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adventures-of-the-creeping-bam · 2 years

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK ONE: THE JOB - CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER ONE (Please read this first, for obvious reasons.)

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

CHAPTER THIRTY: ART

How I’m not dead is a baffling mystery to me. When all that shit came tumbling down I didn’t even see it coming, all I could concentrate on was Clearwood slouched under it all, clearly unable to move and about to die badly. I don’t think I even got close, to be honest. The first crate hit me and I was driven to the floor, part of me was thinking this is a stupid way to store supplies, it’s just an accident waiting to happen. It was only a split second before I got cracked in the skull that it occurred to me that actually this was probably a trap of Ashsong’s anyway, that he set it up to do just this when he really needed it to. So it’s actually performing its function as intended. He probably just intended to kill a whole lot more of us with it.

I have no idea how long I was out, though now I think about it probably not long, it probably just stunned me for a few minutes. In truth I was probably disgustingly lucky, all things considered. I come to trapped, pinned down in near total darkness, a few pinholes of light here and there for me to see from, but it’s the smell that rattles me. Cabbage, I think. Some kinda vegetable, anyway. For a few moments I’m stuck fast, and I start to panic. All that thrashing helps in the end though, shifting the shit all over me enough I can start pushing my way out, then I come up gasping and flop out over the chaos of shattered supplies.

Unbelievably, I’m in one piece, nothing broken. My head’s throbbing bad, and when I touch it my fingers come away bloody, but the rest of me’s largely unmarred, a few nasty gouges here and there but looks like my leather armour meant it wasn’t anything like as bad as it could’ve been. Giving my head a good shake, I look round proper now, getting my head back in the game.

Two big fights going on. Off to the side, Kesla and Min are going off at the Creep big time, and while he might’ve been impressive at the start of the fight, least what I saw as I was trying to pick myself up after Ashsong’s big blast, now he’s no great shakes. Krakka’s dancing around him, holding his hammer high as it blazes brighter than the sun on a brilliant day, and all the time the Creep’s cowering from it, his own defence against Min and Kesla’s attacks clumsy and born of desperation. He’s holding them off, but only just.

The other fight looks to be the hot one. Oh gods Gael, what the fuck are you doing? She’s trying to take Ashsong on with her sword, what the hell is she thinking? Yeah, he looks wounded, but he’s still giving good as he gets, and while she now has Shay and Tarrow on her side they look to be taking hits that are putting them down too. I gotta get in there fast.

Problem is, while it ain’t a huge amount of ground to cover, this is now treacherous terrain, and it wastes me valuable time trying to cross it without doing myself a further injury. At one point I look up and see Tarrow get faked out and Ashsong takes his head for it, and I almost shout in shock but then Shay beats me to it, her own scream so full of pain and anguish I couldn’t match it if I tried. It redoubles my efforts though.

Then Ashsong drives that weird crystal sword right through Gael, the tip coming out through her back so fast that it tears through her cloak before it can pin it out. This time I do howl, and I stop thinking about trying to take care moving forward, so I go down hard when another piece of wood crumples under my foot and I’d shred my knees if they weren’t armoured. I drag myself up with a snarl and power through the last of it, and start running the moment I hit open ground again. Just as Shay stabs Ashsong through a great gash in his armoured side that I’m a little goggled by.

I come in under his arm without even slowing my feet, and I’m already prepping my thrust before I’ve quite dragged the knife from its sheath on my flank, but if it damages the harness on the way out I really don’t notice any more than I give a shit. I do what I always do, plunging the knife as far as it’ll go into the soft, unprotected flesh of his armpit, then pull free and do it again and one more time for good measure, just like I was taught. I’m so quick I’m already dancing away before he can even react from it, but by now he’s already so fucked up it’s little more than a coup-de-gras.

Then I hear a great clamour of clomping metal footfalls pounding over the marble before a brief breath as Kesla launches herself into the air, swinging her bastard sword high in a great blinding arc of white hot steel. She brings it down as she drops, finally landing in a crouch because the moon-blessed steel in her hands doesn’t seem to meet any resistance at all.

By the time he comes apart I’m already forgetting about him, I skirt around the body as it undoes itself and go to Gael’s side, so when she collapses I’m there to take her in my arms. She seems much heavier than usual, but I think I’m just be feeling all the shit I been through tonight, least in the background, so I’m not as strong as I would like. But I’m strong enough, at least, that I don’t drop her as I fall to my knees and pull her close.

A great keening fills the chamber now and it’s too strong for me to ignore, even with the matter at hand, so I can’t help looking back at the other fight to see Krakka and Min backing away fast while the Creep folds up on itself. They were so scary before, especially when I got a close look at it, a little blurry from getting rattled but clear enough, when it suddenly appeared out of nowhere to cut Garnon down. Human but also clearly not, the way it moved there was no way it could be, and something in those eyes was just off.

Now, this thing, whatever it is, is both terrifying and pitiful as it drops to its knees, gripping its sword tight in both hands but no longer a threat. Suddenly it doesn’t even look real, like it’s not really there at all, the best way to describe it is like a reflection in a window on a particularly gloomy day. I can see through it, it’s gauzy and faint and barely visible in places, and now, as I watch, as that strange high pitched wail that’s coming out of it – but not from its mouth, now I realise it seems to be coming from every part of it – as that builds, becoming truly unbearable, it frays at the edges, like a piece of particularly fragile gossamer torn asunder in a high wind, pieces starting to tear away. Suddenly the whole of it just breaks apart into millions of tiny shreds of fading blackness, then it’s just … gone, and the whole place is silent as a tomb.

Gael coughs and I’m brought back to the moment like a falling weight. “Oh fuck … oh gods, what were you thinking? You idiot, why did you do that? What have you … what are you … what …”

They just cough again and wince, tensing for a moment as a spasm wracks them, and I realise the sword’s still run through them. They’re trying to speak, but nothing’s coming, they can’t force it out, or maybe they just can’t find the breath. Gods, they’re so pale, their lips are turning grey as I watch, their eyes glazing but still locked on mine. Finally they get something out, it might be my name. I can’t be sure. After what must be a titanic effort they bring their hand up and touch my cheek, but their arm gives out almost as soon as they touch my face. “How … how did you … survive that …”

“What? How did I … you’re worried about me? Fuck, Gael …” I look around now but there’s no help to hand, Kesla’s standing over us but the look on her face tells me all I need to know, really. She knows as well as I do how lethal this wound is. Gods, I’ve never seen her cry before, I didn’t even know she could.

“KRAKKA!!! HELP ME!!! KRAKKA!!! PLEASE, DO SOMETHING!!!”

I hear his tromping footfalls before he arrives, then a great clatter as he must drop to his knees while he’s still moving and slides those last few feet to my side. He drops Bloodmoon with a loud clang and raises his empty hands, reaching out but stopping just short, and I know he must be taking it in. When I look at his face I see the tears starting to spring in the corners of his eyes as realisation hits him. “Oh no … gods no …” He turns to me and I could murder him for that look. “They’re dead ...”

“What? No, they’re –” My voice chokes out the moment I look down, I see it instantly. Their head lolls back now, neck barely supported by my wrist, and they’re so still, eyes unfocused now, looking off into space. But it’s their throat, icy white now where it’s not splashed with their own blood, it’s so still now. “No. No, no no no …” I reach over with my other hand, press my fingers to the spot where I should find the pulse, and there’s nothing there. I press harder, squeezing now, and stop myself quick when I realise what I’m doing. Don’t choke ‘em, even if they are … gods, I can’t even bring myself to think it. “No, no you don’t Gael, c’mon. Don’t do this to me, don’t die, please don’t die …”

Kesla drops to her knees beside us, her armour making a real racket under the impact, but if it hurts her it doesn’t seem to register. “Art … Art, honey, they’re gone. It’s too late –”

“SHUT UP!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! IT’S NOT TOO LATE!!! THEY’RE NOT DEAD!!! THERE’S STILL A CHANCE, THERE HAS TO BE!!!”

“Art, please …” Kesla reaches out, grips my shoulder, squeezing gently. “This is useless –”

“GET THE FUCK OFF ME!!!” I shake her off angrily, really snarling now. It’s getting hard for me to see now, my vision swimming as the tears start to pour, I feel them drenching the fur on my face, it must be dripping on Gael now, too, like it matters. “Please … that can’t … it can’t be true …” I turn to Krakka, who looks as stricken as Kesla, I can just make it out through the wet. “Do something.”

He starts to speak, but stops himself. He looks down at Gael, then back up at me. I give my wrist a savage swipe across my eyes, and while it clears away the worst of the tears’ distortion I’m sure it must spread all kinds of fresh gore over my face. He looks scared, I can’t believe it, I never seen him afraid before. Not really. “Art, I … I don’t … that’s –”

I grab his arm quick and drag him towards me, yanking him close with a force I surprise myself with as much as him, and I can’t help the growling menace creeping into my words: “Fuck you, don’t you dare. Fix this. Fix them! Bring ‘em back NOW!!”

“Please, Art … it’s not that easy, I can’t just call on my Lady and put a little healing energy into them. They’re dead. Their soul’s left their body, this is just an empty shell. I’d need to call her back into it while I repair the damage. This is dangerous magic, Art.”

“So? You don’t think they’d do it for you if they could?”

Krakka glares at me, and there’s so much going on in his face now. He can be hard to read sometimes, unless he’s really wearing his emotions on his sleeve, but I’ve never seen him this expressive before. I can see it, though, he’s conflicted, he’s expressed the dangers but I can tell he’s as desperate to try this as I am. He loves ‘em too, much as Kesla does, much as I do. Dunno about Yeslee, but I suspect …

“Can you?” Kesla’s looking at him closely now, and there’s something very fragile in her now – hope. “Can you really do that?”

“I … I don’t know. I can’t do it on my own. Even with Serena on my side I don’t have enough power for this. A resurrection … that is a tremendous drain, I’d have to give so much of myself, enough to bring them back, and to heal their body once more, and I don’t have that kind of strength. I need someone to help me, to share the load. But it’ll be as dangerous for them as it will be for me. More, even. There’s a very real danger that if this doesn’t work it could kill all three of us.”

“I’ll do it.” I don’t even have to think about it, the words come on their own, but I stand by ‘em. “Use me. Take everything you need.”

“Art –”

“No.” Kesla fixes me with her hardest glare, but I can see it’s put on. She’s scared of the possibilities but trying to put a brave face on. “Not you. Gael’d never forgive me if I let you do this, and no way I’d let any of you do anything I wasn’t willing to do myself. It’s gotta be me.”

“Fuck that.” Shay drops into a crouch at Kesla’s side, looking down at Gael’s lifeless form now. “This is all my fault, I brought you into all this. I’m responsible when you dig right down into it. I’ll do it.”

“What?” Kesla rounds on her. “Come on … no, you’ve lost so much … you can’t –”

“Yes I can. You said it yourself, Gael wouldn’t be able to forgive you if you let him do this? Well I don’t think they’d want you to do it either. Me, I’m an outsider to you. I don’t matter. But this is my fault. I can’t just stand by and let you take the risk of paying even more for our mistakes.”

“Shay, are you sure –”

“Yes, mother.” She looks up at Min, who’s stood over her now, so tall she dwarfs all of us down on the floor. “We owe them a debt. I have to fix this.”

“What?” I look at them all, a little amazed now. “No, you can’t just … I can do this. It’s Gael. Let me help ‘em.”

Shay gives Kesla a pointed look, but I have no idea what’s passing between them, or even if they actually understand each other in this moment. But when Kesla looks at me, I can see it in her face, she can’t hide it in this moment. She can’t lose me too. Shit.

“Now wait just a minute –”

She rushes me. I can’t believe she’s still capable of moving so fast, she looked so tired when the fight finally ended, we all did, probably. We’re all running on our last legs, exhaustion taking hold, I’d half expect Kesla to just collapse the moment she tried anything. Instead she tackles me to the floor before I can even start to react, and when I go down I lose my grip on Gael as Shay takes hold and pulls ‘em towards her. Now I start fighting, the moment I fumble I must just go feral.

Kesla holds onto me, wrapping her arms round me and her legs too, crushing me tight to her and pinning my arms best she can but I am pissed now. I bite, I claw, I spit my fury but in truth I don’t achieve anything, she’s just so strong I don’t stand a chance.

The first thing Shay does is drag the sword out of Gael, freeing up a little splash of blood before the last seems to pour out from the exit wound in their back, but there’s really not much left, now I’m looking. Oh gods, it’s really true, they really are dead. Seeing that, all the fight finally goes out of me and I start weeping again, more completely now. Kesla squeezes tighter, but it’s not even restraint now, she’s just trying to comfort me, uncomfortable as my current imprisonment is.

“Mother Luna … Mother Luna please hear my plea.” Krakka stays where he is as he work to get out of his gauntlets, struggling with the catches and straps but doubling down and working through it. His hands are shaking, I can see it now. He’s still scared, but it’s worse now. Oh gods, is he even up to this?

Shay lays Gael out in front of him, then settles down as comfortably as she can on the other side of the body, starts to work her way out of her own gloves and bracers. Seeing this seems to give Krakka strength, and when he looks up their eyes meet, Shay nods, and he returns it. He takes a deep breath, and when he lets it go he’s regained his composure. He starts praying under his breath now, finally clawing free of his gauntlets so he can start unpacking his oil from the small satchel at his side.

“Mother Luna, please help them. You love this child, you’ve granted them your blessing many times and you know their worth, they are not found wanting. Heal them, restore them, bring them back to the light and the life they have been so unfairly and untimely ripped from. Please … please just bring Gael back to us. Please …”

Anointing Gael’s head with the oil, he then rubs another smear across Shay’s forehead, finally his own, and place his hands over their chest, nodding to Shay to do the same. When she lays her own hands on top of his, he nods, looks up to her again, and starts to mutter, quietly. “Mother Luna, Lady of Light, restore this child.” Over and over. After a moment, Shay takes up the litany herself, and their voices slowly rise as they keep repeating it.

A minute passes, and nothing. Then I hear Kesla muttering to herself, and I realise she’s speaking the prayer under her breath the same as they are. I listen for a few moments, then I join her, faltering at first, my voice a broken croak, but after clearing my throat the words come easier and I start to chant the words almost immediately, giving them as much weight as I can. Kesla seems to take this as an invitation and raises her own voice too. After another minute a lower, more resonant voice joins us, and I realise it’s Min.

She’s dropped to her own knees behind Shay, and now she lays her hands on her daughter’s shoulders as she takes up the litany herself. Krakka’s raising his own voice now, and Shay does the same, and now, finally, something seems to be happening.

Gael’s skin is glowing. It’s subtle, you could miss it in someone else but given how brilliant her naturally pearlescent skin is it’s definitely clearer in her case, and she’s starting to flare. As the prayer goes on it brightens, her fingers and throat and face becoming beacons, and now I think I can see the blood on her skin starting to fade. No, not fade. Her body is drawing it back inside. Now I can see the blood pooled on the floor is moving, seeming to draw back inwards, slowly at first but already gaining speed.

Kesla lets her grip ease as she sits up, but I stay where I am, now I’m actually starting to hold onto her. I keep up the prayer and she does the same, unable take my eyes off this display.

What was once a glow has become a blaze, I can barely even recognise their features now, it’s so bright. The light plays across the others’ faces and now I can see something’s happening to them too. Shay’s face is tightening, she’d having to fight to get the words out now, her skin becoming drawn while I see tendons starting to stand out in her neck, her teeth gritting. Now I look at Krakka I think I see the same, although with the feathers it’s harder to tell. With him it’s more his posture, the way he’s also having to work to repeat his own prayer.

Then something starts to run from one of Shay’s nostrils, something dark. Blood. The other nostril follows, and the flow grows stronger. Looking to Krakka I can see the same, dark red streams starting to roll along his beak to drip onto Gael’s unmoving form. They’re both starting to slouch where they’re kneeling, like the strength’s starting to leak out of them, but they’re both fighting hard to stay upright. And they’re still chanting even though their voices are cracking badly.

Min pulls closer to her daughter now, wrapping her arms around her, as much to hold her up as to just hold her, and I can see she’s weeping now as she lays her brow against the back of Shay’s head. She keeps praying too.

Krakka falters first, his head drooping while his words just seem to give out, and he half collapses but manages to claw back to himself at the last, grunting gutturally as he fights to right himself, then starts praying again. He keeps his hands on Gael the whole time, impossible as the task is starting to look now, and a few moments later that same fatigue seems to hit Shay. She just swoons, but doesn’t have a chance to collapse because Min’s holding her so tight. She might even be out for a moment or two, but then she blinks and powers through it, and her own prayers only falter for the breadth of the collapse. She keeps her hands in place too, and now she’s so much more drawn, like Gael’s drawing the life right out of her. Gods, I think that really is what’s happening.

Gael’s fingers move. I’m not sure if I really see it, I might just be imagining it, but I swear I see two of the fingers on her right hand twitch. I start to sit up but then freeze, and now I’m holding my breath, my own prayer petering out as I wait. Kesla falters herself, but only for a moment, she takes up her own again, but I can hear something in her tone now. Hope. Very fragile, but there all the same. Hearing it makes me start muttering the prayer again too.

Another twitch, but this time it’s a lot clearer, or maybe I’m just looking for it now. Then their left hand clutches for a moment where it’s been laid on their lap, and the fingers of their right flex a little. Then their face too, just the slightest crease of a frown forming for the length of a breath and then smoothing out again. I start to sit up more seeing that, and Kesla finally releases her grip on me entirely as I start to crawl away from her.

I go very carefully, very slowly, taking the greatest care in my approach. The glow in their skin’s fading now but where it was I can already see how much healthier they look. Very much the Gael I know so well. I move towards them now on hands and knees, creeping cautiously, and as I draw close their face is growing more animate, their lips quirking now, parting for a moment, then as I reach their feet and start to work my way up their throat moves, and then their chest. It rises. Hesitant at first, just the tiniest rise and fall in quick succession, and I freeze where I am. I stop praying at last, I can’t help it. Then another rise, and this time it’s a full breath, their lips parting in the same moment their nostrils flair, and when they breathe out there’s another moment before the next breath follows. And another.

Seeing that I almost collapse right on the spot, but instead I just settle at their side and reach out, very tentatively, to take their hand. It’s warm. Not as warm as I’d like, but at least warm enough to reassure me. For a few moments it’s limp, but then her fingers start to move and I ease my grip enough for them to work around my hand, finally slipping, intertwined, between my own. Their grip’s similarly weak, but they still give mine a little squeeze.

“Gael …” I barely breathe it, but their eyes are focusing now, and their lids blink. Clearly a response. I repeat their name, and this time their lids flutter, roving for a moment but then meeting mine, and their lips quirk. It might actually be a smile.

Shay’s prayer slips again, and this time her voice gives out entirely as she collapses into her mother’s arms, letting out a long, wheezing breath. She doesn’t draw another, and Min reacts immediately, drawing her daughter closer and starting to shake her, gentle but insistent all the same. “Shay? Shay … Shay! Shay, are you … Shay!”

The half-orc gasps at last, then starts coughing as she fights to draw fresh breath. Her mother practically crushes her this time as she hugs her tighter, and this time she doesn’t even try to hide her emotions, starting to sob on the spot. Shay struggles with her breathing for a few more moments before finally wrestling it under control, looking down at Gael again. “Is … are they … all right?”

“I don’t know.” Krakka rasps the words out, barely keeping himself from collapsing too.

“Gael, you with us?” I keep hold of their hand as I lean in until I’m close enough to feel her breath on my cheeks. They blink a few times, finally able to properly focus on me, and for a moment confusion crosses their face, but it’s gone quickly.

“Art?”

“Oh fuck …” I sort of collapse again, letting my head drop on their chest for a moment, and it’s only when I lift it again that I realise the wound in their chest’s healed too, just a two-inch hole in the armour to mark its place. “Gods, Gael … what the hell were you thinking?”

“Well it … seemed like a good idea at the time.” They croak, starting to rise but faltering immediately.

“No, don’t try to move.” Krakka’s voice is a little clearer now, but not by much as he lays a very shaky hand on her chest and presses down very gently. “You’re going to be very weak for a few days.” He manages a smile, but it’s a fragile looking thing right now. “Tell the truth, so will I.”

“And Shay?” Min’s own voice sounds awfully broken too.

“The same.” He clears his throat, but that just brings on another coughing fit. “Oh gods … yeah, we’ll all be pretty out of it for a little while. It worked, but that was worryingly close to failure. We got very lucky.”

Kesla laughs at that, but it sounds bitter indeed. “Yeah, no shit. Very lucky.” She draws her knees up to her chest and hugs them, which seems an impressive feat in that armour. “Really hope we won’t have to fight our way out after all this, we’re in no fit state.”

“No.” Min croaks, swiping her wrist across her eyes, regardless of her own armour. “No, I don’t think you will. The prize is yours, I’m returning it without reservation. I’m sorry I can’t offer you much more recompense after all this.”

This time the bitter irony in Kesla’s cold chuckle’s even stronger. “Really? After what you just had to give up? What you almost gave up?” She lets out a deep sigh and it hitches, for a moment I reckon she might start sobbing too. “Gods … I’m so sorry for all you’ve lost tonight.”

Min looks at her for a long time, and suddenly her face is unreadable again. Then she looks down at her daughter and her expression softens. Her daughter, still very much alive even if she seems to be in the worst state imaginable short of dead, raises her head in what must be a titanic effort and looks at her mother. Nothing’s said, but I feel like a wealth of communication passes between them. Finally Min lets out a sigh, and when she looks up she seems very sad indeed. “As am I. I fear that is as much my fault as it is Ashsong’s. But none of the blame can lie with you or yours.”

I know Kesla wants to argue, she’s real cut up about it, it’s well-hidden but I can see it easy enough, and I don’t blame her. I feel like hell for everyone I’ve had to kill tonight, Ashsong and his … friend being a glaring exception. I can only imagine she feels even worse, but she doesn’t argue her case, simply looking down at her blood-streaked gauntlets and pulling in another hitching breath before finally nodding.

We’re all silent for a long time, although I doubt it’s really more than a few minutes of troubled, rueful contemplation. Then Gael tries to sit up again, and this time Krakka helps them as much as he’s able in his own weakened state. In the end they wind up just propping each other up, but Gael looks happy enough with it as they turn to me and manage a weak smile. I return it, my own not feeling much stronger.

“Okay …” Shay finally croaks, looking around at all of us as much as she can with just her eyes. “So what now?”

“I guess we need to see if we can dig out our employer,” Kesla sighs after a thoughtful moment “Just in the off-chance that he might actually have survived that mess too?”

“Oh shit, yeah.” I look back at the great debris field of splintered, shattered supplies, and if I’m honest I don’t feel too hopeful. What are the chances that Wenrich might’ve gotten hit by a bunch of cabbages too instead of something a good deal heavier and therefore more lethal? “Fuck …”

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of The Creeping Bam #book 1 chapter 30 #fantasy fiction #original fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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drabbles-mc · 3 years

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First Impressions

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Request by @eversonaive : Could do a fic on the reader meeting Juice when he has the sign stuck to his chest only to find out later he is the club's intelligence officer lol

Part 2 can be found Here

Warnings: language, Juice being an embarrassed lil cutie

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: I loved writing this. Flustered Juice gives me life lmao. I hope it’s what you had in mind! I peppered in a couple other of our SAMCRO boys because why not?

Join my group-chat here: (X)

SOA Taglist: @adela-topaz-caelon @garbinge @i-just-read-stuff @multiyfandomgirl40 @masterlistforimagines @mijop @chibsytelford @xladymacbethx @kkim120 @toni9 @everyhowlmarksthedead @unicornucopia-fuckers @mayans-sauce @shadow-of-wonder (If you want to be tagged in any of my writing please let me know! xo)

You couldn’t pretend that you weren’t surprised, and a little off-put by the scene in front of you. You looked around, wondering why you felt like you were the only one who saw what you were seeing. Everyone else was walking by, minding their own business, but you couldn’t pretend that you didn’t notice.

Crouching down, you pressed your fingers gently against the side of his neck, and you were rewarded with a fairly steady pulse. Relief flooded through you, glad you weren’t going to have to report a dead body. However, you weren’t quite sure how to handle the scene in front of you.

Gently nudging him, you tried to wake him up. He let out a soft groan but didn’t fully wake up. With a heavy sigh, you shook him a little harder but weren’t able to wake him. Pressing your lips together into a thin line, you patted the side of his face. You saw his brows furrow and twitch and you knew that he was almost awake.

“Hey,” you shook him and patted his cheek again, “you good?”

With a groan and what seemed like more effort than it should’ve taken, he slowly started to open his eyes. Part of you wanted to laugh because he seemed like he was probably going to be alright, but more than anything you were just confused.

“You alright? Looks like you’ve had…a time.”

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at the state of himself. The fact that he didn’t seem shocked and appalled spoke volumes. With a quiet grunt, he forced himself to his feet.

“Do I have to be worried about you?” you couldn’t help but to look him up and down again. With a chuckle and a shake of his head he reassured you that he was fine, which did little to actually make you feel better, “There somewhere I should be take you?”

He laughed, “No. Don’t worry. Thank you for, uh, waking me up. Way better than getting kicked by the cops,” he shook his head.

“Small miracles,” you had to laugh.

“Yea,” he glanced down at the sign on his chest and you could tell from the look in his eyes that he was weighing the pros and cons of ripping it off right then and there, “I should go. I’m uh,” he gestured to the cardboard, “apparently late for my eight o’clock feeding.”

You smiled and shook your head, “Well that’s unfortunate.”

With a deep breath he pulled the sign from his chest and you both cringed. He cursed under his breath from the pain of it before folding it and tucking it underneath his arm. He gave you a lopsided grin and a small wave before turning and walking in the other direction away from you. You stood there, feeling like you should be offering him a shirt, or something to at least tie around his waist, but he seemed pretty unbothered by it all, so you let him go. You shook your head to yourself as you continued on your way, unable to believe what a weird day you’d already had.

A few days went by and you hadn’t forgotten about your run-in on the street that morning. It was a tough scene to forget. You didn’t want to believe that that was going to be the first and last time you ever saw him. If nothing else, you just wanted some closure on the situation, and you also wanted to know how the hell he ended up like that.

Your mind had wandered back to that situation as you stood outside your car waiting for the tow truck. You knew that your car was on its last leg to begin with, and that you should’ve set about looking for a new one some time ago, but you just kept putting it off. The thought of shopping for one, and then paying for one was overwhelming. You were paying for it in an entirely different way now, though. You knew that fixing whatever was wrong with your car was probably going to cost more than it was worth. So, to distract yourself from thinking about that, you thought about literally anything else as you sat half propped up onto your hood.

You’d gone to Teller-Morrow one other time, maybe twice, since you’d moved just outside of Charming. You didn’t remember anything about it, though—you were in and out quick for an oil change or something equally innocuous. There weren’t a whole lot of options for mechanics to begin with, let alone ones that would also tow. Plus you figured since they were local, it wouldn’t take them too long to get to you.

About twenty minutes later the tow-truck pulled up, and you were a mix of relieved and apprehensive. Two men stepped out, and your first thought was that they couldn’t have carried themselves more differently from each other if they tried. The taller one approached you, adjusting his beanie slightly as he did, while the other scampered around to start hooking the truck up to your car.

“So,” he walked up to you, a small smile on his face for a moment as he looked at you, “what seems to be the problem?”

You chuckled and shook your head as you clocked the name stitched into his work shirt, “Well, it stopped running. That’s about all I know, Opie,” you smiled at him.

He laughed, nodding his head slightly, “Sounds like a pretty serious issue, then.”

“I’d say so.”

He glanced back to make sure that your car had been hooked up alright, “You need to be dropped off somewhere, or you got a ride?”

You sighed, resting your hand on the back of your neck as you thought, “Would I be able to ride back to the shop with you guys?”

He nodded, “Sure thing. Long as you don’t mind Kip staring at you the whole time,” he gestured over to the man who was waiting by the door of the tow truck.

You laughed, “Staring I can handle.”

When they pulled into the lot at the mechanics, Opie got out and instructed Kip to take care of the rest. He looked over to you and gestured to the office, “Gemma will get you all set up. We’ll get it right on the lift and try to figure out what’s going on.”

You nodded, “Thank you, appreciate it.”

You knocked lightly on the door to the office and she called for you to come in. She got you all squared away with your paperwork to get everything started. You let her know that if it ended up being more than a certain amount to just not bother and scrap it, or to give it back and you would take care of that part yourself. You weren’t in a position to be paying more than the car was worth. There was sympathy present in her eyes as she listened to you, nodding along. You hated the feeling of pity but you couldn’t deny that you’d landed yourself into a bit of a hole.

She was walking you back out of the office, “We’ll give you a call when we’ve got some numbers for you, sweetheart.”

“Sounds good. Thank you guys so much.”

“Need us to call you a cab?”

You shook your head, “No, no I’ll be alright. Thank you though.”

You were walking across the lot, pulling out your phone as you did to try and figure out who you were going to call to come and pick you up. There was a sudden influx of noise and voices. And despite the fact that you heard it, you still didn’t look up.

The only thing that snapped you out of your thoughts was the feeling of someone’s shoulder bumping into yours. You looked up and both of you were in the middle of apologizing when your eyes met his. Neither of you could hide the shock on your faces as you took each other in.

He looked a lot different when he wasn’t coming out of a mild coma. And also when he was fully dressed with an MC kutte on. You’d missed out on the fact that he was handsome in the midst of worrying about his well-being the last time you saw him.

“Oh shit,” he laughed, “hey.”

“Uh, hey,” you couldn’t help but to stare at him, “I didn’t…expect to see you here. Or again in general, for that matter.”

Another man in a kutte appeared, draping his arm around the shoulder of the man that you were talking to, “Juicy,” he said, “who’s your friend?”

He wore his nerves on his face, “Um. She’s not, uh, she’s—”

You cut him off to save him the trouble, holding out your hand, “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he let your name roll off his tongue, “nice to meet you. I’m Jax,” he paused, looking back and forth between you and the man next to him, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, “Sorry to interrupt,” you could see that he was biting back a laugh.

“No, you’re…you’re good,” you reassured him, “Nothing to interrupt. Just, um, a little surprised by,” you gestured to the two of them and to the clubhouse behind them, “all of this.”

“Well then I gotta ask,” Jax continued to stare at Juice who seemed to be getting more and more shy by the second, “how do you know Charming’s favorite Puerto Rican Intelligence Officer?”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped past your lips, “Intelligence Officer?”

Jax nodded, clapping Juice on the back as though he thought he was hyping him up, “For the club, yea. Can find out anything about anyone. Also our resident tech guy.”

You chuckled, unable to lie and say that you weren’t a little impressed, “Impressive. Guess we didn’t have time to get into all that last time we met.”

“Oh?” Jax looked back and forth between the two of you, embarrassment creeping onto Juice’s features.

“Yea, he was running a behind schedule. Had places to be.”

Jax looked over at him, “Where the hell did you have to be that could’ve been more important, bro?”

Juice ran his hands down his face, knowing that he was going to have to cop to it sooner or later, “When we met I was, um…she actually…” he shook his head, “She’s the one who woke me up the other day. Made sure I was alright.”

The entire incident had clearly already faded from Jax’s memory because he looked as lost as he had been before Juice said anything. You smiled, “I made sure he eventually made it to his eight o’clock feeding.”

Recognition flashed across Jax’s face and he laughed, “Jesus. Sorry you had to be a part of that.”

“Sure, her you’ll apologize to,” Juice rolled his eyes.

“She didn’t deserve it,” Jax chuckled and shook his head, “Well it was nice meeting you, Y/N. I’ll leave Juice to try and clean up whatever mess he might’ve made.”

He walked away from the both of you and you could head him laughing to himself as he approached the rest of the guys. You and Juice stood there facing each other, neither one of you really knowing what to say.

You broke the silence, “Won’t lie to you, Juice,” it felt nice to finally be able to address him as something, “over the past few days when I’ve been trying to think about what your life was like for it to land you in that situation, this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“You’ve been thinkin’ about me?” he smirked.

You laughed, rolling your eyes, “You made quite the impression,” you looked him in the eyes, “I’m glad you’re alright though.”

He chuckled, “Not the worst thing they’ve ever done to me.”

You smiled and shook your head, “Well that’s a little concerning.”

“Sorry you got, uh, subjected to that,” he shook his head, “wrong place, wrong time.”

You waited for him to meet your gaze and you flashed him a smile, “I wouldn’t quite say that.”

There was a light in his eyes that was so enticing, “Right. Well. I’m glad I got a chance to make a better first impression. Sort of. Maybe,” he laughed. There were a few beats of silence before he spoke up again, “What brings you here anyway?”

You nodded towards the garage, “Car broke down.”

“Shit.”

Your laugh was a hollow, “Yea. Fucking sucks. Hoping they can fix it without bleeding me dry.”

Juice thought hard about it for a few moments, “I’ll take a look at it. I’ll see what I can do, see if I can get you a deal or something.”

“Yea?” you couldn’t hide your relief.

He nodded, “Yea. Least I could do.”

“You’d really be saving my ass.”

He laughed, “Guess that would make us even.”

You chuckled and nodded, “Guess so.”

He paused for a moment, eyes glued to the pavement, “If you want, you could, uh, you could give me your number,” he looked up at you, “and I’ll give you a call when I get it all sorted.”

You smiled, “Alright. Sounds good,” you held out your hand for his phone and quickly added your number to his contacts, “Hope to hear from you soon, Juice.”

“Juan,” he said quietly as he took the phone back from you.

“Hm?”

He looked at you, “Juan. My name is Juan.”

You smiled, “Well, then, Juan, I’ll talk to you soon,” you paused and bit back a laugh, “Try to keep yourself out of sticky situations, alright?”

“Well now at least I have you to call just in case,” he smirked.

“Won’t be able to come and get you until you fix my car,” you chuckled, “So at least be careful for a few days.”

“I think I can do that.”

“Good,” you stepped in and gave him a quick hug, “Thank you, Juan, seriously.”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll, I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Looking forward to it,” you flashed him a smile before turning and continuing your way out of the parking lot.

You chanced a look back over your shoulder and saw that he was still standing there staring at you with a smile and a dreamy look on his face. You laughed and shook your head as you turned back around. There was something to be said about memorable first impressions, and something told you that you had landed yourself in an adventure when you met him. You were excited to find out what was in store.

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #soa #soa imagine #juice ortiz #juice ortiz x reader #juice ortiz x you #juice ortiz imagine #juan carlos #juan carlos ortiz #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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anika-ann · 3 years

Text

Conundrum (A.B.)

Type: One-shot, challenge fic

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!reader Word Count: 7700 (:

Summary: conundrum - a confusing and difficult problem or question

Andy Barber is a difficult man whom you have yet to understand. He certainly doesn’t make it any easier; and right before Christmas, he manages to surprise you again.

Prompt: You have to look for a gift impromptu

Warnings: a smidge of angst, a drop of awkward humour, mention of death (mild AU - both Laurie and Jacob!), alcohol consumption, feels, explicit language, reader gets called a dumbass... that’s it I hope, lemme know

A/N: This is my submission for the Happy Hoelidays challenge. There’s no hoeing tho, shame on me. Also, if you want some music to go with this, know that I listened to ‘God I Hope This Year Is Better Than the Last’ by SYML an obscene amount of times.

Andy Barber was an enigma.

Reporters liked to think he wasn’t; almost a year ago, they tore down all the walls he had built up to protect the privacy of his family and they shed light into startingly intimate details of his life – and where they couldn’t shed light, they used their imagination and sold it with a claim of having a reliable source. Naturally, it worked; there were always people willing to believe it just so they obtained more of juicy gossip material.

There were wanabe psychologists who would address his trauma and tried to analyse his personality, the consequences he would suffer in the aftermath of the tragedy, who attempted to strip down his soul just to get a few more reads and generally talked about him as if they were best friends, as if they knew him.

It was all a load of bullshit.

The truth, you thought, was that no one knew him. If you were being honest, you weren’t sure if even his wife ever had, truly – but that was you under the influence of the little information you bothered to gather from the influx of crap that the media provided the public with.

What you believed was that the reporters and all the self-proclaimed experts on him knew nada.

Andrew Barber was and always would remain an enigma; to the public, to the little what remained of his family after the death of his wife and son, to his co-workers – the category which included you. If you could even call yourself a co-worker; you were simply a secretary. Granted, one whose previous employer let her peek over their shoulder quite a bit so you learned a thing or two about law, but Andy Barber was the lawyer. The former DA from Boston, who moved over to rule the DA office of Portland, your home.

Even after having been working with him for nine full months, Andy’s thoughts and feelings didn’t get any easier for you to read or predict. When he wanted to let you know he was disappointed, he did. When he was truly angry with someone, well, he wouldn’t let it go unnoticed either.

Other than that, however, you would have had better luck trying to decode the actual enigma-encrypted messages sent during World War II.

Small talk didn’t last longer than three sentences from you each. Work-related affaires were discussed in his office with politeness and with calm, rather dispassionate mannerism. If you caught a hint of a smile when an important case that helped people went his way (or the office’s way really), you considered it a miracle that sent your heart reeling.

He would sometimes smile only for you if you brought him a coffee without him asking first, simply because he looked like he needed one; at those times, he would thank you softly and let slip in your first name instead of referring to you with your last. Those were your favourite moments.

Well, almost.

You found him with a tumbler and an expensive whiskey on occasion when you were leaving the office late; you never commented on it, but there were four times he actually silently invited you to have a glass with him. You refused the first time and accepted the other three.

Those nights, you got a glimpse of the mystery of a man hidden behind surprisingly soft mannerism, one which was in such a sharp contrast to his shark-like demeanour he displayed in front of the judge and the jury. His scars ran deep, his hopes had been shattered, his life in the past year as bitter as the overpriced liquor. Your heart cracked for him to the point of nearly breaking altogether.

And yet, it was beating for him too; behind all that hurt, you couldn’t but notice certain gentleness. Yes, he could be scary, downright terrifying and when his temper got the best of him, the true rage on display, he was a force to be reckoned with. But oh, that gentleness. The kind shattered soul he hid so well every morning, more so on the days right after your little heart-to-hearts. Trying to build a working relationship with him – a friendship of a sort, anything you wanted to call it – was a game of push and pull and more of a string of guesses than an effort that would bore fruit.

You might have already given up on that and instead, with the ferocity you hadn’t known you possessed, you kept punching the crush you had on him; that silly thing that would always call louder and louder after he revealed a piece of him on one of the precious nights, only to shut you out completely the next morning.

Andy Barber had never even remotely showed a romantic interest in you and by God, did you not blame him for not being interested in anyone at all as far you knew. While you considered yourself a fairly capable worker and half-decent person, you were aware you could never measure up to him. Just another reason to push down the feelings you had for him, ones that seemed to bloom with more intensity whenever he raised the corners of his damn lips, when he asked a question about you during those stupid nights as if he cared— nonsense. You had to get rid of those. He didn’t even like you, barely acknowledged you in the end. Or did he? You honestly didn’t know.

Bottom line was that if you couldn’t get close enough, then the reporters knew jack shit, no matter how much reading on him they had done or how many books on psychology, criminology and law and shit they went through. Many people knew Andrew Barber’s name, but no one could hope to know him.

And yet, those assholes still called and asked about him.

It was the fourth one that day; December 23rd, over a year from the accusation of Jacob Barber, and those fucking vultures still called Andy Barber’s office. They weren’t even good newspapers and news sites anymore; obviously, because every rational decent person would have let the poor man rest. But nope. Not them.

“Portland’s DA office, secretary of Mr. Barber speaking. How may I help you?”

“Oh, wonderful! Is there any chance I could talk to Mr. Barber personally?” the chipper of a man asked on the other end of the line and just by not giving his name, he raised suspicion; was it forgetfulness caused by his distress or intention?

Fortunately for him and unfortunately for you, you had to be polite. Hot-shot lawyers and other important people rarely returned the courtesy, but that was the world you lived in.

“There might be, Mr-?”

“Oh, Connor. Peter Connor.”

“Well, Mr. Connor, what is your legal issue?” you asked patiently, writing down his name automatically.

“Well, you see, I would rather talk with Mr. Barber about—my delicate situation, in private.”

Your eyes narrowed as you stopped scribbling and spared a brief glance towards the door to Andy’s office. It was opened ajar in what could be an invitation, but all blinds on both the door and the windows were down in typical fashion.

Talk in private?

Yeah, not gonna happen. You knew a few tricks that these assholes calling the office tended to pull and whoever this man was, you were growing more suspicious by the minute that he was not seeking legal advice.

You went back to your notes and wrote down the word liar right next to his name and a question mark. Was he a liar? One way to find out you guessed; you caught your phone between your ear and your shoulder, opening a new tab in your browser to google the name along with a wild guess of him being a reporter.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Connor, I’m afraid I will need more information before I put you through. And I will probably need to make you an appointment, my boss is a very busy man-“

“Oh, is he? Lots of cases in Andrew Barber’s new district, huh?”

The blood in your veins was set aflame even before the search was done, because in an instant, you knew for sure.

And then you had it confirmed by the results.

This jerk had even given you his real name, utterly shameless. Sure, he could have only had the same name as the journalist you found, but what were the chances? Two days after you told his colleague – who had made it through your vetting, got an appointment and even got past the reception desk before you spotted him for what he was – to get lost and not try again?

Your pulse skyrocketed along with your blood pressure. Technically, you didn’t owe Andrew Barber anything, but he was respectful enough, didn’t make much trouble and for most time, was an okay boss to you.

You owed him this much: he was a decent guy. Why couldn’t other people show a shed of basic human decency too and leave him the fuck alone?

“That depends, Mr. Connor,” you purred, barely holding the outrage locked inside. You felt both energized by your anger and achingly tired and done with humanity. You rested your elbows on the desk and leaned onto it with a sigh, massaging the bridge of your nose, eyes closed. “Is he going to have to sue your rag of a newspaper or will you and your colleagues finally get the memo and leave. His. Personal. Life. Alone?!”

You most definitely strained the last words through your teeth, but you didn’t care anymore if you were being rude. He was the fourth reporter today ready to ask about Andy’s personal matters. The FOURTH!! He was lucky you didn’t tell him to go fuck himself… explicitly.

“Are you threatening me?” the man demanded, his voice insulted, losing all traced of pretence.

As if you ever. You knew better than that, working with lawyers.

“Nice try, Mr. Connor. I will thank you to never call this office again unless you have legal issues or a relevant question which you should direct to our PR department anyway. And if you could extend this to all editorial staff, please, preferably to all editorial staff in the United States, that would be splendid. Have a good day. Happy Holidays.”

You slammed the phone down, missing the slot for it, not caring. You were sure he would hang up on his own.

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath and hid your face in your palms, grunting, fingertips sinking into your hair.

“I hope you don’t mean me,” sounded from the doorway and you yelped, honest to god yelped and straightened in your seat, head snapping up-

-only to meet your boss’ curious gaze. Hurt and anger casted shadows over his beautiful cerulean irises, but there was no mistaking the melancholy and resignation on his face either.

“Of course not!” you blurted out quickly, panic rising in your chest.

How much had he heard? Was he going to fire you for being unprofessional? Did he figure out what was this about— of course he did, there was little room left for doubt. Your choice of words was pretty straightforward.

Andy bounced off of the doorframe he was leaning onto, not easing his stance – his arms remained crossed over his chest and had you not been so alarmed, you would have indulged in the sight of his biceps nearly cutting through the seams of his shirt.

“Why do I get the impression that whoever you were talking to was not the first person to call the office to feed on ‘the misery man’ that Andrew Barber is?” he more stated than asked, his tone unmistakably bitter.

You gulped as he approached your desk, nails digging into your palms. You had no idea what to say. Once again, you couldn’t quite read Andy; you had no idea where this was heading and how you should answer without setting him off, making him sadder or even more bitter. And without getting fired, obviously.

“I—uhm, well, I suppose you heard me, so you know he wasn’t the first—Mr. Barber. I apologize-“ His eyebrows rose a fraction and you didn’t dare to analyse why. “-if I was too loud. But--- humanity sucks.”

The moment the last two words left your mouth, you instantly regretted them, snapping your eyelids close and squeezing. You were sure you were about to have bloody crescents in your palms from your nails at this point.

Did you really just say that? To your boss, no less?

Way to go, me.

“Not wrong there. Why don’t you take your lunch break now?” he offered casually.

You nodded as you felt the tell-tale burn of tears forming in your eyes; fuck, this was humiliating. Why had he had to walk in exactly in that moment? And now using that tone?

He didn’t say anything else and you didn’t dare to look at him. Only when you heard him walk back to his office and close the door behind him, you opened your eyes and released the breath you were holding, your heart hammering in your chest.

Gulping and swallowing your tears before they could escape, you grabbed your purse and your coat, rushing out to the cold air of Portland winter.

✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧

Andy didn’t bring up the incident again when you came back. You had a short list of assignments for the upcoming days off which you went over with him before parting ways for the holidays. You mentioned you would probably drop in tomorrow despite not necessarily having to, but wished him Happy Holidays in case you’d miss him during your brief visit.

The corners of his lips twitched at that, but he wished you the same. You supposed his holidays weren’t about to be happy – more like the opposite. Last year, he celebrated with his family, even if it might have been already falling apart. This year however…

Your heart cracked another fraction for the man and you wondered if you should leave some cookies for him in the office tomorrow at least. Then you realized he would probably hate it, either being bitter about feeling like a charity case or hating the reminder of what he had lost, what wasn’t waiting for him at home anymore. Not to mention that maybe even the poinsettia, which you had placed on his office window two days ago and neither of you commented on, was already too much.

The only cookies you baked that night were the ones you knew should stay in a box with apples for over a day, the cookies you were supposed to bring to your sister’s house for Christmas, because your nephew Harry loved them.

With cheesy Christmas songs in the background and a bottle of wine for the party of one, you kneaded the double batch of dough and couldn’t but spare your achingly handsome and likely lonely boss a thought and maybe… maybe a tear or two.

✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧

The office was empty when you arrived on 24th at around half past four; everyone left as soon as possible, which was to be expected. Admittedly, despite not knowing what you would talk about with Andy, you found your heart sinking when you didn’t see light peeking through the blinds of your and his offices. You had expected him to be working to avoid being at home; but then again, you knew next to nothing about him. Maybe he was with a girlfriend. With a boyfriend. With former colleagues. With his deceased wife’s family. It was only assumption of yours that he might be lonely on Christmas.

You shook your head at your train of thought as you unlocked your office, mentally going over which files you needed to bring home, trying to eliminate the amount as not to endanger confidential information by taking them away from the safety of the bureau.

You froze in your tracks when you found a rather large piece of paper folded into a roof on your desk. A note, you realized, frowning and slowly walking to the suspicious object.

There were very few people who could enter your space, namely three: the janitor, you and Andy. The first option was unlikely, the second impossible, the third confusing. You didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just shoot you a text if he needed anything.

You halted in your steps, the air knocked out of your lungs when you noticed that the note was not the only new item on your desk.

There was a box.

A box roughly size of your extended palm. And if you weren’t mistaken… it looked like a jewellery gift box.

“What the hell?” you asked yourself breathlessly, your curiosity getting the best of you; more so as you recognized what was most definitely Andy’s handwriting on the paper.

Andrew Barber, your boss, with whom you weren’t sure what your relationship was – if there was any at all – might have got you jewellery.

Say that again?

A tiny voice in your head told you he might have just used the box for something else entirely, but that didn’t seem to be his style.

So you picked up the gift carefully, almost reverently removing the lid, your heart pounding in your chest, stomach twisting with pleasant anticipation; with the familiar rush that kids feel when opening a present with high hopes of what could await them inside.

Your lips parted in pure shock, you mind turning blank.

There were no words in English language to express how… how absolutely magnificent the bracelet inside was.

Five thin circles with symbols made of slender lines inside, looking like charms, but withing the body of the bracelet, one clasped to the next one with delicate ellipses. The metal reflected the fluorescent lights of the office, glimmering softly, appearing almost fluid, a thin stream of water trapped in a box.

You actually had to blink and it took all your willpower not to pinch yourself, because—how-

How had he known? Where had he got it? Holy mother of Jesus, how much had he spent on it?

And why get you a gift in the first place? You were… acquaintances at best. Yes, there were almost friendly moments, and then there were those nights, but this was---this- you couldn’t even---- think, apparently.

Keeping an eye on the opened box, you gently placed it back on the desk, afraid to even touch the metal itself. You blindly reached into your purse in search for your phone to dial the only number that made sense for you to dial at that moment.

It sure as hell wasn’t Andy’s.

Nothing but a dialling tone sounded for half a minute, the time seemingly endless. You fell heavily into your chair, still staring at the absolutely gorgeous and thoughtful gift.

How did he know?!

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as your sister still didn’t answer the phone and your hand automatically reached for your necklace to toy with.

And that was when it hit you.

Your necklace; one you got from your sister during the period of your biggest obsession with the Divergence series. Two arrows in a circle pointing different directions, the symbol for a ‘divergent’ person. Your eyes wandered over the five circles of the bracelet – scales, an eye, hands connected, a flame, a tree –, an incredulous chuckle escaping you.

But--- you didn’t think he would notice. You didn’t even wear it all the time, rather often, yes, and yeah, perhaps you did have a bit of a bad habit of fumbling with it when nervous-

“Hey sis! What’s up?” Amber’s voice sounded cheerily from the microphone. You jumped in your seat, startled by her as she interrupted your musing. “Please tell me you’re still coming, because Harry wouldn’t shut up about his favourite chocolate chip.”

You cleared your throat, barely able to comprehend what she was talking about, too caught up in your head.

“I—hi. Uhm- I need help actually,” you finally stuttered and you could practically feel her frown even over the phone.

“Oh? Is everything okay? You sound… a little strange.”

“That’s-“ not wrong. You scanned the office and listened in for the tinniest noise, making sure you were still alone. “I’m at the office and I--eh, I found a gift for me.”

“Awww, a secret admirer? Nice!” Amber chuckled, then abruptly stopped. “…unless it’s a stalker. You don’t think you have a stalker, right? Is that why you called me, so I could tell George? He’s not on duty-“

This time you did roll your eyes at the mention of her husband who happened to be a police officer.

“No, Amber, I have no stalker as far as I know. I’m pretty sure I can recognize my boss’ handwriting at this point.”

Nothing but silence could be heard from the other end for a good minute. You bit your lip in anticipation of… something.

And then: “You’re shitting me.”

“Not really-“

“Holy mother of-!” your sister squealed loudly and you winced, instinctively withdrawing from the phone. “Your boss got you a Christmas present?! --Wait. Is it a Walmart card? Because if it is, then this call is pointless, because that’s boring as-“

“No, Amber, he—he gave me a bracelet,” you admitted softly, your gaze once again wandering over the said object. Beautiful. Fragile. Yours, apparently. What?

When Amber only responded with silence again, words suddenly spilled from your lips, all the mixed feelings you had about receiving the bracelet released, relief singing in your veins as you vented.

“And-and it’s actually really beautiful and--- it’s thoughtful, because it has all the fractions from Divergence on it? But not like something you buy for ten dollars, only paying for the copyright or whatever and the quality is shitty, no, I mean--- it looks pretty, eh, delicate.”

It did, awfully so, which was why you still couldn’t make yourself to touch it even if you really, really liked it and wanted to do nothing but to wear it for the rest of your damn life.

“And expensive. I-- I think it might be real silver and…” you wavered, almost scared to share your last observation out loud for it seemed impossible for it to be true. “Amber, you know I looked through a lot of Divergence-related goods so I would know. It- it doesn’t look familiar at all, it’s--- I think it might be custom-made.”

You choked on the last word, tasting so strange on your tongue as you couldn’t quite believe that you were saying it. You felt--- incredulous to put it simply… and touched and- absolutely bewildered.

Silence stretched in the follow-up to your rambling and you felt your brows drawing together.

“…Amber? You there?”

“Oh yeah, I’m here,” she assured you swiftly, mischief curling around the tone of her voice like a smirk on her lips you couldn’t see. “Just wondering how could you not tell me you started sleeping with him-“

“What?! No!” you protested instantly, straightening in the chair. “I’m not—I’m not his sugar baby or whatever! This is not a ‘thank you for letting me fuck you raw’ gift-“

“Not that you would complain from what I heard and saw-“ she hummed playfully.

She was right. But shush!

“Screw you!”

“George does, that’s why we have Harry in the first place,” she sassed you. “But… sis? What kind of a gift it is then?”

And wasn’t that the question.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Well, you should, because from what you told me, you guys aren’t even friends. Nota bene, this isn’t exactly a gift you give to a friend,” she pointed out, addressing one of the million issues concerning the damn (gorgeous) bracelet.

“I-- I guess?” You were sure, in fact. This was something to give to a… well, to a lover, to a partner. “But- Amber, he doesn’t--- that’s not-“

“What did the note say?”

“Huh?”

“You said you recognized his handwriting,” she reminded you slowly as if speaking to a five-year-old. “What does the note say?”

You glanced at the note again noncommittally, remembering exactly what it said. Pretty much nothing. Definitely nothing to go on.

“Uhm… Thank you. Happy Holidays.”

There was a beat of silence, again. “That’s it?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Eloquent.” You rolled your eyes at her sarcastic tone. She should see him at court. True though, on personal level, he wasn’t exactly chatty. Unless he opened up a bit over a glass of whiskey--- anyway, she had a point, obviously. “What are you gonna do?”

That snapped you from your musing like a shot of life into your bloodstream.

“That’s why I’m calling! I should-- I should get him something too, right?” Right?! Absolutely. “Oh god, I hate last-minute shopping. And I don’t even have a fucking clue what to buy! Well, a good whiskey is always a safe bet I guess, but supporting his drinking habits doesn’t sound like a good idea. Plus, it’s kinda… impersonal with comparison to what he gave me.”

Though if there was one thing you learned about Andy Barber, it was that he could appreciate the high-quality liquor, so perhaps it wouldn’t have been as impersonal as one might think.

“Well, I don’t know him so I can’t really help, but what you got from him should definitely give you a clue.”

“A clue?” you parroted, confused.

“I don’t mean like a clue for what you should buy him. But… look, even if you didn’t suspect that it’s custom-made, which whoa, he has to pay a lot of attention to buy you something like this. Much more attention than you thought.”

“…okay?”

“He likes you, you dumbass! It doesn’t matter what you get him, he’ll be happy you got him anything in the first place!”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you deadpanned, unsure which statement you were referring to. That he liked you or that you shouldn’t take care to choose something that would really bring him at least a little joy.

You tried your best to ignore how your heart skipped the beat at the former.

“Whatever. Harry’s throwing a hungry eye on me, I gotta go fix him a snack unless I want him to eat all the candy again. Good luck!”

“Amber!“ you called out in honest despair, panic rising in your chest, only to get no answer.

You pulled the phone from your ear to look at the screen, already knowing what awaited you.

Disconnected.

Fuck.

It seemed you were on your own. Wasn’t that wonderful?

You shot your sister a simple ‘I hate you’ text, the gears in your head already turning frantically in order to figure out what you could get Andy.

Amber replied with a set of laughing emojis within seconds. Bitch, leaving you alone to deal with a situation like this! What a sister she was.

You sighed, admiring the delicate lines of the bracelet again, torn between indulgence and guilt. There was no questioning whether you should buy Andy something too.

Say yay for the last-minute shopping for a man out of your league and whom you had no idea what you should get.

You were utterly at loss, growing anxious not only about the difficult choice of a gift, but also about possible delivery, wondering what should you even tell him and when.

Maybe though…. just maybe, you were getting kinda excited about what you were about to do too.

✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧

Three hours.

You spent almost three hours at the mall where you could barely breathe because of the crazy crowds and yet you were none the wiser; your excitement left you quickly, once again replaced by despair. It took you three hours and passing the lingerie shop four times, a shop with pieces on display that barely covered anything, intended for either bedroom games or a swimming pool, before it finally hit you.

You cursed under your breath, calling yourself an idiot in murmur loud enough to have few people around you look at you in surprise.

“Dumbass, I’m such a dumbass,” you continued your monologue as you fished out your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts.

To say that the person on the other end was shocked to hear from you at this time of month and hour was an understatement.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Lee. I have… eh, a favour to ask…”

✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧

You were being ridiculous.

Absolutely and utterly ridiculous as you stood on a modest porch in front of a small family house, the roof hiding you from the intrusive drizzle but not keeping you quite safe from the wind as you clutched your handbag to your side as if it was your lifeline, cursing yourself for not wearing a scarf in December.

Your nose was practically freezing, your cheeks burned from the wind and your hands were cold too, because you were stupidly underdressed; as if you haven’t lived in Portland your whole life.

But that wasn’t the main issue; an Uber dropped you off about five minutes ago and still, here you were, standing outside and trying to convince yourself to ring the bell.

The plan had been to finish packing a bag and leave around 10 p.m. to your sister’s house, where you would spend the night so you could be with her family on Christmas Day from the very beginning. But then Andrew fucking Barber, your fabulous boss, left a gift in your office, a breath-taking bracelet now sitting low on your right wrist, and it all went to hell.

Maybe you could still make it to your sister’s house – it was shortly after nine, your bag waiting on your bed, so maybe you should just call another Uber and be on your way. Maybe you could leave the silly envelope in the post-box just so you wouldn’t have to deal with Andy’s reaction; after all, he had chosen the same approach; cookies be damned, there would be more left for Harry then-

But you really, really wanted to thank him. And you might be shitting your pants, but the prospect of seeing him in a domestic environment, possibly more relaxed, perhaps nearing the man you had had the honour to see on those nights… you couldn’t make yourself to pass on that opportunity.

At the same time, you kept reminding yourself that Andy did not expect to see you tonight, he might not even be home – you were pretty sure a dim light was coming from the living room, the TV on probably, but yeah, you could keep lying to yourself – and that he might be grieving and genuinely might hate you for invading his privacy since you had to search his home address in the official documents.

Yeah, you definitely should just spin on your heels and-

“Oh for God’s sake,” you muttered under your breath and pressed the doorbell, your heart suddenly hammering in your ribcage as you realized there were no takebacks now. “Shit.”

Maybe you should just run. What if he had fallen asleep already and you just woke him up?! Oh, he was so going to be pissed and he might even show that emotion, screaming you down like he did one with that intern-

A scruffle on the other side of the door snapped you from your hopeless expectations and you sucked in a horrified breath.

And then the door slid open before you could react and you were certain you looked like a deer caught in the headlights, a semi-frozen deer to make the situation worse and--- there he was.

You quickly dropped your gaze, only then realizing how rude that was and that you should meet his eye no matter how much you did and did not want to do so at the same time. As you gaze travelled up, you found that a domestic Andy was everything you imagined he would be; black socks, loose dark grey sweats, pale t-shirt slightly wrinkled. One of his arms hung loosely by his side, the other still at the door-knob as you continued your inspection, gaze caressing the line of his bare forearm, reaching the sleeves that were hugging his biceps precisely. Broad shoulders, perfectly trimmed beard framing plush lips with the slightest hint of a curious smile.

You smiled awkwardly as your eyes met his watching you with interest, dimmed with a hint of a doze-off you must have woken him up from. You tried not to dwell on the inconspicuous redness surrounding his irises.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up!” you blurted out quickly, rewarded with a light shake of his head and a stifled yawn; subtle.

“You didn’t. Hi,” he greeted you, only to make you realize that 1. you forgot to say hi and 2. his post-nap voice was a thing from wet dreams-- which was definitely not relevant at that moment.

“Hi,” you offered unsurely, eyes roaming his face, searching for any trace of anger. All you found was bewilderment; if pleasant or not, you couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry for barging in. I just… uhm- I wanted to thank you and-“

The hint of a smile on his lips grew a fraction, expression softening at your admission and before you could find your footing, he opened the door further, subtly extending his hand to usher you in.

Your heart skipped a beat, the strangest feeling tickling your gut, teeth sinking into your lower lip, the grip on your handbag growing stronger. Yet you accepted, taking two reluctant steps inside. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing whatever fate awaited you.

Attempting not to look too nosy, you turned back to Andy rather than scanning the hall.

Words got stuck in your throat. As tired as he looked, worn to a bone by everything but physical exercise, you couldn’t but marvel at what a handsome man he was, even without his smart suits and ties and neatly styled fluffy hair; it was still very fluffy, just more of a mess than a fashion statement.

God, wasn’t he beautiful.

He kept looking at you too in mute anticipation of something, appearing mildly lost just as you were, giving the impression of a man who couldn’t tell what to expect.

Your gaze locked with his, unyielding, a gorgeous trap and you knew you had to say or do something before your heart gave out entirely.

Your mouth opened, no words coming out and you cursed yourself, simply opening the bag and pulling out a Tupperware box with half the cookies you baked last night, practically shoving it to Andy’s capable hands.

He accepted the item with eyebrows shooting up once before settling back, eyes misting for a moment. His fingertips brushed yours as he took a firm hold of the box, the not-quite-there smile of his remaining on his lips.

He seemed perplexed.

You felt like an idiot.

“This feels so silly now,” you admitted with a sigh, realizing the absurdity of the situation only accented by the fact that you stood there in the hall of his home in your coat and high-boots, ridiculously overdressed in comparison to him.

“It’s not,” he whispered finally, forcing the corners of his mouth to rise higher. “Thank you. Didn’t know you baked. Should have figured.”

You shrugged. “Never came up.”

Something shifted in his expression as did in the air; you knew he sensed it too. The unspoken hung between you, that you meant not in your daily routine at the office, but on your private nights, so rare and precious, so desperately pretended to be non-existent the next morning.

Your gaze lowered as the silence fell on your pair again and you awkwardly shifted your weight from one leg to the other. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“So, uh-“

“Thank you for the bracelet. Really. It was-” you licked your lips, meeting his eyes again, so deep, so blue and somehow soft and you forgot what you were about to say. “Eh- I wasn’t expecting it. I-- I didn’t think you’d… notice. And--- care.”

His brows furrowed for a bit and he placed the box on the shoe rack next to him; an action he soon regretted you guessed, because his fingers went for his wrist as if he wanted to readjust his cufflinks, a nervous habit of his, only to meet bare skin. Good to know you weren’t the only one iffy in this conversation.

“But you liked it?” he asked almost shyly and the corners of your lips rose on instinct as did you right hand, the sleeve of your coat sliding down a fraction, enough to reveal the new accessory. “Looks pretty on you.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers gently slid over one of the symbols, brushing over the sensitive skin of your wrist. His gaze returned to yours, a flicker of something heated in his eyes, calling butterflies to your stomach.

Lord have mercy.

“Thanks- uhm--- thank you. Here, I got you something too.” You quickly reached into the handbag again to hide how flustered you felt – for a different reason than awkwardness.

He had touched your wrist and you turned into a blushing mess. Fabulous. And to make the matter more humiliating, now a twinkle of amusement played in his irises.

“You gave me a plant. And cookies.”

“Yeah. Kinda? But that was more of a… gesture?” you offered reluctantly as you handed him the envelope. “I uh—this is probably stupid, but, uhm--- here.”

“Stop putting yourself down,” he muttered darkly, causing your cheeks to burn hotter. “Thank you. You didn’t have to get me anything.” Pulling out the firm colourful paper, he blinked a few times, seemingly surprised. Ha, you bet he expected a Walmart card! Instead, there was a voucher for five entrances to the swimming pool where your friend Lee worked at. “Oh. Thank you. That’s really nice of you.”

A stone the size of Texas fell from your stomach and you couldn’t help the sigh of relief. Andy seemed genuinely pleased by your choice of gift and you felt your whole body relax.

“It’s just… eh, just for half an hour each and you can pick them on a horizon of three months. I’m not sure how often you like going, so… uhm, my friend works at the place, so you just give her a call and it shouldn’t be a problem to book it for mornings right before the opening hours,” you explained lamely, earning a puzzled look.

“How did you know I liked going when no one’s there?”

That caused one corner of your lips twitch in slight amusement and your eyebrow arch, even if his reasons weren’t exactly funny; his cheeks flushed a hint of red, a sight to behold for more than one reason. It was nice to have the roles reserved, you making him feel flustered for once.

Really? The rather quiet lone-wolf Andy Barber, followed by reporters still, just asked you this? Cute.

“…that’s fair,” he said and for a brief second, you were afraid you had shared your thoughts out loud. But he didn’t look offended, so probably not. The self-awareness then. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m-eh, glad you like it.”

You stood there again, both smiling – a little reluctantly, a little soft – and once again you had no idea how to proceed.

What you did know was that you enjoyed talking to him, even if it was awkward like this. You enjoyed seeing him in his natural habitat, in his home, relatively relaxed. You thrived seeing more of this Andy Barber, just a handsome guy, not Andrew Barber, the hot-shot lawyer.

He was the first to break the silence, hesitantly gesturing further into the house.

“Would you—would you like to-“

YES! was what you brain screamed.

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother…” was what you told him, mentally cuffing yourself on the head.

“You’re not,” Andy opposed lowly. The whisper of your name that followed made you shiver.

His gazed trailed all over your face, so intense you would swear he saw right into your soul and further. You felt naked, but for some reason not too vulnerable – Andy seemed to like what he saw, expression genuinely inviting and yet. Yet there was a subtle promise of this not being a friendly invite which was as exciting as unsettling. The air appeared the crackle and you found yourself yearning to taste the electricity on your tongue.

“May I?”

He beckoned to your coat, suddenly free hands already rising and all you could do was to nod, automatically placing your handbag on the floor and unbuttoning the garment. Once if fell open, revealing simple black jeggings and a light pink sweater, Andy sidestepped you, fingers sliding under the hem, cautiously skimming over the bare skin above your collarbones, leaving a burning sensation in their wake.

The warmth of his fingertips seeped into your flesh and yet you shuddered, goosebumps rising on your skin.

You watched Andy put your coat away with care, turning back to you torturously slowly. He filled all of your personal space, so close and too far. You weren’t sure when exactly the air turned so heavy in your lungs, but as your gaze travelled to his lips, not missing how his sought yours in return, you felt all the oxygen leave the room.

“Andy,” the word rolled off your tongue, nothing but a soundless breath of his name.

His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips again and back before he spoke, voice barely above a whisper, hoarse.

“Am I imagining it?”

He didn’t have to say what and still you knew with absolute certainty that he was addressing the unbearable and delicious tension, the one that had been building and coming to life during those three nights you had spent talking in his office late--- and now it was back with smouldering intensity.

“You’re not.”

You shivered and gulped when he cautiously took a single little step further into your space, your gaze falling to his chest, lowering in sudden surge of the deep-rotted insecurity, whispering about your and his world being thousands of miles apart. And yet, your heart raced in anticipation, your hopes dizzyingly high that you might touch heaven, even if for a few moments.

When his fingertips grasped your jaw, tough light and oh so careful, your eyelids fluttered close, already indulging in the sensation. God, his touch was so soft despite the roughness of his fingertips…

As if he wished to torture you or to indulge that sweet little moment before lips met lips, he stopped an inch from his destination, his breaths as wavering as yours, the words whispered straight into your mouth just a little broken.

“I’m fucked up.”

Your brain basked in blissful fog, but this got across, causing you to tense briefly.

You couldn’t deny what he was saying, you both knew he spoke the ultimate truth – well, you guessed. What had happened to him, having his life dismantled and then losing his family, that sort of thing was bound to leave a scar. Confirming it bluntly though, that felt unforgiving, only adding insult to injury.

“We all are,” you whispered instead, not only because you wouldn’t say ‘fucked up’, the words too harsh.

And it wasn’t trivializing the tragic turn his life had taken. It wasn’t downplaying the depth of his wounds. It wasn’t necessarily implying that you had been through something equally horrible either. Most importantly, it wasn’t you mocking him.

And somehow, he understood that; even if he could have interpreted it in every wrong way imaginable and shove you away, insulted, disgusted.

But no, in that fleeting moment that meant everything, Andy understood that this was your acceptance; this was you telling him that you were willing to try; take whatever he offered and give anything you could in return.

Finally, his lips brushed over yours, slightly chapped and oh so warm and delicious, withdrawing too soon, leaving you to savour the taste as your ran your tongue over your own lips. You inhaled shakily, overwhelmed by everything that was him, powerful, electrifying and then your hand was somehow on his chest, your palm laid over his racing heart, your fingers twitching as his ribcage expanded with a sharp inhale.

Blindly, your mouth searched his again, his whiskers tickling softly and scratching at once, a pleasant sensation on your sensitive skin as he grew bolder, and truly attached your lips in a kiss that made you feel lightheaded with the emotion poured into it. Your hand curled around his nape, an instinct to pull him closer, fingers toying with the short soft hair there, drawing a hum from within the expanse of his chest.

You granted him access to your mouth when he wordlessly asked, but it was him who retreated shortly after that, his heart now appearing as if in pain with its furious beats under your palm. His breaths started coming out short and it dawned to you what was wrong. How fast this could have felt to him, even if he was the one to start it.

‘I’m fucked up,’ he had said. Too caught in the moment, you hadn’t fully realized the extent of his words perhaps.

But you did now – at least a little better than before.

So when he rested his forehead against yours and a breathless ‘sorry’ slipped from his lips, you shook your head lightly and planted a kiss on his cheek, hand still on the back of his head, fingers running over his scalp in a hopefully soothing motion.

“I’ve got you, Andy. You lead.”

You had no strength to keep him close when he pulled his face away, your eyes snapping open in fright that you had said something terribly wrong.

But Andy’s cerulean eyes were big and glassy, grateful and softly speaking about him being… moved by your proposition. Your heart felt like it just grew twice its size, too big to fit into your chest at what a breath-taking picture he was.

The next thing you knew, he dropped a chaste kiss to your forehead and pulled you into his arms, an almost protective embrace, kissing the top of your head for a good measure and you melted against his large frame, smiling into t-shirt.

“Thank you,” he murmured breathlessly into your hair and your smile widened, remembering the note he had left with the exquisite gift that had started everything that led you right here into this moment.

“Happy Holidays.”

Thank you for reading! I’ve been sitting on this since the beginning of damn November. I hope you enjoyed.

It was my first (and maybe last) time writing Andy, so I hope it was alright. Feedback always appreciated.

P.S. – sorry if the nosy reporters thing offended you.

P.P.S. - …I know, the prompt was veeery loosely filled. Shush.

Pretty divider by whismicalrogers.

#happyhoelidays2020 #andy barber x reader #andy barber imagine #andy barber x you #defending jacob #post defending jacob #andy barber #holiday fic #christmas fic #andy barber fluff #andy barber angst #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber fanfic #fanfiction #challenge fic #conundrum #anika ann

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bosspigeon · 3 years

Text

sunshine on a rainy day

Pairing: M!Detective/Mason Word Count: 3669 Summary: Unit Bravo helps Juni with rooting through the sodden mess of his bedroom, and Mason tries to figure out just what the hell is going on with the detective.

I have no excuses or explanations for this. It’s just self-indulgent corny nonsense.*shakes Mason like an Etch-a-Sketch until he can acknowledge his goddamned feelings*

Please check out this cover of “My Girl” by Kele Okereke that inspired this whole thing, because it makes it gay and it brings my little homosexual heart so much joy~

Mild CW for references to sex/m*sturbation

Things are still… weird, with Juni.

Of course, he’s pretending they aren’t, and he’d be very convincing if it were anyone but Mason he’s trying to convince.

His smiles are too brittle, too tense, and they don’t make his nose scrunch up like they should. His laughs are too-sharp and high-pitched, strained with effort, and he hasn’t snorted once. He radiates tension the second Mason looks his way, hides behind his hair like he’s afraid to look him in the eye. When Mason first met the detective, he thought he was soft. Too soft. The sort Mason would chew up and spit out if he cared enough to bother, but then he dug a little deeper, hit a nerve or two, and found that shiny spine. He found that, when pushed, Juni had bite.

He may have gotten a bit addicted to the bite, and now that it’s gone, he feels completely off-kilter. Juni still responds when he flirts, of course, blushing and fumbling like always, but it feels… different, somehow. And it has since the bakery.

He apologized, and he thought that would make it better, but it hasn’t, and now he’s caught between frustration and what might be... guilt?

Clearly, he’s hurt Juni somehow, and he’s not sure how to fix it.

Why do you need to fix it? Why do you care?

He shakes it off. They’ve got more important things to worry about right now. He’s got to keep his head in the game.

“I’m sorry,” Juni says miserably, again, and Mason wants to shake him. What part of this is his fault?

“It’s not your fault,” Nate says kindly, before Mason can get snippy and make Juni withdraw into himself even further. “You can’t be blamed for bad luck.”

Juni snorts, grabbing his arm. “If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all,” he recites, like it’s something he’s said before. He’s wearing a t-shirt that says “I Just Hope Both Teams Have Fun” and it’s a bit odd to see his arms without the cover of his usual sweatshirt. He keeps rubbing at his inner arm and the bird inked there. A self-soothing gesture, as if he’s not used to exposing so much skin. His nails are bitten all to hell, too. A mess of tells, this man.

“That’s the spirit!” Felix says cheerily, punching the air. The look Juni gives him is dry as a desert, and Mason feels a twist of something hot and acidic in his gut he can’t name. He wants to chuck Felix in a dumpster at least once a day, but the urge hits him like a truck out of the blue, and he can’t pinpoint the reason.

Fuck, he’d kill for a smoke.

“I’m still sorry,” Juni says again, squeezing his forearm. “For, y’know, the whole squad needing to babysit me for this.”

“It’s no trouble at all!” Nate exclaims, as if the very thought that Juniper believes their helping him sort through his soggy belongings to see what can be salvaged to be a chore is somehow an insult. “We’re happy to help.”

Juni gives Nate a soft-eyed smile that lights up his whole face, and that acid feeling burns more.

“You cannot be left unaccompanied,” Adam says stiffly, eyeing the horizon as if the Annunaki will swoop down on them in a parking lot in broad daylight. “It is best that we move as a unit when able, to ensure your safety.”

Juni ducks his head, still smiling. “Thank you guys,” he mumbles, and then he almost keels over when Felix slings his arm around his shoulder to shake him. Mason stifles a growl, and while Felix doesn’t notice, Adam and Nate both glance back at him with twin unreadable expressions he meets with the blandest look he can manage.

“I, for one, am looking forward to snooping through your place some more,” Felix snickers. Juni pushes him off.

For the most part, the flat is still in one piece, most of the damage contained to the bedroom, though the floor in the hallway is a bit waterlogged as well. Nate tuts in disappointment as the warped boards creak pathetically underfoot, no doubt mourning the fancy pattern to the antique wood. Mason can smell the water damage, mold and rot that no doubt caused the collapse in the first place, and the choking reek of plaster dust.

Juni sighs as he pushes open his bedroom door. The mess is even worse than Mason thought it would be, from what Juni told him. The bathtub that apparently crashed through his ceiling is gone, but the gaping hole remains, still shedding debris onto the ruined bed. The heavy antique bed frame itself is cracked clean in half, the mattress sagging in the middle, and Mason's chest squeezes.

Juni was right there seconds before an entire fucking bathtub came down on top of it. He could have been crushed.

He jolts when he feels fingers on his wrist, and when he looks down, Juni isn't looking directly at him, but towards him. "You can wait outside, if you want?" he suggests softly while Nate goes trotting into the room to cluck and fuss over Juni's bookshelf. "I know it smells kind of gross in here." His nose wrinkles a bit, and Mason hears the thick clicking of his throat as he swallows uncomfortably. No doubt, the smell’s not doing him any favors either, hyper senses or no.

"Did you bring a mask or something?" Mason asks rather than replying, gesturing to the plaster dust settled all over everything, floating in the air now that they've disturbed it. "Your lungs are already shitty enough."

Juni flushes a pretty, rosy pink and fumbles hastily for his bag with a little blurt of, "Oh, yeah!" He puts it on, and Mason wants to groan. Of course it's got a stupid little cat mouth on it.

"Juni," Nate calls, his voice heavy with sadness. He's holding a book in his hands as carefully as if it were an injured bird. "You have a collector’s edition of The Velveteen Rabbit?"

"Had," Juni corrects, his eyes crinkling with a sardonic little smile Mason can't see, but knows the shape of intimately enough to picture. “It had reproductions of the original lithograph illustrations too.” He gives Mason a quick sidelong look before pattering over to take the book from Nate and sadly try to peel apart the pages.

Felix sidles up to Mason with about as much subtlety as a bathtub through the ceiling while Nate assures Juni they can salvage the book, and likely a good amount of the others, if they are very careful. The younger vampire gives him a startlingly critical look that he tries to hide under his usual smirk. "You guys are ridiculous," he scoffs. Mason snaps out a hand to cuff him, but Felix dodges and rabbit-punches him lightly in the ribs. It’s surprising enough from someone as ambivalent to fighting as Felix is that Mason doesn’t even think to dodge, and when he glowers at him, Felix glowers right back.

It’s not terribly impressive on him, but points for trying.

“Be nice to him,” Felix hisses, and this time Mason is ready enough to swat his hand away before he can get jabbed again.

“I’m plenty nice to him,” he drawls, affecting an easy smirk.

Felix studies him for a long moment, then looks him dead in the eye, smiles glibly, and says, “You’re so pretty.” He reaches out like he’s going to pat Mason’s cheek, but he dodges and stalks away to help Adam move some of Juni’s heavier furniture that might still be salvageable. Felix makes a beeline for the bathroom, probably to rifle through Juni’s medicine cabinet or something.

Juni leaves Nate to meticulously pick through his bookshelf and slip blotting paper (which he made sure to bring the second Juni voiced his doubts the small collection of books in his room would be salvageable) between the pages and setting them aside to pack up and take back to the warehouse, where he has the supplies to take care of them. He starts bagging up clothes, while Adam and Mason prop his mattress against the wall to get it out of the way. He’ll have to get a new one for sure. Just being close to the damn thing makes Mason want to retch with the smell of the mildew. Juni drifts by to start bundling up his bedding, and his knuckles skim against Mason’s lower back.

A shudder rolls up his spine, and he settles as his senses calm down enough for him to actually assist Adam. The mattress isn’t heavy for them by any means, but it’s bulky enough to be a pain for just one of them to carry.

Juni is setting to work boxing up all his little trinkets and knickknacks (and he’s got a lot of them) when Felix comes barrelling out of his bathroom with something purple held victoriously above his head.

“Hey, Juni!” he yells, and all of them, even Juni, wince at the volume. “What’s this?”

Once he’s stopped, and is no longer a brightly colored blur in the vague shape of a vampire, Mason can actually see what he’s holding aloft like a trophy. Once he realizes what it is, he can’t help but smirk. Before he even looks at Juni, he can feel the heat radiating off him, his blood rushing, his heart rate spiking.

Even if Mason didn’t know what a goddamned magic wand was, Juni’s reaction would be a dead giveaway.

Faster than Mason has ever seen the detective move, he bolts across the room and snatches the thing out of Felix’s hand, hiding it behind his back. “Where did you find that?” he yelps, his voice pitching high and cracking.

“Your closet,” Felix says brightly, his eyes glimmering with mischief. He’s clearly caught on. “Should I not have touched it?”

“It’s clean!” Juni squawks, his face almost glowing red. “Don’t be gross!”

“Man, now I really wish I’d picked that locked box in there open,” Felix cackles, and Juni smacks at his shoulder and then breaks for the bathroom before the vampire can make good on that promise. He slams the door behind him and Mason hears the click of the lock, while Felix laughs so hard he has to brace himself against the wall and hold his stomach.

Adam and Nate are deeply focused on their own work, admirably pretending they haven’t noticed anything going on outside their little tasks.

It takes a while for Juni to be coaxed out of the bathroom again, but even mortification that makes him blush so ferociously that Mason can feel the heat of him from three feet away wouldn’t allow him to shove his duties off on someone else. He does bring a small wooden trunk out of the bathroom with him, closed with a little heart-shaped padlock that Felix could break off easily if he wanted to. Juni seems just as aware of that risk, so he guards the trunk with his goddamned life, even going so far as to sit on it and glower at Felix while he helps Nate pack up all his waterlogged books and fragile little trinkets.

Mason does give the trunk a very pointed look, trailing his eyes up the detective’s body and meeting his gaze with an easy smirk, just to watch him flush even redder, and while he does go so red the smattering of freckles across his nose almost disappears, he looks away sharply and hides behind his hair.

Mason barely resists pulling an Adam and crushing the weird little ceramic owl he’s packing away.

The rest of the day goes pretty uneventfully afterwards. He and Adam move and dry off furniture, drag stuff that can’t be saved outside to be thrown out, Nate delights in every interesting little antique he finds and mourns the damage done to them, Felix flits around and pretends he’s helping when he’s really just having fun rooting through the detective’s things, and Juni helps where he can and avoids Mason’s eyes as they track his every move. Even if they didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to shake the awareness of Juni, wherever he is in the room.

After they’ve packed everything they could into the Agency SUV, they head off. Juni is quiet on the ride back, sitting close to the window with a box of junk in his lap. Felix is between him and Mason, completely ignoring the odd tension and distracting the detective by asking about whatever random tchotchke he pulls from the box. Mason just stares out the window and tries to ignore the niggling desire to light a cigarette, only slightly mitigated by the fact that he doesn't even have one on him.

Later, once they’ve hauled everything to Juni’s room (or in the case of the books, to Nate’s room to be subjected to the tenderest of mercies) Mason sits on the roof alone for a long while, staring consideringly at an unlit cigarette and twisting it between his fingers. His head feels heavy with everything weighing it down, a twisting, confusing mess writhing in his skull. He tries, once again, to direct his thoughts to easier things, but every time he tries to think about Juni squirming underneath him, thighs squeezing his hips, gasping his name, his thoughts inevitably turn to gentle fingers on his cheeks, a bright laugh lighting up his insides, hazel-green eyes looking up at him with… with what?

He growls and shoves the cigarette back into the pack, cramming it into his pocket.

“What does this mean for us?”

Since when is there an “us?”

He falls back onto the roof with a thud, the rough surface making his skin scream with prickling discomfort, but he ignores it. He closes his eyes, tries to quiet the jumble of his thoughts. He unleashes his senses just a bit, driven by instinct and a need to focus on something, anything else, and takes a slow, deep breath. He hears the low murmur of Nate’s voice somewhere below, in the den. Adam’s there too, naturally. He can’t make out the words, but the conversation is easy and familiar, soft with intimacy.

He snorts. The two of them are fucking ridiculous. You’d think they’d have realized they’re basically married a couple centuries ago, and yet…

Felix isn’t hard to locate, though he’s deeper in the warehouse, where the bedrooms are. He’s loud, as usual, so Mason can hear him a bit better, but still he’s not quite close enough to make out words. He focuses a little harder, relaxes his body and exhales slowly. Along with his voice, there’s a light twanging, which eventually strings together into a rhythm. Music? Felix listens to music often, but it’s usually louder, faster-paced. Grates on Mason’s nerves like absolute hell, but this is slower, brighter. And then he hears Juni’s voice, and his senses rush in like a hungry dog spotting a rabbit.

A laugh, low and sweet.

Mason is rolling to his feet and off the roof before he even has a chance to think about it. It’s the work of a few seconds to slip through the window, and he keeps his footsteps light as he slips through the warehouse like a ghost. He passes the den and glances in. Adam and Nate have their heads close together, talking in low voices with files laid out neatly on the coffee table in front of them, two glasses of wine carefully placed a safe distance away from their paperwork. Adam gives him a quick look over his shoulder, and the ever-present tension in them eases somewhat. Mason nods and continues on by.

The twanging music gets louder as he stalks down the stairs, Felix’s bright voice more raucous than ever, but it’s easy enough to tune out when he hears Juni’s answering laugh floating from Felix’s open bedroom door.

“Are you gonna stop heckling me and make a request?” he asks, and Mason can hear the sunny plunking notes of a ukulele under the words, as if the detective is absently plucking the strings as he talks. Mason vaguely recalls Felix triumphantly hauling the little green instrument from underneath Juni's shattered bed frame, scuffed and covered in wet stickers, and Juni sighing sadly at the broken strings.

“Well, what do you usually play?” Felix asks, his bed creaking. Mason can picture him flopping around like a drunk fish, and he has to stifle a snort.

“I mostly just do covers and stuff.” A rustle of cloth, Juni’s shrugging. “I’ve written a few things, but I’m already giving myself heart palpitations performing in front of people, so I think actually performing something I wrote myself would kill me outright.”

“Well, you’re performing for me, aren’t you? And you seem pretty calm.”

“Since when are you people?” Juni snorts.

Felix barks out a laugh. “Rude!”

There’s a bit of a tussle, a discordant twang, and Juni yelps. “Careful, careful! I just replaced these strings, asshole!”

Felix gasps, affronted. “I’m telling Nate you called me that!”

“No, don’t tell Mum!” Juni whines, and they laugh together more.

Mason shifts from one foot to the other, pressing a hand to his stomach as if that’ll help quell the strange feeling there.

“Stop stalling,” Felix prods, and Juni shifts and sighs heavily. “Fine, fine, but don’t make fun of me, or I will cry.”

“Scout’s honor!” Felix chimes, and Mason wonders where the hell he heard that phrase.

They’re both quiet, and then Juni strums at the strings, just dabbling a bit before he actually starts plucking a rhythm. He takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself. “I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day,” he croons, and Mason perks up almost instinctively, sunshine echoing in his ears. Juni’s singing voice, much like his speaking one, is soft and a little breathy, but it warbles with clear nerves. “When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May…”

Felix gasps, delighted, and Juni falters for a moment, but doesn’t stop.

“Well, I guess you’d say what can make me feel this way? My guy, I’m talkin’ ‘bout my guy...” Mason slides forward, towards the door as if pulled on a string, and he sees Juni sitting at the end of Felix’s rumpled bed with its blindingly bright sheets, cross-legged with his back mostly to the door, but Mason can see his face in profile. Felix is lying at the head of the bed on his belly, with his chin propped up on his elbows.

His golden eyes flicker to Mason, and he smirks, raising his eyebrows and sticking his tongue out quickly, before Juni notices. Which he likely won’t, eyes closed, dark lashes fanned out across his freckled cheeks.

There’s a smile curling his lips, small but happy, and it only widens when Felix begins snapping in time, laughter coloring the lilting notes. “I’ve got so much honey, the bees envy me. I’ve got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees…” He leans into the chorus, rocking back and forth along with Felix’s snapping. "Well, I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way?"

Mason braces a hand on the doorframe, if for no other reason than to stop himself walking into the room. He has no idea what he’d even say, but he knows he’d spook the detective, skittish little human he is, and break whatever odd spell has fallen over them both.

Juni’s voice gets stronger, bit by bit, as he settles, rising with confidence. He hums along to his strumming, and the smile that lights up his face sticks behind Mason’s ribs, along with the words of the song.

As Juni trails off with a dreamily sighed, “I’ve even got the month of May,” Felix claps loudly and cheers, an enthusiastic audience of one. Mason winces back away from the door, scowling and shaking his head.

He should leave. Either leave, or butt in just to watch Juni get all flustered, but something holds him still, keeps him quiet.

“I think I know that song,” Felix says slowly, and Mason doesn’t need to see his face to know the teasing smirk spreading there. He narrows his eyes suspiciously.

Juni snorts. “Everyone does, Fe. It’s from the 60s.”

“Yeah, but you sang it differently,” Felix presses. “Thinking of someone in particular, were you?”

Mason looks around the door frame just in time to see Juni whack Felix solidly with a pillow. “It was a cover!” he exclaims, his cheeks going ruddy. “A cover of a cover!” He smacks Felix with the pillow again, a solid whump muffling the vampire’s bell-like laughter as it hits him in the face. “Don’t make it weird!”

“I’ve got sunshine,” Felix warbles, snatching the pillow before Juni can swing a third time and hugging it to his chest.

“It’s a cute song!” Juni insists. “I like cute songs! I’ve got a ton I could have sung, but I picked that one, because I heard a cover once that made it about a guy instead of a girl, and you might not be aware of this, Felix, but I am a homosexual.”

Felix’s hand flies to his mouth, amber eyes going comically wide. “No! You? How long were you planning to keep this from me?”

Juni very carefully sets his little green, lovingly restored ukulele to the side for safekeeping before he tries to wrestle the pillow back from Felix so he can hit him again.

Mason figures it’s a good time to take his leave, before Felix decides to use his presence as a scapegoat from the detective’s wrath.

He slips up the stairs, his head heavy, something… just something stirring in him he can’t even begin to parse.

Juni’s soft voice follows him back to the quiet of the rooftop, a gentle strain chasing itself around in his head.

Sunshine on a rainy day...

#the wayhaven chronicles #specialist agent mason #specialist agent m #twc fanfic #felix hauville #f hauville #bc he plays a p big role in this #also background adam/nate bc chaboi is GAY #pidge writes #oc: juniper fenn #i have no excuses for this #ive just been in a big introspection mood for juni lately #so uh #yeehaw?#im not sure how i feel about it but hhfhdhgh #hearkens back to the cheesy ass songfics of my youth at the end there

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wafflebloggies · 3 years

Text

a troubling guest [2]

noname belongs to @lacking-hydration! i’m having way too much fun with this whole thing send help

bits and pieces for context:

[a step too far]

[a little light mischief]

[part 1 of this!]

[part 3 of this!]

Alan had always been a realist. For this reason, he wasn’t disappointed by the sight of the Captain’s folded arms and pointedly offended scowl as he opened the door. It wasn’t an encouraging sight, but it certainly wasn’t a surprising one, either.

It was the first time they had seen each other face to face in months. Alan’s stomach had been twisting sickishly ever since he made the call, and his unhelpful imagination had framed a million ways it could go- good, bad, really bad, terrible- but now that the moment had actually arrived, he felt… not much of anything, really. Nothing he could put his finger on. Just tired, and a little sad.

Before he could say a word, the Captain unfolded his arms and pushed past him into the hall. His voice carried back to the porch as he stomped into the kitchen, and Alan heard the chunk of the fridge being opened.

“This had better be good, Alan."

"Come in,” Alan said to nobody, as he shut the door. He followed the Captain into his own kitchen, and found him staring into the depths of the fridge with a deeply annoyed glare, as if something inside had just handed him a steep library fine.

“Captain-”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve.” The Captain shut the fridge with unnecessary emphasis and turned. “You ghost me for months, you leave me on read, and then you just expect me to drop everything and come running? You think I’ve got nothing better to do?”

Well, you’re here, aren’t you? Alan captured the words before they actually escaped, a little frightened by how easily they almost did, and managed a sort of strained chuckle instead. “Well- maybe the jury’s out on that right now-”

The Captain bridled. He had a way of making it clear that he was getting on his high horse that was nowhere near as subtle as he probably imagined it was, like a volcano that wanted the maximum amount of anxious attention focused on it before it exploded in earnest. “What, you think I just get to slack off and stop creating content because you’re not around? Have you even been watching the channel?”

“Of course I-” Alan stopped. With an effort, he shook off the rising, horribly familiar sense of helplessness, and lowered his voice. “Listen, Captain, we are not having this conversation right now, okay? There’s something I have to-”

But the Captain was already shaking his head. He held up a hand with pompous authority, as if he was getting ready to stop a marriage service, or maybe to direct traffic.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, we are. We are having this conversation, because I’d like an explanation, Alan. I’d like you to explain why you thought it was reasonable to just walk out on me, and never call, never even write-”

“Never even- what are you talking about? You’re the one who-” Alan pulled himself up short for a second time. Knuckling a frustrated hand into his own temples, he dragged it down his face, tried to breathe. He was starting to get a headache, a very specific kind of dull overstressed ache behind his eyes that he hadn’t felt in quite a while. In several months, in fact.

“Look, I’m not getting into this. You are not going to drag me into this, because this isn’t-”

“I want-”

“This isn’t about you!”

In the ringing silence, the two of them stared at each other. They both felt it- they both saw it, in the other’s eyes. In that flickering, painful moment of synchronicity, the moment and that moment, months ago in the rotunda, were one. The space of time, the distance between them; just how much had changed, and how much hadn’t. What had been experienced, healed, endured, in their months apart- the depth of their rift, the waste of it... and how terribly vital it had been.

Alan moved first. He heaved a deep sigh, forcing his shoulders to unknit, forcing the tension and anger from his face.

“It’s about him.”

Alan’s uncanny guest had crept into the living room doorway, moving little by little, clinging to the frame with fingers splayed and white-knuckled, like a limpet waiting for high tide. It looked up as Alan spoke, and the fraught, unfocused gaze of its human eye trailed over him and onto the Captain.

It went absolutely still.

The Captain had a similar reaction. He looked at the thing for what felt to Alan like a very long time, while a whole variety of complicated expressions dovetailed into each other on his face. He raised his pointer finger, slowly.

“Who… is he?”

“I was trying to tell-”

“Why does he look like you?”

“It’s a little hard to ex-”

“Why does he look like that?”

“I… I don’t know,” admitted Alan. “But it’s okay, he seems pretty harmless.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before the thing snapped abruptly out of its stupor. Before either of them could move, it let out a ghastly, rattling shriek that sounded more like a rabbit that had just stuck its foot in a plug socket than anything else, and flung itself at the Captain, tackling him headlong to the floor.

The Captain rolled, trying to shake it off, but it hung on with hands that seemed longer than they’d been a moment ago- amorphous, strong, and sharp. It tore at whatever it could reach, howling non-stop, a blur of teeth and pointy elbows and wild eyes. Alan was too stunned to react for a second or two, but once his shock broke he scrambled forwards and made a grab for the thing’s shoulder. His reward was a vicious blow to the face that knocked him off his feet.

Lunging, the Captain caught hold of the thing by the scruff of its neck, but it twisted and bit at his arm. He recoiled but managed to hang on, and it bucked and fought like a mad cat, grabbing at anything that came too close. As the Captain tried to keep his grip, the too-long, blackened fingers sought and scrabbled for purchase, latching onto the first thing they could find, which unfortunately happened to be-

“Ow ow OW not the face not the FACE-”

The Captain’s mask stretched out in the thing’s grasp, the fake skin distorting like a rubber band. Something had to give, and with a high elastic noise like a guitar string snapping under stress the mask twanged off, catapulting out of the thing’s hands. It whipped across the room like a Frisbee, nailing Alan square in the ear just as he managed to sit up.

Thrown off-balance, the thing hit the floor shoulders-first and bounced back to its feet, snarling. Its eyes were frantic, far past reason, the weird right-side one a livid, burning purple. Black goop slipped from under its sodden hair and coursed freely down its face and neck, spiralling down its arms. Its hands, fast losing their resemblance to anything even approaching human, clutched and jerked shakily at its sides.

The Captain stepped in front of Alan, holding up his hands in warning.

“Don’t-” he started, but the thing was beyond listening. At the sound of his voice, it bared its teeth, and sprang.

The Captain flinched, splaying his fingers. With a bright flicker, a screen flared between his hands, a jumbled blur of images as he fought to concentrate. A UFO, a kitten, a few frames of an old Soviet cartoon, and then at the very last second the image stabilized into a nice, clear picture of a brick wall; weathered, slightly mossy, and very, very solid-looking.

Even if the thing had wanted to hit the brakes, it was far too late to stop. It slammed into the picture face-first with a nasty, semi-liquid thud, and slid to the floor, out cold.

Dropping his hands, the Captain let out a relieved breath, letting the screen sputter out into nothing. “Whoof. I knew that Shutterstock license would come in handy.”

Behind him, Alan sat up, holding the mask between finger and thumb as if it was something Leica had caught and left on the floor. It took the Captain a moment or two- and a mild double-take- to notice it, but as soon as he did he swiped it quickly out of his hand, with a rather testy “Thank you.”

In the fragile silence that followed, Alan got to his feet, rubbing his ear. The Captain quickly turned his face away and bent his head, hooking the mask back into place with practised speed. This done, he straightened, shook his jacket back into line with an officious little jerk, then hesitated.

“Are you...” He cleared his throat, grimacing and waving a hand as if he hoped he could somehow communicate what he meant by sheer vague arm-flapping alone, thus getting away without actually having to say it. He fought it out, extracting the word like a stubborn tooth.

“...okay?”

To tell the truth, Alan didn’t feel particularly okay. He felt very shaken and as if he was probably going to have a swollen lip, but right now he had nothing to show for it but a metallic taste in his mouth and a general feeling like someone had fed a fistful of loose change into his skull and rattled it hard. On top of it all, the really pathetic thing- the thing that made him feel somehow worse and better all at once- was how much it mattered just that the Captain had asked.

He nodded, gingerly. “Yeah, I’m- I’m fine. Are you?”

“Oh, you know. Much better now nobody’s trying to claw my face off.” The Captain sniffed, feeling behind his ears to make sure the mask was secure, and took a long, steadying breath. “Okay. Okay, how… how about we walk it back a little? Fill me in from the beginning.”

“You mean about him?”

The Captain rolled his eyes. “Oh, no, actually, I meant about why you took down your Magica De Spell picture- of course about him!”

Cautiously, ready to jump back at the first sign of movement, Alan knelt down by the thing where it lay crumpled on the floor. He was a qualified first-aider, but he was a little at a loss to check for fractures where he wasn’t sure there were bones, or to seek a steady pulse when he didn’t even know if there was a heart. He could only guess the thing was still in one piece from the slight rise and fall of the chest, and the hectic flicker under its closed eyelids.

“I didn’t think he’d flip out like that,” he said. “He’s been quiet this whole time, I- I mean, more or less, anyway, he’s had a couple of… moments.” He swallowed. “Captain, this is gonna sound crazy, but I think… I think he was made.”

It didn’t take him long to relate the little he knew. The Captain listened, fiddling with his mask, which didn’t seem to be sitting comfortably after its rapid trip across the room. At one point, he poked the thing on the floor gently with his foot.

“Pretty shoddy craftmanship,” he remarked. “Look at him, he’s barely corporeal. Can’t even keep a consistent physical form. Huh, like I’d expect anything better from that toxic, pseudoscience-pushing hack...” He broke off, running a finger around his eyesocket, which still looked a little out-of-kilter.

“For the love of- have you got any glue?”

“Um, your usual stuff dried up, I had to throw it out. I… probably have a gluestick, is that any good?”

“Alan,” said the Captain, still feeling his mask irritably, “I hardly need to remind you that this is an incredibly advanced and delicate myco-cellular biosynthetic prosthesis.” He paused.

“What kind of gluestick?”

“Uhh. Elmer’s.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it. Thanks.”

#captain disillusion #alan amelik #noname #my writes

11 notes · View notes

mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

“Carpe Diem” - Domesticated Sequel

F/M Pairing: Felix x OC (original character)

Genre: Strangers to Lovers AU; Sequel

Warnings: mild language; but it’s mostly fluff again!

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: Felix loves his brother, and he loves his brother’s wife as well. But there are times when he feels left out and lonely when he watches their interactions together, and maybe he’d like to experience love for himself with the right girl...

Thalia: the goddess of festivity

Felix really didn’t like the idea of a monogamous relationship. Because they often demanded too much of his time, and those commitments restricted his preference for one-night stands after picking up a pretty girl from the bar.

But perhaps Felix should reconsider his entire philosophy (after all, he does have a masters degree in the subject) because standing in the middle of the modest lobby of Y/N’s office building, Felix couldn’t help but wonder why he had ever believed such stupid things.

“I’ll call you later,” Thalia promised him with a gentle kiss - the current subject of his most intimate fantasies.

Felix smiled against her lips since he was apparently whipped for one girl (and one girl only) despite his past decisions. “I already miss you,” Felix replied, and he was grateful that Thalia found his cheesiness funny.

They had already been on several dates together (even though Felix couldn’t understand why she kept agreeing because he was so unbelievably shy and awkward), and Felix was growing more and more enamored with the concept of a long-term romance with flowers falling in the background while swelling music crescendos when they kiss for the thousandth time.

It was the perfect description for their relationship, and he met Thalia at one of the bars he frequented, and she instantly caught his attention with her flirtatious smile and infectious laugh. She also looked beautiful while wearing tight skinny jeans and a low-cut blouse that left very little to the imagination. They wound up together in the sketchy bathroom behind the building, and Felix had never been with someone who managed to unravel him from head to toe in such a short amount of time.

It was the first occasion where he had ever asked for the other girl’s number, and she had stolen his wrist and scribbled the numbers on the back of his hand before kissing the daylights out of him.

When he got home that night, he immediately questioned Chan on the topic of dating, asking him a thousand questions on how best to impress a girl: “Did you pay on your date with Y/N or did you split the bill?”

But Chan had looked at him like he had grown another head, and Felix realized that he would have to put in a lot of effort to make an impression.

Because Thalia was worth it, and she was just so pure like one of his favorite Greek mythology characters come to life!

“Be good for me,” Thalia said, pulling him out of his memories and back to the present moment.

Apparently, Thalia was meeting someone who worked in this enormous office building - the same one where Y/N suffered under the direction of Seo Changbin, but that was a story for another time.

“My sister-in-law works here,” Felix remarked.

“Oh?” Thalia grinned as she examined the space around them. “What a coincidence.”

“But I also enjoyed our lunch together,” Felix said, and he was suddenly crowding Thalia against the elevators despite the onlookers observing their interaction.

“Thank you for walking me here,” Thalia said, and Felix watched with a heart full of affection as she waved at him before the elevator doors closed on them.

And Felix was on cloud-nine for the rest of the day, checking his phone repeatedly as he waited for Thalia to contact him again.

“Are you waiting for the new PlayStation trailer?” Chan eventually interrupted his obsession, ruffling his hair before joining him on the couch.

“No!” Felix protested, and he shoved his phone away before reaching out for one of the controllers. “You wanna play?”

“Sure,” Chan said. “I’m not on call tonight.”

“Good,” Felix said. “I can kick your ass in Fortnite.”

“Whatever,” Chan scoffed, and he started jabbing his thumbs into the buttons while doing whatever he could to avoid Felix’s attacks. “You’ve had more practice than me!”

“You just suck,” Felix informed him bluntly, narrowing his eyes in concentration as he focused on the screen.

It was actually nice to spend some time with his brother and keep his mind off the persistent question of whether or not Thalia might call him before the end of the night.

“You two are so loud!” Y/N complained when she walked into the living room.

“It’s called intense focus,” Felix replied, chuckling when he managed to hit Chan’s character yet again.

“Hey!” Chan exclaimed, and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Dinner is almost ready,” she said, tossing a towel over her shoulder before leaving the room and muttering something about boys and their games.

But just when Felix was about to win another round, his phone started going off, and he immediately hit the pause button so that he could look at the screen with a gasp. “Oi,” Chan shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”

“This is important!” Felix insisted, and his eyes drank in every word of Thalia’s message:

FROM T:

T: Would you be interested in having dinner with me and my step-brother tomorrow night? I really want you to meet him!

There was a series of X’s and O’s at the end that had Felix’s heart spiraling out of control. “Oh!” Chan grinned. “Is that your secret admirer?”

“Chan!” Felix whined. “She wants me to have dinner with at her brother’s house,” Felix said. “Holy shit! That means this is serious, right?”

“Congratulations, mate,” Chan said while slapping him on the shoulder. “I think you’ve got yourself a serious relationship!”

“Who, Felix?” Y/N scoffed when she re-entered the room. “I couldn’t help but overhear everything, but I’m having a hard time believing it.”

“She’s amazing,” Felix swooned. “I’m a total romantic now!”

“Felix settling down for one girl?” Y/N questioned. “I never thought I’d see the day!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Felix frowned.

“Nothing,” Y/N song-songed, and she invited them into the dining room where Felix played around with his food while he thought about his impending date.

“But what should I do about her brother?” Felix asked, looking back and forth between Y/N and Chan. “He might hate me!”

“Nobody could hate you Felix,” Chan said. “Just be yourself.”

“But with better manners,” Y/N inserted. “And maybe a nicer attitude-”

“Okay, I get it,” Felix huffed. “I need a lot of work.”

“We can practice right now,” Y/N suggested. “The table is set, and we can pretend like I’m Thalia and Chan is her brother.”

“What, like role-playing?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Y/N said. “That’s step number one.”

But Felix had the impression that this might take most of the night, and since he was more determined than ever to sweep Thalia off her feet, he allowed his brother and Y/N to teach him everything there was to know concerning the complicated art of being a model citizen and a top-tier boyfriend.

But despite the practice, Felix was a ball of nerves as he paced outside of Thalia’s apartment. His mind was focused on too many things at once: Did he look okay? Was he supposed to bring something? What if her step-brother was some kind of wrestler who could beat the hell out of him?

Yet, Felix could’ve never foreseen in his craziest dreams the unforgettable moments proceeding his gentle knock on the door when Thalia answered with someone standing next to her:

“Felix?”

“Changbin!” Felix squealed, and Thalia shot them both a confused look as she stood next to the entrance.

Oh, god, the wrestler would’ve been better!

“Do you two know each other?”

“Yeah,” Changbin said with narrowed eyes. “We do.”

“There’s...some history,” Felix said, and Thalia didn’t seem certain of how to address this sudden development.

“Well, you can come inside,” she said, and Felix flinched when she offered him a chaste kiss because Changbin was eyeballing the fuck out of him and Felix could barely remain standing. “I’m just finishing up in the kitchen! Make yourselves comfortable in the dining room.”

Felix nodded, but he watched her walk away with a feeling of dread. “I can’t say that I saw this coming,” Changbin said. “Tell me, Felix, what are your intentions with my sister?”

“Uhhh...” Felix couldn’t believe that his brain was failing him in that moment, but the shock of seeing Changbin had rendered him nothing more than a blabbering idiot. “She’s really cool.”

“Right,” Changbin snorted, and Felix quickly darted around him in the direction of the dining room because this was not what he rehearsed last night in the dozens of scenarios he practiced with Chan and Y/N.

“I made your favorite, Felix,” Thalia said when she brought out a tray from the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Felix said, and his tone was barely more than a whisper when he caught Changbin’s glare from across the table.

“I’m so glad we could do this,” Thalia said, and she sat down at the head of the table to look between them. “So, you must tell me how you met.”

“College,” Felix said, and he knew that was a vague answer, but Changbin was more than willing to pick up the pieces.

“You remember that girl I dated Freshman year, T?” Changbin asked, and he spooned himself a generous portion of food.

“Of course,” Thalia said and she rolled her eyes while looking in Felix’s direction. “It was so sad, babe. Changbin was dating this girl he liked and another man stole her away!”

“That’s not true!” Felix exclaimed, and Thalia startled at his harsh tone.

“Felix?” she murmured. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Felix said as he held tightly to his fork. “I just remember things a bit differently.”

“I bet you do,” Changbin retorted before turning to Thalia again. “Bang Chan is Felix’s brother.”

Thalia’s eyes immediately widened at the revelation. “Oh, so that means...”

“Yeah,” Changbin growled. “His sister-in-law is Y/N.”

Felix could feel his heart thundering inside his chest, and the table was silent thereafter, but Felix couldn’t help but wonder if this was what Y/N had meant by “worst possible scenario.”

Felix was certain that the universe was playing some sort of practical joke on him, but he never liked being the punchline.

After he left Thalia’s apartment, she called him to apologize for everything that happened. “Maybe we shouldn’t see each other for a few days,” she said, and Felix had felt his heart break in half.

But he respected Thalia’s opinion, even if Y/N was growing tired of his dejected behavior as he lazed around on the couch. He had explained everything to Y/N and Chan, and they were both shocked at the revelation of Changbin being Thalia’s step-brother. “What are the chances?” Y/N said. “It must’ve happened after we stopped dating.”

“Well, everything’s ruined,” Felix said, and he didn’t bother to change his poor attitude because he had never felt this sad before over losing another girl.

“You care a lot, Lix,” Chan had tried to explain to him. “You really liked her.”

“Yeah,” Felix agreed, but words weren’t enough to help him.

But actions always spoke louder, and Felix never anticipated seeing Changbin on the other side of the door when Y/N demanded that he greet their unexpected visitor. “Perfect,” Changbin said, and he pushed Felix inside so that he could shut the door.

“Felix, who was it?” Y/N asked, and she paused in the middle of the foyer when she noticed Changbin standing there. “Changbin?!”

“Glad we’re all on the same page,” Changbin said, and he glanced at Y/N for a moment before looking at Felix. “My sister isn’t one of your playthings, Felix.”

“I know,” Felix growled, but he wasn’t able to say anything else because Chan had wandered into the room, and he was immediately confrontational as he sneered down at Changbin.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to give Felix a warning,” Changbin said. “He needs to stay away from my sister!

“Isn’t that funny? It’s all come full circle right, Seo?” Chan snarled. “I’m married to your ex-girlfriend while my little brother is sleeping with your sister.”

“Well, we’ve only slept together once..” Felix said, but both Changbin and Chan shot him a glare.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Y/N intervened. “Changbin, you and I were never going to stay together! And our personal history shouldn’t have any impact on what you think of Felix and Thalia being together.”

“It doesn’t,” Changbin said. “But I remember what Felix was like in college.”

“What? He can’t change?” Y/N retorted.

“He’s too immature!” Changbin insisted, and Felix crossed his arms over his chest because he just about tired of Seo Changbin’s interference.

“Listen to me,” Felix said. “I like your sister a lot, Changbin, and I would never do anything to hurt her! She means more to me than those bad decisions I made in the past, and I’m not about to let you ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”

Felix took a deep breath following his exclamation, and he was proud of himself when Changbin averted his gaze. “I still don’t like it,” Changbin muttered.

“Well, it’s not your decision to make,” Felix said. “I’m coming to meet your sister tomorrow, and she’ll decide where we stand!”

It was a fierce declaration, and Felix had never felt more assured that he was finally doing the right thing.

FROM T:

We can meet in Changbin’s office building.

Felix received the message a few hours after he had sent a heartfelt plea to finally have a chance to speak to Thalia again. He really missed her company, and Felix was determined to fix everything and return their relationship to how it was before the drama with Changbin. And he was willing to meet her on whatever grounds she requested, even if that meant Changbin’s office building.

He arrived early because he was nervous, but Y/N offered him a few words of encouragement while he waited around her desk. Thankfully, Thalia didn’t keep him waiting for long, and she walked down the hallway with a glaring Changbin glued to her side. “Felix,” Changbin said, and he was still looking at Felix like he was the worst person in the world.

“Can Thalia and I talk alone?”

“What gives you the right?”

“Changbin,” Thalia inserted, and she gave her brother a knowing look.

And Felix raised a suggestive eyebrow at Changbin who scoffed and returned to his office while muttering about his misfortunes.

“Thank you for meeting me,” Felix said, and he guided them both to a pair of futons next to the windows.

“Well, I really missed you,” Thalia said, and Felix couldn’t stop his smile after hearing her sincere sentiment.

“The break is really hurting me,” Felix said. “I just want to be with you, Thalia, and I don’t want a past that doesn’t even belong to us get in the way.”

“I know,” Thalia agreed softly, and she finally leaned in to offer him a gentle kiss. “I guess this is our first test as a couple.”

“It won’t always be perfect,” Felix said. “But I feel like I’m willing to endure anything if it means being with you.”

Thalia giggled at his sweet words. “Let’s keep going, then, and see where this takes us.”

“I like the sound of that,” Felix agreed, and their next kiss was far more passionate - a solemn promise that cemented their status and invited a future full of endless possibilities.

#stayverse #skzwriternet #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #felix x oc #skz felix fanfic #lee felix fanfic #lee felix imagine #lee felix scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #mostlycompetent #requested

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peebleswrites · 4 years

Note

Can I pleaseeee request something with Ulquiorra!? It's difficult to see him being sweet or romantic but I'm ready for whatever he can give 🤣

GASP. YAY. FIRST REQUEST. THANK YOU. Gotta say, this was a challenge! But it was always really fun and I enjoyed writing this piece. I hope you like it!

ULQUIORRA X FEMALE!READER

About three months had gone by since the Arrancars mysteriously appeared in the world of the living, sans the previously deep seeded hatred of humans and Shinigami. In short, they had no evil intentions whatsoever and seemed curious, some more than others, over the lifestyle of humans.

Everyone was of course wary, worried they’d fly off the handle and a war would once again loom on the horizon in the minds of both the soul society and the world of the living. Until Y/N was the first to offer an extension of goodwill to the once evildoers, thus triggering a snowball affect of successful communication between the three parties.

And so, the former Espada remained in the world of the living, assimilating into the culture and assuming somewhat normal lives!

“Say Y/N,” Orihime began one afternoon during lunch upon the roof. All eyes trained to the busty bubble of joy as she posed a question in Y/N’s direction.

“What’s your type? I mean, what sort of guy are you interested in?” Pretty much everyone was equally surprised as they were curious which included a certain arrancar who’d normally find such drabble ridiculous and an utter waste of time.

Since his arrival, or rather, since those of his kind had been accepted in this world, Ulquiorra had taken something of an interest in Y/N. She was the first to accept him, all of them, and he’d always been curious concerning her reasoning. Surely, she intended to gain something by having them as allies, right? Y/N was just a human. It would make sense for her to align herself with the strong.

Yet…she didn’t appear to him as the type to use people for her own advantage. This only made her all the more interesting. As such, he used any and all opportunities afforded to him. All in efforts to garner what her true intentions were.

This was one of those opportunities.

“My type? Mmm…I guess someone who’s smart.” Y/N started before considering the rest of her response.

“Heh, that excludes you, Shinigami.” Grimmjow was first to comment, roughly punching Ichigo in the shoulder with that snarl of a grin covering his feral features. The jab nor the remark was taken well by the aforementioned male who soon retaliated with an equal amount of force.

“What the hell?! That means you too, dumbass!” And of course, that triggered the beginning of their usual bout which everyone had gotten so used to, it was pretty much ignored.

“I do like the strong, silent type, too. Oh! And a bit of spontaneity! You know, keeps things interesting!” While everyone seemed to agree, secretly they began to wonder just who among them she might be interested in. Meanwhile Ulquiorra was on an entirely different wavelength.

If Y/N found these qualities to be appealing, perhaps he could gain her trust by assuming these roles and therefore fulfill this self-appointed purpose of discovering her true intentions, thus deciding for himself if she were truly someone worthy of his trust.

No, it didn’t sound at all crazy in his head.

He has the smart part down and feels sufficiently confident in his intellect. Nothing to worry about there. The same can be said of his strength and more so of his silence. He is neither loud, nor boisterous. And while he wouldn’t call himself antisocial, he is prone to speak when he feels it is necessary to speak. Silence with a purpose.

That leaves the spontaneity.

In order to tackle this trait efficiently, he took to the human world dictionary!

“Performed or occurring as a result of a sudden inner impulse or inclination and without premeditation or external stimulus…” This may be something of a challenge for him. He never acts without thinking, without purpose. In fact, he is hard pressed to believe he could start. But not entirely convinced…yes, he could do this.

He would start by following Y/N. Not in the creepy stalker sense but more along the lines of trying to get to know her likes without actually asking himself. He would use the ever talkative Orihime to do his bidding.

“What sort of candy do you like, Y/N? I like something sweet and tangy but also sour and a little bitter with a fluffy kind of texture!” Dear gods, what could she possibly be describing was the expression that Ulquiorra currently wore while listening to the conversation. Y/N assumed a rather uneasy expression before responding accordingly.

“I like F/C. Not really a fan of much else.” Y/N’s response was simple something Ulquiorra could appreciate and perhaps do something with.

“So that’s what she likes…”

The next day, all eyes were on the former fourth espada when he strolled into class, dragging a large sack behind him which he dumped onto Y/N’s desk without a word. She stared at him then the sack partially obscuring her vision before opening her mouth to respond

“Uh…Ulquiorra? What’s this?”

“Don't ask useless questions.” And that was all he said before casually walking to his chair like he didn’t rouse the entire class with a cloud of confusion. With furrowed brows, Y/N peeked into the sack, only to spot copious amount of her favorite candy! It looked like a whole year’s supply of it! What the heck…

Who could’ve known that he’d been listening in on her conversation with Orihime? Or that he’d continue to do such in order to exercise this growing need to display his spontaneity. Which, he realized at one point, wasn’t really spontaneous at all because he was thinking about these acts way too hard!

Like when she expressed a desire to have more rice in her lunch, so he proceeded to give her extra portions the next day. Or when she grew tired during gym and he suddenly picked her up over his shoulder to run the rest of her laps. Or when she complained over the lack of sleep she was getting due to the neighbor’s dog barking all night so he insisted on training the canine not to be noisy.

Okay so…maybe he was being spontaneous, but Y/N had grown suspicious enough and needed some answers.

“Ah…Ulquiorra? Could I talk to you for a moment?” Y/N approached him after class one day, appearing somewhat nervous. He agreed with a simple nod while teeming on the inside with anticipation. This could quite possibly be the moment he has been working for so diligently. His efforts were at last being acknowledged.

“Uh so…listen, it’s about uhm…how you’ve been acting recently…” If it wasn’t obviously, Y/N was having a hard time expressing what she really wanted to say. Ulquiorra, of course, noticed this.

“Speak, woman.” A curt response that Y/N honestly should’ve expected prompted nothing more than a sigh.

“What’s your problem?!” Which triggered an explosive response that Ulquiorra honestly didn’t see coming if the sight of his eyes widening were any indication.

“Elaborate.” Eyes that soon softened to their normal size while gleaming with hints of mild apprehension for he never expected her of all people to express feelings of displeasure with him.

“You keep doing these weird things! First it was the candy! Then all the rice! Then you carried me around the track even when I told you to put me down! Now my neighbor is telling me you trained their dog! Are you making fun of me? Is this some arrancar way of bullying?!”

“You believe I am bullying you?”

“Yes!”

She was yelling at him. And calling him a bully, of all things. How could his intentions have been so horribly misinterpreted? How could she misunderstand him to such a degree? Could he have been wrong? Were his methods misguided or incorrect? It would seem he would need to evaluate his form of spontaneity and employ a different tactic.

“I see. I will try something else, then.” Yes, he would go back to the drawing board, reconsider his options, his resources, and try other ways of being spontaneous.

“Wait!” Y/N name suddenly grabbed onto his arm. His eyes instantly fell to her hands. Her touch triggered a slither of a response, a tingling sensation that was unfamiliar. When’s the last time anyone had laid non-threatening hands on him, he wondered.

“What?” Visibly she flinched back but maintained her countenance alongside the ever-present confusion.

“What are you trying to do? What’s all this about? I want to know!” This expression. The raw emotion on her face. He remembered it well. It was this stubborn, foolish disposition she maintained that played a key role in the Shinigami taking their presence as a non-threat. It was this expression that led him to find a purpose through her.

It was this very same gleam that triggered perhaps the most spontaneous act he’d committed thus far, the cupping of his hand upon her cheek. He wouldn’t be able to explain what caused him to do it or why his hand stayed. He just knew her cheek felt soft and warm and he sort liked the way her expression shifted as his hand remained.

“Your ‘type,’ as you humans refer to it, is someone who is spontaneous, is it not?” He brandished his usual emotionless façade, awaiting a response from her aside from the stunned silence she seemed to be trapped in.

“I…you…ah…you want to be my type…?” Dumbfounded. She was utterly dumbfounded. And he couldn’t understand why she was behaving so shocked. Wasn’t he being obvious?

“In a manner of speaking, yes. I see now that my actions are ineffective.” How ridiculous. For him to fail at such a task was unprecedented. He could hardly fathom such a thing. As such, he needed to take time away, regroup, and think of different ways to convey this message to her.

“If you’ll excuse me.” His hand fell away from her cheek only to be grabbed by one of hers. A second extension of contact and a second shock that shot up his senses. He eyed her once again with his empty stare, but she didn’t appear at all perturbed by it. In fact, she offered a rather hopeless smile.

“I…I think it’s working. I mean, you’ve got my attention.” Once again, she stunned him. This time, not with her gleaming determination but with a meek smile and subtle, gentle, squeezing of his hand. He couldn’t have imagined such a small gesture could be so impactful. How strange…

“Oh? I will continue, then.”

“Wait, no—.”

It would seem he was at least on the right track to deciphering her true intentions while simultaneously gaining her trust. Surely, he’d get it this spontaneous act right eventually.

A/N: Poor Ulquiorra. He means well. Again, hope you enjoy! Also this is my first time doing this so I hope the format isn't weird? Thanks!

#bleach x reader #bleach #ulquiora schiffer #ulquiorra x reader #fanfiction #bleach requests

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thepeakyfckingblinders · 5 years

Text

āmentĭa || Thomas Shelby x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “Can I request #16 with a jealous tommy, angsty pretty please?”

Summary: n.16 from prompt list: “Another’s hands on her skin” Warnings: swearing, anxiety, angst, a bit of smut, jealous desperate Tommy making my soul ache

Author’s notes:

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

Paragraphs written in italics are flashbacks.⤟ IMPORTANT

Sentences between bold quotation marks (❝ ❞ ) are Tommy’s thoughts.⤟ IMPORTANT

I wanted to thank you darlings for all the love you’ve been sending me, you truly make me happy, I’m so grateful to share my works with you ♡

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

āmentĭa [amentiă], amentiae feminine noun I declension

1. compulsion, disturbance, raving, hysteria 2. malaise, vexation, affliction, regret, 3. viciousness, anger, furor, choler, 4. impetum, violence, heat, rush, impulse 5. separation, rupture, abandon 6. paroxysm, yearning, eagerness 7. infatuation, frantic desire, amorous fervour

Heavy rain incessantly hit the windows sideways, giving life to a perpetual recurrence of dull sounds relentlessly haunting Tommy’s eardrums, yet he remained laying on his cold bed, motionless, with his glacial stare disturbingly fixed on the ivory ceiling. His bare chest kept raising and lowering in toil, labored breath coming out of his slightly parted lips in agonizing sighs, goosebumps slimily crawling on his more than ever pale skin, due to the extremely low temperature in his room; still, he didn’t seem to care. Two deafening chimes abruptly ripped apart the bleak air, midnight struck with no mercy, inexorably, raiding into his black lungs, plundering all of the oxygen he had left. The day had eventually come, the day in which he would’ve lost you, forever. Thomas brusquely stopped breathing as his raw flesh seemed to lacerate, it felt like the Devil’s acuminate claws had pierced his ribcage, penetrating through his bones, carving to reach his cardiac muscle, ruthelessly stabbing it, brutally slicing into his stomach. For a full, interminable minute, blind panic took over his paralyzed body, having him pant and whine, making him look like a dying animal in pure agony, while his empty gaze never left the spot right before his dilated pupils. Tom had met you three years before, by the time war had just come to an end: it’d been only a few months since Harry had hired you to help him handle the pub, and when the Shelbys finally entered the Garrison again, after four long years, you clearly didn’t have a clue of what was going on.

Your boss had tensely hurried to instruct you on what your job was for that night, apparently, it only consisted in following those three men in their private room, favoring their every wish, always with a smile and kindness. You remembered looking around the tavern, deeply confused, since the whole clientele had suddenly fallen deadly silent: every man in there was gazing at the ground and taking off his hat out of respect, causing you to be even more disorientated by that odd situation. “Just keep your head down, y/n, those guys are dangerous, I mean it. They take whatever they want, whenever they want, whether people like it or not” Harry’s words kept echoing into your mind, Tommy’s crystal eyes immediately piercing your soul when you quickly reached for their privè. There was some sort of unsettling stravation sailing through his granitic irises, while he shamelessly stared at you, barely blinking his eyelids, and a cheeky grin peered out on his angular face. Breath unexpetedly shattered into your throat, your forearms rippled with evident goosebumps, as you truly began to see what that previous alarming reccomendation was about. Your heart grievously skipped a beat because of that abrupt scene mercilessly flashing before your tired eyes. A huge amount of air was forcefully shoved down your pharynx in a miserable effort to put to rest any of your conflicting emotions, yet you didn’t seem able to abort your detrimental thoughts; once more, your restless glare fell on the wooden pendulum clock pinned to the wall in front of your queen size bed. “Oh my God, what happened?” Thomas watched your hexyl hand shake before your open mouth, an expression of pure horror mixed with shock virulently took over your soft features at the sight of bleeding abhorrent wounds mutilating his marble skin. “Let me in” That order dropped from his busted lips, but it sounded like nothing more than a feeble prayer, as he painfully cought up blood on your doormat. His stomach unusually clenched when he sensed your tiny arms carefully wrap around his torsum for the very first time, in order to support his weight, thus his head innately tilted in your direction, making your noses rub one another by accident, while his icy-blue eyes carved deep into yours. “You’re a fucking angel” He whispered at the end of his rope, already being in a state of partial unconsciousness, therefore it took only a few more instants for him to effectively faint in your warm embrace. That brief memory led Tommy to hastily lift his back, a crippling feeling of anxiety, along with deep overwhelming fear, came unbidden, having him struggle to inhale as much oxygen as possible, while he crawled towards the edge of the mattress, then sitting and propping both his elbows right above his knees; his left hand convulsely run through his face, like that simple gesture could’ve helped him get rid of those loathsome sensations devouring his guts from the inside. Bells rang again, another hour went by, time continued to unrelentingly slip between his fingers. “Just be rational for once!” Tommy ferociously shouted in your face, thick veins appallingly throbbing in his neck, blood traces invading his white orbs; as usual, he was plainly too despotic and hardheaded to let anyone around him make their own decisions. “I don’t see what the problem is, Thomas. You’ll find another bloody bartender, for God’s sake!” Soon afterwards your reply brusted out in another yell and your hands started franticly moving into the air, as you were strenuosly fighting for your sacrosanct right to finally leave Birmingham and move to Paris to begin a whole new life, putting all of that shit behind you. Yet, before your brain could process what was actually happening, you felt your back hardly clash with the cold brick wall, Tom’s mighty figure trapped yours forthwith, one of his fists vehemently grabbing a consistent strand of your hair, so to make your mouths collide in an unexpected tempestuous movement. “That’s my fucking problem” An atrocious knot cluttered up your gullet, forcing you to scarcely gasp for a fresh breath again, your velvet fingertips unwittingly went to brush your slightly wet lips, due to a lonely tear which had just tumbled from your full lashes. You could almost sense his touch on your fervent skin.

Faltering, you dragged yourself on your feet and your shoulders shriveled, for a cool draft brutally hit your quivering body; with heavy steps, you reached for your wedding dress armonically rested on a copper mannequin. Ivory tulle coursed amidst your fingers, while your blurred vision remained anxiously fixed on that wonderful piece of haut couture at the fathal stroke of the third hour of the morning. “You belong to me” That husky grunt lingered the soft skin of your naked chest, instantly followed by Tommy’s luscious kisses, his callous palms utterly enveloping your curves as your live flesh superbly engulfed every inch of his length and his hips kept diving into yours, miraculously giving life to an exquisite blend. He was revelling in the sight of your erotic beauty, he couldn’t just avert his thirsty glacial irises from your winsome shape now twitching with raw pleasure.

Those ruthless sequences of images irretrievably haunted his dark pupils, unfolding into his head over and over again. Thomas squeezed his eyelids nearly in physical pain, allowing himself to drown in his bittersweet memories: he was still perfectly able to feel your edges fill his hands, your voluptuous voice reawaken his numb ears, your mild thighs fondling his sharp pelvic bones. “Fuck!” All of a sudden, his hoarse tone clamorously reverberated in the room, brutally tearing apart the previous stillness, while Tommy berserkly stood up and, affected by a pernicious choler, he savagely ravaged every single thing in his path, until the floor was completely covered in shards and his breathing showed clear symptoms of hyperventilation. Everything was shot in pieces because of him, because of his pathetic selfishness and his shameless arrogance; you had loved him from your skin to your bones, never leaving his side, offering him a safe harbour from his private hell, stoking that cataclysmic fire, only to let it consume yourself with each passing day. He’d always been aware of that, in truth, he’d always felt the same about you, still, he had treated you like nothing more than one of his whores; afterall, it was just a matter of priority, and business was his one and only priority, obviously. So, when you had eventually presented him with a definitive choice, demanding to know what your strange affair truly meant to him, he had almost laughed in your face, deliberately making it clear that, whatever that thing was, it would’ve never become something more.

The thought that in the end you might have really left him didn’t even remotely cross his mind, not once; nevertheless, barely a year later, you were about to marry another man, and it was too late for him to fix all of his uncountable mistakes. ❝ There will be another’s hands on her skin, Tommy. He’s gonna hold her, he’s gonna take your place, and it was your fault, you wreck everything you touch ❞ That voice inside his brain continued to scream that obnoxious truth with no mercy, steadily driving him to madness, violently gouging dire tears from his hollow eyes. Intoxicating fury festered his already rotten blood, pushing him to throw several raging punches at the door, excruciating shrieks kept escaping his maw, until two deep dents ploughed it and his bleeding knuckles broke under the abnormal strain of his animalistic blows. Thomas surrendered to his agonizing sorrow, soon he let his empty corpse fall against the damaged wooden surface, his fractured fists henceforth laying along either side of his bust, while his growling voice didn’t seem to find peace, as it was still spilling from his lips into deafening cries alternated to beastly snarls and sporadic curses. Sure, Tommy Shelby had learnt far too soon what pain and darkness were, he had experienced death, loss, abandon, even the gory war itself, but never before that wretched day he had felt his soul disintegrate into his aching ribcage in such a diabolical, cruel, inhuman way.

tag list: @spidey-pal, @shadow-of-wonder, @shelby1baby, @peachlle, @livvtheangel, @myjbphase, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest, @vxxn128, @keithseabrook27, @spaghettirogers, @writingstudent

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thetriggeredhappy · 4 years

Note

61 for heavy and medic, pls??? 💙 -blu-

today we’re gonna play a fun game called “spot the starkid reference” ft some very domestic and sappy heavymedic content. (warning for passing mention of medic doing medic-y things)

#61. Hands On The Other Person’s Back, Fingertips Pressing Under Their Top, Drawing Gentle Circles Against That Small Strip Of Bare Skin That Make Them Break The Kiss With A Gasp.

“Doktor did not eat dinner,” Heavy observed, standing in the doorway of the infirmary. Medic didn’t even look up at him before he hummed dismissively, which made Heavy sigh.

Medic loved experimentation. Everyone on the team knew that. Absolutely every chance he got—every time Miss Pauling had a spare, fresh cadaver—he would spend his time going to town, experimenting with electricity or chemicals, with replacement organs, everything. What he didn’t love was the paperwork surrounding it, the amount of effort it took to get black market exotic animals or their organs—made easier through Mann Co. and their suppliers, many of whom were already just black market with additional bureaucracy, but that bureaucracy was frustrating and tedious—and the amount of notes that followed, writing down observations as quickly as he could remember them when he was finished so they wouldn’t be forgotten, then spending large spans of time trying to write them a second time in a more organized fashion so they would actually be useable.

Heavy wasn’t entirely sure what Medic was working on just then, the ordering or the revising, but he knew he’d missed dinner because of it, and that was a bad thing. He understood Medic missing a meal because he was getting his hands dirty, but the paperwork could very much wait.

He left the infirmary again, going and stacking some amount of the leftovers on a plate and wrapping a layer of plastic over it to keep it warm, taking a fork and spoon as well before walking back over. Medic hadn’t moved an inch when he got back, too laser-focused on his work.

Heavy set the fork and spoon down on the piece of paper Medic was writing on, which was enough to get him to look up, at least. Then he quickly shuffled the paper aside as Heavy put down the plate.

“Eat, Doktor,” he instructed gently.

Medic’s eyebrows furrowed. “Heavy, I am working,” he said, a little shortly.

“Is not important. Eating is important. Doktor will waste away at tiny desk,” Heavy replied, tone gentle.

Medic looked like he was going to argue more, but Heavy unwrapped the plate and presumably he smelled the food and realized how hungry he was, looking down at it with some amount of surprise.

Heavy pulled over the chair Medic kept nearby to sit down with him while he dug in. When they’d first arrived, it wasn’t actually big enough for Heavy to fit in correctly. But then one day it had been broken during some incident, and when Medic replaced it, he’d gotten one of a size that Heavy could comfortably use. Once he was sat down, he started speaking quietly, if haltingly, about everything that happened at dinner. An argument, a second argument, and a joke that Demo made at Spy’s mild expense was apparently very good but that Heavy didn’t quite understand.

“It is a pun, but Heavy is not sure for what,” he said when he recounted it.

Medic raised the back of his hand to his mouth for the sake of politeness until his mouth was clear, then spoke. “Well, Charlotte is a name, and the word charlatan sounds similar to it. It usually means, er... like a con artist. A more, er... more extravagant word to use for a liar or fraud. And often nicknames, especially in English, are just shortened to the first part. So the alias Spy had used was Charlotte, short for charlatan, ja?”

Heavy followed along, and laughed when understanding finally hit, loud and unabashed. Medic chuckled as well, returning to eating. “Thank you for explaining, Doktor. That is very good joke,” he said, extremely pleased.

“It’s a shame I missed it,” Medic agreed, taking a moment to ball up the plastic wrap and drop it into the trash can, putting the fork and spoon back on the plate to set aside. He looked aimlessly over his desks, apparently only just then noticing the wide spread of papers and not sure where he’d left off.

“Doktor has worked hard, should take break,” Heavy said, tone dropping down to something quieter.

“Out of the question,” Medic said shortly, managing to find his pen from within the piles of paper and searching for whichever paper he’d been working on. “There is too much that needs doing.”

Heavy took Medic’s wrist in one massive hand, and Medic didn’t startle so much as go alert, looking up at him. He kept his expression serious. “Should take break,” he repeated, more slowly, more firmly.

Medic deflated, even if he still didn’t speak for a little while. Hesitated. “Ten minutes, then I’m getting back to work,” he said.

Heavy smiled. “Good,” he agreed, and stood, guiding Medic to his feet and a half-step in, then promptly pulling him into a ginger embrace.

After a moment or two of returning it, Medic exhaled heavily. “All you are going to do is hug me?” he asked, tone pointed, and Heavy laughed, moving back to instead pull Medic up into a kiss.

Medic’s arms went around his waist. Heavy was a large man, and often in the past his lovers hadn’t quite been able to get their arms all the way around him. But Medic was no small man himself, and could generally at least lace his fingers together around Heavy’s back when they embraced, and could make it around his waist when they were kissing.

Long, lazy minutes were spent that way, exchanging gentle kisses, Medic humming happily between each of them. He felt his thoughts drifting, his breath starting to get away from him a little, and he was snapped back into reality when he suddenly felt Medic’s hands dip below the back of his shirt where it often rode up when he was leaned forward like this, starting to draw circles against his skin in terribly pleasant little motions.

He broke the kiss with a gasp, having not realized how deep it had gotten when he wasn’t paying attention. Medic was grinning, some part of it a bit sharp in a way that others sometimes found unsettling.

“Doktor,” Heavy said, and a shiver went up through his back when Medic’s motions widened rather than stopping. “Said ten minutes.”

“I know,” he replied lightly, the barest shade of defensive.

“Door is unlocked,” he said more pointedly.

Medic huffed, leaning up to nip at Heavy’s jaw in lieu of pouting. “If someone comes in here and doesn’t like what they find, that is their problem, not mine,” he said, the tiniest bit testy.

Heavy gave him a Look.

“Fine, then I’ll go lock it,” Medic said next, an edge of complaint starting to creep into view, but he was stopped when Heavy didn’t let go of him to let him move away.

“Doktor will complain at Heavy if he gets very much distracted,” he chided.

“When have I ever done that?” Medic asked, brows furrowing.

“This morning. Also morning before. Also during weekend, and weekend before that—“

“Ja, alright, fine, I get it,” Medic mumbled, leaning in to kiss at Heavy’s neck a few more times, then sighing. “Fine. At least just...”

Heavy waited for Medic to finish his sentence.

“At least sit with me,” he finally requested.

Heavy nodded without even really needing to think about it. “Heavy can do this,” he said easily.

“Vielen Dank,” he said, relaxing a bit.

Heavy dipped into Medic’s room briefly to get the book he’d left there, returning and pulling the chair even just slightly closer and sitting down to read. After a few minutes of Heavy and Medic’s reading and writing in silence respectively, Medic stretched a hand forward across the desk. Heavy reflexively closed the gap, lacing their fingers together on the tabletop. Turning pages became a bit of an issue, but that was alright. He would deal with a lot of inconveniences for his Doktor. Heavy loved him.

From the fact that Medic stopped writing several long moments before he stopped kneading little circles against the back of Heavy’s hand when he finally drifted off, falling asleep right there over his paperwork as he so often did, well, that was what told Heavy that Medic loved him too.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #heavymedic #shut up me #my fanfiction #real sappy established relationship? it's more likely than you think

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thewinedarksea · 4 years

Text

thief/assassin au pt 4

ft. (the mention of) handcuffs and a river. also liel’s flip-floppy emotions. mildly suggestive.

(part 1, part 2, part 3, part 3.5)

Sirens drifted through the air, faint from distance. There were at least five blocks between them and Liel but she walked faster nonetheless, gait casual as she strolled down the chill city streets.

A cold wind skittered after her, slicing through her thin shirt; she’d been counting on a getaway car to provide warmth, so she was clad only in a pair of leggings and a top made for attraction and not practicality, her toes frozen inside the thin leather of her boots. Another gust of wind and she curved her shoulders inwards, tightening her grip around the hot chocolate cup in her hands. Warmth bled through the cheap cardboard and into her fingers, a mild protection against the temperature. It was the only thing keeping her going.

Well. That, and the promise of getting revenge on Johann’s worthless hide ten times over. Liel was thinking a lifetime subscription to some truly awful porn mailing lists, maybe a stint in a minimum security prison depending on how long it took for her to get back to her hotel. Half a million in diamonds, ripe for the taking, and she’d had to abandon them all. Idiot kid. She didn’t know what street corner Emory had picked him off of, but he could damn well put him back.

She stepped off the street and onto a bridge, blending with the horde of pedestrians making their way across. And there, propped up against the railing, her long black coat whipping in the wind, stood Celine.

Despite the cold and the bustle of people flowing past her she looked unbothered, eyes on the river’s banks, just one of the many citizens taking a break from her everyday life to admire the view.

The sight of her sent a confusing tangle of emotions rushing through Liel: fear, always and ever-present, because she hadn’t survived ten odd years as a criminal without a healthy dose of being able to recognize a predator when she saw one, and wanting, too, sharp and immediate as a knife to the gut. More than both of those though was the annoyance, a matchstick flare that promised to ignite.

Liel should walk away. She should go back to her hotel, drink a staggering amount of wine, and sink into the suite’s luxurious tub until the water washed away all the frustrations and disappointments of the afternoon. She should. But Liel had just had two weeks of planning go up in smoke thanks to a jumpy kid and an early guard patrol, and all that irritation was just begging for an outlet. Celine would do nicely.

She tossed her cup into a nearby trash can and wandered over, propping herself up on the railing, so close her arm brushed Celine’s sleeve. The river below was a chaotic swirl of dark water, shiny bits of aluminum and old coffee cups caught tumbling in its hold. On its banks the sidewalks teemed with life, awash with shoppers catching up on last minute holiday gifts.

“I was going to complain about the cold, but I find I’m plenty warm just by being around you.”

Celine didn’t so much as glance at her, her eyes fixed on one of the cafes lining the waterway. Liel squinted, trying to make out what she was looking at, but saw nothing besides some red striped umbrellas and a few customers enjoying a meal in the freezing cold. Masochists.

“Because you’re from hell,” Liel elaborated. “Like a demon. Hellfire. It’s very amusing.”

A faint smirk touched Celine’s lips, but that was the extent of her reaction. No teasing, no clever remarks. Not even an acknowledgement that the last time they’d seen each other Celine had had her hands around Liel’s neck, before they’d shifted to other, less mentionable places.

The annoyance flared brighter the longer she ignored her. Liel wanted to draw a reaction, to claw some control from her perfect grip. Crack it, like she had the night of the party, Celine’s mouth on hers, gasping and half-breathless, teeth and tongue and sweet words that had spilled like a river from her lips.

Liel smiled up at her, batting her eyelashes in the way that normally made people fall all over themselves to give her what she wanted.

“What’s a girl have to do to get some attention around here?”

“Try coming back when I’m not working.”

Okay, see, that was just rude. Liel had been working every time they’d crossed paths, but that hadn’t stopped Celine from fucking her over or just fucking her, period. It was called a double standard, and Liel had no intention of letting it get in her way.

“Ooh, are you on a job?” She slid closer, pressing their sides flush together, and made a production of following Celine’s gaze back to the cafe. It didn’t take long for her to hone in on the trio sitting off to one side, their clothes worth far more than the cafe’s old facade warranted. The woman on the left was definitely packing a gun.

“A hundred dollars says it’s the one in pink.” A shot in the dark, but it landed, Celine’s expression going even more carefully still. Liel pressed the advantage. “I could make some phone calls. I’m sure the police would be very interested in knowing someone hired an assassin to go after Miss Dior and Co. over there.”

“And I could snap your neck right now and throw your body over the edge.” Celine’s voice was as cool and dangerous as ice. “But you wouldn’t make me do that, would you pet?”

The fear came back with a vengeance, her annoyance snuffed out beneath the douse of ice water sliding down her spine. It might have been a mistake antagonizing the girl who killed people for a living. A small, small mistake.

“That does sound unpleasant,” Liel said as lightly as she could manage. “My neck is much prettier when it’s in one piece. Tell you what, I’ll just come back when you’re not working.”

Celine’s hand lashed out, gloved fingers wrapping around Liel’s wrist as she moved to step away.

“Oh no,” she said softly. “You said you wanted attention.”

She was watching Liel now, cafe abandoned for more interesting prey. Her eyes slid over Liel’s body, noting the lack of a coat, the goosebumps littering the bare skin of her arms. Despite the chill Liel felt herself heat up, all too aware that the last time Celine had seen her it had been without a stitch of clothing. From the smug slant of her mouth she remembered it, too.

“Poor thing. You’re shivering.” She tugged Liel in front of her, her head against her shoulder. Celine was unfairly warm despite the weather, warmth bleeding from her in far more pleasant ways than the hot chocolate had managed. Damage control, Liel reassured herself as she snuggled closer, allowing herself to melt into the heat. She had to protect her pretty neck, after all.

“And here I thought we were getting along so much better,” Celine murmured. Her breath ghosted against Liel’s ear, lips brushing skin with every word. “Threats don’t suit you.”

“Everything suits me,” Liel informed the sky because, honestly, she didn’t have much more to lose. It stared back, a pale, dispassionate gray that put her in mind of a blade. “Also, I’m angry at you.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Celine’s voice echoed in her ear as she wrapped an arm around Liel’s middle, drawing her ever closer. “Why so upset, sweetling? I thought our evening together went very well.”

“You tied me to a bed.” Liel’s legs struggled to hold up beneath the assault of Celine’s pet names, the scent of her rose perfume curling around her, light as a kiss.

“I did,” Celine agreed. “But I seem to recall that you begged me to do it. Quite prettily, too.”

Liel flushed all the way down, cheeks burning red. Memories stirred, flickers of Celine’s mouth on her neck, between her legs, biting at the skin of her thighs. She’d worn the bruises she left for a week, and the memory of them a hell of a lot longer.

“You didn’t untie me,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. One of the hotel staff had found her and boy had that been a particularly humiliating conversation to have. She’d been lucky the maid had proven sympathetic to her tale of a prank gone wrong. Luckier still that Celine hadn’t been cruel enough to call the police.

She could sense Celine’s smirk where it rested against the side of her head. “Consider it your punishment.”

“For what?”

“You stole a drive from me when we first met.”

“That was three months ago!”

A few heads turned in their direction at Liel’s cry, glancing away when they saw the two of them entwined. Liel made an effort to squirm out of Celine’s grip, swearing at the lack of give. Pettiness was her deal. It looked way cuter on her.

With an exasperated noise Celine crowded her forward against the rail, bending Liel over until Celine’s chin rested on the top of her head, her body pinned between metal and flesh with no easy method of escape.

“Stay still,” Celine chided. Her grip tightened until Liel subsided, slumping back against her. “That job cost me a lot of money, to say nothing of what it did to my reputation. You’re lucky all I did was tie you up.”

And threaten to kill her, and actually try to kill her. The list went on.

“Can’t imagine how great your reputation is going to be if you get yourself caught throwing me off a bridge,” Liel muttered.

“Believe me, there are far more interesting things I would rather to do to you.”

That sounded promising. Interesting typically required alive, which was a step up from a watery grave. Liel wriggled even further back, pressing herself into Celine until any distance between them was eaten up.

“Elaborate on that?” she asked, sweet as she could manage.

Across the river Celine’s target stood. Her pink dress, terribly impractical for the weather, swirled around her legs as the wind blew again, a bright streak against the dull pavement. At the motion Celine straightened, stepping away from Liel as quickly as she’d grabbed her.

The frigid rush of air that crept into the space she left set Liel trembling all over again, colder now that she’d found protection and lost it.

“Business calls,” Celine said, composed once more. God Liel hated her. “You have my room key?”

And her bracelet, and half her credit cards. Liel hadn’t taken her gun, though, so honestly she should be heralded as a paragon of self-restraint. She didn’t bring that point up though.

“I’m still cold.” Scared and pissed off, too, but she doubted she would care about that.

Celine’s mouth twisted in amused exasperation, and then she stripped out of her coat, wrapping the garment around Liel’s shoulders like a shawl. The fabric was warm, the scent of her perfume clinging to the silky lining.

“Be a good girl and wait for me in my room.” She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Liel’s cheek. Her lipstick left behind a mark. “I’ll bring my handcuffs.”

“What if I say no?”

Celine paused in the middle of turning away, an eyebrow raising in mock surprise. “I thought you wanted me to elaborate. Although if you prefer the river, I will have to ask for my key back.”

When Liel made no move to hand it over she smiled, teeth gleaming sharp in the sunlight. “It’s the Royal Suite. Don’t bother with clothes.”

#this is So Old guys #holy shit it has been ages since i touched this stuff. like.#a year or something #two? idk what is time. but also it is almost 2k so! LOnger Stuff as promised #back w/ liel being the world's weakest gay bitch #also fun fact this is actually labeled pt 6 on my drive bc i wrote everything out of order #gtdp writing #gtdp #my writing #mine

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the-small-one-to-rule-them-all · 4 years

Text

How to Befriend a Dragon

summary: Virgil is a shapeshifter who can turn into a dragon. he is hurt, gets lost, and meets a nice witch who seems to want to help.

pairings: none, platonic moxiety

warnings: talk of abuse, mildly descriptive flashbacks, mild description of injury, blood mention, dissociation, mild description of a panic attack, crying, unsympathetic remus, please let me know if I missed anything

a/n: this is written is second person pov. It’s different, I know, but I felt it fit with the story and it happened rather naturally. I actually had a lot of fun writing it just with that technical aspect, but I also love the story. yes its hurt comfort, because i seem to be incapable of writing anything else lol. I hope you guys enjoy!

You have been running for so long. You realise you’re lost. Your legs ache. Your lungs burn. You just keep going, keep running, keep walking, keep stumbling. You slow after a while and your legs give out under you. You see a bush nearby and curl up underneath it, hoping against all hope that he won't find you again.

You wake up when someone almost steps on your sleeping body, “Oh, sorry I didn't see you there!”

You curl up further into yourself, hoping this man will leave you alone.

“Well lookie here!” He breathes, almost in awe. “Hello, I've never seen a dragon like you around here before. You must be a long way from home. All the cat-sized dragons i've seen are in the cities. Are you lost?”

You nod, wincing at the pain shooting down your back from the effort of lifting your head.

The man’s eyes grow wide, “Oh dear, you’re hurt! Oh that looks like it must hurt something awful! I have some healing supplies back in my cabin, why don't you come with me and let me help you?” he says reaching out to you.

You flinch and pull away from him. You try to hiss but nothing comes out... your voice is gone.

The man pulls his hand back with a confused look on his face before relaxing. “Wait, i'm sorry, i'm being rather insensitive aren’t I? You must be scared of me, you don't even know me. Have I even introduced myself? I don't think I have, how rude of me. I’m Patton. I'm a witch, i've been out gathering herbs all evening. I live just a few hundred yards that way. I have this garden where I grow all sorts of things. I have everything from carrots to violets. my favorites are the rosemary and-”

You listen to him talk on and on happily about the things he grows in his garden, the plants he keeps around his house, and his favorite flowers. By the time he stops talking you have relaxed a bit. This man feels safe.

“Oh, would you look at that, the sun is going down already. I have enough herbs for today so I'm going to go back to my cabin. Do you care to join me?”

You look at him hesitantly.

“You don't have to, but I didn't think you would want to spend the night out here hurt, what with the coyotes and all.”

At the mention of coyotes you shudder. You think about it for another minute and then stand and take a shaky step towards Patton, and another. And suddenly your legs give out under you and you land hard on the forest floor.

Patton rushes forward to you, “My golly, are you okay? Please, don't push yourself. Here, why don't you ride in my basket?”

You look from the man to the basket of herbs and nod, wherever he is taking you will be safer than the woods. If you can't even walk you might as well be somewhere a little more comfortable.

He smiles, “Okay.” He sets down his basket and opens it. “If I'm going to pick you up what would be the best way to do that?”

You gesture to your stomach with your head.

“Hands under you?”

You nod.

“Okay, I'll be as gentle as I can.” He slowly moves around beside you and wraps one hand under your chest and the other under your belly and gently lifts you into the basket, taking care to avoid pinching your wings.

You curl up in the basket, feeling safe in the nest-like space.

“You okay?”

You nod.

He smiles, “Great, let’s go.” He carefully picks up the basket and walks softly back to his cabin.

It is just as he had described, surrounded by a garden full of vegetables and fruits of all sorts, even some flowers and ivy cover the area close to his porch.

He opens the door and steps inside and as the warmth envelops you, you realise just how cold you had been. You sigh soundlessly as the warmth rejuvenates you and slowly you feel the ache leave your limbs.

“You are cold-blooded right?” Patton asks.

You nod, wriggling further into the blanket of herbs.

He chuckles, “I'm glad you’re comfy in there, but I'm going to make you a bed near the fireplace with some blankets and an ice-pack so you can regulate your temperature comfortably, alright?”

You smile and nod, maybe this guy is trying to help you after all.

Once again you wake up to Patton’s voice, but this time it’s a shriek.

“Oh my gosh who are you?! When did you get here and what did you do with my dragon friend?!”

You open your eyes and bolt your head up, only to realise it won't move much... you’re human again now. You must’ve shifted during the night. You pull the sheet around yourself tighter.

Patton is staring at you with wide eyes and what looks like a wand in his hand. “Where is my dragon friend?” He asks again.

You point at yourself, at your heart, hoping he understands.

He squints, “What do you mean? Why won’t you talk to me? Use words!”

You raise a hand to your neck and lift your head to show Patton the scar across it. Revealing the reason your vocal cords wont work, they haven’t healed properly. They might never.

Patton’s breath hitches, “Fine, no words then. But I still don't understand what you mean and I'm worried about my friend who was sleeping right where you are last night! If you hurt him you’ll regret it I promise you that!”

You blink long and slow at him, a sign you hope he will recognise as one of peace. Then you will yourself to shift, glowing as you turn back into a dragon.

When the light from your transformation fades Patton gasps and drops his wand, “You’re... a shifter?”

You nod slowly, curling into yourself. You hope he isn't angry and won't hold it against you for scaring him.

His eyes widen as the reality of the situation hits him. He has to know about the trafficking, you just hold onto the hope he won't sell you back to them.

“Did... did you escape?” He asks gently.

The question hangs heavy in the air. You don't answer, which is almost an answer itself. You know your old master will have put out a search for you and already gotten a new dragon to replace you in his service in case you died. He is probably planning on killing you when he gets you back anyway. You can't go back, you won't. You would rather die from coyotes than at his hands.

Patton kneels down, getting closer to your level, he looks a bit less threatening this way. “I won't take you back there if that’s what you’re worried about. I would never hurt you, would never let you get hurt like that. I promise.”

You look away. How could you trust a promise from a human, after everything? You can't tell him. You won't. He will send you back. He will send you to your death.

Patton sighs, “I... I'm sorry, that is a bit of a personal question, huh?”

You close your eyes and nod.

Patton frowns solemnly, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. But uh, whether you escaped or not, I would still like to help heal you, if you would let me.”

You stare at him skeptically. No human has ever been nice to you like this before. Have they offered you shelter and some food, sure. Given you a place to sleep the night in their barn, sure. Brought you into their house? Offered to heal you? Never. Never has a human touched you in a way that was gentle. Never has a human wanted to help you. Never has a human tried to heal you properly. No one, before him. How can you believe him?

You tilt your head, hoping your complete befuddlement and skepticism show through.

“Would you like to inspect my supplies before you decide?”

You shake your head. You don't want to know what kinds of torture devices this man may have. He can do whatever he wants with you. You don't want to know what he wants.

Patton frowns, “How about this? I have a cut on my leg that I got this morning while out gardening. Why don't you watch me tend to it for myself before you decide?”

You give a single nod and Patton hobbles off to get his supplies.

When he comes back, he has a larger collection of jars than you thought he might. Though considering he is a witch you realise you shouldn't be so surprised. He also has a basket with several kinds of things in it that you can't quite identify, though you see some cloth sticking out.

As Patton sets his supplies down, he settles himself against the side of the of his chairs with a pillow under him. He rolls up his pant leg and you see an open cut on the side of his leg, he hisses as the fabric sticks to it. Then he takes a damp cloth and dabs away the dried blood around it, wiping away the mess to see it better. Then he takes a dry cloth and dries the wound.

You tilt your head, intrigued as he grabs a jar and opens it. He scoops out a small amount and applies it to the cut, grunting at the first touch and wincing slightly as he rubs it along the length of the cut. Then he takes a piece of cloth from the basket and folds it a few times so it is the proper size to cover the area around the cut. He then opens several jars and applies several ointments and such to the cloth, before grabbing another strip from the basket. He places the folded piece against the cut and wraps it, securing the bandage section of the cloth in place.

When he finishes, he wipes his hands on a clean washcloth and turns to you, “See, no big deal. I won't do anything to you that I wouldn’t also do to myself.”

You blink at him a moment. Perhaps you can trust this man. If anything you would rather he tend to your wounds than someone at the trafficking center. So you nod.

“Would... would you be willing to change back into a human for me? I don't know how to properly secure bandages on dragons, and it gives me a bit more room to work with. If not that is okay and we can figure this out together.”

You blep in thought and notice Patton forcefully holding back what must be a squeal of delight.

You concede and hold the blanket close around your waist as you change back.

Patton smiles, “Thank you for trusting me.”

He hasn't even done anything yet.

“Do you want to scoot over here or should I come join you?”

You pat the space next to you and Patton nods, “Okay.”

In just a few moments he has all his items surrounding the two of you.

“Where would you like to start?”

You point to your neck. You much prefer he helps where you can watch him before you let him work on your back.

Patton nods and scoots closer grabbing a new wet cloth.

“Don't worry, it's warm.” he says as he reaches up and gently cleans your neck.

His hands are gentle and the cloth is soothing, it doesn’t even hurt, but you can't help it as your breathing quickens while he works. Just his proximity is enough to make you nervous, much less his actions.

Patton frowns as he notices the look on your face, “Is something wrong?” He asks.

You notice your mouth is pulled into a tight lipped line, your brows furrowed ever so slightly. You smile, a fake show of contentedness, and shake your head.

Patton frowns, “Does it hurt?” he asks.

You blink, and shake your head once more.

“Am... am I scaring you? Are you not ready? We don't have to do this.”

You shake your head. Maybe he is scaring you a little bit, but it isn't anything he could fix. And maybe you aren't ready but you would rather it be him than anyone else so you lie. You lie through your teeth without even speaking a word.

Patton sets down the towel and sighs. “You don't have to do this to appease me. From what I can tell, nothing looks infected so it is safe to wait until you’re ready. I don't want to push you.”

You shake your head, you want him to do it, heal you, get it over with. You just want some proof he won't actually hurt you but you can't help the fear. You realise you’re crying and you try to force the tears to stop but they only fall faster.

He reaches towards your face and you pull back. Then you realise he just wanted to wipe away your tears. You close your eyes and lean forward towards him, scared of what he will do, scared of proximity, scared of touch, but all you want right now is a hug.

Gently he whispers, “Can I wipe away your tears?”

You nod and gasp softly as you feel his hands on your face yet you lean into the touch. He runs a hand through your hair, holding the back of your head to hold you steady. “Shh, there you are. Let it out. It’s okay to cry.”

You let yourself go, the tears that had built up breaking free. All the panic in running away and the past few days, the fear of being caught, the pain, all the pain of everything, the hope that maybe this man won't hurt you, and the exhaustion of it all, they hit you all at once as you break down.

“Can I hug you?”

You pull the sheet tighter to yourself and shake your head. You’re far too scared to let that happen.

“Okay. I won't. I promise. Would you like something that feels like a hug but does not require the contact?”

You nod and he nods back, “Okay, I’ll get you my special blanket. Hold on, I will be right back, okay?”

You sniffle and nod, wondering what kind of special blanket this man has. Then he returns with the blanket, he drapes it around your shoulders. It’s heavy.

“It’s a weighted blanket. I have it to help me sleep, but I find it comforting in a lot of other situations too.”

You pull it closer and relax under it. I kinda does feel like a hug, it is very comforting at least. Slowly your tears stop but your breathing has yet to calm. You feel you can't control it and nearly started to cry again.

Patton catches your attention with a wave of his hand, “Hey, it's okay, breathe with me, okay?”

You blink in understanding as Patton starts to breathe slowly. You do your best to copy him but it ends up all hiccuped and shaky and it isn't working.

“Good job, let's do that again.”

Good job? I didn't do a good job, you think as you follow the pattern again. Every time you finish Patton encourages you and after a few repetitions you feel your breathing return to normal.

Patton smiles, “There we are, do you feel any better now?”

You nod and manage to give Patton a small smile.

Patton beams back at you. “I'm glad. Now I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Why don't I go make us breakfast?”

You pull at the sheet, if you’re staying you would really like to have some clothes to wear.

“Oh! Of course. Why don't I get you some proper clothes! I should have some things in your size, you look just a size down from me.” Patton jumps up and you hear him rustling around in the other room. You think this might just end up okay. Maybe he won't hurt you or turn you in after all.

A few weeks later, after you’ve been living here with Patton for a while, you decide your ready to have him heal you. So, sou gather the supplies and set them on the table in the kitchen, and sit next to them, waiting for Patton to come in from the garden.

Sure enough, about two minutes later he comes through the door. When he sees you with the supplies he smiles, “You ready now?”

You nod.

He joins you at the table after washing his hands, “It looks like you got everything we should need. I'm impressed. Is there a certain place you would like to start?”

You once again gesture to your throat

“Okay,” Patton says grabbing some supplies.

You reach over and tug on his sleeve

“Yes, kiddo?”

You point to his wand and back to your throat, hoping he understands.

After a pause he sighs, “You're asking me to use magic to heal your throat?”

You nod.

Patton sets down the supplies he had grabbed, “Oh, kiddo, I wish I could. I... throats are complicated and it’s so easy to mess up. I don't want to hurt you more.”

You feel your demeanor drop as you realise what he is saying.

“I'm so sorry, I just really don't want to hurt you.”

You sigh and nod. You understand.

“Do... do you still want to do this?” Patton asks, gesturing to the supplies on the table.

You nod enthusiastically.

“Okay. I'm glad.” Patton continues to take things out and arrange them for a minute before turning back to you. “So, throat first?”

You nod, lifting your chin so he has easy access.

Patton gently lifts a warm washcloth, “I know you’ve washed yourself but there’s no harm in taking precautions, right?”

You smile and resist the urge to flinch as the warm cloth touches your skin. You close your eyes as he works, it actually is rather relaxing. He then proceeds to pat the skin dry.

“Your neck is actually healing quite nicely, I don't think it needs any ointments or anything.”

You bring your head back down and nod.

“So what should I work on next?”

You turn around and remove your shirt, exposing your back to Patton.

You hear the man’s sharp intake of breath as he takes in the sight of it. You hunch over, holding your knees and wait for him to start.

“You have some nasty cuts here. I’ll tend to those first, then I have some bruise cream which should help with the swelling and calm some of the pain, okay?”

You nod, you didn't even know bruise cream existed, but considering he is a witch it isn't all that surprising.

“I'm going to lay a hand on your right shoulder to give myself balance as I work, is that okay with you?”

You nod again and let your mind drift away from your body as he speaks.

“If you want or need me to stop please tap my hand twice, okay?”

You tap his hand once in understanding and he smiles, “Okay. I'm going to work on the cuts now.”

You feel so floaty that at first you barely register the warmth of the washcloth. But the sting of the antiseptic hits you hard and it brings you back so fast it makes your head spin. You let a gasp slip through your teeth and cringe at the sound of it.

Immediately Patton stops what he is doing, “Are you okay?”

You tap his hand once.

“Does it sting?”

You nod.

Patton humms, “Okay. Thank you for letting me know. I’m sorry it hurts, but it stings because the cut has dirt in it and the ointment is cleaning it out. I'm going to need to keep cleaning it, okay?”

You nod and let yourself float away again, this time the sting fades a little as Patton works. You do not let yourself make another sound.

Patton frowns as he finishes cleaning the wounds and sets down the cloth, “Kiddo?”

You tap his hand once again.

“Thank you for letting me finish, but just so you know, you’re allowed to make noises if it hurts, I'm not going to be mad. I'm not saying you have to, but if you need to, you don't have to hold them in.”

Your mind races. I'm allowed to make noises? That goes against everything master has always wanted from me. This has to be a trap. Does Patton just want an excuse to hurt me? Why would he do that to me while healing me? You cannot wrap your head around what Patton is saying, so you just ignore it and tap his hand again.

“Okay Kiddo. I'm going to apply some ointments now. They will help with healing and reduce pain, but applying them does hurt a bit. Are you okay with that or would you rather I just apply bandages and bruise cream?”

You tap his hand once. He might as well apply them, it can't hurt that bad.

“Are you sure? You already seem a bit tense and I don't want to push you. The ointments aren’t strictly necessary.”

You freeze, you don't know the right choice. What does he want me to choose? What will he do if I choose wrong? Will he throw me out? What is going to happen?

Patton notices your pause and rubs his thumb soothingly over your shoulder.

You jump into position, head up, eyes unfocused. You wait for instructions, for pain, for anything.

Patton quickly pulls his hand from your shoulder and slowly comes around to face you.

“Kiddo?” he says hesitantly, “Hey, kiddo, would you look at me? Can you do that?”

He watches as you turn unfocused eyes to him.

He reaches up and gently takes your hand and suddenly the world is clear again. What just happened? Where am I? Why is he not hurting me? What... oh. Oh no! He must hate me now. I'm so broken.

Patton watches as you come back down to earth, panic hitting you, then shame as you drop your head to your knees. You can't believe that just happened.

Patton makes a small noise as he notices your return to reality, “How about we take a break, hmm. I’ll bandage you up and we can rest on the couch, or you can go wander in the garden. I’ll make you tea if you like.”

You shrug.

“Okay. Well I'll let you think about what you would like while I bandage you up. Then you can use the pad of paper I set out to tell me what you would like, how’s that?”

You shrug again and Patton sighs, moving around you to sit so he can bandage you up.

While he works, your brain wanders. He asked what you want to do. You’ve learned that that is a dangerous question. I don't know what I want. I haven't wanted anything in awhile. How do I know I won’t want the wrong thing? Thoughts plague your mind, but you make yourself focus on the feeling of Patton bandaging your back and they slow. as they do, you realise you don't feel like moving at all, and a warm drink makes that more comfortable. So you decide that’s what you’ll say you want.

When Patton finishes you put your shirt back on and he cleans up, sliding you the pad of paper for when you decide.

You write down your response and show it to him when he comes back.

“Relaxing on the couch with tea sounds wonderful, any particular kind you want?”

You shake your head, you barely know what flavors of tea he has.

“Okay, would you like something sweet or earthy?”

“Sweet.” you write.

“Okay, why don't you go relax on the couch, grab a blanket if you are cold, and i’ll make the tea while you wait.”

You nod numbly and go lay on the couch, blanket pulled over your legs, pad of paper in your hands. You have so many thoughts and you can't help but want to write them down, even if no one ever sees them.

You write stream-of-consciousness style while you wait, just to get your thoughts all in a place you can see. Looking it over you realise there is a sentiment that keeps repeating itself, “Patton doesn't want to hurt me, I don't know why, but he doesn't want to hurt me.” You think over the events of the past weeks fondly and realise that maybe... maybe you can trust Patton not to physically harm you. He has had plenty of chances, more than you can count, and he hasn't hurt you once. You cannot be certain, but you decide to let yourself entertain the hope, and that is almost better.

About a month or so later, you two have formed a really good communication system. He is pretty good at understanding your facial expressions and gestures, and you have started keeping notebooks and pencils all around the house for when you feel like having an actual conversation. You have actually had some really good conversations together. You told him your name a few days ago. He gently tore the paper off the pad when it was used up and asked to keep it. You smiled, you wouldnt stop him.

Today, you wake up in your room to hear several voices coming from the living room. It is typical for you to wake up to the sound of Patton singing or humming, or even talking to himself as he makes breakfast. This is different. There are two more voices coming from the living room other than Patton. You feel your heart pounding in your chest. Patton finally did bring in people from the trade center. He isn't going to keep me after all. He was only helping nurse me back to health so he could get more gold from the traders. He betrayed me just like everyone else. You rush to get dressed and ready before you crack the door open and peek out at the guests.

They don't seem like the people from other centers that you have met before, they are dressed in brighter colors and one of them had a walking stick or staff with them. The other seems rather cheerful and animated, a stark contrast to the gruff, quiet, unreadable people you have seen at the center before.

They seem to be chatting easily with Patton about his garden and crops and you can't help but wonder if this is just what Patton does. If he goes around finding different dragons and helping to nurse them back to health... before turning them in. You shudder at the thought and it nearly makes you cry on the spot. Have you been expecting something like this? Yes. But that doesn’t make the betrayal hurt any less. You had almost believed Patton wouldnt turn you in. You don't want to believe what you see in front of you, but you can't deny reality.

You close the door and sit on your bed head in your hands. You have nothing to take with you, not that you could bring anything with you anyway. You just sit there, barely holding back tears until Patton opens the door a few minutes later.

“Hey Kiddo, I have some surprise guests! My friends are visiting from out of town and- oh Virgil, what’s wrong?” Patton asks closing the door behind him and grabbing the notepad and pencil off your bedside table.

You take the paper and pencil from him as the tears start to fall. And you write.

“I don't want to go back. I didn't think you would turn me in. I thought you were different.” You hand him the paper and you wait, ready for the rejection and holding back your tears as much as you can so the traffickers outside can't hear.

Patton takes your shaking hand in his, “Oh, Virgil no. No no no no no no no! You misunderstand. Those aren't people from the trafficking center. They are my close friends from out of town. I'm not turning you in. I would never! Why would I?”

You shrug, you cannot gather the courage to meet his eyes.

Patton seems disappointed, “I would never. I... I thought you might trust me more than that.”

You take the pad back from him, “Want to. Didn't want to think you would. Can’t afford to believe you would help me for no reason. I need to be prepared.” You write.

“Prepared for what? Me turning you in?”

You nod solemnly, your breath hiccupping.

Patton sniffs and you look up, shocked to see him crying. “Virgil, I...” He sighs, “I know it must be hard to believe i'd be nice to you after everything. I have no idea what you’ve been through, but I thought maybe you would... maybe it was enough.”

“I want to believe you. Want you to care about me.”

Patton doesn't even attempt to hide his tears, “Oh kiddo, I do! I do care! I care about you so much. I would never want to see you hurt! Please believe me V. I care.... I mean, you... you’ve seen me crying over killing spiders even though I hate them. I don't hate you, how much more would I hate myself if I hurt you?”

You sniffle and go to write once more, “I.. I guess that makes sense.”

“Please Virgil, believe me when I say I'm never turning you in.”

“I... I think I'm starting to believe you,”

Patton smiles wide, “Can I hug you, V?”

You nod and wrap your arms around Patton, the two of you cry, not caring about your tears, resting in each other’s presence.

When finally you both calm down Patton squeezes you tight and asks, “Would you like to meet my friends now?”

You nod but you don't let go for a few more seconds.

When you pull away you realise how much of a mess you both are, but you don't really care. If these people are friends of Patton then maybe you won't have to worry about looking your best around them.

There is a faint knock at the door, “Hey Padre, are you okay in there?”

Patton stands and opens the door, wiping the tears from his eyes, “Yeah, just a bit of a misunderstanding. You see, we weren't expecting company and well... it’s no big deal, it’s all straightened out now.”

You freeze. Standing there, on the other side of the door, in front of you... in front of Patton... it’s Him! Patton said they weren't from the center! Why would he lie?

You scramble into the corner, clutching the pad of paper desperately.

The man sees you and his eyes widen, “Uh, are you sure? Is your friend okay?”

Patton turns around to see you curled up in the corner at the head of your bed crying and shaking your head.

“Virgil...?” Patton steps in cautiously

The “friend” steps in behind Patton and you let out a soundless scream and throw a pillow at him which he dodges before leaving and shutting the door. You immediately regret throwing the pillow. He is going to punish me now. I shouldn’t have thrown that. I should’ve gone peacefully. Now he will kill me for sure! I don't want to die! I should never have stayed here, I should’ve run away as soon as I could.

Patton slowly approaches you, a look of confusion on his face. “Why’d you do that? What is wrong, Virgil?”

He doesn’t seem angry? You don't understand, but you figure you might as well explain. So you tear off the top page and begin a new one, scribbling furiously as the pencil smudges with tears.

“I thought you said you wouldn't send me back! Why would you lie?” You shove the paper in Patton’s direction.

He reads it, confusion never leaving his face. He hands it back to you, “I.. I'm not sending you back Virgil. I didn't lie to you. I don't understand what’s wrong.”

“You invited Master here! That's my Master! He hurt me! I don't understand! You said you wouldn’t... I thought... you said! Please don't let him kill me. I don't want to die” You run out of words as your thoughts scramble and you turn the paper towards Patton.

As he reads Patton’s face turns sad, an understanding crosses his face, and a pity.

“Oh... kiddo, that’s not... that’s not the man that hurt you. That horrible man, his name is Remus. Outside the door is his twin brother, my friend, Roman. They aren’t anything alike. He would never hurt you.”

“I don't believe you. That is him. He is going to kill me.”

“No one is going to lay a hand on you Virgil. I swear it. What can I do to convince you? Would talking to him help?” Patton asks gently.

You curl up tighter into a ball, “Don't wanna talk to him. Crying is disrespectful. He’ll hurt me.”

“I understand that was a rule you used to have, but that isn't a rule here. You will never be punished for showing emotion. And I promise you, Roman won't hurt you. Would I let anyone hurt you?” Patton asks, a little sterner this time.

You shake your head, “I still don't trust him.”

Patton nods, “That’s okay. I'm not asking you to. I'm asking if you trust me?”

You nod.

“Then please, talk to him, let him explain.”

“Don't leave me alone with him! Please!”

patton shakes his head, “I won't, I wouldn’t do that to you. Would it be okay if he stays at the doorway and I stay in here with you.”

You nod, against your better judgement.

“Okay. Thank you for trusting me. I’ll go let him know the situation and make sure he knows your boundaries and then I will be right back.” Patton gets up and steps outside the door, closing it behind him. You hear him talking with the man there. Roman sounds sad but you are hesitant to believe anything the man says.

Patton comes back in and sits on the bed between you and Roman.

The man leans against the doorframe. “Hello, Virgil, is it?”

You nod.

Roman sighs, “First things first, I just want to tell you, I'm sorry. I must've terrified you just showing up like that and I'm so sorry for scaring you. I wish we were meeting each other under different circumstances, but let me introduce myself.” He bows to you before speaking again, “I’m Roman. I am not my brother, I promise you. I... I know my brother is a terrible person. I know what he does to people like you and I wish there were enough words in the English language for me to explain how sorry I am that you had to endure... him. I'm so so so tremendously sorry he hurt you like that.”

You stare at him, “That doesn’t sound like master. He doesn’t have the same mustache as master. Is this a trick? Could he really be someone else?”

Roman shakes his head, looking away, “I wish there was something I could say but I, I know nothing I say is going to make it better. Just... please, know i'm not like him. I would never lay a hand on you. I swear it on my life, on the life of my mother and my father. I swear on all that I hold dear that I would never hurt a hair on your head.”

This man is not acting like your old master. Maybe he is a different person. You write a response and show your words to Patton.

“How can I know for sure that you wont hurt me?” Patton reads for you.

Roman chuckles wryly, “Well, first off Patton would kill me if I ever even thought about it, but on a more serious note... let me show you something.”

Patton looks shocked, “Roman you don't have-”

Roman smiles sadly at him, “I want to do this, Padre. He deserves to know.”

Roman turns around and grabs the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up to expose his back. Your eyes widen as you take in the scars peppered across the skin, most noticeably, the brand on the lower right corner of his back... one that perfectly matches your own.

After a moment Roman speaks, though his voice shakes, “My brother was horrible to me. I know what you went through... because I went through it too. If you wanted anything that could promise my pacifism, let it be the knowledge that I have endured what you have and wish it to never befall anyone else, not even my worst enemies.”

Your hand goes to your own brand as you realise what all this means. Memories of Remus mentioning his brother flood back to you and you fight to ward off a panic attack as everything falls into place.

Roman lowers his shirt and turns around. Finally, you look at him without fear. This man would never hurt you. He doesn't even ask if you believe him, he just slowly steps forward, watching closely for a reaction.

You let him sit across from you on the head of the bed and take your hands. He kisses each hand and looks you in the eyes with confidence and sincerity, “He is never going to hurt you again. I promise.”

You try to hold back the tears, but it doesn’t last and you break down crying. He pulls you in close, hugging you tightly. You calm relatively soon and pull away only to see Patton crying just a few feet away.

You reach out to him and he takes your hand, “I’m okay. I will be okay.”

The three of you take a moment to collect yourselves before Roman clears his throat, “Uh, I believe there is still one more friend to meet.” he prompts.

Patton startles, “Of course, you should come meet Logan. He would love to meet you!”

#hobbit writes #shapeshifter!virgil #witch!patton #platonic moxiety #its written in 2nd person #mild injury #crying #reference to abuse #patton is so nice #i dont know how to tag this sorry #i hope you like it #please reblog if you do #unsympathetic remus

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