You smiled at yourself in the mirror, you can't wait for this party tonight. You and Billy have been looking forward to it all week.

"You ready Billy!" You shout to him through the bathroom door.

“Yeah give me a minute!”

“Really?!” You complained. “Billy you have hogged the bathroom for the past hour! If you could smell any more like a new car I’d sell you to the lot!”

“Hey! Looking good takes time!” He responded.

“I swear you’re more of a woman then I am sometimes… prissy bitch…” you mumbled.

The door shot open with you and Billy staring at each other. “What’d you say little shit?”

‘Oh no…’ you take off down your hallway to out run Billy. You’re jumping over tables and chairs to avoid him. He is hot on your tail. Until you sprint back into yours and Max’s shared room. She looks you to you with wide eyes. Max and her mom have only lived with you guys for a year now. They both quickly learned the dynamic of the Hargrove real soon.

Max knew your were different. She knew you would stare at the same girls Billy would stare at. She didn’t quiet get it. She thought other girls were weird. She also didn’t get why you and Billy were always so hush hush around your dad. Both you and Billy would always become more quiet when he comes around. She wasn’t completely dumb; she saw the bruises you and Billy suffered from your father. She saw the bond the you and your brother had, she wished so desperately that you would have the same with her. You are opening up to her more. You took her to the skate park so she could practice her tricks and show you. You kept Billy at bay when it came to him being mean to her, and you were probably opening him up to her being big brother to her. You were like a glue to the family, as much as your father dislikes you.

Billy started smacking you with one of your throw pillows cause of what you said to him. You are laughing non stop. Once the beating of the pillow was over you turned to Max.

“You sure you’ll be fine?” You asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” She answered straightly.

“You know we’ll stay if you want us to.” You reassured.

“You will…” Billy scoffed. You went an smacked his arm. “Ow…” he said while rubbing it.

“We’ll be down the street Max if you need us, and we’ll be back before Susan and Dad. Alright.” You smiled at her. She smiled back to you.

"See ya Madmax!" You said before bolting out the door and locking it to go to the party down the road in your neighborhood.

"Why are you nice to her?" Billy questioned.

"Um cause she lives with us now and she's just a kid?" You answered with confusion in your voice. You never understood Billy's dislike for Max, but you're trying to fix that.

"Listen I know you don't like Susan or Max, but they're kinda stuck with dad now." You said to Billy, "And we've been stuck with him of the past 4 years since mom left..." Billy looked to you with saddened eyes. When mom left it hit you pretty hard. You really missed her just like he did. But after all the calls you both knew she was never coming back. Billy changed for the worse became for ruff and violent. You ,however, stayed the way you are. A sweet smile on your face, always willing to help someone, and just being you. You were way better than Billy ever could be.

"I got ya baby sis, I'll try." Billy answered.

"Good." You smiled to him. "And what is this baby sister nonsense you act like I'm not only 3 minutes younger then you."

"Oh sorry 3 blissful minutes before your crying ugly face came into the world."

"Oh crying I see, I guess I'll tell everyone how you cried when I gave you your earring that you "toughened through"." You laughed. All Billy did was push you into a grass ditch as you laughed even harder.

"Piece of shit." Billy grinned.

"Get my fucking skirt dirty, and I'll bury you stuff in the backyard again." You threaten.

That's when you both arrived to the party, a quick 10 minute walk. You get into the party, starting off with some beer. You drank for about 30 minutes, dancing with your friends, shouting your heart out to the music, and over all enjoying your time at the party.

Then the moment you have been hating for all night has arrived. Spin the bottle. You were so hyped.

"Hey I'm gonna smoke a cigarette outside with Jackson." Billy said. You nod at him and he was on his way out. You take your seat in the circle of teens. Samantha right across from you. You were so ready. The spinning has begun. Chris had to kiss Jenny. Charolette had to kiss Scott. Andy had to kiss Charlie C. The spinning kept going and going. When ever the guys landed on other guys they all made a big deal out of it. But when a girl landed on another girl they all cheered for it.

'Ugh, horny pigs... can't even last past 5 minutes' you sneered. That was when you saw the bottle turn in your direction, landing on you. You look up and make eye contact with Samantha.

'GOD IS GOOD!' You cheered in your thoughts.

You stood straight on your knees as did Samantha. You both leaned in to each other. Your lips connecting. It was like a flower blooming in the spring, this was way better than any guy you kissed in other spin the bottles. You knew you liked girls more than guys, but this was a whole other level. You swore you could've continued kissing Samantha when...

"What the fuck are you doing!!" An all to familiar voice shouted. Dragging you by the collar of your shirt out the door of the party to the front yard. You are shoved out only to be met with a straight faced Billy. You stand next to him as you face your dad. He was red, he was raging.

"Walk home. NOW!" Your Dad shouted. You saw some classmates laughing cause you both got caught. The difference is if they got caught they get grounded, but we get beaten into the ground. The walk home was silent. You don't think the air has ever been more still. When you both returned home, you were sat down on the couch with your Dad standing before you menacingly staring down at the both of you.

"So you both left your little sister home alone to go act like a bunch of dumbasses at a party!" He shouted.

"We're sorry... dad." You whispered out. You felt a hard smack to your head from him.

"You better be you stupid bitch!" He growled.

"It wasn't her idea, I convinced her to go with me dad." Billy tried to take the blame for you. You heard the smack go across Billy's face. You just stared down at your hands.

"I come home find Maxine by herself." He started. "While you both are at a party getting drunk, smoking, and did god know fucking what else." Neither of you said anything. Your dad grabbed you by your shoulders shaking them up to make you look at him.

"Stop looking down like a pussy!" He shouted into your face. your eyes begin to whelm with hot tears.

"Hey it's not her fault dad!" Billy shouted at him. Wrong move. Billy was dragged to his room. You heard the curses and beating from the living room. You just stared straight ahead as you heard your brother be beaten in the room next. Just for defending you from your Dad's wrath.

You heard slow boot steps come your way. You stiffened, more tears started to form in your eye going down you cheeks, your blood rushing, everything was going way to slow. Your dad now stood next to were you were sitting. You didn't look up to him; you kept your tear filled eyes forward.

"So. You're a faggot?" Your dad questioned. You said nothing. Not wanting to answer. Your father's hand went threw your hair a gripped it tight. You swore he was going to pull it out.

"Are you some faggot!" He yelled into your ear. You were now crying, the dam has been broken. Tears were streaming down your cheeks. No words were coming out if your mouth. It felt like you were choking.

"Kissing some girl! God your mother would hate you!" He kept shouting at you. He dragged you to the door of your bedroom an slammed you into it. Staring down at you.

"You are fucking pathetic, worthless dyke." He growled to you. There was nothing but hatred in his eyes to you. You slowly turn the knob of the door to your room. But you were quickly slapped across the face before he left your alone. You make your way into your room for the night, crying yourself to sleep in your bed.

A week has passed since that Friday night. Your dad kept saying you were spreading a sickness with everything your touched. Billy tried to protect you the best he could, he took every blow for you. And you patched him up every time. Max was forbidden from talking to you and you couldn't do anything about it. But hopefully today things will be a bit more chilled out.

What you didn't know was that Neil sent Susan, Billy, ad Max out to run some "errands" for dinner tonight. When you got back home from your friends house you saw Susan's car gone, only your dad's truck in the driveway. You walk through the front door to your house.

"Amelia!" You flinched at the sudden noise of your dad's voice. You walk over to the kitchen where you found your dad.

"Go pack a bag or two, me and Susan are taking all of you on a small vacation to the city for the next week." He said. "Susan and the rest of them already left."

"Really?" You said quietly.

"Yes." He said firmly. " Go pack your shit and grab some money cause I'm not buying any shit for you." You walked to your bedroom and packed a duffle bag full of clothes. You grabbed the little money you have hidden away in your room. Your dad was already in his truck waiting for you. You put your stuff in the back an put your self up in the front seat.

Neil made his way out of the drive way, the last time you'll ever see that house again.

. . .

"Neil! We're back!" Susan yelled. She looked around an saw no sign of her husband. She went to the garage thinking he moved his car there but saw nothing.

"Billy!" Susan shouted.

"What." Billy answered bluntly.

"Where is your sister?" From the statement Billy rushed to your room to see you not in there and some of your clothes gone.

"No." Billy said. "Nononono, NO!" He was looking all over the house for you. You were no where to be found. You were gone. Just like his mom. His dad has taken you away from him.

All Billy could do was cry in his room. His twin was gone. His baby sister was gone and he doesn't know where. He failed to keep you safe from if dad.

Max watched all of it unfold in front of her.

. . .

You have been in the car for a straight hour now. You were looking out the window at the desert. Nothing for miles. Neil pulled into a motel parking lot.

"We're staying here for the night." He said as he parked the car. You got out of the car with your duffle bag on your side. You made your way to the front desk with your dad were he got the key. You weren't dumb, this was all sketchy.

"Here go put your stuff in the room." Neil said putting the key into your hand. You nodded to him. Making your way to the room opening the door to the empty room. You look around confused. You dropped your bag on the ground, putting the key in your pocket.

Then you heard his truck start up. You walk over confused looking at him.

"Dad! What are you doing?" You questioned. That's when he started to pulled out of his parking space. "DAD!" You start to run after his truck. Like some sick joke he slowed enough for you to pillion the lever of the door.

"Dad! STOP, Please!" You were shouting to him. Panicked tear started to whelm your eyes. He started to speed up. You keeping pace with the truck smacking on the back part.

"I'm sorry! Dad I'm SORRY!" You shouted. "Listen I'll never disobey you again I promise. DAD PLEASE!" You cried as you tripped on the uneven ground below you as your dad drove away. Leaving you in the dirt crying.

"Billy... Billy!" You yelled out to your brother. You just wanted your big brother. You walked back to the motel. Going to the room that you had to stay in now.

Your dad has abandoned you, just like your mom. Tears were going down your cheeks. You sat in the floor of the room for a good ten minutes till a knock on the door scared you. You hopped up hoping by some miracle your brother found you. You open the door to only meet the smoking front desk lady from earlier. Your smiled dropped.

"Hey sweetie." Her gruff voice said. "I saw what just happened and I'm sorry..." You said nothing to her. You just stared at her sniffling. She sighed at the sight of you, "Listen I'm only doing this once cause you remind me of my granddaughter, I'll give you a ride to the bus station and you can get a ticket back home." You nodded at her. You gave her the room key back and grabbed your bag.

Just like she said she drove you to the bus station to get a ticket home. She even gave you a hundred bucks to help with anything else. The front desk lady gave you a gruff but soft goodbye as she left you at the bus station. You walk in with your bag and money to the front desk of the station.

"Hello miss, what can I do for you today?" The desk worker said.

"I need a ticket." You said plainly , no emotion left. The desk worker just stared at you.

"Where to honey?"

"Santa-" You stopped for a minute. You didn't want to go back to Santa Monica, nothing would be left for you there. The message was made pretty clear to you.

"Santa Monica, honey?"

"No." You stated, "What's your furthest ticket?"

"Umm." The worker started typing in their computer for a second. "Our furthest ticket is... Hawkins Indiana."

"I'll take that." You said, giving them the money and taking your ticket to Indiana.

Hawkins Indiana: 1984

It has been three, four by next fall, years since you left everything in California behind. When you arrived to Hawkins you had little money and what you had in your duffle bag with you. You are now 17 turning 18 next March. You think about Billy everyday. But with what that has happened you can't dwell on things. You live with a woman named Joey Byers and her two sons.

When you arrived in Hawkins at 14 Joyce Byers found you walking the dirt road trying to find someplace dry to find to sleep for the night. Joyce took you in an let you stay the night with her. After that night you found yourself living with her for two years. When everything happened with Will accrued you were there for her and Johnathan when they needed.

You helped look for Will in search parties. You helped the boys hide Eleven in Mikes basement. You helped Steve, Johnathan, and Nancy take down a demagorgan. You're gonna be honest, you've probably faced death more times with Neil then any interdimensional creature.After everything that happened last year you started to pick up more around the house. You didn't want to burden Joyce since she took you in. You work at the music shop in town. You put 50% of your paychecks to rent or bills at the Byers home.

Joyce has tried many times to talk to your about your family back in California, hell even brought Hopper out to try a crack ya. You never budge. Hopper has concluded that, "You've been through something and now they're dead to you." The only response you gave was "Not all of them..." Nothing else after that. You have a new life here and you're not going to have it ruined by your past. It wasn't a secret that you were gay. It was very well known fact in town that you were into women. Yeah some kids yelled slurs to you but none of it effected you. You were actually able to meet another lesbian in town, well a closeted one. Her name was Robin Buckley, you met her in your art class when you were a sophomore and she was a freshmen. You both got along pretty well. She was actually really pretty you thought but since you never actually dated a girl you were nervous in telling her your feelings.

The date was October 28, 1984 Halloween was this Friday. You were gonna take Will and the boys trick or treating.

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I hope you enjoy this, this was an idea I’ve had for a while.

If you want to be tagged in future parts comment below pls.

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