#but the clear off-putting feeling of its absence through the memories of its presence in the past | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

protectanattac · 10 months

Text

Pulling Strings For You | Part 1

Pairing- Miguel O'hara x Reader/Female oc (poc) Word count- 3200 Summary- While the reader is patrolling the streets of Chicago, she runs into two familiar villains. Then gets a proposal from two strangely familiar-looking heroes. Warnings- violence (light gore), mentions of death, hints at depression, eventual smut(minors dni!!)

AN- Hope y'all like part one loves! <3

Part 2

[2:00 am, Wednesday, Chicago, Universe 4655]

Your hands cradled your head as you attempted to relax on your bed. It was about the time you had to convince yourself to wake up and go on patrol, which you didn’t look forward to. Some days were more challenging than others, and this week had been incredibly taxing on your body. The chaotic state of the city caused you not to have enough downtime to let your cuts and bruises heal.

Willing yourself out of bed, you made your way to your spare bedroom. The uninhabited room was often used as storage, where you would keep all your spider gear and gadgets. Your spider suit was tight. The feeling could only be described as if someone had worn a custom-made reinforced version of skims. It was hell to get in and out of, but once it was on, you loved it.

Music was your antidote to the chilly nights in Chicago. It was the only thing that kept you distracted from the harsh breeze that ravaged your body with chills. After struggling to put on your suit, you put on your headphones and hit shuffle on your playlist. You made your way to your apartment complex’s rooftop, sitting on the edge of the building like a gargoyle.

“Day n Night… at, at, at night,” You sang the song to no one in particular as you surveyed the usual routes.

The streets of your universe’s Chicago were dark and dangerous. It was a place where criminals ruled, and law-abiding citizens were afraid to walk alone. You knew this better than anyone and were determined to do whatever it took to stop these criminals in their tracks. Luckily, your brutal methods of justice and the dark presence you carried that cast over anyone who dared to cross your path scared off everyone.

There was always a strange feeling in your chest when you crossed Alchemex Street. Memories of easier times would come back no matter how hard you attempted to block them out. You painfully missed the times when it was you and Joy together in the lab listening to music and making messes—the times when you could wake up before ten a.m. comfortably. In need of clearing your thoughts, you land on a nearby building and steal a moment to calm yourself.

A few moments later, you huffed through your mask, the cold air causing your breath to condense into a small white cloud. Skillfully, you leaped off the building and swung to another, softly landing on top of the other building. You exhale at the thought of Joy and her absence. Ever since she left, its always felt off. Granted, it would feel off for anyone to lose someone as important as she was to you, but everything felt unreal like this moment of mourning would never leave your mind.

The streets were silent. That was typical for this time of night in this area. Criminals feared you. The citizens knew when it was time to get off the streets and go home, and any citizen who wasn't home by this hour became exposed to the chance of being mentally scarred for life or, worse yet, having it taken from them.

“A silent sleeper, you won't hear a peep… peep,” You sang the song to yourself.

There was still nothing—no movement on the streets. So you decided to check everything out at ground level. You walked down the side of the building with ease, your feet hitting the ground quietly as you hopped off the building. Gently, you brushed yourself off and walked a few blocks down the street, still finding nothing. Not a soul in sight.

“Come out, don't make me chase you,” You called out into the street.

Something was up, and you could feel it. Your senses were going wild. It felt like you were trudging through a bottomless lake as you walked around. Your eyes couldn’t find something to settle on as you whipped your head around trying to identify the source of your panic. You felt your chest tighten and constrict against your pounding heart and racing lungs. To ease your nerves, you pause the music you were listening to and slide your headphones off gently, allowing them to sit around your neck.

“Where did you send us, Peter,” A strong voice roared.

Instead of striking fear into your heart, the noise did the opposite. Whatever was causing you panic had a voice, meaning you could catch it. A small smirk forms on your masked face as you run toward the voices. The closer you came to the noise, a second voice came into the argument.

As you approached the building, the name of it came into view. ‘Alchemex School for Gifted Children’ was what you read on the very front of it.

‘Of fucking course,’ you muttered in your mind.

You jumped onto the wall and began to scale up the building. You screamed when you were grabbed by something you hadn’t yet identified. It pulled you through a window, and you responded by clawing at whatever had dragged you into the building and ripped pieces out of it.

“Spider!” A man exclaimed.

“Uh-Huh... Who the fuck are you?”

You didn't wait for an answer. Instead, you lunged at the man with robotic tentacles coming out of his sides. Doctor Octavius was someone you had sworn you’d gotten rid of. Psychosis wasn't something you struggled with, and you were positive you remembered squeezing the life out of his eyes yourself.

You ripped one of the robotic arms off of him as you fought. He shouted for help, and before you had a chance to realize what was happening, another person was ripping you off of him. Another person with the same technology–they looked like twins. However, you didn’t ponder on the fact that they looked the same but instead focused on the fact that they were trying their best to beat the shit out of you.

Bang. Your back flew into a row of lockers. With a loud thud, you hit the ground, wincing and clutching your side.

“C'mon, Spider, show me what you got,” The shorter doctor teased you with a smile.

You shook off the pain and pushed yourself off the floor, webbing the shorter doctor in the face to disorient him. You then swung yourself toward him, tearing off one of his robotic arms. Sparks flew from the broken wires, and you flinched away, giving the other doctor enough time to grab and throw you toward a broken window. As you flew out the window, you shot a web. The web manages to stick onto the building.

You used the web as a makeshift rope as you climbed back up to the window. Your success was short-lived, though, as one of the twins came leaping out of the building just as you approached the window. Quick thinking was the only thing that saved you from hitting the concrete. You grappled onto the doctor, saving yourself. But as you pulled yourself toward him, he managed to grab you.

The doctor squeezed your arms at your sides, laughing maniacally as you both free-fell. You webbed the side of the building during the fall and then the doctor's tentacles. Your webs jammed them, allowing you to slip from his grasp. The doctor tumbled off the building, trying to break free from the webs, but was unable to do so. You kicked him in the back before allowing him time to catch himself, giving extra power to his fall. He hits the ground.

The only sound you could compare the splat of his body to was a car crash. The doctor's body was spread across the street, his robotic tentacles twitching and sparking from the damage they endured during the collision. Rolling your eyes, you put your headphones back on and turn on your music. You hopped off the building and stealthily landed on the ground, turning your music up some.

You carefully walked over to the short doctor and over him, making sure to avoid the bits of his remains getting on your shoes. Instead of planning some intricate ambush attack, you strolled up to the front doors of the building, kicking them open.

MIGUEL

[2:08 am, Wednesday, Chicago, Universe 4655]

“Thank you, Lyla.”

The anomaly he was hunting was supposed to be somewhere around here. Miguel scanned the area carefully, his eyes taking in all the little details in the scene. He realized he wasn't in New York but rather in another city like Chicago. There was an eerie feeling about the whole place. Usually, large cities like this would still be alive and bustling with noise, and pedestrians would be out living and having a good time. However, all he could hear was the wind wrapping around the buildings and nothing else.

Normally when he would go on his missions, the watch's portal would be at the scene. So most times, he wouldn’t have to do much walking. But instead, he stood in the desolate city, confused. Moments like these made him wish he had a spider-sense, something that would help alert him to suspicious activity, so he wouldn’t have to have his guard so far up his ass.

The building in front of him seemed quiet from what he could see. Nothing suspicious alarmed him. He was just about to ask Lyla if she’d messed up the location, but then he read the name of the building.

‘Alchemex School for Gifted Children,’ He read in his head, confirming that he was indeed in the correct place.

He nodded to himself and waited patiently for the anomaly to come waltzing out of the building. Missions like these always felt like a fun game of cat and mouse. He was the predator waiting for his prey to move into a more vulnerable position so he could attack. A loud crash took Miguel out of his thoughts.

When he heard the crash, the only thing going through his head was “Go.”. And so he did. He broke through one of the windows and ran up the stairs towards the commotion. When he made it to the cafeteria, the fight was flying from one side of the room to another.

Miguel watched as the short doctor pounced out the window in pursuit. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene, dashing to the window. He watched as the two of you tussled, the fight ending with the doctor splattered on the sidewalk. Miguel was impressed with the brutality of the kill but found himself more intrigued with the swiftness you had committed it in. But he hadn’t much time to dissect the play thanks to the other doctors' hysterical actions.

The other doctor was throwing anything he could at Miguel. He was screaming and running around like a crazy person. Miguel sliced the table flying at him in half, but then the doctor swept him up. The next thing he knew, he was flung at a concrete wall. The force of the collision caused the wall to cave in and crack, Miguel letting out a grunt in pain.

“Lyla.” Miguel instinctively went to call for Jess’s assistance.

Before she could answer, he was grabbed by another tentacle and flung into the cafeteria door. He instantly burst through the door on impact and began tumbling down a flight of stairs. The back of his head hit the wall with a quiet thud, disorienting him slightly.

By this time, you were back inside the building and walking up the stairs. Miguel came crashing down in front of you, and you looked down at him for a second before continuing into the cafeteria.

“Yes?” Lyla’s hologram body popped out of Miguel’s watch.

He watched as you confidently walked into the room, noticing the headphones sitting casually on your head.

“Nevermind,” Miguel answered with a low grumble.

He groaned and rubbed the debris off of his suit. He turned to the side before pushing himself up and shaking his head gently, running back into the cafeteria. He was on high alert and pissed that he’s made a fool of himself in front of another Spider-Person.

When Miguel walked back into the cafeteria, he watched as you held up one of the doctor's tentacles, ready to strike him with it. The tentacle hits the doctor's face with a loud crack. He falls to his knees, blood spilling out of his mouth, along with a few molars. Miguel walked up to the scene, seeing if he could do anything to help. You watched him from the corner of your eye and then discarded the tentacle, throwing it off to the side. Pulling your headphones off your head and sitting them around your neck, the music was now blaring out of them and echoing in the cafeteria. You turn and look at him, not caring for the disabled doctor.

“What do you want,” You asked, almost annoyed that he was interrupting the fight.

Before he could answer your question, the sound of a motorcycle echoes through the building.

“Lyla,” Miguel said, not bothering to lift his wrist to meet the A.I.’s eyes or answer your question.

“Yes,” She asked.

“Did you call for backup,” He questioned her, partly embarrassed about the interaction.

You didn’t pay him any mind, too busy bending down and checking the doctor's pulse. He was dead. Your hit's force must have caused internal bleeding in his brain.

“Oh yeah. It’s Jess,” Lyla answered and then disappeared quickly.

You stood back up and looked over at Miguel.

“Oh, God, Miguel. You know my stomach can't take looking at this shit right now.” Jess’s face came into view via the communicator on Miguel’s wrist.

You furrowed your eyebrows curiously. Miguel huffed at his complaining partner and rubbed his forehead through his mask.

“Wasn’t me,” He simply replied.

“Oh… it's quiet. Do you want me to come up there?” Jess asked.

Miguel looked down at the doctor’s mangled face and decided this wasn’t for Jess to see. He wanted to look back at you, but you were already gone, swinging through the night. He whipped his head around the room for any sign of where you could have gone, but it was too late.

“No. I'm going to send this guy home, and then I'll be down soon,” Miguel answered.

When he reached the ground level, Jess was waiting for him outside. And so were the police.

MIA RICHARDSON

[2:57 am, Wednesday, Chicago, Universe 4655]

You thoroughly washed your hair under hot water, scrubbing shampoo into your scalp. A warm shower was what you needed—some time to relax and choose to ignore the night's events instead of adequately processing them. The smell of the fruity soaps offered you a sense of relaxation as the hot water soothed the rapidly healing bruises on your body.

While showering, you heard what sounded to be two pairs of footsteps traveling throughout your apartment building. You knew that the chances of it being a civilian were low, seeing that nobody in their right mind would ever be out this late or at night period. You could only assume the people were two weirdos that invaded your fight from earlier. Not wanting to dwell on who they may have been, you ruled them off as tourists or some crazed fans of you (mainly because of their suits).

A quiet sigh escapes your lips when you hear a loud knock at your door. You decided to finish up your shower since it was about time you got out. Being self-disciplined, you never allowed yourself a shower session longer than 20 minutes, so you weren't all too upset about having to get out. You turned off the water and slung on a robe, securing it to your body. When you answered the door, your hair was dripping wet, along with the rest of your body.

“Sorry to disturb you. We are looking for Spider-Woman,” Miguel said, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

He stood behind Jess, towering over her figure. He still wore his mask, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his whole demeanor radiating confidence. He was trying to display a sense of authority, but you were too tired to give a fuck, so to you, it had no effect. Jess stood in front of him with a small smile on her face.

You looked down at her and studied her face. She didn't seem to be a threat, and she didn’t seem nervous or outwardly trying to seem– your eyes shifted to Miguel, looking him up and down to find the right word– cool.

“Who’s asking?” You looked back at Jess.

“I'm Jess. The Spider-Woman in my universe,” She answered, and her smile grew a bit after seeing the shocked expression you had gained.

Your eyes shift back to Miguel's silent figure. The act he was trying to pull off wasn’t working. If you hadn’t seen the man fall down a flight of stairs from a level three out of ten villain, his intimidation tactics might’ve affected you. But right now, you were too tired for this shit.

“Can you not speak,” You asked him snarkily, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Miguel O’Hara.” His voice was deep and velvety, a slight accent touching his words. Just how you expected it to sound.

You diverted your eyes from him and looked back down at Jess.

“Well, my name is Mia. Nice to meet you. And nice to meet your employee, too, I guess,” You said while maintaining eye contact with Jess.

It caused the woman to laugh a bit. She extended her hand toward you, offering a handshake. Gently, you grabbed her hand and shook it, eyes moving back onto Miguel. The three of you awkwardly stood in the doorway for another twenty seconds before you couldn’t take it anymore.

“So, what do you want,” You asked, growing impatient.

Jess nudged Miguel with her elbow gently. He looked down at her momentarily before moving in front of her.

“I have a–” Miguel started, but then you cut him off, automatically knowing his offer.

“No, sorry. I don't do teams. I’ve never seen either of you around,” your eyes squint slightly, your head tilting to the side, “did you follow me here?”

Miguel paused for a second before answering plainly, “Yes.” His hand moved to his hip, his other staying idle at his side.

Jess cringed as she witnessed the awkward conversation. She was surprised that Miguel was still somewhat composed with your current attitude. However, Jess understood where your sass came from. It was late, and judging by the looks of the city she had seen so far, this lifestyle couldn't be the most luxurious and uplifting experience.

“Alright, you have a good one,” you said, “not you, though.” You pointed at Miguel.

Without letting them retaliate, you waved them off and quickly closed the door locking. By the time you heard them leave, you were already under the covers, getting the beauty sleep you had so badly needed.

#protectanattac #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #atsv #atsv oc #astv miguel #spiderman 2099 #spiderman atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #spider verse #across the spider verse #miguel ohara x oc #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n

39 notes · View notes

songmingisthighs · 3 years

Text

[4.11] mafia!wooyoung × reader

⇀ you thought he didn't care, he was sure he doesn't, he had said it so himself to you. that was, until he almost lost the chance of being able to care for you.

⇁ tw : running away, mafia life (criminal/illegal acts)

⇁ part 1 / 2 / 3

⇁ disclaimer : the author does not support any and all criminal/illegal acts. the narrative written in this story is purely fiction out of the author's imagination. the things written here does not portray real mafia life nor is the author aware of how the mafia life is like. the author is a hermit loser.

At first, Wooyoung thought you had really ran away from him. After the fight you had the previous night, how could he not ?

"All I ask is a little bit of attention! I know you could spare some for me," you exclaimed, following after Wooyoung into the home office in his mansion. Yes, his, he never once said it was yours too so you treat it as such.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes at you, "and I ask you shut that big trap you called your mouth before I shut it for you, but we can't all get what we wanted now, can we ?" He spat.

You're used to his aggressive words, it used to hurt but now the pain just comes and goes. But you're at your wit's end, he was distant when you both were first forced into engagement but he was still polite so you thought that was just the shock, but now that you're married, things got worse.

"Wooyoung," you called, leaning both of your hands on his desk aa he sit on his office chair, "it's been 8 months since we got married," he glared at you when you said that, so you sighed and change your choice of words, "since we were force into marriage... But I've been trying so hard to make this less of a chore for both of us, I don't know what else I could do! You're not even bothering to hide the fact that you hate my guts to your very core even though it wasn't my fault that we got into this! Heck, you don't even bother to acknowledge that I exist!"

Wooyoung slammed his hands down on the table, standing face to face with you, "that's right," he chuckled darkly, "I don't even bother, you know why? Because you're nothing in my life, I never ask for you, I never wanted you, you're still here because your dad's business fell through with my dad and he used you as mean of escaping because that's all you are, princess," he leaned closer to your face and spoke through gritted teeth, "a worthless burden that people toss around,"

It would've been a lie if you said that his words doesn't affect you whatsoever. Because it does.

Maybe deep down that was one of your biggest fear and having someone confirmed that made you feel sick to your stomach. You recoiled from the table, as if having been struck across your face.

Though Wooyoung had a satisfied smirk on his face, "you should know I've been planning your assasination ever since you said 'I do', I would've made it look like an accident so that my dad wouldn't be up in my ass talking about losing his insurance of control over your dad, maybe I should move the schedule up so I can get rid of you quicker,"

You stared at him for a while, not knowing that he actually hated you that much. All this time you thought it was just petty reluctance of being tied to you, but this just brought things to a whole new level.

"No..." you choked out, trying to hold back tears, "I'll take care of it myself," and with that, you ran out of his office to pack all your belongings with tears streaming down your face.

And that was the last time Wooyoung had seen you. He had heard from one of his butlers that he had seen you running around the house retrieving your things where it supposedly was earlier, you looked frantic and you hadn't even taken a second to take a break.

"And did she got out of the house today?" Wooyoung asked from his position on the couch, loosening all of the buttons on his shirt. "No, master, not that any of us know of," said butler then leaned close to Wooyoung's ears, "the cctv has been cut off, her bodyguards are dismissed, no one has tended to her nor got close to her, and I personally see to it that all windows and doors are unlocked just as you had requested,"

Wooyoung couldn't believe that he's probably a free man now, that YOU had left him so that he wouldn't be in hot water with his father.

With a glass of whiskey in his hand, he decided to look around to see whether or not you had really left while telling his maid to prepare dinner for him.

True to what he expected, he made two laps around the mansion but not once did he find you. Not even in his office with a divorce paper, as dramatic as it sound.

He finally step into his shared bedroom with you to make his final confirmation.

At first he knocked on the door, not really knowing why he did that, but when no sound came from the room he simply opened the door and walked in. He hadn't returned the night before, spending half of his night in his home office before going out with San to a bar, not realizing that it was his guilt that drove him out to drink his memory away.

Looking around the room, he couldn't really tell whether or not you had ran away. The room looked like it had been slept in the night before, he could see the spot where you laid in comparison to his side that's perfectly neat.

When he stepped into the walk-in closet, he was quite surprised at the sheer contrast to the bedroom. Your clothes thrown haphazardly, it seems like you were urgently looking for things to pack, and the more he analyze the items on the floor, the more he realized that you hadn't taken anything that was bought with his money.

But that wasn't the thing that got his attention.

It was your wedding dress that had been taken out of its garment bag, across from it, an empty bottle of wine and a box of tissues with crumpled tissues surrounding it. It looked straight out of a movie.

He walked closer to the dress and trailed a hand down it.

He remembered seeing you wear it on your wedding day. He remembered being too pissed at his father to be able to fully appreciate how ethereal you looked. He remembered how when you looked at him, he could see the redness in your eyes, indicating that you had been crying.

But over all, he remembered how his heart skipped a beat when he saw you walking closer to him. Of course, he would never admit it outwardly.

His train of thought was broken when his butler knocked on his bedroom door, "master, dinner is served," he said.

Wooyoung cleared his throat and straighten out his posture, "yes, of course, I'll be there soon," he called out.

As the footsteps of his butler fade, he carefully zip your wedding dress back into its garment bag, making sure that the dress is stored perfectly.

After that, he went to the dining room to have his dinner.

Usually, you'd be seated in your seat, across from him at the other end of the table that seats 10 people. He'd have to admit that it feels weird not seeing you smile at him after a long day of working, but he forced himself to believe that it was a good kind of weird.

Strangely, as he eat his food he felt that it doesn't match his palate, that something feels off. So he called for his head butler and asked him about it.

"Did we change cooks? Why does today's dinner taste so bland?"

His butler seemed hesitant to answer him, looking at the head maid for a bit. The middle-aged woman stepped forward from her spot, bowing slightly to avoid Wooyoung's eyes, "we did not have any change in staffs, sir, it's just that the mistress used to prepare all of your meals and considering... the circumstances, she had not prepared anything for you," she said, not even bothering to hide her bitterness that he had drove you away.

Considerably, he was shocked that you had never brought the fact up to him. But as usual, he masked his true feelings and just nod at her, continuing with his meal even though he can't seem to enjoy it.

The shock didn't stop there, though.

Over the course of the first 5 days of you leaving him, he began noticing the things that indicate your presence in his house. Or used to indicate your presence.

He never knew that you were the one who always put flowers around the mansion. He noticed this when he passed by a vase of wilting aconite. It almost broke him when he see the maids cleared all flowers, leaving an empty vase that he now associate with your absence.

He never knew that you kept tabs on food he likes and dislikes. After 3 days, he gave up on eating the food his cook made for him, firing the poor man on the spot and resorting to take outs.

He never knew that you were the one who personally arrange his wardrobe. Usually, every morning he'd find his favorite shirts or favorite sets of clothes on the front, ready for him to pick out and wear. Now that you're not here, he had to spend extra time deciding what to wear.

And lastly, he was surprised at the fact that you had never made it to your hometown.

"What do you mean she's not with her parents?" He growled at his henchmen, making them visibly scared. "W-we tried looking for her, even asking around, but no one had seen her," he explained.

All Wooyoung wanted was to hear about how you're happier without him, how you've settled back to your life without him, how he'd be assured with the fact that you leaving him was the best thing that could ever happen to you two.

Feeling that he owed this for the sake of his own closure, he ordered everyone under him to find out your whereabouts.

The desperation suffocated him, he hated the feeling.

So he ran out of his office to his garden, going to the furthest side where it is practically abandoned so that he'd be all alone to calm his mind.

What he hadn't expect to see though, was several pieces of clothes on the ground. At first he just thought that the laundry might have flown away due to the wind, but when he inspected them closer, he recognized them as yours.

"Why would these be here?" He muttered to himself as he began picking up the scattered pieces of clothes one by one. When he picked up the last piece, he noticed your suitcase by the corner of the tall wall that surround his house for protection.

The sight that made his stomach drop was a rather huge hole that could fit a person.

Wooyoung's brain put 2 and 2 together and the only reasonable conclusion made him feel like blowing up.

You had been kidnapped.

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez scenario #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #wooyoung #jung wooyoung #ateez wooyoung #ateez au #ateez story #kpop scenario #kpop imagine #kpop imagines #ateez x reader #timestamp #ateez timestamp #kpop timestamps #smt timestamp

690 notes · View notes

jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue · 3 years

Text

If you leave - bodyguard/royal au part 2

^ that counts as a request right? Angst below, I don’t know what fluff is anymore but I think there’s a sprinkle of it somewhere... I think.

Prev | Next

————————————————————————————————————————

“Baby let’s dance.”

If you closed your eyes you could almost imagine it was Jimin’s voice, but you don’t want to think about him now, that’s not why you’re here in blinding lights and deafening music, you want to forget, you need to forget.

“Not with you,” you say to the man that approached you, walking away to the bar for another drink. Stupid fool didnt realise he unlocked another memory of them, you’d need something more in your system to get it out.

But when you closed your eyes you could see him, reaching out his hands to you, eyes disappearing with how much he was smiling. “Dance with me princess.”

Memories that made you feel warmth now bought you so much pain, since that day you both felt hollow and as if there was a heavy weight on your chest, you didn’t know how to explain it. It just hurt, and you thought it would get better with time but it didn’t. It got worse.

So you didn’t mind the hands on your body when you danced into the night, you didn’t mind the hangovers in the morning, the pain in your head dulling the ache in your heart just a little.

You feel arms wrap around you from behind as you take another swing of your drink. Whoever he was he felt muscular, tall, but you don’t care. It isn’t until he rests his chin on the top of your head you realise he feels like Jungkook and your heart beats back to life again. You close your eyes and let them hold you, pretending for a second that it was your Kookie, that he’d move to rest his head on your shoulder when you ignored him like he always did, squeezing you harder, pouting until he got your attention. You let yourself dream for a second, even though you knew when the illusion shattered the black hole in your chest would expand tenfold. Like it always did when you let yourself pretend.

You could feel tears start to form in the corner of your eyes, you couldn’t do this, the man behind you must’ve felt your discomfort because he suddenly backed away. You hear a ruckus behind you but you don’t give a shit, he’s not Kookie, he’s not any one of the men that can make this go away.

You’re about to take another sip of your drink until you feel the weight of a hand wrapped firmly around your wrist. You know that hand, your eyes are fixed on it, your breathing becomes shallow and rapid as your gaze follows the hand to the body it’s connected to.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” What’s he doing here, he’s the one that decided to leave you, why does he care what happens to you?

You don’t know if you’re refusing to speak or if you can’t with how much his presence has put you in a daze, you can see the way his jaw is clenched the way it always did when you tested his patience. Good, let him be angry, let him feel a little of what you were.

He pulls you to stand and follow him, grip unrelenting and pace unforgiving. You try to get out of his hold but Joon pissed was a different force of nature, you wonder what he was doing in a place like this.

It isn’t until you’re outside you see Yoongi standing with his back to the car, they’re both in uniform, they must’ve been on their new job when they found you. You pretend that doesn’t sting, you don’t care it’s their job how dare they replace you when you felt their absence each and every day.

“You’re not my bodyguard anymore Namjoon, let me go,” you’re quiet but you’re seething.

He slams you back against the car, the only feeling coursing through his system was rage and it mixed with every other emotion he was feeling at this moment; worry, guilt, his heart breaking.

“Where the hell are your bodyguards Y/n?” When he finds them he’s going to put a fist in their faces repeatedly for letting you get into this state.

“Don’t have any,” you’re smiling now but it’s unnerving, it’s fake and it’s nothing he has ever seen before on your face.

“What do you mean you don’t have any?” Yoongi sounds calm, but that’s how you know he’s as angry as Namjoon.

“Why the hell do you both care? You left me,” it shouldnt sting the way it does when the words are out of your mouth, but it somehow manages to hit all three of you.

“Princess, answer the question.” Why does your heart hurt more when Yoongi calls you that? Why does it feel like he’s taking your breath away and suffocating you with his calm demeanour, like he really doesn’t care even though his words should prove otherwise.

“I’m not your burden anymore, so leave me alone,” you glare at them both with all the strength you had left, feeling your body shake from the cold and the anger seeping under your skin. “I dismissed my bodyguards but that’s none of your concern.”

“You did what?” Namjoon is trying to control his rage but your words are causing it to grow. “How could you be so stupid? Do you have any idea the amount of danger you’re putting yourself in? Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep you safe and you’re throwing all our effort in our faces by being so fucking reckless!”

You always hated it when he told you off, you could feel the tears start to form again and Namjoon watched as your doe eyes looked up at him with the anger fading and the hurt revealing it’s way through. Shit, he was too harsh, but you were being an absolute idiot. All of them have been worried sick since they left you, unable to perform the best at their job, they all agreed after you no more long standing positions, so they only did small security gigs or transferring a client for a day. They missed you so much and here you were throwing yourself into every danger like a big ‘fuck you’.

“Why did you leave me?” Your voice is so small and the sheer hurt in it caused his anger to drop out of his body. Yoongi had to look away, he hated it when you cried, they all did.

They didn’t feel like they could hold you the way they used to, so much had changed, and yet all the feelings were the same.

“Princess we had to go,” he tries to explain. “We couldn’t keep you safe because of how much we lo- w-we cared about y-”

“No Joonie if you cared about me, you wouldn’t have left!” You were so angry and upset you were crying but you still yelled your words, you needed them to hear you and you’d make sure they did. “I thought I meant more to you than just a charge but you proved me wrong the day you walked out, because if you cared about me you’d fight to keep me safe, but you didn’t.”

You don’t care if you’re a sobbing mess in front of them now, you don’t care if you look weak, they had to feel what they did to you, see the consequences of their desicion.

Namjoon can’t say a word, how does he explains to you the guilt he felt that day, the only rational choice was to leave you in the hands of someone who could protect you the way he had failed. You came above all else, he couldn’t trust himself to keep you safe anymore.

“Do you know how hard it was for us to go,” it’s Yoongi that finds his voice. “We didn’t want to leave you Princess, we didn’t feel like we had a choice.”

“Bullshit!” You contended. “There’s always a choice and you made yours.”

You hug yourself to keep yourself together because in front of them both you can feel yourself begin to shatter.

“You left me when I needed you the most, and I won’t forgive you for it.”

If you tore into their chests and ripped out their hearts it would’ve hurt less. Yoongi sighs in defeat.

“Okay Y/n,” Namjoon could feel his eyes go red with the way he’s holding back his own tears, he and Yoongi were not ones to cry but he can’t miss the telltale glistening in the older man’s eyes, and how they mirrored his own with regret. “Let’s just get you home.”

“No I haven’t had enough to drink,” you move off the car and try to make your way back but there’s a strong hand holding you back by your arm.

“I think you’ve had plenty to drink,” Yoongi says while opening the backseat door.

How do you tell them you needed more so you’d black out tonight, otherwise your dreams would be filled with them.

——————————————————————————

The ride was quiet, no one wanted to say a word. The only break from silence was when Namjoon called Jin to ask him to meet you all at your place with a medical kit and you insisting it was not necessary.

They didn’t listen, but what was new?

It’s not Jin that meets the car running, but the youngest of your ex bodyguards with Jimin very close behind.

“Princess?” Jimin couldn’t believe your state, you looked like a mess. He helped you out of the car swallowing his own emotions.

Jungkook stared at you with his big eyes in shock, and you wanted the ground to swallow you up. You couldn’t meet his eyes, you could see a his own concoction of emotions swirl in them like a cocktail from the glimpse you got. Disbelief, anger, sadness, his Princess looked so broken.

When the decision was made to leave Jungkook was the one to fight it, he was the one that tried to convince the others it wasn’t a good idea, that you needed them and they needed you. He looked at Namjoon with so much anger but that could wait, he needed to make sure your were okay first.

He strides his way to you, picking you up like the Princess you were when you struggled to stand and carried you to the house.

“Kookie I can walk,” you mumble, but you felt so warm in his arms, you didn’t want him to let you go. You missed him so much, you missed them all.

“What the hell happened?” Jimin’s voice when he was angry was nothing like his usual tone, his voice became deeper and lost its musical ring.

Yoongi waved him off, starting to get a headache from the whole thing, “later.”

They take you to your bedroom where your life was turned upside down, Jin, Tae and Hobi were waiting for you there. They must’ve tidied up, you left the place in a tip.

Jungkook doesn’t place you on the bed, he sits on there instead not letting you out of his arms. The glare he sends the others is very clear, try to take her off me.

You’re starting to feel drained, the earlier screaming match completely wore you out, and you were feeling the effects of sleep deprivation. You don’t even realise how you’re leaning into Jungkook, but the position is familiar, like a key in a lock, and you can feel yourself drifting.

“Princess we need you to stay awake just a little longer okay?” Tae crouches down to meet your eyes, you can see the sadness in them even though he’s keeping a straight face. He can’t help but reach his palm out to feel your flushed cheeks, he wants to tell you he’s missed you, that they were all lost without you, but he knows it would hurt you more than they already had.

“Tae I’m tired,” you whine a little, the defences dropping now your body felt safe, your brain couldn’t catch up with the fact that you were still angry with them, you could almost pretend the last few months didn’t happen.

“Let her sleep, we’ve put her through enough,” Hobi sounded so serious from where he was watching you, back leaning against the wall, arms crossed like a teacher waiting for the class to settle. When Hobi was angry it scared you the most. Tae nodded at his hyungs words, offering you a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes before moving away.

“First take these Princess,” Jin holds two pills in his palm and a glass of water, he brings them both to your lips, gently coaxing you to swallow. He wipes away the little spill you made down the side of your mouth, letting his fingers linger there for a second. He hasn’t been this close to you for so long, he doesn’t want to move away, but he does.

You nuzzle closer to the body holding you, clutching onto his shirt as you finally succumb to sleep. You can feel a cheek pressed against the top of your head, a promise written in the way he holds you tighter against him, but you were too far gone to decipher the words in the warmth of his arms, so you let your dreams take you instead.

688 notes · View notes

juniorgman187 · 3 years

Text

Any Day Now (Reid Fic)

A/N: Plz imagine being impregnated by season 10 Spencer Reid. WHEWW CHILE

Summary: Reader’s pregnancy finally takes its toll on her, leaving both Spencer and Reader to navigate through rough waters from miles away. Category: Fluff, Soft-soft-soft angst, One-Shot Pairing: (POV)Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Content Warning: Pregnancy Word Count: 3.2k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

At first, it was nothing I couldn’t handle.

Multiplied mood swings? Understandable, her hormones were everywhere.

An ever-changing appetite? Great, at least now it wasn’t such a hassle for her to decide where to eat.

A suddenly much tighter FBI vest? Well, that’s what the adjustable velcro straps were for.

Again, nothing that I hadn’t already planned for. Even before I delved into parenting books galore, I had a pretty good general idea of what to expect. Not only because of JJ’s earlier pregnancy or Kate’s recent one, but more so because of my extensive knowledge of the human anatomy. This made riding the storm of (y/n)’s pregnancy easier ... until it didn’t.

It was somewhere in her 35th week that things finally got the best of her.

There was a linear increase of events that suggested things were taking a turn for the worse, so I slightly anticipated a steep decline to occur at any moment. For instance, soon after (y/n) started showing, I began to lose count of how many times I had to insert my hand between her seatbelt and her bump to create a gap just big enough so that the belt wouldn’t have such a suffocating restriction on her. Nor could I fully account for all the hours of sleep she’d lost tossing and turning, just trying to find a comfortable position where she wouldn’t be crushed by her own weight. And I certainly couldn’t remember, not even with my eidetic memory, how many times she’s almost walked out of the house completely barefoot after getting frustrated with her inability to put shoes on by herself.

In some sad way, I knew she wished to regain some normalcy in her life. Not that she regretted motherhood, but that she wished she didn’t have to experience so many small inconveniences that summed up to something larger than the life she was helping come into fruition.

She just wanted to drink coffee again without running the risk of a miscarriage. She wanted to climb up a flight of stairs without getting winded by the first few steps. She wanted to put on a tight shirt without looking exceptionally overweight. And most of all, she just wanted to keep working.

If she had to go to hell and back to stay in the BAU while pregnant, then to hell and back she went.

My wife, as stubborn as ever, had made me - and the entire team - promise not to baby her as soon as we revealed that we were expecting.

“I don’t want any of that ‘but you’re pregnant’ crap, got it?” She narrowed her eyes darkly at all of us, pointing an accusatory finger. “Anything you can do, I can do pregnant.”

And from that day on, she did what she vowed to do, what I knew she could do. She still chased after unsubs, shot all the bad guys, arrested the felons, but eventually - inevitably - it wore down on her.

The easiest effect I could identify was her drowsiness. It used to take her a while to fall asleep on the jet, and sometimes, she’d stay awake the entire flight. But after the grueling hours she’d endured during her pregnancy, we would barely board the plane before she knocked out. I think falling asleep in the seats gave her the comfort she couldn’t find lying horizontally in a bed. No one said anything, though, because she’d already made it explicitly clear that she didn’t want us to pay her any special treatment, which I understood. Nobody likes to be pitied, but after today’s incident, this went far beyond pity.

It was just plain concern.

“The doctor said I’ll be fine.” She grumbled, waving me away with a flick of her hand. However, seeing as she was currently lying in a hospital bed, donning a gown that only partially hid from me all the wires and pads that stuck to her body to monitor her health and relay it to the machines - she wasn’t fine. And I needed her to know that I wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was the team. (I didn’t tell her this because she would’ve quite literally took my head off, but they were all out there in the waiting room instead of working on the case).

“Emphasis on the future tense ‘will.’ You will be fine, but right now, you’re not.” I prepared myself to deliver the news I knew she didn’t want to hear. My voice became significantly quieter, reaching such a low decibel I wasn’t sure she’d even hear it, but maybe that was by design. She didn’t want to hear it as much as I hated to say it. “Maybe you should consider going on maternity leave now.”

Immediately, my wife shook her head with the biggest pout I’d ever seen. I could see it in the way her lip quivered that she was about to cry, no doubt because of the hormones, but especially because this job was her last piece of normality. She clung to it because it was all she had left to remind herself that she was still, in some capacity, the woman she was before.

“Spencer, please.” She begged, as if I could do anything. “I’m not ready to leave yet.”

I pursed my lips and looked away for a second to hide my own emotions. Seeing her cry was never easy, but being the cause for it made this even harder. I felt the formation of a lump in my throat and the pricking of tears in my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I croaked. “But I can’t let you keep risking your health,” I explained, neglecting to voice the final part of that sentence. ‘Or our baby’s.’ But I didn’t say that. How could I? It would’ve only guilted her further.

“Your blood pressure’s getting higher,” I explained, keeping my eyes steady on hers, not letting them stray to the machine that she clearly didn’t know how to read. But with one glance at the numbers, I already knew they weren’t good. I didn’t lead on just how bad they were, though. “You fainted today, and if you’d landed even a little bit differently, you would’ve ended up with a lot more than just a few scratches on your stomach.” That was the extent of my guilt-tripping. It didn’t feel right coming out of my mouth, but it was the only way I knew she would understand the severity of the situation.

“You were already planning on going on maternity leave next week, what’s a few days earlier?” I asked, briefly referring back to her obstetrician’s recommendation of not flying after her 36th week.

We both agreed that after week 36, she’d take her leave of absence since she couldn’t join us on the jet anyway. It was our ‘compromise.’ If she insisted on still going in the field, then she had to listen to the doctor’s orders and not fly for the last month.

“Spencer,” She whispered again, this time with tears running down her cheeks at the bat of her eyes. With the pad of my thumb, I gently wiped them away, wishing I’d never caused them to be there in the first place. “I can’t do this anymore.”

She never let on how difficult things had become for her. She never said it’s too much (and it must be too much some of the time). So when she finally admitted the burden her pregnancy had created, I could already sense its arrival. So without a second wasted, I pulled the guest chair right up next to her bed and sat in it while reaching for her hand. Despite the presence of the pulse oximetry on her index finger, I still took her hand between both of my own, not minding the gap that the device created.

“You are the strongest woman I know. There aren’t many pregnant women out there who can do what you’ve done these past eight months. They wouldn’t even think of it.” We shared a brief laugh, which lightened the atmosphere enough to encourage me to continue. “You are bearing our child, (y/n). Nobody else gets to do that. Not me. Not another girl. Just you. It’s only you who can truly give for our baby right now and you’re -you’re my girl ... and right now, I need you to take care of our girl, okay?”

She nodded rapidly with still glistening eyes. For the first time, that day, she stopped thinking her job was as an agent and started knowing her job was as a mother.

And a damn good one at that.

_ _ _

If there was anything I’d learned over the past years, it was that I should never expect my wife to follow the rules. Today was no exception.

She should’ve been in bed right now, taking it easy, but instead, she was standing right beside the jet, saying goodbye to each and every one of us before we boarded.

This would be our first flight without her.

“You take care, mama, okay?” Morgan told her, kissing her cheek before waving goodbye.

“I’m gonna miss you so much.” Kate sighed, engulfing (y/n) in a hug that I knew couldn’t have been comfortable with each of their bumps in the way, but they relished in it anyway. If I didn’t know any better, it looked like Kate was about to cry. Maybe that’s because their dynamic was different than any other. Their simultaneous pregnancies meant that they knew one another’s struggles far better than any of us could, so granted, it would be hard for Kate and (y/n) to be away from each other. They’d been in this journey together after all, in a way I couldn’t have been.

“Oh,” JJ sighed happily, taking (y/n) in her arms and swaying gently from side to side. “You are going to be the best mother ever.”

“Said the best mother ever.” (Y/n) remarked, laughing bittersweetly. It was something in her smile that let me know it was just for show.

Then, in one of the rarest moments of history, Hotch hugged (y/n), earning a slightly more real smile from her.

“Get some rest. You deserve it.” He whispered.

Not even a second after they pulled away did Rossi wait to take (y/n)’s face in his hands and plant two kisses, one on either cheek.

“If you need anything, you call us.” He ordered, mimicking a drill sergeant.

And though, I wasn’t ready, I found myself making my way to her, getting ready for one of the hardest goodbyes.

She wrapped her arms around my torso and let her head press against my heart. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do this without you.”

For the first time that night, she wasn’t faking a smile or putting on a face. I knew when she was saying goodbye that she was only laughing and grinning for everyone else, but underneath it all, she was experiencing a great sadness that no one else could understand. Everyone was just as excited as we were for this baby, if for no other reason than I was finally going to have a family of my own. That I’d finally found the people who were going to be there for me forever. And maybe it was that knowledge, the knowledge of how happy this baby made others, was the reason she never let it show just how hard it was for her. Otherwise, it’d ruin the fantasy. And so she wore happiness like a mask to hide the profound pain that would’ve wounded our spirits.

“Hey, I’m not leaving you forever,” I whispered somberly, hugging her a little tighter. “And if anything happens, I’m just a phone call away.” As much as I tried to believe my words, neither of us could find the truth in it. Even I knew I wasn’t just a phone call away. I’d be miles and miles and miles away from two of the best things that have ever happened from me.

She inhaled sharply and pulled away from me, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the hope that I hadn’t already seen them. “I should probably let you go now.” She laughed lightly.

Our bodies parted, but I had yet to let go of her hand. I shook it up and down gently as I told her, “I love you.”

She shook my hand back in just the same manner. “We love you, too.”

A smile crept onto my face after the immediate realization of what she meant.

My girls.

At last, when I walked up the steps to the jet, I finally let go of her hand at the last moment possible, and even after we released hands, our arms stayed outstretched for a passing second as the distance between them got further and further. With the warmth of her hand leaving mine vacantly cold, I watched as she replaced it on the very top of her stomach, as if to say, “We’ll be okay.”

_ _ _

“Reid?”

I refocused my vision to Morgan who was calling my name. From the look on his face, I realized he probably tried to get my attention multiple times before this.

“Sorry, what did you say?” I shook my head to clear my mind, but it didn’t work. A part of me was still in another world, lingering in thought.

My mind would never shut up about her, but it seemed like today, it was firing all these things at me at 2x speed. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact event that I felt guilty for, but really - take your pick. It could’ve been anything, it could’ve been everything.

It could’ve been the fact that I was here and she wasn’t. It could’ve been the fact that in those last moments I saw her, I realized just how strong she was being this entire time, and how I was asking her to be even stronger, as if the weight of the world wasn’t enough. It could’ve been the realization that she was struggling this entire time, but never asked for help, thinking that she’d be a burden - the very thing she made us promise not to let her be. That is the reason after all, that she told us not to let her pregnancy be an excuse for anything. Because if she didn’t contribute anything, then she’d be holding us back - she’d be dead weight. I knew that, and yet, what did I do?

Nothing. I walked away and boarded that fucking jet like a brainless idiot.

I should’ve stayed with her.

Morgan’s eyes turned to slits while he tossed the manila folder onto the table, seemingly setting it aside so it wouldn’t be a distraction from his question. “What’s going on, man?”

I shrugged, pretending not to know exactly what he was talking about. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just zoned out, that’s all.”

Clearly exasperated, he said, “Come on, man. Don’t do that. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Whether it was defeat or a sweet surrender, I tucked my hands in my pockets and let my head hang low, eyes glued to the ground. Unexpectedly, I was sniffling and wiping my nose before I could register that tears were already coming. “I’m just worried about her.”

It felt stupid to admit, especially considering I saw her only 8 hours, 37 minutes, and 12 seconds ago. But the absence of her and our baby was growing more and more apparent with every passing moment I spent in this office without her. Usually, she would be here to keep me company, bothering me while I located the comfort zone - not that she ever really did bother me. I quite liked her presence.

Sometimes, when I was left alone, the room would get too quiet, and it’d just be me and my thoughts. And maybe she knew how scared of my own mind I was when it wandered, so she never let me be alone with it - never let the room get too quiet. She would talk and talk and talk, and I could never get tired of listening. Her voice was like white noise. If she was here, things would be as they always were. I would be standing at the map, and she’d no doubt be sitting in a chair, rubbing gentle circles around her protruding stomach as I felt her watching me intently.

“Found it.” I would say, drawing a big red circle around the zone.

To which she would say, “You’re a genius.”

Sure, I’ve been called ‘genius’ a million times before, but it never felt the same as when she said it.

Morgan could see the invisible pain in my chest, and he pulled me in by my shoulder to wrap his arm around me. It might not have looked like it, but it was the most reassuring hug he could’ve given me. I can’t explain it, but it felt like (y/n)’s warmth and love had possessed his body and he was radiating it now.

“I know it’s scary, man, and honestly, we all wish we could be with her right now. But trust me when I tell you she’s not alone.” He treaded carefully with his words, and I could tell there was something he wasn’t saying but that wanted me to figure out.

I didn’t even have to verbalize my question because soon enough, when Morgan pulled back, his phone began to ring.

“It’s Garcia.” He told me, though he didn’t answer the call, which was weird enough. But then he gestured to the computer on the table, and so I half-heartedly watched as the screen changed from the blue background to a video call with Garcia.

And who else would be sitting beside her but my wife?

“Look who I’ve got with me!” Garcia squealed, clapping her hands together excitedly.

“You’re supposed to be on bedrest.” I playfully scolded her.

“I was! I was, I promise. But after I said goodbye to you guys, I went home and got four hours of sleep, and then I went to my doctors appointment, but then when I was driving home, I thought why would I go back there when I’ve got everything I need right here?” She motioned around Garcia’s lair, even lifting up a hospital-go bag that Penelope no doubt compiled just for her. If there was anyone I trusted to take good care of her, it was Garcia.

Like I said before, I learned to expect (y/n) not to follow the rules. So naturally, she found a way to still work even on maternity leave.

At this point, the rest of the team neatly filed into the room, erupting in cheers of excitement at the sight of (y/n) in the bat cave.

“Is everything okay?” JJ worriedly asked.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine! Baby looks good, my blood pressure’s getting better, so we’re doing okay.” She smiled proudly, and so did I. That was her first appointment on her own, and though it couldn’t have been easy, especially this late in her term, she did it anyway. Because that’s my girl.

“When are you due, again?” Kate asked (y/n), earning an enthusiastic, “Doctor says if she’s on time, New Year’s Eve!”

It never failed to make me smile whenever she brought up her due date. She was always excited to proclaim that our daughter might be brought into the world at the exact time we brought in the new year.

“But if I’m early, it could be any day now.” She explained.

Here’s where I had to cut in. “Hopefully not any day now! I don’t wanna miss it.”

“You won’t!” She promised through a wide grin.

Something else you should know about my girl? She always keeps her promises.

And on January 1, at exactly 12:00 - just as promised - I had the privilege of watching (y/n) deliver a healthy 6 pound and 9 ounce baby girl.

The weight of my whole world.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Can you tell I love it when someone says “my girl”? I think that’s my favorite pet name ever.

taglist: @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny

click here if you want to be added to a taglist!

#spencer reid #spencer reid pregnant #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #juniorgman187 #any day now

475 notes · View notes

spooderboyandtincan · 3 years

Text

You're Gonna Miss Me When I'm Gone

Chapter 2

There’s a spider on the ceiling.

Peter can barely make out its eight gangly legs through a blur of tears. He feels some sort of bond with it- not only because of the DNA they share- but because they’re both alone. Then again, the spider has probably spent its entire life in this room, and Peter’s only been here- on a whole different continent- for a good couple of hours.

Maybe it’s just the jet lag. According to literally anyone who’s known him at all- he gets adorably grumpy when he hasn’t gotten his beauty sleep (Tony’s words, not his.)

Who does he think he’s kidding? He’s homesick, he’s alone, and he really, really misses Tony. Misses him as in the his heart is literally being torn apart sort of missing. He wishes he’d considered how his severe separation anxiety might play a part in this when he’d still had a choice.

Peter chokes on a whine- the one that forces its way out of his throat until he’s full on sobbing and gasping for breath.

He scrambles for his phone on the nightstand. He needs Tony, he needs him, like a fish needs water. He fumbles with the lock screen and desperately taps on Tony’s icon (a picture of Tony holding a proudly displaying a mug that reads “Number 1 Iron Dad.”) It rings once, twice-

“Pete? How’s it going, kiddie?” Tony’s voice, so gentle, so full of love and concern- he already knows something’s wrong, of course, because his Dad Senses are off the charts- makes the tear in his heart rip open.

“Tony,” he sobs. “Tony. I don’t- I can’t, I can’t do this. I wanna go home, Tony.”

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay Petey, breathe for me okay?” He can hear, just barely over his sobs, that Tony is pacing, can hear that his breathing is just a bit too fast, and Peter feels awful for freaking him out, but just can’t stop crying.

“‘M so sorry,” he wails, “‘M so sorry. I-I wanna go home, I want you Tony.” He grasps his pillow tightly and buries his face in it, trying to stifle his sobs, pretending that Tony is there, wrapping his arms around him, kissing his hair, rocking them back and forth.

“I know, baby, I know,” Tony croons, “Everything’s gonna be okay, we’re okay. Right now I just need you to take a deep breath, buddy- in, two-three, out, two-three, okay?” Tony demonstrates for him, taking exaggerated inhales and exhales, which are probably benefiting him as much as they are Peter. “You’ve got this, Pete, I know you do.”

“I miss you, Tony,” Peter whispers after a few seconds of shaky breathing. “I wanna go home.” He feels so immature, begging Tony to fly across the Atlantic in the dead of night just because he’s a little homesick.

Tony, however, seems to consider his request very seriously. “Do you want me to fly out? I could be there in a few hours.”

Peter almost laughs, imagining Tony arriving to the hotel at daybreak, dressed only in sweatpants and a stained AC/DC t-shirt. It’s actually not a bad idea- Tony could act as a chaperone, they could explore the city together, make another precious memory.

“Yeah, um, that-that would be great, Tony,” he sniffs, wiping the wetness of his cheeks. “A-are you sure? I don’t wanna, like, make you, there’s probably Iron, um, Iron Man things, I don’t-”

“Pete, listen to me,” Tony interrupts, voice again so impossibly gentle. “Nothing- nothing- is more important to me than you, understand? I’m here for you. Always”

Peter smiles wetly, relaxing back into the covers, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I know. Tony?”

“Yeah, bud?

“Can-can you, um, talk? Please?”

“‘Course I can, Pete. What about?” Tony says fondly. The idea that his voice can bring such comfort to this sweet kid makes him feel all… schmoopy.

“Anything. I just… wanna hear your voice, s’all.” He tugs the covers up and curls into a ball, resting the phone on the pillow next to his ear.

“I’ve got you, bud,” Tony says. I miss you too. “Oh, you’ve gotta know what DUM-E did today….”

Peter feels himself relaxing as Tony talks about his day. It’s not just the words that soothe him, but the familiar sound of his warm voice that’s full of such love and affection. His thoughts begin to wander as he drifts into a barely conscious haze, but the voice remains steady and present in his mind.

Tony is quick to notice that Peter is on the precipice of slumber and wakefulness, and is just as quick to provide the last bit of reassurance Peter needs to fall asleep. “Sweet dreams, buddy. I love you,” he murmurs.

Just before Peter slips away, he finds himself slurring, “Love you too.”

Tony stays on the call for a solid ten minutes after Peter conks out, listening to the steady whoosh of his breathing against the speaker. Before he finally makes himself hang up, he whispers a quiet, “‘Night, Petey. I’ll be there before you know it.” Tony leaves for the airport at daybreak, not able to spend another second in that horribly empty penthouse. The absence of Peter’s presence is tremendously obvious, and Tony finds himself desperately trying not to imagine the unimaginable.

~~~~~

With a pilot on-call 24-7, and without the hassles of a public airport, he’ll be back with Peter around early afternoon.

Thank god.

He steps out of the Cadillac, barely noticing the blistering wind and the tiny snowflakes biting at his cheeks in his haste to board the plane. He greets the pilot- Allison, he thinks- with a nod, but she gestures to stop when he moves towards the stairs.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark!” she says over the howling wind. “We just can’t fly in this weather!”

To hell with that, Tony thinks. “When’s it letting up?”

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Stark,” Allison says apologetically. “Not for a few days at least.”

Tony activates the suit with a simple tap of his watch, the nanobots rushing over him within seconds. Allison gasps and jumps back, gaping as he rockets into the air.

He’s been flying for a good 50 seconds before a neon red warning lights up the HUD.

“Boss,” F.R.I.D.A.Y says, tone filled with caution. “The wind is blowing at a speed of 78 mph. I must advise that you return to the ground immediately, or you run the risk of losing control of the suit.”

Tony curses loudly. Just his luck, really. “How high is the risk?”

“89%, boss.”

“So, not all that bad,” he chuckles.

Then, F.R.I.D.A.Y reminds him how devastated Peter would be if anything happened to him.

Tony returns to his car on foot and pulls out his phone to call Peter.

~~~~~

Peter basks in the sunlight outside of a bustling café, sipping from a cup of hot chocolate. He’s ordered a chocolate croissant, and added the tasteless protein powder Tony and Bruce had synthesized to keep up with his spidey metabolism to his mug. Despite the jet lag, he’s eager to explore the city and it’s merits, his enthusiasm only growing knowing that Tony will be here within a few hours.

Feeling pleasantly full, Peter leans back in his chair- it’s an armchair, on a stool, and it’s driving him nuts, he loves it- and beams at Ned, who lounges next to him in an identical chair. “Dude,” he says.

“Dude,” Ned agrees.

Peter is grinning, Ned is grinning, the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, life is sweet-

Peter’s phone rings.

His first thought is that Tony’s plane has crashed.

His second is one of relief when he realizes it’s Tony who’s calling him.

His third is that his plane has crashed, and Tony’s calling him, mortally wounded, to say goodbye.

Ned stares at him, taking in the panicked look on his face, and mouths You good? Peter shakes his head and scrabbles for his phone.

“Pete?” Tony says as soon as he’s answered. He sounds fine, at least. “Hiya.”

“Are you okay?” Peter asks first, because he knows that even if Tony sounds like he’s fine, that doesn’t mean he is.

“Yeah. Yeah, Petey, I’m just fine, I promise,” Tony assures him. Peter relaxes in his chair, flashing Ned a quick thumbs up, because knows Tony would never lie to him, especially not if he was hurt. “How’re you doin’?”

Peter’s face lights up. “Oh, great! There are like, dogs everywhere here, even in the restaurants, and I saw this German Shepherd eating like- dog ice cream or something? And I got this super good chocolate croissant where we’re having breakfast. Y’know, I really thought the jet lag would be super bad but I’m not like, tired at all yet!”

“Aw, buddy, that’s great, I’m glad you’re havin’ a good time,” Tony says, voice dripping with fondness. “You’re drinking enough water, staying hydrated and all that, right?”

“Yup! Are you?”

Tony scoffs. “‘Course I am. Hafta set a good example n’ shi- stuff.” Peter snorts. He knows Tony does his best not to curse around his- and he quotes- “young, unsullied ears" but he ends up failing quite a lot.

“Which reminds me bud, how’s Ted?” Peter’s best friend’s health has pretty much no correlation with cursing, which makes the teen think that Tony has a specific reason for asking about him. He decides not to bring it up though.

“It’s Ned,” he sighs in mock frustration. And he’s good, he’s right next to me! I guess I didn’t tell you yesterday, but the hotel guy put us into two different rooms ‘cause they had extra or something and we didn’t realize ‘til we got to our rooms.” He sighs again then, for real, his good mood evaporating.

Tony’s Dad Senses pick up on it instantaneously. “Not ideal, huh?” he says gently, which earns him a small laugh from the kid. “D’you want me to talk to them?”

Peter nods sheepishly, then realizes Tony can’t see him. “Yeah. Thank you,” he says in a small voice, embarrassed that the genius is going to all this trouble just because he’s a little lonely. “Are you gonna be here soon?” he asks then, because he misses Tony, misses him just like he knows Tony is missing him.

Tony clears his throat. When he speaks, the guilt in his voice could rip him in half. “About that, buddy, well- Jesus, Pete, I’m so sorry. The, uh, the wind is too dangerous for me to fly over, and it’s not letting up ‘til around Monday. I’m so sorry, kiddo.”

Peter’s heart sinks. “Oh,” he says numbly.

He hears Tony lurch up. “Hey, Petey- shit, I’m so sorry, buddy. I- you know what, fuck it, I’ll fly over anyway, I-”

“No! No, I’m okay, I’m fine!” Peter says, wincing silently at the forced cheeriness in his voice, and knowing that Tony has seen right through.

“Hey, hey, buddy, it’s okay, I’ll be perfectly safe-”

“You can’t,” Peter pleads, desperate to keep Tony safe. “Please, Tony, you can’t, you’ll crash, or-”

“Whoa, Petey, deep breaths,” Tony interrupts, voice gentle. “I’m right here, I’m fine, you hear me?” He waits for Peter’s breathing to resume a steady rate, then says, “Bub, I won’t fly over if it’s not safe, I promise.”

Peter sighs. He’s relieved beyond belief that Tony is keeping both feet on the ground where he’ll be safe- he better be- but he misses the billionaire more than ever.

“And hey, who knows, maybe the wind’ll let up in a few hours!” Tony chuckles. Sobering a little, he says, “If the weather is on schedule, I’ll be there on Monday, 6 am, sharp.”

Peter prays he will. “I miss you, Tony,” he mumbles- he feels childish, knowing that he’s just begged the man to stay in New York, and now is just making him more miserable knowing that he’s miserable.

“I miss you too, Petey,” the genius murmurs back, voice filled with sorrow.

“Peter!” The phone nearly flies out of Peter’s hand as Mr. Harrington taps on his shoulder. He gasps a little, and though his teacher doesn’t seem to notice, Tony sure does, his gentle voice turning harsh with barley contained panic. “Who was that, Pete? Are you okay?”

“Um-” he tries.

“Come on, now! The bus is almost here, I can see it around the corner!” Mr. Harrington says loudly, and abruptly struts off, frantically waving down the bus that is already stopping.

“Peter!” Tony exclaims.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, it was just Mr. Harrington,” he rushes to reassure him. Tony breathes out a heavy sigh of relief. “Uh, the bus is here, I- I have to go.” He hurries to catch up with his best friend.

“I love you,” Tony says. “I love you so much, Pete, stay out of trouble, be safe.”

He doesn’t want to say goodbye. Neither of them do.

“I love you, Tony,” says Peter. “I’ll be safe, don’t worry about me!”

And with that, the call ends.

#wip #chapter 2 #peter parker #tony stark #protective tony stark #worried tony stark #anxious peter parker #irondad #spiderson #roger harrington #ned leeds #anxiety #anxious thoughts #spider-man #iron man #st*rkers dni

125 notes · View notes

dameronology · 3 years

Text

asystole {obi-wan kenobi x reader}

summary: ‘the trouble is the way you stick, to any part of me that remains in tact/but if i pull the plug, it isn’t only me i’m holding back’ - asystole, hayley williams (a.k.a ‘the one where you’re the bane of obi-wan’s life, even as a force ghost’)

warnings: mentions of death, swearing, angst, and me not having a single fucking clue how force ghosts work

this was originally based on a random idea i had and also encouragement from kara/@hellotherekenobi who requested a prompt that i completely forgot to include but...we move. also, i would highly highly recommend listening to the above song just because it’s a real tear jerker and i lOVE it

enjoy

- jazz

Loss, for Obi-Wan, was not a stranger. It was an old acquaintance, constantly lingering beside him -- not quite there, but not gone either. He could always feel its presence, a constant and painful reminder of everyone he’d lost. He could probably count them all one hand but that didn’t make it any better. Loss was loss, whether it were two people or ten. Even if his grief had stopped and started with the passing of his master all those years ago, it was still something he felt in its wholeness and in its entirety. Because that’s all Obi-Wan could do: feel. It was everything or nothing. Zero percent or one hundred.

And with you, he wished it were nothing. He wished that your sudden absence from his life was something he didn’t have to feel in every fibre of his being. It was hard enough to acknowledge and even more painful to comprehend. You were the one person he’d always just assumed would be there forever. How foolish it now seemed, he was very much aware. Everybody died -- Qui-Gon Jinn was a testament to that; as was Satine Kryze and quite literally every other person in the galaxy who’d had the pleasure of being reminded of their mortality. It was just that this was...it was you. You weren’t immortal by any means but maker, you had acted like it. The way you went about life with an air of recklessness and discontent for the rules, making even the hardest of missions into an adventure. His life had been a thousand times better since you’d come running - nay, stumbling - into it. You’d blown his entire world to bits and pieced it back together with tiny, intricate bits of yours. Filled it with chaos and laughter and a light he hadn’t felt since the days of his youth.

Perhaps most importantly, you’d looked after one another. He would stay by your side 24/7 to make sure you kept your head screwed on your shoulders, and you would pester him to drink water and remember to eat. He would remind you when you had important missions and meetings, and in return, you’d proof-read his paper work. He remembered the first time he’d fallen asleep beside you, to wake up with a blanket wrapped around him and his boots pulled off. It was so clear in his head because it was the first time someone had ever done anything for him without asking. It became something you did often, and though he never said it, it was something he kept so close to his heart.

Obi-Wan wasn’t a fool. He knew you weren’t going to be around forever - he just didn’t realise that not forever was going to be a whole lot sooner that he’d anticipated. He used to make jokes about how your recklessness would one day lead to your demise. The idea of it made him feel sick now. He’d been right the entire time. He didn’t want it to be real.

None of it felt real. The whole conversation he’d had with Mace Windu about you not making it felt like a distant nightmare, something he’d tried so hard to wake up from, only to find that he was wide awake the entire fucking time. Night terrors were bad, but reality was arguably worse.

It didn’t feel right at first, to see your chambers still filled with your stuff and your lightsaber still resting on your nightstand. Obi had been the one to put it there when you’d been taken to the infirmary, thinking you would have asked for it when you woke up - but you didn’t. It went hand-in-hand with the robes he’d hung up on your door and the get well soon, moron card he’d brought you.

Then, they emptied your room. Took your clothes and your books and every other worldly possession you had. Your name was removed from the door to your quarters and added to the list of Jedi who had died in combat on the stone in the Temple gardens. Aside from that, any sign that you had ever walked the halls or burst into council meetings at the last minute was gone. You lived on only in his memories, your lopsided smile ingrained into his mind and contagious laugh echoing constantly in his brain.

Throwing himself into work was the only option for Obi-Wan. He already took on a thousand things at once, but without you to help bare the weight, it became a million. If he was busy, he didn’t have time to think -- about you, or how fucking fragile everything was, or about all the ways he could have saved you. You’d slipped through his fingers, even when he’d be holding on so tightly. It wasn’t his fault. It was just...life.

A few weeks passed, and Obi-Wan continued to push himself. Everybody noticed it -- how suddenly busy he was, how quiet he’d become, how tired he looks. Blue eyes had grown exhausted with grief and regret, strawberry blonde hair becoming longer and unrulier than was characteristic for him. When you’d died, you’d taken a tiny piece of him with you. An important part. Maybe that part had been you.

It was on a cold Tuesday evening that he heard the four words. Sat out on the balcony of his quarters, watching Coruscant and life pass by in a blur ahead of him, a tangle of traffic and noise and a million sounds that he couldn’t quite decipher. The sky was a navy blue, cast with the tiny little glints and dots of distant planets. All worlds that you’d once promised to explore

‘You look like shit.’

He thought he’d imagined it at first. In fact, it wouldn’t have been the first time in the last few weeks that the sound of your voice in his head had felt clear enough to be real. Imagining things - hallucinations and echoes of the long gone - was simply part of the grieving process. A process he’d gone through countless times before.

The sudden appearance of you in the corner of his eye jolted him like an electric shock. Perhaps not that far off of the emotional equivalent of being hit by a bus. Or a light freighter. Or...all of those things at once.

You were ethereal. When he’d last seen you, you’d been...tired. Now, you were smiling and radiating some sort of energy that could only be described as quintessentially you. There was not a chance in hell that a grief-induced hallucination could be so life-like, so crystal clear. Plus, why would he have imagined you like this, slightly transparent and with a blue glow surrounding you? A fitting colour for your final form, he figured.

‘Shocked to see me?’ Your drawl continued. ‘Because if you think you’re shocked, let me tell you. One second I was napping and the next I was a fucking Force ghost. Could you imagine?’

Obi-Wan smiled softly. ‘I don’t think I could.’

‘I can float through walls, though.’ You grinned. ‘How cool is that?’

‘It’s...that’s very cool.’ He replied. ‘I don’t suppose you can hug Force ghosts?’

Obi-Wan reached his palm out towards you - slowly but surely, as though he were scared you were going to fade away all over again if he touched you. You mimicked his actions, faded blue fingertips just moments away from his. When they finally touched, they didn’t. You felt nothing. He felt a rush of cold, as though somebody had poured a bucket of cold water over him.

He didn’t fully understand the concept of Force ghosts. Studied them, sure. Understood them? Not quite. There weren’t enough Jedi texts in the galaxy to fully capture the complexity of what made somebody come back. Often, they were linked to acts of heroism, or stemming from action taken when the person was still alive. That didn’t seem like you though. You weren’t the sort of person to try to fiddle with jinxes and hijinkery that would allow you to come back once you were dead - at least not purposefully. There was certainly every chance you did it accidentally.

‘Guess not.’ You murmured. ‘Sorry ‘bout that.’

The icy feeling only grew closer as you took a seat beside him. It was funny, because he thought that if he’d had the chance to reunite with you, that it would have been more emotional than this. Something filled with more feeling and grandeur. Instead, you’d just appeared, and acted as though you’d never been gone in the first place. Obi-Wan preferred it that way.

‘I’ve missed you.’ He continued to stare blankly ahead.

When you died, there were a thousand things he’d come up with that he’d wished he’d said. They ranged from comments about the weather to grand declarations of...how much you meant to him. All things he would never dare say to your face, and that’s probably why he came up with them. Because he would never get the chance to say them. And now, here you were, right beside him, and he had a second opportunity to get that closure -- but the words didn’t quite come. They stayed on the tip of his tongue, there, but not quite there. Even if this wasn’t quite the version of you that he imagined himself telling them to, it was still undeniably you.

‘I should hope so.’ You tried to nudge him with your elbow, but it was just another icy jab. ‘I would say that I missed you too, but I don’t know where I’ve been.’

‘What happened between then and now?’ Obi asked. ‘Between that and this?’

‘Okay, first of all - you can say my death. Coming up with a thousand other words for it won’t undo it.’ You said. ‘And...I don’t know. I just remember blaster fire, then some darkness, and then I was here.’

‘Did it hurt?’

‘Well it didn’t tickle.’ You replied ‘It was quick, if that’s any comfort.’

‘I suppose it is.’ He murmured.

‘You’re being uncharacteristically quiet.’ You observed. ‘I can go away if you want. I’m not sure how this whole thing works but if you want me to leave, I can go and scare Dex-’

‘- that’s the last thing I want.’ He cut you off. ‘I just..I’ve spent the last few weeks trying not to acknowledge that you’re truly gone and it’s a little hard to do that when you’re quite literally a ghost.’

‘I’m not really gone though, am I?’ You said. ‘I’m still here. Not as I’d like to be, but I’m here.’

‘So as long as you’re around to irritate me and make snide comments, you’re here.’ He smiled. ‘Whether that’s in the flesh or...in the blue.’

‘I’m sorry it happened.’ You gently sighed. ‘Not sorry that I died for the greater good but sorry it was so..sudden.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ He wanted to reach across, to take your hand in his or run it down your arm - but he couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with another rush of cold in place of what used to be warm flesh. ‘It was still undeniably your most half-witted decision to date but you saved a lot of people, so I won’t hold it against you.’

‘Oh, how kind.’ You snorted. ‘I bet you’ve secretly enjoyed the peace and quiet, Kenobi.’

‘I miss it already.’

Obi-Wan woke up the next morning, still on the balcony. The air was cold -- as evidenced by his violent shivers -- and the sky had changed from navy, to a turquoise-tainted pink. The city below was moderately quiet, signalling that it was still pretty early. The only sounds were coming from traffic in the distance and the occasional whoosh of a passing jet in the sky above. He stayed like that for a moment, azure eyes clouded with some kind of apprehension as he watched the clouds slowly pass, not a care in the world for the fact it was fucking freezing.

Last night had been real, even if there was no sign of your presence. Actually, that wasn’t quite true -- the robes he’d discarded before your appearance had been thrown over him like a blanket. They did little to protect him from the cold air, but it was a confirmation that you had been there. He wasn’t sure when you’d left - or how - but he was the only one on the balcony.

There were a lot of questions floating about in his head. Why were you only turning up now after weeks? Why had you materialised by him? Why were you here at all? You were finally free, free to do literally whatever you wanted, and you’d wound up by his side. There were millions and millions of places in the galaxy and somehow, his balcony was the one where you’d wanted to be.

After showering and shaving, Obi-Wan found himself heading towards the classroom of the best Jedi he knew: Yoda. If anyone was going to know anything about Force ghosts, it was him. He’d have to make sure not to let slip exactly what he was talking about - your relationship with him was far more attached than the code allowed, after all - in a more general sense, he must have had something to offer. It wasn’t the kind of thing they taught in Jedi training. If anything, it was the opposite. The lesson was don’t become attached enough to someone so that they haunt you! - and it was one at which he’d failed quite miserably.

‘Master Kenobi.’ Yoda sat in the middle of the classroom, meditating. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who it was. ‘Of assistance, may I be?’

‘Good morning.’ Obi-Wan greeted him with a bow. ‘I have some questions, and I was hoping you might be able to help me.’

‘Do go on. Help, I might be able to.’

‘Right.’ He cleared his throat, awkwardly taking a seat beside him. ‘What do you know about Force ghosts?’

‘Lots. Specific, you must be.’

‘Say you had a dear friend, and they died.’ He began. ‘Then they came back a little while as a Force ghost.’

‘Come back, they don’t.’ Yoda opened one eye, glancing over at him. ‘Never gone, they were. The Force takes time to manifest.’

‘So...the ghost version of them is still them?’

‘Very much so.’ He said. ‘Why, there are many reasons. Many Jedi study for a long time to materialise as ghosts after passing.’

‘What if they didn’t?’

‘Then unfinished business, they have.’ He replied. ‘When a Jedi dies, their Force connections do too. If they are left unbroken, exist as a ghost they will.’

Well, that explained it.

‘Right.’ He murmured. ‘Last question, I promise - how long does that connection usually last?’

‘Months to years, it may be.’ He explained. ‘On their unfinished business, the connection depends.’

‘That makes sense.’ Obi-Wan nodded. ‘Thank you, Master Yoda.’

The little green creature simply nodded in response, turning his attention back to his meditation. He didn’t ask questions -- what was the point? He’d been around hundreds of years, and dealt with hundreds of similar things in that time. Truth be told, he didn’t have all the answers. He was just good at acting like it.

Obi-Wan pondered on the conversation for the rest of the day.

There were a lot of things that could have constituted your unfinished business. The list was endless, especially given how suddenly you’d passed. Nobody knew you better than Obi-Wan, but even he struggled to decipher it. You weren’t the sort of person who would hang around for no good reason. It had to be something important -- something so pressing that you quite literally couldn’t pass away in its entirety without dealing with it. Part of him was worried that he didn’t know at all; you were always sneaking about, always doing something that you shouldn’t have been. That left a long list of possibilities.

But Yoda had directly mentioned Force connections, right? Maybe he’d meant it in a general way, but Obi would have been a complete dumb-ass to think that the Jedi didn’t know what was going on. If the situation didn’t tell him, his seeming ability to know everything about everyone certainly would have. You were the only person he could have possibly been talking about.

It was something he knew he had to bring up, and so he made the mental promise to himself. The best time would have been that night, when he saw you again. If he saw you again. He trusted you to return. You knew better now than to disappear forever without saying goodbye.

And he’d been right. That evening, after he’d exchanged goodbyes with Anakin, Obi-Wan found himself wandering out to the balcony. Sure enough, you were leant against the railings, back turned to him as you peered down at the city below. The air was cold again -- maybe because it was Winter, but also maybe because of you -- and the harsh winds blew back your hair. He wanted to reach out and feel it, to feel you, but he couldn’t. A man whose love language was physical touch was sure to suffer when the person he wanted most was a fucking entity.

‘You’re late.’ You glanced over your shoulder at him. ‘Don’t your meetings normally end at six?’

‘Anakin wanted to talk about something.’ He replied. ‘So is this your life now? Waiting for me to come home?’

You snorted. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been at the diner all day moving stuff around to confuse Dex.’

‘That’s mean.’

‘And what would you do if you were a Force ghost?’

Wait for you. Follow you.

‘Explore.’ He lied, leaning against the balcony beside you. ‘I spoke to Yoda today about...this.’

‘Mmm?’

‘He said that people who usually come back either purposefully prepared for it when they were still alive.’

‘Or?’

‘How do you know there’s an or?’

‘Because I sometimes struggled to turn on my lightsaber. You think I’m skilled enough to do this shit on purpose, Kenobi?’

‘You’re…’ brilliantly intelligent, easily the smartest person I know, ‘...clever. Don’t put yourself down.’

‘Just cut to the point.’

‘Right.’ Obi-Wan cleared his throat. ‘He said that, or that they had unfinished business. Force connections still strong enough to keep them here.’

‘So, you and me?’

‘What?’

‘Our Force connection.’ You said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘You do know what we have one, right?’

‘I...I figured we were always just...close.’

‘No, you dipshit.’ You shook your head with a laugh. ‘They can develop between best friends. It’s a little rare, but we’re both so strong with the Force that it just happens naturally.’

‘That makes sense.’ he turned to look out at the city. ‘I didn’t really have a best friend before you.’

You looked over at him, a smile playing on your lips. ‘Yeah, me neither.’

Obi-Wan quickly fell into a routine, post-you. Not post-you completely, because he still saw you every evening, but that had helped push him towards the transition. He adjusted to only seeing you after work - not in the mornings or during the day or every waking second like it used to be. Nothing was how it used to be. Not even close. You were no longer beside him during meets or climbing into bed next to him when you had nightmares. There were no more missions with you or late nights filled with paperwork and laughter.

That was the problem.

You were here, but you weren’t really. The ghost he saw every night had your eyes and your laugh and your personality, but it wasn’t really you. Obi-Wan couldn’t touch you; he couldn’t feel you in the same way he used to. It was like having a conversation with a figment of his imagination -- conversations of false hope and plans that would never come to fruition. Because you could banter and you could laugh and you act like things weren’t completely fucking different, but they were. You were a ghost. A ghost of yourself, a ghost of the past, a ghost of what used to be.

It had helped the pain at first. Eased the dread of knowing that you weren’t ever going to be back, not properly. Obi-Wan had appreciated that. It made grieving a lot easier when you were technically still there to tease and jester him through the process. Knowing that his friendship was the reason you couldn’t fully let go of existing had both made it better and worse. Better, because it meant you cared for him as deeply as he did for you. Worse, because it was so open-ended. At what point would you be satisfied enough to finally let go? Would he get to say goodbye, or would you just be here forever?

That was the problem, Obi-Wan had come to find.

He was hopelessly in love with you - though that much was obvious - and he couldn’t deal with only having some of you. He wanted all of you, or he wanted none of you. Only being able to talk to a blue apparition of you just wasn’t enough. It was just a constant reminder that the person he loved most in the universe was gone, and that he’d never fully have you. He was kicking himself for that one. What if he’d said something to you when you were still alive? Declared his love for when he could still physically reach out to you?

That was the thought plaguing his mind every night. With you beside him, a cold aura radiating towards him as you sat with your legs hugged to your chest. It had been a few weeks since your first appearance, and your nights together ranged from deep conversations to comfortable silence. The latter was always worse, because Obi-Wan constantly found himself teetering on the edge of saying something. It was hard, because despite everything, he found you to be more enchanting and peaceful than ever. More entrancing.

‘Can I tell you something?’ He asked.

‘Sure thing.’ You peered over at him. ‘You look worried. Is it serious?’

He paused for a moment. ‘Depends how you take it, I suppose.’

‘Try me.’

‘There are…’ he faltered again. ‘There are some things I regret not telling you when you were still here.’

‘I am here.’ You reminded him.

‘No, I know that.’ He found himself unable to look at you. ‘I mean when you were here here.’

‘What’s the difference, Obi?’

‘Remember when you used to come to my bedroom at 2AM because you’d had a bad dream?’ He asked. ‘Or when you’d throw yourself into my arms after we’d been separated on long missions?’

‘Yeah.’

He absent-mindedly reached a hand out towards you; it went straight through you, a rush of cold shooting down his arm. ‘I can’t do that anymore.’

‘You can still talk to me.’ You urged. ‘You can still be with me-’

‘- not in the way I want.’ Not in the way I need.

‘What do you mean?’ You gently pushed.

‘You don’t need me to explain it.’ He finally looked at you, blue eyes shrouded with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher.

‘Obi-Wan, what do you think has been keeping me here?’ You asked.

You knew. Of course you fucking knew. Try as he might to be mysterious and suave, but you could read him like a book -- and it was a shock to you that he hadn’t seen your feelings either. They were clear as day to both of you, and yet it had been easier to ignore them for the sake of your friendship, and for the sake of the code. You both always figured that you could deal with them at a later date, because that’s when you’d had a later.

‘Just say it.’ You murmured. ‘Say that you love me too and I’ll go-’

‘- I don’t want you to go.’ He cut you off. ‘Because then you’re gone forever.’

‘And then you can move on.’ You smiled. Neither of you knew that ghosts could cry until now.

This was the closest he would ever get to having you now. He could have just sucked it up and dealt with it, and kept you by his side in your ominous form - but would that have been fair on you? To keep you around, just because he was so full of regret over things unsaid and so full of fear over grieving? None of this was fair, on him or on you.

‘I can’t say it.’ Obi-Wan murmured. ‘Not yet.’

‘It’s okay.’ You gave him a watery smile. ‘I know.’

Neither of you said anything else - maybe you didn’t want to, or maybe you were scared to. The fact you’d finally acknowledged the bantha in the room after years, finally admitting that love had been the driving force behind what made your friendship so good, for so long. The irony was that when you’d died, he’d wanted nothing more than for you to come back in some form. Now, he realised that it was holding him back from moving on -- and he couldn’t do that until he’d let you go. But he couldn’t do that either.

Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, his words had been a confession. Albeit a thinly veiled one, but a confession nonetheless. It had confirmed to you the only thing you’d wanted to know before you’d passed: that he loved you back. That was all you needed. It was all you’d ever needed.

Eventually, the Jedi beside you grew sleepy. That’s how it usually went every night -- you’d talk, he’d fall asleep beside you, and you’d cover him with a blanket and slip out to wherever it was that Force ghosts went at night. He never asked, for fear of it ruining the mystery. Obi-Wan knew that he wasn’t the only person you saw, but it was a nice thought, and one he didn’t want to taint. At least you took more mercy on him than you did with Dex, who slowly thought he was going insane at all the random objects suddenly being moved around.

When you heard him gently snoring, you stood up. Obi-Wan looked peaceful, as though he’d finally gotten something of his chest - even though he hadn’t realised he’d done it. He hadn’t realised that it had been enough.

You leant down beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. For the first time since you’d appeared, you could finally feel his skin against yours - no cold jolts, no body parts suddenly disappearing through the other. Just your lips against his; warm and...human.

‘Good night, Obi-Wan.’ You ran a hand through his hair, before standing up and stepping back. ‘I love you. I’ll always love you.’

He felt it. He was asleep, but he felt your lips on his and your hand in his hair, and he’d secretly smiled to himself, not entirely realising what was going on. He’d thought it was a dream, or that he was simply imagining that you could finally touch him as though you were a human, and no longer a cold, blue ghost.

Because you weren’t. You were no longer a ghost.

Obi-Wan didn’t realise till he rose the next morning, a blanket tossed over him and the feeling of your lips still lingering on his, even hours later. He even dared to smile for a moment, before the knowledge of what he’d done hit him. He’d given you what you wanted - an unintentional confession of love. The thing you needed to finally cut off your Force connection. The only thing still tethering you to this world.

You were gone, but at least he’d finally gotten what he wanted. You. Even if it was only for a few moments.

286 notes · View notes

supremeinlilac · 3 years

Text

Don’t ask me what could have been

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2037

Warnings: Death, angst, idk its just a lil bit sad

A/n: I challenged myself to write a fic without dialogue, because my writing is super descriptive anyway, so I enjoyed writing this so much, you have no idea, even though it’s sad. Enjoyyy :))

For @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @shineestark I love you and you deserve the stars <33

Your death had been an accident.

Wrong place, wrong time. An unsettled ghost that you’d simply gotten too close to. Curiosity had indeed killed the cat after all, and now it had taken you too.

It was the first and last time Billie had requested you join her on a job, to watch her work. You’d eagerly accepted, excited to watch her work, slightly nervous about it being your first real experience with ghosts of any kind. She’d let you explore the giant house while she spoke with who she believed to be the problematic ghost, one of a small child.

It was in the bedroom you’d met the real ghost but he’d looked and sounded so real that you’d mistaken him for someone alive. His timidness soon turned to anger once he realised you weren’t there to held him, and you couldn’t even blurt out that Billie was just downstairs and that she could help. Everything happened so quickly. Too quickly.

Your last words were the whispers of her name but she had been too far away to have heard them. You’d slipped away without a goodbye. You still yearned for that goodbye, everyday you’d find the whispers of her name falling from your lips unconsciously, as if begging for her to hear you.

She couldn’t have helped. It didn’t help to ponder over what if’s.

Even so, you knew the memories of that day consumed her still. When she would wake from bouts of fitful sleep she’d reach out across the sheets for your comforting hand, your warmth, only to be met with none. She pined for your embrace, the way you’d coo her nightmares away with gentle kisses and your nails against her scalp.

The first smoking break she’d take at work, when the dew still clung to the delicately swaying grass and the mist of the morning had not yet cleared, she’d remember the way the droplets of tears would slip down the crease of your smile as your laughter rippled through your body.

Billie Dean couldn’t wear her pearls anymore. She couldn’t have them lay so close to her heart without the memory of you always sitting upon her lap, twirling them between delicate fingers and pressing a lingering kiss to her collarbone. Just as you always did when she wore them, which was why she wore them so often. She never got the chance to admit that to you. She wished she did.

They now lay untouched in a box beside the last book you’d been reading, unfinished. There was so much more of it you had yet to read. So much more life you had yet to experience.

When she’d open your wardrobe to the fading smell of your clothes, press a bunched up top in her fingers and bring it to her nose. Imagining that you were there, giggling and teasing about that specific habit, asking why she insisted on doing that when she had the real thing.

Had.

The past tense reminded her cruelly that you weren’t hers anymore. Weren’t anyone’s. Just weren’t.

No one was holding you, soothing you, making you laugh or stopping the flow of your tears. She ached to be able to hold you again. For one more time she would trade all her fame and success, didn’t care how cliché that sounded, because for you she would.

There were times she’d shrug on an outfit for a meal with her colleagues, turning as if to seek approval from you before her smile would faulter and her shoulders sag, and she’d have to fight herself to enjoy the meal in your absence. Her fingers pressing against her purse, and the knowing that your smiling photo lay just within. A photo she’d taken when you’d been unaware, that she’d kept to brush over and admire the way your cheeks would redden and crinkle, a silent laugh beaming over your face.

When she’d visit the house, you’d watch her from a distance. You didn’t trust yourself to be close to her. To be allowed to smell her, the lingering musk of her cigarettes and the sweet tang of her perfume.

She’d talk to you, telling you about her show and about celebrities she’d met on her travels and at events. You’d smile at her theatrics, the way she’d catch herself waving her hands around dramatically while in the throng of one of her stories.

She never spoke about meeting anyone. Not that you needed to be told that she wasn’t interested in dating. You could tell she’d thrown herself into her work to ease the insistent pain. The loss. You were proud of her.

On this particular day, the atmosphere was different. Eerie. You watched as she crossed the threshold into the property, hand lingering on the door a second too long. The other ghosts could sense it too, the change, and they scattered into the far corners of the house, leaving you alone with the woman who now ascended the stairs toward the bedroom she always zeroed in on, fingers tracing the wallpaper and cracked frames that hung.

You knew why she’d come. Knew why this time it felt so different. So final.

The thought of her leaving for good made your throat close up, sobs catching as you forced yourself to be stronger. To savour these fleeting moments in her presence as if they were to be your last. It was cruel to think that they would be.

In the bedroom she sat on the edge of the bed, as always, lips parting to hold a cigarette between teeth while she lit it with trembling hands. Oh how you wanted nothing more than to still them between your own, to comfort her.

You didn’t. Settling for simply watching her inhale deeply, the flickering trail of smoke that danced out of the crack in her mouth, dissipating into the air. You watched her lean to the side table to snub out the orange ember, fizzling out against the cool ash tray.

Approaching her, you knelt at her feet, the position you’d so often adopt when she’d had a trying day at work, head in her lap and fingers clutching at her pants while she’d stroke at your hair and relax. Your proximity to her felt so natural, like coming home. She felt like home.

She could smell your lingering perfume, as fresh as the day you’d died, enveloping her in your familiarity. Could feel the warmth of your breath against her neck, fingers reaching to brush over the goosebumps left. She swore if she just reached out, that she’d feel the curve of your jaw, a hand coming to rest upon hers as she’d caress your face.

She did, and her fingers curled around nothing, so she did it again, willing you to appear with the frantic clenching of her hand as if the more she did it the more likely you were to be. When her attempts bore no fruit, she let her arm drop limply to her side, a finality.

A small, sad smile painted her lips, and she suddenly looked so small and broken, like a child lost in the bustle of a crowd. Alone.

You wanted to reach for her too, to press the pads of your fingers against those lips, to tug at the edges and hold her until the smile was true again. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, an invisible string holding you back from her, one which you couldn’t sever.

You loved her.

You couldn’t, and wouldn’t shackle her to this house while she was alive, to you. You loved her more than the selfish desire that swarmed inside you to just appear to her and tell her to stay. You knew she would.

It was the best for her if she believed you weren’t here, so that the grief would slowly thaw and she’d be able to find peace. Move on. Maybe find someone else. Maybe.

Billie Dean Howard. Medium to the stars.

God how you wished that the stars in her eyes would sparkle like they did when you were alive, and not just with the sheen of unshed tears.

Billie Dean Howard was the stars. She was the stars and the moon and the sun, the universe painted perfectly in silk and cigarettes. The stars would fling themselves to the ground for her, bowing in her presence.

Scrambling to your feet and out of her way when Billie had stood, she walked to the wall at the far end of the room, her back to you and you wondered what she was doing. She’d never done this on any of her other visits. You didn’t have to wait long to find out why.

You heard the whispered goodbye, bit back the tears that threatened to fall at the finality of it all. Watched her rest her forehead against the cool wall, as she so often used to do to you, fingers pressed into the wallpaper as if she wanted nothing more than to be sucked into the very walls of the house, to be trapped just as you were.

Billie turned around, looking straight at you as if you were as clear and bright as the sun, before reaching into the bag on her shoulder. The shimmer of her pearls held up against the low light of the room. She’d brought them to you. She knew you were still here, watching. She knew what you were sacrificing for her freedom to leave and live and exist outside these walls.

You smiled. She was leaving a piece of her to you, a piece of you both to tie and strengthen the bond you shared, even in death. The faint clatter of the beads on the chest of drawers had you following her movements again, hands hovering over the line of her shoulder blades through the top she was wearing.

When Billie finally turned around, this was the closest you’d been to each other since your death. There was no way she could know your were there. Yet here she was, reaching up and cradling the air that would have been your face if you’d just let her in, as if you were as real as herself. As if she could see you, touch you.

As quickly as she’d turned, she was lowering her hands and gathering her things off the bed. She did it slowly, meticulously, as if rushing was breaking some unspoken rule. Unfortunately, she could only slow her movements so much, only put off her inevitable departure for so long.

You weren’t sure why, it wasn’t as if Billie was drawing any comfort from being in the room in which you’d died. You could see the pained way she’d glance at the spot she’d found you, the spot in which she’d curled herself into your body and cried for help to no one. The spot in which she’d learned how fragile life was, how quickly and cruelly it could be snatched from under someone.

You didn’t follow when she’d given a last fleeting look around the room, her footsteps echoed against the wood as she walked back toward the stairs to leave. Instead holding onto the image of her face in your mind, committing it to memory as the stairs creaked with her weight.

Out of the bay window, you could see the final sway of her hips, swish of her hair, golden now against the setting sun. She didn’t turn back to give one more pleading glance towards the house. You think that if she had done, she wouldn’t have been able to bring herself to leave.

You hoped that maybe, when the time came, Billie would return to you to die, wrinkled hands still holding the same warmth and gentleness that they always did for you. You hoped she’d remember the way your lips felt against her own, the way your bodies moulded perfectly as if designed for the very purpose of being close. You begged that she’d be drawn back in the final days, so that you could be together again, as you should be.

But for now, this was your goodbye. The goodbye you’d been robbed of.

taglist : @pearplate @billiedeansbottom @pluied-ete @extraordinarilycelestrial @toujours-ensanglante@mssallymckenna @okpaulson @magnificent-paulsonn @shineestark @commanderspeach @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @amethyst-bitch @its-soph-xx @germansarechill @bluesxrgnt ,if you want to be added just send me an ask :))

#sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #american horror story #ahs murder house

183 notes · View notes

itshalza · 3 years

Text

“I’m a Monster”

Just a Foolish and Puffy Family Dynamic Hurt/Comfort fic. Comes directly after Foolish’s second lore stream in canon. Cross-posted from AO3

Characters: Captain Puffy, Foolish, Awesamdude, Ponk (mentioned), BadBoyHalo (mentioned), HannahxxRose (mentioned)

!! Content Warning: just a hurt/comfort fic, light angst, spoilers for Foolish’s latest lore stream

Summary: After the conflict with the Eggpire, Foolish struggles with his feelings and memories of his past and Puffy talks him out of it.

Puffy was walking up the prime path towards the community house, heading to Foolish’s summer home to give him some of the gold she had collected while on her latest mining trip. To be completely honest, she didn’t really have a use for it, and her son needed it for his build, so she was happy to give it to him. That’s when she noticed an extremely nervous Sam exit the community portal.

“Sam?” Puffy asked, causing the creeper hybrid to jump. Puffy’s voice softened only slightly at his reaction. “What’s got you all worked up?”

Sam cleared his throat, stumbling over his words. How would he explain this to her? There’s no way that Puffy would take kindly to him saying that he was scared by her son. “Um, it’s nothing. It’s definitely nothing,” He said quickly, moving to walk past her.

Puffy sighed, grabbing his shoulder to stop him from leaving. It was definitely something. “Sam?” she said sternly, like she would scold a child.

Sam groaned. “Listen, you aren’t gonna like this, but Foolish did some freaky stuff at the temple and I do not have the time or energy to process how much that scared me, okay? I have to go help Han-” he started, speaking fast and nervously once again.

“What do you mean ‘freaky stuff?’” Puffy asked.

“The man can summon lightning! He practically smited Bad, Ant, and Ponk right in front of me because they-”

“Wait, wait, wait! What were Bad and the others doing there?” Puffy asked, concern growing in her voice.

Sam shrugged slightly. “I don’t know, apparently Ponk threatened Foolish or something and-”

“Did you know about this?” She asked, growing angry. Did Sam know about this and not tell her?

“No, Puffy! Of course not!” Sam said, growing increasingly exasperated with how long this conversation was taking. He began to walk off, turning around to talk to her. “Listen I don’t exactly know what happened, but your son is really strange and slightly terrifying, okay? I have to go. I have to find Hannah. I have to make sure she’s okay. I have-”

“Sam?” Puffy called, setting aside her anger for a moment. He stopped talking and moving, looking up at her. “Good luck.” She said gently. Sam nodded before taking off.

Puffy stopped for a moment, trying to comprehend Sam’s words before she realized that she had places to be. She had to get to Foolish, and if Sam was telling the truth, she had to move with some urgency. She navigated through the Nether, trying to hurry through the harsh terrain as fast and as safely as possible. She needed to get to her son as soon as possible, but if she fell into the lava below the bridge, that defeated her sense of her urgency.

Once she exited the Nether through the Portal that led to Foolish’s summer home, she instantly knew something was wrong. The hair on her arms stood on end like there was a static electric charge in the air. There was also a strong smell of gunpowder and smoke. In fact, there was still some smoke hanging in the air.

And then it hit her. There was a sudden absence of the large, towering statue of Ra that normally stands out over the landscape. Why did it take her so long to notice it? Now there was only a pile of rubble where the statue once stood.

As she moved closer, the static electricity grew stronger. The hair on her head began to stand on end. She smoothed it down with a quick gesture. Looking down at the path, she noticed a large scorch mark in the cobblestone path along with a large fissure in the path. This definitely confused her. Nothing she knew of could have caused such a fissure. It definitely wasn’t from TNT. She pressed on, making sure to not get any of the ash on her boots.

Puffy looked over the statue once more before heading towards the Temple. She figured that’s where he would be if he was even still here. She also noticed the absence of her son’s cat, Nefrekitty. The cat usually found its way to Puffy and rubbed against her legs as she headed into the temple, but she assumed that the cat was comforting Foolish at the moment rather than waiting for visitors.

She entered the large entrance of the temple, looking around for a moment to take in its grandiosity. It took her breath away every time visited. She could never begin to comprehend how long it took Foolish to build all of this. It was exquisitely crafted. The sandstone was carved with such precision that she would have assumed it was the work of a machine, but she had seen her adopted son carve the stone with his own two hands.

Her eyes were drawn into the center of the room, where usually a beacon shined brightly in the middle of a pile of riches mortals could only dream about obtaining in a lifetime. Instead, the beacon was shut off, and the totem sat with his knees pulled into his chest, sobbing quietly.

Puffy saw red instantly. What did Sam do to him? Who made him this upset? She would get to the bottom of this no matter what she had to do.

But then she took a deep breath… getting angry wouldn’t fix anything. In fact, it would probably only upset Foolish more to see her that upset. She took a few centering breaths before approaching him quietly.

She opened her mouth to speak but paused, realizing she had no idea how to approach the situation. She didn’t even know what happened! How was she supposed to help him when she didn’t know what she was helping him with?!

Puffy figured that her son was unaware of her presence, but that obviously proved to be false as he reacted to her hesitation.

“Let me guess, you’re scared of me too?” He asked, his tone bitter. Much more bitter than he had ever spoken to Puffy before. It was almost like he realized how harsh his tone was, as only a second later he started crying harder. He gripped his knees tighter, not able to do much other than cry.

Puffy tensed up slightly. She didn’t even know where this came from. Was this her fault?

No, now wasn’t the time for that train of thought. She could self reflect later; she needed to help comfort her son. That was her job, and she needed to do it right this time because maybe, just maybe she can stop Foolish from going down a similar path to her other son.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, wrapping her arms around his trembling frame. He reacted almost instantly, hugging her tightly and crying into her shoulder. She rubbed his back lightly, trying to comprehend the amount of emotion he was displaying. She’d never even seen Foolish cry since he was much younger, let alone full out sob like this.

“I would never be scared of you Foolish,” She said softly. She gripped him a little tighter, as if punctuating her sentence. “I could never be-” she started again before he pulled away. He scurried backwards away from her, not looking his mother in the eyes.

“You don’t know what I did! You don’t know what I’ve done!” He yelled. He held his head in his hands, choking back a sob. “I thought I moved on; I thought I changed. I’m not like that anymore.”

“Foolish-” Puffy started, a slight scold to her tone. She figured he was being dramatic. She had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

“I’m a monster, Puffy!” He shouted in between sobs. He gripped his hair in his fingers, pulling on it lightly. “I thought I moved on from my past, but today I was right back there. Today there was a flicker of who I used to be and I-” He started, getting cut off by another cry erupting from his throat.

Puffy was absolutely frozen. She had no idea how to react to this. “Foolish?” She started, her tone much softer this time. The totem looked up slightly, sniffling softly. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” She asked. There was no way she would be able to help him if she didn’t know what was happening.

Foolish took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself enough to speak to her. He wiped the tears from his cheeks, sniffling before getting to explaining the events of the day.

“Well, Ponk, Bad, and Ant came over to harass me about that stupid egg again. I tried to ignore it for so long but it just came back with a vengeance. They kept putting TNT in my builds and threatening to blow it up. And then they came while Sam was visiting and-” He started before getting visibly upset again. Tears fell from his eyes once more.

Puffy leaned forward, putting her hand on his shoulder gently. He looked up at her, being greeted by a soft smile. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to Fool,” She said, using her nickname for him, “I just figured it might be beneficial to get this off your chest.”

Foolish nodded slightly. Deep down he knew she was right, but he didn’t want to tell her at all. What would happen if she found out what he did and was scared of him? Rightfully, she should be scared of him, but the last thing he wanted was for his own Papa Puffy to be scared of him. Because then who else would he have on the server… other than Junior of course.

“They blew up the statue, and-” he started, pausing when his breathing hitched, although his voice stronger than before, “ and they killed my cat and they kept threatening me and-”

He stopped, contemplating if he really wanted to tell Puffy this.

“And?” She ushered gently.

“And then I just got so mad. I was so angry and upset and I-” he started, choking on his words. “I struck them with lightning.”

Puffy didn’t outwardly react knowing that would elicit a negative response from Foolish, but that surprised her. Foolish was generally a pacifist, letting his words fight his battles.

“I just got so mad and I didn’t mean to, I promise. I didn’t mean to do it, Papa, I promise.” He sputtered out, just now looking up at her. His emerald eyes pleaded for her to say anything.

Puffy grabbed his hand gently, but Foolish pulled it away, He didn’t want to hurt her. She was really all he had left. He didn’t want to make her leave too.

“I know you didn’t mean to, Fool.”

“It was an accident. I know they aren’t bad people. They don’t have control over their actions, but I just got so mad and it just happened and then Sam, he-”

“What did Sam do?” Puffy asked, tensing up just enough to be noticeable.

“He was so scared, Puffy. He ran off without saying anything but I knew. He thinks I’m a monster. And I am! Bad, Ant, and Ponk aren’t perfect but they didn’t deserve that!” He said, his voice growing increasingly upset as he rambled on.

“Hey, hey, hey.” she said softly. She reached for his shoulder again, but he lunged forward and pulled her into a hug. Puffy instinctively wrapped her arms around him once again, letting him cry softly into her shoulder.

“Foolish, you are not a monster. You weren’t then, you aren’t now, and you never will be, okay? You didn’t mean to hurt them; it was out of emotion and that’s okay sometimes.” She said softly, rubbing his back gently. “The fact that you can acknowledge that deep down they didn’t mean to hurt you means something right?” she asked softly. Foolish nodded slightly, hugging her tighter.

Puffy sighed softly. “I’ll talk to Sam, okay? He’s… really overwhelmed right now, and he definitely didn’t react correctly.” She said gently. After a few moments, she ruffled his hair playfully. “In the meantime, let’s get you something to eat okay? You must be drained from all that. I’ll make you some of my mushroom stew and you can tell me about your plans to rebuild the statue.”

Foolish perked up. It was hard to tell whether he was happy about the stew or getting to talk about his builds, but he pulled away from the hug, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “That would be nice.” he said, his face regaining a bit of the smile that was usually plastered onto it.

The two could talk about Foolish’s past later, if he even wanted to talk about it at all. For now, they walked out of the temple hand in hand as Foolish rambled about the next statue he planned to build.

119 notes · View notes

yellowbellbird · 3 years

Text

Under the Moonlight- Part 1 - Her

Once again, it was pouring with rain. You had been at the academy for a week, and every day had been much the same. Of course, you were happy to be here, it felt wonderful to be around other witches, to feel a true kinship to people, but something was wrong. Something inside of you was just wrong, and you didn't know how to fix it. It happened sometimes; you'd wake up and feel the familiar ache. The rain didn't help. You longed for a clear sky and sun. The memory of the sun beating down on your skin like a thousand sharp kisses made your soul ache with longing.

You'd made some friends in the academy, but mostly you kept to yourself. It's not that you didn't like them; you did. It's just something about connecting to people was difficult. The distance you had created was reassuring, and you felt slightly happy that you had protected yourself this way.

Bounding out of bed, you stretch for a moment and look at the clock. 5am. Why can't I sleep like an average person, you thought in frustration. Abandoning the idea of sleep, you throw on a thick cardigan and quietly head downstairs. Maybe there's a recipe for a sleeping draft you could find. You ponder the thought in excitement. The academy is entirely silent, the girls asleep in their rooms. Something about the academy in the moments you see it in silence makes you marvel at its safety.

A rustle in the kitchen makes you pause, someones here. You are filled with anxiety as your mind rushes through potential problems. Someone's broken in. It's a witch-hunter, the men Zoe told you about or something else wrong, but before you can get too worked up, you hear a familiar sigh. A voice you think you would know anywhere. Cordelia's. The headmistress and supreme of the coven. You'd only really caught glimpses of the woman in your week here. Zoe and Queenie had explained that some minor threat had kept Cordelia away from the girls.

The first time you saw her was in a transfiguration lesson. Zoe was showing the class how to change tulips into chocolates when a gorgeous blonde woman had whisked in, capturing your attention instantly. She pulled Zoe aside and spoke to her in a soft voice. You could only hear because you were sat quite close. You weren't really interested in the conversation, more the sound of the angelic woman's voice. It reminded you of beautiful music. The blonde stopped talking to Zoe and suddenly met your eyes. You turned away as quickly as you could and attempted to put all your focus on the tulip in your hand. When you were brave enough to sneak a look again, she was gone.

Every encounter since then had been much the same. Cordelia would whisk in for a moment and be gone in the next. Sometimes you noticed the other witches trying to get her attention and how she would smile lovingly but only engage in the shortest conversations with them. I'd learnt that this was unusual behaviour for her as the other witches complained about her sudden absence frequently. You felt mildly sad that you'd come to the academy at the only time this gorgeous woman seemed to be away from it.

Your mind snapped back as you heard her sigh come from the kitchen again. You debated going in and seeing her alone for the first time, but fear got the better of you, and you snuck past the kitchen and tiptoed into the greenhouse. It was a paradise under the soft moonlight, and instantly, you sighed in relief. The idea of a sleeping draft suddenly flooded back into your head, and you began searching through draws and under plants for anything you could use. Some of the draws were locked, and you realised you were making quite a bit of noise. The lack of sleep was making you clumsy. You sighed loudly in frustration.

You had an idea. You weren't untalented with plants; you knew they had energy, each different and unique. Maybe you didn't need a recipe and could make one on your own. An ambitious task, but you were bored of looking and besides, what else were you going to do.

Closing your eyes, you began to search for your feelings. The darkness behind your eyelids started to show colours. The plants began to hum in a way you could understand ever so slightly. You held your hands in front of your body and walked forward, quickly feeling lavender. Keeping your eyes closed, you picked a few stems of it. You became engrossed in this little ritual, moving amongst the plants, picking a leaf here and there. Only when you felt a considerable warmth behind you did you pause. Something light and powerful was pulling you back around, and keeping your eyes closed and your hands forward, you moved towards it. This was the final ingredient, you were sure. You reached up and felt something soft and hair-like in your fingers. You pulled at it to break it off.

"Ouch."

You jumped back, and your eyes flung open. Standing before you was Cordelia Goode. Dressed in a beautiful pink robe, she was rubbing her head and trying not to laugh.

"Cordelia! I mean Ms Goode. No wait supreme? Um.."

You were so shocked and embarrassed that your face burnt and you had no idea what to do.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you."

She looked at you curiously.

"One doesn't tend to see people with ones eyes closed."

You put the leaves you were holding on the desk behind you and used its weight to steady yourself.

"I didn't think anyone would be here. I was..."

Cordelia looks at you and then at the ingredients on the table.

"You were trying to make a sleeping potion?"

Through your embarrassment, you couldn't help but feel slightly proud that your intuition was correct. You let out a small laugh.

"Yeah. I looked for a recipe but I couldn't find one."

You gesture to the leaves and plants you collected. "I was just collecting what I felt drawn too."

You blushed once again at the thought of pulling her hair. She must think you're the craziest person ever.

"Well I'm impressed, you collected nearly everything."

Cordelia moves next to you to examine your ingredients.

"You're y/n right?"

You nod with a small smile.

"I'm Cordelia. I'm sorry I haven't been here to welcome you this week, there were some complications."

Her voice becomes dark, and it makes you shiver.

"Yes Zoe told me. Is everything okay?"

Her eyes soften as she looks at you.

"Yes dear, it's all sorted now. Nothing you need to worry about."

Cordelia sits down, and you watch the elegance in her movements, unable to take your eyes off her.

"Anyway, trouble sleeping?" She says with a small laugh that you echo.

"Yep. For the last 20 years in fact. I never could get that skill down."

Cordelia laughs, and you can't help but smile at the fact that you caused that laughter.

"Would you like some help making the potion? Well it's more of a face mask if we make the one I usually make."

You blush and shake your head.

"No no you really don't have too. I'm sure you're really busy."

Cordelia shakes her head and smiles the most beautiful smile, her lips captivating you.

"Nope. There's no threat to the coven so I'm free as a bird."

You laugh slightly at the expression you hadn't heard in so long.

"Aren't you tired?"

You ask, looking at the little dark circles under her eyes.

"I'm not a great sleeper either."

You search her face to see if she just feels sorry for you, but you see only honesty in her eyes.

"Then yes, I'd love the help. I have no idea what I'm doing."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

The next hour is lovely. You come to life in the presence of the supreme, laughing like you haven't in months. She asks about your interests and what you did before coming to the academy, and you ask her about herself. You talk about your greenhouse at home. She's very open, but you notice very brief when answering a personal question. You understand, though, she doesn't know you, and you're just her student. For a moment, you feel sad, but your face lights up again when she begins talking about how she discovered the sleep mask recipe. The awkwardness you initially felt evaporates, and suddenly you understand why the other witches missed her so much this week. She's like the sun. Completely warm and captivating.

"I think it's done."

Cordelia says, pulling her paste covered hands away. You look down at the brown covered paste she's made.

"Ew."

The consistency of the paste looks disgusting, and you frown at it. Cordelia playfully elbows your arm.

"Hey this stuff is a lifesaver, trust me darling you won't be saying that later."

Your heart stops at the pet name, and you think that if you weren't sat down, your legs would give way. Instead, you focus really hard on the horrible looking paste.

"We'll see. I've tried a lot of sleeping recipes and nothing has worked before."

Cordelia hums in acknowledgement.

"Ah but you've never tried anything made by me."

Once again, her voice makes you melt, and you try not to look into her eyes which only results in looking at her silk pyjamas which make your heart race. You look into her eyes now and see that she's looking at you softly.

"It's only 6 am. I think you could get a few hours of sleep in."

Cordelia takes the paste and puts it in a jar before moving to the sink to clean her hands. She moves back to the seat and opens the jar, taking a small amount and putting it on her thumb. She looks at you with her big chocolate eyes, and you melt under her gaze. You barely notice her lift her hand, but you shiver when her thumb traces a line on your forehead.

You hum slightly as a warmth encases your body and then blush before looking back at the stunning woman.

"It works quickly. Come on let's get you to bed."

You're about to protest and insist you can get there yourself, but your legs give way as soon as you stand up. Cordelia grabs your arms and holds you comfortingly against her body.

"I told you it would work."

You hum into her shoulder, your head struggling to stay up.

"Come on sleepy head."

Cordelia chuckles and puts an arm around your body, and begins leading you upstairs.

"Which ones your room? Y/N?"

You try to get words out, but for some reason, your mouth refuses to move. Everything is soft and dreamlike. You think you hear someone saying your name, but you're not sure. Your eyes flutter open, and you see yellow and pink before they shut again. You hum contently into the warm feeling inside your body and let your brain finally sleep.

Birds. You can hear bird calls. The noise is comforting, and you cuddle into it. You feel like you're in a warm cloud. You sink into the calm feeling and listen to the birds for a while whilst feeling comes back into your body. It starts as a tingle in your toes; you wiggle them contently. Feeling suddenly comes into your arms, and you feel yourself holding something warm. You hug it tighter in a state of bliss you've never felt before. This is the warmest perfect moment, the very moment you've been longing for. More feeling comes back, and you freeze up.

"Someone's awake I see."

Shit. Feeling starts coming back everywhere, and you realise it's not a blanket you're holding, but legs. You freeze completely as memories come flooding back to you: Cordelia, the greenhouse, the sleeping draft.

"Cordelia?"

You say softly and guiltily as if you're saying sorry. You peek open your eyes and see Cordelia's soft skin under your head. Her nightdress had ridden up, meaning you were holding her soft legs and laying in her lap. You felt fear and embarrassment seep into your cheeks until you felt her hand on your head stroking your hair.

"I'm sorry y/n. I didn't realise how strong the sleep mask was and I didn't know where your room was..."

Wait, you thought, she's embarrassed? You were literally clinging to her legs, and still, she thought she was at fault? The craziness of the situation gave you strength as you slowly moved your arms to free her legs.

"I'm the one who should be sorry. I've been holding you like a koala all night."

That earned you a soft chuckle, and you moved to sit up but ended up only lifting your head to look around. Taking in your surroundings, you saw that this was definitely not your room. It was sparsely but carefully decorated, light and open, and the bedsheets were the softest and comfortable you'd ever felt in your life.

"I like your room."

You mumble and rest your head back down. This time you move your head to lay next to Cordelia instead of on her.

"Thank you."

The husky but gentle way she says it makes you open an eye to look up at her. She's sat up watching you with wide eyes, and for a moment, you think you see the longing in them.

"Damn that sleep mud was amazing. I've never sleep that well in my life."

You don't know what possesses you to do it, but you wiggle your head slightly closer to her, so it's resting against her legs. You feel her hand return to your head again.

"I told you."

She says, and you can't be sure, but you think she's smiling. Keeping your eyes closed, you reach out a hand to feel the energy of the sun. By the angle of your hand, you deduce that it's almost nine o'clock.

"I have a class soon don't I."

You mumble in annoyance. You've just had the most perfect sleep of your life, and now you have to have classes. You sigh against Cordelia's leg.

"What did you just do?"

Cordelia whispers.

"Sighed?"

"No, how did you know the time?"

You freeze up as you realise what you have been trying to ignore—your gift. If any of the other girls had paid any real attention to you, they would have seen it, you weren't exactly hiding it, but you knew that nobody knew.

"I felt it. I felt the suns energy."

"Felt it how?"

Cordelia says in engaged wonder.

"It's how I found the ingredients for the sleep draft. The energy that every living thing has I can feel. It's better when I close my eyes, then I can see it."

You move your head to look up at Cordelia again. She's looking down at you.

"Amazing."

You feel your cheeks blush and move to sit up.

"I'm sorry if I caused you any inconvenience last night. I didn't mean to ..."

You trail off thinking of all the things you could apologise for, but she just smiles.

"Don't be."

Her voice is so silky and warm that it takes your breath away.

"I should go get ready for classes. Thanks again for the sleep draft."

She smiles warmly at you as you climb out of her bed and head for the door. You take one quick look back at her, and she looks like an angel. You pry your eyes away before you do anything else embarrassing.

A/n

If anyone’s reading this I really hope you are enjoying it! I have written quite a lot of this book and will post as often as possible. I’ll post it on Wattpad as well.

#sarah paulson #american horror story #cordelia x reader #cordelia goode

77 notes · View notes

cafeinthemoon · 3 years

Text

From the Human Heart - Chapter III

Chapter: 3/4

Wordcount: 2905

Title: The Lamb and the Knife

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna X reader

Previous chapters

1 . 2

Symbols: ⭕ . ➕ . 💛 . ▶️▶️

Warning (s): Mental breakdown, mental instability (one occurrence in the beginning of the chapter)

N. A.: I confess I was a bit afraid that this chapter ended up too sad or depressing during reader's return to the village, because what she sees there is something that could break anyone's spirit, and with her things are not different. However this story has a happy ending, so I guess I can make up for it 😅 Also, I was planning to finish the story in this chapter, but the text ended up being too long, so I had to add a fourth chapter. I usually avoid establishing a number of chapters in my wips because they always get longer than I plan, but this one should be a short story (guess I failed in this smh)

A shiver ran all over your body and woke you up in an instant.

You didn’t open your eyes yet, but you knew you were lying on something cold, having your cloak to protect you from the chilling breeze of the morning. Morning? Something was telling you that it was morning already. Well, in that case… when did you fall asleep? What happened to you while you were not awake?

The rustling noise of the leaves was heard when you moved on your spot, your right arm aching after spending a long time in the same position. You opened your eyes at last and found a gray, autumnal day around you, the fainting light barely breaking through the dense top of the trees. All you could see was brown, red and yellow, as expected. Fortunately, winter hasn’t reached you yet.

That was strange, to be honest. Why would you think you’ve spent more than one night in that place, long enough to not see the change of seasons?

You sat on the forest’s ground and checked your own state. Everything was in its place: your dress, with the slit in the cleavage made by the King of Curses; the cut in your cloak’s stripe was still there, but the stripe was tied up again around your neck, a bit tighter; your empty bag was on the ground, serving as a pillow in that wild, improvised bed. Was it you that arranged things this way? Was it him? You didn’t know, and you didn’t think that finding out the truth would bring you any comfort.

In an urge to make sure you were alright, you opened your cleavage and checked your skin in the spot touched by Sukuna to seal the pact. There was no stain, no wound, no mark there; you weren’t feeling pain, burning or ache. Nothing changed in it. Of course not, you old yourself: what he did was an enchantment to change your soul, not your body. Any change that could come from it would not be visible to the eye.

With effort, you took your bag and stood up. You shook the leaves and tugs off your dress and cloak and took a second look at your surroundings. That was the same clearing in which you met Sukuna, and you were lying among the roots of the same tree you stopped at to read the sentences of the ritual.

The clearing didn’t seem so large and mysterious now that you were seeing it under the day light. It was silent, unlike the moment when you found it, full of sounds of night birds and small predators rushing their paws through the leaves, out of your sight. All that life was now gone, as if it has never existed.

A blow of cold wind twirled and passed by you before you could see where it came from, carrying leaves and dust with it. You took it was a sign to leave, as if it was saying to you that there was nothing there but death and oblivion. You protected your eyes and once the column of dust moved away, you ran out of that place.

You didn’t know how you managed to run through the same way that brought you to that cursed forest without ending up breathless, aching and out of your mind. Your feet were carried down through its declined territory, full of traps and roots, not stumbling in a single one of them, nor your clothing were ripped or got stuck while you ran.

To you, you’ve been running forever: the more you moved forward, the more the scenario around you looked the same. Was it part of the enchantment or were you just tired, eager to return to your village and see the results of the treaty?

You relied on this latter and continued to move.

***

The village, seen from the high spot of the hill, was the same since you left it. Not that you should expect something else – you were changed, nor your old home. Besides, you couldn’t have left for so long. But it felt like years in your heart, and the night before landed as a dream in your memory now. You adjusted the hood upon your head and tightened your grip around your cloak: the cold breeze ran free without the trees to obstruct it and you wanted to protect yourself; and, despite your trust in the results of the enchantment, you still had no ways to know exactly who were going to see you or not, so that you didn’t want to expose yourself before you had the chance to explore the territory.

Well, when you were reaching the lowest spot of the hill you were left with minimal choices regarding this.

A commotion was happening at the village’s entry, not so far from the place you where standing: a group of people stared with desperation to two or three men who you recognized as members of the Jujutsu council, the ones your father used to refer as his closest allies among them; these men were trying, with great effort, to contain a man who screamed incomprehensible words in a harsh, animalistic voice and scaring the villagers. The man was dressed in the same traditional clothing of the sorcerers, but all the noble aspect of it was gone, replaced with rips and blood as if its owner was kept locked inside a cage and tried everything in his reach to escape it, fighting with people and weapons.

Your blood ran cold in your veins when you recognized the insane man as your father.

After that, it was like your ears were uncovered and you started to understand what he and the other men were saying. They were arguing under a case of thievery: a treasure has vanished from the Jujutsu collection at your father’s house; the masters were convinced that the responsible for the crime was now far away from the village and must have been a clever Jujutsu sorcerer since they managed to deceive all of them, including your father; however, they were confused by the story your father was telling.

Between one growl and another, this was what you could understand from his speech.

- I know exactly who did this! My daughter did this! My own daughter! And I will hunt her till the end of the world!

His own daughter. You.

Your feet stepped back in an unconscious urge to run, but somehow you stood to listen to the rest. You immediately understood the agitation among the Jujutsu masters: the treasure that disappeared was the flower, without which they could not stand a chance against its true owner. Without the jewel, all the lies told by them and their leader were going to be brought to the surface and the whole village was going to pay for their dishonesty.

But none of this has hit you like the realization that your father was talking about you, that he still remembered about you and was willing to come after you to recover the jewel.

And that the situation was not the same to anyone among the people around him.

- Please, enough with this nonsense, master y/sn! – one of the sorcerers was saying, struggling to hold the furious man by his arm.

- Enough with this! – a second man shouted with less patience – You have no daughter! You’ve never had!

Yes, it wasn’t that surprising that the elders couldn’t see you – they never hid their distaste towards you, the greatest obstacle to their ascension in your Jujutsu society. But you didn’t take too long to notice that they weren’t the only ones who have forgotten about you: the entire village has, or at least all the people who were at your sight, some of them known to you for years. Some of them you yourself used to love and respect, and have trusted with your life in the worst moments of your relationship with your father – people you could swear to love you back.

Could it be that you, known by your connection with the most important sorcerer of the village, was an unpleasant presence to them as much as your father must have been? Could it be that they only tolerated you because of him?

A tear rolled down your left cheek, dried by the cold wind that passed at that moment, strong enough to take off the hood of your head. You still weren’t sure of what was more painful: to realize that your father was the only one who remembered you or to see that not even the people you liked were able to reciprocate you just enough to not forget you after an enchantment.

Something died inside you while you saw that. So you just put your hood back and turned your back on your old home, restarting your way up the hill again and hurrying up before your father noticed your presence.

***

It wouldn’t make a great difference if you decided to stay in that forest if the next night reached you there, for you had nowhere to come back as much as you had no place to go to. You were no longer on a hurry: running up that hill twice in so little time has taken the remaining energy in your body and your spirit, so you started walking; if you were passing by the same paths you’ve crossed before, you didn’t know and didn’t care.

To say you were walking was too much. Your legs were shaking, and your numb feet were stumbling even before reaching the obstacles; your hands were doing their best to hold on to the branches and any other support they were able to find, since you couldn’t count on your eyes to guide you: you hadn’t go blind, but you weren’t seeing anything in your way. Your attention was all in what you just witnessed, not in what you had in front of you.

It was as if you just died and had the opportunity to come back to see how the people you knew were dealing with your absence. If you were honest to yourself, you would have already accepted that what you saw wasn’t unexpected at all; still, it wasn’t something that you could completely understand until it happened to you.

At some dense spot of the grove you stopped, despite not having any hopes of finding some rest. You held tight on a low branch to not fall of exhaustion and concentrated on your breath. It was when you noticed you didn’t sense the expected harshness of wood while touching its surface.

You looked at your hand and screamed – your skin, exposed until your fist, was blue. Blue, but not just as a way to say it was cold: it was indeed blue, as a frozen lake reflecting the winter sky. You stepped back as if that was the hand of a stranger, but it followed you and obeyed all your commands, not letting any space for doubts; it belonged to you. You turned it to see its back and noticed variations in the blue, stains of a darker shade, and saw that your nails were now indigo, all of them in a sharp shape, just like…

Just like Sukuna’s nails. A curse’s nails.

You gasped at the memory of his warning. This was what supposed to happen in case you didn’t accept the result of the enchantment. You looked again at your palms and saw no cut nor wound that the branches could cause to a human’s delicate skin – yours were intact, as expected from a resistant curse’s body part. You rolled up your dress’ sleeves to see if your arms were blue as well and observed in horror as the slow transformation reached them.

You adjusted the sleeves and stopped looking. There was no use in desperation. You adjusted the cloak around you and crossed your arms around yourself, accepting the punishment.

- For someone who was so determined just one day before, you do not seem so happy now… child.

His voice grew from the depths of the forest and reached you as if it vibrated by its own will, shaking every nerve you had in you, waking you up to the darkness of your new reality.

You turned to find the King of Curses in the middle of the clearing, just like the first time you’ve met, but now the day was still there above you, with no sign of the red shadows of the summoning. That could only mean one thing: he hasn’t left after the treaty; instead, he remained in those lands, perhaps observing you while you were unconscious or waiting for the next events in the village to take place.

Having him witnessing your downfall in all its bitter details disgusted you in a way you didn’t think to be possible. Still, you found strength to give him a verbal response.

- Haven’t you had enough fun by now? – and after a gasp – Why are you still here?

Sukuna shrugged, not even a little upset by your hostile reception.

- I was just passing by and happened to meet you again – he raised an eyebrow –I am surprised to see that you are still here, to be honest. I thought you have left these lands yesterday. This is the reason why you wanted the enchantment, is not it?

Before you could formulate an answer, he approached and lowered his four eyes to your hands; you clenched your fists and tried to hide them behind your back as a last attempt to save your dignity, but your move was ignored by him, who passed his hands around you and brought yours to his sight, examining their skin with simulated preoccupation. You gave up on any attempt to pull them back: though there was no harshness in the way he was holding them, you knew he had enough strength to break them in such case, or cut them off with the same easiness he has cut the stripe of your cloak or the lock of your hair.

- So it is happening already? – he frowned while caressing them with his thumbs, speaking more to himself than to you – So soon…

- Soon?! – you spat the word – Are you telling me you deceived me?!

Sukuna’s gaze turned to you in surprise at this accusation.

- What do you mean, brat?

- I gave you back the jewel my father stole from you and didn't ask for anything near its price in return, and yet look at me now!

- You knew that I was going to… that this was going to happen to me anyway… is this what you’re telling me, right?

- Hm?

His carefree manners were making you more and more furious and desperate.

- What did I do for you to deceive me like this?!

- Who said I deceived you? – he sighed – I thought you were smarter than this, dear. I was honest with you in our whole treaty. The seal was established according to the rules and the enchantment worked as well. Otherwise you would not have noticed any difference or, in a worst hypothesis, you would have died in the process. Well, not even I would be here in such case. If I broke the rules, I would be punished. You must know that.

You fell silent. That was true: in the Jujutsu world, if two individuals established a pact, both of them were under the obligation to respect the rules of the said pact, otherwise they would be punished – with death in the case of a human and with exorcism in the case of a curse. Still, you were convinced that something was wrong with your own deal.

- It cannot be…

You felt your eyes burning, full with tears that you weren’t able to contain. The weight of what you have done has reached you at last, and from it you couldn’t escape. But were you capable of carrying it? You doubted that.

You felt his hand wiping the tears of your cheek.

- Shhh… No more whining, dear – he lifted your chin to make you meet his gaze – Now, tell me what is going on... What is it that is upsetting you so much regarding the enchantment?

You were impatient, of course, but didn't offer any resistance. You spoke all at once before your voice could crack in a new burst of desperation.

- I came back to the village and found out that the only person who was able to see me was my father. No one else remembers me. And this situation made him insane… – you sobbed – Tell me, how is this possible?!

He giggled and assumed the tone of a Jujutsu teacher.

- You want me to confirm what you are not willing to tell yourself even in thoughts? Alright. I think I can do this for you. You know the rules as well as I do. If someone does not love you, they will forget about your existence. If they do, they will remember you, whether they are the only one in this case or not – and then, he had nothing for you now besides the logical conclusion of the case – So, if your father is the only one who can see you now… He must be the only one who loves you.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x y/n

45 notes · View notes

mysterioushogwartsrequests · 4 years

Note

Hey i wanted to ask if you could write a reader x fred fic where they learn about the mirror of erised in class and then the reader has to step in front of it to say what they see and they say smth like "fred could you step aside" or "could you get out of the frame, you are in the way" and it turns out he wasn't even close to being in the mirrors view and so they just announced that their deepest desire is fred, ik it's very specific but please🥺❤

I’ve actually been thinking about writing something like this so I am very glad you sent this in!!! And, honestly, really specific requests are always welcome because I know exactly what you all want! I love any request you send my way :).

Title: The Desired Slip-Up

ϟ ϟ ϟ

Fred and George’s Sixth Year at Hogwarts had already started off with a bang. The announcement of the Tri-Wizard Tournament had everyone in high spirits, and they all waited impatiently for the Winter holiday celebrations. Sure, they were dealing with an unpleasant scammer by the name of Ludo Bagman, but the Twins were certain they would get their way eventually.

Like any other year, Fred continued his usual school-yard scheming with his brother, occasionally stopping to view the petrifying tasks of the Tri-Wizard Tournament where Harry Potter managed to avoid the clutches of an irritated Hungarian Horntail. Despite having excellent marks, the Twins often found themselves bored with the courses at Hogwarts and were often discussing ways to avoid attending them. However, the possibility of their mother finding out about their misbehavior urged Fred and George, despite their grievances, to attend their classes.

Professor Moody currently held the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and often introduced unorthodox items in his teachings. Well, what could really be considered unorthodox at a school for Magic?

On a particularly cold Novembers’ day, Fred sauntered into the classroom, tailed by his brother, and at once caught sight of the ornate mirror at the front of the room. The students were gathered around each other’s desks, exchanging whispers as to what the mirror could do. Waiting for his students to settle, Professor Moody rapped his fingers against his desk, his blue eye ardently scanning the room as two more girls trailed in.

Fred and George took their usual seats at the center, roughly setting down his belongings behind Angelina Johnson, who turned to face the noise with a hint of annoyance.

“Making sure everyone hears you arrive?” She asked teasingly, swinging her legs over the empty space beside her.

“You know us, Angelina-” replied George with a thumbs up

“Always putting on a show” finished Fred, shooting his friend a wink before acknowledging the empty seat, “And (Y/N)?” asked Fred, earning a shrug from Angelina. However, before Fred could ask anything else, Mad-Eye Moody rose from his seat and tapped the edge of the mirror with his wand, effectively silencing the class.

“Now, I’ve prepared a very special lesson for you lot and I expect your undivided attention” Moody declared, his good eye trained on Fred Weasley, who was doodling product designs on a spare bit of parchment. George, noticing Mad-Eye’s intense stare, jabbed Fred’s side and gestured for him to look forward.

Begrudgingly setting his quill down, Fred rested his cheek against his palm as Mad-Eye cleared the first row of desks nearest to the mirror. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in Mad-Eye’s teachings, Fred just found it rather difficult to concentrate when he was plagued by thoughts of (Y/N)’s absence. Although (Y/N) (L/N) was quite the prankster herself, she was not one to miss classes, especially if the Professor was known for dealing out harsh punishments if he caught you.

“I want a nice, clean line facing the mirror” Mad-eye announced, gesturing towards the empty space he had cleared, “This isn’t your ordinary, everyday mirror so don’t let me catch you fixing your hair and makeup in front of it” He warned, eyeing the group of giggling girls lining up beside him. With a sigh, Fred pushed himself off his seat and followed George and Angelina towards the front of the class, gaze trained out the window as he wondered what it would feel like to fly through the cold-wind at this very moment.

Paying no attention to the lesson, Fred narrowed his eyes at the shape whizzing meters from the window. “Is that a person? Flying towards the castle?” he thought, subtly inching towards the glass to get a better glimpse of the robed figure, but they had already vanished. Scratching his head, Fred directed his attention towards Mad-Eye Moody, who was pointing at the calligraphy above the mirror which read:

“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi” or “I show not your face, but your heart’s desire” as Mad-Eye translated.

“When you look into this mirror,” Mad-Eye began, stepping in front of the line so the students could only see his reflection, “You will see what your heart most desperately desires, but be careful” He added with a wicked grin, his eyes trained on his reflection, “Some of you may go mad if you stare for too long…”

Fred eyed Moody suspiciously, it seemed like he himself was transfixed with what he currently viewed in the mirror, only stepping away after giving his head vigorous shake. Bearing the same wicked smile, Professor Moody gestured towards the mirror, “Any volunteers?” he asked nonchalantly, but the prospect of going mad spooked the usual eagerness to participate out of his students. The Sixth years looked around at each other, trying to see who would be brave enough to face the Mirror of Erised.

At that moment, the door to the classroom slammed open and the sound of running footsteps filled the room. Gasping for air, (Y/N) (L/N) looked up at Professor Moody with disheveled robes and a broomstick gripped in her right hand, her satchel hanging loosely over her shoulder as she set her broom against the wall.

“Professor, I am so sorry. I lost track of time while at the Quidditch Pitch and—” but Professor Moody cut off her rambling excuses with a swift raise of his hand.

“As a result of your tardiness,” Moody growled, his good eye trained on (Y/N) as the other whizzed from her broom and back to her, “And flying around the grounds without permission” he added and (Y/N) bowed her head in shame, setting her satchel down beside Angelina’s before walking towards the front of the classroom.

“You will be the first to demonstrate the effects of the Mirror of Erised,” Moody finished, his eyes glinting with anticipation as he urged her in front of the mirror, “I’ve already explained what the mirror does, but unfortunately, you were late so you will find out on your own” he explained, looking back at the group of students behind him, “And none of you runts will tell her, got it?”As he snapped, a couple of frightened Ravenclaw girls nodded intensely causing Fred to roll his eyes for the third time in the hour.

Feeling increasingly nervous, (Y/N) looked towards Angelina with a sheepish smile, then towards the Weasley Twins. George shot her encouraging thumbs-up, but Fred only grinned at her, urging her forwards while mouthing, “This is your punishment.” She and Fred had not always been great friends, she actually despised him during their second year when a balloon full of ink fell on top of her head, spilling its contents all over her new robes. Despite being increasingly furious that day, (Y/N) found herself laughing at the prank after Professor Flitwick removed the stains of her clothes and Professor McGonagall scolded the Twins in the middle of the Courtyard. After seeing the embarrassed looks on their faces, (Y/N) went up to them and declared the beginning of a prank-war, therefore igniting the first flames of the friendship.

At the end of their second year, (Y/N) was crowned Prank Champion, complete with a parchment crown and colorful ribbon Lee Jordan had prepared for the winner. The summer after that, the Twins invited (Y/N) over to The Burrow where they spent the hot months of July playing Quidditch in a clearing and enjoying Mrs. Weasley’s delightful cooking. It was not until the 1994 Quidditch World Cup that (Y/N) realized her feelings towards Fred were more than friendship. She often recalled the late-night talks they would share in the Astronomy Tower, neglecting the homework they promised they would do that evening. But she really couldn’t help it, Fred was so easy-going that it was no arduous task to get lost in conversation with him. Now, they were in their Sixth year and she had collected an assortment of sweaters gifted to her by Molly Weasley, as well as many joke-shop prototypes from Fred and George.

With the announcement of the Yule Ball, (Y/N) immediately imagined herself in a beautiful gown, circling a ballroom with Fred Weasley at her side. As she stepped up to the mirror, she took a deep breath with her eyes closed, the image of Fred’s infectious smile fresh in her memory as she opened her eyes.

Well, it was not difficult for her to imagine Fred’s wide grin because it was staring right back at her, standing beside her with a singular rose extended towards her. Blinking rapidly, (Y/N) leered at the mirror, stepping towards it with her eyebrows furrowed, frustrated by Fred’s overconfident grin shooting towards her.

As the minutes passed, her annoyance only grew. Not only did she not know what the mirror was supposed to show, but she also had Fred’s playful gaze trained onto her. With a large huff, (Y/N) crossed her arms over her chest and moved towards the right, trying to cover Fred’s presence in the mirror.

“Something the matter?” coughed Mad-Eye, whipping the droplets of his drink away from his face and stuffing his flask into his robe pocket, “Tell us what you see.”

Without taking her eyes off the mirror, (Y/N) clicked her tongue in frustration, “I really can’t see anything with Fred in the way,” she admitted, “Can you get out the way? You’ve been grinning at me like a mad man”

Fred registered George’s snort of laughter beside him, his ears flushing red as he replayed (Y/N)’s words in his head, “(Y/N), sweetheart” he spoke up, raising his hand up in the air to show how far back in the line he was, “I’m over here, love. How could I possibly be blocking your view?” teased Fred, stepping out of the line as (Y/N) whipped around to face him.

With her mouth agape, she locked eyes with Fred and realization dawned on her, it was impossible, Fred was too far away, and he was the only one the mirror was reflecting... She should’ve at least seen the rest of the class or even Mad-Eye!

Turning back towards the mirror, (Y/N) noticed Fred’s smiling face again, but also noticed the green dress robes he was wearing and how she was wearing the most magnificent purple gown she had ever laid eyes on, “I don’t understand” (Y/N) uttered out, turning her head towards Mad-Eye, “I- only see Fred and I… going to the Yule Ball together…” she admitted, lowering her voice as she did so.

“Well, Mrs. (L/N),” Moody began, “The Mirror of Erised shows your heart’s most desperate desire and it seems yours is to be Mr. Weasley’s date,” he said matter-of-factly. (Y/N) blushed furiously at his words, her eyes darting towards the real Fred, who bore the same smile as his reflection. She could verbalize the relief that washed over her when the bell, signaling the end of class, rang and immediately taking the opportunity to bolt out of the classroom, leaving her broomstick in her wake. The rest of the students exchanged whispers as Fred and George exited the classroom, making jokes about what they thought they would see in the mirror.

“Would you like some alone time?” asked George mischievously, handing Fred (Y/N)’s forgotten broom, “I’m sure there’s plenty the two of you should talk about” George then waved his brother off and ran down the corridor to join Angelina.

Fred looked down at the broomstick in his hand, his thumb trailing over the initials she had carved into the wood. A small smile appeared on his face as he caught sight of his own initials in her broomstick, the ones he had carved during the summer after (Y/N) lost the bet at the World Cup. With a newfound sense of courage, Fred strode down the corridor in search of (Y/N), determined to find her before she could hide in her common room.

ϟ ϟ ϟ

(Y/N) halted once she reached the Training Grounds, her hands placed over her knees as she took deep breaths, the crisp, frigid air filling her lungs, “Way to go!” she exclaimed angrily, stomping her heel against the ground out of pure embarrassment. Sinking down onto the snow, (Y/N) covered her face with her hands as she racked her brain for any sort of excuse she could give to Fred, but ultimately came up empty.

“You know,” called a familiar voice behind her, “If you wanted to go to the ball with me, all you had to do was ask…” stated Fred, stepping towards her curled up frame. Jumping at Fred’s words, (Y/N) pushed herself off the ground, wiping the snow off her robes before pointing a finger towards her crush. “Listen here, Fred” she stated defensively, “I-I have a perfectly clear explanation for this…” (Y/N) tried to explain, her voice wavering as he stepped closer to her, the scent of his cologne mixing with the chilly air, effectively weakening her resolve.

“I’m all ears, love” He added, a playful smirk playing at his lips as he stuck out her broomstick, “You forgot this on your way out, it’s nice to see my initials are still there” Fred winked, letting his hand rest above hers as she attempted to retrieve her broom.

“W-Well, I did lose the bet after all” muttered (Y/N), the blush returning to her cheeks as their fingers brushed together.

“And I’m sure you’ll lose this one too” added Fred casually and (Y/N) raised an eyebrow at him, “What do you mean by that?” she asked cautiously as he laughed.

“Well, I bet that you want to go to the ball with little old me, but you’re too afraid to ask” Fred stated confidently, smiling at the look of shock on (Y/N)’s face. He was not surprised by her reaction, not at all, it was what he had expected to see, to him, she was so easy to read. Fred understood what it meant when she scrunched up her nose during their late-night study sessions, how her leg would bounce underneath the desk when she was itching to go play Quidditch or the cute frown she bore when something did not go her way. It was not difficult to understand that this expression of shock meant he had been right on the mark.

“Am I wrong?” He asked, his hand snaking around her waist, pulling her closer to his taller frame. Closing her mouth, (Y/N) looked down at their closeness and then up at Fred, “You’re not.” she admitted, swallowing her pride for once in her life.

“Then, allow me,” whispered Fred, stepping back, and pulling out his wand before uttering the word, “Orchideous.” At that moment, a large bouquet of roses popped out of the tip of his wand, which Fred then took and dramatically brought himself down to one knee.

Clearing his throat, he raised the flowers up and said, “(Y/N) (L/N), would you do me the utmost honor of accompanying me, Frederic Weasley, to the Yule Ball?” he asked, his grin growing wider than she ever thought possible.

She would be lying if she said she had not imagined this moment playing out in her head, but never thought about it actually happening. However, there was no denying that the real thing felt better than her usual daydreams...

With her heart beating against her rib cage, (Y/N) delicately wrapped her fingers around the bouquet and brought them up to her nose, the intoxicating smell of roses easing her nerves, “I would be delighted to accompany you to the ball, Mr. Weasley” she replied with a grin, slipping her hand into his extended one as he stood up.

“Brilliant,” He whispered, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, “But you know, you did lose a bet…” Fred muttered, his thumb trailing over her cheek as a faint tinge of red appeared over them once again.

“Yes, that is true,” (Y/N) admitted with a nod of the head, “I suppose there is something you want me to do?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” added Fred, stepping closer to her, and placing his other hand on her cheek, “I think the winner deserves something sweet” He stated huskily, his face dipping closer to hers, “Don’t you agree?”

(Y/N) nodded, their proximity sucking the air out of her lungs and her blush darkening as their lips brushed against each other, “I do, why don’t you show me then?” she asked teasingly, a smile appearing on her lips as the smirk on Fred’s face grew.

“Alrighty, then” With that, Fred closed the distance between them, one hand cupping her face as the other pulled her towards him by the waist. This, too, was better than anything Fred could’ve daydreamed, and he wondered why it had taken him so long to finally kiss her. He recalled the many occasions he could have kissed her, but never committed to it, afraid she might turn him down to preserve their friendship. But after the altercation in Mad-Eye Moody’s class, he knew there was nothing left to lose.

Fred Weasley had always loved (Y/N) (L/N), but it took a magic mirror for him to realize that… Not that he was complaining, better late than never.

Pulling away from their first kiss, Fred tapped his finger against his chin, “You know, I don’t think just one was enough” he admitted, sliding his arm behind (Y/N)’s knees and scooping her up into his grip, “Wouldst the fair lady grant me one more?” He asked, wagging his eyebrows at her, making her burst out laughing.

“As many as you want, My Lord,” giggled (Y/N), placing her hands on his cheeks and pulling him in for another passionate kiss.

As the snow began to fall around them, Fred carried (Y/N) out of the training grounds, both bursting with excitement for the upcoming Yule Ball and the new memories they would make together.

#fred weasley #Fred and George #Fred and George Weasley #Fred Weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #yule ball imagine #harry potter imagines #hogwarts mystery imagine #hogwarts fanfic #hogwarts imagine #Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

367 notes · View notes

thatringboy · 3 years

Text

@yokelish @yoruzumy0 hey bitches, may I present to you:

It Takes Two

1,960 words - Fluff

Summary: Xiao and Hu Tao decide to open the Memory of Dust

Read it under the cut!

Xiao considered himself to be pleasantly distanced from most humans. He interacted with Qiqi of Bubu Pharmacy sometimes and he considered the Traveler from another world a nice companion. However, he had no excuse for why he spent his down time with the director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor as much as he did.

Nor did he have an excuse for why they had broken into Zhongli’s apartment and were rifling through his things.

“Director Hu,” he hissed as she opened up a dresser drawer and began searching what seemed to be a shirt drawer. “I put up with many of your antics, but this is going too far.”

She pulled her head up and her red eyes glowed mischievously. “But, Sir Alatus, you were the one with a key to the front door.”

“YOU PUNCHED IN THE WINDOW!”

“Tsk tsk, too many details. Now, help me find juicy things to hold over Mr. Zhongli’s head so that I can keep him from accepting commissions somewhere else. He’s too good for my business to lose.”

Xiao wasn't sure how to explain that the ex-archon had no plans to stop working at the funeral parlor and watched Tao shut the drawer and move to a small wooden desk covered in papers.

“Ooh, this is a fancy paperweight!” She lifted up a strangely shaped rock that glowed with Geo energy.

The adepti crossed the room and examined it. “It looks like a puzzle. Perhaps like that multi-colored cube Yanfei owns?”

Tao tossed the rock between her hands and looked over the ways the different rocks hooked together. This was child’s play for her. She could solve it in an hour tops. “Do you think he hides candy in here?”

Xiao took the puzzle and turned it over. His immortal eyes could easily pick out where the rocks needed to slide to unlock the center. “I believe the Lord of Geo would hold much more valuable things within this… whatever it is than sweets.”

She snatched it back and began fiddling with the locks and stone clasps. “Mr. Zhongli won’t be back from Ghuili Assembly until night, wanna find out?”

As much as the yaksha wanted to protest, the pleading look on Tao’s face and his own curiosity (which he blamed on Barbatos’ influence) won. They sat down on the floor and took turns sliding and unlocking parts of the strange stone. With each twist, the orange energy inside grew brighter and brighter.

It took them maybe thirty minutes to work a hole large enough in the stone to find the center. As Tao slid the last rock into place, the entire contraption began to vibrate and shot out of her hands. She squealed and Xiao’s hand shot out to pull his spear into existence. The sphere spun around in the air above them and became engulfed in the glow of pure Geo magic.

“What in Rex Lapis?” Xiao whispered and shielded his eyes from the light.

Tao grabbed Xiao’s spear arm and shook him violently while pointing at the floating thing. “Look, Gao-Xiao, look! It’s a person!”

“Huh?”

He opened his eyes and sure enough, the rock had vanished and where it had been floating now stood a young woman with long silky hair and a beautiful robe with billowing sleeves. She opened her eyes and Xiao was taken aback by how much the color resembled the petals of a Glaze Lily.

She blinked a few times and looked around. When she spoke, her words were soft and filled Tao’s heart with nostalgia like she had never experienced before. “May I ask where I am?”

Tao cleared her throat and let go of the adepti next to her. “You’re in, uh, Liyue Harbor?”

The woman smiled and turned her eyes to Xiao. “It is good to see you, Xiao. Do you remember me?”

He felt his throat go dry. Xiao let his weapon disappear and fell to his knees before her, biting his tongue to keep himself from making any noises. “My lady.”

She snorted playfully and tugged on his hair to make him stand back up. “Get up, you drama queen, since when have I ever required you to be so formal? So where is he? I do not feel Morax’s presence here.”

Tao reached over and tugged on her sleeve. “Yeah, hi, I’m Tao. I’m the director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor? Whomst are you?”

“My name is Guizhong, my little peach.” Her eyes were as soft as silk.

Hu Tao’s jaw dropped dramatically as her words came out as sputters. Xiao got back to his feet with wide eyes.

“But how can you be here? You…”

“Died? Yeah, that happens sometimes.” Guizhong fluffed her hair with a smirk. “Anyways, where’s Morax? I need to ask him why it took him almost four thousand years to unlock the Memory of Dust.”

“He’s, umm, Rex Lapis is out today. We are the ones that freed you, Lady Guizhong. Were you trapped in there for over three thousand years?” Xiao cocked his head to the side.

The god looked around again. “That seems to be the case, yes. I put a piece of my soul inside the Memory of Dust as a failsafe in case anything happened to me during the Archon War. So tell me, Xiao, what all has happened in my absence? Why are you not accompanied by the other yakshas?”

Xiao rocked back and forth on his heels uncomfortably and didn’t meet her eyes. Hu Tao stepped over and linked her arm in Guizhong’s. “I’m not sure I know everything that happened, but I can at least tell you what happened in the past month or so!”

~~~~~ “What a splendid meal! I swear, Mister Zhongli, we should enjoy such fine dining more often!” Childe wiped his face on a silk napkin with a wide smile.

Zhongli nodded and reached into his pocket to retrieve his wallet to pay for the food, but stopped. “Oh, well, this is certainly awkward now.”

“No Mora again? I took you for a working man.” The Harbinger winked and pulled out his own wallet. “You are lucky to be dining with someone as generous as myself.”

Childe leaned across the table and his voice dropped tremendously. “And of course, you understand what I require in return.”

Zhongli shook his head. “I’m not fighting you.”

The younger man laughed and fell back in his seat. “Such stubbornness! Oh how I wish to beat it out of you!”

“Perhaps I could treat you to some quality tea and more chopstick-using lessons instead?” The ex-Archon felt himself grinning.

Childe’s smile only grew. “Deal!”

The walk back to Zhongli’s apartment was pleasant. Zhongli quite enjoyed all of Childe’s stories from his childhood in Snezhnaya and because he was no longer duty bound to Liyue as its Archon, he silently promised to one day visit the icy country of the North.

However, all pleasantries fell away when they approached the front door and noticed that a window was smashed, the sound of conversation floating out into the air of the night. Childe smirked and pulled out his swords. “Looks like I’ll get my fight after all!”

Zhongli recognized one of the voices, but he couldn't place it. He pulled his key out of his coat pocket and unlocked the door quietly. They slipped inside and looked around for the intruders. However, Zhongli froze when he caught sight of who sat at his dinner table without a care in the world.

“And then, after this guy almost floods the entire city, Zhongli still asks him out to dinner!” Hu Tao laughed.

Xiao crossed his arms and grumbled from across the table. “It is as they say, ‘love is blind’.”

“I for one think this Childe man sounds pleasant. He certainly isn't any more dangerous than Morax’s other exes.” The second woman giggled.

Zhongli dropped his keys as Childe slipped behind him. “What’s this? A party for us?”

The yaksha gasped and jumped to his feet, bowing lowly at the hip. “My lord! Forgive the intrusion! I shall repair your window at once!”

Tao coughed loudly from her seat. “Simp.”

Guizhong slid out of her seat gracefully and stood before Zhongli. “Hey there, old timer.”

He crossed the distance between them and engulfed her in a hug. “Are you really here?

“Uh… yes? My question is why did it take you three thousand and seven hundred years to unlock the Memory of Dust?!” She hugged him back, but gave him a wicked pinch.

He let go and looked around. “It was an impossible puzzle--”

Xiao rubbed the back of his neck. “Director Hu and I solved it in half an hour.”

“And out popped the pretty god!” Tao grabbed a cup of tea from the table and downed it in a single gulp. “Oh, hi twink!”

“Hi yourself, shortie!” Childe waved at her from the doorway. “Anyways, can someone introduce me to this lovely woman here?”

She moved a gaping Zhongli out of her way to shake Childe’s hand. “Hi, I’m Guizhong!”

“Guizhong? As in the God of Dust? Nice to meet you, I’m Childe, but I also go by Tartaglia!”

Hu Tao moved over to Xiao and pinched his elbow, prompting him to hand her three Mora. “I told you they would hit it off.”

Guizhong turned back to Zhongli to see a tear streaking down his cheek. She frowned and grabbed his arm. “Oh no, Morax! Don't be sad! I’m back!”

“I’m not sad…” He examined every inch of her face. How could he had forgotten how kind her eyes were? “This may be the happiest day of my life.”

Childe cleared his throat loudly. “So… about that tea and those lessons you promised me?”

The ex-Archon remembered his existence. “Oh, right, my apologies, Childe. Do you still wish to learn how to use chopsticks?”

Guizhong gasped loudly. “You don't know how to use chopsticks?! It’s a good thing that I’m a god of wisdom! Xiao, get in that kitchen and find us some pairs to use at once!”

The adepti gulped and moved to follow her orders. “Yes ma’am.”

Childe was dragged to the table by the woman with the large sleeves and forcefully sat down. Xiao returned with chopsticks and Hu Tao took the seat next to him with a large smile.

As Guizhong began her instructions, Zhongli watched the scene unfold with deep emotions in his eyes. He had fantasised for centuries about what the Memory of Dust held within - that perhaps it was some sort of parting wisdom from his oldest friend, but this? Having a piece of her soul be trapped within it, waiting for him to unlock it?

He chuckled to himself, of course it would. That was how Guizhong’s fantastic mind worked.

“Forgive my interruption, but how did you two unlock the Memory of Dust? I tried and failed for almost four thousand years to solve the puzzle.” He glanced at his desk where the contraption would have sat.

Guizhong’s laugh was like bells ringing in his ears. “Morax, you old fool, you simply needed two people to solve it. To acknowledge that you need assistance is the most wise thing a person can do.”

Zhongli sat down in an empty chair and watched Childe drop his chopsticks to crack his knuckles. “Then I see that even I still have much to learn from you. I take it you will be returning to Juyuin Karst?”

She snorted. “Oh gods no! I’m staying with you, partner! You think I can afford to travel around whenever I want to? In this economy? No sir, you’ve just got yourself a new roommate and you can blame little Conqueror of Demons and your boss for that!”

#Hu Tao and Childe continue to be moods #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #genshin impact #Zhongli #Hu Tao #Xiao #Childe #Guizhong

48 notes · View notes

onecanonlife · 3 years

Text

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (previous part) (next part)

(word count: 4,132)

--------------------

Part Four: Eret

“They’re here.”

The words are said in her own voice. She does not remember willing her mouth to move. She does not remember how she got here, nor where here is. Inside, somewhere, for sure; her surroundings are blurry, twist and warp everywhere she looks, and it’s confusing, dizzying. The air is hazy, clouded with smoke and drifting sparks, flickering on a hot, dry wind, and a film of red has descended on her vision, as if her glasses are tinted. She doesn’t know what’s happening, nor why she spoke, but even as she listens to the words, she is certain of their veracity, a deep, dark dread pooling in her chest. They are coming. They are coming for her, and for everyone else.

She is scared. It is a wide, unfocused, fear; she can’t seem to concentrate enough to figure out what or who she’s scared of, what or who they are. The details slip away when she tries to grasp them, and the act of thinking feels like wading through thick mud. Her thoughts are foggy, unfocused, and she can barely feel her own body, like she’s a passenger in her own skin.

But she is scared. Her skin buzzes with it, with a pure, unadulterated terror, with the sensation of running out of time.

“We knew they’d find us,” someone says. They—no, he, he feels right in a way she can’t explain—he stands next to her, though she cannot turn her head to look. His voice is familiar to her as summer rains, the crunch of a footstep on sand, the ring of a pickaxe on gold, but she does not know him. “We knew this was inevitable. I’d hoped for more time, but—”

He is scared, too. She can hear it in his voice, and every inch of her aches to soothe him.

“We won’t be able to win this,” she hears herself say instead. “Not against all of them.” Her voice pauses. “Not this time.”

“Who’s here?” a new voice says, lighter than the first, accented differently, reverberating with an echo that wedges in her bones, empty and unnatural. Their presence feels like an absence. “Do we have visitors?”

“Enemies, more like,” the first voice says.

“Ah,” says the second. “I’ll go tell them to fuck right off, then.” A pause, and then, “Is Techno coming?”

A name she knows but doesn’t. A face flashes in her mind’s eye, and once gone, she cannot remember it.

“Maybe,” says the first. “Why don’t you go see? And if he’s not, you can go ahead and, um, tell them to fuck right off. That’ll be really helpful.”

There is a blue of motion in the corner of her eye, someone passing out of the room, though they are soundless, and the air does not change with their leaving. She still cannot turn to look.

“He’s not what he was,” she hears herself say. “He won’t be able to hold them.”

“I know,” the other says, and there is defeat in his tone, heavy and terrible. She wants to take his hand. She wants to look into his eyes. She wants to know who he is. She can do none of those things. “I know. There’s nothing else we can do now. Are you ready for this? What you were telling me about?”

She feels herself swallow past a lump in her throat. “Ready enough to try,” she says, and her voice is choked. “But I don’t—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, and then, he is in front of her, and he is right there, but her eyes will not focus, and every time she blinks, she forgets his features, forgets—but she cannot retain them long enough to describe them, even to herself, and she’s left with nothing, like trying to snatch at dying embers before they go cold and turn to dust. She thinks she could cry with the frustration of it, and she still doesn’t understand, has no idea why she wants to know so badly, why this is so important to her. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

“It won’t be,” she says. “I didn’t want it to end like this.”

“Neither did I, old pal.” There are lips on her forehead, a gentle kiss. She leans into it, wants to keep the memory of it forever. “Don’t think of it as an ending. Just a—a see you later.”

She laughs, unhappily. “There won’t be a later.”

“Maybe not,” he says softly. “But I’d like to think that’s not true.”

There is a sound, then, a noise like a shriek and a cry and a grinding of metal against metal, discordant and clanging, and it’s as if it punches her in the throat. She gasps for breath, the air suddenly too thin to sustain her, and past the sound, the terrible sound, the sound that is drawing closer, some destructive thing on the hunt, she hears his voice: “We’re out of time.”

Behind her. There is someone behind her. She turns, and her vision flares with red, but she can make out blond hair, blue eyes, something small and pink held in their arms, clutched to them desperately, protectively, and then the world is tilting, blurring and changing, and the turns again and she is kneeling, her knees on hard stone, and she knows, she knows that something awful is happening, and they’re out of time, they’re all out of time, and her hands mark the ground with desperate, rushed motions, smearing paint—no, blood. She doesn’t know how she knows that, but she does, and her motions, too, are beyond her control.

And yet, they feel natural. Like something buried in her rising up to the surface. She has no idea what she’s doing, even though her body does, and yet, and yet—

The universe hums at her fingertips, and it is as familiar as her own name.

“Eret,” someone gasps, someone pleads, “Eret, what’re you—he’s still up there, we have to go get him—”

“He’s buying us time,” she manages, her voice distant to her own ears. The next words that she says are not comprehensible to her, power vibrating through them, something other, something wrong and yet right all at once, and the blood—it is her blood—begins to glow, shimmer with a silver-red light, and she can barely look at the patterns she’s made, her mind skittering off of them like a rock skipped across a pond; she’ll sink if she lets herself.

“Eret, please,” they say.

She stops her chanting. The spell is set. Half of her feels calm, serene. The other half of her feels like she’s screaming.

“I couldn’t save anyone else,” she says. “I’m sorry. But I can do this, at least.”

“Wh—Eret!”

Alarm, true alarm, fear, and she meets their eyes. His eyes. His face solidifies, sharpens, becomes clear. His eyes are duller, his hair streaked with white, his face scarred. But it’s Tommy. Too old and too young all at once.

The glow brightens, illuminates the contours of his face. Lights up the room. Warms her skin.

Tommy screams.

The world rips, or perhaps she is ripping the world, but she is falling, falling back and away, falling out of herself and a void is underneath but not in time for her to escape, the world is imploding but there are footsteps, there is someone shouting, and someone yanks her head back by the hair, and there is a sharp slide of a blade across her neck, a gush of something hot, and then pain, and—

Eret wakes up choking.

He sits bolt upright, hands flying to his neck, pawing at it, pressing it, trying to stem a flow of blood that does not exist, close a wound that is not there. It takes several full minutes for his body to convince his brain that he is whole and unharmed, that he is neither bleeding out from a blade to his throat nor tumbling into some vast emptiness as the world destructs around him, destructs from something he did—

What was that?

Slowly, he calms, regulates his breathing, but not all of the panic leaves him, adrenaline flooding his veins and setting him shaking. He takes his hands down from his throat, stares at them; they tremble, but there is no blood painting them.

That is, perhaps, the most vivid dream he has ever had. And also perhaps the most frustrating. He can’t say he’s ever had one like it, where he felt like he was trapped within himself, unable to affect his own actions, spouting off words that he had no context for.

He shudders, suddenly, a full-body convulsion.

Air. He needs air.

It’s the dead of night, it seems. L’Manberg is quiet, peaceful, enjoying her first night of true independence. It’s still a bit hard for him to believe, that it was won just like that, and by Tommy, no less. He was prepared for the conflict to stretch out a lot longer, little though he liked the idea. But now, it’s all over, and they have to figure out how to proceed. Or at least, Wilbur does; Wilbur is still in charge, president now rather than general. He’s not sure how he feels about that.

He likes Wilbur. Rather a lot, actually. But sometimes, it concerns him, how much Wilbur seems to enjoy power.

Though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the thought of having a little power himself, power to protect anyone he chooses, to lead if need be, so perhaps he’s just a hypocrite.

All thoughts for later, though. For now, the night air is a balm on his face, fresh and free, and he breathes in deeply. The world is fine. He is fine. He can even imagine where the dream came from; Tommy was acting so very strangely yesterday, and he’s been stressed in general, so it’s not hard to figure that his mind conjured up some outer manifestation of it, some representation of the way he feared everything would come crumbling in around them. Dreams are tricky things. It’s never wise to put too much stock in them.

The one thing he can’t push aside was the other person. Not Tommy, and not the one who left. The one who kissed his forehead, called him a friend. He’s not sure why his mind would invent someone when he has plenty of friends here to fill the role, and something about it unsettles him. Because the depth of attachment he felt for this person, who he is sure he doesn’t know, who he doesn’t recognize at all, was frightening, almost, in its intensity.

And yet, it was also comforting. Familiar. Safe.

Absently, he reaches up and touches his forehead. He’s reading too far into this, to be sure. But he can’t help but wonder who he was, even if he was just an invention of his troubled, tired brain.

He sighs, and decides to mount the walls. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to fall back asleep any time soon, so he may as well have a decent view. May as well help keep watch, even though they supposedly don’t really need to anymore. He’s not sure he’ll trust this peace until the documents are all drawn up and signed, but hopefully Dream is a man of his word. Hopefully he is one that keeps his promises.

The night is peaceful, and there’s a cool wind blowing from the northeast. He turns his face into it, breathing deeply, and that is when he sees it: movement. A figure on the ground, moving slowly but steadily toward the walls. He leans further out, trying to get a better look; is this something he should raise the alarm over? One person probably can’t do a lot, unless that person is Dream. He hopes it’s not Dream.

He squints as the figure approaches. They really are making a beeline for the walls, and there’s no indication that they’ve seen him. He wonders if he should call out, make them aware that they’ve been observed. Would that dissuade a potential troublemaker?

And then, the figure gets close enough for him to make out details. Rumpled red and white t-shirt, blond hair. It’s unmistakably Tommy. Which begs a new question: what is Tommy doing outside L’Manberg’s borders so late at night?

He did the same last night, from what Eret gathered. Went to Dream and traded his discs for L’Manberg’s freedom. A risky ploy, one that he’s surprised actually worked, but he supposes he’s been underestimating the value that this discs have to many people on the server. He wasn’t here for the onset of the wars over them. Still, he admires the sacrifice that Tommy made, even if he can’t make heads or tails of that interaction they had yesterday.

But then, Tommy’s always been a bit of a strange kid. This was a new kind of strange, but he’s fifteen going on sixteen years old, and he’s proven himself to be resilient. He’s sure everything is fine.

As he muses, Tommy clambers his way up the wall, and once he’s up, he just stands there for a second, leaning against one of the parapets. His face is pinched, lined with exhaustion and something else, something that Eret can’t quite interpret in the dim light of the stars. He seems preoccupied, caught up within himself and whatever he was doing, and Eret considers letting him go without saying a word. But concern wins out over that, and he clears his throat. Tommy jerks, wheeling on him violently, lips slightly parted.

“Hey, Tommy,” he says, raising a hand to placate him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t startle me,” Tommy says. “I’m unstartleable.”

He smiles, inclining his head. “I’m not sure that’s a word.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Tommy says. “What’re you doing up here?”

“Unsettled dreams, I’m afraid,” he says. He sees no reason to hide it, and perhaps admitting to a bit of weakness will put Tommy more at ease. Currently, he’s holding himself tense as a bowstring. “I came out to get a bit of air. What about you? Any particular reason to go for a stroll this time of night?” He cuts himself off before he can say something stupid, such as, I’m sure Wilbur wouldn’t be happy to know you’re out and about this late. Because while that is the truth, and he’s sure Tommy knows it, knows that the man is protective over him like he is over practically nothing else, he’s also sure that Tommy’s independent spirit wouldn’t appreciate him pointing that out.

“No,” Tommy bites out. “No reason at all.”

That is so clearly a lie that it’s almost insulting. But he takes one look at Tommy’s closed off posture, the jut of his chin, and decides to leave it. What’s most important is that Tommy is back safe; he won’t pressure him to reveal something he’s not comfortable with sharing.

“Alright, then,” he says. “You’re welcome to join me, if you’d like.”

Tommy shoots him a scathing glare at that. But to his surprise, he then walks over, a bit hesitantly, and joins him in bracing himself against the ramparts, staring out over the surrounding countryside. He doesn’t say anything else, and Eret tries to study him without making it obvious.

“I think it’s pretty amazing, what you did,” he says. “I can’t pretend to understand how difficult that was for you, but you single-handedly won us a war. You’ve probably had your fill of receiving thanks, but I think it bears repetition.”

“I know it was amazing,” Tommy says, and his voice is oddly hollow. “I’m very amazing, thank you so much.” He sighs, then, shoulders hunching a bit. “No, it just—it just needed to be done, so I did it. That’s all there was, really. Not even sure if it’ll hold up. Dream’ll use them as leverage if he thinks he can get away with it, and then we’ll have a whole other mess of problems.”

“Do you think he’ll keep his word?” he finds himself asking. Perhaps it’s the maturity Tommy seems to be displaying, the awareness, but he seems like the one to ask.

“Don’t know,” he says. “At this point? I hope so. He’s still got people he’s accountable to, so maybe. If not, we’ll have to kill him.”

“Right,” he replies, and wonders when death entered the picture. They knew it was a risk, of course, in war, but no one has died yet, on either side, and he rather thought that everyone was looking to keep it that way. “I pray it won’t come to that.”

Tommy snorts. “Let me tell you something, Eret,” he says. “Praying doesn’t do shit. Gods die just as easily as men do.”

That—sure is something for a teenager to say. He’s not sure why it strikes such a chord in him.

“Hope, then,” he says, and tries not to reveal that he’s rattled.

“Hope’s not much better. Unreliable, that is,” Tommy mutters, and Eret thinks that it might be time to change the subject. Otherwise, he’ll have to confront just how jaded Tommy sounds, and as much as he likes the kid, he’s really not sure that he’s the one best equipped to help him, even if Tommy would allow him to do so. Surely, someone like Tubbo or Wilbur would do better in trying to talk him through it.

“I’m not sure I understood what you were trying to thank me for, earlier,” he says. “Or yesterday, rather.”

Tommy shoots him a glance. “Don’t worry about it,” he says dismissively. “You don’t need to make it a thing. It wasn’t a thing.”

“It felt a little bit like a thing.”

“Well, it wasn’t, so piss off.” Tommy frowns, and then turns to face him fully. He turns as well, trying to show him that he has his undivided attention. “Look, it was just a, a general thank you, yeah? Enjoy it, because you’re not getting another one. But you’re not completely shit all of the time, I guess.” He sounds so very put upon in a way that only teenagers can, and Eret suppresses a grin. “Don’t read into it, shit head. But listen, Eret,” —His tone shifts, suddenly, going lower, more serious, and Eret leans in a bit on instinct— “you are sticking around, yeah? With us, with L’Manberg?”

“Of course,” he answers, taken off guard. “I’ve no plans to be elsewhere.”

“Good,” Tommy says. “That’s—that’s good. Not that I care if you stay or not! Don’t get ideas! But you should stick around, because we are clearly superior to everyone else on this shit server, and we’ll treat you right. Not like Dream would. Especially not like Dream would.”

“Right, yeah,” he says, sort of feeling like he’s lost the thread of this conversation, and more than a bit disconcerted at the intensity of Tommy’s words. “Don’t worry, I have no plans to go anywhere near Dream.”

“Good,” Tommy says again, and this time, he seems satisfied. Eret raises an eyebrow at him, but he just goes back to looking over the edge of the wall, and Eret shakes his head a bit, going to push his sunglasses further up his nose.

And then realizes—he’s not wearing them. Hasn’t been wearing them this whole time.

“Shit,” he hisses, and pats himself down frantically, trying to see if they’re anywhere on his person, but of course they’re not. He’s wearing his nightshirt and loose trousers, and he can picture exactly where his glasses are: sitting on the nightstand beside his bed. He didn’t think to grab them, shaken by his nightmare as he was, certain that he wouldn’t be running into anywhere else.

“What? What’s the matter?” Tommy asks, alarmed, and he realizes something else.

His eyes have been on display throughout this entire conversation, and Tommy hasn’t said a word about them. Hasn’t so much as reacted. Hasn’t so much as stared. And that—that is foreign to him. Incomprehensible. He knows very well what his eyes bring to mind, knows very well the reasons why he chooses to hide them. Better that than to scare everyone around him away. Better to hide than to have no one. But Tommy hasn’t said a word about them. He hasn’t—

He doesn’t know what to do with this.

“My glasses—” he stutters out. “I don’t—I don’t have—”

“Oh,” Tommy says, and visibly relaxes. “Yeah, did you drop ‘em somewhere or something? Did they fall out of your pocket?”

That—that is not what Tommy is supposed to be asking. Eret shakes his head, but the motion brings him no clarity. He’s trying to think past the drumbeat of instinctive anxiety, though it’s fear that apparently has no basis, even if he doesn’t know why.

“You’re not scared?” he manages.

Tommy’s face goes slack in surprise. Surprise, as if that’s the last thing he expected Eret to be asking, but surely, surely he understands Eret’s nerves? Surely he understands why Eret is confused? Surely—he must know, right?

And then, he sees a bit of that understanding dawn on Tommy’s face, his lips forming an ‘o’, and Eret braces himself.

“Of what, those?” Tommy says, making a general sort of gesture. “Gonna take more than that to frighten me, big man. You’ve got some weird fucking eyes, but I don’t see why that should bother me. And fuck anyone who is, right? They’re just eyes, man. Everyone’s got ‘em.” He pauses. “Except for Dream, maybe. We’ve never seen them. He could be hiding anything under that mask. Wait, shit, what if he hasn’t got any eyes? What if he doesn’t have a face?”

He sounds genuinely disturbed by the line of questioning. But also, he’s darting glances at Eret every now and then, as if checking to see what his response will be, and—is he trying to distract him? To calm him down, perhaps, in the most Tommy-like way possible?

Something in Eret’s chest grows warm.

“As far as I know, Dream’s just a guy,” he says. “I’m sure he’s got a face.”

“An ugly face, maybe.”

“You—” He can’t help but check. He needs to know, needs to be certain. “You really don’t mind them?”

Tommy shrugs. “Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he says. “They’re fucking strange, and you’re fucking strange, but it’s alright, man. You don’t—I mean, I know you, and that seems more important than anything else, yeah?” And Eret’s face must be doing something at that, because Tommy scowls at him, sudden and ferocious. “No, no, I see what you’re thinking, this isn’t a thing either, you bastard. This isn’t a thing. You’re just being an idiot, so I’m correcting you. This is a correction, because I simply can’t let you go on thinking things that are wrong. You get that? I’m right and you’re not and I’m telling you that. That’s what this is.”

“Right, of course,” he says. “I wouldn’t dream of claiming otherwise.” He pauses. “But thank you, Tommy. Really. That kind of means a lot.”

Tommy’s face reddens. “Whatever,” he murmurs, but he sounds unmistakably pleased. “It’s fine. I’m gonna—I’m just gonna go now. G’night, Eret.”

“Goodnight, Tommy,” he replies, and watches as Tommy practically runs for the nearest ladder.

And he remembers his dream. Remembers Tommy looking at him with trust and terror in equal measure. Remembers the scars that dotted his face in the one second that it became clear. Remembers the tremble in his voice, and the horror in that last moment as someone came up behind them and slit his throat.

He gets a sudden, overwhelming urge to call out to him, to ask him about it. But he tamps down on it. To do so would be ridiculous, after all, and Tommy seems to have enough on his plate without him adding to it. And what would he even say? Oh, by the way, I watched you watch me die in my dream just a bit ago. You don’t think there’s any meaning to that, do you?

Because that would go over so well.

So he just watches as Tommy sets foot within the L’Manberg borders and heads off at a good clip toward the building he’s claimed as his house. It’s kind of a sad structure; they really do need some better architecture around here. Maybe he should get on that. He’s a fairly good builder himself. He might be able to draw up some plans.

For now, though, he turns his face back toward the stars, and tries to feel like there’s nothing missing.

33 notes · View notes

unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

Note

soft prompt ideas: comforting each other, cuddling, waking up together/going to sleep, going on a date, idk just being in each other’s company? i’m terrible at being specific but i hope these help!

hi bby<3 thank you so much to u (and everyone else!!!) for sending in prompts, they brought me so much joy and now i have SO many little soft things in the works:’)

yesterday ended up turning into a long day and i didn’t get to finish most of the things i started, but i wrote this while i was freshly showered and in bed and wanted to quickly whip up some bedtime softness to end the day right!! so here is the softest, quickest pre-11x07 bedtime one-shot and ode to the gallagher house, i hope u enjoy<3

Ian turned the creaky handle to shut off the shower, stilling the scalding water that had been beating a steady stream onto his body, soothing his aching muscles and weary bones. Ian was tired—after he and Mickey had gotten back from their various security stops around the outskirts of the city, he’d promised to help Lip track down and deliver parts to the people who’d bought the odds and ends of the stolen bikes, and then he’d somehow ended up in Lip and Tami’s living room that was half-packed into boxes for hours, silently sipping a beer and listening to them tag-team their attempts at persuading Ian to convince Debbie into wanting to sell the house— an effort that was a lost cause, and they all knew it.

It was kind of funny— they’d all gotten so close to losing the house so many times before, from being pulled out by DCFS officers to being kicked to the curb by fucking Patrick, to feeling desperate ripples of fear as they watched the house be put up for auction for a bunch of Northsiders and boujee fucking families who picked through the bare skeleton of the rooms as they pleased— so it was funny that after all of that, after their front door being plastered with more bright orange eviction notices than they could count, that the eventual thing driving them out of the house in the end would be a Gallagher himself, just because Lip wanted some extra cash. Ian got it— they were older now, and Lip had a kid to worry about— but he couldn’t help but feel a soft pang in his gut, something muted and dull but still there, every time Lip nonchalantly mentioned “fixing the house up” and “making gentrification our friend” and “getting on with our lives”—even though he and Mickey had readily agreed, at the family meeting that Mickey now had a right to be a part of, that it made the most sense to sell the house and for the two of them to find a place of their own.

And honestly, that prospect was a little terrifying; it sounded silly, but this crumbling house, with its paint stripping away and its roof nearly caving in, had pretty much been the only constant in Ian’s life for as long as he could remember. He had memories, ones that were soft around the edges, of him and Lip and Fiona sleeping curled in the backseats of cars and, on a few of the worst nights, on playgrounds or stoops or streetcorners when Frank and Monica were too far gone— and then inevitably one day, one sunny afternoon, they would come home to this sturdy gray house, and even then Ian understood that this was a place he could always return to. He didn’t really know what a world without the Gallagher house looked like; he always found his feet leading him back to these four walls, even those months when he was living with Mickey and he’d walk the silent moonlit city blocks back home to splash in the pool with everyone on those muggy, late summer nights. Thinking about the comforting sag of the Gallagher house was one of the few things that kept Ian going in the colorless cinderblock walls of his prison cell; the concave mattress of his single bed at home wasn’t much better than the inch-think foam pad he scrunched onto each night in his cell, but it was still familiar, it was still home, it had still held him through all of these years.

Lip wanting to sell the house was just another bitter reminder, along with the changing storefronts of the Southside neighborhood stores, the people walking by with baby strollers and shopping bags of organic groceries, the notches on the closet door that showed how much Franny had already grown, and the tinny sound of Fiona’s voice wafting through a Facetime call, a voice too small and too quiet to fill the absence she’d left behind—that things were always changing, that life wasn’t going to stop for any of them.

Ian clambered out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, scrubbing his face with his hands to try to clear his head. The hallway outside the bathroom was still, the only sound the soft hissing of the radiator—when the fuck did this house get so quiet? There was no boisterous laughter wafting up from downstairs, no clanging in the kitchen, no WWE blasting from the TV at full volume; Lip and Tami had moved out, Liam was grown up and preferred steady conversation to the classic Gallagher screeching, and Carl was either off at the station for the night or doing god-knows-what in the basement— when did silence start to sink into these walls, without anyone really noticing? Even Frank was getting quieter, somehow, giving more blank stares than quick replies when they talked back and forth in the kitchen.

Ian stepped out of the bathroom and crept down the hallway, walking carefully in case Franny was sleeping; there was a comfort in the melody of the creaking floorboards, reminding him of all the nights when he’d lay awake staring at the ceiling, sometimes gripped by the swirling black thoughts he thought he’d never be able to shake off, and he would hear Fiona tiptoeing around in the hallway, checking in on everyone while she tried not to wake them. Ian gripped the handle of the flimsy accordion bedroom door and slid it open as quietly as he could muster, ready to crawl into bed and hopefully snap out of all this wallowing.

And… oh.

The lamp on the bedside table was still on, shining a soft glow into the cramped room— but Mickey was curled up and fast asleep on Ian’s side of the bed, his mouth half-open and his head tucked to his chin, his hair slightly mussed and ruffled by on the pillow he was gripping onto. Ian smirked—he knew it was getting late, and Mickey might be asleep when he got home—but there was something so soft and innocent about the way Mickey was laying, like he was breathing in the scent of Ian’s pillow, that made him stop for a moment before mindlessly crawling into bed next to him. Ian let himself linger in the doorway for a moment, just listening to the steady waves of Mickey’s breathing, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks and the innocence in his sleeping face that was so bare and open that it almost hurt to look at.

Instantly, Ian felt something bloom in his chest from the pit of uncertainty that had been planted there. The Gallagher house had always been his home—but he realized in a sweeping moment that his best days here, ones where he felt solid and settled and himself rather than someone he was pretending to be, were the days when Mickey was nearby, the days when Mickey was just down the road.

Mickey made up the only other home he’d had, the only other place he’d felt this safe; they’d built a cocoon around themselves in the equally-as-shitty Milkovich house, smoking and laughing and whispering into each other’s skin in the darkness. Even as Ian’s grip on reality felt like it was slipping through his fingers, Mickey’s warm body next to his kept him rooted, in the same ways Mickey’s thrumming presence beside him kept him safe in all the blaring uncertainty of federal prison and imposing cell walls and the press of too many strange bodies in orange jumpsuits. Ian had always felt safe in the Gallagher house—but so much of that, since he was a scrawny fifteen year old, was because of the nights he spent awake in bed thinking up pipe dreams of a future with the loudmouthed kid he worked with at the convenience store, or when he could crawl into bed after a late night EMT shift and feel the solid, grounding weight in his chest as he remembered his road trip with Mickey to the border, and thought about Mickey having some kind of a better life in Mexico. So much of that feeling of home, especially through all of the epic highs and colossal lows, was just knowing that someone out there, by some miracle, loved Ian as deeply as Mickey Milkovich could— knowing he had a doorstep to run to when his own house was infiltrated by Monica and some stranger threatening to take Liam, or a bed to crash in for months when everything else in his life felt like shifting, unstable ground. So much of home was right here, and it always had been.

Ian quietly slid shut the squeaky folds of the door, discarding his towel and throwing a threadbare t-shirt over his head—and then he gingerly stretched out onto the opposite side of the bed beside a sleep-soft Mickey, his body radiating heat and the ends of his hair still damp from his own shower, smelling of the fresh scent of cheap shampoo and very slightly of toothpaste, mingling with the earthy smell of cigarette smoke and the other scent that Ian could only just describe as Mickey. Ian let himself lay there for a moment, listening to Mickey breathing— just breathing.

He reached over Mickey’s torso and shut off the bedside lamp, enveloping the room in a heavy cloak of darkness—but this time the silence didn’t seem so bad with Mickey’s steady breaths punctuating the quiet. He slid a hand over Mickey’s waist, resting his chin on the crook of Mickey’s shoulder and breathing in deep—he could feel Mickey’s heartbeat vibrating into his own chest, feeling the rise and fall of his ribcage as he held him close. Ian felt all the latent tension, the lungful of air he didn’t even know he had been holding, drain out of him—and it started to make him feel weirdly light and giddy to imagine sometime in the near future when he and Mickey would actually have a place of their own, a place where they could ride out the silence together just like this— a place with clutter and creaking floorboards and slanted moonlight of their own.

If the Gallaghers were “getting on with their lives,” like Lip had said—then this right here was the only thing that Ian was moving towards, just like he always had been.

#lol this was very contemplative and not very narrative heavy #but i hope u enjoyed??#i wrote 90% of this in my phone notes lol #also the fiona hall of shame got me feeling weirdly emotional about how much ian must miss fiona!!!!#anyways ty so much for the prompt<333 #gallavich #gallavich fanfiction #gallavich fic #ian and mickey #shameless #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich

70 notes · View notes

classysassy9791 · 3 years

Text

Fandom: Inuyasha Genre: Romance/Humor/Fluff Pairing: InuKag Rating: T

The conclusion for this little fic that has waited 6 years for completion. Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

Thank you to @akitokihojo for being such a stellar beta for this fic, and helping it come to its completion. Couldn't have done it without you!

For @inukag-week Day 6: Transformation.

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l

Part 4 Word Count: 2,000

Can also be found on FFN and AO3

It had been a very long time since Kagome had experienced a hangover.

The buzzing in her brain soon became too much to ignore as it beckoned her to consciousness. She opened her eyes to the dimly lit room. Sunlight peeking from beneath the closed curtains indicated it was daytime and she silently thanked herself for being smart enough to close them before leaving her apartment the evening before.

Kagome wrapped the duvet around herself and tried to grasp a hold on the fleeting darkness of unconsciousness. She knew nothing would cure a hangover except time, and she would rather spend it floating through dreamless sleep than deal with the repercussions head-on. Waves of nausea added to her misery and she could faintly smell whiskey with each exhale - a scent that was intoxicating last night, yet this morning it only caused her stomach to twist further.

Her phone pinged with a message, but she didn't dare even try to reach for it, the annoyingly bright glare of her phone not exactly something she wanted to sabotage herself with. As the minutes passed by, she became more acutely aware of her brain feeling like it would swell beyond the capacity of her skull, and her dehydration became too obvious to ignore. Her tongue felt like cotton as she licked her dry, cracked lips. Damn, why did the morning after always have to remind her of what a bad decision the night before was?

She squinted and finally set her gaze on her nightstand. A surprising wave of relief washed over her. Drunk Kagome must have had an intelligent moment, for on her nightstand stood a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water. As quickly as she dared, she propped herself up on one elbow, trying to ignore the slight spin of the room, before greedily popping two pills and finishing the water. Even so, her thirst was far from quenched.

As Kagome tried to sort through her memories of the night before, she quickly registered that she had no memory of coming home last night. The last, clear recollection she could come up with had her sitting at the bar with Inuyasha and sharing a shot with the bartender.

"Shit," she groaned, hanging her head before precariously pulling her legs from beneath her blanket. Blacking out from drinking had been a favorite past time of hers back in her early college days. It wasn't because she didn't know her own limits when it came to being intoxicated, but back then, she simply didn't care. Drinking had been her favorite vice when it came to dealing with the pressures of school, boyfriends, and girl drama. It had been years since she had felt the need to get obliterated so completely.

Finally finding her courage, Kagome reached over and unlocked her phone. The red battery sign at the top meant it was almost dead, so she quickly scrolled through all the alerts on her phone. There had been way too many messages and missed calls from Hojo, which triggered the memory of the picture she had sent him. Her nausea increased ten-fold. Regret was a spiteful bitch.

Hojo was going to be the afternoon's problem. Maybe even tomorrow's problem. All Kagome knew was that it wasn't going to be a now problem.

Kagome plugged in her phone and once she was on her feet, the room swayed, almost causing her to lose balance. She stumbled out into the hallway to her bathroom to relieve herself. When she finished, she washed her hands and splashed cold water on her face just to feel something refreshing. The person's face who greeted her in the mirror no longer resembled the glamorous girl of the night. Only a woman's face awash with guilt, a wrinkled set of pajamas, and hair that was far from attractive.

From the other end of the apartment, Kagome suddenly heard a key turning in her front door. Immediately, she felt panic rise in her throat, eyes going wide. No one had a key to her apartment, not even Hojo, so unless she had been robbed last night - which she very may well have considering she had very little memory of it - no one should be coming over.

She swallowed thickly against her cotton throat and grabbed the first weapon at her fingertips - a plunger. Yeah, she wasn't winning any awards for being clever, but she was hungover and scared for her life.

Kagome crept down the hallway toward the front door and nearly lost her breath at who she saw standing in her entryway. The man from the bar last night - Inuyasha? - was making his way to her kitchen with a carrier filled with coffee and a bag from her favorite breakfast joint down the block.

"Good morning," he greeted casually, not at all thrown off by her presence as he set down his packages on the counter. "I brought you breakfast."

Rage and astonishment swelled in her chest. "What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?!"

He winced and held his hands over his ears before turning to glare at her. "If you could wait until after eight in the morning to start yelling, I'd really appreciate it."

"You didn't answer my question," she seethed, wide eyes sweeping the rest of the apartment for evidence as to what exactly happened last night?!

Inuyasha studied her from across the room and laughed at her dumbfounded expression. "Did you think I was a burglar or something? What's with the plunger?"

Kagome looked down at the plunger she held in his direction like a sword, and felt a blush bloom across her cheeks. She hurriedly hid it behind her back. "W-What was I supposed to think?"

He simply rolled his eyes. "Do you want breakfast or not?"

She bit her lip, but couldn't deny the ravenous hunger eating away at her stomach. Probably half the reason why she was so nauseous. Without saying another word, she slipped back into the bathroom to put away her weapon before meeting him in the kitchen. The sweet aroma of coffee and fresh bagels greeted her. She could've kissed him all over again.

"I didn't know how you liked your coffee, so I got cream and sugar just in case."

Kagome slowly sat down in the chair across from him, watching him slather some cream cheese on his bagel and drink his black coffee. She racked her brain as to exactly why Inuyasha was in her apartment, and then flashes of the night before came rushing back, of sloppy passionate kisses and tangled sheets.

Her heart dropped to her stomach.

Inuyasha studied the array of emotions that flickered across her face while he slowly chewed his bite of bagel and then swallowed. "Kagome, how much do you remember of last night?"

She bit her lip, shameful eyes lifting to his. "Um, well…" Her gaze fell to her person, realizing she was no longer wearing the sequined black dress she had gone out in. All the evidence pointed to a girl she wanted no relation to, making decisions that were very, very regrettable.

"We didn't sleep together."

Kagome's eyes flew to Inuyasha's, his deep voice quelling her fears. "We-We didn't?"

Amber eyes watched her carefully before turning back to his bagel. "No, we didn't. I'm not the kinda guy who beds a girl when she's drunk. Not my style."

A breath Kagome didn't know she had been holding escaped her lips. She had never been the type of girl to have one-night-stands. Her friends always teased her about it, but it was something she prided herself in. Having sex with someone wasn't something she did on a whim. She wanted to know she meant more to someone than an easy lay.

Her brows furrowed as she sipped on her coffee. "If we didn't sleep together, then why are you here?" she questioned. It would've been one thing if she had woken up with a naked man in her bed and kicked him out because of sheer embarrassment. It was another thing entirely that a man she didn't sleep with would bring her breakfast in the morning.

Inuyasha shrugged. "I was too tired to get another ride home last night, so I slept on your couch."

Kagome glanced over the breakfast bar to see a blanket and pillow on her couch as evidence that it had been occupied the night before.

"You know, you probably shouldn't drink so much."

She threw him a glare. "Did I ask for your judgement?"

He shrugged. "I'm just sayin'. Letting a stranger take you home because you're too drunk isn't exactly attractive."

Kagome scoffed. "Oh, thanks for the help," she snipped sarcastically. "What would I've done without you?"

Inuyasha grinned. "Probably throw a party to celebrate my absence."

"Probably, yeah," she hotly agreed. "I would've been just fine on my own."

"Maybe."

She frowned, flashes of last night starting to come back. They had been two heartbroken strangers in a bar who found comfort in their shared misery. Under the neon flashing lights and upbeat techno music, they gravitated toward one another like moths to a flame. But by morning they had transformed; she no longer represented the alluring woman who bewitched him, and he no longer appeared as the mysterious man who captivated her.

Now, she was simply Kagome Higurashi - a woman who was dumped by her fiance and had a mile-long to-do list regarding cleaning up their frayed relationship. And he was simply Inuyasha.

Kagome inwardly cringed. She didn't even know his last name. Or what he did for work. Or anything about him really.

Just fucking great.

"Look, Inuyasha," she began, setting down her coffee. "I appreciate everything you, er, did for me, but-"

"When we're done here, we should go on a real date."

Her mouth fell open. "What?"

Inuyasha shrugged. "Why not?"

"You have got to be joking," Kagome said while shaking her head. "One-night stands are literally just for one night, and we definitely would not work out."

He grinned. "Damn. That's a quick deduction there."

Kagome blushed. "I just mean that, last night… it was great and all, but…"

"It's daytime and the whole world's changed?" Inuyasha finished for her.

She sighed and looked away. He was right. Things were different. Last night didn't happen often for her, and bringing home a guy to her apartment never happened. If it were up to her, she'd stuff last night in a box as a precious memory and then forget it ever happened.

"I'm not saying I'm over Kikyou."

Kagome met his gaze. His eyes locked onto her, and held not an ounce of mirth. He was serious about this. He wanted to see if this could become something.

"And I doubt you're over your ex-fiance," he continued. "But, last night was fun. You're different and piss me off to no end-"

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" she asked with narrowed eyes.

He sighed and after a moment finally stood up. "Look. You seem like a great girl. But I'm not one to beg. Thanks for the couch." Slipping his phone into his back pocket, he turned to leave.

"Inuyasha, wait!" Kagome called as she chased after him.

Dammit. This guy was so infuriating! He insulted her, and called her names, and angered her enough to make her slap him upside the head. But he also made her laugh, and feel alive, and made her want to kiss him again and again.

She couldn't deny that she wanted to see him again.

Grabbing his elbow, she made him stop in his tracks and look over his shoulder at her. "What?"

"This…" she started, fumbling for the right words. "This is never going to work. You and I."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "I'll pick you up at six."

And then he was gone, closing the door behind him.

Within a moment of him leaving, Kagome realized something: Meeting Inuyasha was either going to be the best luck she ever had, or the very worst. At least, on the bright side, he had already witnessed her at her lowest.

How bad could it be?

#inuyasha #kagome #inukag #fanfiction #inuyasha fanfiction #inukag fanfiction #inukag week #sassy stays classy #my fanfiction #double shot of heaven

31 notes · View notes