#i think the first scene that made me feel queasy was the “it's not curse that befalls you dean it's faith” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adorerdraco · 4 years

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Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 3

PART 1

PART 2

Summary: PART 3 ! of Draco accidentally falling in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP) and finally allowing the relationship to blossom!

Warnings: just the tiniest bit of angst, crying (ofc), Draco sad for a little :(

Words: 7.3K (THIS IS SO LONG OMG BUT MEMORIES IN ITALICS)

A/N: PART THREEEE !!! I think this is my favorite piece of writing in this series and the LONGEST. I know series start losing an audience after the first part but I hope that those who have been following this enjoy this one as much as I do ! I went off the HBP script bc i wanted Draco to live it up and be happy and playful ! also i do not own gif.

The sky was a darkening orange, the sun casting its last glowing light of the day as it quickly began to disappear behind the Hogwarts castle. Small birds and other flying creatures passed overhead, going towards their homes in the trees before nightfall, chirping and singing as they did. The sound of wind rustling through leaves from trees and overgrown plants brought a peace in the air between the couple.

Draco turned his head to the side, a soft smile forming on his lips as he observed you. The both of you were on your backs lying on a spot of grass under a small tree, a different tree than the one the two of you had your fall out by a few months prior, requested by you. Draco thought back to a couple weeks ago when you and him had been walking around the outskirts of the school and you had seen it in the distance.

“That tree is cursed,” you muttered bitterly, eyeing it behind Draco’s head. He turned back to look at it and grimaced.

“I’m still terribly sorry about that, love,” he slipped his hand into yours, bringing the pairing up to his lips and gently placing a kiss on your skin. “We’ll find a new spot.”

“Effective immediately,” you nodded in agreement. “Plus, my friends dared me to climb it last year and I fell off and broke my arm and leg. I hate that tree.”

“Arm and leg?!” He stared at you in disbelief, “Merlin’s sake, Y/N, it’s shocking how clumsy you are.”

“You should be glad I’m clumsy,” you retorted, “you wouldn’t have been graced with my presence now if it wasn’t for me tripping into you.”

“I suppose that’s true,” he smiled, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you into his side before pressing a kiss to your temple. “Who would’ve thought that I’d be a fool for the klutz who sprained my finger and busted my lip on two separate occasions before we’ve properly met.”

“On accident!” You exclaimed horrified, stifling a laugh as he did the same.

Your eyes were closed, peacefully allowing yourself to fully bask in the sunlight that was kissing your skin in its golden hues and warmth. Draco turned onto his side, propping himself up with his elbow so he could admire you better. The longer he looked at you, he felt a shiver run down his spine and a foreign queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach appear that he could only describe as tons of tiny blue cornish pixies wreaking havoc on his insides. In simpler terms, butterflies.

“Are you staring at me again, Malfoy?” You hummed quietly, your eyes still closed as you questioned him.

“No, why would I?” He answered with a playful arrogance, the grin on his face widening as your eyebrows furrowed at his answer.

“You’re rude,” you mutter, trying to fight back a smile. “I think I remember you doing the same thing earlier and telling me, and I quote, ‘I can’t believe someone so beautiful is real,’ end quote,” you tried mocking his haughty accent as you quoted him which only earned you a laugh from Draco.

“That sounds nothing like me, you must have me confused with some other poor bloke,” he snickered, a laugh leaving his mouth immediately after.

Your hand came up and playfully slapped his chest, a smile finally breaking onto your features. “I love hearing you laugh. It makes me happy.”

He slowly leaned over, his face hovering over yours before he leaned down even lower and gently pressed small kisses onto your still closed eyelids, your nose, your forehead and then finally your lips. Your face scrunched after every kiss, except for the last one which you happily returned.

“You make me happy, I have you to thank for the laughs,” he said quietly, his hand reaching up to smooth back the flyaway hairs on your face, “and for several other things. I don’t think I could ever thank you enough.”

You finally open your eyes, peering up at him with a loving gaze. It honestly felt like you had opened your eyes in heaven and an angel was leaning over you, greeting you at the gates of paradise, that angel being the platinum blond boy, his warm gray eyes staring back at you with the same look you had in yours. It was a sight to behold, behind Draco, the sun had gone down, leaving a haze of purple clouds and a pinkish sky, the leaves from the tree above swaying gently in the cooling breeze of dusk. As breathtaking as the scene was, Draco outshines it.

He looked so much more different than he did a little over a month ago, the day he had almost had his meeting with death. His skin had regained some color, he was still pale, but the pink undertones he always used to have had returned. His eyes were a lighter gray, almost a sky blue as they now held a warmth he had been so evidently missing. The bags under his eyes were still there, but not as deep or as dark as they had been before.

A smile reappeared on your face, your palm finding its way to his cheek and resting it there. He leaned into the tender touch, his eyes fluttering closed as he enjoyed the feeling. It felt like a movie, or a book, or a dream, your heart was doing happy flips in your chest as you tried to rationalize how in the world you were in this current position. It was bliss.

“I can’t believe someone so beautiful is real,” you murmur, stealing the compliment he had used on you earlier in the day. Your palm moved up towards his hair, letting your fingers rake through his hair as he smiled.

“Hey, that was my line,” he mumbled.

“No, I got it from some other poor bloke,” you laugh, dropping your hand from his hair. He leaned away from you and lied back down on the grass, an exaggerated sigh leaving his lips as he closed his eyes.

“He sounds dodgy, you should probably stay away from him.”

You rolled over on your stomach and onto Draco’s side, your head falling over his chest as his arm underneath you came up to rest on your lower back. You looked up at him, straining your neck so that your lips could meet his. He lifted his head up slightly, meeting you halfway. Like every time you kissed him, the world around you stopped and it was like every single good thing in the world came together in that one moment. You could always feel the love in his kisses, wordlessly letting you know how much he adored you and cared for you. Just as he could tell the same with yours.

You pulled away, opening your eyes to see his slowly flutter open. Both of you holding that same dazed and dopey in love look that was there every time your lips left his.

“I could never stay away from him.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Draco let out an irritated huff, marching his way down to the dungeons with his robe billowing around his legs with purpose, similar to how the long and greasy raven haired professor’s often flailed about.

Speaking of said professor, Draco was headed towards Snape’s office after receiving word from one of his Slytherin friends that their Head of House had requested him. The idea of talking to Snape right now made him feel dizzy, knowing full and well he was going to be reminded of his painful duties and be ripped out of the short-lived paradise he has been living in recently.

He didn’t want to leave his bliss, at all. He even neglected mending the vanishing cabinet for a while just so he could put all his attention and efforts on you, something he found to be much more important and rewarding. The plans for Dumbledore, especially, strayed even further from his mind as if they didn’t even exist to him at all.

When he reached the office, the door was already open and he saw Snape standing over his desk, looking down at some papers he had scattered over the old battered wooden surface.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape acknowledged lowly, not looking up from the papers, “close the door behind you and have a seat.”

Draco walked in slowly, taking in a deep breath and did as he was told, shutting the heavy wooden door once he forced himself to go inside. He made his way over to one of the empty chairs near the desk and begrudgingly sat down, letting out quietly the shaky breath of air he was holding in. This was the last place he wanted to be.

“Tell me, Draco,” the Professor finally looked up from his papers to give Draco a pointed look, “how is the vanishing cabinet coming along?”

“Fine.”

“Is that so?” He drawled out accusingly, taking short and careful steps around the desk. “Would you say it is able to transport individuals successfully?”

“I haven’t quite gotten it there yet, Professor,” Draco answered weakly, letting his eyes wander around the room and looking at all the different jars lined up against the walls just so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact.

“With that information, it appears to me then, that it is not fine.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Hardly,” Snape sneers, stepping even closer to the chair the cowering boy was sitting in. “Do you think me a fool, Draco? Do you think that I do not know what you have been doing with all of your time? I see that look in your eyes, you’re in love, and stupidly so.”

Draco fearfully looked up at him, seeing a rage beginning to build up in the black of his professor’s eyes. He stayed silent, the sound of his heart rapidly thumping against his chest was the only thing he could hear. It felt as if he were going to explode with panic.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Professor,” Draco lied through his teeth, locking eyes with the man as he stared him down.

Before he could blink, Snape had taken one long stride towards him, placing both hands on either side of the arms of the chair, Draco immediately leaning as far back as he could as his big-nosed teacher got in his face.

“Don’t lie to me, boy!” He snarled, “I know what love looks like.”

Draco was breathing hard now, his chest rising and falling painfully as his heart began to beat impossibly faster.

“This is no time for fun and games, especially for love,” he grabbed Draco’s left arm, forcefully rolling up his sleeve and flashing the skin upwards towards the blond’s face, “I’m afraid all of that ended the moment you had taken this mark.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” he cried, the Dark Mark was staring angrily at him and he twisted his arm out of the hard grasp it was in, rapidly pushing his sleeve down again so he wouldn’t have to look at it any longer.

“You don’t have a choice!” Snape stepped away from him and looked down at the boy who was quickly breaking down before him. “Your fate and that of your parents, is on the line. Eventually, it will be Miss Y/L/N’s fate in that position as well. There is only so much I can do to help you, Draco. Remind yourself that the Dark Lord doesn’t tolerate or take kindly to any sort of foolery.”

Draco shook violently with tears and anger, his head falling into his hands as all his realities began to hit him all at once. This is exactly the pain he was trying to avoid. He knew he would have to face it again eventually, but not this soon. He figured he would have more time with you. More time to live in the fantasy that left him feeling so euphoric when he got to his dorm at night after a long day of classes with you filling up the spaces in between. He wished he had more time to enjoy his love, the love that was so beautiful and light, so effortless. He wished he had more time to be happy.

Now here he was, stuck on a path he couldn’t change or control. A path that was forced upon him and had no choice or decision he could make. He often wonders what his life would be like now, if the Dark Lord never came back, his father never went to Azkaban, he never quit quidditch, his mind never tainted in evil plans for murder and destruction. He often imagines that life. He imagines you, waiting for him after a quidditch game, cheeks rosy from the frosty wind that whipped around the stands, smiling up at him so beautifully as he proudly took you into his arms after he caught the Golden Snitch and won Slytherin the Quidditch cup. He would be going to an after party at the common room, everyone praising him and his skills and being jealous of him and the girl on his arm.

He didn’t see it, but Snape gave him a small empathetic look, remembering his own pain and loss at the hands of Voldermort.

“I suggest for you to shift your focus to the more important matters at hand, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape says in a low voice. “You may leave.”

Draco roughly wiped away his tears before he jumped up from the chair and rushed towards the door, pushing it open with his body as he nearly ran out of the dungeons and up towards the Great Hall where dinner was being served.

Once he entered the hall, his eyes searched for you at your house table, knowing you’d be there with your friends. His eyes scanned up and down the rows a good two times before he finally saw you, throwing your head back in laughter as everyone talked. The pure joy on your face made him feel the tiniest bit lighter and his breathing a fraction easier.

Your friend noticed him first, tapping your arm vigorously as she pointed in his direction. You turned, your eyes meeting his frazzled ones and you frowned when you realized he had been crying. You threw your napkin down onto the table, hastily slipping out of your seat as you took quick long strides over to him. When you got to him, you slipped your hand into his and walked the two of you out of the hall in a hurry and headed into an empty corridor.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice laced and dripping with worry and concern as your hands reached up to cup his face. “Are you okay?”

Draco let the tears fall again, crying even harder at the your question. He was not okay and soon, neither were you going to be. On his way to you, he made a decision to do something. It was dumb and reckless, but in his mind, he knew it had to be said and done. If there was any sliver of a chance in the future where the two of you lived somewhere near happily ever after, he knew he couldn’t get there if he kept lying to you.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” he croaked out, “and you’re not going to like it.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The silence surrounding the top of the astronomy tower was thick and dreadful. The faint moonlight above Hogwarts had cast ghostly shadows onto your faces and illuminated the grimaces you both shared. A cold and bitter wind passed through, picking at and numbing the exposed skin that neither of you cared to acknowledge. You sat on the floor across from him, an empty look filled with tears pooling in your wide eyes. He had told you everything. He pleaded for you to say something, to react, but you couldn’t. You just sat there, frozen and mumbling an almost incoherent ‘I need to think.’

Out of all the things you expected him to tell you, this was not one of them.

It all finally made sense to you. The broken down and erratic state he has been in for months on end was for a very obvious reason now. It was hard for you to grasp at first, wondering how he could ever agree to be a part of something that was so dark and evil. Your mind temporarily mourned the boy, feeling as though that it was over for you two. But the longer you thought, the more it became clear to you that this was in fact, not his choice. It was the first thing he even said to you before he told you about his status as a Death Eater and all the dreadful things he has to accomplish.

And as you stared deeply into his pained eyes, you knew it was true. The Draco you had fallen in love with and are still just as in love with, was the same one sitting before you. Sharing something with you that could potentially jeopardize his life, his family’s life and everything else for the worst. He had trusted you with his darkest and most deepest secret. And it took you less than five minutes to process it all, your final thoughts coming together calmly and without hesitation.

“This doesn’t change anything for me,” you say finally, scooting yourself closer to him and taking his hands in yours. “I still love you all the same.”

A breath of relief left his lips, a sharp and painful ache in his heart suddenly easing drastically the second he heard your words. It was the same relief someone feels when waking up from a nightmare or just bad dream in general, a tranquility settling in that none of it was real and you can let your mind relax.

“But you must see me differently now then?” he then asked with a frown, his relief leaving his body again as his mind hit him with all sorts of pessimistic thoughts and ideas. “I’m not as good as you thought me to be.”

“I do see you differently,” you placed a finger under his chin, gently moving his face so that he could look in your eyes and you noticed the hurt that flashed in his storming gray’s. “I see now that you’re so brave, and so strong. I think it takes a lot of courage to be in your situation and not lose yourself completely. The weight of the world is on your shoulders, but you’re still you and you should be proud of that. You are just as good as I thought you to be.”

He blinked back the tears that had gathered and pricked at his eyes, his hand reaching up gently onto the back of your head as he leaned forward so that now your foreheads were resting against each other.

“You really are the best thing that has ever happened to me, you know that?” He states quietly. He placed a kiss on the space between your eyebrows, letting his lips linger intimately as the two of you relished in the feeling of being so close to one another, mind and body. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you repeated affectionately.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Weeks had gone by in a blur since the night at the astronomy tower, your relationship with Draco had only grown deeper and more meaningful since then. Instead of the ill-fated news tearing you apart, it brought you more closer together than you could have ever imagined. It was as if your souls were finally bare to one another, meeting and embracing each other lovingly on the astral planes.

The dynamic had changed, but only for the greater good as you had encouraged him to spend as much time as he could on the vanishing cabinet. It wasn’t like you wanted him to fix it, but you knew it would come at a great cost if he didn’t so he needed to. You thought back to a couple days after he had told you his duties, frowning at the remembrance of the shame in his voice as he explained everything to you.

“I think I’ll just leave it to rot in the room of requirement,” he muttered bitterly, his eyes focused on his thumb running over the softness of your knuckles. “I’ll just set it on fire and say it was an accident.”

“As much as I’d love for you to do that,” you sigh, “it would be like sentencing yourself to torture and death.”

Draco chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “I’m already headed there.”

“No,” you interject, “you’re not.”

He stayed quiet, trying to get the painful images out of his head that his mind was currently putting on display for him. No matter how many times you told him, he was never able to fully get rid of his pessimistic thoughts.

“He is going to find a way in, eventually,” you lean your head onto his shoulder and he tilts his head to the side so that it rests against yours. “It might as well be you who does it. You need to get onto his good side and from what you’ve told me, it’s only obvious he’s wary of your family.”

“He doesn’t have a good side,” he scowled. “He currently has my father locked in Azkaban, my mother in distress, and me doing his dirty work from within this school. He’s more than wary of us, he’s punishing us already.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, squeezing his hand reassuringly. He sighs, squeezing your hand back.

“It’s alright, love, nothing I can do about it anyways,” he trails off sadly. “But you’re right, I have to do it. I have to fix it.”

From then on, he had split his free time between mending the cabinet and being with you. It was hard for him as it was for you, but either of you knew there was no other way.

You were sitting by yourself next to the Black Lake, hugging your knees to your chest as you mindlessly played with the overgrown weeds you were sitting in. Your wand danced over a patch of dead flowers, wordlessly casting a spell you had learned in Professor Sprout’s class that brought life back into the wilted daisies.

You missed your favorite Slytherin, still not used to not the sudden changes in his schedule that kept him away from you. Your friends obviously kept you company, but there were times like this when you just wanted to be alone and sulk. And sometimes always, you just really missed Draco.

All you wanted at the moment was to hear his laughter, to feel his arms wrap around yours and give you gentle kisses all around your face as you giggled underneath him. To hear him whisper to you how beautiful you are and how much he loves you. It was like a cliche love story that you couldn’t get enough of, it was your life. And you never knew that those same stories you always laughed and made fun of but secretly deeply desired, would come into fruition with Draco Malfoy, the boy you’d had a crush on since third year who never even knew you existed until this year.

Despite everything life had thrown at the two of you in these short but also long months, you had formed something so intense and real that most people would never get to experience, especially someone your age.

You heard a faint flapping of wings get louder as it approached, the shadow of a familiar owl appeared from behind you and you turned to look at it. It was Aquila, Draco’s beautiful and large eagle owl swooping over you before landing in front of you, dropping a letter at your feet. You gave her a little pat on the head, and she closed her eyes gently before she backed away and flew off back towards the owlery.

You unrolled the small piece of parchment and smiled as you read it.

Just broke something in the room of requirement for tripping over it and it reminded me of you. Now I can’t stop thinking of you. I’m rushing to finish now, I’ll see you soon. xx DM

The parchment was rolled back up and tucked into the pocket of your robe, a happy sigh slipping past your lips as you rested your chin on your knees. Your eyes landed on some familiar glowing fishes in the water near you from a few days ago and you allowed your mind to slip into the memory, yet again.

Draco lied across your lap, your fingers dancing around in his hair as he hummed in content. He loved it when you did that and you always made sure to play with it any chance you got when the blond mop was vulnerable to you.

He had met up with you after a shower and skipped styling his hair, the platinum strands freely going in their natural direction of falling over his forehead. You ran your hand towards his ends, pushing and slicking them back into his old signature hairstyle from when he was little.

A laugh tumbled from your lips at the sight and he peered up at you, rolling his eyes when he realized why you thought it was funny and sitting up to flatten his hair back down.

“You think my hair is funny, do you?” He accused with a pointed look, but you noticed the laugh that he was trying to hold back. You shook your head ‘no’ while still laughing and he finally smiled.

He lurched forward, playfully and gently tackling you down into a fluffy bed of dandelions, a ridiculous amount of the puffs from the flowers flying up into the air around you and into the dark night sky. He attacked your collarbones with kisses, your shoulders, up your neck and then your lips. You loved when he would do that, leaving multiple lingering kisses along your skin so he made sure to do it any chance he got, just as you did the same with playing with his hair.

After he was done snogging you, he sat up again and pulled you up with him, a comfortable silence falling between you two. The comfort only lasted a minute or two before a thought had trickled its way into your head as your hands sat over his forearms.

“Can I see it?” you asked quietly, afraid of sounding insensitive or offending him you immediately added, “only if you’re comfortable, of course.”

Draco followed your gaze onto his arm and he stiffened, his blood all of a sudden feeling cold in his body. Not once since he’d gotten the mark has he looked at it for longer than a couple seconds, absolutely loathing the fact that it was permanently etched into his skin. He was hesitant, wondering if you would be disgusted by it and him, but you looked at him with such a genuine concern and curiosity that he couldn’t say no.

He fiddled with his sleeve a little, rolling it up towards his elbow and facing the mark towards you so that you could observe it. Instead of looking at it, he looked only at you and your facial expressions, he wanted to see exactly what you thought in the eyes that were the window to the soul.

The mark looked as if it were a scar, it rose a little bit above the rest of his milky skin, angry and swollen. Your fingers ghosted above it, Draco shivering underneath the closeness of your touch. He felt your hand tenderly stroke the mark, your finger tracing its outline with a delicate pressure. The next thing you did was lean down, delicately and lovingly placing a kiss onto something that only represented hate and evil. The complete opposite of everything that you were.

“This doesn’t define you, Dray,” you say warmly as you pull away. “I know you hate it and I know it hurts to see it. But it’s not you. And one day, it might be so faint that it’ll just be a reminder of how you survived and got through the most difficult point of your life.”

He nodded, staying silent as he took in your words. They made him feel better because if that what was you believed, who was he to say it was wrong? He desperately wanted your words to be true, so he happily accepted them and let them relax the part of his mind that constantly doubted himself.

You rolled down his sleeve for him before settling yourself onto his lap and pulling him into a hug. His hands rested themselves on your lower back, one almost slipping down onto your butt before you reached behind you and raised his hand back up as he snickered. He let his head lie against your chest, the even and soft thumping of your heart calming him instantly and he sighed, pressing a kiss into the exposed skin above your shirt.

You reached down beside you and plucked two dandelions from the ground, holding them up and twirling them around in your fingers.

“Muggles like to say that if you make a wish on a dandelion and blow on it, your wish will come true,” you hum, making him look up at you in confusion.

“That sounds ridiculous,” he mumbles. You give him one of the dandelions and smile.

“You never know until you try,” you raised an eyebrow before giving him one. He eyed it with doubt and you pouted, silently pleading for him to do it with you. “Just close your eyes, think of your wish and blow.”

He waited until you squinted your eyes shut, he didn’t, but as he watched you he wordlessly made his wish. He wished that he could have moments like this with you for the rest of his life, moments of loving nirvana. Ironically, you had wished for the exact same thing.

When you opened your eyes, you blew onto the flower and he did the same with his. The both of you watched the fluffs flail about in the wind around you until they were carried higher and higher up into the starry night sky and out of your sights. You held the boy underneath you tighter against you and he followed, his hand again trying to land on your butt but you stopping it again and both of you laughing.

“What did you wish for?” He asked, the question muffled against your sweater.

“If I tell you then it won’t come true.”

“That’s rubbish.”

The afternoon was fleetingly turning into evening, the sun beginning its descent behind Hogwarts and a number of thick clouds had formed in the sky that blocked the beautiful orange sunsets you loved.

“I knew I’d find you here,” Draco announced his presence from behind you, a weird tone in his voice as he approached you. He plopped himself down beside you and gave you a long affectionate kiss before pulling away from you with a half-hearted smile.

“You seem very cheery,” you teased, poking his frown with your finger before forcing his lips up into a smile and he let out an airy chuckle. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you want the bad news or good news first?”

“Bad.”

“I think I’ve finally fixed the cabinet.” He said suddenly.

“Oh,” was all you could say as you processed his accomplishment. His hand reached for yours, interlocking your fingers with his as he anxiously waited for your answer. “So what’s going to happen next?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he answers honestly. “I suppose I’ll let Snape know and then eventually You-Know-Who will become aware. But I don’t know what chaos lies ahead. I don’t even know if it’s fully mended, I’m waiting until tomorrow to test it out.”

“Why not today?” you ask quietly. You felt your hand beginning to nervously sweat in his as each second of silence passed by.

“I wanted to have one last normal day,” he looks up at you and smiles faintly. You return it even though you felt as though you were nearly about to empty out your stomach from earlier’s lunch. “Before everything changes.”

“So then, what’s the good news?” You desperately wanted to change the topic, hoping that his good news would be enough to ease your panicked mined for the moment and luckily, it did.

“You and I are spending all day and night together,” he responds happily.

“Who said that’s good news?” you eye him mockingly, a goofy smirk making its way onto your lips, your mood improving instantly as you thought of the next 24 hours with your love. He gaped at you in fake shock, blinking slowly as he tried to come up with a comeback that would stump you.

“You know what, Y/L/N, perhaps I’ll ask Pansy instead, she’s been rather fond of me again lately,” he snickers, a look of horror replacing your previous teasing.

“Absolutely not!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You weren’t aware of how sleepy you were until you had gotten back to Hogwarts, a clock on a faraway wall in the dungeons displayed 1:11 AM. You were stopped right outside the Slytherin common room, Draco pinning you up against a wall as his lips passionately and lovingly danced with yours. Your hands were tangled in his ridiculously soft hair as he gripped onto your hips tightly.

This was the way the two of you should have been living, every day, stupidly in love like teenagers and having fun.

The whole day had gone by in a flash. Draco had taken you out for an evening stroll around Hogsmeade, stopping at The Three Broomsticks for butterbeer and food where you talked about everything and anything, avoiding any negatives completely and only talking of childhood memories from home and school or of funny stories that had come to mind. He had then taken you to a small jewelry shop where you admired every piece of gem in there and basically begged Draco not to buy you anything which he repeatedly tried to argue against.

Somewhere along the line, you found a small group of stray cats, dragging Draco by his hand to the little bundle of kittens hidden in a hollowed tree stump. One hissed at the two of you, backing far into the corner of the the stump as it protected the rest of its siblings behind it.

You had reached into your pocket, getting out your wand and pointing it towards the ground in front of them and whispering some spell Draco had never heard of. Suddenly, a small pile of cat food had appeared in a heap on the ground and the two of you watched as the leader of the litter had began to inspect it.

“Where did you learn that?” he laughs in astonishment as the kittens began to hurriedly munch on it.

“I found it in a book about cats in the library one day while I was bored,” you said with a sheepish smile. “Nice to know it came in handy.”

You then began walking around again, this time further away from the castle and the little village and more near the Forbidden Forest. This was the Hogwarts equivalent of long romantic walks along the beach. It was there where you found a small cliff and sat down to rest with your legs dangling wildly over the edge.

“With your track record, you should reconsider the way you’re sitting, darling,” Draco chuckles, his eyes peering over the edge and into the dark and rocky surfaces below before as he shuddered in fear.

“Relax,” you say, pushing yourself back from your spot and standing up before looking up at him. “You really think I’m that clumsy that I’ll fall off a cli-”

Draco reached out for you before he could even process that a chunk of the cliff had given out from underneath you as you stood. You fell into his embrace, the both of you staring down in terror at the tumbling piece of earth, watching it crash and explode as it hit a sharp boulder below. Draco let out a breath of relief, giving you a ‘I told you so’ look.

“Yeah, alright,” you nodded. “I think I’m ready to go home now.”

So now here you two were, still snogging in the dungeons without a care in the world. You were so wrapped up in each other that you hardly noticed the sound of Filch approaching nearby, the sound of his lantern accidentally falling behind a corridor made you finally rip away from the kissing, looking in the direction of the noise.

“It’s Filch!” you hiss before pushing Draco towards the entrance of the common room. He quickly said the password and slipped the two of you inside once the stone had opened up, quietly laughing to each other as you heard Filch yell a distant, ‘students out of bed!’

Draco wasted no time in taking your hand and sneaking you into his Prefect room, the both of you haphazardly tumbling inside out of panic when you had seen another Slytherin passing by somewhere near the staircase to the room. You landed into the room with a ‘thud’ and Draco underneath you with his face twisted in that of pain.

“Oh no, please don’t tell me I’ve done it again,” you scattered off of him, grabbing onto his hand that he had landed on with too much force as he tried to stop both of your falls. His wrist was staring to swell up a strong pink and then red as you felt around the bone.

“You’ve done it again,” he laughs quietly through the pain at seeing your reaction. You gave him a scowl before reaching for your wand at drawing it at his injury.

He admired you as you handled his wrist with the same caring and tender touch that you gave him the last times you had healed him from the accidental trips of fate that had been thrown onto him, literally.

You breathed out a quick, “episkey,” and let relief wash over you as his sprained wrist healed to its original glory and he flexed it back and forth just for your benefit.

“Thank you, my little personal healer and injurer,” he stood up, pulling you with him and gave you a tight embrace that you lazily returned with an exaggerated frown.

“On accident!”

“I’m only joking, love,” he chuckles before giving you a kiss that made up for his teasing. “Also, I got you something.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping away from him as he reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a small velvet rectangular box before handing it to. You took it in your shaky hands, opening it up to be greeted with a glittering silver band bracelet, glowing green emerald jewels going all around it. You gasped at its beauty, pulling it out of its box as you looked up at Draco as he beamed at you.

“I know you said not to buy anything, but I had to.”

You flung yourself into his arms, kissing him all over his face as he laughed from underneath you.

“I love it, Dray,” you gleamed, carefully slipping the band onto your wrist. “Thank you.”

He nodded, smiling to himself at satisfaction that he had gotten something for you at the jewelry shop even though you insisted that he didn’t, he couldn’t help himself. Eventually, he thought, he would be adding a diamond ring to your new collection of expensive accessories from him.

You let your attention focus onto the space around you, it was dark and a little disorganized seeing as he was hardly ever in there now, only to sleep. You had been in his room plenty of times recently to talk or if he was feeling upset but this was the first time you were going to actually sleep through the night with him. You weren’t even prepared for the impromptu slumber party, but it didn’t bother you all too much as your boyfriend passed you one of his sleeping shirts and shorts.

When you clambered into bed with him, legs entangled and bodies pressed up against each other, you sighed sleepily in content. You laid in silence, the sound of steady breathing and a tick and tock of a clock nearly sending you into a deep sleep while you admired the new bracelet on your wrist until your brain started conjuring up thoughts of the very near future.

“It’s all going to be different now, isn’t it?” you mumbled.

He waited a moment before responding, the same thoughts began to run through his mind and he sighed, letting out a breathless, “yes.”

There was another moment of silence, a painfully quiet one as now the both of you had started to think and torture yourselves even further.

“I’m scared,” you whisper timidly, the grip you had on Draco’s shirt got tighter.

“I am too,” his head turned to meet your eyes, the same wide eye look being held in them that he’s been seeing a lot of that day. “But I promise that no matter what happens, I’m always going to love you. Forever.”

Tears had accidentally slipped from your watery eyes and you buried your face in his neck to inhale his scent to calm yourself down. It was weird in theory, but there was something about the mix of his cologne and minty smelling soap that relaxed your whole body from whatever would be bothering you.

“I say this all the time,” he started again, his hand mindlessly played with your hair as he spoke. “But thank you, for helping me, healing me and not just on the outside. I owe you so much and I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” you cried relentlessly now, “so, so much.”

Draco stayed quiet, his own tears falling now but he didn’t want to make the moment sadder than it already was, so he sucked it up and gave the top of your head a long and amorous kiss while you cried yourself to sleep in his arms.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It was morning, a heavy set of clouds rested over the castle in an eerie and gloomy way. You took it as a sign that everything was going to end up that way, dark and melancholic. It was sad, being the only two people as of right now who knew what was coming to Hogwarts in maybe a couple hours or days time. But there was nothing you could do but hope for the best and silently place your hope that Harry Potter would save the day as he somehow always did. You didn’t dare tell Draco that, however and as much as you disliked Harry for nearly killing your lover not too long ago, you needed to believe that there was hope for a future with no Voldermort.

You walked timidly behind Draco as he guided you to the room of requirement. Your eyes were glued to the back of his perfectly styled head and iron pressed black suit and if you weren’t in such upsetting circumstances, you would have let yourself admire him longer, but you couldn’t quite focus on anything other than what lied ahead.

He had asked you to come with him to test the vanishing cabinet, wanting your support as he brought life to the thing that would bring destruction to the beloved school. You stood quietly, watching the very large doors of the room appear on the wall as Draco called for it silently.

You had never been in the room before and that was apparent when you looked at everything in awe, seeing all the forgotten artifacts and knickknacks for the first time that were piled onto each other for miles on end. He lead you through the maze of objects until you stopped at a tall and ashy gray run down wardrobe, his other hand grabbing onto the corner of the drape that was feebly covering it and pulled it down in one swift motion causing a pile of dust to fly into the air around you, making you feel suffocated all of a sudden as you stared at the revealed cabinet.

He let go of your hand, reaching into the pocket of his blazer as he pulled out a small green apple to place inside the middle of the cabinet. You watched carefully as he closed the doors of it and pressed his wand up against the opening, his eyes fluttering closed as he thought of the spell.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus,” a small whooshing sound passed and Draco opened his eyes to check if the apple was still behind the doors. The apple was gone, and your heart sank in fear. This was it. He took one deep breath before shutting the doors closed and placing his wand against them once again.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus,” he whispered, “Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

The whooshing sound came back and he slowly grabbed the handle of one of the doors, his hand reaching inside of the cabinet and pulling something out. He turned around to face you, his skin paling in fear, the apple was back in his hand and as he turned it, you spotted the new clean bite around its side.

You inhaled sharply, your heart thumping rapidly as you realized what this meant.

“You fixed it.”

PART 4

TAGLIST: @bluesunflowersz @viirgobbyy @blueleonor @thefandomplace @natt-nih @angelofslytherin @dreamyvcid @ohhsheet-blog-blog (AHHH IM SORRY IF IM FORGETTING SOME OF YOU ;( !!!)

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thepeakyfckingblinders · 4 years

Text

Never Again || Thomas Shelby x reader

credits to @saralou23 for the gif

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested/summary: “can I request a fic where the reader is found unconscious or faints in the shop or something and tommy freaks out? I just find protective tommy so ❤️💓💟!! Thank you, your writing is absolutely INCREDIBLE” (Thank you so much honeybun, you’re making me blush, pls, forgive me for being late ❤️)

Warnings: swearing, bossy Tommy, basically Tommy freaking out and being overprotective, me always loving him with all of my mangled soul

Author’s notes:

I hope you are okay darlings, I love you, please stay safe ♡

I’m so sorry for being this late, I have no excuses, forgive me. Also the end sucks, but I’m struggling with my writing lately, so, sorry again.

I love protective Thomas so much, he’s an ass, but he’s a softie, and I’m gonna lose my mind some day.

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 actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

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!

Birmingham’s gelid air hit your sensitive skin with no mercy as soon as your red mary-janes crossed the doorway of the Garrison, only to disgracefully sink into the greyish muddy loam in which the whole of Small Heath seemed to be covered.

Your fingers felt like rigid appendages burdening your already wearied arms, while you tried your best to wrap them around your coat’s edges, in a disperate effort to keep that warm tissue on your bulging clavicles left exposed by the woollen dress you were wearing. No matter how many heavy clothes you decided to put on, that implacable cold still succeeded in making you feel constantly out of forces, debilitated to the core; it had always been that way, since you were nothing more than a little girl obliged to spend one every two months confined in your bedroom, afflicted by incredibly high fever and sometimes even bronchitis.

Truth was that your body had never got used to England’s humid weather, yet, even though you poor healt had previously put you in danger, for your sake, thanks to the enormous progresses made by medicine in the past fifteen years, it was now easy to fight against the ruthless chill of those endless winters. Plus, since the earliest days of your attendence, your wardrobe had been perpetually refreshed with high-quality pieces perfectly in step with the times, for your fiancée had been literally covering you in furs and duvets of all kinds, concerned as he was that you could’ve eventually caught another bad fever, whose deathly consequences he had already experienced on his own thick skin. And for no reason in the world he would’ve even risked to lose you too.

So, as everybody could’ve easily predicted, Thomas was perennially paying attention to your wellbeing: the most famous specialists from inside and outside the United Kingdom had come directly to your country house; if one thing could be taken for granted, it was that your medications would always be settled on your side cabinet, together with a glass of fresh water, every day and every night; and, come hell or high water, he would accompany you during your routine visits to the hospital, even when it meant leaving all of his business without any prior warning.

Needless to say, you were perfectly able to do those things on your own -pheraps except for getting a crowd of world renowned doctors in your living room- and you sure as hell had tried to persuade him that there was no need at all for being so preoccupied all the time; still, he was Tommy Shelby, he simply couldn’t help it.

The concern for his loved ones’ lives kept stealing his sleep, even on those nights when there was no trace of imminent dangers on the horizon, it kept excoriating the insides of his drained brains, to the point that, more than once, you’d had to sleep alone in your immense king-size bed or reach for him in his study, curling up on one of his uncomfortable armchairs, ready to appease his fears as best you could. In short, for as much as you needed him to relax, you were still able to understand his protective behavior, against which, as a matter of fact, no one could do much; thus you at least tried not to give him more reasons to be worried by paying some extra attention to all those small things you could solve without Tommy even knowing about it. Regularly taking your iron tablets, for example. Nonetheless, it had now been already a week since the Peaky Blinders had started a brand new business involving in effect every metalworking factory in and around Birmingham, and the whole family, you and Tom included, had been so turbulently tied up with work to let every other thought and need slither on the back burner. As a direct consequence, your doctor’s latest prescription was unfortunately left lying on the bottom of your drawer, that being the fourth day in a row you’d spent without taking those pills, and, even though everything appeared to be going well until then, that one Thursday morning your period eventually came and stroke the fatal blow, having you feel so faint and aching that, all of a sudden, the few metres separating your side of the street from the betting shop seemed to implausibly dilate right under your blurred vision, a vexing sense of nausea assaulting your empty stomach led you to lean against a lamppost, your skin still crawling beneath all those heavy tissues. Dizziness and lethargy almost took over your sore mind, before you shook your head with an abrupt move in a bid to dispel those unpleasent sensations; clients would’ve arrived in less than a hour, Esme had taken John’s kids on a brief fieldtrip, Michael was already in his office, the boys were making their usual rounds of the mills, Finn and Isaiah were dealing with a couple folks in need back at the Garrison and Polly was nowhere in sight, which made you the only available blinder for the opening and, with Friday’s race approaching, there was no way the box-office could remain shut. Hence, more determined than ever, you chocked down the knot forming in your throat due to queasiness and just forced youself to put one foot in front of the other onto the dusty road, until you reached the shop door, not without the risk of tripping over multiple times in the process. Your frozen fingers clutched to the small side-wall now carring all of your weight, whilst your lungs tried to let in as much air as possible. And it worked, each plodding breath seemed to fight your sickness, also your heartbeat was gradually slowing down, thus you shut your eyelids and continued to inhale deeply for a full minute, before your trembilng hand managed to finally turn the key in the lock, giving you free access to the place.

However, the small click produced by the latch closing again did not live to reach your ears, for they were already brimful of ominous hisses, in a scant moment a bulk of hypnotic grey worms prevented you from seeing anything else, they relentlessly squirmed in front of your dilated pupils, that repulsing view sending brutal shooks straight to your clenched stomach, again. And, before you even had a chance to realize what was going on, your brain completely blacked out.

~ ~ ~

Words would not be sufficient to describe the fright taking over Arthur’s features the second your inert silhouette entered his line of sight. Just returned from their daily patrol, he had indeed noticed a small crowd waiting outside the office, cursing and fussing because of the lacked opening, and that alone had been weird enough for him to punch and kick his way up to the entrance, profanities spilling from his mustached mouth every time somebody’s elbow digged into his ribcage, inducing him to hit back so to stand his ground, only to eventually find himself powerless in front of that ghastly scene. It took him a while to recover from the shock, yet the eldest Shelby eventually regained control of his limbs and moved towards your shape with a single step.

“Polly! Pol, come here, for God’s sake!” Those hoarse yells filled the room, reverberating through the brickwalls, so loud that they could’ve been heard from the other side of the city, Arthur fell on his knees right beside you, gently placing a hand under your nape in order to lift your head. Blind panic streaming in his veins kept him for thinking clearly, he didn’t know what to do, thus he simply shook you from your shoulders, hoping in vain to see your eyes fly back open, but your neck just bent backwards.

“Where the hell is that bloody woman when I need her?!” he grunted those words in between his teeth while tigthening his grip on you, then his chest raised in a sharp move: “Jesus Christ, Polly!” He shouted once more, this time conveying all of his breath and blood towards his larynx, his abrasive voice shriveled and insisted on the last letters of his aunt’s name, until swift strides frantically hit the creaking steps, announcing Polly’s arrive. Her eyes struggled to remain open, her left palm was pressed against her forehead in a silly attempt to soothe the tremendous headache resulted from the previous night’s booze, she didn’t even have the time to put proper clothing on, since her mad niece was apparentely going berserk. “You, son of a bastard-” cursed words died underneath her tongue when she understood what was going on, soon her feet took on a life of their own, as they picked up their peace, leading her next to your body now held in Arthur’s arms.

“She’s freezing, Pol, she’s a fucking chunk of ice!” Hiccoughs shattered his worried cries, he almost whined, shifting his gaze from yours to Polly’s face over and over again, she, on the other hand, used the whole lenght of her right arm to clear in one smooth motion the closest desk. “Quick, lay her here” The deafening noise produced by those items colliding with the pavement barely grazed her hears, whilst she nodded to herself in the effort to impose some order on her obfuscated head, searching for a prompt solution that was late in coming, to the point that Finn beat it to the draw and stormed in, pointing a loaded gun to each corner of the room with fear in his cerulean irises. “What the hell’s going on?” That hysterical question echoed through the place, even though the young boy was finding it hard to get his breath, due to the crazy run he had made to reach the shop immediately after hearing that insane screaming. Nonetheless, in the space of an instant, he saw you as well and fell utterly silent, violent dismay caught him off guard, his wide eyes hesitated on your motionless figure; all of a sudden he didn’t know what to think, nor he could get the thought of your death out of his brains.

“My God, she’s as pale as death” Finn let his mind talk through that throttled murmur, regretting it right away, for silty goosebumps crawled on his skin under the pungent pressure of his brother’s instantaneous lethal glare. “Don’t talk shit, kid! Just fucking go and get Tom!”

The redhead didn’t waste any time, he somehow managed to recollect his guts and steadily disappeared behind the door previously left open. While struggling for air and internally searching for the right words to say in front of Thomas, Finn covered the whole distance between the office and the Garrison. Labored gasps coming out of his slightly parted lips in louder groans as he slammed the heavy pub’s doors open, using only his strongest shoulder; both Harry and Isaiah watched him run towards the back room where Tommy was going through the books, they did not dare spill a word and, after all, the boy didn’t even look in their direction, such was his concentration. Still, once he reached the place, all of a sudden his tongue felt dry, his well-organised speech faded away.

“Finn?! What’s wrong?” Tom’s icy eyes were now staring at him through his round glasses, the paper he’d been reading was instantly dropped, although his tone remained steady. “Y-you need to come, now! She... she’s-” A frown formed upon Tommy’s marble face at his little brother’s furious rambling, something wasn’t right, that was crystal clear, yet he wasn’t able to keep up with those hasty and stuttered sentences, so he approached him, putting both his hands on Finn’s shoulders in order to give him a little shove and maybe get some decent information. “Breathe, kid, and tell me what’s going on” That deep, adamant tone somehow sounded scarier than usual roaring inside the boy’s head, hence anxiety definitively won him over, gaining complete control of his mouth too. “It’s Y/n! I don’t fucking know, Tom, s-she looks dead!” All at once, time and space seemed to collapse around him, one single second dilated, covering the space of a whole lifetime beyond his vacant blue irises now fixed on an undetermined spot of the white wall behind Finn’s back. A gruesome, yet familiar sensation raided his petrified body, it felt like having a beast’s fangs gnawing his throat off, lacerating his flesh to the bone, he could sense every little laceration, his chest being plundered, till even his sable heart was eradicated and then mauled. A strangled wheeze barely lived through his plump lips, that being the only sound he uttered, then his black pupils shrinked and immediately twitched, nailing his sibiling’s gaze. Without receiving an order from his brain, his fists violently gripped Finn’s jacket at the height of his biceps, bringing him a span away from his gnashed teeth with a sharp pull. “Where?” He snarled liked a rabid dog, striking, if possible, geater terror in the young man who struggled to spit an almost inaudible “The shop”, before being shoved against the doorframe as Tommy dodged him and rushed out.

~ ~ ~

Polly held the bottle of her almond parfume she’d just put under your nostrils as if her life depended on it, Arthur’s rough palm, instead, began to pat your pasty cheek. “C’mon, love, wake up! Don’t play games, c’mon!” The dorsum of that same hand now poking the left side of your face, and then going back to the other, at incredible speed. You started to feel your face again when his nudges grew in intensity, until he was practically slapping you; soon a tremendous metallic taste invaded your mouth, or rather, you finally sensed it, whilst your eyelids battled against gravity to get back up. Arthur noticed it, he detected that brief flinch and it felt like being pampered with a fresh breeze after days of unsustainable heat. “Oh, fuck, I think I’m having a stroke” His tone held extreme urgency as he grasped for air, tugging with two fingers at his shirt collar; sure, he was great at knocking people off, maybe the best, yet, unfortunately, after that he’d never tried to bring somenody back with the living.

Blinding light rended your shrouded eyes, everything appeared blurred to the point that you couldn’t distinguish Polly’s features, although she was right beside you; nor your hearing was working, since the loud thud produced by the wooden door hitting the brickwall, and then your name barked by your fiancée’s coarse voice, sounded muffled to your ears. With a superhuman effort you succeeded in tilting your face towards the entrance, you recognized the navy-blue suit Thomas had chosen to wear earlier in the moring, still those nebulous images reached your brains with extreme delay, it was like watching vague movie scenes stream in slow motion. Your eyelids blinked as if a plumbeous burden was anchored to them, each flutter seemed to last a full minute, so that you perceived Tom coming to you in multiple shattered motions, while he kept calling you. The moment Tommy furiously jostled against Arthur, in order to take his place by the desk, you gradually went back to see and hear clearly, now being able to seize pure dread sailing those mesmerizing ocean eyes. “Thank goodness, y/n” His big palms envelopped both your cheeks, slightly squeezing them as he lift your neck, revealing all of his hidden delicacy that you, and you only, were able to bring out. “Y/n, love, talk to me” That order came out like a prayer, his voice betraying him once too often, his fingers shaking with worry, while one of his hands held your chin and the other went to caress your locks. Those loving strokes brushed against your skin, slowly infusing a little warmth into your gelid body, he touched you with the unbearable fear of watching you pass away in between his arms, having him struggle to breathe properly. “Do you hear me?” a single, salty drop fell from his long eyelashes and poured your lower lip, you heard his voice crack, distorting, until it became nothing more than a faint whine: “Please, love, talk to me” When his forehead pressed against yours, he finally gave in to the tears that had been held back with drastic ostination, shutting his eyes for a few instants he allowed brutal sobs to trounce his already aching chest. However, that moment of raw weakness was soon restrained, so that you returned to stare into his blue irises. Then, a small grin crossed your pale mouth and, even though your throat felt like gasoline on fire, preventing you from pronouncing a single syllable, you managed to guide your tiny hand to cup his sharp cheekbone. A burning kiss was pressed on its dorsum, before Tommy completely leant into your touch, giving you a look halfway between relief and disperation, he covered your hand with his own, holding it tight. “You’re okay, you’re safe” Those soft murmurs escaped his lips, probably aimed to placate the axphyziating terror still intoxicating his veins. Indeed, as hard as it was to conceive for everybody in that room, although you were the one just recovering from a sudden collapse, Tommy was now the one trembling like a fallen leaf, his arms rested on each side of your shape, sustaining his weight, as he barely stood on his own two feet. Slowly, you regained the necessary strenght to lift your bust, leading him to flutter in your direction, promptly enlacing his forearms around your waist in order to support your movements. “Hold onto me, darling, take it slow” His raspy voice was still unsteady and full of concern, he was holding his breath out of fear, gazing at you with wide eyes and tightening the grip on your hips as if to make sure that you wouldn’t vanish in his palms. You, on the other hand, gave him a rassuring smile, caressing his face mutliple times and placing a brief kiss on his mouth. “I’m fine, Tommy, I’m here with you” you eventually spoke close to his ear so to keep that conversation between the two of you “Let go, my love, I’m here” Your lips accidentally brushed against his forehead once he listened to you and abandoned himself to your tender embrace, gradually drowning into your soft chest while his arms clung on to your figure, his fingertips almost piercing the thick material of your dress as your cheek covered his head, totally annihilating the distance. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. Never again”.

tag list: @spidey-pal, @shadow-of-wonder, @stassaurus, @peachlle, @livvtheangel, @myjbphase, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest, @vxxn128, @keithseabrook27, @spaghettirogers, @writingstudent, @hp-hogwartsexpress , @eggingamazinglove, @geeksareunique, @cailoleaf, @simonsbluee , @hereforsmutandfluff, @starxtt, @jenepleurepasbaby, @staygold-bebold, @marvelschriss, @captivatedbycillianmurphy

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 3 years

Text

Blighted

For my precious Sunshine, @5-secondsofcolor's birthday!! Which is technically now, because it is 1 AM on the 20th of May and I am a mad woman. Love you and I hope you have an amazing day, when you see this of course.

Here is your fic, FBI/Behavior Analyst!Calum. Female OC.

Ivy says she's cursed after taking the same career path that took her father's life. Calum's new on the team, a liaison and media specialist, but he's looking to get his toes wet.

AKA your regular old jaded pessimist veteran and bright eyed rookie buddy cop story. Please enjoy!

CW: In depth descriptions of death/crime scenes. Depictions of violence, gore, and blood.

Enjoy my masterlist (on a haitus)

Search for more writing in the h writes tag

________________________

The whiteboard never leaves. It glows behind her closed eyelids. When staring down at the neck of a bottle, she sees it floating just as the bottom of her drink. She’s cursed. But she knew that the moment she tried out for the academy. The second the thought floated across her mind, she would be doomed just like her father. Ivy tried her best to reroute herself--she got into the arts, was first chair flute in her highschool’s orchestra. She was president of the Homecoming committees her junior and senior year, and worked during the summers at her church's camp.

And yet when she went into school for her degree, she gravitated towards psychology and criminal justice. She saw her mother’s fear. The closer it came to graduation and the more the two of them talked about what she would do after graduating, the more the thought lingered, I want to get into the Bureau like Dad. But she couldn’t utter that. She couldn’t say those words without tears welling up in her mother’s eyes.

Ivy suspected her mother always knew about the desires. Ivy didn’t remember all the nights clearly, but sometimes she’d peek out her bedroom door and see the glow of the light downstairs. Ivy followed it, side stepping the creaky fourth step from the top and from between the banister’s she’d find her dad sitting at the dining room table. The kitchen light glowed from behind him and his tie would barely hang on around his neck.

“Boo,” he’d say quietly, knowing the slight shuffle of Ivy’s feet.

“How’d you know I was there, Daddy?” she’d ask, carrying herself the rest of the way down the stairs and make her way through the living room to climb into his lap.

“I can hear your feet above me,” he’d respond, pointing above them.

And they’d spend an hour, sitting at the dining room table. Ivy asked about her dad’s latest trip. He only ever told her when she was young that they were helping save people, putting bad people away. Ivy wonders if this is where it started. If this was where her father casted the spell, leaving Ivy somehow starry eyed about what it really was he did. Ivy would always look at this job with a little bit of that hope that her younger self had, and she’d always be fucked to never be able to walk away from this line of work.

It would kill her--much like it had killed her dad. But unlike him, she’d see the bullet spiral out of the barrel. Her dad had her and her mother to get back too. It wasn’t a weakness. Ivy admired her father for sticking with his dreams and also making the hard calls to make sure his family knew he cared too. But the need to decide would always be a slight hindrance, would always be the key to living or dying in this line of work.

All that’s left of her father, besides the memories and a few of his old t-shirts that got remade into pillows, is the whiteboard she keeps at her desk. There’s a whiteboard for the entire team to use of course. But this whiteboard is the one that her father used in his office. The one where he made his notes, scribbles. The one she’d write notes to him in the bottom left corner that never disappeared until she wanted to replace the note with something new.

“Thomas, look alive, and enjoy.” The manilla folder hits her desk with a quiet thwack. Ivy blinks from the whiteboard up to her senior officer. Kennedy carries on, dropping folders on every desk and each one of them stands without needing any further prompting.

Kennedy’s been in the field for years. It was all over his face with the deep frown lines. His brow seemed permanently furrowed, as if he questioned every waking second. Ivy liked to tease he worried even about sleep. But no one could sink a decade and a half into this line of work and not come out on the other side with a healthy amount of suspicion.

“And where’s this new guy?” Kennedy asks, glancing over the office.

Ivy looks up from her copy of the file. She heard rumors of someone else coming by the office, assisting them occasionally on cases. But those rumors floated around weeks ago, long enough that she chalked it up to just that--rumors. It doesn’t shock her though. Things start at rumors often, and sometimes they come to fruition and sometimes they don’t. Ivy follows Kennedy’s eyeline and doesn’t spy any new faces.

“Want me to keep an eye out for any lost souls?” Ivy offers, glancing back up to Kennedy.

“Nah, I need your eyes on this one. Head up to the conference room and I’ll be there once he shows up.”

With a nod, Ivy closes the file. She swipes the whiteboard from her desk with a couple markers and heads up to the conference room. The rest of the team sat flipping through their files too, Jenkins sitting right near the front but moved down one seat. They’re not new, having been around for a couple years. But Ivy can tell their type--getting in chummy with the boss, trying too hard. They’re a good addition, but Ivy’s waiting for the day they take a hunch and it doesn’t lead to the results they want. A loss will show their true colors, how well they can handle being wrong sometimes. No one on the team is perfect, they’re all hedging bets. Ivy’s taken her lumps of hunches being made too late, or the wrong bets placed. They’re not often. No one likes them. But they happen.

Diaz, Russell, and Burke and scattered throughout the rest of the table. The three of them have been there longer than Ivy. But they all accepted her with open arms. Diaz and Burke were more muscular. They had the brains to match, but they came up the pipeline from their local PD departments and aren’t afraid to get into a tussle. More often than not, Ivy winds up pulling Burke from fights than she’d care to admit. Diaz’s much too big for Ivy to attempt physically restraining, so she referee’s those fights that he gets into.

Russell’s their man behind the screen. He was good at getting through the internet loops, figuring out how to sort databases for the information they need without so much red tape and delay. He preferred to stay behind the lines, but could handle a tussle. Ivy doesn’t count herself as the brains. But her gut had some sort of true north needle that, more often than not, was right. She could see patterns faster than most, could sniff the air after someone and assess how much she could and wanted to trust. Kennedy consulted her often. Whenever she felt like she had something, he’d hush the crowd for her to formulate the full thought. Kennedy didn’t always agree with her assessment, but had to listen to it. He needed to listen to it.

“Nope,” Russell huffs, shutting the folder. “Fucking hell. Kennedy told me it was rough, but I didn’t--I didn’t think it was this rough.”

Ivy settles in next to him sliding him a marker. She draws roughly a tic-tac-toe board. “It not getting easier for you is a good sign.”

Russell makes his first move, the marker squeaking just a little. Ivy follows up with hers. She knows if she makes it too obvious, too easy, Russell will forfeit the game. So she tries to play along, like she’s vying to win.

Russell places his second X though his hands shake just a hair. “Yeah, but compared to you guys, I feel like if someone took a gnarly enough shit it would make me queasy.”

“A bad enough shit could do that to anyone,” Diaz pipes in, his own folder still open but his forearms pressed down over the photographs. Russell’s been around the block, definitely seem some rough things, but has always had a softer view of the world. Still wants it to be good despite all the bad he’s seen.

Ivy places down her second O, noticing the pretty obvious wide open spot she left Russell but looks up to Diaz. “I think I heard through the grapevine you were on the losing end of one of those shits yesterday,” she teases.

Diaz reclines into his seat, his chest bouncing with his laughter. “All because of your cooking Thomas.”

“My cooking is not that bad,” she defends, the cap of her black marker pointing him out.

Burke snickers too with a shake of her head and opens her mouth to speak but the room fills with the voice of Kennedy. “Aren’t y’all old enough to be left alone not to talk about shit for five minutes?”

“Never too old to talk shit, sir,” Diaz returns, his smile lifting only half his face up. He’s a charmer, whenever they go out to bars out manage to get a moment’s peace not hounded by work, he never seems to be at a lack of folks coming up to him. He’s already got a girl, but with the hair that cascades always neatly placed and the dazzling bright grin, anyone could fall for it.

Kennedy huffs his laughter quickly and then shuffles deeper into the room. “We’ve got a new friend, so let’s play nice.” As Kennedy makes head way, Ivy notices the man behind him. He’s tall. The black dress pants and black dress shirt don’t hide everything beneath them, but Ivy’s not too shocked to see people who work in the field like that with some sort of muscular physique. There’s something about his face though--something about the way his brown eyes dart around the room and his smile never shows any teeth that something familiar tugs at her.

Kennedy goes around the table introducing Ivy first, then going to Russell, coming down to Jenkins, Diaz, and then Burke. Each one of them lifts a hand or nods at their name. “This here is Hood, Calum Hood. Joining us as a new liaison.”

Ivy’s no good with faces sometimes. But names she hardly ever forgets. Hood, she met him once a few years back at a lecture. Not that she did them often, but Kennedy got more face time. But he made sure to spread the love between the team. He asked her to tag along. Calum must’ve been in the crowd, had to be, and had to have asked a question because Kennedy told her to remember that name. And she had.

Kennedy continues on with something. Ivy suspects he’s warning Diaz to keep any hazy tactics to a minimum considering how much of a mess they’re walking into. Ivy nods once more at him, and then faces back to the whiteboard, the tap on her arm prompting her too. I’m a scaredy cat sure, but not dumb, it reads in Russell’s handwriting. She spies his X in the bottom corner, opposite of where he would’ve won.

“Pull up a seat, Hood. We’ll have more time for pleasantries once we’re up in the air. But I want everyone to at least be familiar with this case.”

“Yes, sir.” His voice is smooth, Ivy notes. A soft volume and accented but smoother than she would’ve pegged.

The team breaks down the file, recapping mostly what they’ve already read but Kennedy’s old fashioned this way, needing to make sure people have done their homework. It’s an extra step than completely necessary, but having the quick meetings has always made this team feel more like a second family. There’s always a common goal in mind for them and they’re always reminded of it. No matter what happens out in the field, they all want the same thing.

“We soar in forty-five minutes. So let’s hope wheels can turn in the air. Hood, I need you to keep in mind the local PD’s been taking a lot of heat for the last couple of months. So we don’t want to take too much star power, we’re only here to assist and whatever we can do to put the local’s good grace back onto that PD we need to.”

Not quite what she expected, though with his demeanor and looks, he’s sure to work a crowd or newsroom well. She’s sure he’ll be on the ground with them too.

“Understood,” he replies and with that, all of them push away from the table. “Agent Thomas,” Hood says, reaching out almost as if to touch her elbow but never actually do it. He continues to speak once she looks over to him. “I-I don’t know if you remember. But we met at a lecture a couple years back that you held with Agent Kennedy. And I just wanted to say that I’m excited to be here, working with you all.”

“Thomas, here, does not respond well to flattery. Trust, we’ve all tried,” Diaz laughs, clamping down on Hood’s shoulders.

“I appreciate it,” Ivy responds. “Glad to have a fresh mind on the team.” There’s no smile, at least, not one she’d give Russell, Burke, Diaz, or even Jenkins. But Calum watches her give another curt nod with a quick quirk of her lips, and then leave, stacking her file on top of the whiteboard.

“Don’t sweat it. She’s in work mode,” Diaz assures. “We get off the clock and she’s a hoot. But on the clock, it’s strictly business. I will warn you, Thomas will burn you.”

Calum’s left, watching Diaz, Burke, and Russell leave. Jenkins turned tail the second Kennedy got done. It’s not that he wants to mix business with pleasure. He’s just been studying Thomas, attending as many lectures that she gives as he can. She didn’t always go directly by the book, there was something about her method that used the evidence, used science, but also had some sort of intuition. Thomas just knew things and when attempting to quantify it, she didn’t always have the words for it. Calum just wants to see that in action, understand what it is about knowing that isn’t always present in the facts.

The plane ride is comfortable. Plenty of seats even though they squeak just a little. Calum watches Thomas sit and everyone seems to sit spread out from there, keeping her at some sort of center. “Mobile. They don’t mind the hustle,” Ivy starts.

“Crossing state lines is risky, especially after the escalation,” Burke interjects.

“But wouldn’t that be a reason for it? If all the crimes look different, enough crossing state lines might make the unsub feel confident, like they’re getting away with something.” The entire plane turns to look at him. Calum freezes for a moment. He knows better. He knows so much better than that. Fuck.

“Valid. But we shouldn’t settle. Travel might be part of their job. We’ve got a good cluster to possibly estimate a home base. Get comfortable, perfect the craft here and then spread out. But why come back? Local PD's hadn't quite connected anything, until the return. More families, found exactly the same. Even when they cross state lines, all points wind back to a specific geographical location,” Burke returns.

“Hood, you got the inside of the media. What does it look like?”

Thirty minutes of his forty five was making sure that he could at least nail down this run through. And it’s easy, even with the squeak of Ivy’s dry erase marker, to run down the media reports, what information has been released and what hasn’t been released. He makes note of what the team doesn’t want to get out and what they do want to keep available to the public.

All the while, Calum watches the way Ivy writes over her board, the squeak over and over on specific strokes. He wonders for a moment what she’s writing, what it is that she needs to keep written track of. But he doesn’t get a chance to fully flesh out that thought before he finishes his spill and Diaz cuts in. They’re fast, not quite settling on any one theory. More like compiling the possibilities, not wanting to eliminate things but ranking how plausible they all could be until the pieces click.

The first thing after the flight lands, they head for the precinct. The lead investigator greets them, and there’s no pause. They’re pulled into the frenzy, looking at boards. Calum tries to keep his head in the game, but he is watching Ivy. The way she settles in her chair, her marker always moving. He’s not even sure it’s words anymore, just a constant circular movement. Sure he’s here to help regulate media outlets, and he can do that in his sleep if local PD and media follow his instructions to a T.

But he needs an in, to show he’s more than just the new meat on the chopping block. He’s worth something. “Is the last crime scene still available?” Calum asks.

The room turns to him, well most of the room does. Ivy keeps circling, but she speaks. “The plan’s to go in ten minutes. Whatever’s got you preoccupied, leave it in your go bag.”

Kennedy chuckles, tapping at her foot. “Give the kid a break. He was buried in news coverage the second we got into the door. But Hood, shake the cobwebs. This isn’t your small town’s rodeo anymore. If you need to be caught up, ask. But if you’re going to be in the room, keep those ears open.”

A task easier said than done, but he nods, resting his elbows on his knees. God, they’re going to think I’m an idiot. The room goes back to its normal buzz, but Calum keeps his head buried in his hands.

“Talk to me. What are your theories?”

Calum lifts his head. Ivy’s closer now. He can see the black marks on her hand from where she’s held it up against the swirls and lettering. “Clearly I’m barely treading water here.”

“First day nerves, but you can shake it. You wanted to see the crime scene. Why?”

“Why there? We have indications that the unsub spent a lot of time there, even with the interruptions they've seemed to caused. They're still meticulous. I want to follow their steps. What did they do first? And why? What do they need from a crime scene before it’s done?”

“Good. But what else?”

“What-what do you mean what else?”

She smiles, much different than the first one. It shows her teeth, a bit of a twinkle in her eyes. “What else?”

He goes quiet, reclines back into the seat and closes his eyes for a second. What else? There’s a lot else. “I mean, the next obvious thing is why these victims? But besides that, how comfortable is this person? Do they feel a need to be rushed, fast, get-in-get-out or can they blend in? I have a hunch they can blend in. Maybe people even trust them. They are perfectly ordinary and in essence, they have to be in order for the fantasy to work. Detection means they have to get sloppy. Being sloppy’s not an option, so blending in it is.”

“Bring that to the crime scene.” Something taps his knee and Calum cracks open his eyes to see her, standing. Her whiteboard still gently rests against his knee. She’s not looking at him though. Her gaze is locked onto the board next to him, displaying the crime scene photos.

“What’s your secret?” Calum asks. He’s almost positive she didn’t hear him due to Ivy’s lack of prompt response. But then she turns to him.

“Secret?”

“Thomas, Hood, you comin’ or what?” Kennedy calls. “I can deal without Diaz, but I need you, Thomas.”

“I’ll remember that,” Diaz laughs as they walk through the glass doors of the precinct.

It’s not Calum’s first time at a crime scene. But the second Calum steps through the door a chill runs through him. The carpet and walls are still bloodstained. Everything about it the scene just feels wrong, makes Calum want to immediately step back out of the house.

“You feel that?” Burke asks. She continues on deeper into the house, slipping into her gloves.

“This is when Thomas says she’s too Black for all this and gets the hell out of dodge,” Diaz barks. He squats down to the blood on the carpet. Ivy’s already deep into the house, seemingly guided by a force unwillingly to let her go. She doesn’t respond verbally, just lifts her hand, the middle finger extended out in the general direction of Diaz.

And Calum is standing near the threshold of the door, trying to pinpoint why it feels so cold in a house in Texas in the middle of the summer. His hands feel sticky even inside the latex gloves. His first step is shaky but he stops next to Diaz. “There are drag marks from the blood,” Calum notes. “This isn’t where they were killed, just staged.”

“The unsub staged all the victims here in the living room. We know that. Pictures show the parents at the ends of the sofa, children in the middle, dog on the floor.”

“But there’s blood on the walls. We know the Dad’s 6’1,” Calum returns.

“And we don’t have forced entry. So, whoever is wreaking havoc isn’t threatening enough for someone not to answer the door.”

Calum turns to the sofa where the family was found. “It’s picturesque, poetic even. You’ve got a whole family right here, at your will. They knock on the door. It’s dusk, sun’s just starting to set.”

“They have a ruse that gets them inside. We already know they have to blend in with the community. So what can you use to get into a house? Who gets into a house without a problem?”

Diaz goes into the kitchen where in the case file it mentions when the family was finally discovered food was still out on the table. “The window doesn’t have to last long. But it has to be just right. All three families were either eating dinner, or just done with dinner. So why dinner time?” Diaz turns from the stove to face Calum.

“It’s when everyone is together. They’re not just going after a family, but very specific family dynamics. Which means both parents need to present, two kids seems to be a minimum.”

“What’s the average dinner time you’d say? With this job, I eat whenever I fucking can. But before this, excluding people like us, when is the average person sitting down to eat?”

“6, 6:30 I’d guess. That’s assuming the average person is working a job that calls it at 5PM. A town like this is either on the verge of collapsing or being bought out. So I assume a lot of people are traveling outside to the city for work, so the commute might be even later. But I wouldn’t hazard any guesses that our unsub’s just haphazardly picking houses.”

“No, no, you’re right, Hood,” Diaz states, walking over to the table. “I guess what I’m saying is the timing. No one hears anything. But our unsub’s using a gun. That’s not quiet. And there’s not a lot of city noise this far out. They’re spending hours in the house and somehow getting out undetected. But striking at dinner time, with the setting sun, means this person’s around outside the house. But no one’s noticed anything out of the ordinary.”

“Hunting seasons,” Calum returns. “No one really flinches at the sound of a gun shot because people are hunting year ‘round here.”

“And it seems like humans are on the menu.”

“An appetizing thought.”

******

Ivy’s not sure when the chill finally left over the course of the day but it returns when she walks into the precinct and sees the entire room in a frenzy. Kennedy spies her and it’s just a look. Not much different than his resting face, but somehow she knows with that slight arch in his eyebrow. Another family--while they were proding over photos the killer was already moving on, already in the midst of their attack.

And it shouldn’t shock her. Well, to be more accurate, it doesn’t shock her and maybe that’s the thing that scares her. “I’ve been doing this too damned long,” she mutters to herself. “Hood, you’re with me. Get the address and let’s see what that gut of yours cooks up.”

“How’d--Is Kennedy going to be okay with that? The call just came in a few minutes ago.”

“Get the address and tell me how you like your coffee,” Ivy says. Kennedy’s going to come to the scene anyway, but she doesn’t tell Calum that.

There’s not another word before Calum passes in front of her. “Cream and two sugars,” he answers as he goes.

“So Black, got it.”

Paused at the desk of a detective, he looks over his shoulder. “Cream and two sugars,” he re-emphasizes with a tiny smile and holding up two fingers. Police station coffee’s never the best, but it’s better than nothing. When on a case, time is also imperative and they take what they can. Ivy fixes Calum’s cup first, slipping a lid on and keeping the stirrer through the hole. She pours her cup with no additions.

“Not even creamer? Not one?” Calum questions.

“Takes too much time,” she returns. “Burke, you staying?”

“Yeah, Russell got those files over just before the call came in. Besides that crime scene’s bound to be crowded as all hell and I swear if I walk into another house and catch a chill after seven years of doing this job, I just might quit.”

The two ladies laugh. Ivy recovering first to respond, “I need you to keep me sane even though you’re just as much trouble as Diaz.”

“Which is why I’m going to say here, work with Russell. We’re going to need Hood back before the 5’oclock news. Whatever you find at the scene will help solidify our profile and we need it soon. We need the hands on this clock, because it’s ticking ahead of us.”

Ivy nods. It’s no fun being behind. “Kennedy, we’re moving or we’re dying.”

“I trust you. There’s something off about that last one that I want to walk through again.”

“Let’s rock and roll,” she says to Calum, handing him his cup of coffee. “Mr. Cream-and-Two-Sugars.”

The drive is relatively short, all thanks to Ivy’s lead foot. But they need to get there fast, while things are still fresh.

“Did you always want to do this?” Calum asks in the silence of their drive. The radio doesn’t even play. Ivy knew he had questions. He wore them on his face, brows furrowing anytime he was the slightest bit hesitant about something.

“I don’t think I had a choice.”

“What do you mean you didn’t have a choice? We’ve all got choices.”

“My dad worked with the FBI until it killed him. And I think about how he used to tell me it was his job to help put bad people in jail. And I believed him.”

“The bug bit you before you even had a fighting chance.”

Ivy nods, taking a quick glance to Calum. “But if I had a prettier face, I’d stick with liaison too.”

Calum huffs out his laughter. “I went the journalism route first, sue me. Besides, that’s you admitting you think I have a pretty face.”

“I forget faces—so don’t think too highly of it. And I’m probably old enough to be your mother. You attended some lectures, I remembered your name. How’d you convert?”

It’s silent for a moment and Calum contemplates her statement, old enough to be his mother. “Given that my mother has shared her fountain of youth with my sister and I, you might be shocked to know I’m nearing 30. And I converted because of you and your work under Kennedy and his old superior Rogers.”

“All the greats,” Ivy teases, but she doesn't sound impressed. More like tired, used to it.

“But you’re different.”

“Yeah, because somehow the Bureau hasn’t realized their mistake.”

“Mistake?” Calum asks around his sip of coffee.

“Kennedy’s going to retire soon. He's done 15 with our unit. Another ten prior to that climbing through the ranks. Then they’re going to have to find a replacement.”

“You say that like it won’t be you.”

“Because it won’t.”

“You’ve been with Kennedy for so long. He’s obviously going to recommend you, Ivy.”

“He can recommend but people higher up get the final word.”

The truck stops just in front of the house, and Calum knows the most logical thing to do is just focus on the case, walk the scene. Do his job. But he reaches across the console and wraps his fingers around hers for a second with a squeeze. “You’ll get it. They’d be dumb not to bring you to the head of this team.”

“There’s an altar or a shrine. It’s small.”

Calum pauses with his hand on the door. Ivy continues beside him. “Go to the eldest child’s bedroom. In a corner you’ll see the small shrine. Our unsub left one at the last house. And the house before, I’d bet. And this house too. That’s what Kennedy missed. What other cops missed too. Make sure you get it photographed. Besides, I’ve been doing this job too long and don’t know if I’d even want the added responsibility if they promoted me.”

“How’d we miss that?”

“We didn’t miss shit. We saw it when we needed to see it. We see things when we need them.” It's the way she says it, like she has to believe that makes Calum believe too.

The sight rocks Calum--he knew it wouldn’t be easy. But he didn’t know it’d hit him like this. The room spins, just a little. And his heart racing. Mostly because he can’t stand the thought that this could be someone he knows. These people weren’t anticipating their would be like this. And what does that even mean for him? What does his end look like?

“Hey, whoa. Whoa.” An arm comes around his waist and he follows the lead of whomever’s grabbed him.

“I’m okay,” he breathes out. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, I’m a fudge brownie. It’s okay to not be alright in there.”

Calum rests against the side of the house and squats down just a little. His elbows hit his knees. His breath is heavy, falls from his open mouth almost like he’s going to vomit. But his stomach’s not churning anymore. Not with the fresh morning air hitting his lungs. “Fuck,” he breathes out again, eyes blurring just a little.

“But you’re okay. Take a breather.” Ivy’s shoes turn up in the dirt. "Get him a water, will ya? Hood, take a minute. It's alright. I'll be inside when you're ready." Calum just watches her go. It takes a moment for him to lift his head. It has to get easier. Or least he hopes it does. It takes him a minute, inhaling deeply before he stands up straight.

The rest of them processing the scene goes by in relative silence. Occasionally, Calum pipes in with an addition to their theory. Ivy hums in agreement. And it’s not until they step out and slip out of their gloves that Ivy says anything. “This is why I drink my coffee black.”

“I’m sorry. I really--I don’t know why this one got me.”

“It’s the kids. Kids are the worst.”

Calum looks up to the sky. There’s a few clouds, but not many. “The photos are bad, but in person is way different.”

Ivy watches Calum, the way it takes him a second to come back to earth it seems. “Don’t ask yourself if it gets easier.” When his gaze lands hers, she can see the furrowed brow again. The question drips off his face. “You’ll only disappoint yourself. And this job’s not for the weak of heart. For the people that can’t take some losses with the wins.”

“You said it yourself. You wanted to put the bad people away.”

“Eight year old me wants to believe it’s as easy as putting the monsters away. Thirty-one year old me knows for a fact what the losses are, who gets caught in the cross-fire. It’s not easy, not in the slightest.”

“Innocent lives do add up.”

“Which is why I try not to do math on the job. They all slip up. They all reach a point where their methods don’t satiate the need. They all make a fatal flaw and counting the unfortunate lives on the way to that will have you walking from the Bureau faster than you can blink.”

“So what makes you stay? If it’s all so fucking bad, what keeps you going?”

Ivy nods to the car, pulling the keys from her pocket. “We need to solidify our profile and you need to run press ASAP. But to answer your question, the thing that keeps me going is that fact that they do get caught eventually.”

******

Eventually seems to come up faster than Calum anticipates. He was sure it would take weeks. After getting back to the precinct more information in Russell’s digging found a connection between all the families, a Venn diagram that overlapped to their X on the map. Another couple of days and it all unravelled. It’s a blur, when he tries to think back to it, on the plane. The only grounding thing is when one of the children, a little girl about 6, pointed out the tattoos on his hands. In all this time, he was sure the tattoos would be a barrier to entry--they’d somehow put him in a place that others would think he was nothing but trouble. But somehow, despite the terror she had done through, that little girl liked his tattoos, found some sort of comfort in them.

When he told her they were for his parents, she smiled at him. She said she wanted one for her parents too and then asked if he had anymore and how old he was when he got them. All of which Calum was more than happy to answer while the medic checked over her. Her older brother came soon after, asking a few questions, but overall he was much quieter than his sister. Understandable for what was endured. In the end, Calum’s just glad he didn’t see them staged on a couch, bleeding out onto the cushions.

There’s a small bit of turbulence and the shakes cause Calum to open his eyes for a moment. Ivy’s seated across from him, whiteboard on her lap, headphones in her ears. A tic-tac-toe grid drawn across it in the middle, but in the corners are some swirls, a crude drawing of the shrine from the case. Calum leans forward and tugs on the board just a little. She lets it go without a fight and hands over the marker.

Calum makes an ‘X’ in the top left. “You said this job doesn’t get easier.” He looks up to see if Ivy can hear him and is relieved when she pops out one her headphones. She raises her brows like she wants him to continue with the thought. And Calum’s not even sure he should. Instead, he hands over the board back to her. If seeing death doesn’t get easier, then maybe it just means he gets better at it. Maybe it means that not being okay with death is a good motivator to keep down this path.

“The job doesn’t get easier. You’re still human. You still want a spouse and a kid. You might want two dogs and a cat. You might want that white picket fence one day. You’ll want to close your eyes and not see death. You’ll want to walk down the street and see humans as humans again. You’ll have nightmares. Don’t hide from it. Nothing’s wrong with you for wanting that. But we’re in a world now where we see the horrors--what’s on the other side of everything you wanted. It’s a liminal space and it’s heavy to wade through.”

“I just want to not freak like I did the other day. It’s not easy. But sometimes I fear that maybe I bit off more than I could chew.”

Their game of tic-tac-toe has been forgotten, placed in the seat next to Ivy as she leans forward in her seat. “You said you were converted because of me. What exactly about me was it?”

“You just know things. When you walk onto a scene, you have an air of knowing. How can you just pick up on it in a snap?”

“Well,” Ivy laughs, “if that’s the only reason you want in, I warn you to get out.”

“I want to help. I want to save people,” Calum adds on. But then it hits him. Maybe this wasn’t the business of saving people as much as it was stopping people. Sure, they prevent future murders, but that didn’t always negate for all the lives lost. But they did save that family today. He saved that little girl that wants tattoos like his. “I want to save people and I want to stop people as well,” he finally adds on.

“There will always be monsters in this world,” Ivy warns.

“And there will always be heroes.”

“Make no mistake, Calum. We don’t have capes. We don’t swoop in all the time at just the right moment. Sometimes we are late. Sometimes we’re reacting more than we are being proactive. Sometimes we fuck up.”

His heart stops for just a moment at the mention of his first name. He’s always Hood, or at least has always been Hood. Just like she’s always Thomas to the team. But she said his first name. Unmistakably so. “Did-did you just use my first name?”

“You used my first name, first.”

When had he done that? He didn’t recall, but he couldn’t combat it either.

“Look,” Ivy continues, “the fact remains. We will fail. We will make the wrong call, or the right call just by the skin of our teeth. We will walk down the wrong direction only to figure out, we know it’s the wrong one. We get it right. A lot more often, we get it right and we minimize the death count. But we’re human--you don’t have to take it on if you don’t want. You don’t have to suffer.”

“If I don’t suffer and win, then that little girl suffers and loses. Then the next person loses. And the next. Their suffering or mine--the choice is clear.”

Ivy studies Calum for a moment. She sees the resolve on his face. Just how much sacrificing himself is a no brainer for him. It was a no brainer for her too. But admittedly, she was cursed. Maybe Calum wasn’t. Maybe she could save him, even if she couldn’t save herself. But she wasn’t in the business of saving people, only stopping them.

“I can’t stop you, can I?” she asks.

“Stop me from what?”

“Stop you from killing yourself with this job.”

“If it’s killing you, then why don’t you leave?” His head cocks to the side, now intrigued by her honesty.

“It’s like you said, I got bit before I could escape. I’m cursed. Are you?”

The little girl flashes through his vision again, and his chest tightens for a second before the relief kicks in. He could chase that feeling, the knowledge that he saved someone, one person. And that he helped put away one more person causing harm. “I am now. Ruined--because even though I can’t save them all. I can save some. I can help keep some people safe. I don’t think there’s a better reward than that.”

With a nod, Ivy looks back to their game on the whiteboard. They would’ve tied, she can see it after where she placed her ‘O’. But she hands it back over to Calum. “Kennedy’s going to shit himself when he realizes he’s got too hard heads on his team.”

“You’ll shit yourself when you realize you’re inheriting the second hard-head on the team after Kennedy leaves.”

Ivy scoffs. Of course, Calum still believes in the shiny idea that hard work yields rewards. “And this is where I can still tell you’re new to this--the dreams are still shiny and ideal.”

“All the work you’ve invested, they’d be--”

Ivy interrupts him. “I know, they’d be dumb not to.”

“Then why do you keep saying it won’t happen?”

“I’d call my pessimism a curse. But at this point, I think it’s a personality trait and the truth.”

“And let me guess, this is why you take your coffee black too.”

Ivy winks at him before her smile takes over her face. “You know it.”

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood imagine #calum hood fic #calum hood 5sos #calum 5sos #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imaagine #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #fbi!calum #behavior analyst!calum #h writes #calum hood blurb #calum hood x oc

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cuddlepilefics · 3 years

Text

Five star Michelin

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Felix

Caregiver: Hyunjin

No one’s POV.:

Hyunjin had wanted to learn how to cook for a while now but since he barely got to go home to visit his family, he couldn’t ask his mother to teach him. Next option was to maybe ask one of his members but who could he ask without getting made fun of? His first choice would be Chan but the leader wouldn’t even let him into the kitchen for fear of a disaster. Well, that fear wasn’t unfounded but how was the dancer going to get better if he didn’t practice? Then Hyunjin remembered their brownie-boy. Felix was certainly good when it comes to baking, so cooking should be fine. Also, the younger wouldn’t have a problem with letting Hyunjin be in the kitchen, he’d probably find his hyung’s struggle very entertaining. After one of their dance-line practices, the older waited for Minho to leave to the dorm, so he could have a talk with the Aussie alone. “Hey Lix, you know, I wanted to learn that thing for a while and I didn’t really know whom to ask”, Hyunjin started, fiddling with his water bottle. The younger perked up, eyeing his hyung suspiciously: “What thing, hyung?” – “Cooking”, the older admitted, “I really want to be more independent and therefore not starve when left alone. We both know Chan isn’t going to help me, so I thought maybe you could teach me?” The Aussie laughed when he remembered why Hyunjin wasn’t allowed in their kitchen anymore: “You mean because-“ – “DON’T REMIND ME!” – “Alright, I won’t but yeah sure, I can help you. Let’s just wait for the next time, the others go out for a few hours and we have the dorm to ourselves.”

That day came sooner than expected, bot dancers declining when asked if they wanted to join the others. Felix had already picked out a few easy recipes that Hyunjin could choose from and had made sure they’d also have the necessary ingredients. As soon as the door shut behind their friends, the older was pouncing on the Aussie like an excited puppy. Laughing, both made their way to the kitchen, where Felix laid out the tools Hyunjin would need. They picked a recipe and talked it through step by step before the older kicked his dongsaeng out, stating: “Alright, I got this now. Thanks, Lix.” – “You really don’t want me to stay?” – “Nope, but you need to try and give me feedback later.” – “Alright, if you need help just yell”, the younger sighed in defeat, worried their dorm would catch fire if he wasn’t in the kitchen too. He convinced himself that Hyunjin was old enough to do things on his own or would at least get Felix as soon as trouble started, so the Aussie prepared himself to be back in the kitchen within the next two minutes. Those two minutes passed and then another two. After that, he dared to go and play videogames to pass the time. As a precaution, he only put one headphone on and could hear the occasional clanking noises, accompanied by muffled curses. It never got bad enough though for Felix to go check on Hyunjin.

Almost an hour passed and Felix was starting to get worried since he would’ve been done with that recipe in around twenty to thirty minutes. But soon enough, the older popped up next to him begging for the Aussie to come to the table and try. The younger caught a short glimpse at the kitchen which to his surprise seemed….spotless? “Deja vu?”, he chuckled and Hyunjin flushed bright red, mumbling: “Sorry, I had to clean the crime-scene first before letting you come here.” They both broke into a laugh, images of the older’s last cooking attempt flashing in their minds. At least it was already cleaned up and they weren’t risking a scolding from Chan, should the others come back before they got the chance to clean. “Are you not gonna eat?”, the Aussie frowned when Hyunjin only sat one plate on the table in front of his dongsaeng. The older looked at the ground a bit ashamed before he admitted: “I might have gotten carried away, snacking while working, now I’m really full but relieved I at least left enough for one serving.” They laughed again because Felix didn’t judge, he was the same when it came to cookie dough. To say the younger wasn’t a bit hesitant about his first few bites would be a lie but he bravely picked up his chopsticks and dug in. The vegetables were only slightly burned, the sauce was a bit spicy but that could also just be Felix not being Korean and lastly, the meat was still a bit rosy inside, not to badly though. Hyunjin kept watching him expectantly, waiting for either Felix’ approval or his disapproval. At least he hadn’t pulled a disgusted face so far but his expression didn’t give anything away. “Alright, ready for the critique?”, the older nodded cautiously, “So first thing, keep an eye on the veggies when you put them in the pan, second, while you very generously fried the veggies, you could have been a bit more generous with how long you fried the meat. It wasn’t raw, so that’s fine, but it also wasn’t completely done. Otherwise, I don’t really have complaints, just don’t snack as much while cooking because I would have loved eating together and clean the kitchen after the meal, so it’s still warm when you serve it”, the younger concluded, patting his hyung’s head before the older darted of to do a small victory dance in the living room. The Aussie chuckled and went to clean his plate, noticing the kitchen indeed was spotless.

Felix’ POV.:

Getting Hyunjin to calm down again was a difficult task and I only now realized how hard his lack of cooking skill was on him. We still had some time to spare till the other members would come back home, so we decided to watch Ratatouille together since it suited the occasion well. Sometime around halfway through the movie, my stomach started rumbling loudly. I was glad Hyunjin didn’t hear it because that’d be embarrassing, so I adjusted the volume to ensure it would stay that way. Carefully palming my stomach, I turned my focus back to the TV. It wasn’t painful or anything, so I just thought I was digesting. Only five minutes later, I started second-guessing my assumption because a dull ache had settled in the pit of my stomach and my meal just didn’t seam to sit right. I glanced over at Hyunjin, finding him seemingly perfectly fine although he had been snacking on the same food as me. It was probably just the spice getting to me, that’s why he was fine and I wasn’t handling it as well as he was. When we paused the movie to take a toilet-break, I went to get myself some water, which I hoped would do the trick. Apparently, it didn’t and when we resumed our movie, I could feel the food at the back of my throat while the nausea was rising steadily. It didn’t feel like I needed to throw up, it was just sitting there making my swallow convulsively. Despite the discomfort, I tried to just ride it out and focus back on the movie.

Everything seemed to go well, until my hyung decided it was cuddle time and pressed himself against me. His head ended up on my middle and the added pressure didn’t help my queasiness. Now I was certain I would be throwing up sometime tonight, the only question was when. That question was answered only a few minutes later when my mouth started to water and my throat burned from my quiet acidic burps, that I had been trying to muffle against my hand for a while now. Hurriedly scrambling to my feet, I shoved Hyunjin off of me before I darted down the hallway. My hand was firmly clamped over my mouth while my throat contracted with unproductive gags. I made it to the toilet just in time, bruising my knees on the bathroom tiles, as the first wave of my meal made its reappearance. It didn’t feel any less spicy the second time and the burning sensation in my throat brought tears to my eyes. My stomach was cramping badly now and I could feel it squirm under the hand I had placed on my middle. Hyunjin was by my side in an instant, still shocked from my sudden escape. Glancing at his face, I could see the worry etched in his features before I had to duck my head back into the toilet bowl as my stomach contracted again, sending a larger wave up my throat. It made me choke and no amount of coughing helped me catch my breath again. There was a hand on my back, firmly patting between my shoulderblades, and taking a shuddering breath, I shot my hyung a grateful look. There was a long silence but my stomach didn’t seem to want anything else out. “Are you okay?”, Hyunjin asked hesitantly. I shrugged because honestly, I didn’t know: “My stomach’s kinda upset but I don’t know if I need to be sick again.” – “Was it the food?” That question was expected but again I didn’t know. He had eaten the same stuff, right? “You ate it too, right? Do you feel okay?”, I replied. Lurching back over the bowl as a wave of nausea washed over me, I couldn’t understand his words as I was too focused on not choking on my stomach contents again. The chunks tickling my throat triggered another gag and I didn’t even get a breath in between.

Though it had seemed like the stream wouldn’t end, it eventually did and I flopped with my back against the bathtub waiting to catch my breath. I looked up at Hyunjin questioningly and he repeated that he had at least eaten bits of the different foods and was feeling perfectly fine, asking if maybe I was sick. “I don’t think so, I felt fine all day, no headache, muscle-aches or fever, at least I don’t think I have one”, I rasped and let Hyunjin press the backs of his fingers against my forehead. He shook his head, confirming: “Sweaty and a bit warm but not feverish.” He continued to study me with his brows furrowed only to witness me struggle back onto my knees, heaving dryly. My throat was straining, getting more irritated as I continued to gag uselessly. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get anything else up, so I started to press my fist into my middle and sure enough, it did the trick. I was still panting when I suddenly remembered something: “Hyung, did you also try the meat or just the other stuff?” It had looked a bit undercooked, I just hadn’t thought much of it. Not getting a reply, I waited till it felt safe to move and then sat back to look at my friend. He was biting his lip, looking extremely guilty and that was all the answer I needed.

He sat with me through my entire puking session, apologizing profusely although I tried to assure him I wasn’t mad or anything. At some point I just gave up because my throat hurt too much to talk. Hyunjin helped me back to the couch and made me comfortable with a heating pad, a bucket strategically placed next to me. He also fetched me some water and peppermint tea before we continued to watch TV as a distraction, though we switched to something that didn’t have anything to do with food. I was still way to queasy for that. Exhausted from the whole ordeal, I soon fell asleep with my feet in my hyung’s lap. I didn’t even hear our friends get back home.

Chan’s POV.:

To say I was surprised to find my dongsaengs in a typical ‘we-have-a-sickie layout’ would be an understatement. Both had seemed fine and perfectly healthy when we left but the heating pad Felix was clutching to his middle and the bucket we literally only used as sick-bucked told me things had changed. The younger seemed to be asleep, so I raised my eyebrow at Hyunjin questioningly, while shushing our other members so they wouldn’t wake the sick Aussie up. It was to no avail and soon, Felix sat up, giving us a confused look. When we all joined them in front of the TV, Hyunjin admitted he had done something he wasn’t supposed to do and told us how he had made food, asking Felix for his opinion. Although Felix said it was fine and that it had even tasted quite good (considering it was made by Hyunjin), the older dancer was roasted relentlessly, unable to defend himself against the teasing. “Guys, please don’t bring up my cooking skills again”, he whined. Minho laughed at him devilishly asking: “Why? Felix did that too.” I had to admit that was actually pretty funny but Felix didn’t seem too happy about it. “Hyuuuung! In a week that joke will probably be hilarious but please shut up or I might do it again”, he whimpered. He did end up doing it again multiple times during the following night and it only stopped in the late afternoon of the next day but Hyunjin was there the entire time, making it up to the younger by taking care of him. We decided together, that Felix and me would be teaching him how to cook but not without our supervision to avoid a repetition of this incident.

#stray kids #skz #sick #sickfic #emeto #fanfic #fanfiction #lee felix #hwang hyunjin #whump #fluff #comfort

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mister-fleck · 5 years

Text

full of surprises: arthur fleck x reader

Prompt: Could you perhaps write a fic where Arthur has a praise kink?

“So, will you come?”

Shifting uncomfortably on the locker room bench, Arthur’s face scrunched into a hesitant wince. “I don’t know, Randall. Clubs like that aren’t really my scene.”

“C’mon, buddy,” Randall took a seat next to him and placed one of his meaty paws on Arthur’s shoulder, shaking him gently. “Don’t be a wuss. Birthdays don’t happen all that often, pal.”

Tilting his head, Arthur eyed him wearily. He had personally worked twelve birthday parties this week. “They kind of do.”

Randall tightened his grip and Arthur bit back the urge to shy away at the muted pain. He knew that he’d never hear the end of it if he acted like a frail little girl.

“It’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t,” Randall told him plainly, leaning in closer and raising his eyebrows expectantly. His bulky figure blocked out the sunlight from the window behind him and it casted a nasty shadow. “I thought you were my boy, Artie.”

My boy.

A wave of nausea washed over Arthur and he had to look away. There was something about that nickname, about the way Randall towered over him, about how he constantly reeked of gin and motor oil — it always smacked him in the face with unpleasant deja vu.

“I don’t want you to be upset with me,” Arthur eventually found himself mumbling, feeling helpless. He fiddled with the leather tongue of his clown shoe, green eyes focused on his own bitten-down nails and calloused hands. “I’d hate it if you were mad.”

“Then show up.” After firmly clapping Arthur twice on the back — almost hard enough to make him fall off the bench — Randall pushed himself onto his feet with an ugly grunt, slung his bag over his shoulder, and made his way toward the stairs. “Oh, don’t forget to bring some cash. You’ll be useless there without any.”

As Randall stomped off, Arthur tried desperately to figure out what it was about him that made him want to puke and hide. Every interaction with him left him with a headache and there was only so much of it that Arthur could take. He rubbed at his eyes after a few minutes of not blinking and forced himself to get ready for the long walk home.

Saturday night came quickly. With his mother tucked away safely in bed, Arthur paced around his living room, hair mussed and brow knitted. It had been an entire week since the forced invitation and he still wasn’t even remotely prepared.

“Don’t be a wuss,” Arthur scolded himself, echoing Randall’s distaste. He pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt past his hands, finding comfort in the habit. “It’s just a party. They’re just dancers.”

Still muttering to himself, Arthur made his way over to the china cabinet against the wall and lifted the lid off of one of the delicate teapots. Inside was a meager amount of crumpled bills, his secret savings account that he had set aside for emergencies. It pained him to have to dip into what little he had, but with a grimace Arthur blindly grabbed at a handful and shoved the cash into the front pocket of his pants.

He’d be the butt of a joke if he showed up penniless to a strip club.

The subway ride there was bumpy and crowded and it didn’t help ease the queasiness developing in Arthur’s gut. His brain had kicked into overdrive, imagining every bad scenario and uncomfortable situation. What if he arrived first? What if the strippers didn’t want to go anywhere near him? What if he drank too much, made a fool of himself?

Arthur had never been taught how to properly act around a woman, let alone one scantily clad and asking for money. He knew that he’d have to be a little forward to fit in with the others, but he’d hate himself if he overstepped and made one of the dancers uncomfortable. A little lightheaded, Arthur lifted the fabric of his sweatshirt to his nose and took a sniff, making sure he didn’t reek.

Fifteen minutes later, he stood alone outside of The Centerfold. It was tucked away in the corner, the sidewalk illuminated only by the buzzing neon sign perched crookedly above the entrance. Arthur’s stomach twisted and he puffed out a sigh, scratching at his neck. He felt like a nervous schoolboy, but instead of teachers lurking the halls there were half-naked women.

“Hey there, Arthur,” came a soft voice beside him. Arthur looked around — and then down, to where Gary was smiling up at him kindly. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“Yeah,” Arthur chuckled, pushing back his hair. He felt a little relieved now that there was a familiar face. “Neither did I.”

Gary shoved one of his hands in his pockets, the other holding onto a white envelope. He looked calm, almost bored. “It’s not too bad in there. Smells a little like piss and sweat, but aside from that — nothing awful.”

Arthur was too focused on the card in Gary’s hand to digest any of what he was saying. It had dawned on him that he hadn’t gotten any kind of present for Randall. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath, leaning in to speak privately through his teeth. “I forgot to get him a gift.”

“I can add your name to the card, if you want,” Gary offered with a shrug. Arthur couldn’t help but smile a little — Gary was genuinely the only person aside from his mother that didn’t resent his existence.

“Are you sure?” He dug his shoe timidly into the gravel beneath his feet. “That would be great —”

But before Gary could open the envelope, Randall was pushing open the doors and grinning broadly at the two of them.

“Took you two clowns long enough. That for me?” He didn’t give Gary the chance to respond as he snatched the card out of his hand. “Better be somethin’ good. C’mon, we got a great table near the stage.”

Arthur felt his stomach drop and he exchanged a wary glance with Gary before letting Randall lead the way.

It didn’t come as a surprise to Arthur that he ended up having to frequently rush to the bathroom to hide his laughing fits. The club was a brand new social experience for him, one that he had never imagined having to tackle, and the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. The place was packed with guys that would happily taunt him if given the chance to. After decades of bullying, Arthur could spot them from a mile away.

Of course, the party of men he sat with all assumed that Arthur was escaping to the restroom to whack off, overwhelmed with all of the breasts and ass on display. The women working at The Centerfold were all beautiful, Arthur couldn’t deny it, but he was wound so tight with anxiety that he couldn’t even consider being turned on by any of them.

Upon returning to the table for the fifth time, Randall yanked him back into his chair by the fabric of his hoodie. “Just realized you didn’t get me anything, you son of a bitch,” he jabbed, and Arthur couldn’t tell if he was playing around or actually offended.

“I’m sorry, Randall,” Arthur spoke up quietly, rubbing at his arm. He tried to conjure up an explanation. “I think I left it on the counter at home.”

“Did Mommy help you wrap it?” One of his other coworkers cut in, leaning in with a sloppy grin. With the exception of Arthur, the birthday group hadn’t wasted any time on getting plastered. “Or did you do it by yourself like a big boy?”

Embarrassed, Arthur felt himself shrink in his chair, not knowing what words he could string together to defend himself. He settled instead for laughing a little, hoping to hide his discomfort and feign amusement.

“Don’t sweat it, pal,” Randall scooted his chair forward and slung a heavy arm over Arthur’s shoulder, making him nauseous all over again. “I know exactly what you could do to make up for it.”

Instantly sick, Arthur visibly shuddered and tried to push away that terrible deja vu. When he spoke, it was barely audible over the pulsing club music. “What is it?”

Randall leaned back — arm still very much around Arthur — and put two fingers into his mouth to produce a piercing whistle. A dancer from three tables over turned around on her heel, scanned the room and made her way over.

“You see, Artie, this isn’t just any strip club,” he informed him smugly through a sleazy chuckle. “They have… an array of special services available.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Arthur told him meekly, wishing he hadn’t left his cigarettes at home.

“I took the liberty of asking this young lady here to tell you all about it.” Randall finally retracted his arm, but only to smack the woman on the ass. She didn’t seem phased, but didn’t look particularly happy about it either.

“Hey there, boys,” she drawled in a low, silky voice, slender hands resting on her hips. She was wearing a black brassiere and a matching thong, red high heels giving her a couple of extra inches. Her eyes met Arthur’s and he twitched under her stare. “Is this Artie?”

Randall downed the rest of his whiskey and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, letting out a belch. “Yup. Take him away, hot stuff.”

Arthur stiffened, gripped at his throat in anticipation. This was all too much at once. “What’s going on? What do you mean?”

The woman sauntered around Randall and reached down to tuck a lock of hair behind Arthur’s ear. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll take good care of you.”

—

You were able to spot him right away. He matched the brief description that had been given to you earlier — skinny, unkempt, timid. Kind of a loser. You fought back the urge to yawn. This wouldn’t be the first time you fucked a virgin. He’d be your fourth this month.

This really wasn’t how you had envisioned your twenties playing out. You were supposed to go to a respectable university, study psychology or ethics, maybe find some sort of garden apartment and adopt a couple of dogs — but all of that had gone to shit after getting knocked up at nineteen. You of course loved your son, he was your entire life, but being a single mother at twenty-five in downtown Gotham had unfortunately forced you into a dirty profession that guaranteed decent pay.

But you’d do anything to offer your son a good, clean life. And if that meant blowing strangers Friday and Saturday nights — well, that’s life.

Taking the man’s hand in yours, you gently led him through the bodies and crowded tables. His palm was sweaty as he stumbled behind you, almost tripping a few times over misplaced bar stools. The birthday boy Randall hadn’t been discreet about the purpose of all of this — he was nearly crying with laughter as he informed you that ‘his pal Artie’ would probably have an anxiety attack or cum in his pants thirty seconds into being alone with you.

You didn’t find the former funny at all — the latter was something you had experienced a dozen times, nothing special — and you ran your thumb over the back of the man’s hand as the both of you pushed through thick red drapes.

“How are you doing tonight, Artie?” You asked him smoothly, attempting to loosen him up a bit. He seemed like a good enough guy. “Having a nice time?”

“It’s Arthur, actually,” the man stammered, the lighter pitch of his voice endearing. “And I’m doing okay.”

“Just okay?” You teased, guiding him further into the dark hallway. You nodded at one of the security guards who stood rigidly against the wall. It always gave you great comfort, knowing that there were a handful of bulky men ready to defend you if something were to go sour during a session. All you had to do was call out.

“I’ve never been to a club like this before,” Arthur explained after a long pause, mousy and apologetic as the both of you passed several rooms. A loud groan erupted out of one of them, making him tense up. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

Stopping in front of one of the empty rooms, you took a moment to briefly look over Arthur. The poor thing looked like a stray dog with its tail between its legs. Giving Arthur a patient, sultry grin, you motioned for him to enter. “That’s perfectly normal, honey.”

Once the pair of you were inside and the door was closed, you watched as Arthur took in the space like a frightened child.

The room was something similar to a motel bedroom: a queen-sized bed, a small couch, a night stand. You had chosen one of the nicer rooms that had a small bathroom connected to it, figuring that Arthur might be more at ease if the space wasn’t too closed-in. Especially with the unnerving way he rubbed at his neck. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was claustrophobic.

Rolling your shoulders back, you approached the nearby table to fiddle with the CD player that had been placed there. No time like the present to kick things off. “Okay, Arthur. Take a seat on the bed and we’ll go over the rules.”

—

Arthur didn’t know how to process any of this. He had just gotten used to the whole table situation, finding that he could calm down and block out the pressure if he hummed a gentle tune under his breath, but now he was alone in a secret room with a stranger and his inner monologue had blurred into static.

He wanted to speak up, tell you that he wasn’t interested in this, that you didn’t have to do... whatever it was that you did. But once you began to rattle off your terms and conditions, Arthur closed his mouth. He didn’t want to be impolite.

“I’ll keep it simple. No choking, no leaving marks, no kissing on the mouth. We provide condoms and you must wear them. If at any moment I feel threatened, or if you break any of these rules, I will not hesitate to call for one of those big guys out there. Your friend prepaid for thirty minutes. If at the end of our session you’d like to buy more time, it’ll be an extra hundred bucks, okay?”

Perched on the edge of the bed, Arthur remained frozen, lips pressed together and fingers bunched up in his sleeves. You had said it all so quickly and he felt like he could pass out from the implications alone. He had heard the word condoms — were the two of you going to make love?

When Arthur finally mustered up the courage to respond, it came out jumbled and uncertain. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend you, but — I, um — “ He ran a hand through his hair, eyes flitting all over the room, not knowing quite where to land. “I don’t think this is a good idea. You — I mean, you’re really beautiful, but I’ve never…”

He watched you walk over to him slowly, lips parting as you reached out to gently unfurl one of his fists.

“Arthur.” He had a hard time getting over the lovely, feminine lilt in your voice. “It’s okay if this is your first time.”

It happened before he could even attempt to stop it.

A jarring, strangled laugh surged out of him, loud and abrupt, and he felt you jump away from him in alarm, rightfully startled. Not wanting to frighten you, Arthur hid his face in his sleeve and closed his eyes tight, each spasming attack making him lurch forward. It almost felt like vomiting, the way his body contracted, but the source of it lived deep in his chest like a demon.

“What’s going on?” He heard you say after a few moments. You sounded guarded now, cautious.

Terrified that you might call one of the hulking security guards into the room, Arthur lifted his head and tried his hardest to speak through the laughter. “I have a — a condition — that makes me — “ Trying his best to muffle another series of hard laughs, he covered his mouth with both hands and ducked his head, buried deep in shame.

He hated the way he sounded during attacks. It wasn’t anything like his actual laugh.

There was a long beat. With his eyes cast downwards, Arthur couldn’t gauge your reaction, but the last thing he had expected after such a heavy pause was a pair of soft arms wrapping around him.

—

You switched modes before you even realized it. You had never seen anything like this before — this ambush of tormented laughter, but the panic attacks your son struggled with made it easy for you to recognize that this wasn’t intentional.

“Let’s take some deep breaths, honey,” you instructed calmly, rubbing careful circles on his back. Your fingertips wandered over the prominent dips of his shoulder blades and you wondered if this man ever even ate. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. We’ll do it together, okay?”

Arthur stiffened initially at the physical contact but it didn’t take long for him to warm up to the attention, nodding shakily through bursts of laughter. It was admittedly hard to watch — all of the choking and gasping, the pain in his eyes. Pursing your lips, you reached out for his hand and placed it flat against your bare abdomen.

“Here we go. Breathe in.” You took in an exaggerated breath, hoping that he would feel the deliberate rise and fall of your stomach to help him focus. “And out.”

It took him a few tries to properly inhale, his lungs hindering the process as they stuttered, but Arthur eventually found a stable rhythm. Not quite hunched over anymore, he kept his hand pressed against your stomach, the other now all balled up between his knees.

Lost in the transformation in front of you and more than pleased with how he had listened — men never listened anymore — you pushed his hair out of his eyes and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Good job, honey. That was very brave.”

With a bashful smile, Arthur shook his head and shyly retracted his hand from your stomach. “No, not really.”

Something had shifted in him. You narrowed your eyes a little, studying him. There had been a definite change in his demeanor upon your gentle approval. Some of the tension had faded. Running your teeth along your bottom lip, you hesitated a moment before testing it out. You had already gotten paid, there was really nothing to lose here.

“Yes, really.” Leaning closer, you brushed your lips against the shell of his ear and scratched at the middle of his back with manicured nails. “You were a very good boy.”

He whimpered a bit and you smiled. There it was. Priding yourself on your intuition, you let your free hand rest against his thigh and dipped your chin to kiss at the underside of his jaw. He smelled like an ashtray but you didn’t mind it. Anything was better than the terrible cologne most of your customers drenched themselves in. “Do you want to know what I think?”

You took a moment to look up at him and watched as he took a deep breath, seemingly steadying himself. His lashes were wet, the poor thing. When Arthur answered you, it was lost in the back of his throat like a secret. “What?”

“I think that this good little boy…” You tiptoed your fingertips up his chest before toying with the zipper of his sweatshirt. “Deserves to be rewarded."

—

Good little boy.

The phrase should have made him angry. If he was like any other man, he would have scoffed and retreated, asked for a refund — but the genuine approval in your voice filled Arthur with a belonging so poignant that it knocked the wind out of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been called good. If ever.

Hot all over, Arthur watched you begin to unzip his jacket, his neck still tingling from that feather-light kiss. Although a part of him wanted to carefully take your hand and halt your intentions like a gentleman, he knew that this may be his only shot at being intimate with a woman. And if you were willing, if you didn’t feel disgusted, Arthur figured that he had to at least try.

“You have such pretty hands,” he murmured awkwardly, heat rising up his neck. “Do you play piano?”

You giggled next to him — giggled — and Arthur felt pride swell in his chest. “I used to.”

There was a playful tug to his sleeve and Arthur shrugged out of his jacket obediently, leaving him in his brown slacks and white button-up. His shirt hadn’t been pressed in ages and he frowned, reaching up in attempts to smooth away some of the wrinkles, but you playfully batted away his hands and popped open the top button.

“Why did you stop?” He heard himself ask, not knowing if it was proper etiquette to make small talk.

“Life got in the way, I guess.” Three more buttons undone.

Arthur watched as you moved closer and couldn’t hold back a groan upon feeling warm lips against his pulse point. Eyes fluttering shut, he felt his cock twitch hard in his pants, completely at your mercy. He had never been touched like this before and he was still fully dressed.

With the front of his shirt now open, Arthur shivered a little, his fingers bunching up the fabric of the comforter beneath him. When you nipped at the corner of his jaw, he gasped. “That — That feels nice.”

This earned him a warm chuckle, but then you were gone, the warmth of your body no longer pressed against his side. Worried that he had done something wrong, Arthur’s eyes flew open—

To see you ever so slowly sinking down to your knees.

—

You had to admit that there was something charming about Arthur. He hadn’t groped at you with greedy, dirty fingers, he hadn’t tried to smack your ass or tug your bra off. He was willing and kind, and more handsome than he allowed himself to be. You had to hold back your laughter — your faintest touch drove him wild and you wondered absently just how long he would be able to last.

Kneeling now, you smirked up at him from beneath long lashes and watched him squirm in anticipation. You weren’t ashamed to admit that you were great at giving head. You had recently developed a bit of an oral fixation, soothed by lollipops and toothpicks. But if the bulge in Arthur’s pants signified anything, there was an alluring alternative being offered to you.

“I can make you feel really nice.” You slid your palms up and down along his thighs, rolling back your shoulders again to accentuate your cleavage. “Would you like that, baby?”

Arthur heaved in a breath and nodded eagerly. “Yes ma’am.”

“So polite,” you tutted, fingers now dancing around the buckle of his belt. Once it was undone, you spread his legs and pressed a lingering kiss to the crotch of his slacks. “Such a sweet boy.”

As you expected, Arthur was a complete mess, trembling and speechless as you pulled down his zipper. You had neglected to press play earlier on the CD player across the room, but you didn’t mind it. The little noises coming out of him were…

Pressing your thighs together, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand, thrown off by your body’s reaction. You never got aroused at work, but you had to pause after pulling his erection out of his pants, the dull throb between your legs unwarranted and distracting.

You must have been standing still longer than intended because Arthur eventually spoke up, voice tight with worry. “You don’t — You don’t have to, I know that I’m not handsome, I don’t want you to feel pressured —”

With pink cheeks you snapped out of it and kissed the head of his cock, effectively shutting him up. “You’re very handsome,” you assured him, trying your best to keep your confidence through the storm building inside you. You had half a mind to actually stop, not knowing whether it would be wise to continue with a foggy mind, but your mouth had a mind of its own: You flattened your tongue against the base of his length and dragged up, up, up before taking the tip of his cock into your mouth.

Arthur groaned again right away, low and desperate this time, and you found yourself grabbing onto the front of his pants to steady yourself, your other hand holding his cock in place as he trembled next to you.

“That feels so…” Swallowing hard, Arthur reached toward you for a moment before hastily retreating his hand, clearly very shy.

“You can touch me,” you told him in a breath, pressing lazy kisses to the side of his now very hard cock. You closed your eyes, thinking that maybe if you didn’t look at him, you could pretend that this was some other client and not Arthur. Not Arthur and his sweet little whimpers and — his now gentle fingers sweeping your hair behind your ear.

“Is this okay?” Arthur husked quietly, the pad of his thumb tracing along sensitive skin.

You shivered instantly and had to stop yourself from leaning into his palm, instead smiling demurely and nodding. “Very okay.”

With other clients, you had a bit of a routine. Some heavy petting, a little generic dirty talk, followed by a long, drawn-out blow job, hoping that you could take up most of the allotted time on your knees. Nine times out of ten, it would be more than enough for the men who frequented the club. They just wanted to get off, it didn’t matter how.

But with Arthur… you couldn’t stop yourself from taking the whole of him into your mouth, wanting to hear him moan again, wanting to please him.

Obviously not accustomed to this level of pleasure, Arthur yelped a little and sucked in a ragged breath. “I think — I might, I’m sorry I might —”

Knowing that he was looking for permission, you opened your eyes and finally looked up at him again. The sight of Arthur panting, his bare chest flushed, his eyes so dark — you realized that you were now very, very wet. You locked eyes with him and swirled your tongue just so, silently communicating that he could let go.

And he did with a ragged, handsome cry, cumming hard with quivering hips and the slightest tug to your hair.

You knew then and there that you were screwed. You never, ever, ever let any of your clients cum in your mouth.

But Arthur didn’t need to know that.

Swallowing slowly, you didn’t pull back right away. Partially because you didn’t want to, but also because a part of you knew that there was still at least twenty minutes left. You hadn’t been prepared for this. So you remained kneeling, in a daze as you dragged your bottom lip along his now very sensitive cock.

Arthur was out of breath and sounded a little hoarse when he spoke, clearly out of his element and overstimulated. “Thank — Thank you.”

This made you smile despite yourself and you dropped a kiss to his thigh. He was full of surprises. Still trying to pull yourself together, you squeezed affectionately at his knee. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“What about you?”

The question came so soft and you blinked a few times before glancing up at him, not understanding. “Me?”

Arthur’s brows were furrowed as he nodded, regarding you sincerely. “Yeah. I don’t — I don’t want this to be all about me.”

Heat rushed through your body like wildfire and you gaped at him, now completely caught off guard. Was he implying that he wanted to —

“I might not be very good at it, but I’d like to try,” Arthur continued, rubbing at the back of his neck. His eyes then grew wide. “Unless that’s against the rules. Or you don’t want me to. I just figured that I —”

“No, it’s — it’s allowed,” you cut him off, pulse quickening at the idea. You ran a hand through your hair and tried to seem nonchalant, knowing you looked anything but. “You can, if you want to.”

In a clumsy blur Arthur was helping you to your feet and watching as you climbed up onto the bed. You squeezed your thighs together again, realizing now that he’d be able to see just how wet you were. The two of you locked eyes, both a little uncertain, but Arthur surprised you by taking the initiative, shyly reaching over to pull out one of the pillows from underneath the comforter and setting it against the headboard of the bed.

Silently inviting you to lay back.

You blew out a shaky breath and smiled at him, charmed despite suddenly feeling like a teenager on prom night. Not wanting to make him feel unsure of himself, you slid to the middle of the mattress and stretched out onto your back as gracefully as you could manage, your chest heaving now that the tables were turned.

Arthur’s eyes trailed over your body for the first time all night and you found yourself melting beneath his stare. He wasn’t ogling you like the men outside did — he looked like he was appreciating every dip and curve and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Take my panties off,” you prompted, shame flying out the window. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been this turned on and you’d surely combust if he didn’t touch you in some way.

Nodding quickly, Arthur bashfully tucked himself back into his pants and knelt beside you to do as he was told, warm fingers hooking beneath the hem of your thong and dragging the ruined garment down the long expanse of your legs. It got caught momentarily on your heels, making the two of you chuckle a little, but the nervous smile on Arthur’s face faded into pure lust upon gazing at your pussy for the first time.

You had expected him to pause, ask permission again, maybe procrastinate and stall a little — but Arthur was between your legs in a flash, settled on his stomach now, his tongue already lapping eagerly at you.

“Oh m-my god,” you spluttered, both hands flying up to sink into his hair, seeing stars as you tried to register how somebody so inexperienced could instantly figure out how to do that —

Arthur took your reaction incorrectly, however, his head shooting up, green eyes wildly apologetic. “Did I hurt you?”

“No! No, no, no —” You shook your head, your mouth dry now as your hips bucked up. You were planning on saying something reassuring, something coherent, but all that came out was a slutty little whine that made something shift in Arthur.

With a renewed sense of determination, Arthur surged forward once more and went right back into eating your pussy like it was his job, his hands curling around your waist as you all but writhed beneath him.

“Fuck! That’s —” You moaned girlishly, arching your back. His blunt fingernails dug deliciously into your hips as he held you down. You laughed breathlessly, delirious in your pleasure. “Are you sure you haven’t d-done this before?”

Arthur chuckled low against you, a rumbling sensation that sent a shiver rolling up your spine. It was beyond you how the fumbling, timid man from before had the potential to turn into this.

He didn’t let up, learning as he went along, playing close attention to what really made you quiver — and yet somehow, holding back a bit, as if he didn’t want it to end just yet.

Almost on the verge of tears, you lifted your head up from the pillow to catch a glance at what he looked like and noticed that he was absently jutting his hips into the mattress, seemingly turned on all over again.

The words came tumbling out before you could stop them, high-pitched and wanton. “Come up here. Fuck me.”

This was enough to make Arthur pause, lift his chin, lock eyes with you as if making sure he had heard you correctly.

“You did so good, baby,” you told him in a rush, pushing back his hair to really look at him. With your entire body quaking with need, all you could do was whimper out a small, “Please.”

Arthur sprang into action, tugging off his pants — well, stopping a moment to kick off his shoes and then taking off his pants, which made you giggle behind your hand — and climbed back up onto the bed in just his open shirt.

He hesitated above you and you wondered for a moment if he had spotted some sort of flaw, if maybe up close you weren’t as attractive to him as he had thought, but then he nervously murmured, “You said you had condoms?”

Blushing furiously, you broke into a breathless smile and reached over to the bedside table, catching a glimpse of his cock in the process. The sight alone made your pussy throb hard and your hand trembled as it rifled through the top drawer. You felt around, knowing that there was normally at least a dozen condoms kept there. But, nothing.

Cursing under your breath, you sat up a little more and Arthur did the same, the both of you trembling with want and realizing at the same time that the drawer was completely empty.

Rolling back onto the mattress, you caught those green eyes again and worried your bottom lip between your teeth. In any other circumstance, this would have been the end of it, but there had already been so many exceptions tonight, and you were most definitely on birth control —

“Fuck it, just —” You reached out, grabbed ahold of his collar and tugged him forward to break another rule, kissing him hard.

Arthur didn’t respond right away, shocked and well aware of the terms you had set out, but soon kissed you back in earnest, his hands immediately cupping your face with a tenderness that made you sink into the mattress.

Smoothing your hands beneath his shirt, you scratched down along his back and he purred in response, grinding his cock against your inner thigh. Completely out of self-control now, you bit down on his lip and reached down to help guide his length towards your pussy, crying out as it brushed against your clit. He took this as the last bit of permission needed and broke the kiss to look down, and —

“Fuck!”

Arthur didn’t fuck slowly. Once he was inside of you, his pace was rapid right away, hips snapping forward with each unforgiving, bruising thrust.

You buried your face in his neck, bit down at the skin there and sobbed a little, overwhelmed with pleasure. “Arthur, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

This time, Arthur didn’t tiptoe around it. “I’m gonna cum,” he grunted, a throaty kind of whine that made you instantly clench around him.

“You’re — I’m —” You couldn’t fucking speak anymore, because he had tilted his hips up in such a way that made your vision crackle — and then you were cumming, hard, shrieking into his neck.

With your pussy clamped down hard on his cock, Arthur couldn’t have pulled out if he tried. He came inside you with a long, sensual groan that made you wrap your arms around his neck, just wanting to feel him.

The both of you sort of collapsed into each other simultaneously, all heavy breathing and rapid heartbeats and shaky limbs.

“Baby boy,” you eventually breathed out, a sort of sigh of disbelief, your hand returning to his hair.

Clearly exhausted, Arthur pressed a kiss to your temple and you felt his lips turn up into a sleepy smile. “Mm?”

“Your friend can go fuck himself,” you murmured, scratching lazily at his scalp and smiling right back, “Cause you’re coming home with me.”

reader tag: @taintednihilist @galaxycat-1459 @hxneyboy @sebastianshoe @insomniabird@jesstaggartt@lenawiinchester @emissarydecksetter @ghoulsguilty @vampirozi @spaceinvader@aclownthing @zy-nnic @alirabbitt @mapreza1 @the-jokers-wolf @nicimixerxoxo @catch-a-star-wish-from-afar @umetsa @skaravile @live-love-loki @clowneyrat @darknessisafriend @chaosheartjester @shikoshikomanzuri @myfaceisaturnoffsorry @foofee0924 @tearfuljokers

(if you’d like to be added to the reader tag, shoot me a message! sorry if i’m missing anybody, lemme know if i did!)

#arthur fleck x reader #joker x reader #arthur fleck #joker #idk how this turned into 6k+ words but i hope you all enjoy it lmao x #drabble

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dustedmagazine · 3 years

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Dust, Volume 7, Number 7

What are Grandbrothers doing to that piano?

Greetings from under the heat dome, where shipments of vinyl are melting mid-journey and even the coolest of cool jazz sounds a little wilted by the time it reaches your ear. We are sitting in the shade. We are drinking lemonade and iced tea. We are looking for the window fans and lugging old air condition units up from the basement. We are, perhaps, headed to the community pool for the first time since our kids were young, though also, perhaps not. In any case, we are still getting through piles of recorded music, even in this heat, and finding some gems. Here are dispatches from the furthest reaches of Japanese psych, European free jazz, self-released indie folk, Irish lockdown angst, Moroccan raging punk and lots of other stuff. Contributors included Mason Jones, Jennifer Kelly, Bill Meyer, Tim Clarke, Bryon Hayes, Jonathan Shaw, Arthur Krumins and Chris Liberato. Stay cool.

Yuko Araki — End of Trilogy (Room40)

End Of Trilogy by Yuko Araki

These 16 tracks whoosh past in just 35 minutes, with most of them clocking in around two minutes in length. Many don't reach a conclusion: they simply end abruptly, and the next one starts. Araki manipulates electronics to create whirling, sizzling atmospheres of confusion, sometimes fast-moving burbles of percussion and synths, at other moments pushing distorted hissing and confrontational tones to the front. The aptly-named "Dazed" begins with a cinematic feel, then its galactic drones give way to static and metallic scrapes. "Positron in Bloom" is like a chorus of machine voices shouting angry curses into space, and "Dreaming Insects" sounds as if the titular creatures are being pulled downstream in fast-moving rapids. Oscillating between menacing and humorous, End of Trilogy's bite-sized pieces of surrealist electronics are never boring.

Mason Jones

Alexander Biggs — Hit or Miss (Native Tongue Music Publishing)

Hit or Miss by Alexander Biggs

Alexander Biggs blunts sharp, stinging lyrics in the sweetest sort of strummy indie-pop, working very much in the Elliott Smith style of sincerity edged with lacerating irony. “All I Can Do Is Hate You” finds a queasy intersection between soft pop and tamped down rage, Biggs murmuring phrases like “I want you to fuck me til I can’t say your name,” but melodically, over cascades of acoustic guitar. “Madeline” is the pick of the litter here, a dawdling jangle of guitar framing knife-sharp lyrics about romantic disillusionment. “Miserable,” sports a bit of lap steel for emotional resonance, demonstrating once more, if you had any doubt, that very sad songs can make you feel better somehow. Biggs is good at both the softness and the sting, and for guy-with-a-guitar albums, that’s what you need.

Jennifer Kelly

Christer Bothén 3 — Omen (Bocian)

Omen by Christer Bothén 3

Dusted’s collective consciousness has spent a lot of time considering Blank Forms’ recent publication, Organic Music Societies, which considers Don and Moki Cherry’s convergence of artistic and familial efforts during the 1960s and 1970s, as well as the two archival recordings by Don and associates, which shed light upon his Scandinavian musical activities. All three are worth your attention, but their liveliness is shaded by the awareness that almost every hopeful soul involved is no longer with us. But Christer Bothén, who introduced Don to the donso ngoni and subsequently played in his bands for many years, is not only among the living, he’s got breath to spare. This trio recording doesn’t delve into the African sounds that bonded Bothén and Don. Rather, the Swede’s bass clarinet draws bold and emphatically punctuated melodic lines, driven by a steaming rhythm section that takes its cues from Ornette Coleman’s mid-1960s trio recordings. This music may not sound new, but it’s full of lived-in knowledge and vigor.

Bill Meyer

Briars of North America — Supermoon (Brassland)

Supermoon by Briars of North America

New York-based trio Briars of North America take patient, painterly, occasionally cosmic approach to folk music. With “Sala,” Supermoon sounds like a backwoods Sigur Ros. A falsetto voice intoning a made-up language arcs elegantly over sustained waves of electric piano. Soon after, the album touches down into more grounded guitar-and-cello territory on pieces such as “Island” and “Chirping Birds,” which bring to mind Nick Drake, albeit less contrary or withdrawn. At the album’s midway point, the listener is carried into the aether with the eerie sustained brass and wordless vocals of the eight-minute “The Albatross of Infinite Regress.” A similar space is explored at the album’s end with the 12-minute “Sleepy Not Sleepy,” as strings and warbling synthesizer tones intermingle with the return of the made-up language. Though the band’s more conventional vocal-led songs, such as “Spring Moon,” are decent enough, Briars of North America touch upon something expansive and ineffable when they explore their more experimental side.

Tim Clarke

Bryan Away — Canyons to Sawdust (self-released)

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Chicago-based actor, composer and multi-instrumentalist Elliot Korte releases music under the moniker Bryan Away. His new album, Canyons to Sawdust, begins with what feels like two introductions. “Well Alright Then” is a Grizzly Bear-style scene-setter for wordless voices, strings and woodwinds, while “Within Reach” sounds like a tentative cover of Radiohead’s “Pyramid Song” that runs out of steam before it had the chance to build momentum. The first full song, single “The Lake,” gets the album up and running in earnest with its melancholy piano and string arrangement spiked with pizzicato plucks and bright acoustic guitar figures. Half Waif lends her vocal talents to “Dreams and Circumstance,” another highlight featuring some lovely interplay between guitar arpeggios and drum machine. One pitfall of exploring romantic musical territory is the risk of sounding a tad saccharine, and the weakest links in the album, companion tracks “Scenes From a Marriage” and “Scenes From a Wedding,” have the kind of performative tone you’d expect to find on the soundtrack of a mainstream romantic comedy. Elsewhere, though, Korte’s judgment is sound, and there’s plenty of elegant music to be found. Fans of Sufjan Stevens will no doubt find a lot to like, and it’ll be interesting to see where Bryan Away ventures next.

Tim Clarke

Jonas Cambien Trio — Nature Hath Painted Painted The Body (Clean Feed)

Nature Hath Painted the Body by Jonas Cambien Trio

On its third album, the Jonas Cambien Trio has attained such confidence that it’s willing to mess with its signature sound. The Oslo-based combo’s fundamental approach is to stuff the expressive energy and textural adventure of free jazz into compositions that are by turns intricate and rhythmically insistent but always pithy. This time, the Belgian-born pianist Cambien also plays soprano sax and organ. The former, stirred into André Roligheten’s bundle of reed instruments, brings airy respite from the music’s tight structures; the latter, dubbed into locked formation with the piano and jostled by Andreas Wildhagen’s restlessly perambulating percussion, expands the music’s tonal colors. The tunes themselves have grown more catchy, so much so that their twists and turns only become apparent with time and repeat listening.

Bill Meyer

Ferran Fages / Lluïsa Espigolé — From Grey To Blue (Inexhaustible Editions)

From Grey To Blue by Ferran Fages

When discussion turns to a pianist’s touch, it’s tempting to think mainly of what they do with their fingers. But it must be said that Lluïsa Espigolé exhibits some next-level footwork on this realization of Ferran Fages’ From Grey To Blue. Fages is a multi-instrumentalist who functions equally persuasively within the realms of electroacoustic improvisation and heavy jazz-rock, but for this piece, which was devised specifically for Espigolé, he uses written music and an instrument he doesn’t play, the piano, to engage with resonance and melody. The three-part composition advances with extreme deliberation, often one note at a time, turning the tune into a ghostly presence and foregrounding the details of the decay of each sound. This music is so sparse that the shift to chords in the third section feels dramatically dense after a half hour of single sounds and corresponding silences. The elements of this music have been sculpted with such exquisite control that one wonders if Catalonia has looked into insuring Espigolé’s feet; her way with the piano’s pedals is a cultural resource.

Bill Meyer

Grandbrothers — All the Unknown (City Slang)

All the Unknown by Grandbrothers

The duo known as Grandbrothers hooks a grand piano up to an array of electronic interfaces, deriving not just the clear, gorgeous notes you expect, but also a variety of percussive and sustained sounds from the classic keyboard. In this third album from the two—that’s pianist Erol Sarp and electronic engineer Lukas Vogel—construct intricate, joyful collages, working clarion melodies into sharp, pointillist backgrounds. The obvious reference is Hauscka, who also works with prepared piano and electronics, but rather than his moody beauties, these compositions pulse with rave-y, trance-y exhilaration. If you ever wondered what it would sound like if the Fuck Buttons decided to cover Steve Reich, well, maybe like this, precise and complex and shimmering, but also huge and triumphant. Good stuff.

Jennifer Kelly

id m theft able — Well I Fell in Love with the Eye at the Bottom of the Well (Pogus Productions)

Well I Fell in Love With the Eye at the Bottom of the Well by id m theft able

Al Margolis’ Pogus Productions imprint has cast its gaze toward the strange happenings in Maine, netting a mutant form of electroacoustic wizardry in the process. Scott Spear is the one-man maelstrom known as id m theft able, an incredibly prolific and confounding presence in the American northeast. He draws influence from musique concrète and sound poetry, but adds a whimsical spirit, a tinker’s ingenuity and the comedic timing of a master prankster to his compositions. Sometimes this leads to the bemusement of his audience, but he tempers any surface madness with an endless curiosity and a playful sense of the meaning of the word music. Well I Fell in Love with the Eye at the Bottom of the Well ostensibly came to be via Spear’s desire to create a doo-wop tune. Only Spear himself knows whether this is fact or fiction, because it is clear from the opening moments of “Shun, Unshun and Shun” that this disc is full of sonic non-sequiturs, amplified clatter and delightful mouth happenings that are as far removed from doo-wop as possible. The madness is frequently tempered with beautiful moments: a broken music box serenades a flock of chirping birds in the middle of a mall, Spear hypnotically chants at a landscape of crickets, flutes pipe along to the patter of rain on a window. As one gets deeper into the record, the sound poetry aspects become more and more pronounced, such as on “The Curve of the Earth” and the closing piece, “Purple Rain.” Those seeking a humor-filled gateway drug into that somewhat perilous corner of the sonic spectrum would be wise to pop an ear in the direction of this frenetic assemblage of sound.

Bryon Hayes

Mia Joy — Spirit Tamer (Fire Talk)

Spirit Tamer by Mia Joy

Mia Joy turns the temperature way down on gauzy Spirit Tamer, constructing translucent castles in the air out of musical elements that you can see and hear right through. The artist, known in real life as Mia Rocha, opens with a brief statement of intent in a one-minute title track that wraps wisps of vocal melody with indistinct but lovely sustained tones. The whole track feels like looking at clouds. Other cuts are more substantial, with muted rock band instruments like acoustic and electric guitars and drum machines, but even indie-leaning “Freak” and "Ye Old Man,” are quiet epiphanies. Rocha sounds like she is singing to herself softly, inwardly, without any thought of an audience, but also so close that it tickles the hair in your ears. Rocha closes with a cover of Arthur Russell’s “Our Last Night Together,” letting rich swells of piano stand in for cello, but tracing the subtle, undulating lines of his melody in an airy register, an octave or two higher. Like Russell, Rocha sets up an interesting interplay between deep introversion and presentation for the public eye; she’s not doing it for us, but we’re listening anyway.

Jennifer Kelly

Know//Suffer — The Great Dying (Silent Pendulum Records)

The Great Dying by KNOW//SUFFER

It’s not inaccurate to describe The Great Dying as a hardcore record. You’ll hear all the burly breakdowns; buzzing, overdriven guitars; and grimly declaimed vocals that characterize the genre, which since the mid-1990s has moved ever closer to metal. But Know//Suffer have consistently infused their music with sonic elements associated with other genres of heavy music. Most of the El Paso band’s 2019 EP bashed and crashed along with grindcore’s psychotic, sprinting energy. The Great Dying is a longer record, and it slows down the proceedings considerably. There are flirtations with sludge, and even with noise rock’s ambivalent gestures toward melody: imagine Tad throwing down with a mostly-sober version of Eyehategod, and you’re more than halfway there. As ever, Toast Williams emotes forcefully, giving word to a very contemporary version existential dread. But there’s frequently a political edge to the lyrics on this new record. On “Thumbnail,” he sings, “I swallow what must be hidden / Hoping assimilation makes me whole / The whole that everyone thinks I am / Smiling under this mask knowing / I’m not hiding my face in public.” “Assimilation” is a loaded word, especially on the Southern Border, and it’s no joke walking around in public as a proud black man anywhere in Texas. Wearing a mask as you walk into Target? P.O.C. stand a chance of getting shot. Know//Suffer still sound really pissed off, but the objects of their anger seem increasing outside of their tortured psyches, located in the lifeworld’s social planes of struggle. That gives their grim music an even harder charge, and makes Williams’s performances of rage even more powerful.

Jonathan Shaw

Heimito Künst — Heimito Künst (Dissipatio)

HEIMITO KÜNST by Heimito Künst

The debut album from Italian experimental instrumentalist Heimito Künst, recorded over several years in his home studio, uses an array of electronic and primitive instrumentation to create an overall woozy, dark atmosphere. From groaning, atonal slabs of organ, like a detuned church service, to murmuring field recordings and scrapings, these seven tracks are less like songs and more like unsettling journeys through sound. Pieces like "Talking to Ulises" blend quiet Farfisa tones and a wordlessly singing voice in the distance. Ironically, although the final track is titled "Smoldering Life", it's unexpectedly brighter, with major-key synth notes over the cloudy sound of a drum being bashed to pieces before ending with an almost gentle, summertime feel.

Mason Jones

Jeanne Lee — Conspiracy (moved-by-sound)

Conspiracy by JEANNE LEE

Lots of 1960s and 1970s jazz reissues offer beautiful music, but few redefine how liberating improvised music can be. Conspiracy, originally recorded in 1974 by Lee on vocals with an ensemble that includes Sam Rivers and Gunter Hampel, falls into the latter category without feeling forced. It combines sound poetry, the conversation of spontaneity, and grooves that don’t stay on repetition but still get ingrained into your brain somehow. Best digested in a contemplative sitting, the album demands you give your whole attention to the direction of the music and words mixed with extended vocal techniques. The sound shifts from a full-on medley of flutes, drums, bass and horns with voice, to more minimal experiments. The recording is clean and uncluttered, even at its busiest. A lushly enjoyable listen.

Arthur Krumins

Sarah Neufeld — Detritus (Paper Bag)

Detritus by Sarah Neufeld

Sarah Neufeld’s third solo album grew out of a collaboration with the Toronto choreographer Peggy Baker, begun before the pandemic but dealing anyway with loss, intimacy and grief. The violinist and composer works, as a consequence with a strong sense of movement, underlining rhythms with repeated, slashing motifs in her own instrument and pounding drums (that’s Jeremy Gara, who, like Neufeld, plays in Arcade Fire). You can imagine movement to nearly all these songs. “With Love and Blindness” rushes forward in a wild swirl of strings, given weight by the buzz of low-toned synthesizer and airiness in the layer of denatured vocals; you see whirling, bending, graceful gestures. “The Top” proceeds in quicker, more playful patterns; agile kicks and jumps and shimmies are implied in its contours. “Tumble Down the Undecided” has a raw, passionate undertow, its play of octave-separated notes frantic and agitated and the drumming, when it comes, fairly gallops. This latter track is perhaps the most enveloping, the notes caroming wildly in all directions, in the thick of the struggle but full of joy.

Jennifer Kelly

Aaron Novik — Grounded (Astral Editions)

Grounded by Aaron Novik

Aaron Novik is a clarinetist with an extensive background in jazz, klezmer, rock and in-between stuff, but you wouldn’t know any of that from listening to this tape. Its ten numbered instrumentals sound more derived from the sound worlds of 1970s PBS documentaries, Residents records of similar vintage, and Pop Corn’s fluke hit, “Pop Corn.” Recorded during the spring of 2020, when Novik’s new neighborhood, Queens, became NYC’s COVID central, it manifests coping strategy that many people learned well last year; when the outside world is fucked and scary, retreat to a room and then head down a rabbit hole. In this case, that meant sampling Novik’s clarinets and arranging them into perky, bobbing instrumentals. The sounds themselves aren’t processed, but it turns out that when recontextualized, long, blown tones and keypad clatter sound a lot like synths and mechanized beats. There’s a hint of subconscious longing in this music. While it was made in a time and place when many people didn’t leave the house, it sounds like just the thing for outdoor constitutionals with a Walkman.

Bill Meyer

Off Peak Arson — S-T (Self-released)

Self Titled by Off Peak Arson

Presumably named after the Truman's Water song — a fairly obscure name check, indeed — Off Peak Arson hail from Memphis, TN. Their debut EP's five songs are less reminiscent of their namesakes than of heavier, noisier bands like Zedek-era Live Skull, Dustdevils and Sonic Youth. Which is not a bad thing at all. The four-piece leverage the dual guitars to nicely intense effect, and with all four members contributing vocals there's a lot going on, at times blending an interesting sing-song pop feel with the twisty-noisy guitar. The band have a way of finding memorable hooks amidst sufficient cacophony to keep things challenging while also somehow catchy. Keep your ears open for more from this quartet.

Mason Jones

Barre Phillips / John Butcher / Ståle Liavik Solberg — We Met – And Then (Relative Pitch)

We met - and then by Phillips, Butcher, Solberg

In 2018, ECM Records issued End To End, a CD by double bassist Barre Phillips which capped a half-century of solo recording. You might expect this act to signal the winding down of the California-born, France-based improviser’s career; after all, he was born in 1934. And yet, in 2018 he played the first, but not the last, concert by this remarkable trio, which is completed by British soprano/tenor saxophonist John Butcher and Norwegian percussionist Ståle Liavik Solberg. Recorded in Germany and Norway during 2018 and 2019, this CD presents an ensemble whose members are strong in their individual concepts, but are also committed to making music that is completed by acts of collective imagination. The music is in constant flux, but purposeful. This intentionality is expressed not only through action, but through the conscious yielding of space, as though each player knows what openings will be best occupied by one of their comrades.

Bill Meyer

Round Eye — Culture Shock Treatment (Paper +Plastick)

“Culture Shock Treatment,” the lead-off track from this unhinged and ecletic album, swings like 1950s rock and roll, a sax frolicking in the spaces between sing-along choruses. And yet, the gleeful skronk goes a little past freewheeling, spinning off into chaos and wheeling back in again. Picture Mark Sultan trying to ride out the existential disorder of early Pere Ubu, add a horn line and step way back, because this is extremely unruly stuff. Round Eye, a band of expatriates now living in Shanghai, slings American heartlands oddball post-punk into unlikely corners. Frantic jackhammer hardcore beats (think Black Flag) assault free-from experimental calls and responses (maybe Curlew?) in “5000 Miles, “ and as a kicker, it’s a commentary on ethno-nationalist repression (“Thank…the country. Thank…the culture”). “I Am the Foreigner” hums and buzzes with exuberance, like a hard-edged B-52s, but it’s about the alienation that these Westerners most likely experience, every day in the Middle Kingdom. This is one busy album, exhausting really, a whac-a-mole entertainment where things keep popping out of holes and getting hammered back, but it is never, ever dull.

Jennifer Kelly

So Cow — Bisignis (Dandy Boy)

Bisignis by So Cow

This new So Cow record is a mood. Specifically, that mood during the third and “least fun” of Ireland’s lockdowns, when you head to your shed and bash out an album about everything that’s been lodged in your craw during a year of isolation — including, of all things, the crowd at a Martha Wainwright show (on “Requests”). And while sole Cow member Brian Kelly might have dubbed the record Bisignis, the Old English word for anxiety, it’s his discontent that takes center stage. “Talking politics with friends/Jesus Christ it never ends” Kelly sings on early highlight “Leave Group” before employing a guitar solo that could pass for some seriously fried bagpipes to help clear the room. This album takes the opposite approach of The Long Con, the project’s 2014 Goner Records one-off where So Cow made more complex moves towards XTC and Futureheads territory but obscured its greatest weapon: Kelly’s deadpan wit. And while a couple of these songs overstay their welcome with their sheer garage punk simplicity, others like “Somewhere Fast” work in the opposite way and win your ears over with repeat listens. “You are the reason I’m getting out of my own way,” Kelly sings, and in doing so has produced the project’s best full-length in a decade. So what? So Cow!

Chris Liberato

Taqbir — Victory Belongs to Those Who Fight for a Right Cause (La Vida Es Un Mus)

Victory Belongs To Those Who Fight For A Right Cause by Taqbir

In our super-saturated musical environment, another eight-minute, 7” record of scorching punk burners isn’t much of an event. But the appearance of Taqbir’s Victory Belongs to Those Who Fight for a Right Cause (the title is almost longer than the record itself) is at the very least a significant occurrence. The band comes from Morocco and features a woman out front, declaiming any number of contemporary socio-political ills. So there’s little wonder that the Internet isn’t bursting with info about Taqbir; you can find a Maximumrocknroll interview, some chatter about the record here and there, and not much else. It must take enormous courage to make music like this in Morocco, and even more to be a woman making music like this. The long reign of King Mohammed IV has edged the country toward marginal increments of cultural openness — if not thoroughgoing political reform — but conservative Islam and economic struggle are still dominant forces, combining to keep women relegated to submissive social roles. And the band is not fucking around: their name is a Moroccan battle cry, synonymous with “Alu Akbar!” Their repurposing of that slogan in support of their anti-traditionalist, anti-religious, anti-capitalist positions likely makes life in a place like Tangier or Casablanca pretty hard. The songs? They’re really good. Check out “Aisha Qandisha” (named for a folkloric phantasm that ambiguously mobilizes the feminine as murderous and rapacious monster): the music slashes and burns with just the right dash of melody, the vocals go from a simmer to a full-on rolling boil. Taqbir! y’all. Stay safe, stay strong and make some more records.

Jonathan Shaw

TOMÁ — Atom (Self-Release)

Atom by TOMÁ

Tomá Ivanov operates in interstices between smooth jazz and soul-infused electronics, splicing bits of torchy world traditions in through the addition of singers. You could certainly draw connections to the funk-leaning IDM of artists like Flying Lotus and Dam-Funk, where pristine instrumental sounds—strings, piano, percussion—meet the pop and glitch of cyber-soul. Guest artists flavor about half the tracks, pushing the music slightly off its center towards rap (“A Different You featuring I Am Tim”), quiet storm soul (“Outsight featuring Vivian Toebich”), falsetto’d art pop (“Catharsis featuring Lou Asril”) or dreaming soul-jazz experiments (“Blind War featuring Ben LaMar Gay”). Thoughout, the Bulgarian composer and guitarist paces expansive ambiences with shuffling, staggering beats, roughing up slick surfaces with just enough friction to keep things interesting.

Jennifer Kelly

The Tubs — Names EP (Trouble In Mind)

Names EP by The Tubs

“I don’t know how it works” declared The Tubs on their debut single, but they’re diving right in anyways on its follow-up, Names, with four songs that explore the self and self-other relationship. Their cover of Felt’s “Crystal Ball” tightens the musical tension of the original in places but still allows enough slack for singer Owen Williams to stretch the lyrical refrain — about the ability of another to see us better than we see ourselves — into a more melancholy shape than Lawrence. Of the EP’s three originals, Felt’s influence is most obvious in George Nicholls’ guitar work on “Illusion,” especially when the change comes and his lead spirals off Deebank-style behind Williams while he questions his connection to his own reflection. “Is it just an illusion staring back at me?” “The Name Song” is the longest one here at over three minutes, and in a similar way to The Feelies, it feels like it could go on forever, which might prove useful if Williams adds more names to his don’t-care-about list. “Two Person Love” is the best track of the bunch, though, with its classic sounding riff that swoops in and out allowing room for the chiming and chugging rhythm section to do the hard work. The relationship in the song might have been “pissed up the wall,” as Williams in his Richard Thompson-esque drawl puts it, but The Tubs certainly seem to have figured out how this music thing works.

Chris Liberato

Venus Furs — S-T (Silk Screaming)

Venus Furs by Venus Furs

Venus Furs sounds like band, but in fact, it’s one guy, Paul Krasner, somehow amassing the squalling roar of psychedelic guitar rock a la Brian Jonestown Massacre or Royal Baths all by himself. These songs have a large-scale swagger and layers and layers of effected guitars, as on the careening “Friendly Fire,” or hailstorm assault of “Paranoia.” A ponderous, swaying bass riff girds “Living in Constant.” Its nodding repetition grounds radiating sprays of surf guitar. You have to wonder how all this would play out in concert, with Krasner running from front mic to bass amp to drum kit as the songs unfold, but on record it sounds pretty good. Long live self-sufficiency.

Jennifer Kelly

Witch Vomit — Abhorrent Rapture (20 Buck Spin)

Abhorrent Rapture by Witch Vomit

Witch Vomit has one of the best names in contemporary death metal (along with Casket Huffer, Wharflurch and Snorlax — perversely inspired handles, all), and the Portland-based band has been earning increasing accolades for its records, as well. They are deserved. Witch Vomit plays fast, dense and dissonant songs, bearing the impress of Incantation’s groundbreaking (gravedigging?) records. Does that mean it’s “old school”? Song titles from the band’s previous LP Buried Deep in a Bottomless Grave (2019) certainly played to traditionalists’ tastes: “From Rotten Guts,” “Dripping Tombs,” “Fumes of Dying Bodies.” And so on. This new EP doesn’t indicate any significant changes in trajectory or tone, but the songwriting makes the occasional move toward melody. See especially the second half of “Necrometamorphosis,” which has a riff or two that one could almost call “pleasant.” If that seems paradoxical, check out the EP’s title. Is that an event, a gruesome skewing of Christianity’s big prize for the faithful? Or is it an affective state, in which abject disgust somehow builds to ecstatic transport? Who knows. For the band’s part, Witch Vomit keeps chugging, thumping and squelching along, doling out doleful songs like “Purulent Burial Mound.” Yuck. Sounds about right, dudes.

Jonathan Shaw

yes/and — s-t (Driftless Recordings)

yes/and by yes/and

This collaboration between guitarist Meg Duffy (Hand Habits) and producer Joel Ford (Oneohtrix Point Never) is an elusive collection of shape-shifting instrumentals. Each piece is built around Duffy’s guitar, yet the timbre and mood tends to switch dramatically between tracks. The album’s run-time is fairly evenly split between dark, atmospheric pieces, such as “More Than Love” and “Making A Monument,” and hopeful, glimmering miniatures, such as “Centered Shell” and the wonderfully titled “In My Heaven All Faucets Are Fountains.” “Learning About Who You Are” looms large at the album’s heart, as nearly eight minutes of hazy, wind-tunnel drone pulses and reverberates across the stereo space. Despite the variation in tone, each track stakes out its own territory in the tracklist, and it’s only “Tumble” that comes across as an unrealized idea. While it’s only half an hour, yes/and feels longer, its circuitous routes opening up all kinds of possibilities.

Tim Clarke

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renlimotroll · 4 years

Text

Darling, my dreams came true

⚠️ Warning: BL/ Personification/ Imagination/ Out of Character/ Cursing ⚠️

Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with boyxboy.

A/N: I wrote this during ungodly hours, so there might be grammar errors. I’m so stressed with work and this happened. This story was born as I was talking to my friends about my MinSiru imagines and listening to Aimer. Also, this is just my imagination, so please don’t take it seriously.

Enjoy! 🤖🐶

Love, Ren 🌻

Summary: When he’s sleep-deprived, Siruko gets weirdly affectionate, especially towards a certain green head. Everyone knows what’s going on, but of course, Siruko is the last to know about his actions and feelings.

Pairing: 🤖🐶

AU where Bintroll are still youtubers but they live in the same house.

(Story continues below)

It was a great day. The sun was shining warmly outside, and Siruko feels well-rested and refreshed. He stretches then gets up, deciding to check his notifications later and get brunch first. He can smell coffee and something delicious coming from the kitchen. With his luck, Mintosu could be cooking curry and wouldn’t that be the best brunch ever.

He doesn’t know why he felt disappointed that it was Ichihachi cooking, but Ichihachi-kun’s pancakes smells and looks really good so he grabs a plate and forks a piece. Siruko wasn’t aware of the knowing eyes that were watching him carefully as he prepares his coffee. Since Siruko seems to be not fully awake yet without coffee, he didn’t notice how Ichihachi, Quartet, Jiraichan and Hakotaro were side-eyeing each other in a silent communication.

After he had at least drank half of his cup and felt more alert, the purplehead finally noticed the weird atmosphere at the dining table. “What?” He asked. Jiraichan was smirking, Quartet was making weird faces, Ichihachi was looking at everywhere but him, and Hakotaro look so done already even though Siruko doesn’t know for the life of him what he has done to earn that exasperated look on his younger brother. It’s way too early for this. “What?? Shouldn’t I be receiving morning greetings instead of… whatever this is??”

“Well, you certainly have a good morning, don’t you?” Jiraichan raised his eyebrows teasingly.

“Chotto, Jiraisan,” Ichihachi warned.

Siruko was bewildered. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing, Siruko-san! Good morning!” Quartet quipped a little too brightly.

Siruko glared at them suspiciously. “Good.. morning.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake!” Hakotaro shook his head and rolled his eyes heavenward. “Niisan, your shirt!”

“Aww there goes our fun.” 🐻

“Way to go Hakotaro.” 🐰

“I wanted to wait and see if Siruko-chan notices it himself.” 🐱

Siruko blinked and followed his younger brother’s words to see.. he was wearing something green. Very green. Something that suspiciously does not belong to him and very particularly belongs to someone else. His face turns bright red like a tomato.

“I-it’s not… I-I’m not… W-we’re not…!” If he could spontaneously combust like a DbD generator with a missed skill check right now, he would. Siruko instantly knew what his friends were thinking and they were wrong!!!… or were they? He’d know if something happened, right? As far as he knows he didn’t really go drinking. He was editing videos and… he does remember Minben-san not letting him drink any more Red Bull, but that was it. He did feel dizzy and queasy yesterday with his migraine, but he didn’t throw up on anyone, right? What the hell happened last night??

Hakotaro rolled his eyes so hard for the second time already even though it’s still early. His older brother was so hopelessly trying to solve what happened that he can practically see equations and formulas appearing from thin air. “Save it Niisan. We all know that–”

“Aaaaah--!” 🐻

“Hakotaro–” 🐰

“Stop–!” 🐱

“When you’re extremely tired, you go to Mintosu-senpai and do… I don’t know what to call that… skinship??” For once, the usually sure-of-himself Hakotaro was at loss for words. “You’re just so affectionate it’s so out-of-character, and you literally have to have some body part of yours touching him! You slump on his back, on his shoulder, on his lap, which, by the way, stopped being funny after the fifth time and just started to become so gross now.”

“F-fifth time??” Siruko definitely did not squeak with a high tone.

Ichihachi cleared his throat. “We stopped counting after the tenth time. And Minben-san always carries you to bed when that happens. He makes a show of complaining about it, but he drops everything he’s doing just to come to your aid.“

“T-t-that..’s n-n-not.. I- uh.. I..”

Jiraichan made sympathetic noises. “If it helps, we’re actually wondering why you can control yourself better when you’re drunk. It only happens when you’re really, really exhausted, like when you’ve stayed up for more than 30 hours.”

“I– what?? S-skinship??”

“You almost punched Quartet-san once because he was trying to make you go to bed and he tried to, and I quote your words, ‘separate Minben-san and I apart!’ ” Ichihachi supplied unhelpfully.

“I– what??” Siruko.exe stopped working and can only ask one-word questions now. It took him a few seconds to process this, and another few to actually believe it. Why are they telling him these... lies?! This can’t be true, right? And why is he only finding out about this now?! Siruko is really starting to re-think considering them his friends, because they’re enjoying this way too much, and they are set on ruining his otherwise perfect morning.

“There goes the bet.” Quartet said nonchalantly, as if talking about the weather.

“BET?? WHAT BET??” Nope, Siruko did not screech. That was a manly scream.

“We guessed you didn’t know you were doing it and we’re right.” Jiraichan explained with a smug smile. “We kinda have a betting pool as to when you’ll realize. Until your dear brother..”

“I’m just sick and tired of this, okay? It’s been a year!” Hakotaro threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Niisan, if you like Minben-san so much then just go confess to him!”

‘W-WHAT??! I-I DON’T–“

“Everybody knows, Siruko-san.” Jiraichan informed him mercilessly, like the psycopath he is. “Us, Hanae-san and the others, even the old lady in the market selling fruits. Everyone.” He put his finger to his lips and looked thoughtful. “Except Minben-san.”

“I–what?” Siruko stammered for the third time.

Hakotaro took pity on his brother, who was doing a perfectly good impression of a Magikarp. “We’re just saying, Niisan, this madness has to stop. You turn into a cuddle monster around Minben-san when you’re exhausted, and the poor man gets a heart attack every time you do. It’s driving all of us crazy, so if you really love your otouto, you’ll get over yourself and confess. Or so help me, I’ll find a locker where I can push the both of you in so you can talk about your feelings!”

“I don’t really do that, do I?” Siruko bit his lip worriedly. He went to the house of the one person in this world who wouldn’t betray him, hoping to get some clarity and possibly some remedy for this whole mess.

“Well…” Gzira look pained to admit it. “Remember when I had to stay overnight last week to help you with Hanachan’s video?”

“Yeah?” Siruko bit his nails nervously.

“You were so tired you were mumbling the theme song of Doraemon.”

“So?? That’s not weird, you know?”

There was an awkward pause, before Gzira resumed. “Backwards… you sang it backwards. It was kinda impressive.” Siruko whined like a child upon hearing that. He’s so close to having a mental breakdown. Why didn’t anyone tell him this? Friends, his ass.

“I was honestly worried and I kept telling you to take a rest, and when I woke up the next day I found out you were still awake. I had no idea what to do, you were so stubborn! So I called Hakotaro over. He said, ‘There’s only one solution to this’ then walked out. When he came back, he brought Minben-san with him.”

“Oh no,” Siruko groaned in despair, feeling his whole face and neck burn with humiliation.

“Yeah. Want me to go on?”

“Ugh.”

“You smiled at him so tenderly and hugged him.”

“No. Stop.” Siruko buried his face in his hands.

“And you called him ‘cuddliest robot ever’. And you practically climbed all over him like a koala. It was so weird I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. Like I wasn’t in the right dimension.”

“Mou, Gzira-kun!” Siruko screamed into his hands. So much for the peace of mind he was hoping for.

“Then he carried you to your bedroom. I don’t know what was weirder, you reverse piggybacking him like a beetle on a tree, or Minben-san actually letting you do that.”

Siruko sulked. No way this happened. Although, there was something he was curious about. “What.. what did he…“ he asked, knowing that Gzira would get his message.

“Okay, don’t freak out, but he did look fond. Like, he liked carrying you to bed. I don’t even think he noticed Hakotaro and I standing awkwardly at the side because he was just looking after you. He even patted your hair. He practically melted when you started nosing his neck.. eww by the way.” Gzira made a face, remembering the scene which seemed so domestic.

“Umm…” Siruko could not believe what he was hearing. He… he did that? And Minben-san… did that?

Gzira continued. “Weirdest experience ever. Hakotaro said it was a regular thing. I got surprised when he said that the only person who could convince you to go to bed when you’re past the 30-hour mark was Minben-san. He even included me on the betting pool.”

“I hate you.” Siruko crossed his arm grumpily.

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.” He sighed in defeat.

“Look, why don’t you just tell him how you feel? It’s been a year, don’t you think you’ve been harboring these feelings for a long time?”

Siruko can’t even begin to imagine the horror. “No way! Minben-san… he’d never like me that way!”

“Why not?” Gzira challenged.

“You know! I’m just a regular guy! I’m not even good at anything! There’s no reason for him to like me!”

“Siruko-san…” Gzira scolded his friend tenderly. “Stop belittling yourself! You’re the smartest, kindest person I know–okay, well maybe Sensei is that too–but you’re a pretty neat person! Anyone would be lucky to have you!”

“You’re just saying that coz you’re my friend.” The purplehead pursed his lower lip out.

“No, I’m saying it because it’s true. And as your friend, I want you to stop overthinking things and just, just try to tell him what you feel, okay?”

“What… what if he rejects me?” Siruko whispered sadly.

Gzira sighed internally. He loves his friends, but sometimes they’re just… too dense. He just wished this pining would stop so they can all be happy. “You guys are so perfect for each other, you’re both oblivious idiots. Just trust me on this. Minben-san’s got it just as bad for you as you for him.”

Siruko wished he could believe him, but he just can’t. Dreams are just that… dreams. Like fairy tales are fairy tales. There’s no way that Mintosu would fall for him, and even though that thought hurts, it’s the reality. Mintosu liking him was just… a fantasy after all.

Yes, everybody was wrong. Siruko grumpily mashed his keyboard, trying to clear the level on the game he was playing and failing miserably. His character kept on dying, and it’s frustrating. Once his character got stuck somewhere between two walls, he decided to give up and shut down his computer. He stared at the black screen reflecting himself.

There’s no way Minben-san would like him. Look at him. There are big dark circles under his eyes, his hair was always messy, and he’s thin as a tooth pick. He doesn’t go out of his room that much, he’s not even that good in games, and the only thing he’s good at is maybe memory games. That’s so lame, right? Unlike Mintosu’s friend, what was his name again? Akoroshi. Now that is a talented guy. Knows English, good at singing, really good at games. It’s just impossible. That’s why he never confessed. He couldn’t even begin to compare with that guy. And what if Mintosu rejects him? Then the friendship he tried so hard to treasure will be gone, it will be awkward as hell since they are all practically homesharing, and maybe he’ll lose the only connection he has with Mintosu. So no way. He’d never confess.

It was a bit hard to avoid Mintosu because you know, housesharing, but Siruko feels like he’d done a pretty good job. He thinks he’s done really well in monitoring if he’s reaching 30 hours of no sleep or managing his exhaustion levels so that no embarrassing thing could ever happen again. He had to vigilantly avoid doing things that was second nature before, like falling asleep on Minben-san’s shoulder during movie night or hitting each other’s knees while playing Mario Kart, because they were just friends! Only friends! It was probably awkward for Minben-san to help not carry him to bed, and maybe the guy was doing it out of some friendly obligation or guilt, and Siruko never wants to put anyone in a situation like that where one forces his friends to do something for him. He keeps his distance now, toning down his actions to just behind the friendship lines, and plasters a smile on his face while pretending he doesn’t see the confused, slightly hurt looks Mintosu was showing as he avoids him.

It was almost successful and he could probably live like this for the rest of his life (hiding his pain) until his so-called beloved friends, his family even, corners him in the kitchen, the place where it all started. Siruko should seriously consider finding his own place to live.

“You’re being very ridiculous right now Siruko-san, and I don’t have much patience for ridiculousness.” Jiraichan says in a tone that means he’s about to pull out knives from his jacket. Very pointy knives that he likes using. “It’s bad enough the bet was cancelled. That was the only thing keeping me from locking you two in a vault and welding the bolt shut so you two can finally make out.” Siruko flushed red when the images came to mind, but shook his head. It was just a stupid fantasy, it didn’t make his heart clench painfully at all. Nope.

Quartetchi followed up immediately. “Sorry Siruko-san. It was fun when there was a bet in place, but now it’s just annoying. You two are the biggest pair of dense idiots in the world.”

“Look Niisan, before, you and Minben-san just irritated me when you both flirted with–”

“We do not–!!” The older brother interrupted indignantly.

“Yes you do!” Hakotaro almost raised his tone in frustration. “You bicker like an old married couple, and as much as it irritated me to see my Niisan and my senpai flirting but not even knowing they do, now it feels like whatever sanity I still had has just gone and you both are being so… so… gaaah!”

“What Hakotaro means to say is,” Ichihachi tried in a gentle tone, “you guys are playing the biggest game of chicken in the world. It was fun when we could tease you both about it and make money out of your hopeless romantic-ness, but now that we can’t, we need you to get your heads out of your asses and do something about it or we will.” He threatened calmly.

“I don’t know what you guys are talking about!” Siruko raised his arms wildly in desperation, his voice breaking. Why can’t his friends just leave him and his misery alone? “Minben-san and I are just friends! What do you want me to do?!?!”

“Oh my god Siruko-san!” Quartetchi complained. “If I didn’t love you as a friend I’d bash your head in that marble sink! How can you be this dense? Aniki’s been walking around with this sour, grumpy face like someone set his PC on fire, and you’re acting like a hurt puppy! A hurt, cruelly-kicked puppy! This has to stop!”

“Mintosu-san LIKES you, Niisan!” Hakotaro emphasized on the like. “How could you miss that? How do you not see--”

“He doesn’t!” Siruko crossed his arms stubbornly. “He’d never! Why would he–”

“If you finish that self-depreciating sentence, I will take out my mines and let you explode right there!” Jiraichan narrowed his eyes. Siruko gulped.

“Okay, that’s it! I’m done. Guys help me.” Quartet suddenly hauled Siruko’s arms up, and Ichihachi grabbed both his feet and lifted it up. The Bintroll leader yelped in surprise and tried to struggle, but Jiraichan and Hakotaro glared at him with that ‘If looks can kill’ face, and he can’t really do anything, not unless he wants to drop like a sack of potatoes to the floor painfully. Jeez, the grips of these two are so tight!

They dragged him upstairs to Mintosu’s room, where he was streaming APEX. Jiraichan opened the door with a bang so loud Mintosu jumped from his seat and hit his knee on the table. Hakotaro grimaced internally, that looked painful. Mintosu let out a string of profanities that shocked his viewers.

“What the fuck’s goin on??!”

The viewers were all alarmed and the comments flew so fast in the chat stream, all wondering what happened to their favorite green robot gamer. Bloodhound died, and Mintosu had to return to the main screen. Suddenly, a purple blob was dumped into his lap and a scream of pain was heard. Mintosu winced and turned off the mic.

“What the fuck guys?! I told you not to come in when I’m–” oh. Siruko-san. Siruko-san was on his lap, grimacing in pain at being dumped unceremoniously. Mintosu’s brain short-circuited and he could only blink.

“Minben-san, my Niisan likes you. A lot. And we know you like him too. I know you think you’re being subtle when you think Niisan’s not watching, but we’re not idiots like him. We know. Everyone does.”

“I- what…” Mintosu unknowingly echoed Siruko’s words from before.

“Just kiss already you idiots!!” Jiraichan yelled with his high-pitched voice. For all his size, he’s really scary when he’s angry. “C'mon guys, let’s go!” The pink fairy stomped angrily and headed out, while the others followed suit. At least Quartet and Ichihachi had the decency to apologize. Siruko thinks he needs to find new friends, they’re so rude!

Before Hakotaro closed the door, he glared daggers at Mintosu, “Look, I can’t say I like the idea of you making out with Niisan, but you make him happy, so please keep doing so. If you ever hurt my Niisan, I know Limone-sensei and everybody else will help me bury your body where no one can find it.” Mintosu nodded, believing the younger one will totally do that. Siruko flushed red upon hearing his brother’s shovel talk.

"I’m really happy if you guys finally get together, but please remember to get your hands off of each other and keep the PDA to a minimum, at least when I’m around.” And with that, the blonde closed the door. The silence that followed was really uncomfortable, and Siruko prays, Ground, swallow me up!!, wondering if it was possible to die out of humiliation.

“So… umm…” Min-san sees the flow of comments asking where he is out of his peripheral view, but he couldn’t care less, not when the person he’s been crushing on for a long time is blushing so hard on his lap right now, and he looks really adorable. Mintosu had wanted this. For so long. If this is a prank, he’s going to kill those guys. But he wants to believe that maybe, just maybe, he has a chance.

Siruko stubbornly refuses to look at him out of embarrassment, and Mintosu just rolls his eyes, even though he’s flustered too. Whatever, he thinks, because he’s never going to let Siruko go after hearing that. He rearranges him in a more comfortable position and mutters, “Okay, before I start the stream again, I’m gonna get this out. I like you, so fucking much, so after this we’ll talk and maybe get some food. Now, stay still and stay quiet.” Mintosu shakes his head to rid of his jitters, places his fingers on the keyboard and mouse, and turns his mic on. “Sorry bout that minnasan, there was a little bit of a commotion, just the bintroll guys messing around, but everything’s fine now. Really fine!! In fact, I’m feeling so good today, I might even get diamond today! Watch out! Hahahaha!” And the fight is on.

Once or twice, Siruko tries to wriggle his way out, but frankly Mintosu feels very warm around him, and being encased around his arms just makes him feel all sorts of giddy and calm at the same time. Mintosu just growls softly when Siruko tries to move so he gives up and watches his.. wait–are they boyfriends now?– maneuver Bloodhound perfectly and get a few kills. This is so embarrassing but at the same time, it’s all he ever wanted. He’s so happy he could just burst. Part of him wonders if he’s dreaming, but that dump was really painful so this must be real. Mintosu rests his chin on his shoulder, and any disbelief of reality he has disappears quickly, because that weight on his shoulder can’t be fake. Soon Siruko feels very sleepy and warm, and even though his heart still feels like it will burst out of his chest, maybe, just maybe, he can start to believe that Mintosu actually likes him back. Mintosu is actually warm and surprisingly comfortable even though he’s talking gibberish and laughing loudly in his ear, and Siruko starts to nod off against the gamer’s chest a few times. He doesn’t understand why he feels sleepy, but he can just always blame Minben-san later.

He blinks blearily when Minben-san carefully slots him into his bed, and the green guy turns off the lights and covers them with his blankets. It smells like detergent and Mintosu and home, and this isn’t the situation he had always imagined being on Minben-san’s bed, but it’s not that bad especially when Minben-san pulls him in and drapes his arms over him for a cuddle. Minben-san without his glasses always makes the butterflies in his stomach flutter, especially now that they’re so close he can practically feel Minben-san’s warm breath and heart beating loudly in his chest. The thought that Mintosu also feels whatever he is feeling is strange but comforting.

“Minben-san,” he whispers, so as to not disturb the electric peace in the atmosphere of the room, “they said we’re idiots.”

Mintosu chuckles and Siruko really likes it when he does that. “Maybe we are. Is that why Sensei keeps telling us that?”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s because we’re idiots in another sense.”

“Tashikani.”

“So… you’re not into… Akoroshi-san?”

“What? No way! Yuck! I’ve never been interested in him that way! He’s just my best friend, that’s all.” Mintosu pauses. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Mmmmmm, maybe...?” Siruko sheepishly mumbles.

“Idiot.” He flicks Siruko’s forehead, resulting into the purplehead pouting cutely. Mintosu thinks he wants to kiss him, but he’s also content with this right now. “It’s you I like. A lot.”

“Why?” Siruko sounded so unsure and lost. Mintosu hates that. He knows that the purplehead tends to be insecure sometimes, which is absolutely absurd. If he could only see that everyone loves him, he would never second-guess himself.

“I just do. Honestly, why wouldn’t anyone? You’re amazing and everything. If anything, I thought you wouldn’t like me.”

Siruko starts to chuckle and Mintosu joins him. “Okay, maybe we really are idiots.”

“Right.”

“And for your information, I like you too. A lot. Actually, maybe I love you.”

Mintosu snorts. “Okay, then ‘maybe’ I love you too.“ Siruko smiles sleepily at that, and Mintosu’s heart skips a beat or two. “You know, you actually told me these a few times before, but I thought you were just being delirious or maybe hallucinating. You’re an idiot who really needs to sleep more.”

“As if you do! You’re just as bad as me, maybe even more!” Siruko wrinkles his nose angrily, and Mintosu thinks cute. “But.. really? I said that? That’s… embarrassing! Why didn’t you say something?”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna take anything your sleep-deprived brain says seriously. Once, you talked about giant ducks and how they’d take over the world one day. You mumble so many weird things, you idiot.”

That… was definitely weird. He can’t really blame his friends for staying away from crazy, sleepy him.

“Plus, well, maybe I like sleepy, idiotic Siruko-san.”

Pink dusted his cheeks. He can’t believe that Minben-san really put up with all of that craziness, but it did lead to this now, and Siruko decides to just stop doubting everything and take whatever happiness he can get. “Whatever. Sleepy Siruko likes you too, so shut up.”

Mintosu huffs, but his fingers run through his purple hair, and that feels really good. Siruko really wants to savour this moment, but his eyes are getting droopy and he doesn’t think he can keep them open.

“Sleep.” Mintosu orders softly.

“Hmmm…” Siruko answers sleepily. “Good night Minben-san.”

Well, what do you know, dreams do come true after all.

It was a great day. The sun was shining warmly outside, and Siruko feels well-rested and refreshed. Mintosu was cooking curry while he was preparing the coffee pot. Nothing really changed after last night, they still bicker a lot and tease each other to death, but this time, there are more leaning-to-each-other and maybe more skinship between them. It was a good morning. The four other Bintroll members were watching the strange love-hate interaction with fond but exasperated eyes.

“Anyone wanna have a bet? I’m betting six months before their first kiss.” 🐻

“C'mon, give them a little credit.” 🐰

“They wouldn’t have made it if Hakotaro didn’t interfere.” 🐱

“Yeah, and I would have won the bet.” 🐻

“No, you wouldn’t!!” 🐰

“Hmm… my bet is a week.” 🐱

“Uh, no way Ichihachi! It took them a year to tell each other that they like each other–actually no, without our help, it would have taken more than a decade! You really think they would kiss in a week?” 🐰

“Yeah! Just place your own bet!” 🐱

“But–” 🐰

Hakotaro drowned them out. Sometimes it’s really tough being the only sane member of this household, but this is family, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s happy as long as everyone is happy, even though everyone is an idiot.

“Finally.” He sighs to himself, seeing his brother and his senpai smiling, and moves to break up the ongoing fight between a kiss that’s really not their business.

It was just a normal brunch in the Bintroll household, but everyone is laughing, and this is happiness. Siruko really appreciates this second family he has, and if he moves to hold Minben-san’s hand under the table, well, sue his boldness.

“Ne~ aishiteru~” he says in his heart.

[A/N: I hope you guys like it! It’s been a year since I last wrote a story and my skills are a bit rusty haha. Also, it’s my first time posting a story on tumblr! It was fun coding but also so frustrating! My good friend cm made the pic! Thanks cm! Visit me on Twitter! Anyway, have a nice day! Panyanyanda!]

🌻

Owari~

#Bintroll #MinSiru #Mintosu #Siruko #bintrollfanfic

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mymelodyheart · 4 years

Text

Highland Destiny Chapter 13 ~Have Faith~

Jamie was driving his Land Rover like a madman, cussing and cursing as he swerved and navigated the wet roads to the Northern Royal Infirmary. Despite the cold spring temperature, he could feel rivulets of sweat on the sides of his temple. He felt queasy, and his heart was racing like a freight train, as a feeling of helplessness intensified. Jamie had never been afraid of anything in his whole life, but the picture of Tom Christie pouring drug into Claire's drink playing over and over in his mind, had his stomach in knots. Tears burning at the back of his eyes threatened to spill as he remembered her last words. "I love you, Jamie," she had said. Oh God, I love this woman, please don't let this be my punishment for my sins. Please protect her and our unborn child.

After what felt like an eternity searching for a parking space, Jamie finally made it to the hospital's lobby, huffing and puffing after running through a maze of cars. Unsure where to go to next, he viewed the scene before him, a picture of normality as people carried on with their business, bustling, with places to go and things to do.

"Jamie!" A woman's voice shouted after him.

He whirled around and was relieved to see Geillis, her long, red-gold hair, wild and loose, and her face pasty white. She was followed by Murtagh, his god-father and three other lads from the Fire Brigade, all dressed in their uniform and carrying their tactical bags.

"Any news on Claire? Is she still in the hospital? How come there are no police here? Was she taken out of the building?" Jamie blurted rapid-fire questions without taking a breath, his eyes darting back and forth to their faces, searching for answers.

"Hello to ye too, god-son!" Murtagh spoke, a figure of equanimity, as he took his elbow and led him away from the group. Once they were a fair distance, he turned to Jamie, his face deadpan and inscrutable. "Now listen to me, ye wee daftie. Ye will stay here like a good lad, and ye will do as yer told. I dinna want to hear ye interfering with the cops or punching anyone on the face. Everything is under control, ye hear me? Beauchamp is in the building. Leave this to the pros."

Jamie grabbed Murtagh's arm in a vice-like grip. "Fuck that! I will no' have ye talking to me like I'm some wee lad...ye dinna ken what Christie is capable of. This is between him and me..." he hissed, in a dangerous undertone.

Murtagh shoved his hand away and moved closer to Jamie, "Wheesht, ye eejit! I ken fine what Christie is like. Ye shoulda clobbered the lad years ago and that woulda been the end of it. Ever since the Beauchamp lassie arrived, ye've no' been acting yersel' an' ye've been in all sorts of trouble. So stay away. That's a warning. Ye're never too big to get a cuff on the ear from me, " the older man retorted, glaring up at him, intent on carrying out his threat. Not waiting for a further response, Murtagh turned to his men. "C'mon lads, we have work to do."

"Wait! I can go to the station and change. I work with the fire department...in case ye dinna remember..." Jamie shouted after them as they walked away, in a last attempt to convince his god-father.

Without turning around, Murtagh shouted back, "NO! Ye'll stay put! Ye're a fucking hazard at the moment. As yer commanding officer, that is an order!"

"Prick!"

"I heard that..."

"Ye were supposed to!"

Fist clenched, Jamie roared in frustration, causing the people in the lobby to turn around in surprise. Geillis, noticing the awkwardness of the situation, quickly jumped in, addressing the on-lookers, "Och, nothing to see here," she announced, waving her hands in the air. "He jist hud his haemorrhoids treated. Th' bigger th' laddie, th' bigger th' piles. Soo verra painful indeed...it makes even the biggest laddie scream."

The people and nurses nodded in understanding before turning away. Jamie glowered angrily down at her as he took her aside by the elbow. "Ye think this is some joke, Geillis. For fuck sake, Claire is in danger, and ye make some crack like that," he snapped, trying to keep his voice down.

"Whit? Listen to yersel'... if yoo're gonnae act like a fanny, expect tae be treated like one," she fumed, yanking her arms away.

Letting out a huge sigh, he conceded. "Alright, alright. Hear me out. I need to get to Claire. Do ye have any idea where she is or have ye heard where Tom took her? Please, lass. I can't stand here and do nothing," he pleaded.

"Aye, ah ken where Christie took 'er. Joe said they're in an abandoned south wing in th' basement. That section is awaitin' renovation until th' permit comes through, so that area is isolated. There are civilian police doon there now an' some of th' male staff an' security," she explained rapidly. "And Jamie...Joe broke into Tom's locker an' foond these." Geillis took a packet from the pocket of her coat and handed it to Jamie.

He opened it and found several candid photos of Claire and a pair of her knickers, obviously stolen when Tom came to visit at the cottage while he was away in France. "Oh, Christ! That sick bastard...I'm going to kill him..." he seethed under his breath, shoving the packet into his own pocket. "I'm going to the station to get my gear..." He was just about to turn around and head for the exit when Geillis stopped him.

"No wait, I have a better idea. I know a nurse who will lend ye a lab coat. She sorta fancies ye... just give her one of those stares ye give Claire an' say something nice aboot her hair," she suggested, her cheeks dimpling as her eyes glinted with mischief.

"Aye, alright...let's go. Lead the way."

..........

Claire dreamt of Frank. He was sitting on the edge of the desk in his study, holding an open book. As she walked in through the double doors, he looked up, smiling. "Hello, darling! What on earth are you doing here?"

"Hi, Frank! I thought you'd be happy to see me."

Frank closed his book and strode towards her with open arms. "Oh Claire, of course, I'm happy to see you," he responded, holding her by the shoulders. "But sweetheart, you aren't supposed to be here. You need to go back. Trust me, all will be well." He took both her hands in his and raised them to his lips.

"Go back to where Frank?"

"You need to go back where you came from," he answered cheerfully, as he turned her around and led her back through the door.

"But..."

"You need to have Faith...," were his last words.

Claire opened her eyes and blinked at the harsh fluorescent lighting right above her, her body shivering from the cold surface she's lying on. As she raised her head slowly, Claire realised she was laid on a metal lab table, and from somewhere at the back of the room, she could hear someone whistling and shuffling about. For diagnostic purposes, she made some small movements with her limbs and head and decided that all her faculties and bodily functions were sound.

Right, Frank, you said I need to have faith. Faith in what though? Suddenly she sensed an unfamiliar stirring in her belly, and her hand instinctively touched it. Although unable to comprehend, she felt in the centre of her guts that something was not right. Trying to piece her memory back together was futile. It was as if the connecting thread to the pictures in her recollection had become undone. All she knew was that she wasn't meant to be there.

She heard footsteps coming nearer, and without any second thoughts, she gingerly slipped off the table, her heart thumping wildly. Slightly unsteady on her feet and her eyes somewhat blurry, Claire looked around the worktop and grabbed the first instrument she could find - a bone marrow biopsy needle which fitted perfectly in her hand. Before she could make her next move, calloused fingers gripped her elbow and pulled her up to her feet, bringing her face to face with Tom Christie.

"Looking for something, hen?" Yeah, where's the fucking exit!

"T-Tom, what are we doing here? And what happened to your face?" Judging from the look of his eyes, Claire sensed he was under the influence of narcotics. The once warm brown eyes she knew was erratic and shifty, and he smelled badly of stale sweat. His left side of the face, severely swollen and the colour of purplish-blue, twitched constantly.

"Och Claire, sweet Claire," he muttered as he raised one hand to caress a cheek. The other hand holding her elbow, slipped behind her back, pressing her close to him. "I've waited for so long to do this. Now we're alone..." He leaned down for a kiss.

Seeing his puffed lips descending upon her, Claire panicked, as her knee automatically jerked upward, hitting him on his most sensitive part. Taking advantage of his pained state, she quickly scrambled to the other side of the work table and yelled at him, "Wot the fuck is wrong with you, Tom? Why are you doing this? And where's everybody?" Her eyes scoured the room, looking for a quick get-away. Think Beauchamp, think!

Recovering from the pain on his groin, Tom straightened up, his slobbery inflated lips sneering wickedly. "Big mistake, Claire...ye shouldna done that..." He cautiously made his way around the lab table to her, his hand taking out a syringe needle from his pocket. "Now be a good lass, and get back on that table. I promise I will not hurt ye if ye do as ye're told."

"Wot? I will do no such thing... you fucking demented bastard!" she screamed at him as she edged further away, her one hand tightening its grip on her weapon, it's handle likened to an old fashion corkscrew. With adrenaline pumping through her veins, the fog in her head lifted, and her fear replaced by anger. She raised her weaponry, brandishing it in the air. "I swear to God, Tom, if you don't let me go, I'll skewer your balls with this and make a haggis out of it and feed it to the dogs."

Tom laughed an evil laugh. "Do ye know how beautiful you look when you're mad even such a salacious slut that ye are? Tell me, Claire, what is it about Fraser that ye like so much ye prefer him over me? Do ye think he'd mind if I took what's his? He has taken away so much from me over the years, so, I'm quite sure he wouldna mind if I sample a bit of ye," he jeered as he followed her around the lab table.

Claire backed away slowly, focusing on his next move, ready to run if he made any sudden action. She thought she heard movement outside the corridor but dismissed it when Tom didn't react. "You're one sick bastard Tom...and here I thought you were my friend. You really need help.." Claire heard shuffling again...

He abruptly pounced on her, making her yelp. Claire caught unaware, he lifted her up, kicking and squirming. Tom was about to reach out for the syringe when something sharp pierced his shoulder blade, making him shriek in agony and releasing his hold. Reaching back, he pulled out the sharp object Claire wounded him with and threw the offensive object away. But before she could flee, Tom grabbed a handful of her locks and swung her to the side, making her head bounced off the corner of the table. "Ye fuckin' whore...ye'll pay for this!" he growled, as he shrugged off his lab coat and wiped his bloodied hand on his pants.

She slid to the floor as she saw stars and flying birds behind her eyelids. Feeling disoriented, Claire searched and groped for anything to defend herself with. She was just inches away from Tom's syringe when his hands pulled her up by the waist, picked her up like a rag doll and slammed her on the lab table. She kicked and screamed as she felt her hospital gown ripped away, but he was stronger and bigger. "GET OFF ME, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"

Suddenly there was a loud crash as the door gave way to the battering ram, and several bodies rushed into the room, screaming and shouting.

"CHRISTIE!" A bewildered Tom turned around and loosened his hold on Claire as he slowly backed away, his eyes huge as saucers, as a very large, menacing red-head Scot advanced towards him, death sentence written all over his face. Tom swallowed and dropped the syringe, frozen on the spot.

Before he could get his hands on Tom, Murtagh and four of his men lunged at Jamie, holding and twisting his arms, as he fought to get-away. Like a possessed man, he continued to thrash and flail as the officers quickly whisked Tom Christie away before the situation could get out of control. They were warned well in advance what Jamie could do if he got within an inch of Tom. "CHRISTIE, YE HEAR ME, YE'LL PAY FOR THIS!" Jamie shouted after him as he was led out of the lab.

At last, coming to his senses, he roughly shrugged off the men holding him and searched the room. "Sassenach!" An officer was already wrapping Claire in a blanket when he saw her, sat-up on a metal table, trembling. Rushing to her side, Jamie quickly carried her away to the corner of the lab, as police searched the room for pieces of evidence. Finding a chair, Jamie settled Claire on his lap, cradling and hugging her tight. "Oh thank God, ye're safe," he muttered over and over, his face buried in her neck, both of them shaking from their ordeal.

Claire wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her hands through his hair. "It's alright...we're okay, Jamie, shh," she whispered, pulling him closer. "He's gone..."

After a while of holding each other close, he pulled away to take a better look at her. "Are ye hurt anywhere, Sassenach?" he asked tenderly, his hands patting her arms and thighs, just to make sure she's whole.

Smiling and feeling more like herself, she answered, "You know what, I'm hungry. I really fancy a pudding."

He laughed out loud, pulling her back close to his embrace and hugging her tight.

..........

Jamie waited outside Claire's room as Joe, and two other doctors gave her a thorough test while she ate three servings of chocolate pudding. He was so exhausted, he fell asleep slumped on the chair.

"Hey buddy, wake up..."

Jamie opened his eyes, immediately alert. "How is she? The baby? Does she know?"

Joe smiled and sat next to him. "Claire's doing great and asleep...well except for a small bump on her head, but nothing serious. You know, it's a sort of miracle that she's so alert and the effects of the drugs are gone from her system. As for the baby, it's too early to tell, but Claire is in great shape, so that's a good sign for the fetus. Her vitals are great...no signs of infection...blood pressure normal and she just ate three servings of chocolate jello. If you want, and when she wakes up, you can take her home. We haven't told her yet about the pregnancy...I thought you should be the one to tell her."

Jamie let out a sigh of relief. "I'm just happy she's alive. And whatever happens with the baby, we'll go through it together..."

"Have you told her the whole story...you know about Tom and Laoghaire, what exactly happened?" Joe asked.

"Aye," Jamie replied, shaking his head. "She took everything in stride. I don't think it has sunk in yet."

"That's normal, Jamie. It's probably a lot to take in after what happened with Tom. She is probably still in shock. What she needs is a holiday...even just for a few days."

"Aye, I was thinking about it...maybe as soon as we leave the hospital. I think I need a holiday too. The last few weeks have been crazy and surreal." Jamie stretched and yawned before continuing. "Right, I'll go and see her now. And thank ye for everything, Joe. I'll have her return yer keys to yer apartment. I don't think she'll be needing it anymore. I will be taking her home."

Joe laughed and slapped him on the back. "You do that, Jamie. I'm pretty sure she'll be happy returning back home to you."

.........

Claire woke up to a pair of sky blue eyes staring down at her. Jamie was lying on his side, his head propped on his elbows.

"Jamie..." She pulled him down for a lingering kiss.

He smiled as his thumb caressed the lines of her jaw. "Good morning Sassenach, ye slept well?"

"Morning? Jesus, I must have slept through. Did you stay here all night?" Claire stretched herself before turning to face him, her arms going around his waist.

"Aye, I couldn't take any chances. Inverness hasn't been kind to ye ever since ye arrived. Ye think ye ready to come home...to me? Joe said ye can leave anytime...ye're in perfectly good health."

"I would love that...I missed the cottage," she replied wistfully, lowering her eyes, her hand rubbing his back."And I missed you too, Jamie."

He lifted her chin with his finger and smiled. "I missed ye too Sassenach. How do ye feel like, when we get home, we pack our bags and head to the Isle of Skye for a few days,? And after that, to Lallybroch?"

"But my work..."

"I spoke to Murtagh already, and he said he'd be happy to see ye back in two weeks." He beamed, pleased with himself.

Claire laughed. "Well, I can hardly say no since you've already arranged everything. Won't it be too cold in Skye?"

He grinned, his face suddenly looking boyish. "Aye, Sassenach...verra cold but I'll be there to keep ye warm." Then his expression turned serious as he leaned to kiss her forehead, his ears turning pink. "Claire, how do ye feel about babies? I mean...have ye ever wanted one? I know ye said ye couldn't have one."

Claire raised her eyebrows, surprised at the question. "It's funny you should ask that...I dreamed last night I was carrying a child. Maybe it's wishful thinking..."

"What if I told ye, ye are with child, Sassenach? Our baby..." Jamie whispered, his eyes glistening.

"Oh!"

"Joe said it's early days yet, but there is a chance ye might lose the baby because of the amount of drug ye ingested. But Joe also said, that yer quick recovery, perfect health and positive results with your examination, could also mean there is a good chance of survival. Either way, we're in this together..."

"Do you want this baby, Jamie?" Claire asked, earnestly.

"I want ye and the baby Sassenach...and if anything happens to the child ye carry, we can try again," he whispered softly, his hand smoothing her hair.

Claire was silent for a moment, confusion crossing her face. "Jamie? What's this?" Baby-talk forgotten, she raised her right hand to show the amber ring, set on white gold, on her ring finger.

Jamie's face turned bright red. "Erm... ye were so sound asleep, and I thought...I thought I'd slipped it in your finger to see if it fits...it's my ma's ring...yer hand is so small ...and it's the colour of yer eyes...I thought, it would suit ye...and I wasna sure if it fits...and then I had trouble taking it off ye," he stammered, as he shifted position in bed, trying to sit up.

"Jamie, why?" she asked, her eyes widening and her face turning pink.

"Weel, what I'm trying to say is, Sassenach, now that ye're wearing the ring...and ye know I love ye..and..."

"Jamieeee..."

He cleared his throat and took Claire's hand in his, deep blue boring into her liquid gold. "What I'm trying to say is, will ye marry me, Sassenach?"

#melodyheart #highlanddestiny #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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airquietworks · 4 years

Text

Lost at the Summit (IzuOcha) (Part 2)

Part 1, Part 3

Chapter Two: Memory

One life.

She wanted to save at least one life today.

"You should probably take a break," a voice in her helmet said.

No. She could not. Not when every precious second could make the difference between life or death. Not when she could still move and tear through the rubble in search of a still-breathing body.

The community centre's collapse - courtesy of a rampaging villain - was catastrophic. It happened too fast and too sudden for heroes to respond. What had started as a rescue mission had quickly devolved into corpse retrieval.

Uravity lifted another piece of the collapsed structure out of the way, moving deeper into the rubble.

It was her first week as a full-blown professional, officially under Ryukyu's agency. It was exhilarating to reach this point. Her dreams were finally coming true, and she eagerly awaited her first big payday to start saving for her parents. The work had been light to start, but she was content with that, knowing her time would come soon enough.

But things escalated far faster than anticipated. Already, they were counting on her. She had seen grim scenes in her high school days, but this was something else entirely.

It frustrated her to no end - to be unable to help these poor, lost souls. To lack the power to have saved their lives.

She dug through, even as her hands started to bleed. She breathed hard, refusing to stop. The shouts of her fellow rescuers had long since faded as she got deeper in, parting the rubble in her wake.

She could not give up. He never would.

As she walked through a collapsed hallway, shifting broken pieces of the building with every step, she heard it - a breath.

Uravity turned around, eyes scanning, desperately searching for the first sign of life she had heard from the ruins today. Nothing was apparent but more rubble, but she did not falter. She kept her senses sharp, desperately seeking out a life she could save.

She heard the breath again and saw where it came from this time - a steel locker peeking out from beneath a massive pile of rubble, collapsed on, but only somewhat crushed. With desperation, Uravity got to work, lifting debris out of the way, tapping as much of it as she could, floating herself up in the air to grab onto more and ensure it would not fall when she pulled the locker out.

"Hello! Is anyone in there? We're here to rescue you!" she called out unevenly, her exhaustion leaking into her voice.

She heard a soft gasp from the locker, the life signalling again. Her heart renewed, she pushed herself back towards the ground, scrutinizing the locker as the rubble floated around her.

The locker had collapsed like a pop can, the door nearly breaking along an opening on the left side. From it, she could see a head of red hair, though the metal obscured the rest of the person.

"I'm a hero, and I'm going to try and get you out of there. Can you tell me if you're injured?" she asked, her training coming to the fore, allowing her to regain some of her composure. She had to be strong for this terrified person.

"...Not hurt," a soft murmur responded.

Uravity let out a sigh of relief, before taking another breath to steel herself. She put a smile on her face, shifting her tone to be as reassuring as she could.

"I'm glad. I'm going to try opening this broken door. Do you think you can shift away from it? As much as you can. Tell me right away if something is wrong."

The person whimpered. "Okay."

"Don't worry. We're going to get you out of there. You'll be alright." She tapped a button on the side of her helmet, sending an electronic beacon for her location. She touched her ear to communicate. "Found someone here. Getting them out. Requesting backup." She could not know how long it might take considering how deep she had gone in solo, but she could keep busy in the meanwhile.

Uravity grabbed onto a broken part of the door; it was rough to hold, but she hardly minded. She tugged, testing its weight, surprised by its give. She pulled hard, careful not to trigger her quirk. The mangled door resisted her, but she would not be stopped; it gave way to her strength.

A small girl sat curled up, her face buried into her knees, wearing a bright-red athletic shirt. She gasped again when the door popped open, her body shaking in fear.

Uravity felt a powerful surge of relief at finding this girl. So many lives were lost - so many people she was powerless to do anything to help. Here, at least, was someone she could help.

"Hello there!" She said it as brightly as she could manage, radiating as much warmth as she could for the girl enshrouded in cold and shadow. "I'm Uravity, and I'm here to rescue you! What's your name?"

The girl did not look up, still quivering, but she whispered a response. "Haruka Akemi."

"That's a lovely name. Now, do you think you can move? We should get you out of there."

"...You can't," the girl murmured in reply.

Uravity blinked. "Come again?"

"You can't. Save me. I'm cursed," the girl said, letting out a guttural sob that broke Uravity's heart. "My dad tried to save me. He couldn't. Now he's gone."

Uravity frowned, knowing it would be difficult to console her, given the almost assured death of her father.

She suddenly felt bile rising in her throat, instinctively covering her mouth, her Quirk straining from overuse. She had been going hard all day. She could not hold this that much longer.

She took a deep breath, summoning the last bit of her strength and courage to push on.

"Hey. Look at me."

Mercifully, the simple instruction garnered a reaction, as the small girl peeked her brown eyes over her knees, staring at the hero.

Uravity could not be sure of what she looked like, but she did her best to exude calm. She knew she could not be breezy anymore.

"I know it's hard right now. Sometimes, it feels like it's impossible to keep going. Like the people we care about are too far away," Uravity reached her hand out, swallowing hard as she felt another surge of queasiness. "But we have to. For ourselves and for the people we love. Because the people we care for are cheering us on, no matter how far away they might seem. We have to try and help them if we can. And I know wherever your father is, he would not want you to give up. He would want you to keep going."

She edged her hand closer as an offering.

"So let's keep walking together. I promise we'll get you all the help you need. Let's get you safe, and I'll be right there with you."

Uravity could not see all of Akemi's expression, but her eyes widened, looking glossy beneath the veil of her tears. Her small hand reached out, shaking, but eventually found purchase against Uravity's own.

"Thank you," the hero said with a grin, gently tugging at the soft hand in her grasp. To her surprise, the girl did not budge in the slightest. Another, slightly harder tug did not yield a better result.

"Can't move," Akemi whispered, burying her face into her lap again. "My Quirk. I'm too heavy."

A Quirk that makes her heavier? Uravity thought, eyebrows furrowing at the implications, but she had no time to waste. Despite how hard she had already strained her ability - and the queasiness she was struggling to keep at bay - she wrapped her fingers around the girl's hand, activating her Quirk and pulling the girl forward.

This time, she found success, quickly yoinking her charge out of the locker. Before Akemi could react, Uravity surged forward to grab hold of her, holding her tightly, before jumping backwards out of the way of the rubble.

She sprinted away from the floating debris, gently depositing the shocked girl on the ground. She released her Quirk, letting the rubble crash downwards, while she fell onto her knees and panted in relief.

"You...I...how…?"

Uravity's head flew forward to look at Akemi, concerned she may have been a little rough with the rescue maneuver. The girl's face was uncovered now, her cute features marred by shock and tear-stained eyes.

Summoning one more toothy smile, Uravity flashed her a thumbs up, showing the source of her Quirk on the appendage.

"I can make anything lighter than air," she explained. "No trouble at all. Thank you for being so brave through that!"

Akemi's eyes shined brightly, but more tears rolled down them, her lips trembling as the weight of everything fell upon her. Uravity leapt into action once more, embracing the child and holding her, finding it necessary to trigger her Quirk again to move the girl.

"Anytime I get upset, I...I...don't budge…"

"Shh, it's okay; it's not your fault. I'm here."

"Everything's so...so..." the girl sobbed into Uravity's arms, safe and sound.

"You're going to be alright, in time. I promise. I'll make sure of it."

Uravity felt a tear of her own fall, so happy to have saved a life - and wanting to make sure it stayed that way.

Help arrived before long. Uravity had to stay with Akemi to take her to to the medical tent as the only person who could lift her. Not even the strength Quirks seemed to work on the girl, who appeared to increase the force of gravity on herself. Fortunately, Akemi was miraculously uninjured, her locker shelter protecting her, steady under the weight of the Quirk.

Eventually, Ochako found herself sitting next to her in the infirmary, thoroughly spent for the day. They stayed on the ground as Akemi's Quirk made a bed impossible, though they hoped that might stop once they coaxed her to sleep. The girl leaned on the hero, sighing, her eyes getting droopier.

"Will I really be okay?" the girl asked, the terror of everything still weighing her down. They had not found her father's body yet, but unravelling the subsequent trauma was not something Ochako was really in a position to do. She had no control over where this child ended up.

"You will be. But it won't be easy." Ochako smiled down at her, gently stroking the top of her head. "You may have some bad days ahead, and that's okay. You'll have plenty of people watching out for you. Just keep moving forward. Never give up - that's the most important thing."

"I'm just a burden, though," the girl murmured, closing her eyes to the world. "My Quirk keeps getting in the way. I just wish it would stop."

"Your Quirk is a gift. You gotta figure out how to use it." Ochako idly looked at her free left hand and the prominent pads at her fingertips. "My Quirk used to cause trouble for me, too. You've just got to work at it, as hard as you can. You'll learn to control it."

The little girl was quiet for a moment. But eventually, she let out a response: "...thank you. I'll try it."

"That's all anyone can ask for."

"Uravity...hero…" Akemi whispered, her voice growing fainter.

"Yes, I suppose I am," Ochako whispered back. "I still wish I could do more."

"Mmm..." the girl mumbled as sleep overtook her. "...The greatest."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ochako's eyes flew open as she sprung upward, breathing hard as the remnants of the vivid dream clutched at her mind. She could feel sweat at her forehead, the intensity of the visions affecting her in reality.

The dream started to recede, like waves retreating from the shore. She struggled to chase them, wanting to hold onto the fleeting visions.

She remembered her encounter with Akemi back when she had started out as a hero. She struggled to piece together her memory with how hazy it had appeared in her dream, where the background could go fuzzy, and her thoughts were muddled. Why had her mind summoned that memory - and why was it affecting her so?

Ochako breathed deeply, trying to steady her racing heart. She looked around their dark room, her eyes falling upon Izuku in their shared bed. He was still fast asleep, his weathered face at peace beneath the covers. A loose arm stretched at his right side as if reaching toward her, wanting to pull her in.

As always, she smiled at the sight. She carefully edged out of bed, hoping not to disturb him and his rare chance to get a full night's sleep. She knew she did not have long - neither of them slept well anymore without the other there - but she desperately needed water and a chance to clear her mind.

She put on a robe and quickly journeyed to the washroom in their spacious home, a luxury they had long since been able to afford.

The water she splashed onto her face from the sink was bracing, a cold slap releasing her fully from her dream. She panted as she let herself feel the water against her skin, clearing her mind of all other things for just a moment.

The reflection in her mirror looked tired, worn bags under her eyes sagging much more than in her heyday. Time ravaged her image. She poked at her rosy cheeks, the odd wrinkle starting to creep through them. She smiled at herself, finding in that a trace of the hero she once was, though no one would ever mistake her for being in her prime. That Ochako had come and gone, for whatever she was worth.

The aging hero did her utmost to keep her steps light as she walked out onto the terrace in front of their home, peering out into the night sky, the stars sadly blocked by the nearby city's light pollution. She sighed, sitting down, her legs hanging over the edge towards the ground. At the moment, her heart yearned for the stars only the country could provide, something she was looking forward to exploring come retirement.

Her mind began to replay what she could remember from her dreams and her faded memory. It had been so long since she had thought about Haruka Akemi, the first person she had ever saved as a professional. She could remember staying with the girl for a little while, sharing more heartfelt words the next day before authorities whisked the girl away to stay with distant relatives after the death of her father. It was a sad situation, and Ochako had wondered at the time whether she had done enough. But a hero's life left little time to dwell on such things.

It was just another part of her story that had faded into nothingness.

She frowned, idly staring down at her weathered hands. Why had her dreams conjured that memory? And why was it bothering her this much?

Deep in her heart, she knew the answer.

"Need someone…" a wide yawn punctuated the sentence. "To talk to?"

Ochako jumped slightly at the entrance of her husband, who stepped forward and sat down next to her. She internally cursed herself for losing track of time; she had fully intended to be back in bed before he missed her.

"Sorry about that. Just had a weird dream," Ochako said, brushing it off. "It's late, and we have work tomorrow. We should-"

"Talk to me about it," Izuku interrupted her, quickly grabbing hold of her hand to keep her in place. "It's okay. I want to know if something is bothering you."

He gave her a gentle smile that made her walls immediately crumble; it was a talent he had picked up over time.

She groaned, closing her eyes; she knew she could still end the conversation, but it would do her little good. Besides, they had precious few chances in recent weeks to talk, given all his media appearances. Even though they slept together most nights, they had little time together otherwise. She often found herself missing her best friend and confidant.

Ochako told him about the dream and how it disturbed her. About how strange it was to think back on something that happened so long ago. About how it reminded her of her powerlessness, but also her determination. About how the memory was so muddied in her mind.

"That's a lot to take in," Izuku replied, stroking at his chin in thought. "Well, have you had anything else that's been making you feel weird lately? Something else that's been bothering you in reality that might be linked to that memory?"

She frowned at that, biting her lip, tempted to end the conversation there. She had an answer, but it was uncomfortable, and she was unsure how much she was up to share tonight.

But once glance at his kind eyes was enough to move her; she knew she could not hide those feelings from him. With a deep breath, she released the question that tormented her, day after day.

"Was I a good enough hero?"

Her question hung in the air for a long moment, a poisonous, sinister little thing. It was a question that would not be judged not by their eyes, but history's. With her best days behind her, she had little control over what the world saw of her.

"Of course you were. Why would you ever doubt that?"

She expected such an answer from him. Even if she could not agree, the words were still honey to her ears; a part of her longed to submit to them, to find peace in the praise her partner could provide.

But she could not bring herself to.

"Because I can't control what the world sees in me. I never cared to." She opened her eyes to look at him, a deep frown now marring his face. The wrinkles beginning to appear across him made such unhappiness even more unpleasant.

"Ochako...if this is about the press conference, I wouldn't worry. They were ridiculous, but that doesn't mean much."

"It's about more than that, Izuku," she said, standing up, suddenly restless. "There really hasn't been any reaction to my retirement out there. I never did it for the glory - but it makes me wonder whether I left much of a difference at all. Maybe I achieved less than I realized. Maybe I helped less people than I hoped for. My limits weren't boundless - and maybe I wasn't good enough to make that much of a mark. Perhaps my story won't get told."

She stared up at the starless sky, with only faint glimmers of light able to make an imprint on the sea of inky darkness. If she squinted hard, she could just make out the north star, still able to shine through despite it all.

"Ochako…"

"I spent my whole career trying to do the best I could. You inspired me towards that. But the truth is, it wasn't enough to make much of a dent. I didn't help enough people for that. I knew everyone in our class would someday be eclipsed by your shadow. But you shone far brighter than any of us could have imagined."

She turned back towards him, the hero standing alone atop the summit. His face looked pained now, the creases in it prominent, but his mouth remained firmly sealed.

"It's not your fault, not really. I'm proud of everything you accomplished, and I'm happy you're getting celebrated. You deserve it. I guess I just hoped people would care that I'm retiring, too. More than I realized."

Before she could react, he stood up and grasped her hand in his, squeezing softly, his palm warm. She snapped her head upward to look into his eyes. They were burning, filled with a familiar intensity.

"You shouldn't sell what you've been able to accomplish short," Izuku said, voice steady and comforting, without a trace of doubt. "You've saved so many people, Ochako - including me, more times than I can count. All of that matters. You are one of the greatest heroes the world's ever known. Of course people are upset about you retiring."

She gave him a gentle smile, her heart-stirring at his kindness. Even now, his unabashed praise and awe at her made her feel warm inside.

But she already knew he held her in high regard. He lived with her, watched her rise like no one else. He could not exactly give an unbiased perspective - nor could his perspective control who wrote their story.

On an impulse, she reached over to kiss his wrinkled cheek, delighting in the blush that stretched across his face afterward. Even now, they could still catch one another off-guard like that.

"Thanks, Izuku. I appreciate it. But it's not going to change what happens out there. What they think of me." She turned her head over to the front door and the world beyond it, filled with eyes that judged them both. "All I can really do is move on and live with it."

She stood up and stretched, letting out a yawn as her own exhaustion caught up with her. "Thank you for listening. I feel better, but I think I'm ready to go back to bed now. Coming?"

Izuku did not move right away, his eyes drawn to the horizon where she had motioned earlier. "In a minute. You go on ahead, I'll be in before you know it."

She raised an eyebrow, but decided not to question it for the moment, the quiet allure of bed a little too strong to resist. "Alright, well let me know if you need anything. Don't take too long. Good night."

"Good night!"

As she turned away, she wondered if she had offended him somehow with her self-doubt. With even more to ruminate over, she ventured to bed and the likely uneasy sleep that would follow. ----------------------- AN: Written for the IzuOcha Discord Server Big Bang Event. Prompt: "Thank you for always saving me!"

Thank you very much to Mal for editing this and to Xylveon for the incredible artwork provided for the fic. You can find it at https://twitter.com/Xylveon700/status/1294469669361840129. Please leave a like and/or reblog if you enjoyed it! ^_^

#IzuOcha #My Hero Academia #fanfiction #shipping #midoriya Izuku #Ochako Uraraka #IzuOcha Temple 3rd Anniversary Big Bang #Angst #Oldchako #I Promise things get fluffier from here

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day-writingdaydreams · 5 years

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Who Knew I Was Crossing A Line

Summary: Natsu returns to Magnolia after having left for over a year. He goes to an open mic night and sees that his ex, Lucy, is performing. Songfic, A.U. Fairy Tail and its characters are owned by Hiro Mashima. Who Knew is by P!nk. Crossing a Line is owned by Mike Shinoda.

This was my first fanfic and was written for the #BigBangEvent for @nalugruviaevents. The art is by the amazing @bakugyou with a ton of help from my awesome beta reader @doginshoe. Thanks, you guys! I love ya to bits!

The Magnolia train station was a hub of activity when a rosy haired young man stumbled off of his train. He took a moment to quell the queasiness in his stomach before going in search of a familiar face. Glancing about, he noticed a placard with the words ‘Flame Brain’ being held up by a young man with black hair.

“Hey Popsicle, thanks for being my welcome wagon,” the rosette greeted.

“Nice to have you back, Fire Breath,” The noirette replied, helping him with his luggage. “ you back for good this time?” He asked as he led the boy to his Dodge Avenger.

“Yeah,” Natsu sighed as he settled in the passenger seat after placing a guitar case in the back of the car. “I’m back for good, Gray.” He sighed again before muttering, “I found him.”

Gray’s eyes went wide as he settled behind the wheel, whipping his head to face Natsu. “You did?!” He exclaimed.

“Yeah,” said a somber Natsu, averting his attention to the view out of his window. “Could we go to Fairy Tail and grab some food? I need ta talk to Gramps, see if I could get a job and a place to stay,” Natsu rambled, keeping his gaze out of his window.

‘Besides, I don’t think she would want me staying at her place’ his heart ached at the errant thought.

“Sure man,” said Gray, giving Natsu a concerned look. He’d never seen the usually boisterous guy in such a state, but he knew better than to question it. “You know, I’d let you stay at my place, but Juvia just moved in.” Casting another glance, Gray started the ignition, and pointed the car to its destination.

“Thanks for the offer, but I really wouldn’t like to butt in anyways,” Natsu said with a small grin. “Besides, I’d like to have my own space again.”

Fairy Tail Bar and Grill was a hole-in-the-wall local watering hole that was a Magnolia institution. There were quite a few regular customers who would stop in, as well as the occasional tourist group or three. People gathered there for the great food, the friendly service, and even for the random chaos that comes about in waves. There was always a friendly brawl going on or a reason to throw a party.

The two boys considered it their second home, as they practically grew up there. The rowdy pub regulars taught them more about life than they had ever wanted to learn, as most of those regulars were perverts.

The drive didn’t take long at all, and soon Gray parked the car and started to get out when he realized something and froze. The sign on the window made him think twice, but Natsu was already halfway out of the vehicle.

“Shit,” Gray muttered, thinking as quickly as he could. “Hey Flame Brain, I don’t think tonight’s a good night for this. It looks really crowded in there.”

Natsu looked at his best friend incredulously “What are talking about? Unless a lot has changed since I left, this looks like a normal crowd!”

‘Man, you have no idea how much has changed,’ Gray thought bitterly. ‘Maybe if you kept in touch better you would have realized that before now.’

Natsu pulled open the heavy wood and glass doors and stepped into the organized chaos that was Fairy Tail. To his chagrin, it was a little more crowded than he remembered. There were also the sounds of instruments being tuned, which was a very uncommon noise for the rowdy bar. Natsu also noticed that the stage in the back of the bar was being set up with more musical instruments by a blonde female with a figure to die for. He felt drawn to her for some reason, but squashed that thought quickly, his heart still longing for the girl he had left behind.

Tearing his gaze from the scene, Natsu glanced around to locate any more familiar faces and was immediately rewarded with the person behind the bar. He walked towards the side of the establishment, a small smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

“Hey Mira, could I get some fire chicken and a cola?” Natsu asked cheekily as he approached the bar.

The white haired barmaid spun around abruptly, catching herself on the bar top to steady herself as her eyes widened with shock and surprise.

“Natsu!” Mirajane squealed, practically throwing herself across the bar top to give him a hard hug. “Where have you been? You up and leave without any warning, and don’t tell anyone! We were so worried about you!” she chastised as she moved away after nearly smothering the male.

“I know. I’m sorry Mira,” Natsu said regretfully. “I had a lead and needed to follow it.”

Mira cupped his face gently in her palm with a soft look in her eyes. “At least you’re here and you’re alive,” she stated. “That’s all that’s really matters.”

She turned to go place his order in the kitchen as Gray walked up to the bar.

“Figured you two would want to catch up,” Gray stated.

Natsu closed his eyes and rubbed his face as he replied, “I really fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Maybe if you had kept in touch better, you wouldn’t’ve,” Gray sighed, struggling to not start an argument. “Why didn’t you?”

“It’s kind of hard to when you’re out of the country with no service, your phone gets stolen and you’re broke as fuck,” retorted the rosy haired man, annoyed. “I had to resort to more than just busking to make enough money for food and to save up to come back.”

“That sounds incredibly harsh,” interjected the snowy haired barmaid as she made her way over to the almost arguing males with Natsu’s order. “You could have written to us, Natsu. We would’ve helped.”

Natsu looked down at his food sheepishly, “I wasn’t really thinking clearly to do that at the time.”

A loud sound followed by a string of curse words came from the stage, drawing attention from the little group at the bar.

“Lucy,” Mira called, “try to keep it clean tonight!”

‘Shit!’ Natsu thought frantically, eyes quickly scanning the area. ‘Lucy’s here?!

The sexy blonde on the stage looked up as she repositioned a fallen piece of the drum kit and shot a furious glance at the group by the bar. “I make no promises, Mira,” she called back as she finished her setup.

Natsu’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates once he focused his sights on her. ‘Holy shit! She’s even more beautiful than I remembered!’

Mira looked back at the stunned male with a small, sad smile. “Lucy’s started an Open Mic night here once a week with Master’s permission,” she explained.

“It’s been really popular,” added Gray. “I give real props to her.”

Natsu could only nod dumbly as he continued to stare in awe at his ex-girlfriend, his plate of food forgotten.

Lucy was a vision in her bootcut dark wash jeans, red peasant shirt and brown low heeled clogs. Her long golden tresses were in a loose braid over her shoulder. She slipped on her cedar topped Greg Bennett electric acoustic guitar with her Starry Night guitar strap, making sure that it was tuned and plugged into her amp and pedals as she perched on the barstool on stage.

Her mocha colored eyes scanned the room, landing on a familiar head of pink spiked hair. A gasp left her lips as she nearly fell off her seat.

‘This can’t be real. I’m imagining things. He’s not really here,” Lucy thought, quickly composing herself while closing her eyes and shaking her head with a sad smile. ‘I’ve finally cracked up. Maybe it’s time to finally play that one song.”

With a resolute sigh, she introduced herself and welcomed everyone to the Open Mic. After stating that she had a new song for everyone, she placed her nimble fingers on the strings and began to play the familiar chords, closing her eyes as she hit her drum pedal and began to sing.

You took my hand You showed me how You promised me you'd be around Uh huh That's right

She slowly opened her eyes, glancing once again to what she believed to be her pink haired delusion. They had so much history together, childhood best friends for years before they became lovers. She hit the loop pedal to keep her chords going.

Natsu felt a piercing pain in his heart. He did make that promise, didn’t he? Yet he had quickly packed his bags and ran out the door, never looking back. Not once. He was such a moron for not keeping it.

I took your words And I believed In everything You said to me Yeah huh That's right

She saw him staring at her, a look of pain and sorrow on his face. That wasn’t right. He always smiled in her visions. His grin being the one he used to give her every day where his dark green eyes would close with how big it was. So why was he sad? She stop this train of thought as she switched up the sound of her guitar with an overdrive pedal to make her guitar sound more like an electric guitar.

If someone said three years from now You'd be long gone I'd stand up and punch them out 'Cause they're all wrong I know better 'Cause you said forever And ever Who knew

She closed her eyes from the pain caused by her memories, feeling her broken heart starting to crack a little once more as she poured herself into the mic. It had been too long since she had felt this strongly about, well, anything. She gave a broken chuckle at the thought.

The ache in his chest continued to spread, causing his breath to catch in his throat. His head spun with thoughts of coulda, woulda, shoulda. He couldn’t believe that this was how he had left her. He shouldn’t have left the way that he did. He felt lower than slime.

Remember when we were such fools And so convinced and just too cool Oh no No no

Swamped in memory, she could almost feel his touch on her face, his heat as they kissed. Oh how she missed him! Months spent trying to block this feeling nearly killed her, but what could she do? He left without saying a word, without saying goodbye.

Without saying he loved her.

And that destroyed her soul.

I wish I could touch you again I wish I could still call you friend I'd give anything

‘Oh Luce, I’d give anything for that as well,’ the heartbroken pink haired idiot just stared at the love of his life, his mouth left agape. He had been a complete and utter fool. The whole time he was gone all he could think of was her, but she wouldn’t forgive him - how could she?

She opened her eyes once again, believing this to be her strongest delusion yet. He was still there! And he looked as just heartbroken as she felt.

It took everything she had to keep her voice steady and strong. She couldn’t let it break just yet.

When someone said count your blessings now For they're long gone I guess I just didn't know how I was all wrong They knew better Still you said forever And ever Who knew Yeah yeah

Her gaze shifted to her fretboard, making certain that she hit all the right chords.

I'll keep you locked in my head Until we meet again

Her gaze shifted once more back to him. It was always back to him.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He was a magnet, and she was true North.

Until we Until we meet again And I won't forget you my friend What happened

She started to sing with her whole heart, trying to exorcise her demons with her voice, pouring her feelings into every word. Who cares if the whole world knows now? She had always loved him, and now she was singing to a figment of her imagination.

If someone said three years from now You'd be long gone I'd stand up and punch them out 'Cause they're all wrong and

She roared in tune and melody, sounding like an avenging angel. Her guitar strings echoing strongly with her emotions, her heartbreak, her grief.

That last kiss I'll cherish Until we meet again And time makes It harder I wish I could remember But I keep Your memory You visit me in my sleep My darling Who knew

She took gasping breaths, trying to reel in her raging emotions once again, and switched off her overdrive pedal and loop pedal.

My darling My darling Who knew

Her voice came out as a breathy whisper; a little broken sounding as her tears threatened to fall. She closed her eyes against them and forced her voice to become stronger as she almost effortlessly picked up her beginning chords once more.

Natsu was starting to feel confused. He understood that the song was about them, but did she think that he was dead? This was way worse than he thought. He really did screw up this time.

How the hell was he going to fix this?!

My darling I miss you My darling Who knew

Memories of pink hair, kind eyes, and a wide fanged grin assaulted her. She opened her mahogany orbs and locked eyes with his olivine gaze.

Who knew

‘Natsu,” she thought as she stopped her drum pedal and ended the song with a final dampened chord.

“Lucy,” Natsu whispered reverently under his breath, calloused fingers itching to reach out to her. To hold her in his arms to comfort her from her pain he caused her, to breathe in her addictive scent of sweet almonds and honey.

A pregnant pause followed by a deafening sound broke her concentration as the bar patrons applauded Lucy’s performance. She had honestly forgotten where she was and who was listening. She blushed and stood to make her bow, relinquishing the stage for the next performer

Mira turned to Natsu, noting the heartbreak plain on his face. “You know,” she started slowly, “Lucy missed you the most out of all of us. I don’t think that she realizes that you’re actually even here.”

Dumbfounded, Natsu turned back to the barmaid with a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

“She means,” interrupted a sour looking Gray, “that Lucy had such a hard time about you leaving that she thinks you’re a figment of her imagination! She’s been to therapy and everything because you couldn’t have bothered to tell her that you were going or if you’d be back!” The boy seethed quietly.

“Gray!” Mira hissed, giving him a deadly glare as he cowered from her in fear. “That’s not our truth to share! How dare you!”

Ignoring the seething barmaid and the cowering dark haired idiot, Natsu became lost in thought. He needed to fix this, he needed her to know. After some time, he came up with a plan.

“Hey Mira, do you think you can get me a performance spot for tonight?” Natsu asked quite suddenly, wiping his palms nervously on the thighs of his work worn jeans. “I have an idea…”

He got up from the barstool as Mira gave a hesitant nod and threw Gray a pointed look.

“Ice breath, I need to get some stuff from the car,” he growled.

As they left arguing for the car, Lucy approached the bar.

“Hey Mira, can I get an iced strawberry mint tea with honey?” the blonde requested as she wearily slid onto the barstool, leaning her elbows onto the bar and propping her jaw with the palm of her hand

With a smile, the barmaid answered as she picked up the forgotten food to place it someplace safe, “Sure thing Lucy! By the way, your performance tonight was amazing!”

“Thank you,” Lucy replied tiredly, coming down from her performance high. That song always drained her both physically and emotionally, even in practice.

‘I guess that’s what exorcising your demons does to you.’ she thought derisively.

“It sounded like you were singing that song for a certain someone…” Mira teased as she quickly served the younger girl.

“More like to a ghost than anyone, Mira,” the blonde answered sadly as she closed her eyes. “The person I was singing to wasn’t even here.”

“Oh? Are you sure about that?” The older female inquired with a twinkle in her eye.

“I haven’t seen or heard from him in over a year,” Lucy said despondently, opening her eyes to focused on her drink, not noticing the pair of boys walking back into the bar, or the pink haired boy focusing all of his attention on her. “I highly doubt that he’s going to just waltz into Fairy Tail just in time to hear my song… and if I did happen to see him, it’s probably all in my head anyways. Stupid dragon,” she pouted, her attention still on her beverage.

Glancing at the stunned Natsu while grabbing a glass to clean, Mira exclaimed, “Oh, that reminds me! Someone requested a spot for tonight, if possible. It’s someone who hasn’t played here before.” She said that last part with a secretive smile.

This request piqued the blonde’s interest. Raising a brow, Lucy lifted her gaze to the barmaid in question.

“I’ll double check with Levy,” she said slowly. “She’s got my clipboard with the available spots, but I think I saw one open.”

“That’s great!” Mira beamed. “I’ll let them know once you confirm.”

Lucy smiled as she got off of the barstool, turning and spotting Gray and her supposed pink haired apparition as she did. She greeted Gray, trying her best to ignore who she believed to be the figment of her imagination that was standing right next to him as she asked after Juvia. Even though her skin had tingled from being so near to him as she passed by him on her way back to the stage, she still did her best to not acknowledge him.

She felt as if she were crazy enough as it was.

Natsu scowled slightly as he watched her leave. He kept quiet during the exchange, hoping that she’d notice him, but it seemed that Grays words rang true. She really didn’t believe that he was actually in front of her.

‘This is gonna be harder than I thought…’

He set down his guitar case gingerly on the floor, and turned to face Mira with a pensive look. “She really doesn’t think that I’m here,” he said quietly, pushing a hand through his hair to rub at the back of his neck. “How am I supposed to win her back if she still thinks that I’m gone?”

Giving him a look of understanding, Mira said, “Don’t give up just yet, Natsu. I’m sure you can do it.” She brought back out his food and made a gesture to it. “In the meantime, eat up. You’ll need the energy to perform.”

He quirked his lips in a small smile and settled down onto the barstool to eat. “You got it, Mira,” he said as he dug in.

“Hey Mira!” a blue haired fairy called as she came up to the bar a little while later. “Lucy mentioned that you had someone asking for a performance spot?”

Mira turned to her direction, “Levy! Yes, I had someone ask for a spot. It’s for a very good cause,” she emphasized as she directed the girl’s attention to the pink haired man chowing down in front of her.

Levy’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Natsu?! What the hell are you doing here?” she asked in disbelief, moving in to give him a warm hug. “Where the hell have you been? Has Lucy seen you yet? It’s so great that you’re back! Are you back for -”

“Whoa Levy! Slow down! You’re firing off those questions faster than I can form an answer!” He chuckled as he awkwardly returned her hug. “I was in Alvarez following a lead. I’m back for good. As for Lucy…” he trailed off as he let go of her, unable to formulate an answer.

Levy looked at him quizzically for a moment before it dawned on her. “She doesn’t believe that you’re physically here, does she?” she asked quietly.

Natsu eyed her sadly before answering. “No, I don’t think that she does,” he said in a breath. “That’s why I need the spot. I think it’s the only way to convince her.”

She looked at him in kindness, patting his hand. “You may be right,” she conceded as she tucked a loose strand of her blue hair behind her ear. “There’s a spot open after Gajeel. He’s the guitar player in the suit who’s got the long black hair and multiple piercings.” She turned to the stage as she pointed out the man in a white suit and fedora to the pink haired boy. “He’s about to go on next, so you better get ready. I gotta get back to help Lucy. Break a leg, Natsu!”

“Thanks Levy!” He said with a smile as she got up to leave, watching her interact with Lucy and helping the intimidatingly pierced male with his setup.

As he finished his meal, Gray made himself comfortable on the barstool beside him.

“You should watch this Fire Breath,” he said whilst pointing to the stage where Gajeel was strumming his Fender Custom Stratocaster electric guitar. “He’s the Iron Dragon of Fairy Tail, and for good reason.”

Natsu lifted a brow at that, as he was once well known as Fairy Tail’s Fire Dragon. “What has he done to earn that title?”

“You’ll see,” Gray smirked with a laugh.

The man onstage let out his grizzly voice in a greeting to the audience, tilting his white fedora in salute. “This is… Shoo Bee Doo Da.”

As his gravelly bass voice begun his song a few notes offkey and several decibels too high, Natsu turned his wide disbelieving eyes onto a smirking Gray before the pair doubled over in silent laughter

“Oh man! He’s the absolute worst!” Natsu chuckled as he tried to regain his breath. He desperately wanted to cover his ears, as Gajeel’s voice really did sound like iron nails on a chalkboard when he hit yet another wrong note.

“I know, right?” Gray snickered.

“Is that supposed to be jazz? Or rockabilly blues?” Natsu asked incredulously, laughter still ringing in his voice.

“Who cares? Either way, it sounds like something dying!” Gray howled quietly, trying not to disturb the other bar patrons.

After their laughter died down, Natsu started to get off of his seat with a sigh. “I better start getting ready before they boo Bolts for Brains off of the stage,” he said as he grabbed his guitar case and backpack.

Gray grunted in agreement before turning to the pink haired male. “Hey man,” he began, running his finger through his hair, “I might not have agreed with how you had handled everything before, but I hope that you straighten your shit out soon. You deserve it … and so does Lucy.”

Natsu looked up wide eyed from pulling his laptop and cords from his backpack to the dark haired male before him. He stared at him before a smile creeped up on his face.

“Thanks Gray.”

“You better not fuck this up,” Gray’s dark eyes turned icy as he scowled at his childhood friend. Natsu’s own eyes narrowed, all vestiges of their former camaraderie gone. “I hate seeing Lucy get hurt. She’s like my sister, and if I find out that you did something on this level again…”

“I get the point,” he growled as he stuffed his tech back into his backpack in annoyance. “It ain’t gonna happen again. I swear my life on it, Ice Prick, so back the fuck off!”

Before the raven haired male could get out another word, Natsu was already off, dragging his gear to the stage. He shook off his negative energy as quickly as he could, knowing that it would affect his performance if he didn’t. ‘God, I hope this works,’ he thought desperately as he threw a quick grin to an encouraging Levy on his way. He noticed Lucy heading back to the bar and taking his vacated seat, ordering herself another drink. ‘For both of our sakes.’

Natsu quickly unpacked his Apple MacBook Air and hooked it up to the bar’s sound system, logged in and opened up his GarageBand app. Selecting the right file, he quickly tuned his Paul Reed Smith A15AL SE Angelus acoustic/electric guitar and plugged it into the amp as he waited for the file to load.

Slinging his guitar on his shoulder, the rose haired man walked over to the microphone, took it off of the mic stand and cleared his throat. “Hello, my name is Natsu,” he started as he walked back to the MacBook. “I’m going to do an unconventional song for you today. It’s unconventional in the way it’s performed, and it’s dedicated to the girl I loved whom I left behind.” He said this while directing his gaze to Lucy.

Lucy’s breath caught as her attention was drawn to him. ‘It couldn’t be…’ she thought as she blinked owlishly. ‘Since when do my delusions get up on stage and perform?!’ Her mind whirled as she watched him move lithely on the stage, completely missing his song dedication.

Pressing play on his laptop, Natsu let the opening of the song wash over him with his eyes half closed as he made his way back to the microphone stand to secure the mic, his guitar swinging from his back.

He took a deep breath after singing the opening line and dug deep to find his courage, pushing aside his nerves. He looked up to see his friends staring at him in awe. Especially Lucy.

With that, Natsu was ready to set aside his reservations and lay his heart bare.

They'll tell you I don’t care anymore

And I hope you'll know that's a lie

'Cause I've found what I have been waiting for But to get there means crossing a line

He set his eyes downcast, almost lost in thought as the words clawed their way out of his throat.

I don't know how to warn you For what I'm gonna say

The drum line started, a beat that instantly caught on with the audience. Heads and shoulders bopping, all the signs telling Natsu that he’s got them hooked, if he had looked up to see.

'Cause you're holding so tight to What I'm taking away I got demons inside me So I'm faced with a choice

He smirked sadly at that last last line. Oh how true that felt.

Either try to ignore them Or I give them a voice

At that, Natsu lifted his gaze. Lucy was already staring up at him, however, her doe eyes wide as she tried to process what was happening. Natsu was gone… wasn’t he?

‘Is he really here?’ she thought as she made a move to pinch herself. Feeling the slight sting of her nails against her flesh, her eyes widened even further. ‘Holy sh-!’

And it's keeping me up at night Worried it's not alright Holding back things you don't know

His husky baritone voice interrupted her thoughts, the lyrics forcing her focus back to him.

Natsu glanced at Gray, Mira, Levy and Lucy in turn. He couldn’t help but linger his stare at Lucy. He yearned for her to understand that though he had hurt her by leaving, he had to find out the truth.

He had to find where his father was, and what happened to him.

And it's keeping me up at night Worried it's not alright You're not gonna like where this goes

He shook his head and closed his eyes at that line. He adjusted his guitar, securing the flame embroidered strap firmly onto his shoulder and gripping the neck, curling his fingers over the fretboard as he poured himself into the chorus.

And they'll tell you I don't care anymore And I hope you'll know that's a lie

Natsu resolved that he would tell her everything later, after he convinced her of his presence.

'Cause I've found what I have been waiting for But to get there means crossing a line So I'm crossing a line

He played a riff on his guitar, the look on his face showing that he was clearly enjoying losing himself in the music while he directed his next verse to the blonde.

Lucy couldn’t help but stare, watching Natsu’s powerful biceps bunch and flow under the rolled up sleeves of his black button down shirt, his fingers flying as he played the stringed instrument.

It's not about status We know it never was

He let go of the guitar’s neck at this point, but slid his malachite eyes to his girl, noticing her stunned mocha stare.

‘So, it looks like she’s starting to believe that I’m real,” he thought with a smirk.

'Cause what good is the kingdom When you're missing the love?

Lucy covered her mouth with her right hand as her coffee colored eyes went wide at those words. ‘Is that supposed to mean… ? Does he still love me?’ Her heart started to beat a little faster, making her chest feel warm with sensation.

She ignored the small squeak that came from Mirajane.

This is not a goodbye now I'm not going away

He smiled at her as he sang that line, putting a hand to his heart, a not so silent vow.

No, I don't have the answers But I do have the faith

Oh, and it's keeping me up at night Worried it's not alright Holding back things you don't know

Natsu ran a hand through his now slightly dampened hair, in a vain attempt to keep his sweaty bangs out of his eyes.

Lucy thought it was the hottest thing she’d ever seen.

And it's keeping me up at night Worried it's not alright You're not gonna like where this goes, no

His voice rang out as the chorus came to a head.

And they'll tell you I don't care anymore

He sent a glare to Gray, full of fire and fury. A silent challenge to the man who held what couldn’t be understood against him.

And I hope you'll know that's a lie

He softened his gaze as he shifted to Mirajane, letting the fire die down and dropping the fury completely.

She sent him a smile back with a subtle thumbs up, letting him know that his plan was working.

'Cause I've found what I have been waiting for

He slow blinked as he moved on to Lucy, the love and longing he felt for her piercing into her soul as she stared back at him. Her lower lip trembled behind her hand, tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. He really was… He was...

But to get there means crossing a line So I'm crossing a line

The drum line died down and Natsu started to clap his hands to the beat, encouraging the audience to do so as well, never once taking his eyes off of Lucy. Once that beat was established, he once more readjusted his grip on the guitar, readying himself in anticipation for what came next with a grin.

Lucy waited with baited breath, eyes shimmering as she desperately tried to blink them back into focus.

She was not about to lose sight of him again, tears be damned!

And they'll tell you I don't care anymore And I hope you'll know that's a lie

The drum line kicked in full force once again, with an electronic echo of the last few words, shocking the audience and picking up the energy Natsu was giving off with his riff.

Laughing behind her hand, she allowed one happy tear escape. It was such a Natsu thing for him to do.

And God she loved him for that.

'Cause I've found what I have been waiting for

Natsu sent a heartfelt smile to Lucy, once again hoping that she understood that he loved her, and that he was back for good.

But to get there means crossing a line So I'm crossing a line

He picked up his riff again, eyes never leaving his favorite blonde.

Lucy lowered her hand to smile back with no more tears in her eyes. She understood, and felt the shattered pieces of her heart start to come back together. He was home.

So I’m crossing a line

‘I love you Luce. I’m home.’ Smiling even wider, fangs showing, Natsu ended his song.

So I’m crossing a line

The audience went wild with their cheers, causing the pink haired male to tear his attention away from his intended target for a moment to take his bow. But when he turned his focus back to her, he realized that she was no longer in her seat.

Lucy met him halfway between the stage and the bar, arms crossed over her generous bosom and a passive expression on her angelic face.

Natsu knew he was in trouble. Deep trouble.

“Hey,” Natsu greeted, scratching the back of his head nervously.

“Hi,” she answered

“I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

“We most certainly do,” she said as she motioned for him to join her in a private booth.

After settling in, with eyes downcast, Natsu said with a sigh, “I am so sorry. I-I should’ve told you everything from the start.” His breath hitched just a little, tear gathering in the corners of his eyes. “I should’ve found a way to get in touch with you. I should’ve -”

She reached across the distance between them and placed her fingertips to his lips, effectively cutting him off from his babbling. He finally brought his gaze to hers, his wet jade getting lost in the deep brown of her eyes.

It was the first time that Lucy had actually physically touched him since this whole misunderstanding began. The feel of his lips against her skin set fire to her veins, causing her breath to catch as the intense heat raced up her arm to pool in her chest.

“Don’t,” she said with a shuddering breath, desperate to keep her emotions in check. “...d-did you find him?” She asked gently as she moved her fingers from his lips to his cheek.

With a wince that drew his eyes away from hers once more, he nodded, nuzzling against her fingers and swallowing harshly.

“I did,” he said in an almost broken whisper as he grabbed at the hand that she still held to his cheek and pressed it closer to his skin.

Sensing his pain, she drew him in close, resting her forehead to his with her eyes closed, holding onto her tears. His pain now becoming hers as understanding filtered through her.

She loved his father as her own, after all.

Natsu’s eyes went wide at the gesture, his words lost in utter disbelief. He never imagined being able to touch her this intimately again. A few moments later, he lowered his own dark eyelashes to his cheekbones and let out a quiet sigh, taking the moment for what it was.

It was a moment of grief for what had happened in the past; of the level of trust that they still had in each other.

A moment for the love that they both still shared.

“I missed you,” he spoke softly, his breath fluttering gently across her face. “I thought of you every single day that I was gone.”

“I missed y-you too,” she choked out, tears beginning to fall from her closed eyelids, dusting her eyelashes like diamonds. “I-I thought I was going crazy. I kept seeing you everywhere I went, even when I knew…”

“There were times when I thought I saw you too,” he confided as he slowly opened his eyes.

Lucy opened her eyes in awe. “Really?” She asked, amazed that the boy in front of her might just still reciprocate her feelings.

“Really,” Natsu answered as he caressed her cheekbone with his thumb, wiping away her tears. His love shone brilliantly from his eyes, nearly illuminating them. “And after all of this, I’ve finally found what I have been waiting for,” he said as he leaned in close.

Lucy smirked. “And that is…?” she asked coyly.

“You,” he said simply, taking her breath away as he edged in even closer.

“Natsu …” her voice was lost as he finally, finally closed the distance between them. The feel of his slightly chapped lips against her glossed ones soothed her soul as it simultaneously heated her core. His hand slipped from her face to her golden strands, tangling his fingers in the base of her braid. Her hand had similar ideas, engulfing itself in the pink hairs on the back of his neck.

It was like the missing piece to the puzzle of their hearts.

It felt like finally coming home.

When they finally breathlessly pulled apart, Natsu grinned sheepishly. “So….does this mean I can crash at your place now?”

Lucy laughed lightly, a bubbly feeling in her chest that hadn’t been felt for so long. “Don’t you think that you’re crossing a line?”

“Aren’t I always?” he grinned as he crashed his lips onto hers again

#big bang Nalu/Gruvia #my fairy tail fanfic #Nalu #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #natsu x lucy #fairy tail nalu #Val tries to write #here’s to the first of many fanfics

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years

Text

Through His Eyes - Part 6

Summary: Losing your sight after your accident was traumatic, and Jaebum’s guilt of knowing it should have been him instead creates an intricate bond between you both, as you overcome adversity and try to find your way in life again.

Genre: angst / romance

Characters: Im Jaebum x female reader

A/N: This story is emotional and raw compared to some of the content on my blog. It is in no way an attempt to glamourise or undervalue the lives of those who suffer from something similar. This story is purely fictional.

Through His Eyes will be posted every Tuesday at 10am NZST.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 [M] | 13 - FINAL

“Okay, so we just need to head this way now, Y/N.”

You whipped your head towards the voice and gripped tighter on her arm, unsure if you were hurting her or not. The sounds around you were overwhelming and you tried to compose yourself internally, worrying if you were attracting any attention with your behaviour.

It was your first day back at university and a mixture of nerves and excitement had already sent you into overdrive before your minder, Yoona, had picked you up. You were slightly dejected with having to be led around a campus you had known like the back of your hand for the past two years, but now that you were in the bustling environment, you couldn’t have been more thankful for Yoona’s aid.

“Relax Y/N, you’ll be fine. After all, English Literature is something you did a lot of during high school so your application said. I can’t see how hard it will be for you to keep up with this class.”

“I feel ridiculous though, having to start a new degree when I was already halfway through…”

“Through?” Yoona asked as your throat closed up, your mind imagining the painting studio you had spent the majority of your campus life in previously. A strong smell of clay triggered within your brain and you faltered in your step. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“Huh?” Shaking your head clear of your previous Art and Design degree, you tried to smile. “Oh, completely. So we’re near the lecture building now?”

“Almost. I thought we’d have to turn back for home just then.”

“What, why?”

“This seems to all be too much for you. Are you sure-”

“Positive, I need to get on with my life. This will be perfectly fine, come on.”

Three hours later, and you had managed to last through the introduction class for one of my literature courses, and Yoona had taken you to the enrolments centre to get your disability information and access card. Now you were sitting at a table waiting for your friends to arrive, hoping for some normalcy to ease your heightened state. Whilst a small part of your brain was congratulating you for getting around campus somewhat successfully so far, you were slowly beginning to feel despair. You couldn’t even take two steps alone by yourself, the world never having felt this big until now.

It was scary being blind in a place you once knew so well.

“Y/N! I honestly didn’t expect you back so soon!”

“Neither, I honestly thought it was a joke when Clare told us.”

You smiled towards the voices of my friends Jinah and Lian. “Why would that be a joke?”

“I guess it’s not easy for you to be here right? I mean, it must be pretty scary.”

You nodded. “Well starting a new degree is a bit nerve-wracking.”

“I meant-”

You heard them both move across from you awkwardly. “Li, drop it. We’re not here to discuss that aspect to Y/N, right?”

“You don’t have to avoid the fact that I’m blind,” you stated, feeling dejected by their wording. You hoped it was because they were as nervous as you were, and tried to relax. There was no immediate reaction though, and you reached out over the table, tapping your fingers until you knocked into your drink. Both girls gasped as the water seeped over the edge and into your lap.

“Y/N, that was so silly of you! Why would you do that?”

“You both went quiet; I was trying to see if you were still there.” You remained calm, it wasn’t the first time you had spilt something over yourself.

“Of course, we’re having lunch together. Well, we should be but you’re really wet now. Aren’t you embarrassed? Where’s your minder?”

“Jinah’s right, you shouldn’t be alone like this. God, what a mess.”

The pair continued with their exclamations, whilst you remained silent in your chair. You were confused, wondering if they had always been this superficial, or having to look at life in a different way had made you take nothing for granted and let the small stuff not affect you anymore. Despite not understanding the sudden change in the pair, you were beginning to feel more uncomfortable being in their presence the longer they made a big deal about it.

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head slowly. This seemed to cease their constant talking. You sighed and folded your arms across your chest. “Leave.”

“What?”

“It’s obvious that my lack of eyesight is hard for you both to comprehend. Further, I’m not embarrassed by small things like this, it’s a part of my life now. You two have the problem though, so you’re free to leave.”

You heard Lian scoff. “Seriously Y/N, we took time out of our schedule to meet you here today. Clare was right, you’re not the same!”

You didn’t reply, unable to form a sentence that would make you sound as strong as your previous words had been. You listened to the scraping of their chairs, knowing you were alone at the table again. Your body let out a small tremor, the suppressed emotions making it difficult to sit and remain composed. You checked your watch for the time, knowing Yoona had given you an hour before she would come back. You had assured her that your friends would take good care of you, though that clearly had been a poor assumption.

Choking back your sobs from thinking over the word friend, you had never felt this alone in your life. You were known as the adaptable one, the friend who easily meshed into any group or scene, and happily made friends wherever you went. Now, because you had lost your ability to see, things were different. You were frustrated, knowing you still were you on the inside. Further, just because you lost your sight, didn’t mean you had misplaced all the years of memories and friendship with them. You were desperate to view yourself in their eyes, wondering what exactly about you made you seem different. You gripped the table edge then, hoping that Yoona would arrive soon. Admittedly, the wetness of your pants was bothering you, and adding greatly to your discomfort.

You managed to calm down enough to give Yoona a call, hoping she would be able to assist you to go home. Her phone, however, kept switching to the unavailable message, and your mind started to race, wondering what or who could help you. Your Mum came up as the most obvious solution but you shook away the thought, knowing if your first day had gone this rocky, she’d never let you back out the door again. Anxiety began to creep up from the pit of your stomach, and you felt queasy, your immediate need now being to make it to the bathroom.

Trouble was, you had no idea where it was.

You gathered your bag clumsily and reached inside for your guide cane, clicking it out to its full length once you had it out and stood up. You then raised your hand and feebly called out, praying someone would hear you. Thankfully, someone did and helped you over to the bathroom, allowing you to feel your way along the countertop before leaving you to assess your current predicament. You felt your pants and groaned that they were still damp. Cupping your hands under the faucet that you had managed to find, you waited for the sensor to catch your hands, unexpectedly getting sprayed with more water. You cursed, reaching into your pocket for your phone again.

“Why won��t she answer?” you questioned softly and contemplated calling your Mum. It was then that you heard the bathroom door open and footsteps entered. You tried to angle yourself away, feeling ashamed at how you must look to them. There was a small giggle and you lowered your head further.

“Don’t laugh; those taps have sprayed all of us before. She’s blind, she can’t help it.”

You stood there whilst they used the bathroom, and then when they came closer, you tried to smile. “Could you please tell me the name of this café?”

“It’s C4, do you need any help?”

“Thanks, do you think you could help me outside the building?” you continued, trying to battle away your ever-increasing anxiety. The truth was you wanted out. You needed to escape this hellish experience, but you knew you couldn’t do it alone. Despite the initial comments, they both were kind enough to escort you to the exit and after thanking them, you pulled your phone out again. Lowering your head, you rehearsed what you would say to your Mother, your mood darkening at thinking how poorly your first attempt of returning to normalcy had been. I guess I need to accept my goals are too big for who I am right now.

Your phone went off in your hand and you jumped at the sudden vibration, scrambling to make sure you didn’t lose it as you fumbled to push talk. “Help me!”

“Where are you?!” Jaebum asked and you felt so relieved to hear his voice. You could hear that his breathing had increased and yet the sound seemed to relax you further. “Y/N!”

“I’m at university and everything has gone terrible. My minder won’t answer her phone and I’m completely alone outside of a café.”

“What’s the name of the café?”

“C4, it’s near the English department. But I’ll call my Mum-”

“I’m already heading to my car. Don’t move, I’ll be there soon.”

The phone disconnected and you obeyed his instructions, shifting about slowly on your feet as you waited. Holding onto your cane for support, you remained standing still for an immeasurable time, until you smelt a familiar perfume coming closer. You moved towards it somewhat recklessly, hoping that Jaebum would be the only person in the vicinity to wear it. A hand soon slipped into yours and you began to cry with relief.

“I told you to stay still!”

“I knew it was you,” you told him despite your emotions and allowed him to lead you away from the campus, and all the way to his car. You hopped in and relaxed into the chair, listening as he soon sat down beside you. It was then that you panicked over who Jaebum was and gasped noisily. “Oh my god, why did you come here?!”

“You needed me!”

“Jaebum, you’re famous! You’ll get recognised!”

He sighed heavily. “I took measures to make sure I didn’t stand out too much. Regardless, how could I not come for you? Now explain to me in full what happened.”

You did as he asked, and when you finished telling your events, you hung your head dejectedly. “I guess I can’t return to university after all.”

“Why can’t you?” he asked softly reaching for your hand. “You’re too smart to be cooped up, Y/N/N.”

You blinked, realising the way he shortened your name was new. It felt good to hear him relax with how he called you. “Did you just give me a nickname?”

“Isn’t that what friends do? Give nicknames, listen and help, and drop their entire schedule when needed?”

“Jaebum!”

“Why not try giving me a nickname too then?”

“Okay, I choose irresponsible.”

“I choose to ignore that choice.”

“Idiotic.”

The car engine started and Jaebum pulled the car out of its park. “Well, my manager will agree there. But it doesn’t sound good, and it’s definitely not a nickname.”

“Oppa?” You teased and he went silent. “Hey, that was a joke!”

“Oh, so calling Mark that is fine, but not me?”

“Eh, oppa seems so, so-”

“Correct?”

“Fangirl,” you insisted and scrunched up your nose. Jaebum scoffed and you grinned. “I mean, I was, well am, a huge fan of you all, but it seems weird to call you that now.”

“So what will I be to you?”

“Everything,” you blurted out, feeling your cheeks redden deeply at the slip of tongue. Jaebum didn’t respond immediately and then you felt the car spin on itself quickly, disorientating you a little. “What is going on?”

“I need to show you something. It might give you some confidence to take control of who you are.”

You became curious; wondering how today had gone from disaster to complete comfort within such a short space of time. Smiling, you knew it was because Jaebum had become someone who you wanted to do everything with.

He accepted who you were regardless of your eyes.

_________________

[Part 7]

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ip-deok · 6 years

Text

Wait

Summary: After a nasty break up, Yoongi shows up at your front door while being drunk.

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 3.2k

Notes: So this was originally inspired by Dua Lipa’s “New Rules” and was also meant to have smut and crap (like a make up sex scene) but it kind of took on it’s own thing and just ended up angst-y. Also, the ending is really bad but I kind of wanted to just finish it and move on to other fics so sorryyyyy xx

It wasn’t a mutual break up. No break up is ever really “mutual.” One person’s heart is always more invested in the relationship than the other person’s is. You didn’t know why you still cared, or why you were thinking about this man at all. It had been months ago. You were the one that suggested to end things in the first place. You saw the strain the relationship was causing, and you decided to be practical. Hell, you were lucky enough the relationship lasted as long as it had. That kind of man, he was always destined for bigger and better. You were glad the two of you were able to comfort each other, at least for a little while, but you had always known it wouldn’t last long. It was impossible to have a real relationship with a celebrity like him, after all.

You took the last few gulps of red wine and got up to put the glass near the sink. Your feet padded across the wooden floor of your apartment to the bathroom. You took a good, long hard look at yourself. Your eye make up was smudged from when you fell asleep on the couch earlier. Your lipstick fading away from drinking the glass of wine, the remnants of which stuck to your lips and stained them purple. At least your hair didn’t look too awful. It had that sexy wavy bed head kind of thing going on. You settled back onto your face, looking at your eyes. The truth was, you knew why you were still thinking about this. You knew why it bothered you. It was because he acted so nonchalant when you first mentioned the break up.

He had that same face that he always did, that slightly pouty, bored as hell face, like he couldn’t be bothered by all the inane shit going on around him, including you.

“Sure, makes sense.” he shrugged, while licking his bottom lip. He literally shrugged at you.

You had smirked at him. It was all you could really do at the moment. Your defensive walls built up around you, around your heart, all over again. If you didn’t laugh at this, if you didn’t fool yourself and convince yourself that you were the one in control here, you’d have lost it. You took a sharp breath in, to soothe the fire raging inside of you. You swallowed as your heart sundered apart, and you pushed the pain way down deep where you could bury it, if only temporarily. God, you really felt like your heart might fall out of your chest and land on the table between the two of you, still beating and bloody.

“That’s it, then.” you managed to say to him, without your voice quivering in the slightest. You threw a small smile at him too, just for good measure. And then you stood up and walked away. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t look back.

And at the time, that was it. It really was. You focused back to your eyes and saw the tears brimming along the bottoms, starting to roll down your cheeks, and drop in fat splats against the sink. Stupid girl. Stupid stupid girl. As much as you had tried to convince yourself you weren’t the one invested, you were. You loved him. You were crazy about him. All this time, you had been lying to yourself. And now that you allowed yourself to feel the hurt, you couldn’t stop the sobbing. You crumpled to the floor, leaning your back against the cool porcelain of the tub. You brought your knees to your chest and buried your face in your arms. You felt the grief roll through your body, shoulders heaving as you struggled to control your breathing, gasping for air in between sobs.

It went on like that for awhile until you finally couldn’t cry anymore. You wiped the tears from your face, stood up and went back to the couch. You thought briefly about getting even more drunk, but decided against it. You had no strength anymore so you flopped down. You didn’t even bother to turn on the TV, just laid there watching the shadows flee across the walls as cars outside drove by.

“Y/N!”

Your heart jumped to your throat at the sound of your name being yelled from outside. Your eyes widened and you sat bolt upright, eyes darting around your apartment at the windows and doors. Your pulse quickened. Shit. Who the fuck? You didn’t have time to think because soon all you could hear were the loud, desperate bangs on your door. You jumped up and ran to look through the peephole. You saw that familiar mop of bleached blonde hair, a pale skinny arm nervously reaching up and messing with the fringe. Min Yoongi. So, it was him. You felt queasy suddenly as your stomach tied in knots. Your pulse picked up even more and you swore you could hear your blood pumping through you. He yelled your name again, and banged on the door some more. Every fiber in your being was telling you to not open that door, but your heart ached for him like it always did. You couldn’t very well have him standing outside making a racket, pissing off your neighbors. You took in a deep breath to compose yourself and threw your front door open.

“You have any idea what time it is?” You fixed him with a steely eyed gaze.

“No. I don’t care either.” He replied, his words slurring into one another a bit. “Can I come in?”

“What are you doing here?” You glared at him, crossing your arms in front of your body.

He shrugged. You wanted to scream. Who the hell did he think he was? Like he could just show up here in the middle of the fucking night and expect to—expect to what, exactly?

He was leaning against your doorframe now and sighed. That’s when you could smell the liquor.

“What the hell, Yoongi? Are you drunk right now?”

His eyes flitted to yours and something dark loomed behind them. “I miss you.” He barely breathed the words out loud, but you didn’t miss catching them. Your heart lurched, and you cursed your stupid mind and body for still having feelings for this guy. You felt heat creeping around your cheeks and hoped he couldn’t see it.

“So you show up here drunk?” You spat at him, still trying to hold onto some of your dignity.

“Let me in. It’s getting cold.” He grumbled at you.

You let out a deep sigh, rolling your eyes at him. Even though you really wanted to be mad right now, deep down you felt a thrumming from inside of you, a place inside of you that wanted him to be close, wanted to breathe him in and feel his skin again. You grabbed him by the collar of his black t-shirt and dragged him inside, closing the door behind you.

He made himself at home like he always used to, sitting down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. You stood anxiously by the front door, unsure what to do now, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“What are you doing?” He quirked an eyebrow at you. “Come here…”

Damn him. It had always been like this. His gruff voice was so different from the charm and magnetism that oozed off of him. You were always so weak when it came to him. The day you broke up had taken every ounce of self control you had. You were like a moth to a flame, unable to deny or resist the power he had over you. Yoongi was utterly irresistible. So you gave in, just a little, and sauntered over to sit down on the couch next to him. You made sure to keep some space between you, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

“How have you been?” He asked, in a surprisingly soft tone. You felt your heart falter.

“No. We’re not doing this.” You shook your head at him, biting back laughter at how odd the entire situation was.

“Doing what?” He narrowed his eyes at you.

“I need answers, Yoongi. What are you doing here? I mean, what are you really doing here? I haven’t heard from you in the last 3 months… No texts, not even a drunk dial, but here you are, at my place. What’s going on?” You eyed him curiously.

He sighed and reached up to run his hand through his hair. “You’re the one that ran away. How could you be upset I didn’t call you?”

Your blood ran cold. It felt like you had been punched in the gut. His words hung in the air between the two of you. He was right, after all. You had left him, not the other way around. You had always fought hard to make sure he wasn’t aware of how much you really wanted, and needed, him. You sniffed, frowning, and said, “We both agreed it was for the best.”

His eyes suddenly shot over to look at you. You couldn’t really make out what he was thinking, or feeling. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. “You still believe that?”

No. I’ve missed you like crazy. “Yes.” You swallowed hard. Your felt your palms getting clammy, anxiety swarming through your body. He didn’t need you in his life. You were just a distraction. He needed to focus on Bangtan, and on his solo mixtape. He didn’t need you making things even more complicated for him. You truly believed that.

A flash of anger or disappointment, you weren’t sure which, came over his eyes. “You’re a fucking liar.” He mumbled under his breath.

“Excuse me?” You scoffed.

“I let you get away with that bullshit back then, but I’m not letting it go this time.” His voice was suddenly so serious. You could tell he was getting upset because his hands had formed into tight fists at his side.

“Yoongi…” Your heart was pounding in your chest. You felt trapped, like a mouse being toyed with by the cat. You had to move. You couldn’t just sit still right now. You got up and moved away from the sofa, lurking in a corner near the door to your balcony. Your eyes scanned the cityscape for a brief moment, taking in all the lights. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

In one swift movement, Yoongi had crossed the room, an arm lacing around your waist, pulling you close to him as he backed you against the wall. He was so close now, you could feel his hot breath on your face, and could smell the whiskey he had been drinking earlier that night. You avoided looking into his eyes, instead focusing on the floor, or the wall, or anywhere but him.

“Yoongi, what the hell?” You gasped, struggling to free yourself from his embrace.

“Tell me the truth.” He growled in your ear, pushing himself against you a bit harder.

“Everything I said was the truth!” You hadn’t meant to yell so loud, but you felt panicked now. You shoved him off of you, glaring at him. You hadn’t felt this angry since the first time you both had a real fight. He had wanted you at one of his concerts backstage. You had refused, not wanting to get caught by management, the press, or the fans. Yoongi didn’t care. He just wanted to care for you the best way he knew how, and that was keeping you as close to him as possible. That was hard given his career. You knew even then, it was impossible.

There was a brief moment of shock on Yoongi’s face. He hadn’t expected you to react like that. But it was quickly replaced with hurt, and that pained you to see. He dug his hands into his jean pockets, and took a deep breath, tilting his head up to the ceiling. He sighed, and then looked back at you. He shook his head slowly. Did he still not believe you? He was stubborn, that’s for sure. You realized then you had no choice, really. You had to really sell it. You needed to be harsh. You thought you had been harsh before, but apparently not.

“Yoongi, we would have never worked out. You and I are entirely different people. Different people who expect and want different things out of life, out of a relationship.” He just kept shaking his head at you. “Did you really think I would be happy sitting on the sidelines? Just waiting for you to return from the next press tour, the next concert, the next event in Japan, or somewhere else in the world?” You were struggling to get the words out now, choking back tears. The truth was, you would have waited for Yoongi as long as it took. You would have waited forever for him. He was worth it.

His face grimaced at your words and he had to turn his back to you. He couldn’t look at you, he couldn’t understand why you were being this way. As soon as you started to cry, he could feel the lump forming in his throat. He struggled to keep his emotions under control.

“Listen to me, Yoongi.” Your voice was wavering but you couldn’t help it. “I hated it. I was miserable.” Each word came out slowly, you had to take breaths of air in between sobs now.

“Stop.” He spoke barely above a whisper.

“You need to under—”

“DON’T!” He yelled so loudly you flinched. He spun around and took a few steps towards you again. His dark, brooding eyes burned into your soul. “Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Seeing you torments me. It reminds me of the past.” You were wiping away your tears now, glaring at him.

“FUCK the past, the future. All that matters is here, now. Tell me what you want. What do you want right now?” He had closed the gap between the two of you, grabbing onto your hands and holding them close to his chest. You heard him sniffle and looked up at him to see a single tear escape and roll down his cheek. This was killing you. This was tearing you apart. Why couldn’t he have just left it alone? This was hard enough for you to do the first time. Why was he making the two of you relive this moment all over again? Everything hurt right now and you wanted so desperately to just escape. You closed your eyes, head pounding from all the crying you had done tonight.

“What do you want?” He pressed, but asking softly this time. He squeezed your hands.

You took a shuddering breath, and opened your eyes. You looked off to the side somewhere. You knew you wouldn’t be able to meet his eyes when you said this. “You need to leave. Now.”

“No. I’m not going anywhere.” His voice was strained, still fighting against the emotions. He was pulling you to him again, but you managed to pull away and walked towards the door.

“Yoongi. Go. Now.” You tried your best to sound stern even though you were falling apart inside.

He walked over and took hold of your upper arms. “Look at me.” You shook your head. Tears rolling down your cheeks, you kept your eyes downcast towards the floor.

He pulled you into a tight hug then. “Saranghae. After this, I won’t have a chance to tell you ever again. Saranghae. I love you. ”

At those words you fell apart in his arms. You almost felt weak in the knees but somehow managed to stay upright. You buried your face in his shoulder, sobs escaping you. You let it go, didn’t try to hold back any longer. You heard Yoongi’s own quiet, muffled cries before he pulled away. He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. You put your hand over your mouth, trying to stop the pathetic whimpers that escaped from you. He moved to the door slowly and paused for a moment, his hand hovered over the doorknob. For a second, you fooled yourself into thinking that he might turn around and come back to you again. But he didn’t. You had won, finally. He was leaving. This time for good. He wouldn’t be coming back, ever. You felt that in your gut, like you had been punched and someone took the breath out of you. He was really going to walk out of your life this time. He turned the knob, opened the door and made his way outside. Just as he began to pass through the threshold of your door, you found yourself suddenly holding him close to you, you arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Your vision was blurry from the tears, but you could feel the warmth from his body against your own.

“Don’t go…” you whispered quietly.

You couldn’t see it but Yoongi’s mouth tugged at the corners into a small smile. “You were threatening to kick me out just a little bit ago…”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little, nuzzling your face into his back. “Don’t make me regret this,” you mumbled into his t-shirt.

He turned around and wrapped you up inside of his arms. The door closed softly behind him. “I’ve been living with regret for too long now. I wouldn’t recommend it.” He said that with a catlike smile on his face. He pulled you in, even closer to him, and rested his head above yours. “I don’t want to make you promises I can’t keep,” he murmured this into your hair, remembering the smell of your shampoo that he had been missing these past few months. “God, I’ve missed this.” he admitted, squeezing you tightly.

Your heart was still pounding in your chest. You had felt so many different emotions tonight. “Me too,” you whispered.

His hands came up to your face, cupping your cheeks. They felt warm, so you leaned your face to the right, into his hand more and let out a contented sigh. “I’m going to try my best to make this work,” he said this while looking into your eyes. His were just as dark as they had always been, but they were no longer brooding like they had been before. “We both should.” He said this last part as his eyes trailed down to your lips. His tongue darted out and licked his own. You couldn’t help but bite your bottom lip in anticipation before he leaned in and kissed you. It felt so warm, gentle and loving. It’s like he was trying to kiss away all of the hurt and anger from the night, replace it with the love that you both had for each other. When he finally pulled away, you felt the absence and didn’t want it to stop.

“Do you want to stay for some ramen?” you purred at him.

“Yes. Always.” A goofy grin spread over his face, revealing that gummy smile you had always loved. You took his hand, and pulled him towards the bedroom.

#yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi fic #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #bts fanfic #suga #suga fanfic #wait #thank you for reading if you did

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feelingsick · 5 years

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maybe someone’s in a foreign country and something about the food there just doesn’t settle right with their stomach- maybe it’s the spices? either way, they try to hide it from the rest of the vacationers they’re with as to not ruin the fun, but eventually they become too miserable to hide

((written with @sicklyfeels

Their trip to Dubai was technically a business trip, but Jessime and Shinya had a lot of free time on their hands after their meetings ended in the early afternoons. They’d spent the first couple of evening sampling the most expensive venues and restaurants in the city, but Jessy was eager to check out more of the local scene, not just the places where rich travelers settled in.

So, albeit a bit begrudgingly, Shinya agreed to go with him to explore the downtown area, where music was playing and food trucks were making the streets smell amazing.

“How about that?” Jessy asked, pointing to a popular looking food truck. A small crowd was gathered around it, and it took Shinya a moment to even be able to see what the truck was selling.

“I’ve never tried shawarmas before,” Jessy said excitedly, already moving in the direction of the truck.

Shinya rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep himself from smiling fondly at Jessy. “Alright. Let’s get some,” he said, following after Jessy. “I’ll order us a couple. I’ve had them before, and liked them. I think you’ll like them, too.”

Jessime didn’t speak any Arabic, but Shinya knew enough to get by. He ordered them each a shawarma, handing one of the foil wrapped meals to Jessy as they started back in the direction of their hotel.

“Oh, wow! These look amazing,” Jessy said, peeling the foil back to take a bite. He made an appreciative sound.

Shinya smiled at him, taking a bite of his own food and humming in agreement. They were delicious, generously seasoned and spicy. He chuckled at how quickly Jessy finished his off.

“Good, right?” he said. “I’ve always loved the food here.”

“I can see why.” Jessy tossed the empty wrapper into a trashcan as they passed. “I’ve only been here with my family, and they definitely wouldn’t have eaten anywhere that wasn’t Michelin-starred.”

“Well, my family can be like that for the most part, but I always insisted on trying different foods when we traveled. I guess it’s always been a sort of passion of mine,” Shinya explained. “And if you really want to learn about a different culture, you have to eat their food. Real food, not the kind that costs twenty-nine thousand yen per meal.”

“I couldn’t agree more, mon ami.”

Jessy let out a slow breath, placing a hand over his stomach.

“Man, I’m full. I’m ready to head back to the hotel, maybe grab a nap before we head out again.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Shinya agreed. “I wouldn’t mind a quick shower, either. I’ll call the driver.”Shinya pulled his phone out of his pocket to dial the number for their transportation. The driver wasn’t too far away, so they didn’t need to wait long before he pulled up in a black town car. They climbed into the back, and headed towards their hotel.

Jessime shifted and fidgeted the entire ride, and by the time they arrived at the hotel, he’d definitely started looking a little off. Even sitting across from him, Shinya could see the thin sheen of sweat on his skin.

“Are you feeling alright?” he finally asked, furrowing his brows worriedly as he stared at Jessy. “You look a little pale.”

Jessy forced an unconvincing smile. “Just a little stomach ache. I must have eaten too quickly.”

The door was opened for them and they each filed out of the car. Shinya noticed how Jessy’s hands trembled as he tipped their driver.

“Let’s get to our room,” Shinya said, trying to sound encouraging. They got into the elevator, heading up to their suite on the top floor. With each floor they passed by, it looked like Jessy was getting more and more uncomfortable.

When they reached their room, Shinya expected Jessy to climb the stairs to the mezzanine where his bedroom was, but he completely bypassed the stairs in favor of moving towards the guest bathroom on the lower level.

“Jessime?” Shinya called after him, definitely worried now. He hurried after him, not wanting to impose on Jessy’s privacy, but also concerned for him. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He found Jessy hovering over the toilet, a hand on his stomach.

“I’m not feeling very well,” Jessy admitted. “I don’t think those shawarmas agreed with me.” He gave a convulsive swallow and quickly crouched down, positioning his head over the rim expectantly.

“Chikushō,” Shinya cursed, moving to Jessy’s side. He hesitated, but decided to put his hand on Jessy’s back, rubbing gentle circles over it. “Too much spice, maybe? We got them at the same time, and I feel fine. It shouldn’t be food poisoning or anything like that.”

Jessy gave a queasy hiccup, leaning forward. “I don’t know. It just...it feels bad.”

“Get it up if it’ll make you feel better,” Shinya said, his voice coming out more gentle than he’d meant it to. He couldn’t help it when it came to Jessy.

Jessy shook his head, breathing deeply in an effort to keep his dinner down. At first it looked like he might actually manage it.

“I’m sorry about this,” Jessy said, his voice thick. “You don’t have to stay if—“

He went suddenly still, pressing his lips together tightly before shooting forward with an unproductive heave.

“Oh, Jessy...” Shinya helped him lower himself all the way down to his knees, and knelt down beside him to continue rubbing his back. “Don’t fight it. Just get it up, you’ll feel better.”

Jessy groaned, letting his head hang over the rim. A second later he retched again, this time managing to bring up a thin trickle of vomit.

Shinya pressed upward a little harder, encouraging Jessy to throw up again. He was really hoping that once it was out of his system, Jessy would feel better. He hated seeing him so vulnerable.

Sure enough, the next heave was deeper, bringing up a rush of vomit that splashed over the rim and onto the floor. Jessy coughed once before giving another gurgling retch, and then a smaller heave after that.

He gripped the edges of the toilet until his knuckles turned white. He was beyond fighting it now, and simply hung his head over the basin, his mouth open as his stomach urged up a few more gushes of bile.

All Shinya could do for him was continue massaging his back, one hand even going around to gently rub his upset belly. He murmured softly in Japanese, words of affirmation and affection that he knew Jessy wouldn’t understand.

After a few more minutes of deep breathing, Shinya felt Jessy begin to relax. He leaned back from the toilet, accepting the towel that Shinya offered him.

“I think I’m done,” he said, wiping the mess from his mouth.

“Alright, that’s good. Let’s get you to your room, okay? You can lay down, and I’ll bring you a glass of water,” Shinya offered.

Jessy nodded, letting Shinya help him to his feet. “I don’t think I’m going out again tonight,” he said.

“No, you’re not,” Shinya agreed, laughing softly. “Get into bed. Get some rest, and I’ll bring the water pitcher to you. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”

#my writing #sickfic #emeto #vomiting #shinya #jessime #Anonymous

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secretlyatargaryen · 6 years

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Going off of this awesome post by @joannalannister, and also what I said about how we need to talk more about Tyrion and food, Tyrion’s love of food, like his love of wine and sex, are very important to his narrative. Food is life, food is joy in life, and food is also bodily autonomy, and Tyrion’s indulgences in life’s pleasures are there to affirm his determination to live even when others thought he would die, to live in a world that was not made for him, a world that equates living as a disabled person to living as an ascetic.

Medievalist fantasies are often dominated by scenes of war and sumptuous banquets. By deﬁnition, this life of danger and excess, of violence and orgy, ﬁts able people (particularly men) and would seem to exclude disabled people. Yet, this is Tyrion’s world, and he has learned to excel in both areas. (x)

This connection is established in Tyrion’s very first chapter, when Tyrion interrupts his brother and sister’s breakfast, demands food, and disrupts the balance of things by implying that he knows the twins’ secret and giving cause for Jaime to wonder “whose side [he’s] on.”

"Even if the boy does live, he will be a cripple. Worse than a cripple. A grotesque. Give me a good clean death."

Tyrion replied with a shrug that accentuated the twist of his shoulders. "Speaking for the grotesques," he said, "I beg to differ. Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities."

Jaime smiled. "You are a perverse little imp, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes," Tyrion admitted. "I hope the boy does wake. I would be most interested to hear what he might have to say."

His brother's smile curdled like sour milk. "Tyrion, my sweet brother," he said darkly, "there are times when you give me cause to wonder whose side you are on."

Tyrion's mouth was full of bread and fish. He took a swallow of strong black beer to wash it all down, and grinned up wolfishly at Jaime. "Why, Jaime, my sweet brother," he said, "you wound me. You know how much I love my family."

In this scene, Tyrion is seen immensely enjoying his meal and looking “wolfishly” at Jaime, a word that implies a certain hunger and desire to consume. Tyrion confirms his status as not quite one of the Lannisters, but also affirms at the same time his place among them, and makes a statement in affirmation of his determination to enjoy life despite Jaime’s statement that life for people like Bran (and by extension Tyrion) is not worth living or devoid of enjoyment.

Contrast this scene, one of Tyrion’s first scenes, with his first chapter at the beginning of ADWD. Here, Tyrion has lost his connection to his Lannister name, and seems to have given up on the pride he usually takes in himself, and is even contemplating suicide. Consequently, his appetites have also diminished. He barely eats, foregoing life-giving food (and the food presented is extremely unappealing), and overindulges in wine in an attempt at self destruction (although he vomits that up, too).

The rocking of the deck beneath his feet made his stomach heave, and the wretched food tasted even worse when retched back up. But why did he need salt beef, hard cheese, and bread crawling with worms when he had wine to nourish him? It was red and sour, very strong. Sometimes he heaved the wine up too, but there was always more.

There is always more wine, creating a circular series of events, Tyrion overindulging and then ending up with an empty stomach yet again. On the ship to Essos his life has become an endless cycle of self-loathing and suicidal ideation.

At Illyrio’s, Tyrion, in his depressed and traumatized state, continues to refuse food, instead asking for wine, until he is confronted by Illyrio’s sumptuous table.

They began with a broth of crab and monkfish, and cold egg lime soup as well. Then came quails in honey, a saddle of lamb, goose livers drowned in wine, buttered parsnips, and suckling pig. The sight of it all made Tyrion feel queasy, but he forced himself to try a spoon of soup for the sake of politeness, and once he had tasted it he was lost. The cooks might be old and fat, but they knew their business. He had never eaten so well, even at court.

For all his cynicism and self-loathing, Tyrion can’t yet get rid of that part of himself that joys in life’s pleasures, and once he tastes the food, he is lost. But here, food becomes a double edged sword, also carrying the potential for destruction, and the danger here is especially seductive.

Tyrion speared a goose liver on the point of his knife. No man is as cursed as the kinslayer, he mused, but I could learn to like this hell.

Tyrion is in a symbolic hell, and is offered a pomegranate in the form of a mushroom. (And winter is coming, but Tyrion’s earliest memories are of spring.)

"Mushrooms," the magister announced, as the smell wafted up. "Kissed with garlic and bathed in butter. I am told the taste is exquisite. Have one, my friend. Have two."

Tyrion had a fat black mushroom halfway to his mouth, but something in Illyrio's voice made him stop abruptly.

In contrast to Tyrion’s earlier determination to survive despite the odds against him, here he contemplates how easy it would be to give in.

“The pain is not so much, I am told. Some cramping in the gut, a sudden ache behind the eyes, and it is done. Better a mushroom than a sword through your neck, is it not so? Why die with the taste of blood in your mouth when it could be butter and garlic?"

The dwarf studied the dish before him. The smell of garlic and butter had his mouth watering. Some part of him wanted those mushrooms, even knowing what they were. He was not brave enough to take cold steel to his own belly, but a bite of mushroom would not be so hard. That frightened him more than he could say.

If food represents like, it also represents the allure of death, specifically the allure of an easy death. But more importantly, I think it represents the allure of apathy, and the danger of a life not well-lived.

"You mistake me," Tyrion said again, more loudly. The buttered mushrooms glistened in the lamplight, dark and inviting. "I have no wish to die, I promise you. I have …" His voice trailed off into uncertainty. What do I have? A life to live? Work to do? Children to raise, lands to rule, a woman to love?

If Tyrion is to survive the winter, he must regain that sense of determination to live, and find what it is that he has, that makes his life worth living.

Of course, the mushrooms turn out not to be poisoned at all, and Illyrio punctuates this reveal by eating one himself. The danger here Tyrion faced was only an existential one, and the meaning is double, because the other danger faced is Tyrion’s own cynicism. His paranoia about the mushrooms highlights his depressed and destitute state. To survive, Tyrion must find balance in his life. That goes for his other indulgences, too, but here I’m primarily talking about food so I’ll save that for another post.

#tyrion lannister #asoiaf meta #yes i used a persephone metaphor #tyrion is persephone #suicide cw

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everyonesawhoregrace · 6 years

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Not Yet (Thomas Shelby Imagine)

In the wake of the newest book that landed in your hands, thanks to Ada, you indulge every evening in the thick novel. It surrounds the idea of mother and fatherhood, unity, and the idea of parenthood.

Thomas and you were nervous beyond belief, both of you coming from families who weren’t particularly the best.

You lay in bed, belly full as Thomas rests his head on the side of your stomach. You read in your head, as Thomas attempts to communicate with your unborn child.

You had just finished explaining to him that talking to the baby will promote, tranquility and calmness between the baby and father.

The book stated that if the father and mother talk to the baby enough, you two sound be able to hear the baby say something back. It was a psychological thing, one that Tommy rolled his eyes at. But he knew it meant the world to you, so he played along. Needless to say you were big on spirituality and energy.

“I promise I’ll take care of you.” He vows, his voice a low hum. “Even when you piss uz off, ‘ey? I’ll still take care of yous.” He looks up at you, your heart nearly skips a beat. “But I swear, little one, if you piss off your mum, I’ll cut ya-“

And just like that, the precious moment is ripped from your grasp. “Thomas-“

“I will.” He promises, kissing your belly.

“The baby needs good energy, not threats”

Thomas doesn’t bat an eye. “He’s warm and happy inside you. He’s good; trust me, I know the feeling.”

You press your lips together, cocking an eyebrow at your annoying ridiculous and emotionally deranged husband. “The baby needs his father to be nice.”

Thomas looks down at your bare belly, “Is that what he tells you?” He asks, moving his gaze back up to you. “Well tell him he came too early.”

You roll your eyes. The news of you being pregnant didn’t come with the good energy you read about, but rather that. Thomas lost his mind, in sadness that you had fallen pregnant not even after a year of being married. He wanted to spend some more time with you, and you agreed, but a baby was a blessing. Not a curse.

It took much time for Thomas to adjust. And once he did, you had been notified about his fears. Thomas was traumatized by his fathers behaviour, and had this odd idea that someday, somehow, he would morph into the monster that was Arthur Shelby Sr.

It hurt you to hear him explain to you that he’ll be an awful dad. Pained you to know that he is fearful of taking the title of this baby’s dad.

You chew on your bottom lip, unsure of what to say to help him. But anything you say calmed down Tommy, so, running a hand through his silky brown hair do you sigh.

“I was reading about the birth of the baby,”

He rests his head on your belly again. His ear on the side of your stomach as he stares up at you. He’s trying to get to know the baby, understanding that your hormonal and cherish this book with all of your heart. He’s trying, just for you.

“And what did it say?” He whispers, studying you and your beauty.

Your glowing, which is something Thomas will always cherish about the baby. He’s given you a radiant glow. One that makes Thomas crave you at all times. He’s always felt such a way about you, but even as he lays his head on your stomach, with bits of cookie crumbs on your neck and collarbone, do you look undeniably sexy.

You reach for your book. “It basically says,” you begin, and squint your eyes, flipping through the pages. “Ah, here.” You stop and narrow your gaze. “Skin to skin between mother, and father and baby is extremely important.”

“I’ll hold ‘im.” Thomas retorts. “I’ll hold him all the time, y/n.”

“No.” You pout. “Not like just holding him, that’s easy. No, this means skin to skin the moment the baby-“ you flush. “Exits me?”

Without thinking, Thomas laughs, sitting up and shaking his head. “I’ll be at Garrison celebrating-“

“No, you’ll be by my side.” You tell him, instructingly. “The first few hours of the babies birth is most important, Tom.”

“Are you mad?” His face twists. “I love you, so much. But I will not be in the delivery room, with you.”

Going back to the book, you point at a random line. “Missing your sons birth will be detrimental to his health and well being!”

“For fuck sakes!” He yells, running a hand over his face. “I saw a bit of my neighbour Margret’s birth when I was a kid, y/n. The blood, the fucking blood!” Thomas already feels queasy. He swallows hard. “I can’t-“

You sniffle right before your eyes well up. The thought of him missing your birth makes you get extremely emotional. It’s something you never expected to feel, after all, you’re a strong independent woman. You learned after years of not having friends or proper family, to hold in your emotions, and never come off as weak or vulnerable. But bloody hell, the son you carry holds all of your emotions in a basket filled with holes. You’re a pregnant ball of emotions.

Even the slightest things trigger you: dead animals you’ve been fed for dinner. The thought of your childhood. Thomas leaving you for work. The little booties Aunt Pol bought for the baby had you belting cries all night long. And the worst of them all, music. You can cry and cry and cry to the sound of music. Or laugh the night away. It really just depends on your crooked moods.

“Fuckin’ hell-“ Thomas moans, wrapping his arms around you. He’s going to kill Ada for bringing you this book.

“I just-“ Yo gasp, in full hysterics. “I know-The boy-Isn’t. I know you’re not happy about us-“ You continue to gasp for air. “I know you don’t want the-Baby but, Thomas-“ Again you gasp, latching onto him. “I know, you’re scared. I-I’m scared too!”

“Shhhhhhh.” Thomas squeezes his eyes shut, wishing you’d just calm down. But the last time he asked to calm down, you threw a frying pan at his head, luckily he ducked. “I’m sorry, love.” He whispers before kissing the side of your neck. “I’m insensitive at times.”

Thomas takes a line from right out of Arthur and John’s handbook of getting out of sticky situations with the wife.

He kisses the side of your neck again before pulling back to wipe away your damp face. “Don’t cry love. I’ll be there-“

You’re still catching your breath. “You-“ Gasp. “-Will?”

“Yea, I mean. Yes. O-of course I will.” He kisses your tears away. “I’ll be there. Whatever it takes, I’ll make sure I’m here for the delivery of our boy.” He presses his hand over your belly and smiles sweetly at you.

“Promise?” You breathe.

He nods. “I promise.”

2 Weeks Later

You’re in the kitchen, preparing dinner for you Tommy, singing softly as the baby does summersaults in your tummy. You feel a pain unlike any other before water trickles down your legs. Inhaling sharply, you look down at the little puddle of water before blinking rapidly.

“Holy hell.” You whisper, before looking around frantically. You turn off the stove and swallow. A maid, a maid, yes, you need a maid. So, waddling from the kitchen to the common room with your slightly wet clothes do you grab the attention of a maid.

“Oh!” She gasps, twisting her face at you. “You didn’t pee yourself, did you, Mrs. Shelby?”

“No, Mary,” A question you’d normally get offended by seems to overjoy you. This pregnancy has been quite eventful, even giggles make you piss yourself. The baby sits on your bladder so you really have no choice. But you didn’t even laugh, so this must be your water breaking.

It was a wave of pain that made you groan loudly, you clutches the bottom of your belly feeling a hymn of pressure. Squeezing your eyes shut, do you feel yourself begin to push. Your body naturally reacts, an it tells you the baby wants out. Now.

Your eyes sprawl open. “Thomas!” You cry, “He isn’t here! No, no, no, no, no, no!”

Of course, he had to go away on some Peaky business to London. Said he’d be back to tonight, but it’s only half past four, which means there are hours between now and then.

Looking at your belly, do you see a deep red fluid now running down your inner thighs. Oh God. “No, no,” You whisper to the baby. “No yet little one.” Another wave comes your and brace yourself.

It was all unexpected. You were a week early, and tommy and you agreed that he’d take the week of your due date off. This was not the fucking plan!

“I think the baby wants to come out-“ The maid is quick to your aid, clutching you by your arms and pulling you to the couches. You wanted to delivery on your bed, but your knees buckle and the thought of climbing up the stairs make you feel faint. The other maids make their way to you, and everyone gets ready for your delivery.

“Thomas-“ You whisper, Polly and Ada had found their way into your home.

Polly grabs your hand, as Ada continues to wet the top of your head with a damp cloth. “He’ll be here, anytime love. Focus on the baby, he’s on his way-“

“Fuck-“ you roll your eyes back, looking at the females who pry open your legs, ready to get the baby out once you push. You turn your head to the only Shelby sister. The woman who has allowed you into the family home, like a sister. “Ada-“

“You’ll be fine, the baby’s in good health.”

“Where’s Thomas?”

“Love,” the midwife says to you. “The baby’s head is nearly out, you’ll have to push.”

“No.” You stir, staring at Ada. “I’m so scared.”

“Don’t be scared!” She cries, kissing your forehead. “Don’t be scared.”

“What if I’m a horrible mum?” You ask. “What if the baby-“

“Shhhhhh. You won’t be-“

“Love,” the midwife says right before you reach another contraction.

Letting out a cry, you squeeze Polly’s hand and push through the contraction, breathing through the pain. You feel your head begin to get clouded. Your eyes water as you silently pray that the baby will you love and your flaws.

“Y/N?!” His voice booms into your ears, his shoes hit the hardwood floor as he approaches you the scene that is in the living room. “Oh, Christ.”

Thomas enters the room to see you sprawled out. Bloodied and nearly naked. He feels like he’ll be sick, but as his eyes trickle up does he see you in your beauty and entirety. His eyes instantly well up, as Polly moves to the side and Thomas takes your hand.

“I made it.” He kisses your cheek, forehead, eyelids, lips. “I made it.”

“You made it.” You whisper back. “I feel so scared, Thomas....”

He hushes you by pressing his lips against yours. Thomas rubs his nose against yours.

“I heard him too, last night before I left.” Thomas’s blue eyes study yours. “He said you’ll be the best mother and that he can’t wait to see you.”

You sniffle, staring at him.

“Love, it’s time to push-“ the midwife is soft.

“Alright, you hear that, y/n, time to get the little one out.” Thomas whispers in your ear. “Be brave.”

And you push. And push. And push.

When the baby comes, you feel so faint and exhausted. Thomas is overjoyed, to the moon with happiness. He takes off his shirt and the baby is put on his chest, the cries stop almost instantly. Your eyes roll back, you can feel your heart slowing. You did it. You had your baby.

“Look love,” Thomas whispers, a tear rolls down his cheek. “He’s so beautiful. Just like you.”

You feel your lips tilt up in a smile. Seeing Thomas holding his son, with such a stunning smile on his face makes your heart swell up. He looks absolutely beautiful. A man with so much integrity and power holds his son with so much care. It’s a sight you don’t want to let go of.

“The baby’s hungry,” The midwife says, cautiously looking at Thomas. Everyone’s always been afraid of him.

Everyone except you.

His eyes, that are the colour of the ocean well up, Thomas is in an infatuation with his first son. He nods, mentally telling himself to give the boy over to his mum.

“You ready?” Thomas asks, another tear falling from his eye.

“Mmmhmm. Give him here,” You murmur, and again, the second the baby is taken off Tommy’s chest he cries again. Only to stop once he’s on your chest. The midwife positions the baby on your nipple and he begins to suck. They all watch in awe, and Thomas steals a kiss from you.

“You did it.” He says, kissing you again. “I love you so much.”

🤧☹️😢😭😱🤭😢🙁😫 I’m not sobbing at all. You’re sobbing.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagines #everyonesawhoregrace

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