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catscidr · 6 months

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Imagine Yandere Dottore x puppet like reader 🤭

i got carried away (again) im sorry lmaogsnfs(ɾ⚈▿⚈)ɹ this isnt as yandere as u would expect it to be for a dottore post bc i love me some good slow burn and character development but its fine its still dottore ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: dottore tinkers with reader's inner stuff (literally), he gets weird about it includes: gn!reader, dottore, pantalone and dottore's clones mentionned for like a second wc: 1,5k

You and Dottore had a simple routine; once a week, he would fix you up from whatever had happened to your body and mechanical system from adventuring in the past seven days and, in exchange, you would let him look and poke around your intricate mechanisms so he could learn more about machines and artificial life in Teyvat. He was, first and foremost, a scholar after all.

However, he’s been getting a little more handsy and has seemed almost... worried the last two times you came back from your trips.

...Worried in his own way, of course.

The doctor wasn’t afraid to make you uncomfortable and, when he found a particularly harmful anomaly in your body, he could be even more insufferable. Nothing that you couldn’t handle- being mostly made up of elemental energy and cables gave you a pretty resistant body- so his change in attitude only irritated you more than it hurt. His hands, usually covered by surgical gloves, would lack the latex material to move aside your plates, leaving fingerprints all over the sides and corners. You voiced your annoyance with his behavior but, in normal Il Dottore fashion, he simply disregarded your complaints.

Today was no exception; you had just come back from a trip in Liyue, exploring the depths of the Chasm and underground mines, and came back to his lab covered in that gross, dark goo. You weren’t experiencing any side effects from the substance thankfully, still, the doctor argued that there had to be something wrong somewhere. The dirt stuck to your clothes and had no intentions of coming off when you rubbed at it (you considered bugging the Regrator to pay for a new outfit because there was no way you were going to lose your hard-earned mora just because a hilichurl decided to fling a handful of that filthy mud at you), but that was the extent of your problems. You kept insisting to the doctor that you were fine, that you just needed a good, long, scalding hot shower to scrape the dirt off of your artificial skin, but he just wouldn’t let it go.

You had taken off your overcoat, the extra layer being in the way of his handiwork and had tossed it somewhere on his desk in petty revenge. He paid no mind to the small mess you made of his workspace, his attention purely on you- or rather, his attention purely on a stubborn stain on the bottom of your neck, trickling down to your collarbone, stopping right before your inner layer of clothes. Right where that damn hilichurl had struck you.

“Do I need to send a segment with you every time you go out or will you stop putting yourself in situations where you get all fucked up and have to crawl back to me?” he grumbles dramatically under his breath, loudly enough for you to hear. Purposely.

With your head thrown back, tilted away from him to allow him the space to open up your neck panel to clean your inside system from the goo that had seeped through the cracks, you can do nothing but groan in annoyance, done with his passive aggressive comments demeaning your competency.

“You keep saying that, but I doubt you or your clones would be able to keep up with me. All you ever do is stay holed up in your lab. How would a hermit possibly be of help to me?” you huff, staring up at the ceiling.

Suddenly, you feel your hand clench and twitch repeatedly and you wince in discomfort. Glancing down, you see Dottore’s unamused and irritated gaze boring into you as he pinches the wire in your mechanism responsible for hand movement, a silent threat for you to tone down your attitude.

“What? It’s true!” you double down stubbornly, smacking his fingers away from you with your free hand. He scoffs, irritated, but doesn’t respond. He had better things to do than to prove himself to you, anyways. While he sulks, you bring your (previously twitching) hand up to the light, rolling your wrist and wriggling your fingers to make sure he didn’t damage anything.

“Next time I’ll just ask one of your clones to patch me up if you’re so pissed that I come see you when I get back from my trips,” you scoff, placing both hands flat on the vivisection table you were sitting on, leaning on them as you look at him with a raised brow. You can feel the tension radiating off of him, his jaw clenching as he straightens his back, looking (glaring) back at you.

“Don't,” he says simply, taking a step towards you and bringing his hands back up to your throat to finish the job he had started earlier- getting rid of that pesky mud.

You feel the atmosphere shift as clear as day. You may not be human, but you were pretty in-tune with emotions and how they worked; which was why you were even more confused as to why the Harbinger was acting this way. Tilting your head back to let him do what he was doing just a few minutes ago, you break the tense silence.

“Then stop being on my case,” you huff, closing your eyes to let him do what he had to do. You hear him hum in response and hold back the urge to scoff at him and his childish antics.

Dottore diligently and silently cleans the crevices of your neck and throat, nimble fingers fixing damaged wires and placing things back where they should be so everything is in order once more. With his usual mask absent, his face was impossibly close to your throat, almost inside of your puppet body as he studied how you worked. Instead of blood flowing through veins and creating a pulse, you had electro energy flowing through you, mimicking the veins you lacked. When you inhaled, a weak wave of energy would flow up the left side of your body, and when you exhaled it would go back down, and rinse and repeat. Dottore watched the process, pensive, while you stared at nothing, bored out of your mind.

“Are you done yet?” you ask quietly, legs itching to hop off the metal table. Dottore stays quiet for longer than usual, lost in thought.

In a flash, he puts his entire hand beneath your chest from the opening in your neck. His fingers brush something rubber-y in texture, digging deeper between your chest plate and the mess of cables mimicking a spine. You make a garbled noise of surprise, roughly pulled out of your thoughts and yank his hand out, face flushed with embarrassment and something akin to fury (but not quite).

“What the fuck was that?!” you hiss, hand still holding his wrist firmly. Dottore watches the way his hand prickles with electro as it fades in the air, his eyebrows furrowed and expression indecipherable. Crimson eyes flicker back up to meet yours. You can't help the shudder that passes through your body, swallowing a lump in your throat nervously from the intensity of his gaze.

“I wonder how your body would react if you were injected with hydro energy,” he murmurs to himself, still staring right at you. “Would you let me find out?” he asks, voice slightly louder than before.

“Would you let me do more than just observe your inner machinery?” he asks. The Harbinger takes a step forward.

“Would you let me toy with you?”

Dottore, now staring down at your sat figure, carried an aura you couldn’t decipher. With his body blocking the overhead lighting, it almost looked like his hair was reflecting the buzzing fluorescent lights of his lab, icy hair surrounding his head like a gentle halo. You feel your mouth get dry, rendered unable to respond.

“Only come to me. I’ll learn how your body works, inside and out. No one is to see you like this,” he whispers, face eerily still. “Not even my segments. I’ll behead them in front of you if need be.”

Dottore held his face mere inches away from yours, his ragged breath tickling your cheeks as it made the stray strands of hair flutter. Your eyes never left his, not even when he brought one hand up to your face, sliding across your cheek to tangle itself into your hair while his other hand glid across the cables inside your chest cavity in uncharacteristic fondness. Though his fingers were gentle and soft, his eyes didn’t betray the flicker of something sinful.

“Would you like that? To be able to study their innards,” he says in a sickly-sweet tone. You study his face; his eyes, usually swimming with irritation and contempt, held a hint of something akin to devotion.

“Let me study yours. Let me pull you apart completely and then put you back together. I’m not satisfied with simply looking anymore,” he hisses, eyes widening. “I want to mark you from the inside. So let me.”

You couldn’t find the will to protest.

#୧ ‧₊˚orderup!#dottore x reader #dottore x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #dottore x gn reader

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hrmdream · 3 years

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Ho Ho Ho! MERRY PITCHMAS @beca-mitchell !!! ‘Tis be your damn Secret Santa here, and I have presents for one of the naughtiest nicest on Santa’s list. That’s right. I said presents!!! I tried my best to create a supernatural world for you and got carried away. There is a lot I wanted to pack in, so this is a two-parter. If You Lead, I Will Follow Rating: M (Language) Summary: Think supernaturals kinda sorta AND THEN, because I could not give you just half of a present and I know you like your pain... I tried my hand at some light angst with a happy ending. I hope you enjoy and have a happy holiday :D Below the cut: Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop Rating: G Word Count: 1201 Summary: Beca can’t stop the bitterness that comes from missing someone

A heavy sigh escapes through Beca’s parted lips. She presses her back against her front door and slides her tongue over her teeth and sucks. It is a lame attempt to rid herself of the unwanted, invasive taste seeping over her tongue and permeating into the smallest recesses of her mouth.

For being just a feeling, bitterness was making its presence known throughout all her senses. Sour on her tongue. Pungent in her nose. Pressure in her mind. Beca clenches her fists and hangs her head low. Flurries of snow from the snowfall coating the streets of New York City fall from her head and land at her feet.

Beca breathes in slowly. Her chest steadily rises and falls as she watches the snow melt against the hardwood floors of her apartment.

It has been a while since Beca’s bitter monster last reared its ugly head. Beca would think after such time it would have packed up and moved on to a different home, but apparently she provides it a healthy environment to thrive. Considering its neighbors are inconsolable regret and haunting self-loathing, Beca guesses perpetual bitterness fits in just fine.

The images of the night Beca is just returning from flash in her mind. Comforting blue eyes. Easy conversation. Charming and bubbly laughter.

Beca sighs.

Anyone else would have considered the night she was returning from a good night. No - not simply ‘good’. More likely great. See, Beca was returning home from a date. A date in which she had received a goodnight kiss and a promise for future plans as a form of farewell.

But the thing is, Beca is not just anyone. And the cause for the bitter ache in her chest is because there is a hole in her heart no one, no matter how meticulously dressed, kind and beautiful, seems to be able to fill.

So no, Beca does not find giddiness in the kiss. And no, she does not consider the night a success.

Beca knows it is unfair. Not just to her date who was trying, truly trying, with all of her laughter, eye-catching smiles, gentle touches and bright and optimistic attitude, but to Beca herself.

Beca recalls the bitter pain that shot through to her gut when her date had reached out to hold her hand. The whole action was timid, but confident, and Beca found it a little bit endearing, so Beca let their fingers lock together. She let the fantasy of naturally fitting continue. But in her heart and mind, Beca was imagining she was holding the hand of another.

Beca’s will to believe was so strong, she gripped the hand in hers. And when small circles were rubbed against the back of her hand, she relished in the warmth that travelled up her arm with it, thinking back on gentle coaxes that always came when Beca needed them most.

Beca hates herself for it - the disservice to both her and her date. Beca has no idea if the other woman’s hands are in fact soft. She only knows that they are warm. And Beca knows the momentary bliss in her daydream has obviously fogged her date’s reality. It’s why she was given a good night kiss. At least there Beca did not let herself get lost.

Beca sighs again.

She is not sure how long she has been standing against her front door, but the realization brings with it weird company. The silence of her apartment grows around her in an ironic deafening kind of way - pounding against her eardrums and overpowering the thudding of her heart.

Overwhelmed, Beca closes her eyes only to be jolted back to alertness from the ghost of a laugh. From the corner of her eye, Beca swears she catches a blur of red. When she whips her head, she finds nothing. Just her apartment. Exactly as it is. Though vastly different from how it was.

There are no more odds and ends. No collection of random items picked up from street markets, bargain bins and thrift stores and stuffed into spaces where ‘if they fits, they sits’. Only neat, tidy collections of things in places where they belong. Quite boring if Beca lets herself think about it too much. Which she does.

As her mind floods with memories, Beca’s chest quickly constricts. She streams hot air through her nose and shakes her head, telling herself to come to. To get it together. She vowed to herself before her date to stop letting herself be reminded everywhere, anytime, doing anything (even if she failed already tonight, that does not mean she stops trying).

It has been one month, twenty-two days and fifteen hours. That is one month, twenty-two days and fifteen hours filled with moments Beca has let herself crumble at the slightest hint of another time.

But no more.

No more will Beca’s heart ache.

No more will Beca forget to breathe.

No more will Beca, with her windows down, music drowning, and heartbreak on her mind feel the hole left behind.

“Becs, I don’t think this is working out.”

Beca fights back the tears forming in her eyes. Right. No more of that either.

Her head nods with strong conviction. New resolve in her heart, Beca brushes herself off and straightens up. In the spirit of getting it together, Beca is taking off her shoes to prepare to unwind from the night when she realizes her phone is buzzing in her jacket pocket.

Her brow furrows when she checks the clock on the wall.

At one in the morning, Beca thinks the only calls being made should be urgent ones. She pulls her phone from her pocket and nearly drops it when her heart skips a beat. Staring down at the phone screen, she almost forgets to breathe.

Yet, in all of the state of freeze, Beca feels more aware than she has in days (okay, months-ish. You know exactly how many).

Her incoming call is reading “Chloe Beale”.

Beca has a momentary panic of wondering what she should do, whether it is real, should she pick up, and how she should answer. All of that comes to a halt when a stronger voice in her mind tells her to pick up the damn call.

So she does.

“Hello?” Beca wonders if her uncertainty, shaking fear, and trembling resolve can be heard. The continued silence also makes her wonder what is happening, what she should do, and if anyone is even on the other line.

“Hi. I miss you.”

Pang. Ache.

“Becs, I’m sorry. I miss you. I love you.”

Boom. Breathe.

“Becs? Are you- are you there?”

“Yes. Yeah. I’m here, Chlo.”

“Can I - Can I come over?”

“Please. Come over.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

Beca stares and blinks down at the phone in her hand. She looks around, forgetting what she was in the middle of doing before the call. What she does know is that tingles are rupturing goosebumps across her skin from her fingers all the way down to her toes. Every nerve in her body is in a jumble.

She feels giddy.

She feels alive.

Happy Holidays to her.

#bechloe fic #merry pitchmas 2020 #bechloe #beca-mitchell #my writing

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ymiwritesstuff · 4 years

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I know I've already given you a request but this is stuck in my head. Could you do a Gyro x female vampire reader who is trying to go without feeding but just becomes weaker as a result and Gyro has to help her? Thank you and you're amazing!!!

Aah, thanks so much for the request and I am so sorry this took so long. I hope this will make up for it. I tried my best as I still need to get used to writing regularly but I sincerely hope you enjoy this!

Regaining Strength

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 7: Steel Ball Run

Gyro Zeppeli x Vampire!Fem!Reader

Summary: When the sun begins to raise the three travelers find themselves spending the upcoming day resting at a motel. However you quickly notice something isn’t right and it doesn’t take long before a certain Italian offers his help.

Notes: A bit of blood

The sun peaked over the vast horizon, bringing the rays of yet another morning with it and coating the area in a pleasant warm glow. This would mean yet another day of tiring riding for the majority of the racers of the Steel Ball Run, but not for a certain group of three.

The staff of the small motel looked at you and the two males rather curiously when you reserved a room to spend the day in, having been riding on horseback the entire night. Competitors occasionally traveled during the dark time of the day, however, none did this as consistently and often as you did. And the sole reason for this unusual time of travel was you.

Being a vampire provided a certain set of advantages but with those advantages came things that made life just a tad bit more difficult. Any exposure to sunlight could mean certain death for someone like you so the only way you could advance in the already dangerous race was doing so only when the sun set. Fortunately for you, you quickly found yourself in the company of Johnny and Gyro, the latter of which you had grown quite fond of during the Steel Ball Run.

After the curtains of the room you were to reside in had been closed and the young Joestar fell into a deep sleep on one of the beds, you found yourself looking around the quite charming space surrounding you, while secretly looking for any places from which the deadly sun could seep through. Gyro stood in front of the now-closed curtains and carefully peeked through, as he often did.

“Damn, the daytime looks so weird now. Who knew I’d get used to being awake at night so quickly,” he said while his emerald eyes scanned the sight of the morning before him. You looked at him while standing next to one of the empty beds and chuckled lightly. “Welcome to my world.” The Italian glanced at you and flashed a grin that slightly showed his golden teeth before turning back to the window.

“You sure you don’t wanna come take a look at this? The sun looks awfully pretty today,” he joked, knowing full well that his request would receive no action as you weren’t dumb enough to walk into certain death. Still, you played along.

“Oh, really? Well, perhaps I should-”

“When did you last eat?”

Suddenly, completely out of nowhere your legs gave out and you instinctively relied on the bed next to you for support. Your vision got strangely blurry and everything around you seemed to spin and distort in all kinds of ways. Having heard your sentence cut short as well as the small groan that left your mouth, Gyro quickly turned around, his previous joking attitude disappearing entirely.

“(Name)? Everything alright?” He swiftly approached you and helped you on your feet once more, however the strange dizziness was still very much apparent. “Y-yeah... I just... Felt dizzy all of a sudden...” Your hands held onto him for support while your mind tried to go through the possible causes for this sudden sensation. You were just about to realize what made you feel this sick, but Gyro seemed to reach a conclusion faster.

His question immediately caused you to look up at him and you began thinking back at the earlier events of the night. The distance you rode with your horses was a long one and Gyro made sure you were properly fed the entire time. However, for some reason, the feeling of hunger never hit you, or you had somehow managed to ignore it entirely. “Just before we started moving,” you say quietly, as you know that he realized just how many hours it had been.

Consuming blood was something you never enjoyed, yet you had to do it in order to stay alive. Starvation was already bad for a human, but when a vampire like you was in its clutches, things could get dangerous quickly. Gyro stayed quiet for a few seconds and you expected him to scold you for allowing yourself to go without food for such a long time, but instead, he let go of you and walked to the bed you had been next to, sitting down.

“Alright, you know the drill,” he said and began to remove his scarf that was loosely around his neck, the sight of which immediately made your eyes glow. “You know I’ll worry my ass off if you don’t eat.” His voice was unusually serious. Despite his playful and sometimes sarcastic personality, Gyro took you and anything you needed very seriously, to the point where he didn’t mind offering his blood in order to keep you strong. However, he also knew of your unwillingness to feed on human blood, let alone his.

“Gyro... You know I don’t want to. Besides, I feel just fine. Look,” You spun around a couple of times to try to convince him that you didn’t feel the previous dizziness anymore. But you couldn’t control the underlying desire to consume the delicious liquid flowing under the skin of his neck. Gyro looked at you, giving you a look that was not impressed by your convincing and you secretly knew he wasn’t going to let this one go.

“(Name), you know damn well I’m not gonna move or rest until you’ve been fed.” He said, still looking at you with eyes that were filled with determination and slight worry. He was stubborn about all of this, but it only because he cared. His gaze softened lightly. “I’ll be fine, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head off.” The small hint of playfulness in his voice returned and admittedly eased your discomfort slightly. However, you were still reluctant.

“But... What if I drink too much?” Your thoughts immediately went back to the last time you had drunk his blood and just how overwhelming the feeling had been. It was always risky and the last thing you wanted was to hurt him. His brows frowned slightly, but his gorgeous emerald green eyes were still locked on your currently weakened form.

“You won’t.” This caused you to finally look at him. The amount of confidence his words had puzzled you, how could he be so sure? “Gyro, this isn’t a game. How could you possibly know-”

“Because I trust you.” The way he spoke stuck to you like tar, his words reaching the very core of your being. He knew the risks, but was still willing to help you in any way he could, from traveling at night just so he could have you near him, to offering you his very own blood that you needed now more than ever. You accepted defeat with a sigh and made your way to him. It was not merely because his words and trust in a creature of the night had such an effect on you, it was also because the unbearable lust for blood seemed to partially be controlling your movements, your nose picking up the scent of the liquid under his skin.

You swallowed nervously as you sat next to him, the sound of his blood flowing in his veins echoing in your ears. “Just... Please tell me if it gets too intense,” you said, voice barely audible. “Sure thing, cara.” You barely caught the reassuring grin he flashed you as your eyes were already staring at the spot you desperately wanted to sink your fangs into. With slow movements, you lowered yourself to his neck and could hear his heart beating rapidly, despite his calm demeanor from the outside. It calmed you in a way.

With a small sniff you took in the captivating scent of his blood and after placing a gentle kiss on the soft skin of his neck, you pierced the delicate flesh with your fangs and immediately felt him flinch. You held onto him and as soon as the warm liquid hit the sensitive sensors on your tongue, something snapped within you, and that overwhelming lust you experienced last time you did this only seemed to grow. With every gulp, you regained your strength, and the more you consumed, the more addicting it became

It was unreal. Your claws gripped onto the material of his shirt and the desire to feel stronger kept your fangs in his neck even after you had devoured enough. You couldn’t stop. You wanted more. You needed more. All the surrounding sounds were overpowered by your own inner voices demanding more of that heavenly blood of his. It was intense, and Gyro could feel it too.

“W-woah... Hey, listen, (Name),” he said, his voice becoming much quieter and raspier. He felt his blood being drained from him and as your lust grew and your grip on him tightened, he knew it was time to stop. “I... I think you’ve had enough...” He gently grabbed your shoulders, which fortunately seemed to bring you back to reality as almost immediately, he could no longer feel your fangs digging into his skin.

Your (E/C) eyes looked up at him, worry sparkling in them. You were so quick to check up on him, you didn’t even notice the blood dripping from the corners of your mouth. “Are you okay?” You simply asked, feeling stronger than before, but worried about his condition. As a response, he merely chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. And you seem to be as well.” He said and looked at you, noting just how much better and healthier you looked. A sigh of relief escapes your lips and after you wipe the remaining liquid from your lips, you gently bring them to his cheek, as a sign of gratitude.

“Thank you.”

Gyro grinned at your action and immediately threw his arm around you. “Anything for you. Oh, and thank you for not killing me.” He joked once again, which made you giggle and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Of course, dear. If you died who would be my personal blood bag?”

The fact that he seemingly took this lightly was unbelievable to you, but then again, Gyro Zeppeli was one of a kind and you were fortunate to have him by your side.

#jjba #jojo #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Steel Ball Run #gyro #gyro zeppeli #jjba gyro #jojo gyro #gyro x reader #gyro zeppeli x reader #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #reader insert

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imaginesmai · 4 years

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Mob!Tom Holland - Fawn (5)

This is inspired by Don’t play with fire , @peaceisadirtyword. It’s an amazing Ivar fic, take a look if you have time!

Previous parts in the general summary. Click here to read the previous parts!

Plot: you meet Tom again, and he has something to tell you.

Warnings: violence.

It was the next Monday when you met Tom again.

You had spent a whole week on your house, in sneakers and soft sweaters. Richard kept working on the Holland’s file while you focused on your job, so you didn’t really see each other besides on certain occasions. Richard moved everything that had to do with his work to his apartment, with the excuse that it was something really big that he needed to work with some of his friends, and he didn’t want to fill the house with cops every day.

That was as fake as you being okay with what had happened with Tom, because his cops friends had been in the house many more times before that.

However, it gave you a good chance to tear way from him for a while. The house was cleaner without him, and even if he stayed for dinner most of the days, you cleaned after and everything went back to normal. You remodelled two of your projects in your office, kept your dates with Lisa by taking coffee from the dispenser machine and thought about Tom every other second of your week.

He didn’t really know where you lived, as you made him stop on the corner of the parallel street, and you couldn’t contact him. That left you out of the gangster life for a long week, that served you to realized that you had grown used to his chatty self.

On Monday, you went to the laundry shop a few blocks away from your home. Your laundry was broken, and you had been accumulating things in hopes that Richard passed by and took a look into the machine. But you hadn’t seen him since Saturday, so you got fed up and walked to the laundry shop with your bowl full of clothes.

It was heavy and more than once in the short five minutes-walk you thought you might lose something. But then you arrived to the laundry shop, and breathed in relief when your arms rested.

“Hey”

You looked up to see a blonde woman looking at you with a mean glare, while holding up a small bag with her belongings.

“You’re behind me. Put yourself on the queue” she snarled. You looked behind you and saw no one.

“But I’m already the last one” you frowned.

“Yeah, but behind me. Not besides me”

It was true that you were barely misplaced to the left, as your bag was resting on a counter which was besides her. She kept staring at you, as if you would move just by her glaring. You didn’t really feel like moving the bag again, because that would mean leaving it on the floor. And just a few minutes later, rise it up to rest it again in the counter.

There weren’t more than five people there, including you, so you didn’t do as she was saying.

“I know I’m behind you” you tried to reason. “Even if I’m besides you. I’m not going to seep, alright?”

“No, it’s not alright” she said stubbornly, and you felt like throwing her inside the machine. “I was here first and the counter is beside me, not behind me”

“But you weren’t using it”

“Maybe I want to use –“

“Then you can search for another laundry shop with more counters” a new voice announced, and you turned around yourself quickly.

The woman shut up because even a whiney person like her knew who Tom was. Behind you, Tom was smiling and holding up his own basket, that seemed much more bigger and heavy than yours. Still, he was holding it with one hand, while the other had the phone out. He wasn’t looking at the phone though, but at you.

You hadn’t realized how much you had missed his brown sparkling eyes until you saw them that Monday morning. He looked far different than in the club, wearing just a pair of grey jeans and a blue sweater with a weird logo.

All the questions or explanations you had wanted to give to him when you saw him dissolved in your tongue like sand, and you opened your mouth for nothing.

“Hey fawn”

Tom’s voice was as gentle as you remembered, and once more reminded you how different he was from Richard. Even if the last one had been on his best behaviour during the week, Tom still beat him by far. He set a faint blush and tingling feeling in your stomach, and as always that he was in front of you your mouth moved without your brain’s consent.

“You went to midtown highschool?”

Tom looked down to his sweater, his eyebrows raised. He hadn’t given it much thought, neither when he received or when he had put it on in the morning. It was just lying on the back of his wardrobe and, for going to laundry shop, he didn’t need more. He smiled though as he ran a finger across the logo of midtown school of science and technology. It was slightly faded, but you could still read the letters.

“Something like that” Tom shrugged, looking back at you. “I did some kind of scholarship when I was fourteen, and I went there for a week. Pretty sure I was supposed to give it back, but I kept it”

You hummed appreciatively and Tom shifted his weight, balancing the basket on his arm. The sound the machines moving and the occasional huff of angry attitude of the previous woman was all that could be heard for a second. There were a pair of teenagers in the corner, talking calmly and too close to be just friends, and the man who had been with his daughter was now carrying her on his shoulder asleep while he exited.

That left one machine free, and the woman rushed to it, as if you were going to materialize and occupy it before her. It was awkward for a while, and for the first time you didn’t know what to say to Tom.

You focused on the woman, who was taking, exactly, only a pair of jeans, two shirts and a smaller bag with her underwear. So much for having to be the first one. You stepped forward, keeping a hand on your basket, and Tom did the same. You could feel his eyes behind you, but you didn’t turn your back.

At least, until he talked again.

“Are you angry at me?”

The question made you turn around surprised, not expecting him to ask you. Tom was sheepishly looking at the ground, to his sneakers covered shoes. It took you a while to answer, because you couldn’t understand why you would be angry at him. Unless, of course, he had noticed you hadn’t gone to the club for a week – which was, in your opinion and much to your survival instinct dismay again, very sweet.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, you tell me” he shrugged. One of the teenagers laughed loudly, and the woman’s machine started working. “I haven’t seen you in a week”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy with some projects” you said, and resisted the urge of tilting his head up, because he was looking just too cute. “I would have… said something, but I don’t know where to find you, except at midnight in the back of some club”

“That sounded a bit like Cinderella” Tom lifted his head and smiled at you for a short second. “But – I was, uh, talking about Saturday night. You know, with… what happened at Dom’s and the way I kind of, uh, dumped you?”

You were more shocked about the last part than about Dom. Technically, he hadn’t dumped you – he had just been as willing as you to part ways as soon as possible. And it had been a blessing, because if he had started to ask questions, like why you seemed so nervous or why you went to Lisa’s apartment, it would have been a problem. But still, even if you had assumed all the fault about what happened on Saturday’s night, it seemed like Tom had done the same.

“I’ve been busy, really” you returned the smile. “Besides… nothing happened. Right? They were just – a couple of cops. No?”

“We don’t have a good relationship with them” Tom chuckled humourlessly, and it surprised you how little you had to dig for an answer. “It’s kind of obvious, I guess. But we’re not always the bad guys, you know?”

No, you didn’t beat Dom, more like the people who were supposed to protect civilians

Even if Richard had told you half of the truth, it was a rare occasion. He usually hid things from you, and it didn’t take a genius to know that some of the police squad had not only violent tendencies, but also… racists, and a bit homophobic. The comments that they made when they came to your house made you want to throw up.

And you knew, that Richard hadn’t told you what had really happened with Dom. Once someone was classified as scum by Richard, the man had no limit.

“I know” you tightened your lips and avoided saying anything else.

“I’m not a good company, nor my brothers” Tom continued. He looked behind you and checked that the woman had still her earphones on, moving her feet to the music. “They – they related Dom with us, and decided to bring him to the station”

“Is he okay?”

You already knew the answer, or part of it. That Tom had no problem talking to you about it let you think that maybe they hadn’t always been the bad part in the story. You were sure that he had more than a few reasons to be locked up, but you also guessed that at least a quarter of the things Richard accused them for were fake.

“He got released from the hospital yesterday” Tom shrugged, and you saw the pain behind his words. “His wife has taken him home, and is closing the place for a while. We’re going to make sure the business keeps afloat… but there is only so much that we can do”

You paled and Tom must have noticed, because he frowned. After chasing him for hours, Richard had assured you that Dom was fine, just a little roughed up and with a few broken bones, nothing fatal. That one of his men had made sure of it, with a little threat of not saying anything after leaving his house. The part about ‘not be seen with the Hollands any time soon’ was part of the threat, according to him.

But Dom had been in the hospital for a week, a whole week for just some bruises and broken bones. And he wasn’t going to open the place for a while, which meant that he needed some time to heal completely. It was good that you had one hand steadying the clothes, because you were sure they would have fallen if not.

“Hey, he’s fine” Tom assured you and placed his hand on your arm. It felt warm, or maybe it was you who had gone suddenly cold. A flash of regret flashed through his eyes. “I’m sorry. I just – I felt like you should know. I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to scare you”

“That I should know why?” you looked at him, sounding as freaked out as you felt.

The teenagers walked past you, too caught up on each other to notice either of you. There was one machine free, and you were the next on the queue, but you didn’t move. Tom seemed to shove himself deeper in the regret, his eyes becoming troubled and foggy.

He did what you least expected, and pushed you against his chest. It was the first time you had contact that wasn’t necessary. You vaguely remembered the day he had reached for something at the same time than you, and your hands had brushed. It was completely different, because Tom Holland was hugging you, and even if when everything started would have seemed a death threat, it felt nice.

The sweater was soft against your cheek, and you slowly wrapped your hands around his middle, discovering that the clothe was too big for him. You focused on listening to his heartbeat, that was slightly accelerated, and Richard came to your mind. You couldn’t remember the last time you hug, or tha the took your hand in the street. Richard made you thought too about why Tom was hugging you.

“Why should I know” you asked again, although it was more of a statement. Tom was silent for a second. “Please, Tom”

“The guy who harassed you, is a cop” Tom asked, and you frowned, wondering how much of a bad person knowing that made you. “He… he has been giving us hell for a while, and saw us together. I just wanted to tell you”

“Why?”

You already knew the answer, and if it had been that simple, you wouldn’t have to worry. But something told you that the sooner you learned what the inner voice had been whispering you the whole week, the better. Tom let you go and you missed him that right second. You didn’t know you could like someone’s hug so much.

“It’s just a stupid idea” Tom hid his hands on the pocket of the sweater. “Dom can’t really remember well what happened, because they hit pretty hard his head. But he swears the chief said something about you. And, since you were there too – I just worry”

You didn’t immediately connect the dots, because you were used to people referring to Richard by his name, not ‘chief’. Someone asked if the machine was free to use, and Tom hesitantly called your name when you didn’t attempt to move. You just kept staring at the begging of the cordon of Tom’s sweater, with the drowning realization that Richard had lied to you for a whole week, and had become the violent man he swore he wouldn’t be.

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land-under-wave · 3 years

Text

As promised, here’s the complete draft of the weird Scott Pilgrim Red/Green fic in its current state. For information about what’s going on with this fic, please see this post. If you’d only like to read completed sections, please start here and keep following the links.

This is very much a rough draft. Aside from simply incomplete sections, there were a lot of things that needed to be revised, such as: awkward tone shift, two sections being too similar to others, a lot of transitions I didn’t like, a really just inadequate Misty section, bad wording choices, etc. I would estimate it was about 85% done.

Content warnings: some amount of creepy old man behavior which I did my best to mitigate but was somewhat unavoidable given the premise. For section-specific warnings, in the first part, Green gets close to panic attack territory, and the ending contains physical slapstick comedy and a few references to Officer Jenny I was trying to edit out. A more detailed warning (which touches on ending spoilers and explains how I tried to handle the creepy behavior) can be found here, and the full spoilers with all the details can be found in this post (also linked above).

A year after Red finally comes down from Mt. Silver, Green gets his head out of his ass long enough to ask Red out on a date.

Surprisingly, Red agrees. Even more surprisingly, the first date is actually a resounding success. Sure, Green panics for half an hour about what to wear, and it gets off to an incredibly awkward start — Red’s mother is hovering anxiously in a corner because he insisted that it be at his mother’s diner, the douchebag, so they spend twenty minutes in stilted conversation while Green makes attempts at small talk and Red gives monosyllabic answers — has he mentioned that Red is a total douchebag? But then Green loses his temper and starts shouting, which gets Red fired up at last, so they start bickering over training regimens, Green’s childhood dickishness, and that time Red vanished up a mountain for four years, and by the end of the meal, they’ve hashed out most of their issues.

On impulse, he grabs Red’s hand on the way out, and Red lets him. His fingers curl around Green’s in response, and it sends a jolt of electricity right up to his spine.

This is . . . good. It’s new and unfamiliar and a little terrifying, and sometimes Green just wants to bury his head into a pillow and scream angrily to deal with the confused tornado raging in his chest, because what the hell are emotions, but it’s good.

A month after they make it official, Green brings Red to a gym leader meeting. Red gets a couple of surprised looks when he walks in, but it fades quickly, and Misty waves him over to the usual corner where she, Brock, and Green sit. If anyone asks, Green is prepared to point out that Red’s still technically champion, but no one does. Everyone must like him enough that it doesn’t matter.

They wait till after the meeting, when everyone’s milling about and talking to each other, in order to announce that they’re dating. That’s when all hell breaks loose.

“What? Green?” Misty shrieks, while Sabrina looks at him with silently judging disapproval.

“Oh my,” Erika says delicately, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth.

“Red, no!” Brock wails.

Green is pretty sure he should be offended. These are his colleagues, after all. He’s been working with them for half a decade — when’s the last time Red even talked to any of these people? Why are they all on his side?

Surge snorts, arms folded. Just when Green thinks he might restore some sanity to the proceedings, he declares, “Think again, boy. You’re not tough enough to make the cut.”

Green bristles immediately. He and Surge have always had a slightly contentious relationship, because Surge is all hard-nosed discipline and Green is — well, he can admit that he’s a cocky bastard. “And why do I need your approval to date Red anyways?” he sneers, with the full disdainful force of all his teenage attitude. The contempt is not hard to muster up. Nobody here is related to them, and even if they were, he and Red are both adults who can make their own decisions.

As expected, Surge stiffens at the implicit taunt in his voice, but just as the tension is about to boil over into an argument, Erika steps in with a raised hand and a warning glare to silence him. “Surge,” she says, and that one word is all she needs to restore order.

Before Green can feel grateful for their calm, sensible supervisor, she turns to him and resumes the thread of conversation. “We have a league,” Erika informs him, serene. “You may not date Red until you defeat all of us.”

Green’s jaw drops open. “Are you serious,” he says, and looks to Red, who just shrugs.

Great. Big load of help he is.

“I’m afraid not, my boy. And I’m afraid you’re no match for me,” Blaine says, before laughing at his own stupid pun.

“Why the hell are you so concerned about Red’s love life anyways? What are you, his possessive loser exes?” Green demands.

He’s expecting a response like, “Don’t be ridiculous,” but instead, to his horror, Erika merely smiles. “What do you think?” she says.

Silence.

Green stares at his colleagues, the seven elite trainers who have been charged with safeguarding all of Kanto, and wonders if he’s losing his mind. Has his hearing gone? He doesn’t think he’s that old, but maybe it’s hereditary. God knows how many times Gramps has misheard his name.

He knows Misty had a crush on Red at one point, but all of them? How the hell did that happen? Red’s never exactly been Kid Casanova here — some days, Green can barely believe Red seduced him — and when did he even have the time for that? He’s spent most of the years since he’s met them alone on a mountain! And hold on a second, Blaine is at least four decades older than him! For that matter, how old is Surge?

Green is about to have an aneurysm.

He holds his head in both hands as he struggles to wrap his mind around the concept. “Okay. So you’re saying all of you have dated Red, and now I need to defeat you to date him,” he says slowly, hoping that saying it out loud will make things sound more reasonable. It doesn’t. It just makes his head hurt even more.

What’s worse, Erika doesn’t correct anything he said. She just smiles and nods. “That’s right,” she says, and as if that’s a cue, the others fall in line behind her in a perfect V formation, sliding into battle-ready stances with smiles just shading into predatory. All traces of friendliness have evaporated, turning them into consummate professionals. Even Brock has dropped the doofy attitude for something serious. Surge’s grin is a little too maniacal for comfort, exposing both gums and teeth, and combined with the glint in his eyes, it’s downright feral.

Green takes a step back, almost involuntarily, and sees Surge’s smile widen in response. Out of spite, Green squares his shoulders and moves back in place, pretending he’s not as uneasy as he actually feels. He scans the seven faces before him, hoping to see a sign of their normal collegial acceptance, but their faces are as solid as stone.

He can’t say he really expected anything else from them. This pose is familiar and well-rehearsed, and they’re all beyond the point where they let the mask slip during official business. Still, Green was hoping that there would be some sign that things would be different for him. After all, this isn’t official business, and in any other situation, Green would be there too, flashing one of his trademark smirks while staring down whatever poor schmuck who Erika decided had earned their ire. But this time, it’s not some hapless criminal or an interfering bureaucrat. He’s the schmuck, and for once in his life, he’s feeling the part.

Green knows he shouldn’t feel this rattled by a battle stance. As a fellow gym leader, it’s easy to notice all the work that went into constructing it, and the flash of eyes and tilt of head that Erika used as a signal is all too familiar. But it gnaws at his stomach anyways, and it’s not even because all his colleagues have turned against him at the drop of a hat. It’s the space. Or the lack of it. Because the spot where he would be standing has already been taken up. Misty and Brock closed the gap without so much as an exchanged look, and in doing so, they’ve erased his years as Viridian Gym Leader like it was nothing.

He didn’t think it would be so easy to replace him.

Green looks at the inch-wide gap between them and swallows, hoping he can swallow down the uncomfortable lump at the bottom of his chest along with it. He’s always tried to ignore it, but sometimes, he gets this sneaking suspicion that they haven’t fully accepted him as one of their own. They’re civil, of course, and sometimes even kind. But kind is different from warm, and that’s what he thinks they lack.

He can’t nail down exactly what it is that separates him from the rest — in terms of join date, Janine’s less than a year his senior, and he doesn’t think any of them except Surge would hold his old, immature attitude against him, since he was mostly grown out of his bratty stage by the time he took over Viridian. But none of that has banished the [sinking feeling] that he’s on the outside, just a little.

So he’s kept his head down like an animal exposing its belly, and every time the doubt rears its ugly head, he redoubles his efforts to earn his way in. He had a hard road from the start, with the stain of Giovanni’s legacy seeped into his gym’s very foundations, but over the years, he’s earned fantastic evaluations, the loyalty of a cohort of talented trainers, and an official commendation here and there. He’s even got a sickeningly gushy page in the Viridian guidebook that made Red laugh at him for twenty minutes straight after one of his challengers showed it to him. When you’re on a mountain with bad reception, those twenty minutes count for a lot.

Green carries all his accomplishments with him, close to his chest, but they don’t do much to dispel the doubts that hang like ghosts in the back of his head. And he thinks that if he stays quiet and still for too long, they might eat him away until he’s nothing.

He sucks in a breath, but his lungs don’t feel like they’re absorbing air. He presses his hands against his thighs, but that doesn’t do anything to ease the trembling. He tries to count in his head. One. Two.

“Wow,” says Red’s voice from behind him. “I didn’t know that all it took to defeat the great Green Oak was dramatic posing.”

The sound of that innocent tone sends Green whirling around on instinct. “Oh, shut up, like you can talk!” he shouts, and it comes out as easy as breathing, so easy that he doesn’t notice how much lighter he feels at first. “All it took to defeat you was realizing Mt. Silver would never return your love!”

“The mountain and I have something special. You’ll never understand, Green,” Red says, very seriously. If it were anyone but Green, they might’ve believed he meant it, but you don’t grow up with someone and not know when they’re just yanking your chain.

“You know, the only thing I got out of being your childhood friend is the ability to tell when you’re being a dick,” Green tells him sourly.

“Love you too,” Red croons, and okay, he’s definitely doing that on purpose. But if he’s doing it to be a distraction, it’s working.

He brushes his hand against Red’s. “Thanks,” he says, low enough so that only Red can hear it. Red curls his fingers around the palm of his hand and looks him in the eye, unspoken question burning in his gaze.

In response, Green draws a breath, takes one final glance at his erstwhile colleagues, and nods.

He can do this.

What he might not be able to do, Green reflects as he starts his first match, is endure any more of Brock’s stupid rock references.

“My Pokemon and I are all rock-hard,” Brock declares proudly. He’s always been cheesy and goofy — probably because of all those younger siblings — but his horrible battle introductions have always taken the cake. And does he realize that by doing this, he’s also teaching his siblings about innuendo? Maybe that’s why they giggle at him all the time.

In all honesty, once you get past all the quirks, Brock is kind of an admirable person. You don’t raise nine kids without earning some respect from Green Oak, and he knows all too well about growing up with absent father figures. But unlike Green, Brock didn’t let that hurt define him growing up. Instead, Brock took on that responsibility without reserve and without complaint, and he grew with it to become a good man. A lot of kind, loving people would’ve broken with it. In comparison, really awful puns and a tendency to hit on every girl in the room aren’t that bad. At least he’s sincere about it instead of just being a sleaze.

But Brock makes it really goddamn hard to get past those quirks. And when he starts urging Onix to use Harden, that only proves his point.

Things go downhill from there.

With the proximity of their gyms, it’s convenient for Green and Brock to have practice matches together, and he uses the knowledge he’s gleaned from those to plow him down in their fastest match yet, one eye twitching the entire time. There’s no way Brock could be making that many hardness references by accident. “I took you for granted, and so I lost,” Brock says glumly. Then he looks in Red’s direction and cries, “Red, my love, I have failed you!” throwing an arm across his face theatrically. Geez, get a grip. Or a life. Or both.

But instead of treating him with the contempt Brock deserves for this patheticness, his traitor boyfriend pats him on the back sympathetically. Ugh, why is he even dating this jerk?

At any rate, at least this catastrophe is over. “Loser,” Green scoffs, and heads out to schedule his next match. He catches Red giving Brock a shrug before following after him.

He never thought he’d say this, but thank god Misty is the Water type Gym Leader. After rocks, they have the most potential for innuendo, but Misty has too much angry dignity to be caught dead like that. If someone tried, steam would come out of her ears and she’d probably yell something about disrespecting the beauty of water types. This shouldn’t be an issue again until Blaine.

Misty might not be a fan of innuendo, but she makes up for it with determination and skill. There’s something different about her this time, a strength in her stance that didn’t used to be there, and it centers Misty too much for him to rattle her.

The first time they fought, she was fourteen years old to Green’s thirteen, a skinny kid who bristled with her inferiority complex and hated anything to do with flowers. Provoking her was a piece of cake, and any suggestion of her inadequacy could send her into a spiral of rage or just as easily send her collapsing in tears.

In hindsight, it is funny how Misty rejected her famous family while Green embraced his too much, opposite ends of the same spectrum. Green dealt with his issues with his cockiness, Misty with her anger.

This Misty is fully in control. She holds the reins to her anger and reels it in, harnessing it as fuel instead of distraction. She’s ruling her emotions instead of letting them rule her, and in doing so, she’s taken on a bright, focused zeal he’s never seen from her before.

She’s growing into herself, he thinks, and out of her sisters’ shadows.

He’d be proud of her if she wasn’t giving him such a hard time right now.

“You definitely weren’t this hard to beat the first time around!” Green growls, sending out his Scizor.

“Oh, that was just business,” Misty says, rather cheerfully, enough so that Green wants to wring her neck. Her smile widens to just this side of menacing. “This is personal.”

Green gets out of it with his dignity intact, but it’s a close one. Not for the first time, he rues having taken over an Earth-based gym, because it means he has to keep at least a respectable amount of Ground types in his regular training rota and he’s a far less flexible trainer now.

“About time you showed up,” Surge says, arms folded, boots planted shoulder width apart. Green looks at the severe military cut and the stern expression and wonders what Red ever saw in him. It can’t be a thing for older men, everyone but Surge and Blaine are within a few years of Red. It can’t even be a thing for men. The league is half women, after all.

“Why did you date him anyways?” he hisses to his boyfriend, low enough that Surge won’t hear.

Red shrugs. “We both like Pikachu,” he said.

The utter loser.

“I can’t believe you,” Green mutters in disgust. “And people think I’m shallow.”

“It was only once or twice,” Red says, in what sounds suspiciously like a consoling tone. He pats Green on the shoulder a few times.

He stares at him in confusion until the dots connect. “What the — I’m not jealous!” Green cries indignantly. He’s just perplexed, and that’s a very different thing. Green Oak is above such petty things as jealousy.

Red just pats him on the shoulder some more.

Green Oak also does not need such things as consoling, so before his boyfriend can be even more of a passive aggressive dick, he turns to Surge. “Let’s just get this over with.” And maybe it’s sheer frustration or his natural tendency to be a brat to Surge, or maybe it’s just type advantage finally being on his side for once, but for some reason, this time the victory comes easier than all the previous.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Green?” Erika asks. She cocks her head to the side, and for the first time since he accepted this stupid challenge, Green feels a sense of trepidation. Erika is, after all, kind of his boss, and she’s also one of the most terrifying people he’s ever met.

You wouldn’t think it to look at her. Most of the people in Kanto never get the chance to see anything more than a sweet woman who likes gardening and flower arrangements. Her colleagues, on the other hand, experience a whole different side of her, with all the talents that got her appointed as Kanto supervisor. Things like her ability to calmly reason with anyone, her backbone of steel, and a carefully hidden serial killer crazy that can outstrip Surge at his worst.

He breaks out into a cold sweat. Is he ready for this? Sure, he’s beaten her before, but the first time he battled her, he was still stupid enough to think Erika was soft and beating her would be easy, and weirdly enough, that stupidity gave him the reckless brilliance he needed to take her down instead of causing his downfall. He might’ve become a better battler in the meantime, but now he’s too cautious to use those same crazy strategies and he also knows that she was taking it easy on him — all gym leaders adjust their level to their opponent’s in official matches.

More than ever, Green is acutely aware of the differences between him and his thirteen year old self. There was a kind of fearlessness that came with being young and feeling like the world was at your fingertips. He spent pretty much his entire Pokemon journey swaggering around like being thirteen meant he was now a real adult and the world would just fall at his feet, and even losing the championship to Red didn’t quite jolt him out of it. Green’s only eighteen now, but he feels unbearably older, more off balance, uncertain of everything he needs to do. It’s funny how he couldn’t wait to get older when he first set out from Pallet Town, but now he just wants the carefree bravado of thirteen again. Why did he decide to grow up? Who told him it was a good idea?

“Backing out now, Green?” says a dry, challenging voice, and all the air goes out of his lungs. But in a good way.

He didn’t have this at thirteen.

Now that he’s back in reality, Green pulls up his disdain like a barrier against his fear. “As if,” he sneers.

“Good. After all, you still have to win me,” Red says. He bats his eyelashes, and the sight is so horrifying that it wipes all thoughts of Erika from his head immediately. “Your princess awaits inside the castle.”

“Princess? Yeah, right. You’d never be able to pull off the dress,” he shoots back automatically. He feels himself ease, the seas inside him settling down as he sinks into the rhythm of the familiar. He even lifts his chin and smirks as he says, “You know what, I think I change my mind. Let’s call the whole thing off, I need someone who’s better-looking than you.”

“Aw, but nothing’s as ugly as your personality,” Red says, and that tone would sound sweet if it weren’t coming from someone who’s halfway allergic to sincerity. But at the same time, he covers Green’s hand with his and gives him a smile like a secret. “You can do it,” he says, with an iron, quiet faith.

Green breathes out, long and slow. “You’re right, I can,” he says, turning back to Erika. He flashes her a smirk full of confidence that he’s actually starting to feel and declares, “I won’t back down.” It comes out as an oath, and he’s not sure if it’s to himself or to Red, but he knows he won’t lose.

She shrugs elegantly, but it doesn’t feel like as much of a threat this time. She’s just an ordinary woman now. “Very well,” she says, and sends out Tangela.

Throughout the battle, Red doesn’t let go of his hand.

Sabrina’s waiting at the door of her gym when Green and Red walk up to the entrance. “You’ve arrived, as I predicted,” she says.

“Uh, yeah, we scheduled the match in advance,” Green points out. Beside him, he can hear Red muffling already-quiet laughter. Why does he enjoy Green’s discomfort? Is he just a sadist?

“We did not arrange that you would arrive twenty minutes early,” Sabrina responds, and turns around to lead him inside before Green can get the last word.

Green fights the urge to make a rude gesture at her back out of sheer spite. He and Sabrina have never been that close. They have a shared interest in freaking people out for fun and games, but Sabrina does it by being sinister and cryptic, while Green prefers sheer power with a dash of douchebaggery instead of mind screws. Even though he knows he’s still a total dick, being around Sabrina makes him feel weirdly benevolent in comparison.

In that regard, she’s a little more like Red—they’re both closed-mouthed and hold their cards close to their chest until something makes them give them away. But it’s weird to think that Sabrina is anything like his boyfriend, so Green shuts off that train of thought as fast as he can. He can’t really explain why he likes Red so much more than Sabrina. It’s not just shared history, there’s something deeper there between them that he can’t quantify. Maybe it’s just that the things Red holds to his chest align with Green’s own brand of awfulness, maybe it’s just that Sabrina somehow manages to be even weirder than Red.

Whatever the case, Sabrina’s tactics might have a point. This battle feels like the worst one yet, not because of the difficulty, but because of the tense, hard air in the gym, Sabrina’s ever-present smile like another ghost skulking in the background. This battle doesn’t excite him, it just exhausts him. He just wants it to be over, and in his haste, he makes mistakes. Sloppy ones, like trying to use Tackle against Gengar even though he’s grown up knowing Normal type moves don’t work on Ghost types. It doesn’t help that the mere presence of Gengar in the Psychic gym had thrown him off to begin with.

Sabrina seems to be sensing his discomfort, because the funny little grin on her face widens with his growing unease. For the first time, he truly sees what a formidable opponent she is, wielding both psychic powers and psychology against her challengers to damage them physically and mentally. It was another thing that his complete and utter self-confidence had made him immune to the first time.

Idly, he wonders if that was the point of this, one big scheme to make him appreciate his colleagues more as trainers. If so, it worked. But was he really that bad before? Maybe he’d ask Erika once this awful quest was over.

If that is the case, though, ironically, it’s also her undoing, because as the match goes on, Green also starts to see the woman he knows inside the mysterious figure at the other end of the gym, and focusing on that familiarity helps combat the unease. In the end, Green can’t really say that it’s his skill that wins the day. It feels more like luck, just a game of who can outlast the other and he happened to draw the winning card. But when Alakazam falls, it seems to break the spell over the room. The lingering tension dissipates, just as ghostly as the atmosphere that had created it, and the world comes back into focus.

Sabrina looks at her fallen Pokemon and, bizarrely, smiles as she recalls it back into its Pokeball. “Your love for Red overwhelmed my psychic power . . . The power of love, I think, is also a kind of psychic power . . .” Sabrina intones.

“Okay?” Green says. Even ignoring the psychic powers, Sabrina has always been a weirdo.

Sabrina says something else, but he’s not really paying attention. Instead, he grabs his boyfriend’s wrist. “Red, let’s get out of here,” he says. He’s ready to blow this joint, and if he has to be in this creepy gym much longer, he’s going to make that literal.

Out of all the other Gym Leaders, Green thinks Janine might be his polar opposite. Sure, they’re around the same age and their names kind of rhyme, but Green is brash and confident and walks like he owns the place, while Janine . . . well, Janine is naive and enthusiastic to the point where she’s pretty much tripping over her own feet. She seems too young for her authority, while Green wields his so easily that people are startled when they find out his actual age.

It’s weird to think that Red could date two such different people. Heck, it’s weird to think that he could get two such different people to date him. Maybe he realized he didn’t like that type and that’s why he’s dating Green now, he muses.

That still doesn’t explain why both Janine and Green agreed to date him. Insanity? That must be it, because it also explains why he’s fighting all of his colleagues over his dick of a childhood friend.

But the biggest difference between them, Green thinks, is that Janine has never gotten over her yearning for her absent father. She still desperately wants to make Koga proud. Even now, he sees in the way she forms her stance that she’s trying to follow his teachings.

Still, in spite of their [different] reactions, struggling to cope with the fame of their family line and its looming shadow over their entire lives is something they have in common. Someday, she’ll have to figure out how she wants to be a gym leader, separate from her father’s legacy. Someday, she’ll have to make a name for herself as Janine, Gym Leader of Fuschia City and not Janine, daughter of Koga. No one will ever respect her if she doesn’t — Green’s learned that the hard way.

Someday, she will have to walk her own path. But that day is not today.

“Are you ready, Green? Cause I’m not going to wait for you to catch up!” Janine calls, sounding very un-ninja-like. Green briefly mourns the loss of the mystique. He used to think ninjas were cool.

“It’s my duty to defeat you on the behalf of all evil exes everywhere!”

“You can’t be serious,” Green says.

“Sure, I am!” Janine says. She pulls out a small, colorful rectangle from somewhere with her magical ninja arts and waves it around. “After all, I’m a card-carrying member of Red’s League of Evil Exes!”

There are cards now. Green looks at his boyfriend and says, “Red, what did you do to them?”

Red just looks at them and shrugs, looking mildly confused himself. But not confused enough that he’ll actually do something about it, Green notes sourly.

Cinnabar’s volcanoes are as fascinating as always, but Green is too busy stewing to enjoy it. He marches past all the ads for hot spring resorts and into the Gym, braced for what lies ahead of him. Blaine is waiting for him inside. “You’ve made it, my boy,” he said, and the expression on his face is almost like a proud parent.

Green scowls. He used to respect Blaine. He is, after all, one of the finest scientific minds in all of Kanto, and while Green isn’t a scientist, Gramps has instilled him with a healthy respect for their work. Even the punning had been bearable. He had earned the right for a quirk.

But this? This was going too far.

Blaine at least has the decency to wait until they’re all set up for battle before he springs the next part of his awful sense of humor on him. “And now, a quiz! What makes you worthy to date Red?” Blaine asks.

“What made you worthy? You’re an old man! Red was a teenager!” Green shoots back. He’s pretty fuzzy on the timeline of Red’s awful lovelife, but there’s no way Red was any older than fifteen whenever the hell they dated. He’s pretty sure Red wasn’t in some demented long distance relationship while still on that goddamn mountain.

Blaine gives him a creaky shrug. “What can I say? Red really lights a fire in my heart,” he chuckles.

“I’m reporting you to Officer Jenny when this is over,” Green informs him. Gym leader or not, perverted old creeps shouldn’t be allowed in society. Especially not the punning ones.

But reporting him to the officer and letting her punish him for his sins would be cheating if Green does it before he beats Blaine fair and square. He doubts the rest of this stupid league would accept that as defeating Blaine and their ridiculous challenge, so he sends out Rhydon and prepares for a fight.

After an excruciating moment, Arcanine falls.

“Oh,” says Red’s voice. Green looks over his shoulder to see him standing along the wall of the gym, near the entrance. It’s completely like the sneaky bastard to come in secret and Green can’t even be mad at him as he looks at the battlefield and asks, “Is it over?”

For a moment, Green doesn’t know how to answer him. He doesn’t even know how to speak. He just breathes, as the adrenaline drains out of his lungs and euphoria replaces it. His shoulders slump. He looks at the ceiling. It’s over. This ridiculous journey is finally over. He can now date Red in peace.

And then the applause starts.

Erika is the first one to emerge, from behind one of the outcroppings of rock near the back of the gym. Brock is next, followed by Misty, while Surge, Janine, and Sabrina come out from the other side. They form a line at the head of the gym, and bizarrely, every single one of them is clapping, even Surge, though he looks like he’s been forced into it. While Green looks at them, too stunned to react, Blaine moves back to take a spot next to Sabrina.

“Congratulations, Green,” Erika says, smiling. She looks genuinely happy for him, as does Janine, but Surge still looks vaguely murderous and Brock looks like he might cry with happiness.

“What’s going on?” Green demands. On closer inspection, Brock’s “about to cry” face is more like a father watching his child leaving on a Pokemon journey, so proud that it’s spilled over to sad. It worsens the distinct feeling that something’s been going on in the background that he doesn’t know about.

Erika coughs delicately. “I’m afraid we must admit to a deception,” she says, serene as ever. “We are not actually a league of Red’s exes.”

If Green gets any more revelations in the next week, he’s going to have a stroke.

After a beat of frozen silence, he splutters out, “You’re not?” in a tone that’s half confusion, half demand for an explanation. He looks all around him and then waves his hand at the entire gym, a gesture which turns sharp and wild with his anger. “Then what was all of this for?”

“Well, we’re not a league of Red’s exes, but we are all members of ‘Red’s League of Allies Against His Evil Ex-Best Friend Who Broke His Heart,’” Misty explains. She frowns at him. “He was pretty torn up over you during his Pokemon journey, you know.”

Dumbfounded, all Green can manage is, “You can’t be serious.”

“But we are,” Janine says earnestly. She produces her card out of nowhere again and hands it over to Green, who’s now close enough to read the letters embossed on the front. It does, as she’s claimed, state Gym Leader Janine of Fuschia City to be a member of Red’s League of Allies Against His Evil Ex-Best Friend Who Broke His Heart. It’s even made out of red plastic.

Well. One part of him is touched to know that Red had valued their friendship so deeply. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, with his stoic man of mystery act.

The other part is just plain indignant. “That was over five years ago!” Green screeches. They started their journeys when they were thirteen, for God’s sake!

A new thought occurs to him. “And if this was all fake, why was Brock going on about his love and hardening?”

“Did he? Oh, that scenery-chewing ham! I knew he would get carried away!” Misty says in disgust.

“I was trying to go for realism!” Brock protests

“That’s only realism for you, you sleazy flirt!” she snaps, and yanks at his ear.

“Ow, ow, ow!” he yelps.

While Misty’s handling that headache, Green tries to replay the conversation where this all started. “I was the one who first brought up the idea that you were exes,” he mumbles, a little horrified.

“Once you made the assumption, I thought it might work to our advantage,” Erika explains calmly. “A test of your reaction to his supposedly storied history, so to speak.”

“So you just made it up on the spot?” Green says, nearly speechless. How on earth had he fallen for a hastily thrown together scheme? What had it even been centered around, seeing if he was the kind of douchebag who’d storm off and call Red a slut? He’s Green Oak. You don’t get to be one of the top trainers in Kanto by the time you’re fifteen without being a good strategist.

Then again, clearly, all of his colleagues are absolutely insane. No one ever taught Green how to anticipate that.

Erika smiles apologetically. “Please do forgive us, Green, but we had to make sure you two were serious about this. Your friendship ended so badly, and we didn’t want this to end the same way. After all, the poor boy was so heartbroken that he went up a mountain to get away from you.”

Green’s jaw drops. “Okay, that one was not my fault!” He’s willing to accept the blame for being a dick, for being generally unhelpful with Team Rocket, and a lot of other things, but he draws the line at the goddamn mountain.

“Sabrina?” asks Janine curiously.

The psychic in question is studying her nails, looking bored. “My powers aren’t meant to be used for answering this sort of nonsense,” she says. “Ask him yourself.”

“Hold up!” Green shouts, before they can get too off topic. “How was this supposed to make sure I was serious about him?”

“You can be a fickle, capricious sort of person, Green,” Erika explains. “So we thought that, with a series of challenges in your way, if this was some kind of idle whim, you would abandon your quest.”

Green tries to wrap his head around that logic and fails. “How was that supposed to work?” he demands. “What if I was just in it for the challenge of beating the entire Kanto League again and not for Red?”

Erika just smiles. “You don’t have enough of a death wish for that,” she says, like she’s sentencing someone to execution.

Green freezes and feels his spine go rigidly straight at the sound of her tone. That smile looks sweet at first glance, but it’s just a little too perfect, a little too gentle, carefully controlled in a way that says she could easily let that control snap at a moment’s notice. It’s the kind of smile that might be the last thing you see before you die.

Holy Arceus, there are no words in the universe to describe how terrifying Erika is.

Green breaks eye contact as soon as he can and shakes his head a few times, just to get out the lingering feeling of dread. He quickly turns his mind to another topic. “Okay, so who really has dated Red?” he asks, just to get everything straightened out once and for all.

“None of us. Particularly not me,” Blaine answers. “You young whippersnappers are practically infants.”

“Misty did ask him out once, but he turned her down,” Brock chips in.

“Hey! That was years ago, and I’m over him anyways!” Misty splutters, cheeks bright red. She shoulders him hard in the chest and snarls, “Stop bringing that up!” still blushing furiously.

“Ow, that hurts!” Brock yelps.

“You deserve it!” Misty hollers back, and the two of them start arguing again.

You know what, maybe Green doesn’t need to get revenge for all the innuendo after all. Misty’s been doing a pretty good job of enacting it for the both of them.

Misty stomps on Brook’s foot, and Blaine winces. “Please don’t call Officer Jenny,” he says.

In the chaos, Green realizes there’s one party they’ve forgotten about entirely. “And you!” He whirls around and points at his erstwhile boyfriend, whose expression is blankly nonchalant. To a stranger, he might’ve even looked innocent. “There’s no way they could’ve gotten away with it unless you played along! But you haven’t dated any of them!”

“Nope,” he confirms, wearing a funny little smile on his face. He’s clearly enjoying himself, and the smugness of his expression only increases as he coos out, “You’re my one and only.”

That tone he’s using is the stuff of nightmares, and Green blanches, reeling back on instinct. He can hear Red laughing at him inside his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands, refusing to let that deter him.

“It was funny,” Red says, and then, in a perfect deadpan, “Besides, it was a nice revenge. You drove me up a mountain, after all.”

Green is at least seventy-five percent certain that isn’t true and Red’s just playing along to be a douchebag. “Why, you—!” he growls, and instinct born of ten years of childhood games takes over. He tackles him to the ground, fisting his hands into his shirt so he can drag him up by the collar. He hears someone shout behind him, and it’s probably because they’re a little too old for roughhousing, but Red, Red understands him. Red doesn’t panic or protest. Red just lifts his head to meet his glare with a smirk, and then leans up, grabs his head, and kisses him.

There’s still noise in the background, but it fades away as the world becomes nothing but Red.

Later, while they’re falling asleep, Green asks, “You didn’t really go up the mountain because I broke your heart, did you?”

“No,” Red answers, but before Green can let out a breath of relief, he says, “I went up there cause you were so annoying that I wanted a break from you.”

In a display of supreme maturity, Green kicks Red in the shins. Some things never change.

#Fanfiction #Pokemon #OriginalShipping #Green Oak #Red #Crack #Scott Pilgrim AU #At Last I Am Rid of the Albatross

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saladejin · 4 years

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Call An Uber? | 21

BTS x Reader | idolverse au, uber driver!Reader, translator!Reader | Fluff, flirting, super slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, mature themes and eventual smut

Summary: Your normal life with a normal, yet inconsistent job gets drastically changed when your dreams come true. Sounds boring right?

What happens when all of this occurs, but you’re still doing something you love AND getting a large sum for it? Now there’s something to think about, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.

Warnings: Angst with some fluff, cursing

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Re-reading this through is so weird to me. I’m sorry for all the angst, I hope you guys forgive me T_T

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Bold = English

Books, clothes, equipment… It didn’t matter what was, if it was in my way it was getting shoved in my haste to reach the phone. It was like I could feel the storm of anger awaiting me on the other side of the hotel door, but priorities did come first. Soojin could go fuck herself for all I cared at the moment.

My thumb hovered over the tiny green telephone symbol for longer than necessary. Was it urgent enough to put above my job at the moment? I wouldn’t be surprised if my mother had just pocket called me or drank a little too much. It was too strange to have any positive implications. To be frank, I was probably trying too hard to convince myself otherwise because the opportunity to stall was too tempting to ignore.

Anyone who knew me well would know just how much I loved to procrastinate problem solving. Long lasting ones weren’t an exception in any case.

“(Y/n), you finally showed up.”

What? Fuck, I must have tapped it while I was lost in my brain.

“Mother,” I responded through gritted teeth.

Trepidation weighed my tone down to the floor.

Then there was a silence that made me feel as unsure as ever. If you asked me to explain the feelings caused by the echoingly empty sound, I couldn’t tell you. It was as if she was carefully handpicking her next words. Tiptoeing so cautiously around her thoughts, just in case I didn’t like what she had to say and barred myself away once more.

She’s too foolish to understand that I can see through her, even if she’s not physically here.

I fiercely fought down the urge to grind my teeth in anger and chose to wait patiently instead. If she had to take the time to think about what she was saying, then she obviously wanted to be in my favour somehow. I could not for the life of me understand how she’d possibly thought that was a scenario that existed, but apparently it did.

“Honey … how have you been these days?”

A surge of bile bubbled up through my windpipe. This problem was becoming borderline toxic.

“You better get to the point before I hang up,” I seethed. The plan was to keep my tone calm and neutral but there was no way the hurt wasn’t going to seep through the cracks. Hearing how fake and desperate she’d become just single-handedly destroyed what little snippet of respect I had left, buried deeply somewhere there in my heart.

She scoffed almost soundlessly before heeding the request.

“Fine, if it’s really going to be this way. I need money. Your dumbass father has gone and crashed the car again, but this time he’s pretty messed up. We can’t afford all these bills and I really need some booze if I’m gonna stay sane in this shithole. You’re the only child still attached to us so you’re going to be the one to get your dunce of a dad out of debt.”

I felt my chest tighten the longer she spoke, albeit rather roughly, but the words were still heavy with wrenching information. I didn’t know exactly how to feel, but I knew this whole situation would be a hell of a lot easier without the tugging family ties making me second guess everything.

“Hold on, how bad is the accident?” I growled, trying to ignore the rest of her sentence about alcohol and shitholes. The thought of my own father being severely injured made my heart skip a beat in sudden fear. It wasn’t too bad, was it?

“Pretty damn bad, I guess. He was in the ER, and I’m sure the doctor said something about rehab? Acute rehab? Ugh, can’t remember.”

This is terrible, and she can barely bring herself to care!

Tears unwillingly pricked at the corners of my eyes and I furiously blinked them away.

“Is he on life support or something?”

“Not anymore. Dunno why he’s still being a dickhead and drink driving everywhere. Something was bound to happen eventually, and if it was up to me they should have slapped a band aid on it and sent him on his way. These fancy doctors just want to leech money from us.”

“You realise that money is what kept him alive, right?” I murmured in disbelief. There was a raging war of conflict taking place in my mind, and I couldn’t even fathom how she was being so nonchalant about all of it. Her own husband had almost died, and she was blaming the hospital for their crippling poverty.

“(Y/n), darling…”

There it was again, that wickedly sweetened voice that could only be a feeble attempt at manipulation at this point.

“I’m only going to think about it for the sake of life and death, I literally can’t believe how fucking disgusting you are. Don’t consider me attached to you ever again,” I choked out in a haze of fury. I could feel every shred of dignity and hope I had left for my family burn away into cloudy ash before me.

“I should have known better.”

And with that I hung up. The silence was too deafening, too close and invasive to be even remotely comfortable. I didn’t even know why the disappointment and vindication was hitting so hard and fast either, because in the back of my worrisome mind I always knew that nothing good could come from such a reach.

Wishful thinking. It seemed to be something I lived by too closely.

My eyes blurred with a watery film as I brought the phone screen upwards again. Soojin was waiting for me like a brewing storm outside, but I knew that I just couldn’t stitch myself back together for a meeting mere minutes after feeling my tendrils of a childhood slip away from me.

‘Can you come in here for a minute or two? It’s okay if you and Yoongi left already.’

I sent the text to Namjoon after a second of hesitation. I knew normally I would’ve dealt with the emotion and carefully hidden it away to move on with my working life. I wouldn’t have allowed anyone see past the drawn curtains into the darkness behind, but things had changed drastically over the past few months.

Since I had pulled that stupid stunt and distanced myself from everyone I cared about, things had changed. Yoongi’s words rang clearly through my head again and again like a broken record.

“You could’ve talked to us, we wouldn’t just ignore you if it was about something serious. Jesus, especially if you were feeling depressed. (Y/n), please…”

Then Taehyung’s.

“This is why you can’t hide your feelings. At least talk to one person, a close friend or something, because I know you haven’t…”

“I’m here.”

I sniffled in surprise as the hotel door clicked shut suddenly. Namjoon was by my side in less than a moment, breaths coming out in quiet pants even though he seemed to be trying his best at controlling the strained puffs of air.

“Oh God, you really ran back here for me?” I sighed, trying to tip my head back to get rid of the annoying things called tears.

“I was only down the hall, trust me,” Namjoon assured softly, taking notice of my sorry state of emotions and instantly switching his gaze to one full of concern. I watched as his perceptive eyes trailed down the length of my arm to the phone clasped into my shaking palms.

“(Y/n) …”

I almost jumped in my skin when he moved to slowly unclasp my fingers from around the warm device. The man took the rectangular object and slid it carefully onto the surface of the bedside table before taking a seat beside me on the bed. His honeyed voice was nothing but soothing to the ears.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Then I spilled it all, like a broken dam rushing to meet what physics required of it. His eyes hardened as I spoke about my mother and her overall attitude, but softened when I couldn’t help voicing my newfound conflictions. I wasn’t surprised to find myself cradled into his broad chest by the end of it.

“A-and Taehyung had just pretty much convinced me to try reaching out to them last night. Now I’m forced into making a decision I don’t even want to find myself making. It’s just that…if he dies I will never forgive myself, and I really, really fucking hate that.”

I was almost ready to openly cry into the flimsy polyester shirt he wore, but once again I found myself holding back in fear of losing face. I never knew why I just couldn’t let it all go for once in my life. Maybe it was something too utterly routine after years and years of practice.

“Nobody can blame you for feeling that way about your own father, (Y/n). It’s like a natural instinct to try and protect those closest to you,” Namjoon murmured lowly. I let my eyes droop shut as I tuned into the rumblings coming from his chest.

“That’s the thing. I’m not close to them at all.”

A hollow sigh was next. His body relaxed further as he grew used to the feeling of my tears sinking through his exercise shirt, because even though he was the one to bring me into the reassuring hold, he still wasn’t accustomed to such a close proximity with someone other than his bandmates. I felt so indebted to him in every way.

“Even so, it’s family. You feel this connection that no-one else can, and even if you don’t like who they are as people, there will always be a love there that you might think is just too unexplainable. Now that I think about it, your nature to care about others probably made you even more susceptible.”

I couldn’t help but widen my eyes. He was always able to just come out and spin my thoughts into the words I couldn’t come up with. He just seemed to understand the very world we lived in, along with all of its nasty people and ideologies, in a way I struggled to. I was shocked at how he was able to take any point of view, turn it around to see the other side of it, and grasp the concept just as easily. An optimistic part of it, nonetheless.

“Namjoon, why are you just so amazing?” I chuckled after a minute of contemplative silence. He’d fidgeted slightly when I hadn’t responded, wondering if he’d done something wrong or made things worse. He was a little goofy sometimes, but nobody could deny how brilliant he truly was as a person.

“I’m not really,” He huffed bashfully, and I was shocked again when I felt one of his large hands come up to stroke my hair in comfort. It was so weirdly easy to be comforted by him after such a stressful morning.

“It’s just easy to see why you’re feeling the way you are. Take my advice and think hard about what you want to do about it.”

I felt the pad of a finger wipe away the last of my salty tears from my skin. The action was so sweet I couldn’t help but lift my head to meet his heartwarming gaze. The sight of his slight smile and tiny dented dimples made my heart almost stutter to a halt.

“In the end, they may only be using you and may only continue to turn a blind eye to the wonderful daughter they have, but at least you know you did what you believed was right. Use the love they may not feel to love yourself and the person you are.”

“Namjoon, stop before I…”

Taehyung I wish you could look, because this is me opening up. It’s ugly isn’t it?

More tears suddenly flowed and for once I couldn’t hold it back anymore. Namjoon’s face fell as I sobbed loudly into his chest, the liquid remorse tumbling out unstoppably. I couldn’t see his saddened expression of relief, but I knew I wasn’t alone in feeling the pent up tension flow away along with the waterworks. His muffled ‘shh, it’s gonna be fine’ and gentle strokes of encouragement to my head began gradually replacing the emotions with joyous ones.

I felt so much appreciation and love for the man it almost hurt.

“I haven’t cried in front of anyone since primary school, up until this morning in the hallway and now here,” I whimpered after a few minutes, almost letting myself doze off to the feeling of his presence enveloping me. How long had it even been?

“I’m just glad you even told me as much as you did. Taehyung might have mentioned that a few of us could see your pain, even if you didn’t know it was there yourself,” Namjoon said after clearing his throat slightly. I felt bad that I’d forced him into staying with me through the bout of misery, but his words violently struck more than one chord.

Yeah, and he also mentioned something else.

I was suddenly reminded of Taehyung’s big revelation from the night prior. The feelings they all had for me. I forced myself to keep my eyes trained forward, but there was no way Namjoon hadn’t noticed the way my body tensed up all of a sudden.

I can’t ask him about it now, or confirm it. They’re in the middle of a busy schedule and I also have stuff to deal with. I’m going to have to wait until we’re back in Korea to confront them about it.

I relaxed again and finally removed myself from Namjoon. He looked up at my standing figure with slight confusion, not really being sure of my stability or composure just yet. I could only sigh to let us both know that I was feeling a hell of a lot better than before.

I took one amused moment to glance over his slightly ruffled black tresses, probably having little to no effort put into the style for a day such as this one. Soft hours were now open in the messy hotel room.

“Thank you so much, I really needed … all of that,” I smiled crookedly, indicating that I was ready to move on with my life and away from the dilemma of my family for now. Namjoon got to his feet quickly after almost knocking over the vase of flowers on the bedside table. He grunted in surprise while I laughed and grabbed for his flailing hand to help keep him steady.

“It’s fine, you know it always is. You’ve been through more shit this morning than most go through in a week or months. I’d say you deserve a shoulder to cry on whenever you need one,” he spoke seriously and nodded, averting his widened eyes down to where I still held his hand within my own. These guys really did love a lot of hand attention, I did come to find after all this time.

“You’re sent from the heavens Joonie,” I chuckled airily, feeling so many feelings but nowhere near as crushingly as I had earlier.

“You confused me with you, angel,” He replied abruptly, moving with a confidence I rarely saw to shift a stray lock of hair away from my face. His smile was so warm and his line incredibly cheesy, but I felt something within me snap. The love was too intense for me to overlook.

I stepped forward and reached up to cradle his smiling cheeks into my palms. There was a need to rise onto my tiptoes before my lips finally grazed his in a very restricted but needy kiss. I fought back a smile when I felt his muscles slacken in absolute shock, but then he was returning everything wholeheartedly. His large hands pulled me closer by the waist and his lips started moving against mine just as surely, as if it were something that had been waiting to happen for too long.

I almost felt myself get lost in the sensation, but something nagged at me the further I slipped away into the moment.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I gasped, pulling away reluctantly and squeezing my eyes shut in burning shame. I was embarrassed of myself for not upholding the pact I’d created about leaving the whole feelings thing until later on, plus I had basically thrown myself at him without giving anything resembling a warning.

“Why are you sorry? I think you just made me the happiest man on Earth,” Namjoon protested in shock, eyes wide and hands spread open to anticipate any sudden movements I made to escape. His cheeks were flushed a rosy pink and I found it undeniably gorgeous to contrast his complexion.

“I promised to leave it, but I just couldn’t control myself. Can we finish this-”

I made a little circular motion with one finger.

“-once we get back to Korea? I just have to speak to everyone.”

Namjoon nodded and agreed tentatively. I could tell by the way his brows furrowed slightly that he’d probably figured out the reasoning behind my request, but he would have to wait to question Taehyung at another time. I inwardly thanked him for his overarching awareness.

“If you see Tae, tell him I’m alright and that he needs to stop blaming himself. I know he’s probably taking the whole Soojin thing badly. I’ll fix it all,” I continued in a more level tone of voice, bringing back the sense of professionalism as I began thinking of how I was going to go about this predicament.

“Of course. Good luck out there,” He gave my shoulder an awkward pat before moving towards the door. I sighed regretfully as the leader left without another word, the strange tension lingering but somehow not becoming an overpowering force.

It’s your own fault. You went and kissed him, so now you’ve gone and confused everyone and yourself.

I didn’t know what lay in store for me now, as the news would surely spread like an untamed wildfire; stemming from Tae and Namjoon undoubtedly. What a bloody dumb thing to do, considering I’d just been accused of fucking around with one of them already.

My phone vibrated against the smooth surface of the bedside table loudly. Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, being the devil incarnate herself.

‘We’re waiting in the office area downstairs, I suggest you make it snappy or I’ll get on with this on my own.’

tagged: @joyful-jimin, @l4life, @gee-nee, @m0chilattae, @rossemayme, @doilooklikeinoe, @jeon-joker, @topthis808, @justyouraveragerando, @booklover240, @midnight1199, @k-popin-hoe, @xctvme

#bts x reader #bts #bts scenarios #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts smut #bts crack #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #ot7 #call an uber?#salade-tb

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sheerfreesia007 · 4 years

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Fallin’ All In You (Pt. 66)

Title: Fallin’ All In You (Pt. 66)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Author: @sheerfreesia007

Words: 2,712

Warnings: Description of labor, cursing, misogynistic asshole

Tags: @synystersilenceinblacknwhite, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @randomness501, @sevvysaurus, @paryl, @talesfromtheguild, @secretsihideinside, @agingerindenial, @mrschiltoncat

Permanent Tag List: @paintballkid711, @fioccodineveautunnale, @phoenixhalliwell

Author Notes: So this was pretty much my labor and birth with a few details removed. Also that asshole agent, yeah I dealt with that also while pregnant at work and woo boy did I rip the coworker another asshole for that comment. I hope you enjoy this chapter I think it’s in my top 5 of proudest chapters to write. Feedback is always welcome!

Gif Credit: Google

“So does Agent Whiskey have everything ready to go for when you need to go to the hospital?” Shane asked as you moved about the large work table in the lab. You laughed with a knowing tone to it making most of the lab techs in the room look up to you.

“That sounds slightly ominous.” Leah quips from next to you and your snort in delight.

“The man is over prepared if anything.” you say with a soft smile as you thought back to the day that Jack began preparing for D-day. “I’ve got two go bags packed, one stored here at the lab and the other right next to our front door. He’s mapped out all routes to the hospital. Which ones are the quickest from both work and home.” you explained easily with a warm smile on your face. Your hand rubbed softly at your swollen belly as you felt the little one kick the side of your stomach. “He’s nervous and this helps him so I kinda just let him be but I think it’s a little overkill. But I’m grateful he did it because I have no energy to spare.”

You laugh as you look up and see multiple lab techs all staring at you shocked. Shrugging your shoulders you continue to move about the room looking over their work. Your hand falls down to your rounded stomach again and you furrow your eyebrows as you feel a weird pressure at the top of your stomach.

“Everything ok?” Leah asked softly as she moved closer to you. You looked up to see her look of concern and you nodded your head.

“Baby might just be in a weird position. Got a weird pressure up top.” you said absentmindedly as you continued to rub where the pressure sat.

Just then the doors to the lab slid open with a whoosh and you looked up expecting to see Jack come waltzing in like he normally did at any time he could get away from the office. But it wasn’t Jack, it was a new agent that you had yet to meet. “Hi there! Can I help you with something?” you greeted politely as you moved closer to the new agent.

He looked over at you as he moved further into your with a cocky swagger in his step. He was young looking, dark black hair sat neatly combed back on his head, gray eyes that reminded you of cool steel stared at you appreciatively before they slid to spy your rounded stomach and his lips curled up slightly in a sneer.

“I’m looking for Agent Curacao. I was told that he would be able to help me with my malfunctioning taser.” he said with a tone that rankled your nerves. Staring at him shrewdly you lifted your head proudly gaining confidence.

“I am Agent Curacao. How can I help you, agent?” you asked with a slight chill in your voice. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Shane and Leah moving closer and some of the other lab techs watching the agent silently. The agent before you stared at you with wide eyes when he realized that you were the agent he needed to speak with.

“Sorry, I thought you were a man.” he said stiffly and you shook your head at him.

“Let me see the taser agent so I can see what needs to be fixed.” you instructed easily. Leah moved over some tools and projects that were lying on the work table to be able to give you some room as the agent handed over his taser to you.

Sliding your goggles over your eyes you quickly began dismantling the taser outer shell so that you could see what was going on on the inside. You felt Leah stick close to you as Shane was stationed across the work table from you and the agent moved over to your other side.

“My last mission I think I smashed it on something and now it no longer works.” the agent explained. You nodded your head not really caring or paying attention to his explanation as you began working. Every few moments one of your hands would rub against the top of your stomach absentmindedly since the odd pressure was still present. It wasn’t anything painful, just an odd fluttering pressure that would ghost across the top of your belly. “How far along are you?” asked the agent suddenly and your head whipped over to him.

“Sorry?” you asked confused, you had almost forgotten he was here as you worked quickly identifying the problem with the taser.

“How far along are you?” he asked again.

“Oh I’m in my eighth month. Delivery date is at least a week away.” you said distracted as you moved some wires and reconnected the one that had come detached.

“Are you going to give birth naturally? Or use drugs to help you along?” he asked with a haughty tone and your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

“What I decide to do for me and my child is none of your business.” you state out of the side of your mouth, your hand cupping your belly as if to protect your little one from the wet behind the ears know it all next to you.

“You know real women give birth naturally and don’t have c sections.” he stated condescendingly. You had never moved so quickly while pregnant as you stood to your full height and turned to the agent with an angry sneer distorting your face. The lab had grown silent as all eyes turned to you in your pregnant fury.

“I’m sorry, are you a doctor?” you asked viciously in a hiss. The agent stared at you silently and his eyes raked over you disdainfully.

“No but-” he began to respond.

“Then your opinion on whether or not a woman can give birth naturally or not is no consequence to anyone in this room. Especially me.” you said heatedly as you glared at the young man. “Not only is it not something that anyone can actually control. But it shouldn’t be something that a woman is looked down on for if she chooses to give birth by c section or if she’s unable to give birth naturally. The fact that your tiny little mind focuses more on whether or not a woman is real based on how she gives birth speaks more about your ignorance and your douchebag attitude than anything about women.” you hissed at him like an angry snake as your eyes shot flames at him. “Now, get out of my lab.” you sneered at him.

The agent stood there with his mouth hanging open before he snapped it shut and stalked out of the lab. Leah moved closer to you and placed a hand on your shoulder as you sucked in air trying to calm yourself down.

“That was amazing!” Shane said in awe. “Terrifying but amazing!” You laughed softly and shook your head at him. Just as you were turning back to the taser on the work table you felt a warmth start to seep into your jeans. Looking down you saw the rather large wet spot on your crotch.

“Oh my god!” Leah gasped out when she noticed where you were looking and looked down as well. “Shane go call Agent Whiskey, her water just broke!” Leah instructed quickly and began to usher you towards your office. “Where’s your go bag?” she asked once she had gotten you into the office and shut the door.

You opened your mouth to respond when suddenly you were slammed with a rather large contraction and you stumbled to grip the back of one of the chairs in your office. Sucking in a breath and slowly letting it out you pointed over to your desk where the bag laid underneath it. Leah quickly reached into it and pulled out a pair of underwear and yoga pants for you to change into. “Here, hold onto me while you get these on.” she said easily as she stood in front of you.

With her help you were able to remove your wet jeans and underwear and slip on the clean clothes easily. She already had the duffle bag slung over her shoulder when the two of you heard the lab doors whooshing open again and Jack calling your name.

“Darlin’, are you alright?” he asked as soon as he walked into your office. You gritted your teeth as another contraction hit you and you sucked in and breathed out slowly. The contractions weren’t as bad as you had thought they would be since they were spaced out a bit.

“I’m fine. My waters broke and I’ve started contractions. We have to go to the hospital.” you instructed him warmly to him. He took Leah’s place in front of you and cupped your face gently. “It’s time Jack.” you said softly and watched as a blinding smile burst onto his face and his eyes started to sparkle with unshed tears.

“Alright, let’s get you to the hospital.” he said warmly.

The car ride had been hell for you. The contractions had seemed to have sped up rather quickly while you were in the car. And while Jack was driving he kept asking you how far apart the contractions were, your mind had gone blank in the face of the painful contractions that seemed to be back to back now and had growled at him that you didn’t really care right now how far apart they were he just needed to get you there.

Once the two of you had gotten to the hospital you had been quickly ushered into the maternity triage area, since you had already registered with the hospital beforehand, where there were quite a few pregnant women sitting and standing around the room waiting to be taken to a room. And while you were breathing through your contractions and the nurse was taking your vitals and asking you questions about what level your pain was. Jack was trying to soothe you as much as he could by rubbing your back softly and giving you as much as space as you needed. The nurse realized that you were further along in labor than they had expected and had quickly walked you over to a room and other nurses had helped you up onto the stretcher after you had changed into a hospital gown.

One of the many maternity unit doctors that you had been seeing had come in and done their own check before you were wheeled up to your laboring room. You had lost sight of Jack on the way through the hallways as you rolled around on the bed moaning softly at the pain you were feeling. But once they had wheeled you into the elevator he was right there by your side and you held out your hand for him which he held tightly in his own.

After you had been wheeled into your own room you were bombarded with nurses coming in and greeting you letting you know that they would help you along this birthing process. Jack came to sit in the chair at the side of your bed when suddenly there was a loud scream coming from another room. You sucked in a breath and blew it out as another contraction hit you and you groaned softly feeling the pain coursing through you.

“Why is that woman screaming?” you asked one of the nurses as they set up an IV in your arm. The nurse turned to you and smiled reassuringly at you.

“She didn’t want an epidural.” the nurse responded. You could feel your eyes go wide and you stared at her with your mouth open a little. “So we need to ask you, do you want an epidural sweetheart?” Nodding your head quickly as another contraction slammed into you, you moaned lowly.

“Yes please.” you responded out of breath. Jack’s hand squeezed yours that he had taken and you looked over to him. He was smiling widely at you and brushed back a strand of hair away from your face. “I’m sorry.” you said softly and Jack shook his head at you.

“It’s your body darlin’. You know your limits not me. Whatever you want I’ll make sure you get.” he said softly before leaning forward and pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “As long as you’re ok and happy that’s all that matters to me.” You smiled lovingly at him as you heard the nurse on your other side sigh and you chuckled.

“Always the charmer.” you teased him before gritting your teeth in pain.

“Only for you darlin’.” he teased back and you let out a breathy chuckle as you breathed out slowly.

It had been hours since the last check in with the doctor. You had gotten your epidural and were only using it when the pain became too much for you to handle, you were quite worried about using it too much and had grown a little stubborn after the first injection. Jack had noticed that you were gritting your teeth more as the hours passed and the two of you had had a serious conversation that while you were grateful and happy you had gotten the epidural you didn’t want to become reliant on it. Jack had reassured you to do what was most comfortable for you so that you weren’t in too much pain.

Finally it was the third check in with the doctor and while the baby had significantly dropped into your birth canal you were dilated just under where the doctor was comfortable the baby had slowed their progress. So as the doctor was checking you she told you that she was concerned because every time she had checked on the baby the baby’s heart would decelerate. So once she was done checking she came to your head and began speaking to you about doing an emergency c section. She didn’t think anything was seriously wrong but the decelerated heart rate of the baby made her pause.

“Whatever is best for the baby.” you stated firmly. “I’m fine with going through a c section as long as the baby comes out healthy.” Jack held your hand and nodded along with you, you could feel his hand clenching yours slightly with nerves but you squeezed back reassuring him.

Once the confirmation for a c section was given the nurses came back in to prep you for the surgery. The anesthesiologist also came back in and stayed with you as they began moving your stretcher down to the surgery ward. While you laid there in the surgery room and they set everything up Jack was taken by the nurses so that he could get his own covering so he could sit by your head.

Surgery was odd and very emotional for you. While you were sufficiently numbed from the waist down you could still feel the pressure and the movements they made behind the curtain. But it didn’t take very long for you and Jack to hear the first cries from your little one as they were brought out into the world.

“Congratulations Mom and Dad we’ve got a little baby girl!” called the doctor as she continued to work on you. One of the nurses came over to show the little baby girl to you and Jack and placed her on your chest. Tears were streaming down your face as you gazed at the screaming little thing with a full head of dark hair. You let out a watery chuckle as you placed a soft kiss to her forehead before the nurse brought her over to the side of the room and suggested Jack to follow while she cleaned the baby up and got her vitals and weight.

“So do we have a name for the little screamer?” you heard the nurse ask as Jack watched over her swaddling the baby girl.

“Emma Layne Daniels.” Jack said rather proudly as he watched his little girl be bundled up.

“That’s a beautiful name for such a little sweetheart.” the nurse responded and you smiled brightly over at Jack who watched you with adoring eyes.

#fallin' all in you #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman the golden circle #my writing

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writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

WS Chapter 53- The Best and Brightest

Previous Chapter

Masterpost

The Hermits have joined the battle! Now all that’s left are the minesonas, who will be appearing next chapter! Gods it’s really starting to get to the end, huh? So long coming, i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i did writing it!

Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block

Selene belongs to @to-dem-stars

“Is...is that a dragon?” Scar looks over his shoulder, following Doc’s gaze to the three standing at the base of Larry. They’ve already gotten to their feet, though the infant in Avon’s arms doesn’t have patches of dirt and grass like the wanderers.

Stress shoves the boys out of the way, her strength easily knocking Scar off his chair and sending Doc stumbling for purchase. “That is the cutest thing ‘ave ever seen in me life!”

Jessie squirms, the high pitched squeal alarming on her young ears. The flower crowned hermit surges up to see the baby, vision sparkling as she gazes into the massive eyes of the infant dragon. She only retreats when Jessie decides that Stress’s flowers look delicious to chomp at. Scar and Doc dare to come closer, admiring the baby dragon. Scar looks up, grinning. “It’s good to see you guys came back! How are things in your world?”

All three wanderers look at each other, then the hermits in front of them. “Actually...we came back here because of that.”

“I assumed so.” Doc chuckles, patting Jessie and receiving a tail wag in return. For a second, he swears he can hear the dragonet purr. “We don’t normally get visitors unless something has gone horribly wrong.”

“Which is kinda offensive, if ye ask me.” Stress puts her hands on her hips. “We aren’t that borin’ are we? Next time you three appear, it better be to ‘ave some tea.”

Red giggles, feeling the stress in his shoulders fall away. The hermits are so open, so friendly. Especially now that they know the wanderers aren’t aliens. They know how to make him feel better, no matter what. “I think we need your help with something big. All of you guys.”

“All of us?” Scar tilts his head. That’s hard to do, getting all the hermits together to do one big thing. Not even the first day in this new world had everyone- some came here through other means.

“Yeah, everyone here. Doc, Scar, Impulse, Ren, Grian, Mumbo, Stress, Iskall, Keralis, Xisuma, Tango.” Ecto lists off everyone they’ve met since they first came to this world, rambling on as she remembers each name and runs out of hands to count on. She has to grab Red’s hand to fit Tango.

Stress giggles, which brings a laugh from both boys as well. “That’s not everyone. That's about…. ‘Alf of us.”

All three of the outsiders are left agape. Jessie wiggles free of Avon’s arms, reaching the ground in a half glide. She takes off into Scar’s village, claws scrabbling against the stone pathway. Avon can only bite her lip, hoping that the misfit village won’t mind a baby dragon poking her snout anywhere she can fit. Red, on the other hand, was more interested in Stress’s words. “There’s more hermits? That many friends?”

“We’re going to need all of them to do what we need.” Ecto states, looking at the rest of the wanderers' hands. She’s pretty sure double that number is still enough to not need feet.

“What do you need all of us for? That’s a pretty tall order, getting all of us to stop building and meet up.” Scar scratches his head. He can think of at least five hermits in the middle of confusing redstone projects that require all their time and attention, and more in the zone of grinding out builds.

“I...think that would be better to explain all at once.” Avon takes off, flying down the path that Jessie took when she hears something crashing in the distance. As she banks past Doc, he hears her mutter something about needing a manual on raising a dragon.

“Is there anywhere we could all meet? Somewhere everyone could come?” Red questions, rocking innocently as she hears Avon swear in the distance.

Ecto has never seen such a diverse group in her life. So many unique faces, accents, and attitudes. All as unique and different as the wanderers. All just as weird.

She still has to get used to the idea that weird is good. But she does like the prideful feeling she gets when she hears that word. Weird isn’t bad. Weird is good, unique and different with another view on the world around them. Weird is wonderful, and everyone here is weird. Everyone here is wonderful.

Scar was sure to introduce the wanderers to everyone, tucked into the open, expansive office of the Town Hall. He welcomed Impulse and Tango back, singed alongside a new face they called BDubs. Two hermits walk in after, deep in a conversation that is quick to spiral from meaningful to just spitting out big words at each other. One of them is the only hermit in iron armor- even the recovering TFC they met earlier had better gear. From all corners of the Hermiatic sea, and far beyond, the strange group mixes in. xB had the longest travel, but Ecto was quick to notice that most arriving hermits appeared through a nether portal- the same way they traveled to Tango’s base. The last arrival wasn’t any hermit, however. Selene pops in just minutes before the meeting, brushing flecks of purple embers off her cape and scaring the daylights out of Mumbo.

The wanderers are spread between the hermits. Red sits between Grian and Scar, the three chittering about their favorite wood plank. Ecto leans back in her chair, nearly tipping it over while conversing with Ren and Tango- though she has no clue what they’re saying about redstone (or Ren’s version of redstone), their upbeat attitude matches her mischief all the same. Selene appears in her seat, at the far end of the table with only Mumbo next to her. He tries to strike up conversation, curious about the sorceress’s powers. She entertains his bumbling questions with a hint of a smile. Avon is at the other end of the table, shoving a reluctant Xisuma into standing. Forcing him to make the opening speech.

“Alright, I know a lot of you guys are wondering why I called everyone here.” He turns his head, looking at Etho next to him. White hair marred with redstone, setting vials and flipping comparators as he listens in. “Sorry about interrupting your work, but...we have some visitors, and I think they need our help.” He turns, immediately scurrying back to his chair and leaving the table open for discussion.

Quiet murmurs roll across the room. Hermits that know the wanderers are wondering what they could possibly need help with. Hermits that don’t know the new faces are only left to guess who they are. How they got here. Finally, the low roar of conversation is broken up by a wavering voice. Red looks up, twiddling her thumbs as she speaks. “Our world is on the brink of disaster.”

The entire room goes silent. Red wants to hide, so many faces turned on him. He’s about to leap from his seat and run when Grian and Scar lay friendly touches on his shoulder. From across the table, Red can see his girlfriend give him an encouraging thumbs up. He takes another breath, and stands. “We came here because we need you guys. You’re the best builders, the brightest engineers. And we need everything if we’re possibly going to save our world.”

“Save it from what?” Zedaph questions, tilting his head to the side. Blonde curls fall across purple eyes.

“War.” That single word sends shocks across the room. Many hermits remember previous wars among their own ranks. The battle for the mining mesa. The Civil war between team STAR and G-Team. But the way Red hissed that one word, they know it’s something much worse.

“An army is amassing from the nether.” Avon picks up, keeping one eye on Jessie as she tackles an armor stand in the corner. “They want to destroy everything, invade the overworld and the end. Tip the balance of our world. Ruin life as we know it.”

“We don’t have an army like them.” Ecto adds, leaning against her elbow and looking down the faces. It’s a mixed bag of concern and confusion. “We have the four of us- and a dragon that can’t even fly. We need more than that. We need clever minds, like what the hermits have.”

Avon bites her lip, seeing a few of the hermits glance at each other. A silent conversation, a question she knew would be asked. Those that have no reason to trust them, that know nothing about them. She doesn’t blame their hesitation- she would do the same in their place. So when those words cross False’s lips, she’s not surprised. “Why should we help? I’m sorry to be that person but… should we really get into something like this?”

Other hermits nod, but those that know the wanderers stay silent. They see the change in the otherworldly visitors. Red hiccups for a breath, tears starting to form at the edges of his eyes. Ecto seethes, only being held down by Ren and Tango. Selene’s gaze could cut through obsidian, and Avon’s wings fall to her side. Even Jessie notices the change in the room’s atmosphere, crawling onto the table.

“They killed my family.” Avon whispers, her hands clenching before her. She can still feel the blood seep between her fingers, the sound of Jeane’s dying breath. The horror of Jessie’s egg missing from it’s home in the End.

“They destroyed my home.” Ecto growls, skin prickling as she remembers the ice that clung where Ren and Tango hold her down now. Watching monoliths collapse and die against the freezing wind, biting and sinking icy fangs into everything.

“They did both.” Red’s voice cracks as it seeps through his lips, falling with tears that run down his face. He can’t see the hermits faces through the strea,, but the dead silence of the room lets him know they are all listening. Dead as the sea, the water that burned his through and struck down Mama Gummi. “They killed everything I love.”

“And they won’t stop there.” Selene stands, startling the hermits. A glare as deadly and beautiful as a wither rose crosses each and every person in the room. Almost every hermit was convinced- she just had to put the nail in the coffin. “What happened to them could have happened to you. Will happen to you if the forces of hell build their own infinity portal. They won’t stop their campaign until the balance has been tipped across all worlds. Until every building, every tree, every flower and animal has burned.”

No one moves. No one speaks. What is there to say? What can follow that up? Fear and anxiety burns away at Red, watching the crestfallen faces around her, eyes glazed heavy with thought. Inner conversations, hermits weighing their decision. Slowly, one by one, faces rise. Determination set in eyes as a decision is made, a silent nod. Throwing their lot into the battle.

“Well,” TFC stands, picking up his pickaxe and brushing his hand through his hair. “Let’s not dilly-dally now. We’ve got a world to save.”

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #wandering stars #ecto #avon #red #minesona #mcsona #minecraft persona #tfc #tinfoilchef #xisuma #mumbo jumbo #grianmc #mcyt #rendog #stressmonster101

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dolphin-enthusiast · 4 years

Note

Idk if you've done this before and I've got nothing creative so please could I get some Headcanons for The Bucci Gang if their S/o suddenly disappeared out of thin air. Not bc of a stand or anything, she just disappeared and didn't even say goodbye? What if like years later, they come across their S/o again and if they talk, she seems as though she's never met them before? But she actually has no idea who they are. Weird ik but yeah.

My 🅱️ruh u better give urself more credit bc this is one of the most original ones I’ve gotten so far-

Bruno:

- Once he learns about s/o’s disappearance, he’ll be in constant denial for a few days because he simply cannot (and doesn’t want to) grasp the concept of his partner leaving his side like that out of nowhere. He always tries staying as logical as possible even during stressful situations, therefore he’ll try not to worry too much in the beginning, continuously telling himself that s/o has to pop up soon enough.

- Alas that doesn’t happen and after a week the man is in a damn frenzy. Bruno would start being uncharacteristically stressed as well as slightly more snappy, and the gang would undoubtedly notice it too. The man would then begin to eratically search for his partner left and right, sending his subordinates to investigate the entire city, but all to no avail of course.

- Weeks would turn into months, then months would become years and s/o would still be nowhere to be found. Each second of her not being by his side would absolutely crush Bruno’s poor heart, making the man become significantly more closed off and distant. So just imagine the pure shock that would take over his features once s/o would just pop in out of nowhere one day. The pain would only get worse once he’d realize that for some reason she has no idea who he is. Honestly this would entirely fuck him up and he’ll spend (even more) nights fully awake, thinking about what went wrong and desperately trying to find a reason as to why his s/o decided to leave him one day just like that. To be honest, it would have been better for him if she never showed up again at all.

Giorno:

- Similar to Bruno, as in he doesn’t outright panic and tries going over things logically. He thinks of all sorts of scenarios and reasons as to why his s/o would just disappear out of thin air without even leaving him a message or something before going away. It’s extremely uncharacteristic of her he has to admit, but he still tries to keep a (somehow) optimistic attitude. She HAS to show up sooner or later....right?

- But of course that it doesn’t happen and so he takes it upon himself to go and search for her. At first Gio would think that it was the work of an enemy stand or perhaps the mafia again, but turns out that it wasn’t the case at all. No matter where he went to or who he asked, he just couldn’t find a single trace about s/o’s whereabouts. That’s when he’d start panicking for real and would slowly become more and more sleepless and grief filled. He just doesn’t get why s/o would ever do such a cruel and unexplainable thing.

- Gio would be utterly shocked to randomly spot her one day after so many years, so he’d waste no time and approach her with a hopeful smile. That’s when his heart would get shattered once more, for s/o would be looking at him with the emptiest and most coldest look that he’d ever seen. Gio would ask her dozens of questions, but to no avail. She’d keep claiming that she has no idea who he is and that’s when he’d realize that he truly is hopeless. He’ll bitterly accept the fact that he’ll never get his partner back, but the memories of his past are going to haunt him forever. At this point, it’s almost as if it would have been better if s/o was actually dead. Then again, she is dead to him for sure.

Abbacchio:

- Probably the one who would react in the worst way. Like prepare for maximum fucking angst, because this is one of the quickest ways to COMPLETELY fuck this already damaged man over. It’s already hard enough for him to let people in, so just imagine how hurt and betrayed he’d feel once he’d realize that his s/o suddenly vanished from his life without a trace.

- That’s when Abba would swear to never open up to anyone, and this time he’d REALLY mean it. He already lost someone in the past, so this would be like reliving trauma all over again for him. At this point he won’t even search for her, the man would just completely shut off from everything and everyone and dwell in grief and repressed anger. He feels utterly betrayed and keeps beating himself up for being so foolish as to open up to someone else again. Despite the fact that the rest of the gang would be there for him and trying to get him to loosen up, all of their attempts are sadly going to be in vain.

- So when s/o DOES eventually show up after long and painful years, Abba is going to straight up ignore her. Yes, you heard that right. He wouldn’t even want to look her in the eyes, that’s how spiteful and hurt he still is, even after literal years. And it’s probably for the best anyway, because if he were to find out that she also completely forgot about him, that would have been the last straw honestly. Even to this day, Abbacchio keeps telling himself that things would have been far more bearable if s/o didn’t return at all.

Mista:

- Instant fucking panic. He already worries enough whenever s/o comes home later than usual and all of that, so just imagine the sheer anxiety that would take over the poor man when his partner would be nowhere to be found an entire fucking day. And it would only get worse as more days would go on. At some point he’ll even start crying over and over again and no matter what the rest of his gang would try, it wouldn’t help soothe his nerves at all.

- Mista is going to beg his gang to help him find his s/o and the man will literally lose sleep since he’d be unable to stop his racing thoughts at all times. His mind would keep coming up with countless of complicated and highkey tragic scenarios about his s/o dying or getting kidnapped. I mean, that would be the only logical explanation for her sudden disappearance, right? Why else would she just leave him randomly like that?

- Once s/o shows up again after literal years, he’s going to burst into tears and immediately run up to hug her only to notice that she’s acting extremely off. This wasn’t the s/o that he knew years ago. What in the world happened? The man would bombard s/o with questions, and when she’d reply that she has no idea who he is Mista is going to have a goddamn aneurysm. That’s when he’d throw tantrum and accuse her of being a liar, starting to rant about how hard the past years have been for him and how hurt he was by her sudden departure, only to be met with another empty look from his now ex partner. Once again, maybe it would have been better if she didn’t return at all.

Fugo:

- Reacts almost as bad as Abbacchio tbh. Fugo doesn’t easily trust, but when he does he TRUSTS so he’d feel twice as betrayed by his partner suddenly leaving him. He’d immediately go into panic mode after a few days so he’ll start desperately seeking answers left and right. Poor man would have EVEN more anger outbursts than usual since he’d be stressed out of his damn mind.

- He would start isolating himself and thinking over this entire situation inside the cold emptiness of his room. Literally everything would start reminding him of his s/o and, although he hates showing emotions, the man would start crying himself to sleep night after night thinking about how lovely it felt to wrap his arms around his partner’s body as he contently drifted off to sleep. But not anymore. All of that was cruelly ripped away from him one day, and something keeps telling him that he’ll never experience it ever again.

- Alas his instinct was right, because the day s/o returns Fugo’s heart is only going to get crushed more. The man would instantly lighten up and would almost cry out of happiness once he’d see her again, starting to run up to her only to stop dead in his tracks when he notices the look on her face. His confusion and anger would only grow as s/o would keep telling him that she has no fucking idea who he is. At this point it would be too much and Fugo would just say fuck it and throw a few nasty curses at her before storming off, tears of disappointment and repressed anger running down his cheeks. Yes, it truly would have been better if she never ever showed up again.

Narancia:

- Immediately freaks out after one mere day passes. He starts looking for her left and right, asking anyone if they seen her or if they know anything about her whereabouts. Hell, he’ll even beg Bruno to help him search for her with the most desperate expression ever plastered on his pained face. In the beginning he would try being as optimistic as possible, constantly reassuring himself that it will all solve itself and that s/o will return at some point.

- But that sadly doesn’t happen, and so poor Narancia would slowly seep into despair more and more with each passing day. Every second in which s/o wasn’t by his side was pure torture for him, and at some point he even started to lose good amounts of sleep because of it. Narancia is not one to be negative usually, but this would cause even him to become pessimistic and even hopeless at some point. He’d be constantly locking himself up in his room, most likely crying as he remembers all the wonderful memories that he made with s/o. If he wasn’t curled up in a corner in his room, he was entirely ignoring everything around him and constantly spacing out in his own dooming thoughts.

- Now, the second he sees s/o again he’s running towards her at the speed of light whilst exclaiming that he knew that she’d come back at some point. But this ain’t no fairytale, so Narancia’s dreams would get crushed once again when he hears s/o confess that she doesn’t know him at all. He’ll take it as a joke at first and try to humor her, only to realize that she was dead serious the entirety of time. That’s when the panic would settle in again and he’d desperately try to make her remember him by showing her pictures or telling her things that only she knew about him, but to no avail. Narancia would start wailing again and he’d dread the day that he met her. Sadly, it would have certainly been better if she didn’t return at all.

Bonus - Trish:

- Absolutely fucking heartbroken, She had dedicated herself entirely to s/o only to discover that she one day disappeared from her life without a single explanation. Although Trish isn’t usually pessimistic, she’d start beating herself up for s/o’s disappearence since she’d start believing that she somehow did something to upset s/o THAT much that she felt the need to just...leave.

- Similarly to Narancia, Trish would soon enough lose the last bit of hope that she had left and would slowly start shutting off more and more. Her appetite is going to decrease and she’ll start having little to no motivation to do pretty much anything. Bruno would constantly be taking care of her and bringing her food, and his heart would break whenever Trish would weakly refuse it all. Literally no one would be able to cheer her up since she’d be literally fucking depressed.

- The day s/o returns though is going to be an even bigger blow to her already shattered heart. She would be unbelievably happy to see s/o again, and so she’ll start asking her dozens of questions only to be cut off by a cold “and who are you?”. Of course that this would absolutely shock Trish and she’ll be confused as all fuck by s/o’s weird ass behavior, but Trish being Trish, she wouldn’t give up at all and would stubbornly press s/o for answers which would only result in her getting more and more angry when she gets no answers. She cannot comprehend why s/o forgot about her, and honestly it would have been better if she never returned altogether.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #vento aureo #bucci gang #jojo headcanons #headcanons #one of the rare pieces of total fucking angst on this blog #yikes

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turning-dreams-into-chaos · 5 years

Text

Lost Without Her: I’m Broken

*Not My Gif*

Summary: It’s been 5 years since half the world was snapped away, 6 months since her mom, Natasha sacrificed herself and the world came back, but how does she handle it after her world flips upside down?

~Lost Without Her Master~

Post Date: 11-26-19

Paring: Peter Parker x Romanoff!Reader

Word Count: 2K

~Master~

~Marvel Master~

Peter rolled onto his side, groaning a little from the way the floor hurt his back as he slept. His eyes fluttered open, drinking in the darkness as Clint let out a loud snore, making Peter scoff and push his pillows into his ears to block out the sound. Something felt off in Peter as he sat up quickly, scanning around the room. Everything looked fine as Peter relaxed, finally taking a look at where you were supposed to be sleeping. Your blanket was askew, and you weren’t even in the spot.

“Y/N?” Peter whispered into the room, careful not to wake Clint up but enough for you to hear. “Y/N?!” he repeated before standing up and searching around the store. He couldn’t find you anywhere inside as he made his way up to the roof. When Peter and you first became friends, you spent hours and hours a top any building you could. He pulled open the door, the crisp night air hitting his arms made him shiver but he ignored it, finding your silhouette barely lit by an old streetlight a few yards away. You were sitting on the ledge of the building and he didn’t know if he should’ve approached you, but it didn’t matter as the door squeaked when he shifted. Your body tensed as you reached for the gun you always kept close and aimed it at the door. Peter put his hands up, making you relieved to learn it was just him but a little irritated.

“Sorry. Reflex.” You explained as you tucked the gun into your pants again, turning out into the sky. Peter just stood there, unsure of what to do. With the drop of your head you let him join you, you were both silent and Peter kept looking at you in the corner of his eyes.

“Didn’t know you had that.” He said as he nodded down to your shirt. You pulled it away from your body, chuckling at yourself. It was one of Peter’s old shirts you stole before the blip. You ran your thumb across the fabric before letting it fall.

“What can I say? Old habits die hard.” You shrugged and for a moment everything seemed simple. Peter and you were acting like normal and it gave you some sort of comfort. Peter smiled at you, seeing the kid come out of the stoic assassin as he subconsciously scooted closer. That’s what shot you back into reality as you felt the cool metal of the gun caress your lower back, and you sat up straighter. “Peter.” You whispered as Peter didn’t move away, only nodding his head.

“What happened to you Y/N?” he asked so innocently and for a second you didn’t know what to say.

“I gave up.”

Peter let his eyes drop, denial seeping through his expression enough for you to already guess his next question.

“Why?”

And there it was.

You stared straight out in front of you, ignoring the way your eyes seemed heavier and it felt like something was scratching the inside of your throat. “I listened to my heart instead of my brain, ended up on shits creek with no way out.”

Peter couldn’t say anything, all the words dying on his tongue as watched a slight bit of rain get stuck in your hair. You looked up into the sky, letting your eyes close as the rain encased you face. Peter was entranced as he watched you, drinking up all the things that have changed in your 5 years. Your Y/H/C hair was longer, and your face had matured into one a 17-year-old would wear. You filled Peter’s shirt better than you used too and it no longer looked like a dress on you, but that was expected. And the scars.

“Stop staring Pete. It’s weird.” Peter blushed as he looked away from you. There were a few things that were the same. Like your distaste for being stared at. Peter guessed it worked for you being an assassin, hating being looked at so you made sure no one was.

“How’s May? And Ned?” You wanted to be alone but knowing Peter wasn’t going to do that, you decided small talk was best.

“They’re good. May has been trying to figure out where we’re living now. When we blipped back, there were people already living in our apartment.” You felt a little guilty. The avengers should’ve protected Peter’s place, not let someone else take it, but how were you supposed to know they would come back.

You licked your lip, willing yourself to ask him another question. “And the team?”

Peter bit his lip, running his hand up and down his arm to soothe some of his nerves as he sighed. “They miss you. Everyone misses you Y/N. They want you to come home. I want you to come home.”

“Peter.”

“No, Y/N, please.” His voice cracked as you turned to look at him shaking your head as a tear ran down your check, blending in with the rain around you.

“Peter I can’t.” Peter couldn’t control himself as he lifted his thumb to under your eye, wiping the drops from your cheek as you sought comfort in his touch, a touch from someone who wasn’t trying to kill you was rare now these days for you and you missed them. Peter dragged his thumb across your skin, the feeling of your scars under the pad of his thumb should’ve made you pull away, but Peter’s touch was different. It was almost as if he made them better. You looked into his brown eyes as he met yours. He seemed closer, but you didn’t mind. Flickering your eyes down to his lips, they parted slowly and yours copied, both of you leaning in just slightly as your eyes closed gently, savoring the last looks of Peter before you did the last thing you ever thought you’d be doing with Peter Parker.

Kissing.

But you didn’t. Instead a car alarm went off just a few blocks from you and you bolted apart, jumping even farther than you had been before. Your eyes were wide as you tried to process what was about to happen between you and Peter. Peter seemed to be in the same state as you, avoiding any type of eye contact you could as the alarm turned off.

“You shouldn’t have come here Peter. Neither of you should’ve.” You told him as you made your way off the roof, head back down to where you sleep. Clint was still sleeping, and Peter stayed on the roof, leaving you to your own mind to figure things out. You laid back in your spot, pulling the blankets up to your neck as Peter’s footsteps came down from the staircase. You know he could tell you weren’t sleeping but neither of you said anything as he laid in his spot as well, drifting off into a sleep as you stayed awake into the morning.

When the sun peaked into your shop you rolled over, seeing Peter and Clint both waking up due to the sun’s invasion. You pushed yourself up to a stance and cracked your back, eliciting groans from both the others. “Welcome to the real-world boys. Time to leave.” You tossed Clint’s bag at him, hitting him square in the chest as he furrowed his brows and watched you. You picked up Peter’s bag, tossing it at him but not bringing yourself to look in his eyes. Clint didn’t know what had happened between the two of you apparently sometime after he went to sleep but that wasn’t the most important thing now.

“You’re really going to make us leave?” he asked you as you hummed a yes, moving onto your work as you arranged your wall, filing some of the papers you had stored. “Y/N.” he took a few steps closer to you, but you didn’t see as your back was facing him. You didn’t turn around, just saying yes as Clint sighed deeply. “Y/N.” you repeated your action as Clint turned to Peter who looked like a deer caught in headlights as he defensively shrugged.

“Y/N, will you look at me!” You froze when Clint yelled at you, turning around with an attitude as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“What do you want, Barton?” Clint looked stunned when you called him that. You’ve only ever called him Clint or the occasional Uncle C, but that was before everything happened. He cleared his throat, pulling Peter up to where he stood knowing Peter was the key to everything.

“I know you think your home is gone Y/N, but there are still people who care about you back there.” Peter finally spoke as you looked at him, letting your defensive stance drop only slightly before hardening again.

“I don’t want to go back.”

Clint threw his hands up as if he was arguing with a three-year-old. “Why not?!”

“You both left me!” you ran a hand through your hair, pulling on it slightly as Peter spoke up.

“I didn’t have a choice.” He cried as you knew your breathing got more erratic.

“Yeah? Neither did I!” You let your eyes linger on Peter before facing Clint, seeing the way he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. “But you did leave. You left me and my mom. Forgive me if I don’t forgive you.” You turned back to the wall, not even looking at it as you calmed down your racing heart enough to form a coherent thought. “It doesn’t matter. Even if I did go back, the Y/N that you know, the one you left, she’s gone. And don’t think she could ever come back if I tried. I’m too broken to be put together.”

“You’re not broken Y/N.” Peters hand made it to your shoulder, yet you didn’t turn around, hiding the tears coming down your face. Peter knee what you were doing. You were trying to stay strong and he knew you weren’t going to last long. “Y/- “

“Just admit it. I’m a mess up. I’m a specially trained agent ruining my mom’s legacy by going in a murderous rampage. I know that’s what everyone’s thinking back there. They sent you here to make me stop because I’m broken.” You knew you hit a cord when Peter gingerly removed his hand, letting his fingers linger a few seconds before dropping.

“Ok, we’ll go home.” You spun around quick, looking Peter in the eyes with fascination.

“What?”

“We’ll go home. You can stay here for as long as you need, and Mr. Barton and I will go home.” Peter shrugged as he played with his fingers, his eyes downcast every few seconds as Clint just stood in shock behind him.

“Peter.” He started as Peter glared at him, mouthing a ‘trust me’ that you couldn’t see, and Clint sighed deeply. “Alright. We’ll go.” You never really imagined where to go from there. Never did you think they’d actually agree to go home, but you were going to ask if they were certain. Clint didn’t know if he should trust the boy or not, but he knew that you weren’t coming home without a fight and if Peter had a plan then he needed to risk it.

“We’ll see you around Y/N.” Peter said as you averted your gaze, knowing if you had your way, they wouldn’t see you again. Ever.

“Bye Pete. Bye Clint.” They left without another word and you were left in silence, staring at the front door to your shop as you realize how much you’ve thrown away. You pushed away the team, you moved across the world because you couldn’t handle the world without your mom, you began killing people, and you pushed Peter and Clint away when all they wanted to do was save you.

You broke yourself.

What did you think?

All Tags Open

Permanent: @literal-fand0m-trash @just4muggles @saturn-aka-six @nathaliabakes @whyamihere-bro @colored-confetti @wiseeggspickleslime @sadn0va @btsiguess-kpop @galacticstxrdust @independentgirl @wellhellotherelovey @hollymac79 @delicately-important-trash

Peter: @laic2299 @danielabetancourth @darktwistydiamond @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @missmulti

Marvel: @hahaboop @laic2299

Lost Without Her: @autobotgirl15-blog @eridanuswave @irisv-x @animegirlgeeky @eternaleviee @marvels-exlol

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buckys-old-habits · 5 years

Text

Code 231

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3.2 k

AU: Police AU!

Inspiration: Brooklyn 99 | Season 3, Ep. 10

Warnings: Mention of guns, slight violence

“Do you have a present for Vision already?”, Wanda asks while stirring the dinner she decided to make.

Confused you look up from your laptop and frown, fingers hovering over the keys. “Why would I have a present for your boyfriend?”

The woman on the other side of the kitchen island stops the swinging of her hips and slowly turns around. It looks overly dramatic and you can't help but chuckle a bit at her movement.

“His birthday is tomorrow and he invited you to his party. Don't you think it's rude to show up without any present?”, she raises her eyebrow at you and your eyes go wide.

You forgot, you completely forgot.

“It is tomorrow?”

Wanda nods and taps her dark red nails on the stone counter of the kitchen island. Slowly her fingers creep to towards your laptop and you snap it shut protectively.

“The shops are open for”, she glances at the clock, “thirty more minutes. If you go now you can get something for him in time.”

You glare at her but grab your laptop and your books, stand up and walk to your room. Quickly you dress in something you can go out with and snatch your wallet, phone and keys.

“I'm going”, you yell back at Wanda in the kitchen and open the apartment door.

“No cologne. I got him some already”, she yells back and you roll your eyes. “And drive carefully. Love ya.”

“Love you too”, you close the door behind you and jog down the stairs to the garage and get into your car, driving to your favorite and nearest market.

“No, no. Wait!”, you run full speed to the closing glass doors, the man shutting them watching you bored but not stopping.

“I just need one present, I already know what to get. I will be in and out in like five minutes. Please!”, you beg, but he just shrugs and turns away, leaving you standing in front of the door.

You bite your lip and look around, maybe they have a back entry? You know it’s illegal, but you are desperate and what are a few days in prison compared to the wrath of your best friend? Basically nothing, that is.

Sneaking around the back of the building, you see the back door and pray to whoever is listening that the door is open.

Pressing down the handle you cheer, when it clicks and you pull open the door, quickly walking inside and silently closing the door behind you again.

The lights are already shut off and you sneak along the aisles to the section you think the perfect gift for Vision will be. You will just leave a note and some money on the counter, so they know that you paid.

Arriving at the aisle you knew the gift would be, you startle when a muffled voice shouts something near the front of the shop. You press yourself to the shelf and listen to the voices, fearfully realizing that they are coming closer.

The shop is closed, why are there so many people all of the sudden?

“Keep walking!”

You glance around the shelf and cover your mouth when you see the masked man dragging along the man that shut you out.

You scold the little voice inside you that tells you that it serves him right for locking you out.

That’s not an inspection or something like that, it’s a robbery. And you are in the middle of it all.

“Vision owes me something after this”, you mumble when you duck behind another aisle, escaping the sight of another masked man who is spraying the cameras.

Maybe they didn’t get to the exits yet?

You sneak past the guy and to the door you came in, but another robber is locking it.

“Great…”

Slowly backing off, eyes on the man, you don’t notice the other person behind you and nearly scream when a hand clamps on your mouth. An arm is wrapped around your waist and pulls you back between the aisles.

“Sh, sh. I’m not gonna hurt you, just stay quiet”, a rough voice whispers in your ear and you feel the breath of the man fan over your skin.

You nod slowly and the grip on your mouth loosens, making you take a breath and look behind you at your captor.

The man grins cheekily at you and you frown, mustering his face. He has blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and short, fluffy hair. He is handsome, you have to admit.

“Name’s Bucky. And I hope that you aren’t a robber, it would be a shame”, he chuckles softly and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“Ah… sorry”, he lets go of your waist and takes a step back, still smiling. “I was just stating that I’m not one of them and I hoped that you were also just an innocent bystander.”

“I.. I am”, you answer and he nods.

“Good”, he whips out his phone and touches the screen a few times before holding it to his ear, winking at you.

What the hell is wrong with this guy? He is in a hostage situation with armed robbers and he is… flirting with you?

“Hey, Stevie”, he says when the other person picked up. “I’m kinda in a situation? And I need the squad.”

He sighs and listens to the voice on the phone.

“No, I didn’t do that again, I told you that I learned my lesson. Look, I’m in a hostage situation, the robbers are armed and I have a civilian with me. So if you could please get the squad to the mall, that would be great.”

A moment of silence.

“No, I don’t have my gun. Yes, I will be careful and make the civilian a priority. Steve, I’m not in the academy anymore, I know what to do. Bye.”

Bucky hangs up and smiles apologetically at you.

“Sorry about that.”

“You are a cop?”, you frown, confused that a man of the law would be in this store with you. You broke in, but what is his excuse.

“Yeah, I am. Detective Barnes, my pleasure”, he chuckles and outstretches his hand, which you take and shake while stating your name.

“Now that we are past the pleasantries, let us see what those guys want here. You stay here and hide.”

“What?”, you hiss at him and he raises his eyebrow at that. “I’m not staying here alone. What if they find me?”

Bucky tilts his head to the side and sigh, taking your hand and nodding.

“Alright. You seem like a hard-headed person. I’m scared you will sneak after me if I let you stay here.”

The warmth of his hand seeps into your skin and you grin, knowing that he is right. You would have snuck after him.

“Okay, I counted four guys when I looked around before. They seemed to get in from the front door and just hung around until the shop closed”, Bucky explains in a whisper while he guides you around the aisles, hand still in yours.

Looking around the corner, you spot of the four men. Bucky gently pulls you back behind the shelf.

“What now?”, you whisper and he frowns softly.

“You have to stay here, doll. I can’t put you into danger, you are a civilian.”

“What? No. You can’t leave me here. What if I get caught?”

Bucky groans softly and looks around, before pulling you into a corner with cereal boxes around you.

“Please. I can’t work like that. You were never meant to get into here. Be a doll and stay here, please.”

Bucky’s lower lip pushes forward and his eyes grow bigger, making him look like a toddler.

“Are you sure you are a cop?”, you ask and Bucky’s pout drops immediately, replaced by a feigned hurt look.

“I am. But I’m off duty.”

“There is a hostage situation”, you hiss back and he winces, scratching the back of his neck.

“Okay, for real now”, Bucky straightens up and his face gets serious. “You stay here, make yourself small and wait until my squad rolls in. I will go and see what they want here.”

“But…”

“No, stay here. That’s an order from an officer of the law”, Bucky points to the corner and you want to argue, saying that he treats you like a kid, but that would probably prove his point.

“Fine”, you huff and cower down beside the Cinnamon Crunch and the Fruit Loops. “Just.. be careful.”

Bucky grins and his serious demeanor drops for a moment.

“Will be, just stay here and I will be back in a second.”

In a hurry, he is around the corner and you sit down, listening for the men in the store.

Your heart is suddenly beating faster, Bucky’s presence somehow kept you calm and his weird attitude shifted your attention from the hostage situation.

Now that he is gone, you feel the situation settle on your shoulders again, the pressure and fear of getting caught and something terrible happen.

A few minutes pass and you shift in your crouching position, your feet slowly falling asleep. You wonder where Bucky is, the squad doesn’t seem to be here yet.

“I can’t do this… I’m going insane”, you grumble and slowly look around the corner, listening for the criminals.

They were silent for a while now and you slowly creep around the shelf and search for the tool and hygiene section.

Thank Wanda for having a weird survival phase. She watched every Bear Grylls episode and showed you a lot of these DIY survival kits.

In one they showed a makeshift flamethrower. Just take some hair spray and a lighter and tadaa… you got yourself a flamethrower.

That’s what you sneak around for and collect them, quietly putting them into your purse, promising that you would pay for them later.

While you were getting the things, you noticed that the men moved from the buying hall to the back rooms.

Taking a deep breath you walk over, lighter and hairspray in hand and ready to fire, literally.

The closer you get to the office of the supermarket, the clearer you can hear the voices.

One is familiar and you groan inwardly when you notice that it’s Bucky.

“If my squad rolls in, you are going down”, Bucky taunts and you roll your eyes, how is he supposed to be a detective?

“So you are alone? Makes it easier to silence you”, a deeper voice says and you hear the click of the safety from a gun.

“Hey, hey. Let’s take it slow for a moment. Yes, I’m alone, but I still have my cobblestone abs with me.”

You can’t listen to that anymore and step forward, meeting eyes with the two men standing at the door to guard it.

“Back off or I will burn your face off”, you hiss at them and to demonstrate the truth, you press the hairspray and a darting flame appears, lightening up your face.

Both men seem unsure, but walk backward slowly when you press it again.

You ignore your heart jumping in your chest and you finally look at Bucky, who is confused and worried at the same time.

“What…”, he clenches his jaw and you see the shift in his eyes, from playful to serious. Now he has you in the line of fire again.

“Oh, a visitor”, the tall man says tauntingly and you swallow, holding your weapon up and on the ready.

“I told you to stay”, Bucky says and tries to get closer to you, but the men behind him step forward, making him stop and raise his hands.

“Chill. I’m not gonna do anything.”

“I have a weapon and I’m not afraid to use it”, you straighten up and hope that the bad guy won’t see your hands shaking.

“That’s cute. I have one too”, he answers and holds up his gun, stealing the breath from you. It really looks more threatening than your little DIY flamethrower.

Bucky looks from you to the guy and his jaw clenches. He has to get you out, no matter what. Enough with the games, now it’s serious.

“Hey, what do you even want here?”

The bad guy turns back to him and Bucky feels a sense of relief, the gun no longer trained on you.

“Why should I tell you?”, he grunts and Bucky looks around, seeing the equipment they brought with them.

“There is a bank through that wall. Judging from the drill and shovels, I guess you want to rob that. Nobody would notice that the supermarket is closed because it’s too late. It’s clever, I have to admit.”

You look to the wall, only now noticing that they started to dig there. So Bucky was smart after all…

“Congratulation. You figured it out. Too bad that I have to silence you now”, the bad guy says and holds up his gun, clear line at Bucky’s chest.

You can’t watch this, not today and not ever. Feeling a rush of adrenaline, you step closer and press the hairspray and the lighter, a flame bursting out and you close your eyes.

Your face grows warm from the fire and you hear some commotion behind you, shouts and footsteps.

Then you feel arms around your waist and you scream, thrashing around, trying to get loose again.

“Hey, hey. Doll, calm down. It’s me”, Bucky whispers in your ear and pries your weapon from your hand, the hairspray can clatters to the floor.

“Shhh, it’s over. My squad got it under control.”

You snap your eyes open and Bucky wraps his arm around you, safely tugging you into his chest and shushing you gently.

Only now you realize that you started crying, tears streaming down your cheeks and your hands are trembling. Bucky catches them in one of his and presses a kiss to your fingers.

“Hey, look at me, doll”, you slowly look up and see the soft smile on his face, the reassurance that you are okay, that it’s over.

“Bucky”, a voice says behind you and you glance at the blonde man coming closer, his blue eyes flickering between you and Bucky.

“Stevie, you took your time”, the brunet answers and Steve scoffs.

“I had a family dinner. Peggy will rip me a new one. And she wants to have a word with you too.”

Bucky winces and you look up at him again, his expression deflating slowly. So he already knows what’s coming for him.

��Hello, I guess you are the civilian that got caught up in this all”, Steve says to you and you nod, swallowing hard.

He probably wants to know why you were still here and how you got in. So you will get in trouble and…

“We need a medic”, Bucky interrupts your thoughts and Steve’s further questioning. He takes your hand and holds it up, showing off the burn wounds where the flame got to close to the skin.

“Oh”, you breathe softly and look at the angry red skin. You didn’t even notice.

“An ambulance is waiting outside. Let’s get you out of here. Enough adventure for today”, Steve says and Bucky leads you out, arm around your waist.

“Dodged a bullet there, doll. Steve can be persistent if he wants to”, Bucky says lowly, so only you can hear while walking out the building.

“He seems nice”, you say back and Bucky laughs a melodic and deep sound.

Smiling, he shakes his head and wipes away fake tears.

“You are funny, doll. He can be so strict and annoying. Always tries to play Captain.”

“Because he is, dumbass”, a red-headed woman says from the side and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Hey, Nat. Love you too”, he calls back and quickly guides you to the ambulance that is waiting.

A few questions and bandages later, you are sitting beside Bucky on the bag of the ambulance, shock blanket on your shoulder and a water bottle in your hand.

“You feeling better?”, Bucky asks carefully, his fingers playing with the cap of his own bottle.

“Apart from being tired now and still having no present for my friend’s boyfriend, yeah.”

“So that’s what you wanted in there. You snuck inside because you needed a present?”, Bucky smirks and takes a sip of water, nearly choking when you punch him in the arm.

“Yes, I was on time, but they closed the door on me. My friend will be really mad”, you sigh and then blink up at him, chuckling at the way Bucky looks down on himself, seeing if he spilled something.

“What were you doing in there? After closing?”

Bucky tilts his head to the side and you see the blush forming on his cheeks, making him look like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I wanted some snacks”, he answers sheepishly.

“What?”, you start to laugh, making Bucky pout again and he nudges your shoulder.

“Don’t laugh”, he whines and you laugh harder.

“Why”, you giggle and try to calm yourself down. “Why didn’t you go to the next gas station?”

“Because they don’t have the snack I wanted.”

“Oh my gosh… You are an idiot.”

“Now that is mean”, Bucky calls out and pokes your cheek, making you giggle and swat his hand.

“I’m sorry, did I offend you, Mister ‘Cobblestone abs’.”

Bucky stares at you, his cheeks growing red and he groans, shaking his head.

“You heard that?”

You nod and drink your water, side-eyeing the embarrassed man beside you.

“I’m surprised you didn’t say anything about your eyes like diamonds and your jaw as sharp as steel.”

Bucky chokes on his water and you smirk at him, watching him pound his chest to stop his coughing.

“What?”, he asks with a raspy voice and you shrug.

“It would have fitted your style.”

Bucky watches you and shakes his head, not believing that you can be so cocky again, after everything you just witnessed. Then he stops and tilts his head, nudging your shoulder.

You hum and look at him again, having watched the people around you.

“Does that mean that you think I’m pretty. You know, eyes like diamonds and such”, he grins widely and this time you feel your cheeks heat up.

Did you mean that? He isn’t bad looking, like at all. He is buff and his eyes are beautiful. His features are nearly god-like.

Shrugging seems to be the only thing you can do and Bucky grins, quickly fishing for his phone in his pocket and holding it out for you.

You are confused and it seems to show on your face because Bucky chuckles.

“I wanted to get to know you better over a second date. Maybe something not as dramatic as this.”

“Second date?”, you frown, but still take his phone, typing in your number and calling yourself with his phone.

“I mean, we just spend an hour high on adrenaline and I feel that we bonded. So yes, a second date it would be.”

“You are weird”, you hand him back his phone and Bucky just smiles, taking your hand and kissing your burned and wrapped up fingers.

“I know. And I have a feeling that you aren’t that much different.”

“Maybe, Mister ‘Cobblestone abs’.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #police au #reader insert #franca writes

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jamkookies · 5 years

Text

Pancakes and Kisses

Description : A trip to Malta for the shooting of Bon Voyage seems peaceful enough until the moment things take an unexpected turn...

Word count : 3k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was no denying the guilty pleasure of passing out on the couch like a worn out farmer. As you rest your poor aching limbs into the soft fluffy texture, the exhaustion of the days' restlessness finally catches up on you.

It was a surprisingly pleasant sensation— feeling the tiredness seeping out from your toes, fingertips and the top of your head— cleansing your body from all the negativity.

The hum that leaves Jungkook's lips confirms that the feeling is mutual. "I have to take a shower but I don't wanna, " he rasps with his cheek mushed into the pillow.

"Tell me about it, " you rasp back from your own couch.

"You go first, " he says.

"No way, " you protest. "You go. I'm a girl. I'll take longer."

"Come join me then."

He really had no sense of decency, this guy.

"Tempting, but no, thanks, " you reply with an air of nonchalance.

Grunting and whining in the most exaggerated way possible, he rolls off the couch and crawls onto the floor.

You sit up. "You're overreacting."

"I'm tired, " he drawls.

"Be a man and suck it up."

"Trying to hurt my man pride won't work."

You'd hoped to see him shoot to his feet in an attempt to save his reputation but he doesn't even bother, remaining stuck to the floor with his limbs splayed out.

"Come lift me up, " he tries again.

He knows that you'll eventually give in so as much as you huff in frustration, a smug expression makes its way on his face when you join him on the floor. Despite your own exhausted state, you hook your hands under his armpits and try to lift him up but then out of nowhere, his hand shoots our and grabs hold of your shirt, pulling you down with him. You lose your balance and fall face-first on his chest, hurting your nose in the process.

"Ow, you idiot! The hell did you do that for?"

"Sorry, " he says sheepishly. "I was just trying to kiss you."

"You could've asked me nicely."

"No."

This time he doesn't wait for an answer but dives right in and you feel the light pressure of his fingertips pulling you by the nape of your neck. Any words you'd been ready to say are immediately cut off by the touch of his soft, slightly chapped lips. You slowly let yourself be pulled down, putting your palms on his shoulders for support and moving your lips against his with the same gentleness he was showing.

But then his kisses grow more hurried, marked by a new-found fervor and you suddenly find yourself flipped with your back on the floor, Jungkook on top of you. Not losing contact for a second, he links his arms on the small of your back and you're greeted with the warmth of his coal-hot fingertips tracing your skin as if it were a painting.

Courtesy of his aroused state, you suppose.

Jungkook peppers you with hungry kisses, moving from your lips to the corner of your mouth and finally to the edge of your jawline. He lingers there for a while, taking his sweet time to make sure the back of your eyelids flash white with the new sensation and it's all you can do not to let out a sound.

"I'm waiting for someone to interrupt us, " he mumbles against your skin, the vibrations making it shiver in response.

You chuckle lightly. "Hopefully no—"

Your breath hitches in your throat when, without warning, Jungkook's lips find that exact spot. His hands pull you tighter to himself and he licks a hot stripe of sensitive skin.You unconsciously arch into him, angling your neck to give him more access.

Maybe in another place, in another situation you would've mentally scolded yourself for being vulnerable, finding the idea of surrendering to someone just like that utterly unacceptable.

But not now.

Not as you come to realize that after all you'd been through, this was something completely normal. Didn't all people emotionally attached to each other express their feelings this way? It couldn't be such an unusual thing if your instincts led you to these actions, could it?

Jungkook guides your hands in between his shoulder blades, closing the last remaining distance. His jaw slackens, letting his skillful tongue glide smoothly onto your pulsing skin.

It's overwhelming. Your senses are attacked all at once , not giving you time to recover, yet granting you with that pleasant feeling of glorious bliss. It almost makes you want to forget about your next move.

But you don't.

"Jung—" you whine.

He stops abruptly and whatever fire had been burning in his eyes flickers and dies out, now replaced by genuine concern. A few strands of hair stick to his forehead lined with a fine sheen of sweat and his hands stop their administrations for a moment to focus on your shoulders.

"What's wrong?" he asks, concerned. "Did I hurt you?"

You shake your head in denial.

"Am I going too fast?" he continues. "We can stop if you want."

Your palms find your eyelids and rub them in frustration. A deep breath huffs from your lips but it doesn't do much to relieve you of the lump in your throat. "No, it's just that....," you whine again.

He still looks at you curiously.

"Is this wrong?" you half-whisper.

"Is what wrong?"

"What we're doing."

"Why would you think that?"

You force your eyes shut. "I don't know. But I feel guilty somehow. As if I'm being too selfish, too careless. It feels like we're betraying them."

To your surprise, Jungkook nods in confirmation. He's still on top of you, his body lightly pressed against yours and his forearms on each side of your waist, holding himself up. He nods in a totally normal way and his hair sways with the movement. "I know what you mean, " he confesses in a low voice. " I've felt that way since I made it clear that I have feelings for you."

You don't make any comments, silently urging him to continue and he fortunately gets the hint.

"I know exactly what you're thinking. You feel as if what we're doing is not appropriate, right? Since we left the guys and all that."

You lightly nod.

"It's not though. Maybe it's not very convincing coming from me, but it's really not. Us doing this is not gonna change anything. I probably would've done it sooner or later even if we didn't leave the band. What, you think I'm kidding?" he says upon noticing the twitch of your lips. "I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have resisted."

A hint of a smile casts upon your face. "You would have had a lot of options available, " you admit.

Jungkook scoffs. "Yeah, right. A lot of options to refuse, probably."

"Don't play the innocent, Koo. You probably dated a lot of girls secretly, "

"What!" he exclaims.

"It's okay if you have, " you continue. "You have the right to go out with whoever—"

"I haven't dated anyone, Y/N!"

"But, different from me, you seem like a professional."

"Don't think I'm experienced in these kind of things. I just- I just find myself doing them when I'm with you. It's not like I think about it too much. It just...happens."

Your ears burn.

It was weird how easily your heart rate would pick up by just a word from him, be that a praise or a scold or just a random thought. He had this ability to make you so annoyed to the point where you'd want to grab a slipper and smack him on the head and then the next moment you would be so flustered and shy, you wouldn't have the guts to even look at him.

The pros and cons of living with Jeon Jungkook...

... who is now looking at you with a curious smile.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks.

"You."

You thread your fingers into his hair and pull lightly, lowering his head until your lips are aligned once again.

It was all kisses today.

Sweet kisses, rough kisses, delicate kisses, hungry kisses...

Only now did you realize that having to not feel the soft flesh of his lips between your own was a pain in itself that left you aching for contact, blindly searching for it. A faint hum of approval left Jungkook's mouth once in a while and this only urged you on even more. You were not sure if there was such a thing as "girl ego" but it was definitely satisfied by now.

It's impossible to tell where one's body begins and where one's ends because they're perfectly morphed into each other, dancing like a dust fleck in a summer breeze. You lose all sense of time and existence and focus on the feel of skin on skin, now hot to the touch.

A dryad of thoughts try to pry their way into your mind but you push them aside because even though you're insecure about the future, even though plans and strategies are miles away from your reach, you're still not alone.

You still have him.

And you realize that's more than enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a series of fun-inducing activites which you had a hard time remembering, you realize that you shouldn't be so tolerant to your so-called boyfriend. The boy kept winking at you every now and then, and ridiculous as it was, it was starting to genuinely make you concerned.

"Do you have some nervous tick or something?" you ask in what seemed to be a serious attitude.

Your question catches him off guard. "What?"

"You keep winking at me like a psychopath. What's wrong with you?"

Jungkook's brows relax and a subtle smirk shows itself on his face. "Oh. That. It's just something I've started doing recently. Why? Is it bothering you?"

"Yes, " you confirm.

"Good. Then it's doing its job." Jungkook adds, satisfied. The chair he was sitting on, creaks loudly when he rises and makes slow careful steps in your direction and surprisingly enough, you find yourself as calm as you can be.

Well, that called for an applause.

A handsome face looms in front of you and it's so close you can count every dark fleck in its eyes. Jungkook has lowered into a crouch to level himself with you seated on the other chair and his vision shifts from your brown orbs to your lips and back up again.

"Hi, " he simply says.

"Hi, " you answer.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you, and you?"

This countlessly repeated phrase makes him laugh through his nose and you can't help but smile a little bit yourself, glad that you'd been able to draw this kind of reaction from him.

"I'm fine, thank you, " Jungkook adds.

A stray hair escapes his fluffy mane and dangles in front of his eyes, blocking his vision. You push it back behind his ear with the utmost care.

"Oh no, now you made me go all soft, " Jungkook protests. "I was about to go for a round two."

Taking advantage of the proximity of your hand to his ear, you pull it hard. "A round two for beating your ass! That filthy mouth of yours needs to be washed with soap!"

The dark-haired boy's pained expression when he cups his poor ear makes you hesitate for the slightest moment but you ignore it and stand your ground. "Ow! That hurt!" I dind't say anything. What the hell?"

"Yeah, but I wanted to go all tough on you," you giggle. "Still, I meant what I said. You literally need soap. Go shower, you idiot."

Jungkook pulls you by the hair and blasts off to the bathroom.

* * *

After a good fourty minutes Jeon Jungkook decides to make his grand entrance into the room, except for this time a pair of sweats hang low on his hips and most importantly; he doesn't have a shirt on.

"About time you— wow!" Your mouth gapes open like a fish out of water and no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to rip your eyes from the sight in front of you.

It's like he did this intentionally, putting his sculpted featured into display for you to pine over. But, surprisingly enough there is no sped up heart rate, excessive sweating or butterflies in your stomach. It was something you'd been frequently introduced to and something you'd have to further get used to, after all.

"What the hell, Kook?" you yell in an outrage. "Why are your muscles still there?"

All that mischievousness lurking behind his eyes had turned into a peculiar expression of confussion. You stomp over to where he's standing and poke his abs to test it out.

Solid rock.

His muscles contract in response, defining the lines and angles even more.

"Have you been working out secretly?" you ask him while you raise your head and poke him again for good measure, still incredulous to the sight.

Jungkook's eyes crinkle at the corners and he looks down at you. "I haven't actually."

"Aw man, this is not fair. You don't even work out and you have this body while the rest of us have to sell their soul to the devil to get it."

"That's right. You can never be me. " he shamelessly confirms.

"Can I punch you in the stomach?"

"No." He slowly starts to back away.

"Come on man, just once. I wanna see how it feels like"

His face splits into a grin. "That sounds like something you would say if we– AAAH!"

He's out of your reach before you can get a good smack out of him.

"Sorry sorry sorry sorry" he yells, while running around wildly, trying to maneuver between the obstacles in the room and the fury of your hands itching to beat some ass. His hair flails after him like a dark curtain and you have an inexplicable desire to pull it out.

You pause to catch your breath until you're both standing on opposite sides of the table. "That is not something you speak of, Jeon. Especially when you're walking around half naked. What if I was the one who did that?"

"I wouldn't mind, really." he smirks.

You trick him into moving on the side and he flinches.

"I'll make you some pancakes." he offers as a peace treaty and that's enough to calm you down, your stance relaxing from the attack-mode crouch.

"I want chocolate syrup in mine." you announce and sit back on the chair, one leg thrown across the other.

He silently obeys, retrieving ingredients and utensils here and there. It kind of looked like a hopping bunny, you realize and smile to yourself.

It doesn't take long for the sweet aroma of baking dough to tease your senses and you rise from the chair by following your nose, unable to resist taking a peek. Jungkook hasn't even bothered to put on a shirt and you can clearly see his broad back and shoulders topped by a shock of messy hair. He'd been working in silence for a while, interrupted only by the occasional clank of spoons and forks.

Your hands find themselves wrapped around his slim waist. Ridiculous, you being the one giving him a back-hug when his upper body was bare but you guessed it was probably an instinct and pushed the thought away.

His hands pause their work for a moment and you feel him tense under your touch but he relaxes as soon as you lean your cheek in between his shoulder blades.

And then kiss it.

He giggles. "That tickles."

Your lips slide up his back, following it into a straight line until they reach the top of his neck, inching closer and closer to the side and then nibble on his ear. His whole body shivers in response. You can almost feel that electrifying presence affecting the both of you.

"It's weird, you know, how you scold me about saying inappropriate things when you're the one actually doing them." you hear the words rumble from him.

Without losing contact, he turns around until he's facing you, your bodies mushed into each other. He snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you even closer.

"Don't act like you're not into it." you reply arrogantly and thread a hand through his hair.

In reply, Jungkook stoops his head down and attaches his lips to the scalding skin of your throat but it doesn't last more than three seconds and he's back up again.

"You're right. I am." he admits and you can swear the temperature in the room has risen to a boiling point. His hand hovers mid-air behind your back. He seems nervous for the slightest moment.

"Can I—" he manages but whatever words he'd been about to say are cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing.

You both almost jump out of your skins, tearing apart from each other like you'd been electrocuted.

Jungkook sighs deeply through his nose. "I swear to God, if Mrs. Haeun comes asking for sugar one more time—"

You grab him by the arm before he can stomp off to the door. "Wait! What if it's....someone else?"

That seems to put his gears in use. His eyes flicker from left to right, thinking, calculating.

The doorbell rings again, this time accompanied by actual fists on the door.

"Mr.Jeon, open up!"

Jungkook's eyes go wide as saucers. He grabs you by the wrists and defensively pushes you behind his back while facing the door.

Boom boom boom

You can judge by the voice and the powerful hits that they belonged to a man.

A strong one, at that.

"Mr.Jeon! Please!" The man's voice turns desperate. "Let me in, please! They're gonna kill my family!"

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mxrcayong · 4 years

Text

the avatar series: 01.07

masterlist

previous and next

chapter seven

How many missed calls can someone get before they’re presumed dead? Surely more than five. But on the same day of her leaving and not returning home, the fifth call was the moment Doyoung and Johnny declared Tari either kidnapped or dead.

They spent the whole night pacing - contacting Kilari and Sonan to people who normally just walk past their street. It’d be surprising if someone didn’t know she was missing. Sonan, having come over to make them some food to ensure they’re taking care of themselves, swore that if they paced the room one more time - the floor will fall from underneath them due to being overused.

The one time Doyoung wants Johnny’s jokes to be true seemed to fail him as he prayed that Tari can read his mind. She’d be flooded with messages and pleads for her to come home, Doyoung only thinking that he needs her around.

Johnny was usually a happy-go-lucky guy, temperamental for humor’s sake by only acting mad. But this time he was infuriated - not with Tari, but himself. Did Tari know I was investigating her? Is that why she disappeared? He thought, disappointed in himself. However, he knows Tari isn’t blameless. Mixed with his guilty concious, he was scrutinizing Tari; this is not the time to go silent on us.

Seven days later and Tari has yet to return home. She has yet to come in, rambling about her day. The apartment felt haunted by the ghost of her presence; the dishes left unwashed, the conversations with less banter but the silence for Tari to speak. It was weird - they missed even the things they hated; Johnny missed her teasing and Doyoung missed her terrible karaoke as she sings in the shower.

The journalist has reached out to anyone and everyone - especially his correspondents and colleagues with connections to the local police force. His logic is that if she isn’t in jail or reported as dead, she’d be here in no time. But no time has become seven days and Doyoung is only becoming more skeptical of Johnny’s belief.

Hearing the door open, Johnny and Doyoung look up with hope it was her- a hope thats fleeting day by day. It was Sonan; who started staying with them when she noticed they forgot to eat the second day of waiting for Tarri. Its’ the best I can do right now, Sonan had told her self as she fought through her sense of helplessness. “Any news?” She inquired, her arms overflowing with groceries to stock up their supplies.

Sonan and Johnny have designated themselves as the errand people. Not only is Doyoung still suffering from PTSD nightmares, but he’s now also paranoid about the fate of his best friend. If anything startles him, he may accidentally bend air as a self-defense reflex. They can’t risk him bending out of the bounds of the recently assigned ‘designated bending zones’.

The world around them has normalised the anti-benders now. They started going by the name of Equalists, the government coining the term in a press conference the other day. But largely, the topic is now just a fact of life. It’s not to the extremes where if a bender bends, they get arrested or benders are outlawed. It’s more if a bender bends in a non-designated zone, they can be detained or surveilled for multiple days to months.

Her question was responded with two sad and small movements of the head, shaking left to right as they tell her the answer she didn’t want to hear. “Can she just answer the freaking phone right now?” Johnny exclaimed, letting a fraction of his frustration seep through a bit.

They’ve all been good at containing their emotions - keeping solemn faces, trying to be hopeful, and refusing to show any sign of weakness. For Johnny, he’s doing it to protect Doyoung from a lack of hope while Doyoung is doing it to convince his friends he’s not fragile. Sonan’s doing it because if she lets her guard down, who’ll take care of those two?

Did she get kidnapped? Sonan thought to herself. Tari was always good at responding, or at least giving a heads up. She’s reliable - Sonan knows that. “You don’t think that-?”

“No.” Johnny interjected, “She’s fine. She’ll be fine.” He insisted. It’s how he’s trying to get through this right now. If he can convince everyone else, maybe then he can convince himself.

“Why can’t we just report a missing persons again?” Sonan was tired. It’s not like they can go out looking for her - Sooman is humongous. It’s one of the biggest cities, hence why it’s the capital, of the United Republic. She felt hopeless and lost, and didn’t know what would be beneficial.

“Because,” Johnny answered with an attitude, his voice cutting like a knife all whilst treating her like a child who still cannot read. “If they find her and find out she’s a bender, they may arrest her or monitor her.” The frustrated journalist fell back onto the couch, his elbows resting on his knees as he hunched into his palms. “We just don’t want to risk anything.” His voice suddenly became small and fragile, Sonan feeling guilty for having brought it up.

The eldest of them took a step back; she knew Johnny and Doyoung would be especially frustrated. They lived with her. Everything around them is something they’re familiar seeing Tari with; from her favorite mug to the handle of the sink. She, instead of retaliating, took a deep breath. “I’ll message my trainees to see if they’ve seen anything again.”

Sooman is huge, but all of Tari’s friends together cover all the major neighbourhoods.

“I’ll call Kilari.” Doyoung commented. Kilari has been practically forced to stay home by her parents - she’s a known bender, her whole family is. It’s the disadvantages of being a fire sage. They’re not expecting her to have seen her - although they do expect Kilari to be sneaking out on the daily, but if Tari doesn’t text the people in the room, she’d be the one she’d talk to.

“I’ll check with my colleagues again.” Johnny sighed. Everyone was glued to their phones, patiently waiting and waiting for any news for Tari. To aid this, the TV was the only consistent noise in the house. The news reports played in the background like white noise, the group only listening in if they mention bending or hear a name thats at all similar to Tari.

Sonan has never had a group of friends like she had now. She grew up with friends who constantly left or moved away, only with her because they could meet members of Team Avatar. When her parents passed away, she lost everyone who said they would always be there. She made it her duty to take care of everyone – hence why she offers free self-defense lessons once a month using the Kyoshi Warrior techniques her mother passed down. It took her a while; but when she met Kilari and Tari, she felt supported again. They didn’t care she was related to Suki or Sokka, Katara or Aang – they cared that she was Sonan. Her heart felt full for the first time in ages.

The airbender always says he can never forget how he met Tari. Doyoung had crashed into her at the café on his way back home after a particularly long day. He offered to dry her off. Instead of reacting weirdly or badly to the wind hitting her shirt, she enjoyed it - playing out dramatic scenes, reducing any awkwardness between them and showing comfort with air bending. Doyoung knew Tari was someone special right then and there. He didn’t doubt wanting to become her roommate within five months of knowing each other (partially also because his own roommate was moving and he didn’t want to live by himself).

He then brought her to Johnny’s studio one day when they were deciding to hang out. Johnny had practically forced Doyoung to come visit, saying he needed help with an article. When Tari entered, Johnny found butterflies in his stomach at the sight of Tari being shy. Once Johnny got her to open up, she said some amazing and eloquent things - full of trivia and wisdom, all while open to many different perspectives. He was enamored by her and knew no photograph could ever capture her accurately, no matter how amazing the photographer is. “I like you” Johnny had said, “Can you read over all my articles?” He teased, before accidentally knocking over his bottle of water - which Tari bended before it could hit the floor and spill everywhere.

That was just slightly over two years ago. They all wanted to spend more time with her. There was so much to do; from following their normal board game traditions, celebrating Christmas together, going sailing around Aang’s statue. If that was the last time they saw her, Johnny chastised her for coming home late and Doyoung wasn’t even awake.

It seemed as if their hearing was extra sensitive, exclusive of Doyoung who has been airbending sound to try and listen in to the smallest sounds on the street. Every step radiating from the staircase in their apartment echoing one another, a false promise of Tari coming home. But her footstep was more dainty and clumsy as she fumbled with the keys - it’s what they learnt from living with her for almost a year and a half.

Sometimes, they swore they saw Tari turn the corner holding up a bag of leftover bakery items from the café or with a stupid hat on to make them laugh. Like ghosts repeating the same action over and over again, they followed their routine; constantly checking any application or message, expecting a response in milliseconds. But it doesn’t help that it’s been seven days.

And it’s been way too many missed calls.

And too many texts left unread.

Hope was a power - a power that’s fleeting with time.

That’s the funny thing about hope, it differs with times and contexts. Hope can disappear over time or in an instant. But hope can be regained equally as fast or slow.

And with the clinking of keys from the outside, everyone seemed to gather at the door.

A soft “fuck” and profanities left the person struggling with their keys, as if the keys were covered in butter.

Johnny and his fast reflexes waited no longer once he heard the voice and unlocked the door. However, Doyoung was the first to wrap his arms around the same bender whose presence was a blessing.

“Where the fuck were you?” Johnny finally released the emotions he’s been holding back for seven days, wrapping his arms around the two as relief washed over him. Sonan soon joined. It was as if a dam has been broken; all of them tearing up at the miraculous presence of their best friend.

Tari let out a dry chuckle, “I missed you guys too, what’s up?” She said confused, trying to pull herself away but only trapped under the grasp of the three friends.

“You were gone.” Johnny pried himself from the hug, dumbstruck at how clueless Tari was. Was she brainwashed? He thought, remembering the tales of Ba Sing Se where they would hypnotize people to think everything was alright in an attempt to cover up the corruption.

“For 7 days.” Doyoung emphasized before clinging on tighter.

“Firstly, I’m finding it hard to breathe.” Doyoung let his grasp on her looser, and Johnny and Sonan let go completely. They stood back and just stared at her - trying to catch their breath. Johnny’s heart was beating miles per minute at the sight of her, while Sonan’s finally calmed down. Being in their embrace felt comforting. She knew that although Ba Mei was her home, being with them felt like her destiny. “Secondly, I don’t know what you mean, it was -” Tari looked around, noticing the mess of the apartment that definitely couldn’t happen over two days.

“What happened to you?” Sonan quickly asked, filling in any potential silence and interrupting her thoughts. “How-why-what-why do you not remember thing?” She fumbled with her words, unsure what to ask or how to ask it. How do you avoid triggering a friend when you don’t know what they experienced?

Shit, everyone could see Tari’s eyes dart around the room. They think it’s panic or trauma, but in reality – she’s trying to think of any excuse that came to mind. What could validate 7 days gone? What could explain…? This assumption of trauma led Sonan to sprint over to the throw blanket on the couch, and throw it over Tari’s shoulders.

In reality, Tari stayed in Bak Mei. She thought it was only two days – something she could excuse with visiting her aunt outside the city. This aunt, of course, was a story – something she’d tell them when she had to go to her monthly training. She thought it was only two days because she stayed in the Spirit World and focused on her spiritual identity. Being in the Spirit World felt like an hour at most, but maybe because she was finally interested in it. She didn’t hate being in there and she gave herself tasks. In hindsight, she realised the dark forests was probably not a result of the heavy cover of trees - but rather night time. So, while she thought she was in the Spirit World for a maximum of a day, she was there for about five.. No wonder I felt so hungry, she thought as she remembered the feast Tari practically breathed in.

“Uhm,” Fuck it, stay with the usual story. “I stayed with my aunt.”

“Why didn’t you text us back?” Johnny was quick to ask, skeptical and annoyed. “You should’ve texted us, we were worried si-”

“Uhm,” She interuppted again searched for excuses but hating confrontation. The cover stories of Aunt ‘Yuel’ coming forward as she tried to peace together a reasonable story. “She went a little bezerk and I was in the hospital. I forgot my phone charger.” Tari gauged their reactions – none of them particularly believing it. But with a desperate look on her face, Sonan realised the group was only pressuring her.

“Okay, well, who cares?” Sonan exclaimed, dragging Tari to the table. “You’re back and thats all that matters.”

“Is your grandmother alright?” Doyoung couldn’t let go of Tari’s arm, even as Sonan led her to the dining table. He was like a koala.

It’s been hours.

Hours and hours of Tari being coddled like a child, not let go of as if they let go – she’ll disappear into ash. Even Johnny’s skepticism has melted away and his hands have practically been tattooed into Tari’s hands and or the small of her back – constantly using his thumb to soothe her, even if he was the one that need to be soothed. It was as if he needed to remind himself she was there and she was alive. Doyoung would refuse to be in a separate room from Tari, not wanting her out of her sight while Sonan kept offering her different treats or drinks.

Despite their affection, she told herself that if she revealed her identity - they’d be kicking her out of the house.

Tari was updated about what happened over the last week; the protests have been dying down, but that’s because the police has been actively arrested any bender who ‘acted out of turn’. The gym area was under lock and key, like a deserted island. Police is more frequent on the streets. Basically, life was being monitored – especially the life of a bender. Benders can still bend, it’s just that when they do in a non-designated area – well...punishment ensues.

But once the updates were over, they went into a comfortable silence only disturbed by the movie on the screen. They don’t care how tired she was; they rather her fall asleep on the couch with them than alone in her room.

Until the screen changed and an announcement rang through the room.

“All benders require to be registered as benders in the city hall, all benders identities will be revealed, and all benders will have to wear a monitor bracelet that tracks their movement and stops their bending.” The mayor alerted, surrounded by the press. That seemed to separate Johnny from Tari as he jumped to his feet, yelling at the news. “I open this up to my colleague, Senator Zhong.”

Senator Zhong stepped onto stage. “I have spoken to the Equalist party leader-” At the mention of the equalist party, Johnny was outraged at the government being influenced by a conservative political group with no relation to the actual government. To Tari’s surprise, Doyoung joined him. She’s never seen Doyoung temperamental or non-understanding. He always played the mediator. But then again he had a rough week…well, month, Tari corrected her thoughts, still not used to the idea she was gone for 7 days.

“It is for the protection of the non-benders, who are disadvantaged. Looking at the history, people were only able to bend when they were entering the Spirit Wilds. But these dangers no longer exist. Needless to say and to shorten this speech,” Senator Zhong started to summarize, “all benders have to register their identity and be given a monitor band that will be completed by next month or else they will be subject to jail time and exile. We also urge the Avatar to unveil their identity. They are required for the next steps..” The way he said urge showed that it wasn’t a request…it was a threat.

request anything for future parts / penny for your thoughts here

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icanthelpbut-love-you · 5 years

Text

we built a dynasty forever couldn’t break up

read on ao3

Magnus flicks his hand, opening the door to the loft with possibly more force than is warranted, wrangling his magic to catch it before it slams back against the doorstop. The just-completed house call – his last of the evening, thank God – was simple enough, a frankly amusing case of newly-instated warding that upon being modified months ago to permit downworlders was suddenly refusing to admit the owner herself. However, while Magnus had greatly appreciated the irony, the tight-lipped shadowhunter woman who greeted him with a barely-concealed sneer definitely did not. Trust Magnus to get landed with one of the few shadowhunters still bold enough to be blatantly bigoted, stubbornly in denial about the changes of the past couple of years, as a client.

It had almost been a shame to undo such a neat piece of spellwork woven into the warding by whichever warlock last modified them. The woman’s demanding and borderline-scornful attitude hadn’t exactly helped her case, grating on Magnus throughout the entire appointment. In the end, he’d settled for a parting barb that, had she called him in the first place instead of shopping around for lower prices, she wouldn’t have had to contend with this type of unprofessional (albeit well and truly deserved) conduct. And would ultimately be several thousand dollars richer, given she’d had to call Magnus anyway. Even the satisfaction of watching her eyebrows climb into her hairline at his audacity hadn’t been quite enough to make up for how incredibly drained the entire encounter left him.

All in all, it’s been a long day and right now he wants nothing more than to collapse into his husband’s arms and then celebrate their anniversary with a quiet night in. A few drinks, maybe make a nice dinner (or just summon some takeout), he’s not particularly concerned with details as long as he gets to spend the night with the man he adores.

Rounding the corner of the loft’s entrance, the lingering twinges of annoyance fade away as he catches sight of Alec. He’s deep in conversation with Jace, gesturing animatedly in response to whatever doubtless ridiculous goings on his parabatai is relaying from New York.

Alec’s back is to the doorway and he’s not expecting Magnus back for another hour at the very least, so Magnus allows himself a second to just take in the sight – his husband, standing in their home, still half in business-mode yet confidence and relaxed enough that he’s not bothering to tamp down his characteristic hand-waving. Then, the short distance between them is suddenly far too much and Magnus is bridging it in eager strides to sidle up next to him. The effect is instantaneous; Alec cuts himself off midsentence and the arm previously waving wildly is immediately redirected to wrap around Magnus’ waist as Alec leans into his side.

“Good evening, Inquisitor Lightwood-Bane,” Magnus murmurs, pressing a kiss against Alec’s jaw.

Alec chuckles, voice deep despite the breathy quality seeping into it. It’s incredibly endearing, Magnus thinks, how Alec still reacts like this whenever anyone refers to him with his full last name, unfailingly delighted despite how long he’s had to get used to it. He turns his body into Magnus’ and his free hand comes up to cup Magnus’ cheek, tilting his face up so their lips meet in a chaste kiss – a kiss that says I love you, I missed you, welcome home. He pulls away after a moment, but not far, letting their foreheads just rest together as they bask in each other’s presence.

“Good evening to you too, High Warlock Lightwood-Bane,” Alec eventually replies, barely above a whisper as he breathes the words against Magnus’ lips.

“– going to get another word out of Alec, I’ll just come back tomorrow then shall I?” Jace’s voice filters through the Alexander-induced fog, and Magnus has to stifle a laugh, Jace’s exasperation at being suddenly and wholly ignored in the middle of a conversation obvious, “Leave you two to your… weird flirting?”

Magnus feels Alec nod distractedly, flapping his hand in Jace’s general direction, utterly unapologetic. It prompts a resignedly amused sigh from his parabatai, followed by the sound of the door easing closed and a sarcastically shouted goodbye. On any other day Magnus would offer to portal Jace back to New York, but tonight… Well, there’s no shortage of permanent portals in Alicante that Jace can walk to. He’s sure his brother-in-law will forgive him just this once.

“Happy anniversary,” Alec murmurs, and the words send a thrill through Magnus, sparks skittering down his spine and making him shiver as he presses impossibly closer to his husband.

“Hmm, that it is,” he quips and can’t resist landing another peck on the soft grin the curves across Alec’s lips, relishing the ever-predictable that forms as he pulls away and he walks Alec towards the couch before tugging him down, “Happy anniversary darling.”

They land with Alec practically sitting on his lap, familiar weight pressing Magnus into the cushions. With Alec’s face tucked under Magnus’ jaw, Magnus can feel the warm puffs of Alec’s breath against his neck. Relaxing into the gentle grip Alec has on his hip, Magnus can feel the day’s weariness drifting away. Then, abruptly, Alec pulls back and Magnus’ eyes, which he hadn’t noticed falling closed, flutter open and an unhappy groan leaves him as his husband disentangles himself to stand once more.

At Magnus’ quizzical look Alec only shakes his head and raises a finger, a clear instruction to stay put. He’s only too happy to oblige. Lolling his head back against the back of the couch, Magnus watches his husband make his way to where his jacket is flung carelessly over the kitchen bench and fumble through the pockets. It never fails to be ridiculously endearing how Alec’s supposed shadowhunter coordination all but deserts him when his focus is elsewhere. Apparently finding what he’s looking for Alec’s back sitting half next to and half on Magnus in seconds, pressed up against him in that near-desperate way he has of seeking contact. It’s a habit that hasn’t diminished in the slightest since they first started dating and it still fills Magnus with fondness.

“I have something for you,” he says once he’s settled comfortably, “I had a nice dinner planned to go with it but someone’s home before he said he would be.”

He glares at Magnus half-heartedly, until Magnus’ raised eyebrow causes him to concede with a huff.

“Not that I would have made it through dinner anyway. I seem to severely overestimate my self-control when it comes to you,” he mumbles.

Magnus laughs at his husband’s disgruntled tone, looking down curiously to see what it is that Alec is so keen to give him.

It’s a box, understated black and contrasting with Alec’s pale skin where it’s clutched in his hand. If Magnus didn’t know better his first guess as to its contents would definitely be jewellery of some kind, but Alec refuses to buy that for him on principle. Flowers, chocolates, rare magical artefacts (if Magnus happens mention one in passing), every other kind of gift imaginable, yes. Rings or earrings or necklaces, not so much; Alec likes to tease that there’d be no point when Magnus could single-handedly start his own jewellery store if the fancy struck and probably already owns at least three different variations of any piece Alec would think to buy him. As much as Magnus protests, he may have a point. With this in mind, Magnus looks at his husband with no small amount of puzzlement.

“The idea is that you open it,” Alec prompts, fond impatience sparkling in his hazel eyes, “That way you get to find out what’s inside.”

He doesn’t quite manage to pull off the casual tone he’s obviously aiming for, and Magnus can see the eagerness and trepidation stirring under the playfulness of his words. Shooting his husband a calculating look, Magnus reaches forwards. He knows Alec – god, he’s pretty sure he knows Alec better than he knows himself at this point – and the teasing is definitely a distraction. However, there’s no way Alec isn’t aware that Magnus can see right through him, which means that the distraction is meant for himself, in the same way he used to ramble to psych himself up before making big confessions when they first started dating.

It’s a tactic Magnus hasn’t seen from him a long while, probably not since they got engaged and definitely not while they’ve been married. Marriage has done wonders for his shadowhunter’s confidence; Magnus hadn’t quite realised just how much Alec was holding back until he wasn’t anymore, constantly showering Magnus in compliments that slip off his tongue with relaxed ease and not so much as a second thought. But now, he can feel the tension in the lines of Alec’s body where it’s pressed against his, his husband practically vibrating with anticipation.

Which means that this – whatever ‘this’ is – has to be big.

Not in the business of drawing out Alec’s worry any longer than necessary – he’s dramatic, not cruel – Magnus takes the box from his husband’s grasp and flicks the lid open.

Carved unmistakeably and meticulously by hand into a polished piece of wood, nestled in a bed of golden satin, is what looks like the Alliance rune. But it’s not the Alliance rune, he realises as he looks closer, not quite. Very similar, but the proportions are different and there’s additional twists that swirls the two parts of the rune together in an intricate knot.

Magnus’ eyes shoot back up to his husband, questions swirling chaotically in his head. Alec opens and then immediately closes his mouth, throat forming words that evidently get lost before they make it any further.

“I’ve… Catarina and I have been working on it for – ever since Clary…” Alec starts and then trails off, wincing with what is undoubtedly the same wave dull pain Magnus feels whenever he thinks about his poor Biscuit. Dulled because everything finally seems to be working itself out, but still aching with the injustice of everything the angels have put her through.

“When I was bonded to Lorenzo I could use magic, right?” Alec continues after composing himself, and Magnus nods, unsure what that has to do with their anniversary when it happened literal years ago, “So I thought maybe there was – that I could maybe… I wondered what else might transfer through too. Long-term.”

Each hesitation is punctuated with an agitated twist of his hands as his wrings them together, betraying how hard Alec is trying to assemble his thoughts into coherent sentences. But Magnus is completely lost now and it must show on his face because Alec sighs, running a hand through his hair in a self-soothing gesture. “I’m not explaining this right.”

God, he’s so nervous. Magnus hasn’t seen him stutter like this in what feels like forever. It’s utterly adorable, but Magnus decides to take pity on his husband, reaching for him with his free hand to intertwine their fingers. The action always seems to ground Alec, and this time is no different if the way he settles and seems to finally draw proper breath is any indication, his lingering agitation evident only in his thumb running absentmindedly over his wedding ring.

“The original Alliance rune binds downworlders and shadowhunters, allows a bit of a transfer of powers and characteristics, but it’s only temporary. This is a permanent rune.”

Magnus inhales sharply. Almost all angelic runes he knows of fade with use, and in his (admittedly not exhaustive) knowledge he can think of only a few that don’t: the Wedded Union rune, Parabatai rune, and a handful that symbolise intense mourning. It’s dawning on Magnus, the incredible gravity of what Alec is offering, the sheer commitment implicit in a permanent rune obvious even if Magnus still has no idea what it means. Alec notices his reaction and must guess what he’s thinking, because when he continues he’s steadier, evidently emboldened Magnus’ comprehension of the significance of what he’s just said.

“Catarina helped me design it – it took a lot of spells to stabilise the rune after we modified it, and her being able to… read it’s energy signature, in a way, was really helpful considering we can’t actually test it on anyone.”

“So that’s what the two of you have been doing on your little coffee dates,” Magnus blurts out, “I thought for sure you’d be exchanging embarrassing stories, given I’m not there to defend myself.”

The smirk Alec flashes him tells Magnus he’s probably not wrong on that count, but he shelves the thought for later as something more important occurs to him.

“Wait, I thought you couldn’t modify runes…” he hesitates, sifting through memories to see if he can think of any instance where someone has managed such a feat. He’s sure he’d know if they had; the idea of shadowhunters being able to actually edit their angelic tools as the whim strikes is more than a little terrifying.

But Alec is already nodding in confirmation.

“That’d be true it was from the Grey Book. But, to quote Catarina, Clary’s runes are ‘really goddamn weird.’” He shrugs. “We worked out how to cement any changes we made and then just fiddled with it until it should theoretically be a permanent version of the same rune.”

It all sounds absolutely fascinating, and he is going to have to convince Catarina to divulge every marvellous detail of this project of theirs, but there’s clearly more to it that Alec is still dancing around.

“It’s not a rune that should be able to be worn, really, give that it’s kind of… volatile. But Catarina said that it should work for us.”

Only us. The words remain unspoken, but Magnus can read between the lines. He’s intrigued, enough to hear Alec out despite his less than promising description of the rune’s safety.

“The fact that you’ve technically got angel blood running through your veins –”

“Fallen angel blood,” Magnus corrects him automatically, and Alec shrugs again.

“Doesn’t seem to matter,” he responds matter-of-factly, “Angelic characteristics have a tendency to come out dominant. But that’s not really important. What is important is that apparently there’s an… imprint of your magic on me already. My grasp on magical theory is kind of limited, but from my understanding that’s the only reason we could handle a rune like this one: because it would be feeding off an already-present bond.”

Magnus feels his eyes widen at the revelation. It makes sense. Of course Magnus has noticed the unique way his magic responds to Alec – the way he never had to program the wards to let him in, the way half the time he feels it reaching out for Alec before Magnus is even consciously aware of his presence, the way he recharges so much faster when he’s wrapped in his husband’s arms. He’s found a home in Alexander and it’s only logical that his magic, an extension of Magnus’ emotions, his very being, would find a home there too. He just didn’t realise that meant there was a tangible bond to prove it. Thought it was just the overwhelming depth of his feelings for Alec making his magic react the way it does.

“I don’t… I don’t know if I believe in fate,” Alec is saying, “But it’s almost like this rune was made just for us.”

There’s a note of finality in his voice, but Magnus is still adrift. It’s like there’s something tickling at the edge of his awareness, a connection he should be making here based on everything Alec has said, that Alec has clearly assumed he would make given he hasn’t actually spelled everything out. But he can’t quite manage to grasp it. It feels too big, too heavy, and though he’s sure he has all the pieces he can’t force them to fit together in his mind. The way Alec’s fingers play with his definitely isn’t helping, Magnus’ thoughts scattering with each soft circle rubbed against his palm.

When it becomes clear Alec has said all he intends to for now, Magnus reluctantly frees his hand. Moving to pick up the wooden talisman lying in the box, he pauses briefly to look at Alec for permission. His husband nods encouragingly, barely-contained eagerness bubbling back to the surface now he’s not so focused on trying to articulate his thoughts, so Magnus takes out the token.

Energy, ancient and powerful, immediately rushes through him. It thrums at his fingertips and intermingles with his own magic in a way that is utterly unmistakeable.

“Redwood…” he breathes, incredulous, unable to tear his eyes away from the innocuous object cradled in his palm. He should have realised, the stunning streaks of deep red running through the polished, swirling grain distinctive enough to give it away if he hadn’t been so distracted by the rune itself. His fingers tense involuntarily around it as a pulse of yearning radiates through him. Magnus is all too aware of the mythology associated with the redwood tree; it would be hard not to be when the validity of its bark in enhancing healing or longevity charms is, and has been for as long as Magnus has been involved in warlock academic circles, the subject of endless debate. There’s no reason, however, for Alec to share a similar awareness.

God, it’s such a cruel coincidence – of all the hundreds of types of wood that Alec could have used for his gift, he’s picked the one with a long-intertwined association with immortality. He’s not sure what’s going to be worse: looking up into his husband’s eyes and seeing innocent non-comprehension, or seeing the former morph into confusion when Alec notices the longing Magnus is sure must be written clearly across his face, or inevitably having to explain to Alec the implication (however accidental) of the material he’s chosen.

Magnus looks up anyway, braces himself as he meets his husband’s gaze. But what he sees there makes his heart skip painfully for completely unexpected reasons. It’s utter certainty – tentative and hopeful – a knowing smile playing cautiously on Alec’s lips, and Magnus is struck as if by a physical blow with the sudden realisation that his husband knew exactly what he was implying when he carved the rune into this specific piece of wood.

He feels almost foolish, not sure how he could have thought for a moment that this was an accident on his husband’s part. His Alexander, as thorough and purposeful in this as he is in everything else he does. Tears prick behind his eyes at the thought of Alec diligently researching something that’s so intrinsically part of Magnus’ culture to construct the careful message contained in his gift.

Slow understanding crashes over him, the final pieces of the puzzle that had been stubbornly eluding him falling into place even as Alec speaks again.

“This rune… it would tie my soul to yours,” Alec swallows, and this time Magnus knows what’s coming a second before the words leave his husband’s lips, “It would let me become immortal.”

Magnus’ world screeches to a halt.

Fuck.

Despite having drawn that exact conclusion in the split second before Alec spoke the words, it’s like the verbal confirmation throws everything into focus and utter shock steals Magnus’ breath away. Memories of snippets from old conversations are falling over themselves in his mind, every little allusion Alec has made to spending forever together – which Magnus had refused to dwell on for the way they pierced him with shards of premature grief – suddenly cast into new light. There’s countless instances of his husband tossing the idea casually into conversation, so many that it can’t in hindsight have been anything other than Alec testing the waters.

Beneath the shock is disbelieving joy racing through him at the idea that Alec wants to stay. Not even for his entire life, but forever. And weaving through all that, constant and steady, is unbelievable fondness for his husband, who has unflinchingly fought against every challenge the universe has thrown their way. Who, upon being faced with the undeniable reality that one day he will die and Magnus will have to learn to live without him, decided to fight that too. Who found the idea of only loving Magnus for the limited time allotted to him so unacceptable that he’s literally found a way to do the impossible.

For as long as the idea of death has existed, people have been trying in vain to defeat it. Trust Alec to succeed where others have failed when it’s for the sake of someone he cares about. It never ceases to send Magnus reeling, the knowledge that Alec’s endless capacity for love, that unquantifiable devotion, is directed at him.

And it’s all the more painful with the knowledge that there’s no way he can let Alec do this.

Alec must catch at least some of the mess of emotions battling for dominance inside Magnus, reading the conflict in his eyes. He hurries to speak and his words trip over themselves in his haste.

“You don’t have to answer right away – shit, Magnus you don’t… you don’t have to answer at all, I promise it wouldn’t change things between us if you don’t want –”

“Alexander, wait, just stop for a second. You’re not making any sense.”

Magnus likes to consider himself an expert in understanding Alexander Lightwood, can assemble entire conversations based on a few sentence fragments when he has to (which is more often than one would expect, his husband’s inability to properly string words together when he’s flustered as endearing as it is legendary). But whether it’s because his own mind is in complete disarray, or because Alec is especially distressed right now, the words spilling from his husband’s lips are exactly that: words. Individually, Magnus understands each of them perfectly. But as they combine Magnus can’t decipher even an ounce of meaning.

Then Alec’s speaking again and it rushes out of him like an exhale, tone imploring and heart-wrenchingly earnest.

“There’s a big difference between devoting a few decades to someone and promising them eternity. All I’m saying is it’s ok if you need time to mull it over. I would never – could never – hold that against you.”

Oh.

Alec’s apparently correctly read the distress and regret in Magnus’ eyes but jumped headfirst to the wrong conclusion. They’re having two completely different conversations here, and Magnus is overcome with the need to kiss his husband until the furrows of worry between his brows disappear.

But first he needs to set the record straight, because even if Magnus is absolutely not going to stand for Alec condemning himself to immortality of all things, it’s completely unacceptable for Alec not to know that Magnus would throw away everything he has for a chance at forever with him.

Brushing strands of dark hair back from his husband’s forehead and letting his hand cradle Alec’s cheek soothingly, Magnus scrutinises the man before him and is caught off-guard as he has been countless times before by the incredible sincerity he finds. Alec leans helplessly into the contact.

“Alexander, you have to believe me when I say that there’s nothing I want more than to spend eternity with you,” he says, hearing the desperation bleeding through as he tries to convey this fundamental truth that Alec has somehow gone this long without knowing, “But immortality is – it’s really not something that you want. And you have your family to think about –”

“I am thinking about my family.”

Alec cuts him off, fierce intensity stopping Magnus in his tracks. He closes his eyes for a second and exhales shakily, and when he opens them he’s no less resolute for the way his gaze has softened.

“Besides… I’m a shadowhunter, Magnus. For as long as I can remember, I’ve known that there’s a fair chance I’ll outlive Izzy and Jace and even Max. And with me being Inquisitor and my siblings still in the field the odds have never been worse.”

The casual way Alec talks about this fills Magnus with indescribable sorrow, and a wounded noise escapes him before he can stop it. Alec offers him a sad smile.

“I’m not saying it won’t hurt like hell, but me being immortal, me being mortal, it doesn’t really make a difference to that.”

“You’d still be condemning yourself to watching everyone you love die. I can’t ask that of you.”

“Not everyone I love. By the angel Magnus, I’m not sure what else I can say to convince you that you’re the most important person in my life.” He shakes his head slowly, disbelieving, and of course Magnus knows that but it’s not that simple. It can’t be. Even if Alec apparently doesn’t agree, given the disarmingly straightforward way he’s laying all this out. “And anyway, you’re not asking. I am.”

“If you don’t want that, I meant it when I said it’s ok. Just… don’t decide based on some self-sacrificial attempt to protect me. I know what I’m getting into.”

“Alexander I… are you sure?” Magnus knows he’s being difficult, even as he can feel his resolve slipping, but he has to know, “At the risk of stating the obvious, forever is an incomprehensibly long time, and I don’t think I could take it if a few decades or even a few centuries from now you started to resent me.”

“Magnus,” Alec’s hand comes up to grip Magnus’ where it still rests on Alec’s jaw, “When we got married I promised to love you for my entire life. I can’t stress enough that that’s not going to change, no matter how long that life is. You already have my forever, all that’s changing is that it would be your forever too.”

He frowns.

“That’s what I was trying to say before. You’re worried that I’ll end up regretting it, but what about you?”

Magnus opens his mouth to protest – because honestly, as if he could ever – but Alec forges on with characteristic determination.

“I knew from the outset that you were it for me, but it’s sort of a lot to ask for you to suddenly be ok with the same –”

Magnus stops him with a thumb pressed gently to his lips before he can complete the thought. It’s clear where Alec’s going with this and Magnus finds himself already shaking his head resolutely. Because, when it comes down to it, the choice to be made… it’s no choice at all. If he lets go of the worries that cling stubbornly – deeply-ingrained fear that everyone he cares about will get sick of him eventually, that he’s far too much, not enough, best dealt with in small doses lest he become overwhelming – and lets himself be selfish, giving in to Alec is the easiest thing in the world. And maybe, just this once, he can be selfish. Maybe it can be that simple.

“I have never loved anyone, will never love anyone, like I love you Alexander Gideon Lightwood. It would be a privilege to spend eternity by your side.”

His husband’s eyes widen, like Magnus’ words are somehow a surprise despite everything they’ve been through, like despite his insistence that he wants this he didn’t expect Magnus to actually want it too.

“You mean…?”

Magnus nods.

“Looks like we’re going to need your stele,” he manages to say, voice suddenly choked and cracking slightly despite his efforts to remain composed.

Alec laughs lowly, breathlessly, tears building in the corners of his eyes and glinting in the soft light of the loft. He pats his pocket on reflex before looking at Magnus sheepishly as he seems to realise it’s not there, no reason for him to keep it on his person in the safety of their home. Magnus feels his muscles tense as he prepares to stand, probably to stumble around the loft in a daze until he remembers that his stele is tucked away in the draw that holds his patrol gear, where it always is in the evenings. But Magnus doesn’t let him get that far, dropping a hand to Alec’s thigh to anchor him before he can even try to rise and waving the other with no small amount of flourish. In a shower of blue sparks, the stele appears on Alec’s lap. Alec rolls his eyes, and Magnus only shoots him a smug look as he pointedly tightens his grasp on his leg. Then Magnus is raising his eyebrows as Alec starts to unbutton his own shirt, making the shadowhunter blush.

“Runes are more powerful the closer they are to the heart,” Alec hastens to explain, redness creeping up the back of his neck, “And besides…”

The rest of the sentence doesn’t quite make it out, cut off as Alec bites his lip and fiddles with a button, as though deciding whether he wants to actually give voice with whatever he was about to say. Then, he seems to straighten and looks Magnus right in the eyes.

“It’s where the Wedded Union rune would go.”

This man is going to be the death of him.

Shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders now, Alec makes to reach for the stele where it sits between them. Magnus beats him to it though, shushing his husband when he looks alarmed and seems about to object.

“Wait. Let me try something.”

The mention of the Wedded Union rune – something that Magnus already knew was important to the other man, no matter his insistence otherwise when Magnus has expressed regret at not being able to give it to him – combined with Alec’s comment about the nature of his blood has sparked the glimmer of an idea. It’s distantly familiar. A hunch he remembers toying with decades ago before he’d dismissed it as not worth the effort it would take to follow up on given its complete irrelevance to his life. How times change.

Feeling Alec’s curious eyes on him, Magnus grips the stele gingerly. It lights up with a soft, pulsing glow from the adamas tip and illuminating them both. Alec chokes on a gasp, fingers stilling where they were toying with the hem of his shirt as he stares transfixed.

Wordlessly, Magnus pushes the shirt down his husband’s shoulders, baring his chest. The wooden talisman still sits between them. He glances quickly at the rune carved into it before pressing the stele reverently to the skin over Alec’s heart, soft and pale and unmarred even by rune-scars, and carefully copies the rune there. His husband’s heart-beat accelerates under his hand.

“How does it feel?” he breathes, unwilling to break the moment by speaking louder than absolutely necessary.

Alec reaches for his hand blindly, finding it and gripping tightly like Magnus is his only tether as the sensation rushing over him threatens to overwhelm him. What that sensation is Magnus has no idea. But the fact that it has his normally-collected husband reacting like this, deeply affected even without Magnus bearing the rune’s pair, without the bond fully formed… it’s both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

It takes Alec a few seconds to ground himself enough to respond to Magnus’ whispered question.

“Like it’s missing something,” he finally rasps, fingertips trailing over Magnus’ palm as he relinquishes his desperate grip to make short work of Magnus’ many layers, practised fingers expertly undoing the complicated buttons and ties even as his hands shake. In no time at all, he’s pressing the stele over Magnus’ heart with a tenderness that makes Magnus ache.

It stings a little. That’s the first impression the Magnus gets, but it’s quickly overtaken by an all-consuming feeling of completeness. It’s like nothing Magnus has ever experienced before, like someone’s taken the exact feeling of falling into his husband’s arms after a long day and amplified it a hundred times over before injecting it directly into his bloodstream. It’s enough to make the (gradually shrinking) rational part of his mind very grateful that they’re already sitting down, certain his knees would have completely given out under even the slightest weight.

Part of him was braced for the clash of demonic and angelic magic, of Alec’s very essence being torn between recoiling from and surging towards his as it had been when they’d shared strength so long ago. But it never comes. Instead, the angelic energy flows through him and intertwines with his magic in a gentle caress (and really, he has to ask Catarina how they managed to construct a rune that allows such fundamental opposites to not just coexist but harmonise), until all he can feel as the initial wave of emotion subsides is a bone-deep warmth.

Something about it is slightly jarring, not exactly foreign but not exactly recognisable either. It’s not until he matches it to the familiar mix of awe and love and adoration shining in Alec’s eyes as they meet his that Magnus realises that what he’s experiencing is his husband’s emotions.

Faced with that realisation he’s powerless to do anything other than haul Alec in and kiss him senseless, like he’s been wanting to since he first walked in the door. It rips a harsh moan from Alec’s throat, and Magnus is wracked by a full-body shudder as his husband’s hands scramble at his shoulders, gripping and releasing and tugging him closer and sweeping across his collar bone then down to the planes of his back with a desperation Magnus can feel rushing restlessly under his own skin.

It’s like something between them shifts that final inch, snapping into place with the meeting of their lips. And god, they’ve always been in sync, but the rush of shared sensation gives the concept new meaning altogether with the way it amplifies each point of contact between their bodies in a near-unbearable feedback loop.

Then, gradually, the raw desperation fades into something steadier. They pull away as one, stealing kisses that turn slow and languid and gentle until their mouths are just barely brushing together.

They can afford to savour this, Magnus marvels as contentment settles soft in his chest. They have nothing but time, decades upon decades upon precious golden centuries unfolding before them. They have forever.

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