#its an instant block because i gave fair warning | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

twices-pup · 3 years

Text

Tattoos Together

title : tattoos together ( son chaeyoung x gn reader )

word count : 1,682 words

genre : fluff

warnings : mentions of needles

synopsis : [ requested ] you face a fear to remind your girlfriend, chaeyoung, that you love her for all that she is, including her tattoos.

side note : my first request finally done! i really hope the anon who requested and anyone else who reads this likes it! the request was a little vague so i had trouble making this fic long enough, and had to rewrite it a few times but since today is chaeyoung's birthday i was determined to finally get this out! happy strawberry princess day, everyone!! also, the title is definitely inspired by the song tattoos together by lauv because i suck at coming up with titles.

You were never one to be fond of the idea of getting a tattoo. It most probably stemmed from the fear of needles that you've had since you were a child and never quite grew out of. The mere thought of your skin being pierced and inked was enough to send a chill down your spine, which was why you vowed to yourself to never so much as step foot into a tattoo parlor.

Your girlfriend, on the other hand, loved getting tattoos. Her skin was like a canvas, and the tattoos she had gotten over the past couple of years were the works of art. You weren't surprised, Chaeyoung herself was nothing short of an artist, after all—if you handed her a pen and a piece of paper, she'd be able to conjure up a masterpiece out of thin air. Although you were still very much against getting a tattoo yourself, you've learned to love each and every one of the tattoos adorning her skin just as much as you loved the person herself.

Chaeyoung told you her intentions to get a couple more new tattoos shortly before TWICE began filming for the music video of their then newest title track, More & More, for the mini album of the same name. She was over at your place for a visit and the two of you were lazing on your couch together, television turned on and your eyes on the screen but neither of you really focusing on the program playing. You had an arm around her shoulders while she rested her head in the crook of your neck, the room pretty dark save for the light flashing from the TV screen and some sunlight that filtered in through your drawn-in curtains. "I've already looked up some designs I like," she had said. "I'll only pick one or two to get tattooed."

You didn't think much of it at first, the only thing that crossed your mind was "Ah, my girlfriend is getting another tattoo, cool." However, that was until you made an off-handed comment, with your eyes still glued on the TV. "You really like getting tattoos, huh? You have so many already, but you still want to get more."

Upon hearing your words, Chaeyoung suddenly became aware that you were subconsciously rubbing her upper arm gently, your fingers brushing right over the cherry tomatoes tattoo she had there. She didn't say anything at first, your living room back to being quiet other than the voices of the actors coming from the TV speaker. "Yeah, I really do," she suddenly answered you after you thought that the topic had been dropped. "I hope you don't have a problem with that."

Although she had muttered the last part under her breath, you were able to hear it clearly. You turned away from the TV to look at her, with a tiny crease between your eyebrows that were furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? Why would I have a problem with it?" you asked her softly.

Chaeyoung met your eyes and sighed. "Not everyone is a fan of girls with tattoos, you know?" she said, her gaze dropping from you to her lap. "So as the person I'm dating, I hope you're not one of those people. Those people who hold prejudice against tattoos or something like that."

Throughout the duration you had known Chaeyoung, you had always viewed her as someone who's free-spirited and jaunty, who doesn't let what other, insignificant people think of her get to her head, as long as she's able to do what she wants to do and be who she wants to be. So seeing her suddenly be so self-conscious about her tattoos, about something she'd usually feel so natural about, caught you by surprise. You realized that, perhaps, as her significant other, your opinion of her meant more to her than that of others did, and you immediately regretted letting your guard down and making such a careless remark.

"Hey," you called out softly, reaching for one of her hands to hold it in yours. "I do not and will never have any kind of problems with your tattoos. I know you love them, and that's completely okay," you assured her, offering her a gentle smile when she looked up at you. Her eyes searched your face for a moment, before she started chuckling.

"Thank you, y/n. Wow, that conversation got so serious all of a sudden. I feel a little embarrassed now, let's talk about something else."

You obliged with a nod, letting Chaeyoung shift the conversation to a different topic as you didn't want her to feel awkward or uncomfortable. Though you did make a mental note to remind her more frequently that you loved her, every single part of her.

On the day of her appointment at her regular tattoo parlor, you gave her a call. "Hey, y/n," she greeted you when she answered her phone. "What's up? I was just about to head to the tattoo place."

"Yeah, that's what I called you for," you said on your end of the call, feeling a little nervous but refusing to turn back on your decision. "Would it be okay if I tagged along with you?"

Your question was met with a moment of silence as Chaeyoung fully took in what you were asking her. "You want to come with me...to a tattoo parlor?" she asked for confirmation, and you nodded, although you were well aware that she wasn't able to see you. "Yes," you verbally answered. "I wanna accompany you as you get your new tattoos."

Knowing you, Chaeyoung surely hadn't expected you to willingly want to watch her get tattooed, in fact it came as a pretty big surprise to her, but if that was what you truly wanted then she had no reason to refuse. She texted you the address of the tattoo parlor and you met up with her there roughly half an hour later, swallowing down your nerves and telling yourself that you were doing it for you girlfriend all throughout your journey.

As the two of you entered the establishment, Chaeyoung noticed your shifty eyes looking all around the tattoo studio, and saw that you seemed more unsure of your decision to come by the passing second. "If you're having any regrets, you can leave at any time," she told you.

Despite the slight uneasiness you were feeling, you quickly shook your head. "It's okay, Chaengie. Like I said, I'm gonna be here for you."

"But why? y/n, you and I both know you're scared of needles, including tattoo needles."

"Because I know how much you love your tattoos. And I love you, so I wanna give you my support."

Your response was enough to put a wide smile on Chaeyoung's face, and seeing her smile was enough to make you smile too, in spite of your jitters. Chaeyoung's hand found yours and held it tightly as she led you deeper into the tattoo parlor. "Thank you," you heard her whisper. "I love you too."

The tattoo parlor was brighter than you had imagined it to be, but frankly that was because you had pictured the place to resemble a dark, soul-sucking torture chamber. Although the sufficient lighting managed to calm your nerves down a bit, the many scary-looking tattoo designs—skulls, snakes, demonic faces—hung up on the walls as decorations weren't helping. As you sat next to Chaeyoung at one of the tattooing stations, you did your best to not look at anything that, to you, were frightening, especially the tattoo machines.

You stayed quiet and only watched as Chaeyoung showed the tattoo artist the designs that she had chosen and told him where she wanted the tattoos to be. Your body tensed up and your breath hitched in your throat when the man took out a tattoo machine and started preparing to tattoo your girlfriend. Chaeyoung, noticing that you were as stiff as a board, gave you a reassuring smile. As much as you appreciated the gesture, you weren't able to smile back.

When the man finally started, you immediately diverted your eyes from your girlfriend to stare down at the floor. However, that did little to nothing to block out the whirring sound of the machine as it did its job. You gripped Chaeyoung's hand, the side that wasn't being tattooed, claiming that you were comforting her, though she had a feeling that it was the other way around instead.

"You're acting like you're the one getting a tattoo," she couldn't help but tease you.

When he was done with her tattoos after what felt like an eternity to you, you let out a heavy sigh of relief. You were finally able to turn back to Chaeyoung as she showed you her two new tattoos, one of a plant on her upper right arm and another of a butterfly by her right wrist.

"Woah, they look great," you complimented, genuinely impressed by the artist's handiwork. "I can't believe I made it through that, I guess watching people get tattooed isn't so bad after all."

Chaeyoung raised an eyebrow at you, amusement evident in her smile. "It isn't, but saying you watched me get tattooed is a bit of a stretch," she opined, and you pouted. "I was still here nonetheless," you argued.

"Alright, alright. Fair enough." Your girlfriend chuckled. "Then maybe next time you can take it a step further and get a tattoo yourself."

You playfully scrunched up your nose at her words and were about to oppose, until she continued. "Maybe we can even get matching ones!" she proposed, her eyes bright with excitement over the idea. Your expression softened in an instant, a wide smile making its way onto your face. Whenever she looked at you like that, with such innocent joy, it was near impossible for you to ever say no.

"Well, maybe one day," you told her, as you helped her up from her seat.

"Maybe one day, we can get tattoos together."

. . .

please do not repost my work, whether on tumblr or on any other site.

95 notes · View notes

iridescent-petrichor · 3 years

Text

music to my ears

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: swearing but that’s it

Words: 1K

A/N: I am so sorry that I’ve been gone for years only to come back with a different fandom fic.... I got hit with a huge writer’s block and then I watched a ton of x-men movies with my best friend after wandavision so obviously i’m gonna fall in love with evan peters’ quicksilver, what else was i supposed to do, yknow???

When you woke up, it took you a moment to remember where you were. Sunlight was streaming in through the curtains, brightening the whole room in its soft gleam. The room was slightly messy, with a couple of clothes littered around the floor. You were definitely still in Peter’s room.

The space in the bed next to you was empty, which didn’t surprise you. Peter hates leaving you alone in the morning, but you knew he was talking to Charles early in the morning, and he didn’t tend to need much sleep anyways.

You sat up in the bed, stretching your tired limbs before climbing out from under the warm covers. You made the bed quickly, knowing damn well Peter wasn’t going to do it himself.

Grabbing a random shirt from Peter’s dresser and pulling on the jeans you were wearing the day before, you decided you were somewhat ready for the day.

That is until you noticed his walkman laying on top of his dresser.

He never went anywhere without his walkman somewhere on his person, so to see it alone in his room was quite the rarity. You glanced around as if he was going to jump out from the shadows and scold you for even thinking about taking his stuff. Another couple of seconds passed before you swiped the walkman, attaching it to your belt like you’ve seen Peter do a million times. With one final glance at the clock, you determined that Peter would still be talking to Charles, so you headed down towards the forest behind the school.

It was such a beautiful day out, you couldn’t help but enjoy the sunshine as Peter’s music played in your ears. You were surprised at how many love songs he listened to, but maybe you’d just rubbed off on him. The thought of him thinking of you while listening to these made you unable to wipe your smile off your face.

You almost lost track of time, only heading back after you realized you’d looped around towards the school again. It was still early, you couldn’t have been out for over an hour, but you felt so much more full of energy.

Peter strolled out of the professor’s office, hands shoved in his pockets and humming a quiet tune that’s been stuck in his head all morning. He looked up, seeing Jean passing him in the hallway, and gave her a quick wave before heading towards his own room. Upon entering, the first thing he notices is his bed is empty. He smiles when he notices you made the bed before you left.

Instinctively, he reached for his walkman, deciding to run a couple of laps around the school before heading out to find you. His hand hits the dresser, finding nothing.

“What the…” He does a quick scan of the room, dresser first, only to find his walkman is nowhere to be seen. Running his hand through his hair, he sighs. “Goddammit, Y/N.”

In truth, he didn’t care all that much. But without music or you to entertain himself, he would get bored quickly. So, he set off, knowing where he’d find one, he’d find the other.

Speeding down into the kitchen where Jean was heading, he found her talking to Scott.

“Hey!” They both jumped back at his voice, startled by his sudden presence.

“You have to stop doing that!” Scott urges, his furrowed brows the only evidence of his emotions.

“What’s up, Peter?” Jean asks, ignoring her boyfriend.

“Have either of you seen Y/N?” Peter tried to lean casually against the entryway door, but it moved with him, causing him to slip before he caught himself.

Scott snickered, shaking his head in amusement. “Nope, haven’t seen her.”

“Why?” Jean asked. Usually, they were attached at the hip, so it was only fair to wonder why she was away from him today.

“She took my walkman, man.” He muttered before speeding off to look for her.

Maybe she was in her room?

You walked back inside, invigorated from your long walk through the forest. When you passed the kitchen, you faintly heard your name being called.

Taking the earbuds out, you turn to see Jean and Scott standing together, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” You walked towards them, stopping at the entryway of the room.

“Peter’s looking for you. Says you have something of his.” Scott smirked, and your hand flew to the walkman.

“Oh, that.” You laughed, feeling the blush come across your face. “Mind telling me where he went?”

Before either of them could answer, you felt a gust of wind coming from behind, followed by a pair of arms around you.

“Right here.” A familiar voice whispered in your ear. You spun around in Peter’s arms, coming face to face with him. “Nice shirt, by the way.”

You felt your face grow hotter when you remembered that his walkman wasn’t the only thing you took.

“Sorry?” You tried with a sheepish smile.

“You’re not.”

“I’m not.”

In an instant, you were back in Peter’s room with a vague sense of nausea coming over you. You faintly sensed a weight off your belt, knowing Peter took his walkman back.

“You know stealing is my thing, babe.” You spun around to face him, seeing him leaning back on his desk chair.

“Well, maybe you just rubbed off on me.” Walking over until your face was inches from his before stopping, giggling when you noticed the pout on Peter’s face. It didn’t last long though, because soon enough Peter’s hand was cupping your face and his lips were on yours.

“Your music taste is sappy.” You whispered, laughing loudly when you heard him groan in annoyance.

“You are never taking my shit ever again.”

#peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff imagine

120 notes · View notes

ffangirlingsince2001 · 4 years

Text

Havandra

anonymous asked:

Hi! Can i request something where geralt meets another girl and starts ignoring/neglecting y/n and both of them being rude to her and rly angsty w a fluff ending if you can!! Thank you so much!!

A/N: Hello, I don’t know who you are but thank you for your request, it was fun to write. I hope you enjoy

Geralt x Reader

Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, murder, fighting

There was something about fine ladies with intricate dresses and long lashes that seemed to enchant the unenchantable.

Especially your Witcher.

They were his weakness, and it didn’t matter what they were. Human, mages, monsters, it was all the same.

Knowing this you shouldn’t have been surprised how immediately he trailed off as his eyes followed her down the hallway. She deserved it, every glance that was sent her way. Her entire existence screamed ‘Admire Me!’ Her dress glittered like the ocean at midnight and her hair was a sheet of shining obsidian, swaying with every step, taunting you as she approached. Big blue eyes, full lips, high cheekbones were straight out of a painting that hung in lonely king’s courts. It was clear someone had sculpted her, had dragged magic through her skin until she lacked impurity.

It’s not that you weren’t pretty, for a hunter. Spattered freckles, scars, and comfort had nothing on fair skin, magic, and mystery.

You shouldn’t have been surprised, and you should have found yourself a new traveling companion, at least until she was gone. You didn’t, of course, because you were an idiot, and unrequited love made you an idiotic doormat.

“I’m Havandra,” she purred, brushing you out of the way with almost no effort at all. Placing a hand on your Witcher’s shoulder, fingers twirling into the fabric of his collar. “The resident mage. He nodded gruffly, Adam’s apple tight in his throat and you rolled your eyes.

“Geralt-,”

“of Rivia, yes I know. I heard you were wandering our halls. I was hoping I would bump into you.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Geralt, we need to speak to the king,” you reminded him, catching the attention of Havandra.

“And you are?” she asked, turning and planting herself between you and Geralt.

“His partner.”

“That’s so cute. Tell me, partner in what capacity?”

“I don’t think I know what you mean.”

“Well, you clearly not together in the sense of lovers. So if you’re not pleasuring him, why on earth does he keep a plain thing like you around.” You glanced over your shoulder at Geralt, who seemed to not hear anything she said.

“She’s a hunter,” he informed her, and you struggled to breathe.

“Oh, so you won’t mind if we get drinks?”

“We have to talk to the king,” you reminded but he was already gone, intertwined with the beautiful Havandra. As they strolled away, she glanced over his should and sent you a sharp smile.

“Don’t worry, I’ll return him mostly unharmed.”

You could scream, you wanted to more than anything, but you settled for unsheathing your sword and slamming it into the stone walls.

“Fuck,” you screamed, hands aching from the reverberation. He just left, with her, not even bothering to defend you. You weren’t fucking plain! And you were going to let her have it, she was evil, something was wrong.

No.

This was envy, it had planted itself in your heart and begun to grow. She wasn’t evil, just beautiful. Anyhow, you have no right to be jealous. He’s not yours, he’s never been yours. You told yourself friendship was fine time and time again. Every time you had to make yourself scarce because some girl had managed to enchant him for the night it stung but you knew it was for the best. And even this time, though you hated every inch of her, it was no different than anytime before.

Except this time, he hadn’t defended you. Every time before, the moment his conquest came after you, she was done. He told her to fuck off and grunted that it was time to go, but not this time. You had been sure he hadn’t heard her, but then he as if it was nothing he demoted you from friend to some hunter who had decided to tag along with the great and mighty Geralt of Rivia.

It’s fine, you told yourself deciding whether you should still go the king or postpone it until you had the man he had really called for at your side. If the rumors were true, this king had no problem killing those who failed to bring him what he requested, and you were sure this was one of those cases.

Instead, you took a walk, searching for a way to blow off some steam. Though you weren’t angry enough to leave the man, you definitely wanted nothing more than to punch that dopey look right off his face.

A deer darted in front of you as you stepped awkwardly and snapped a loose branch. You had your bow out in an instant and your arrow knocked, following the creature as closely as you could, inching forward ever so slowly. It didn’t stop until it was for out of sight, bushes blocking your view, but stepping onto a boulder gave you just enough high ground to see its ears poking out from the brush.

A second passed and then it was dead, your arrow lodged cleanly in its neck. Sighing, you threw it over your shoulder and made your way to town. Once there you sold the deer for a pretty penny and headed towards your room. The pub was crowded, men and women filling every crevice. They sang and danced and smiled, something you wanted no part of in your state of mind. You just wanted to lay down and sleep.

And wait for Geralt to get bored.

You fumbled with the key and finally pushed it open with a satisfying click, only the reveal Geralt and Havandra naked, wrapped within one another while she rode him. Your eyes widened at the sight. The room was ten degrees hotter than the hallway, hot skin slapping against hot skin. Her head was thrown back in ecstasy, his hands wrapped around her breasts. Animalistic moans filled your ears and you squeaked an apology, scrambling to leave, but they paid you no mind. You slammed the door shut and tears rushed to your eyes.

You have no right to be jealous. He’s not yours, and tomorrow he wouldn’t be hers either. You sat down and waited for her to leave, praying it would be soon.

You fell asleep in the hallway long after the sun went down, but you could still hear them, feel the shaking of the walls. Even as you woke with the sun the next morning, you could still hear them. It had slowed down, exhaustion pulling at the two, but her high pitched whimpers still creeping beneath the door. It wasn’t until it was completely silent that you dared to open the door once again.

She was plastered against his chest, both breathing heavily within sleep. You slipped through towards your bag that lay beside the bed, rummaging for your extra pair of pants. You picked up one of your knives and moved to leave, but as you stood you met the sapphire eyes of Havandra, who smirked at you before screaming.

You jumped back, dropping your things to the floor as you covered your ears and Geralt was up in a second.

“Geralt, she had a knife. She was going to kill me,” she screamed, curling up in his arms. He glared at you and you took another step back.

“I didn’t-,”

“I’ll talk to you outside.”

“But-,”

“Go!” he barked and you scurried outside as quickly as you could, leaving all that you held behind. You punched the wall and waited with throbbing knuckles. She was trying to get rid of you, that stupid mage. You had to explain, convince him that she was lying, but with the look he had sent you, you were sure that wouldn’t be easy. “What the fuck?” he asked lowly as he stepped out from the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Geralt, I wasn’t trying to kill her, I swear,” you pleaded but he wasn’t having it.

“No, you are a jealous, spiteful bitch. She told me she could tell you’re in love with me. Is that true? Were you going to try and kill her in hopes that I would finally look at you?”

“No, Geralt I would never.”

“Are you sure, because it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gone and scared off my company.”

“There’s something wrong with her.”

“No, there’s something wrong with you.”

“You have to believe me,” you were crying now, the feeling her smirk gave you still slipping up and down your spine.

“I don’t have to believe anything you have to say, Y/N. I should turn you in, but how about we settle for you leaving and never coming back.”

No, you couldn’t leave him. Not like this, not ever like this.

“You have an hour and then I’m going to turn you in, be long gone or face prison.” You turned and ran. It was pouring outside, the clouds that had been gathering for days, finally releasing their burden. Your tears mixed with the thick raindrops as your stumbled towards the forest, slipping through the mud and debris.

You had nowhere to go, no horse, no food, no money. You were as good as dead. You couldn’t believe he had sent you away, ears deaf to anything you had to say. All he cared about was Havandra. He had known you for three years and yet he had still chosen her, devoted even his common sense without knowing more than her name.

The trees provided little cover, and you found it harder to run as the roads began to flood. In one false step you were falling, tumbling down a hill into a muddy ravine. You tried to unstick yourself, but every time you stood you slipped again and wound up muddier than before. On hands and knees you crawled towards the slope, hoping to make it to the road before the ravine flooded and you were trapped when the torrents came rushing through.

Nails dug into mud, searching for anything of substance to hold onto, to pull yourself free. You slipped again and your mouth filled with mud. Spitting it out you continued your climb until something odd caught your attention, you pulled yourself closer and let out a gasp, tumbling back down the hill in surprise. Emerging from the quickly eroding slope was a body, the hand creeping out, and then the arm, then the torso, and finally it came washing down towards you with the rest od the debris that had been unearthed during to the torrent. You tried to scramble away, but you were hit full force with the body. You opened your eyes and found yourself staring into the sapphire eyes of the kingdom’s mage. Even caked in dirt you could tell, that the real, very dead, Havandra was laying on top of you, neck slit like a pig. You shoved her off you and realized with unimaginable dread what the monster who had been hired to hunt was.

And where it was.

Mud and rain couldn’t stop you as they had when you found no reason to fight, as now you could imagine the knife above Geralt, plunging into his chest with no remorse. It had only been you stopping it, and with you on the run the doppler would have no problem lodging a knife into the formidable Witcher, drunk on charm and sex.

No one tried to stop you as you neared the town and you prayed that he simply had been bluffing and was not yet dead. You pounded up the stairs off the inn and with an adrenaline you had never felt before slammed your body into the door, breaking anything that held it back. A shocked shapeshifter jumped back, the knife still clutched in its hand and Geralt woke up. He looked between his once beautiful Havandra and your mud doused body, the knife slipped from her hands, the twisted look on her face intensifying and you lunged. The force, though not quite as strong as when you charged the door, knocked both of you to the floor. It screamed and kicked you back. Upon contact with the wall the window shattered. You tried to clear your head as it approached.

“Fucking women, always getting in my way,” it hissed, pulling a knife from its tunic. You grabbed a piece of glass from the ground and lunged, pushing it back. Its knife caught you in the arm and you screamed, wrapping your hands around its neck but it threw you into the hallway. You darted forward, hand sliding across the dresser where the silver knife lay and dug into its heart. The screams were terrible, worse than the accusatory one it had uttered earlier. You dropped to the ground and covered your ears, not daring to remove them until all had gone silent.

You slid towards your Witcher who was slowly coming too, his angry eyes blinking into ones of confusion.

“Y/N?” he muttered, rubbing his temples, “What the fuck happened?” You explained it to him quickly, leaving out all that he had said to you in the hallway, and he just nodded and listened. “And what happened to you? I remember what I said to you.”

“It was spell, you didn’t mean it.” You avoided his gaze as you said it, the words still fresh in your heart.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, like I said, the spell.”

“Do you really love me?” Now your eyes snapped to his and you swallowed nervously. His expression was unreadable. What was it disgust? Discomfort? Simply curiosity?

“I do.” There was a moment of silence, the longest moment of your entire life. You were sure years had passed before either of you move.

And then he pulled you to his lips, kissing you with newfound energy. It was exactly as you had imagined, soft lips but nipping teeth. He didn’t seem to mind the mud, or the fact that it was you. In fact, it seemed to be because it was you that he didn’t mind the mud.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he laughed between butterfly kisses, smearing away the mud as he went.

“The women you-,”

“Are nothing, everyone is nothing compared to you.” Your eyes widened in surprise and you tackled him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kissed him back with equal ferocity. “You are everything, my everything, and nothing will change that. Not women or spells, there is nothing but you and me.”

680 notes · View notes

unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

Note

Prompt: mickey is walking with Franny when Terry shows up. Mickey protects Franny. Franny runs home where ian and family are and shouts that a man is hurting uncle mickey. Basically hurt mickey, protective ian. Ian conforting Mickey afterwards!

anon this is so GOOD !!! i LOVE some mickey & franny content, plus gallavich comfort :’) this is somewhat intense and got way too long lol, but the whole thing was so fun to write and i hope u enjoy <3

also my asks are open for more prompts! (since i am on winter break & bored out of my mind lol)

& ofc, tw for homophobia and physical violence

“C’mon kiddo! Bet you can’t catch me!”

“Yes, Uncle Mickey, yes I can!”

The sun was beating down onto the slushy pavement of the South Side, reflecting off the gritty late-winter snow that remained on the sides of the road and nearly blinding Mickey as he tried to lightly jog down the slippery sidewalk, just outside of Franny’s reach. Franny, who was a tottering bundle in her thick winter coat, a scratchy-looking red woolen scarf Tami had given her for Christmas, and a pink sparkly winter hat Debbie had forced over her ears before Mickey took her outside to play, was running as fast as she could to stay on Mickey’s heels.

Mickey hadn’t meant to take Franny as far away from the Gallagher house, into the winding South Side neighborhoods, as he had—Debbie was having some sort of meltdown about her business going to shit after a situation with organic snacks and climbing out a window (Mickey wasn’t even going to ask)—and sensing tensions were high, Mickey had pulled Franny out the back door to run around and play “gangsters,” her new favorite game, with the toy guns he’d gotten her for Christmas. They were going to stick to playing in the backyard, mostly because it was fucking freezing and almost dark outside, until Franny was about to encroach on Mickey’s fictional gang’s territory under the porch stairs, and of course Mickey couldn’t have that—so now they were racing through the streets, with Franny giggling and practically tripping over her own clunky winter boots every few steps.

“Is that all you’ve got, Wonder Woman? Come and get me!” Mickey called to Franny over his shoulder.

“I’m gonna get you! I will, Uncle Mickey!”

Mickey chuckled as he kept running, and felt his heart soften. As shitty as he’d always been with kids, and how often he always froze in panic anytime he’d had to take care of Yev back in the day, he had to admit that goofing around with Franny was pretty fucking fun.

And that also just made him depressed, because he knew that she was going to grow up surrounded by all of this bullshit—the dysfunctional family, Frank’s shenanigans, the drugs and beat downs, the mom with an ankle bracelet. Right now, Franny was just a kid—the neighborhood hadn’t taken its toll on her yet.

Luckily, Mickey didn’t have shit to do all day—he barely had a job aside from security for Kev and V’s practically non-existent pot side business, so he had plenty of time to play with Franny. If he could do anything with his life right now, he could make sure that Franny had some happy memories to cut through all the bullshit life was inevitably about to throw to her.

Mickey continued to run, lost in thought, until Franny caught up to him and sharply tugged on the back of his coat.

“I win, Uncle Mickey, I win! Now I’m gonna blow your face off!” Franny said with a playful scowl as she held up her toy gun.

Mickey chuckled and put his hands up in the air in resignation, turning to face Franny. “Alright, kid, you got me. Nice work.”

He held his hand out for Franny to high-five, which she gave willingly before pulling off her sparkly pink hat and throwing it on the ground.

“I’m too hot. Uncle Mickey, can we go home now? I think I know the way back.”

Mickey ruffled her hair. “Sounds good, kiddo. Lead the way.”

Just as they were about to start walking in the direction of the Gallagher house, a gruff voice came from behind them, mingling with the blowing wind.

“Mickey?”

Oh fuck.

Mickey turned around slowly, giving a quick mental prayer to whatever god that existed, if god even did fucking exist, that the voice he heard wasn’t the one he thought he had.

In the end, it was as bad as his worst nightmare.

Terry stood six feet in front of him on the ice-caked sidewalk, a lit cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth (just like it always was), his hands visibly curled into fists by his sides. Mickey took in a sharp breath, and tried to quell the wave of panic overtaking him. Calm the fuck down. Mickey tried to remember the checklist of what he always had to do when he saw his dad, a survival tactic he hadn’t had to think about for months: Keep your eyes down. See if you can smell alcohol. Look at his waistline and see if he has a gun.

Mickey’s eyes flickered to Terry’s pockets. No gun, thank fucking god. He slowly reached out behind him to take Franny’s tiny gloved hand, mentally cursing himself for letting them walk this far from home. Then he looked Terry in the eyes and swallowed. You can do this.

“Hiya, pops. What’re you doing over here on this beautiful Tuesday afternoon?”

Terry’s eyes narrowed, his stance still aggressive, but he remained rooted a safe distance away. “Don’t make fucking small talk with me, fairy boy.” He paused and took a drag of his cigarette. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you around here.”

“Well, I guess today’s your lucky day. About time for a family reunion.”

Terry gave a bitter, menacing chuckle that sent a shiver of remembrance down Mickey’s spine. “Who’s the kid?”

“Uh. It’s Debbie’s kid.” My niece, he bit back. My husband’s sister’s daughter.

Franny looked up at Mickey, not in confusion but in wide-eyed understanding. Franny was only five, sure, but she wasn’t stupid; she’d seen her fair share of violent shit go down on the street in front of her, and she knew what aggression looked like—what it looked like when someone was about to attack. Mickey looked back at her, and ever-so-slightly raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was a warning. Get ready to run, kid.

“Huh.” Terry threw his cigarette butt on the ground, slowly grinding the ash into the slush with the toe of his shoe. “Funny that you’re out here with her, all on your own. No one else on the street, not for blocks.”

Mickey exhaled, attempting to still his racing heart. On a different day, when he wasn’t so caught off guard by Terry’s presence, he would have ended this here and now; pulled a gun and put a bullet right through his father’s homophobic skull. But Terry was right—there was no one outside for miles, no one stirring behind the curtains of the houses lining the streets, no one to call for help if Terry physically overpowered him and kicked the life out of him. And Franny was still holding his hand.

“Yeah, well. We’re just goin’ for a walk. And we’re gonna head back now, if you’re… done.”

Terry held Mickey’s gaze, unblinking. When he spoke, his voice was low and ice cold. “When the fuck was I ever done with you?”

It all happened in an instant, but also in terrifyingly smooth slow motion—Terry charged at Mickey, fists raised, skidding across the ice in a blur.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, you deformed excuse for a Milkovich!”

Terry was seething with the same fiery anger as when he flipped the table at Yevgeny’s christening, the night he found out that Mickey was gay—as he raced across the pavement, all Mickey could do was think about how to get Franny out of here before his father’s fist connected with his face. He gently shoved Franny behind him towards the sidewalk leading to the Gallagher house.

“Go, Franny, go!” He choked out, before Terry thrust a punch to his stomach and Mickey doubled over, kneeling on the damp sidewalk.

Terry’s shadow hovered over Mickey, and he knelt down, grabbing the hair at the scruff of Mickey’s neck. Mickey could smell his breath, all stale cigarettes and burnt coffee, like it had been for the past thirty years of his life.

“Been waiting a long time for this,” Terry said through his teeth. Mickey gathered every ounce of strength that he could— thank you, Kev Fit membership— and crashed his own head into his father’s, toppling him over and pinning him down. He quickly glanced over his shoulder, and saw Franny’s bootprints leading down the street, saw a flash of a red scarf turning the final corner a few blocks down. Thank god.

Terry squirmed under Mickey’s iron grip on his wrists. “Get off me, assfucker!”

“Sorry, Dad, no can do.” Mickey could almost grin. All he had to do was knock his dad out cold, and this whole thing could be over—

Out of nowhere Terry’s right arm broke free, striking Mickey’s side and toppling him onto the pavement.

“I’ve got you now,” Terry drawled, and that was the last thing Mickey heard before Terry’s boot stuck into his side and he saw stars.

The sun had almost set beneath the clouds, casting a warm glow through the front windows of the Gallagher house. Ian and Carl sat in the living room, engaged in particularly immersive debate about the accuracy of cop drama TV shows in an attempt to drown out Debbie’s continued melodrama of reading her bad Yelp reviews.

“Nah, man, I’m telling you, there’s no way an EMT would actually get to the scene that quickly anyways—"

There was a soft series of frantic knocks at the front door, so gentle Ian barely would have heard it if the TV volume wasn’t turned to a low hum. Ian sprang up and swung the front door open to… Franny?

A tear-stained, snow-soaked Franny, with matted hair and a scarf hanging half off her neck.

“Uncle Ian! Uncle Ian, we have to go help Uncle Mickey!”

What the fuck?

“Franny, what’s the matter?” Ian tried to gently guide her inside out of the cold, but Franny stomped her boots and shoved Ian’s hand away.

“We have to go now Uncle Ian! A man is hitting Uncle Mickey! We have to go quick!”

Ian froze. Shit. There were plenty of people who wanted an excuse to beat the crap out of Mickey, most of whom Mickey could take— but regardless, Ian didn’t want anyone fucking up Mickey’s parole.

“Oh, shit. Okay. Franny, can you take me to Uncle Mickey?”

Franny fervently nodded. “He’s up the street. I was chasing him when we were playing.”

Ian turned to call over his shoulder. “Hey, can anyone help me back Mickey up in a fight with some dude?”

Carl put his hands up in resignation. “Don’t look at me, man. I should be a mile away from any instance of Mickey breaking his parole.”

Sandy darted into the living room, from the kitchen where she had been consoling Debbie. “Mickey’s in a fight?”

“Apparently. He was playing with Franny down the road and now Franny’s back here.”

Sandy looked at the disheveled Franny standing in the doorway. “Shit. I’ll grab my shoes.”

“Uncle Ian, we have to go now!”

“Okay, we’re coming Franny. Lead the way.”

Franny guided them down the sidewalk, the three of them casting dark shadows onto the roadside piles of snow as the sun disappeared beneath the clouds. “This way!”

Ian didn’t really know what he was expecting to see as they turned the final corner, the street almost totally enveloped in darkness— maybe Mickey pinning some guy up against a wall, or in the back of a cop car. But he was certainly not prepared to see Mickey as a static heap sprawled on the sidewalk, while the unmistakable figure of Terry Milkovich stood above him, pummeling Ian’s husband.

Sandy noticed Terry’s presence before Ian could even react to what was going on. “Uh, Franny, hey, can you walk back to the house please?”

Before he knew what he was doing, Ian’s feet were sprinting down the street. “Terry! Get the FUCK off of him!”

Ian could barely register his body’s movements as he smashed his fist into Terry’s nose and tackled him to the ground. Terry spit in Ian’s face. “Fucking Gallagher!”

Ian hit Terry once again, keeping him pinned down. He struck him over and over, not stopping to process if he was even moving, or breathing, or fighting back.

“Hey! Everyone calm the fuck down!”

Ian looked up over his shoulder—Sandy was standing above them, pointing a gun directly at Terry, whose face was now bashed and bloody.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, my dear Uncle Terry,” Sandy said in a sickly-sweet voice that didn’t match her iron gaze. “Ian’s going to get off of you, and you’re going to stand up and walk down the street back to your shithole house. And you’re going to watch your fucking back, because you never know when I could decide to come home one night while you’re asleep and make you regret everything you did this evening. Are we clear?”

Terry’s eyes narrowed, panting as he stayed pinned beneath Ian. “Those Gallagher queers got you too, huh?”

Sandy cocked the gun even more aggressively in Terrys direction, her thumb teasing the safety.

“That’s not how it works, dumbass. Unlike some pieces of garbage in this neighborhood, the Gallagher family actually cares about each other. Now—are we clear?”

Terry scowled at Ian, and gave a curt nod. “Get the fuck off me, fag.”

Ian didn’t budge. “Sandy, no,” Ian snarled.

“Ian, we’ll deal with him later.”

Ian looked up at Sandy, who met his eyes with an expectant gaze, still holding the gun directly at Terry. It took every ounce of strength Ian had to kneel and rise from the ground—it would be so easy to knock Terry out, to tell Sandy to pull to trigger, to put all the pain he’d caused behind them. To finally feel safe.

Terry immediately stood, and looked at Mickey on the ground, practically unconscious and his blood mingling with the snow. Terry opened his mouth to say some final retort— but Sandy clicked off the safety of the gun, steadily pointing it in his direction, and Terry promptly closed his mouth again. He turned and walked away.

Ian was immediately at Mickey’s side. “Fuck, Mickey, fuck.” Ian choked out. “Hey, look at me.”

Mickey had definitely hit his head, hard—there was a gash on his forehead dripping blood down his face, just like the night of Yevgeny’s christening when they’d watched Terry be forced into the back of a cop car. He looked up at Ian, his eyes drifting in and out of focus. Ian quickly scanned the rest of Mickey’s body—aside from a few solid kicks to the ribs, his head injury seemed to be the only major issue. Ian gently ran a hand through his hair.

“Mickey, hey, can you stand up? We’ve gotta get you home.”

First, get Mickey home— only then could Ian actually let himself process everything that had happened, and swallow down the bile rising from his stomach. First, Mickey had to be safe.

Sandy leaned over next to Ian. “Do you think we’re gonna have to carry him?”

“Uh, yeah I think so. Can you grab his legs?”

Mickey forced his heavy eyelids open, hazy and disoriented. He blinked, trying to clear the sleep out of his eyes. The blurry outlines of he and Ian’s bedroom, cloaked in darkness, slowly came into focus. He could feel the scratchy crocheted blanket on top of him, but aside from that his limbs were so heavy and numb he could barely move. A dull pain throbbed in the back of his head. Fuck.

“You awake?”

Ian was curled next to him in bed, not touching any part of Mickey’s aching body but leaning in close, nearly a centimeter away. Ian’s hand reached up and gently wiped a damp piece of hair off of Mickey’s forehead. Mickey winced.

“Sorry. How d’you feel?”

“I’ve definitely felt better,” Mickey croaked. “What time is it?”

“Almost 1 a.m. You’ve been out for a few hours,” Ian replied in a low voice.

“Shit.” Mickey closed his eyes. They were silent in the darkness for a few moments, but Mickey could feel Ian’s eyes on him. “My head fuckin’ hurts. What’s your prognosis, doc?”

“You definitely have a concussion. It probably won’t be a big deal in a week or two. You don’t need stitches or anything, though. And I did some EMT magic on your ribs, which mostly just means I put ice on them while you were sleeping.”

Mickey smirked, his eyes still closed—partially from the headache, but partially because he didn’t want to look Ian in the eyes yet. “Franny okay?”

“Yeah, she’s all good.”

“And, uh. Terry?”

He could feel Ian stiffen beside him. “Probably at home, being the same lowlife asshole he always has been. Sandy pulled a gun on him.”

Mickey opened his eyes, and could see through the darkness that Ian’s own eyes looked puffy and worn. It killed him to see Ian suffering, once again, because of him— it felt like they were always battling something at every turn, sure, but in Mickey’s case, it was almost always Terry they were fighting against.

“Fuck. When I’m less tired, and my body feels less like shit, remind me to go kill him, yeah?”

Ian laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I almost tried that tactic myself. I think Sandy scared the shit out of him, though. We’ll figure out what to do if he… acts up again.”

Mickey knew it was a lot more complicated than that, and that in the morning he would probably be seething and grabbing his guns and marching down to Terry’s house with fire in his eyes, but they didn’t need to dwell on that right now. Right now it was quiet, and Ian’s body was pressed against his, and Mickey was wrapped in a warm blanket in a bed with his husband. They were safe.

“I’ve thought I’d lost you thousands of times, Mick, but tonight really scared me” Ian softly whispered, cutting through the silence. “I thought… I don’t know, when I saw you on the sidewalk, I thought after all the shit your dad has said, I might’ve been too late.”

Mickey took a sharp breath in, making his ribs sting, while Ian kept talking.

“When you were in jail, or in Mexico, I knew you were always out there, and I guess knowing that always kept me going. But knowing I could have lost you again tonight—I don’t know, it scared the shit out of me,” Ian said, his voice breaking.

Mickey mustered all the strength he had, and slightly shifted his weight onto his left side to face Ian, whose eyes were glassy. Beneath all of Ian’s macho shit the past few weeks, it was so easy to look at him and forget that he was still also that tired, scared kid from the South Side that Mickey met ten years ago, one who didn’t know if good things could be permanent or if other people could stick around. Mickey put his hand up to Ian’s face, running his thumb up and down his cheekbone.

“Hey. C’mere.”

Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey—gently at first, like he was gliding his fingers over something precious, and then fully wrapping his arms around him, and burying his face in the hair on top of Mickey’s head. Mickey could feel Ian’s heartbeat through his thin t-shirt, feel the warmth radiating off of his biceps that encircled him. Ian pressed a kiss to the top of Mickey’s head, where his forehead met his hairline.

“I’m here, Gallagher,” Mickey whispered into Ian’s skin. “I’m not going anywhere. No one’s gonna change that shit.”

#lol I hope the first chunk of this is okay I am truly horrible at writing emotionally intense fight scenes #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich

85 notes · View notes

soliverse · 3 years

Text

say you love me - l.ty (part 5)

1 ⭒ 2 ⭒ 3 ⭒ 4 ⭒ 5 ⭒ finale pt 1

pairing: rockstar!taeyong x journalist!reader

genre: a smidge of angst, fluff, and humor, slow burn

warnings: a bit of cussing, possible mental illness, minor injury, and stalking (flashback to what happened in part 4)

word count: 3330

ps: It’s finally back! The story took a bit of a back seat because an ask made me realize that I have been neglectful in making sure that my stories don’t give everyone the wrong impression. If you (or someone you know) is ever feeling the same things or going through the same stuff as the main character, please do not ignore them and seek for professional help. I have removed the said part in question and I apologize if I gave out the wrong impression about mental health and treatment.

I promise to do better in the future.

With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy this one!

networks: @nctcreations @kdiarynet @kpopscape

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You leaned on the couch and took gulps of icy water, letting out a refreshed sigh. After placing the glass back to the table, you tossed your head back and closed your eyes to calm yourself down. It was the first time that you’re able to breathe normally for the whole day.

“I’ll be fine. It’s just a bruise.” He tried to reassure you by smiling like he usually does but he flinched upon moving his right arm. Your tripod had hit him on his right shoulder and it unfortunately left a baseball sized mark on that spot. You slapped yourself with both hands and rubbed it on your face at your frustration.

“I didn’t know that you’re coming home tonight.” Strength has left your body already as you let your guard down. Even speaking up takes a portion of your energy.

“You would if you’d read my message earlier.” He takes a sip with his uninjured arms and made the “ahh” sound before setting his glass right next to yours.

The guilt had made you quiet. The only thing that you did was grab the pillow beside you and bury your face in it.

Your thoughts have started to bother you again. Yuta. Work. Your mental health. Taeyong…

Taeyong felt that something else going on more than what you’re letting. He had always come home late but this was the first time that he had seen you freak out.

“You alright?”

Underneath the pillow, you shook your head as an answer.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No…”

You do want to talk about it, but something is making you hesitate. This man right beside you probably have never seen you this low before. Opening up to people is hard enough, even more so when it’s about your deepest secret.

Taeyong remained quiet and just sat there, unable to do anything. He can feel how hard it is for you to open up to people. Talking about it might trigger something again. However, it bothered him to see you so distressed and yet he can’t do something about it.

“Would you like me to… hold your hand?”

He mustered up the courage to ask you that question. Usually, he’d opt for a hug since it was more comforting. But at your delicate state, it was but that’s all he can do. He mirrored your position and tossed his back, lying on the body of the sofa. He stared at the ceiling nervously as he awaits your reaction.

“Yes…”

You voice sounded breathy; your heartbeat started increasing its speed again. Somehow, the idea of hand-holding sounded a bit too good in your head. Knowingg about Taeyong though, he’s doing it with good intentions

You felt his soft hands interlocking with yours. It was slow and calculating, careful of how you would react to his touch. His slim and veiny hand is successful in making you feel more comfortable.

It stayed like that for a while until you have finally convinced yourself to speak up. You placed the pillow on your lap and hugged it with your other arm.

“It’s him again…”

He remained quiet, listening intently and letting you speak at your own pace.

“I thought I have already gotten over this. I thought I can completely forget about everything and move on with my life.”

You felt yourself tearing up. Breathing hard, you tried to collect yourself before speaking up again. I did forget about him though; I did get some of my life back after the past few years. But what bothered me was it only takes one mention of his name and every confidence that I’ve built up for the last couple of years went straight out of the window…”

You went quiet and tried to smile at Taeyong as you hold back your tears. It felt good to have let everything out to someone. It felt like bricks were lifted off your chest at that instant.

“Y/N, I… I’m sorry.” You felt his sincerity pouring out of his words.

“I didn’t know what you have gone through, nor I do I know how to help you out.”

He turned to your side and gave you the most healing smile that you’ve ever seen.

“But you should know that you’re already doing so well. Facing traumatic paths and recovering from them are never-ending processes. That’s just how life goes, Y/N…”

You felt his grip on your hand getting tighter, rubbing itself on your palm as it adjusts.

“We just have to keep trying, Y/N. And never ever be ashamed that you need help from others. There are a lot people that are with you to support you. Get the proper help that you need without thinking much into it, hmm?”

He said as he was patting your head, trying to comfort you at the best of his abilities. You smiled as you stretched your arms out for a hug in. Something that he obligingly did.

You have started to realize that you have never let anyone seen you like this before. Opening up to people made you feel weak and vulnerable. You hated how people will look at you pityingly after sharing, making you feel like a lost cause even more.

And then there’s Taeyong.

Guilt started creeping in. He’s right, there are a lot of people that are just waiting for you to open up so they can help you. It’s not fair that your roommate is slowly becoming your hurt locker.

What you actually need right now is therapy, not him.

///

Another day comes and a knock can be heard in Johnny’s apartment that afternoon. He wasn’t expecting anyone and so he immediately assumes that it’s one of his bandmates. Specifically, the hopeless romantic, Lee Taeyong.

“Dude, I know it’s you. Just come in.”

Taeyong opened the door and as usual, he found Johnny sitting comfortably at his couch while watching some movie at Netflix. He would always hang around Johnny’s place whenever he wants to give you some time alone. It had been happening for quite some time now that Johnny had just gotten used to him being around all the time.

Taeyong placed his backpack down carefully and then sat down besides Johnny, careful not to touch his injury.

“So, something happened again huh?”

Johnny punched Taeyong jokingly in the shoulder, making him screech in pain.

“Watch the damn shoulders!” Taeyong’s hand rubbed the bruised shoulder and tried not to tear up in front of the elder.

Johnny, being the considerate friend that he is, laughed at Taeyong’s reaction.

“Dude, what happened to you?”

He said with zero hints of being concerned at all. It seems like he’s enjoying seeing his friend in that state.”

“A lot.”

“Oh, I could do this all day…”

Johnny sang one of their songs as a joke, but he retracted upon seeing Taeyong a little pissed off.

“Long story short, Y/N thought I was her stalker and tried to beating me to a pulp before I can stop her.” Taeyong said as he stretches out his arms, trying the shake the pain off of it. He also stopped the movie that Johnny was playing and grabbed his backpack. He took out his PS5 console and started setting it up at Johnny’s living room.

“Sounds like a rough night. Anything else happened?”

“Uhh. We held hands?”

Johnny snorted at younger’s answer.

“What are you? Twelve?”

He got off the sofa and sat right next to Taeyong, grabbing another console so that the two of them can play together.

“I don’t know, man. She’s in a pretty bad state last night. I don’t know how else I could help her. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about…”

Taeyong placed the console down. His expression turned grim and his voice sounded a lot more serious.

“I think someone is at the house last night.”

///

“Here’s your stop. I’m sorry I couldn’t drop you off by Y/N’s apartment. The street was small and it would be difficult to turn the van around.”

“It’s totally fine. Walking won’t hurt me.”

Taeyong grabbed his duffel bag and his guitar from the backseat and steps outside the vehicle. He waved at them goodbye before the van went back to the road. He adjusted the straps of his guitar case and duffel bag so he can carry them both comfortably as he begins to walk towards your place.

It was eerily quiet at that time and something just didn’t feel right. He tried to shake the feeling off and increasing his walking pace. It didn’t take long before he can see the building from a distance.

He didn’t know if he was just imagining things but he could’ve sworn that he saw a dark figure lurking in the darkness surrounding your apartment. He muttered a series of curses made a run for it.

Taeyong sprinted as fast as he can, but his stuff had definitely slowed him down. Now he had gotten closer, he’s unsure whether he actually saw someone. His vision wasn’t that bad, but he was sure that there’s a figure moving towards the house.

He looked everywhere, even going around the house just to make sure that there’s no one nearby. Just then, you saw someone leaning at the lamppost a few blocks over. He wasn’t there when you passed by the van earlier.

The realization had hit him like a truck. That person is definitely the one that you saw earlier.

You were about to walk towards his direction when the person started running away again. You just froze on your spot, knowing that catching him was impossible.

Feeling defeated, the first thing that he did was to go inside the house to make sure you’re okay.

Taking his keys out of his bag, he opened the door to find the house completely fine. Everything was turned off except for the lights coming out of your room.

He was about to walk towards your room to check if you’re still awake when…

///

"HOLD ON! HOLD THE GODDAMN SECOND."

A voice came out in the middle of your storytelling. It was from woman who just came out of Johnny's bedroom and looking visibly pissed. Taeyong’s mouth went agape when she saw who it was.

She wasn't someone that you'd expect to pop up in Johnny's apartment. She was wearing her usual office clothing but its state wasn't as neat as how she always does it. Her hair was disheveled and her pink is blouse crumpled, a couple of buttons are undone.

"Abegail Li?" His mouth felt like it would drop to the floor.

On the other side, Johnny was grinning widely over his seat.

“Abby? What are you doing in my apartment?” Johnny faked a gasp but dropped the act right after to laugh at his joke.

"You're dating Abby Li? Like, Ten's sister? You know, your childhood bestfriend?" Tae still can’t believe what he was seeing. He kept on looking back and forth at the two of them, completely mindblown at the unusual pairing.

"Would you like to answer that, my dear?"

Johnny teasingly said, wiggling his eyebrows at her to piss her more. She finally realized how she looked and fixed herself, completely annoyed at her boyfriend.

"Shut the fuck up, Mr. Suh. That's not the point here! It's the fact that Y/N is in danger last night and she didn't even bother to tell me!”

"Dude, I didn't even know that she's your type. Does Yongqin know?" Taeyong asked his hyung, completely ignoring Abby’s tantrum.

"Oh heavens, no. The only thing scarier than this woman is his brother."

“HEY!”

Her voice finally managed to pierce into the boys’ conversation.

“We have an actual problem here. Are we not supposed to talk about the Yuta situation? Y/N’s life could actually be in actual danger!”

“But we weren’t sure if it was actually him…” Taeyong said, his voice lowering from the fear of the woman’s gaze.

“And what if it is?” She said as she walked out of the living room to go somewhere. The two boys just sat there awkwardly until she comes back with a phone in her hand.

“We got to tell Sophie and her husband.” She says as she started frantically dialing Sophie’s number.

“Woah woah. Calm down woman.” Johnny stood up from his seat and grabbed the phone from her hands.

“We don’t have to involve police officer Jaehyun right away. Dude is scary af.”

Abby tried to get it from Johnny, but he just raised his arm up so she wouldn’t reach it.

“Give my phone back!”

She shouts but Johnny just laughed at the sight of this pissed, tiny woman that’s in front of him. Abby didn’t like that one bit so she backed up a bit and punched Johnny at his core. Johnny curled up from the pain and fell to floor, giving Abby a chance to get her phone back.

Meanwhile, Taeyong just sat there awkwardly as he watched the scene unfolds. It felt like he’s watching a real-life sitcom.

“Babe, I was just saying, stop overreacting.” Johnny picked himself up from the floor. His voice is hoarse from the pain in his body.

“No, I am not overreacting. Me overreacting is when I hit that punk with a ten-wheeler truck and then leave him in the streets to die!”

Taeyong looked horrified, but Johnny just mouthed she’s not really gonna do that at him.

Jesus. This couple is a shitshow.

“Fine. What do you suggest we do then?”

Abby calmed down a bit as she sat down at the couch, folding both of her hands at her chest.

“First, we tell her what you saw last night.”

///

Well, Abby meant we, she actually meant Taeyong. He was assigned (more like forced) by Abby to be the one to talk to you about what happened. It felt awkward to do so at first, but it was him who saw what happened. He felt like it was his job to tell you about what happened.

He begrudgingly packed his PlayStation back to his backpack as he was being lectured by Abby about what to say to you. All hopes of evading topics involving you that day is completely thrown out of the table. And then he started to walk away when the couple finally started going lovey-dovey after fighting at his whole stay there. It was so cheesy that it gave him a headache.

The guy decided to walk home instead of taking the bus or taxi that time. He even passed by some convenience stores at the way. He bought a pack of instant ramen and took it to the nearby park. He actually enjoyed just eating there while looking at the sunset, but something kept on bothering him the whole time. He’s just dragging out the time, possibly going home when you’re completely asleep so he wouldn’t have to face you. He dreaded to be the one to instigate fear in you once again, knowing that mentions of your ex’s name is enough to trigger a panic attack.

But eventually, time passed and he’s in front of your apartment once again. He took a couple of breaths and readied him for what he’s about to tell you. As soon as he opened the door though, he was surprised to see you in the living room. Not only are you awake, you’re completely dressed up and looked like you’re about to go somewhere.

“Oh hi, Taeyong.”

You turned around to see him, at the front door, looking completely dejected.

“You alright?”

To Taeyong, you looked much better than what you did last night. Your mood has changed dramatically. It seems like you’re doing much better than what he thought you would. This made him even more anxious at what he’s about to tell you. He would’ve hated to ruin your mood that night. And so, the mental debate in his head started to ensue.

You smiled, waiting for Taeyong to answer, but he looked like he dozed off for a moment.

“Hey. Are you alright?”

You said once again.

Finally, he was able to snap back into reality. However, he wasn’t sure whether he heard you correctly. Now he looked a lot more puzzled than what he is earlier.

“Uhh. Okay… If you’re hungry, food is in the fridge.”

You said as you walked back to your room.

He responded with “Yeah. Sure. Thank you, Y/N…” You felt like something is bothering him at that moment, but you don’t have the time for a conversation right now.

While you were gone, he’s still figuring out whether he should tell you now or he’ll just wait until you get home that night.

However, his plan shattered immediately when he saw you walking out with two luggage, one on each hand.

“Hey Tae, mind helping with these?”

“O-oh sure…”

He stood up from the couch and helped you drag the luggage out into the living room.

“I never got to tell you that I’m leaving because it was more of a spur of the moment kind of thing.”

You apologetically as you pull your bags into the driveway. You know that by leaving, you’re running away from him again. But this time, it’s actually for your own good. It’s finally time to get the help that you need.

“Uhm, where are you going?”

Taeyong asked you, trying his best not to panic knowing that Abby would kill him if he said that he never got the chance to tell you.

“Far away. Staying in this city is making me feel uncomfortable and that isn’t doing me any favors. I need some time for myself until, I don’t know, two to three weeks?”

“Oh wow…”

He felt speechless at how you just made up your mind like that. He doesn’t think that running away from everything will solve anything, but he felt like there was nothing that he can do in order to change your mind.

“What about about work?” He asked, trying to stall you from bringing your luggage out of the apartment.

“I… took an indefinite leave from work this morning.”

You took your phone out of your pocket to look at the time to hide your face from him. For some reason, this decision isn’t looking as good as you have imagined it.

“So, you’re actually serious about this, huh?”

“I’m really sorry for leaving without notice. Take good care of Felice for me while I’m gone, okay?”

You said as you took your luggage from his hand. He unhappily lets it go, but he understands that you have to go through this so you can get better. Defeated, he figured that the best that he could do for you right now is to call a cab. However, you stopped him just as soon as you figured out what he was doing.

“I won’t be riding the cab. Someone’s coming to pick me up.”

Sure enough, a car pulled up outside your apartment not long after.

“Jeno! Over here!”

The driver rolled the windows down and a manly figure showed itself to the both of you. His hair was icy blue, which was perfect because he looks cold, expression stern as he opened up the car door for you. He doesn’t look threatening, but his stare made Taeyong feel like the guy doesn’t like him at all.

Jeno helped you with your luggage. As soon as they’re in the backseat, you didn’t waste any more time and waved goodbye to Taeyong before hopping inside the car. He was left alone without having to say a proper goodbye to you.

He unconsciously walked back inside the house, not really knowing what to feel. Could you be dating a guy without him knowing?

He slumped at the sofa and stared at the ceiling for a moment.

Who the hell is Jeno?

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

#nctcreations #kdiarynet #kpopscape #nct #nct 127 #nct u #superm #lee taeyong #taeyong #taeyong fic #taeyong au #johnny suh #ten lee #jeno lee

24 notes · View notes

shiftytracts · 3 years

Text

Stop Wanting More, part 2 of 2 (T/M/A fic)

In which season-four Jon tries to quiet his hunger for live statements by gorging himself on paper ones, and Daisy tells him what she used to do when she got shaky between hunts. Part one here.

Content warnings for this half:

Nausea, and brief descriptions of prior vomiting

Vague discussion of Daisy’s passive suicidality

Animal cruelty and death: Daisy talks about hunting rats for sport

—

“Statement of Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner, regarding—”

“Shhhh! You’ll wake the tape recorder.” Her hand clapped over his mouth so hard his teeth buzzed like mugs in a cupboard. He did his best to say Ouch. The salt on her palm made his inner lips itch. Daisy sighed: “Too late; I can hear it hissing.”

At once the cushions began to lurch again, and his stomach contents with them. On her way past him off the couch Daisy managed both to step on his trouser leg and elbow him in the sacrum. Chills curled up in the shadows of heat she’d left on his forehead, stomach, legs. Her way back into her prior position went smoother, though. She even remembered how tightly to press his belly with hers. Why did returned warmth always make him shiver?

“Alright—skip the spiel. Just Ask.”

“What did you used to do when—” Daisy cut him off with a hollow laugh, which Jon seconded. As soon as he’d begun to speak the tape recorder clicked back on, as he’d suspected it would.

“Whatever; just do it.”

“You won’t be too self-conscious?”

She shrugged. “Won’t matter; I’ll be compelled.”

Jon bit down the wave of remorse and resentment her words stirred inside him. She’d agreed to this—cajoled him into it, even. He could examine those feelings later, when she’d gone to bed. When he was alone, and warm, and.

Unbidden into his head came the passage from Tristram Shandy about the “beds of justice.” He’d never read it before, having got through hardly ten pages of that book, and wondered now for half a second how Beholding could have thought this would help, until there thundered across his mind the words, I write one half full,—and t’other fasting;—or write it all full,—and correct it fasting;—or write it fasting; and Jon swallowed, as if that would make it stop. Less than a second later he could feel his stomach trying to expand around it.

Last week he’d tried reading an encyclopedia—vore-ing it, cover to cover. No good; he quit a third of the way in, when it bored him so much he caught himself fantasizing about its giving him a paper cut he’d have to get up to attend to. Eating fear-free trivia was like trying to fill up on tic tacs. Only when stuffed could he even feel it going down.

He told himself if he didn’t Ask her for her story now he’d only spoil his dinner with more useless facts.

“What did you used to do when you got shaky between hunts?”

“I hunted rats around my flat,” Daisy said at once, in the expressionless way of compulsion. In a voice more like her own, she went on, “Not inside, not at first, just—around the dumpsters. First my building’s, and then some nights the whole block. However long it took before I got too slow to enjoy chasing.

“Then one night I thought I saw one dart past in the corridor. So I left out bait for it, half hoping it’d attract more rats into the building. It worked; I found three in there that week.”

“What do you mean bait?”

Again her first sentence emerged as though she were reading it off a list. “Leftovers, mostly. Wasn’t hard—I didn’t have much appetite for” (in one-handed air quotes, with a huff of laughter) “'people food,’ anyway. I’d just make sure to leave a few bites unfinished, and stick them under the mat at the top of the stairs. Sandwich crusts usually, nothing gross. When I got Chinese takeaway I’d use the cabbage they put in the box.”

To make air quotes Daisy’d had to fish her hand out from under the blanket. Now she returned it to its slot on the side of his gut where hip gave way to bloat. Jon almost wished she hadn’t; he feared the reminder might weigh him down. He felt giddy and light, like if he stood and walked, hell, ran, it might not hurt his legs and chest. Like if he flapped his hands instead of wringing them he’d bump the ceiling. For Daisy to comfort his body he’d have to remember he had one.

“How did you catch them? It does—uh.” Whichever Watcher department took charge of compulsion seemed to know his question ended here, because Daisy responded before Jon could finish his follow-up sentence. (It doesn’t sound like you laid traps, he’d meant to say.)

“By the tail. I ran after them and stepped on their tails and then.” She paused for an entire second and closed her eyes tight, but by the time Jon realized what this meant she’d already concluded: “I snapped their spines with my shoe.”

That was all she said, but not all he learnt about it. The Eye let him—made him hear the crunch. For an instant it shared with him the satisfaction Daisy’d felt at the finality of that sound. It had been a sore spot for her, a then-recent wound, how many monsters didn’t die when you broke their necks.

Then her satisfaction left him, and he felt intensely sick.

“Stop—don’t say any more—I’m sorry Daisy, I didn’t—”

She snarled a sigh. “Yeah, I know. Guess I should’ve told you not to ask about that part.”

“Oh. No, it’s. I'm alright, I just meant, it looked like you… didn’t want to tell me that.”

“No I didn’t,” Daisy concurred, in a tone so flat he wondered whether he’d somehow compelled it.

“Is there anything else you don’t—er. What other questions about this would you prefer I didn’t ask.”

She shrugged. “Everything else is fair game.”

“Okay,” Jon said, wishing that answer reassured him more. “You don’t—need a minute, or?”

Again she shrugged. “Yeah, alright. You look like you might, anyway. How’s your gut feeling.”

It took him a moment to realize she meant his actual gut, not like. When he did he answered without thinking: “Not bad? Ignorable, mostly, but. That in itself is.” He looked down at his fingertips for some loose skin to peel. “I’m… stronger, now, already, my. My limbs feel like.”

Daisy nodded. “Like they could carry you without having to think about it.”

“Quite,” Jon agreed, though he wished as soon as the word left his mouth that he’d picked a different one. Something that sounded less like he wanted to talk about the phenomenon’s downside, its sinister implications. He very much did not.

“The rats, did you… eat them?”

“Ew, Jon,” she replied, like it was obvious. “Not literally, no. Didn’t have to. You don’t literally eat statements either, yeah? I just killed them and it… fed me.”

“But didn’t satisfy you,” Jon suggested.

“No. They didn’t make me less hungry, just made it easier to sleep. And they made my belly swell up like yours.” (She patted his; he huffed in pretended offense.) “That’s why I only did it after I’d gone home for the night: it made me slow. I’d know I’d had enough to go to bed when I couldn’t run after them anymore. When I tried to go without—I couldn’t keep my eyes closed. Soon as I stopped thinking about it, they’d fly open. Or at least, it never felt like I slept. Guess I must’ve done, though, ‘cause sometimes I’d find myself chewing on the bedding.” Daisy shook her head, with a sigh interpretable also as a laugh. “Think I’ve started doing that again. I keep finding holes in Basira’s sleeping bag.”

“Not yours, though?” Jon knew she and Basira slept with the edges of their two sleeping bags zipped together. (A frankenbag, Daisy called it.)

Daisy grinned: “No. Hers is a better texture.”

“Thought you said you didn’t remember doing it.”

“I don’t, but mine looks like it’d be grosser to have in your mouth.”

In reality, Jon had never seen her sleeping bag up close, but now Beholding showed him what it looked like. Once kelly green but now faded grayish, like a pond; the fabric was all over pills. It smelled like wood smoke, Ritz crackers, and the lone sock one finds at the bottom of every suitcase.

“That’s fair,” Jon allowed, hoping the strain in his voice would sound to her like a laugh. Somehow this piece of information, about the godforsaken sleeping bag, had brought his stomachache back way above the “ignorable” waterline. The nauseating smell, maybe? He tried to steady himself with a deep breath, but, well.

“You look sick.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“You’re not subtle, Jon,” she scoffed; “you gasp and writhe.”

Jon tried to shrug, tried to laugh. “I’m fine. It’s just… a lot. I’m alright, I’ve just never.” What, been this full? Compelled an eldritch snack after having already eaten his weight in paper? As if that weren’t obvious. He drew in breath to speak, but still hadn’t thought of an end to his sentence. Then he felt Daisy’s hands—both of them—start to dig shallow trenches, one up each of his sick sides. His breath came out in a shaky sigh.

“That help?”

“Yeah.”

Each time they reached his ribs—or, in the left side’s case, the place where his ninth and tenth ribs used to be—her hands turned back, in a slight arc so that they made narrow ovals, each a little closer to his stomach’s center than the last. Until they met in the middle, then worked their way slowly back out to his sides.

“Could you… keep doing that while I hear the rest of your.”

Her laugh had an edge to it that miiiight have been contempt? But she said, “Sure. What do you still want to know?”

“Uh.” He pretended to have to think about it. “Why don’t you hunt rats now?”

“I don’t want to kill things just because they’re weaker than me.” Daisy’s hands had frozen in place while she spoke these words; now they resumed. She sighed, but Jon wasn’t sure at what. “Rats are fine, they don’t need to die.”

“I wouldn’t say they’re fine,” Jon scoffed; “pretty sure they serve the Corruption. They spread hantavirus, ratbite fever, lymphocytic”—he paused to swallow a wave of nausea, hoping it was the ugliness of these facts and not their sheer bulk that sickened him. He hoped also that she’d assume his voice had caught on the pronunciation, rather than. He cleared his throat and continued: “Lymphocytic choriomeningitis, and leptospirosis. And the plague, of course, though not without help from.”

Daisy groaned, her teeth bared to the canines. Jon could feel her fingers curl into fists, though thankfully none of his skin got trapped between her nails and palms. “That’s exactly the kind of judgment I’m trying not to make anymore. They’re—they’re also good, okay? Rats. Had a friend with a rat once, when I was a kid.” For an instant Jon wondered if she meant Calvin Benchley. Then the Eye told him she did. “You can teach them tricks. Like dogs. His knew how to fetch, roll over, go through mazes to find treats. And they’re affectionate, friendly. The tails are weird, but—they have sweet eyes.”

A huff of laughter tumbled out of Jon’s nose. “All animals have sweet eyes. That’s a pretty low bar.”

“Don't flatter yourself.”

The Ceaseless Watcher seemed to side with her on this, showing him the eyes of lemurs, flies, goats, anglerfish (the regular kind).

“Either way, I hardly think that outweighs the plague.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Daisy insisted, still sounding querulous. She’d retracted her hands now, and held them balled together close to her chest—like Jon himself did when he felt too shy to stim outright. If they hadn’t been talking about rats the attitude probably wouldn’t’ve struck him as rat-like, but.

“It doesn’t always need to matter which one of those things is more important,” she went on. “It feels like it does, but—sometimes that’s just a habit we get into. Some things just are, okay? I like not having to think about it anymore.”

“Right, that makes sense, we can….”

“Besides. I didn’t care about any of that when I was hunting them. The diseases or whether they’re part of the Filth or whatever. I just knew they were gross, and that people were scared of them. That’s the main reason I killed monsters, too.”

“What if you just… caught them and let them go?”

“Monsters?”

“No, rats.”

“I don’t want a substitute, Jon. I’m alright going cold turkey.”

“But it’s not cold turkey, it’s—no turkey.”

Daisy looked at him for the first time in what felt like a while, and smiled, but furrowed her eyebrows. “Just what do you think ‘cold turkey’ means?”

“I know there’s no actual turkey,” Jon sighed, trying to ignore the Eye’s barrage of suggestions for where the phrase might have originated. God, his stomach hurt. He missed having her hands there to rub away some of this nausea and ache. Wondered what he could say to bring them back. Doing it himself at a time like this would’ve felt so. “I just mean, withdrawal is—different. It can kill you, but you’re still abstaining from something that people in general don’t need to live.”

“Aaaand you think people in general need the Hunt.”

“Of course not. I know you know what I’m getting at,” Jon persisted. “You’re talking about starvation—which, unless for some reason the Fears are too sentimental to throw their old husks away, means it will kill you. Not just—‘can.’”

“Maybe. Probably, yeah. If some monster doesn’t come around to kick me off the wagon first. I’ve told you that before, though.”

“…Okay. Yes, you have, that’s. Yes. So then—?”

“What?”

“Why are you giving me a statement!?”

“To commiserate,” Daisy recited first, in the flat tone of compulsion—and then, “Shhh!”

“Tape recorder’s already on.”

“Yeah but Basira’s out there; she might—be asleep. It’s not a statement,” said Daisy. “Just a story.”

As usual Jon let himself fall into the trap. Was it a statement? By Institute standards, maybe not; he wasn’t sure it counted as a supernatural encounter, except from the rats’ perspective. And most of the fear in it was the rats’, too. He supposed you could call it an encounter with her own changing nature? Statement of Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner, regarding her supernatural hunger and how she.

“But why would you feed me a story when the answer you come to at the end of it is that it’s better to starve?”

This time he didn’t mean to compel her—was sure he’d phrased it indirectly enough not to. But Jon was surer yet Daisy wouldn’t have given the answer she did except under compulsion:

“Because I felt sorry for you.” Then she winced, bared her teeth, shook her head; Jon wondered if she’d felt that one. It seemed like people usually didn’t—just heard themselves speak words they hadn’t meant to, and surmised what had happened from that. But maybe after so many in a row she’d begun to feel the static.

“For what? Why?”

“For feeling evil. Because it reminded me of me.” In her own voice: “Think maybe I wanted it off my chest, too.”

So, what? The moral high ground was alright for her, but he was too weak for it? Or, or not, what, spiritually advanced enough to walk that plane? Because he hadn’t been conscious for his six-month limbo between life and death, like she’d been in the coffin?

“But you resist, so—? Why wouldn’t you think I should starve too?” On the ocean floor of his stomach something evil emerged from its hole. “Hhh—wait, don’t answer that, I’m—”

Too late. “Because eating the statements doesn’t hurt anything. The ones already written down—just recording them, it’s harmless. And you can’t give me bad dreams anymore, so—ugh.” Jon opened his eyes to find Daisy clawing at her temples. She shook her head, to the extent she could without knocking into his. “I told you I'm trying not to do that anymore.”

I’m not ready, Jon had meant to say. But seeing how little she liked having answered, he wished he could claim it was for her sake he’d tried to stop her.

He still wasn’t ready to hear or think or talk about this, really. The top half of his belly seared with such pain he couldn’t think straight; lower down it squirmed. He felt perilously sick. His whole body wanted so badly to curl into a ball that his legs wouldn’t quit twitching against Daisy’s. He pressed his elbows into his sides, while his hands hovered, pathetically he was sure, just over the top and center of a stomach he feared would pounce if he dared touch it.

But he felt like owed her some proof he’d been listening. “Do…?”

“Judge people. Decide what’s right for them.”

“I see,” Jon lied; that was all he could manage for now. In truth he needed a break before he could even parse what she had said.

“Turns out I can’t lie to myself under compulsion either. I didn’t think that was the reason?—thought I was just not judging you.”

“I think”—he pushed himself back from her, sure for a second that he was about to be sick. It passed, but his breath caught on it as on panic, so he couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened.

Especially not since Daisy too shot upright, her nails loudly scraping the cushion behind her as she hurled herself against it. “Shit—turn around—not on the couch—”

“I’m okay, it’s.” He did turn around, just to ease her mind, but the motion required had quite the opposite effect on him. Jon heard the sounds of ragged breath and whimpering, then recognized his own voice behind them.

Daisy’s hands came to perch one on the back of his shoulder, the other on his side between rib and pelvis. “Don’t worry about it, just get it out. We’ll clean it up later—just like last time, remember?” The fingertips of the hand on his side twitched back and forth at his stomach’s very outer edge.

“N—o, I.” He swallowed. “I think I’m alright.” Tried opening his eyes. Nope, not ready. His breath shuddered again. Daisy’s hands vanished from his shoulder and side; he heard the flapping sound of a blanket being shaken out, then felt it flutter and settle on top of him. Must’ve got dislodged when he rolled over, though he was warm enough now he hadn’t noticed. Dimly he recognized this as a victory.

Her hand moved to stroke his back; she kept saying Shhh, but not in the harsh way she had earlier. “You, uh.” Again Jon swallowed, though what ailed him was a lack of spit rather than excess of it. “You weren’t nearly this nice last time.”

“What?” The hand on his back stilled. “I was too! I tied your hair back for you! I let you ruin my jumper by wiping your pukey mouth on it! I sat with you, on the cold hard floor, in front of the toilet, and let you babble all your egghead theories to me about vomit and the Corruption, even though I’d been sick not two days before, and could barely stand the smell even without you philosophizing about it—”

“No, I meant—the time before, when you. Never mind.”

“Oh—when I had to clean it up?” Jon nodded, hoping she’d be able to tell that from the back of his head. “Yeah, well. Guess I like you better now.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

“Me neither.” And yet she scooted closer to him, hooking her chin over his shoulder. Her hand came to rest on his belly again, its heel in the hollow at the edge of his pelvis. “This okay? You alright with touch right now?”

In response Jon felt around for her hand. When he found it he slotted his fingers between hers, pulled her hand to a sicker-feeling place a few inches higher up, and left his there on top of it.

“Right,” Daisy laughed—“my mistake.” She dragged their combined hands very gently back and forth across the place he’d brought them to. “This where you’re feeling yuckiest?”

His breath caught again, but with surprise and relief this time. With his free hand Jon covered his eyes, willing himself not to think about how ridiculous he must seem to her right now. “That’s, er. That’s perfect, yes.”

“Sure.”

“Though actually—do you think—maybe a slightly… longer stroke?”

Again she laughed. Her hand went limp under his. “Backseat driver. Alright, show me how it’s done.”

It took him a minute to determine that himself. He tried pulling her hand back and forth past his navel, but that grated against something sharp inside. Supposed he couldn’t consult the Oracle for this. Up and down, maybe? Yes, that would do. Or a circle perhaps. Anti-clock—? No, clockwise, definitely. Much better.

Once they’d got that sorted out, Jon said, “I wonder if… you’d let me Ask. One more question.”

“Seriously? I can feel how stuffed you are; how could you possibly want more? Five minutes ago you nearly puked.”

“I’m just—curious, alright? I won’t be sick, I promise.”

“Fine.”

“Did you ever… throw them up?”

“I didn’t eat them, Jon. Told you that already.”

“Alright, poor choice of words. Did you ever—” he tried to think how best to phrase it. “When you threw up regular… people food. Did something of the rats ever come up with it?”

“Yeah. I only got sick once in the time I was doing it, but, I think so, yeah. Thought I was just really out of it at the time though. They didn’t make me sick, I don’t think—just another stomach bug, like the one I gave you. One of those bugs where everything has to come out? And it came on me in the middle of the night, so the last thing I’d”—a pause to sigh; her hand slipped out of his, presumably to make air quotes, but then took it again before he could think of somewhere else to put it—“‘eaten’ was the rats. Not as many as usual; I was already feeling slow that evening. But, yeah. They… it wasn’t their actual bodies, though, okay? I thought I was just dry heaving at first—you know when you’re hanging over the toilet bowl because you know you’re gonna be sick—”

Jon squirmed, fighting a temptation to cover his ears. “Yes, thank you, I’m familiar with—”

“—but you can’t get anything solid up yet, you just retch and drool and cough into the bowl. Well it started then, and then, some of it got mixed up with my sandwich. It was like I… felt their fear, like I—became them, for a second. Each one of them.”

She’d been right; it was too much. God, please don’t make him be the rat! Jon bit his lip ducked his head to his chest curled his toes bent his knees, anything, trying to barricade the doors against the onslaught of information. He pressed his and Daisy’s combined hands hard into the place where his stomach jutted forth from ribs for fear if he didn’t try to equalize the pressure inside from without he might burst like a sheep in clover and flood this whole room in half-ruminated text, a cloud of serifed letters scuttling heinously all over himself and Daisy like half-formed spiders.

“I don’t know how I knew that’s what it was,” Daisy went on. “It wasn’t like I saw the scene again, or heard the crunch, or felt the. Anything like that. I just—was the rat. I was prey. Just for a second. And knew that I—me, as in.” Again her hand slipped out of his. “The Hunter, was about to kill me. And… then it faded and I was me again until the next one.”

Her hand returned to the dome at the top of his gut where he’d last set it, but its ghosts on his palm and between his fingers remained cold. She brushed the hand up and down his belly, airily—oblivious to how its muscles clenched and undulated. Jon panted and forced himself to focus on her hand and nothing else. How it bumped and shuddered when his stomach’s shape morphed under it. How at the end of his every exhale her touch became so light it tickled. This was the present Daisy, and the present Jon. Here on this couch in the Institute basement. Both thin, her bony ilium pressed closer to his sacroiliac joint than was quite comfortable. Warm, except up one leg where the blanket let in a draft.

The one who’d tried to prey on him was long gone. If anything he was the one feeding on her, now. And they just laid on the couch together, massaging her horrors into more comfortable shapes inside him.

“That enough?”

Jon grunted an incredulous huff. “Too much,” he admitted, unable to keep the strain out of his voice. “You were right—I, uh. Didn’t know stomachaches came this size.”

Her laugh sounded affectionate. The lines up and down his stomach morphed into circles around it. “Ha—look how much higher your belly comes up on this side. That must be where your ribs were.”

“Yes, I’ve. Noticed that before, thanks.”

“Think you’ll keep it all down?”

“Hope so.”

“Good luck. Wouldn’t want you to have to relive the rats again.”

Oh, god.

“The less said about it the—better I’ll feel, I think.”

“Well that’s a change,” Daisy mused, patting his stomach as though in summation. “I should get to bed. Be alright on your own?”

“Er.” No, no, no, god please no, not alone yet with all these? “Yes, alright. I should be fine.”

She laughed again. “I’ll stay til you fall asleep.”

(For Daisy’s take on “the time before,” when she had to clean up his vomit, see Abyss of Possibilities; to view the drawing in less-bad resolution, see this post)

#stuffing #hunger kink #nausea #stomachache #a shifty tract #nonsearchable tma tag #me: writes a story about eating information #also me: god why is this so LONG why did i have to go off on so many TANGENTS #uhhhhhhh hm let's think

7 notes · View notes

fallen-gravity · 4 years

Text

Fightin’ Back Ch 2

That's why I'm so tough on Dipper. So when the world fights, he fights back

or,

five times Stan helped Dipper recover from a rough encounter with the supernatural, and one time Dipper returned the favor.

Here’s Chapter 2: Fight Fighters, this time around!

bit of a content warning for this one: this chapter takes place following Fight Fighters, and I like to think the injuries Dipper sustained are a bit worse than just "get up and walk around fine". Sometimes the need to comfort hurt overrules cartoon logic in my brain.

No hospital scene in this chapter, but lots of conversations regarding chest and rib injuries in this chapter. If you're squeamish to that sort of thing, proceed with caution.

AO3

Maybe the reason Stan recognizes the truck pulling up without even seeing it is because of all the time he’d spent memorizing car types by the sound of their engines back in Colombia. When you’re on the run from a mob boss, it does wonders to differentiate similar looking cars from each other when you’re trying to figure out if the coast is clear when your life depends on it.

He still remembers the pattern of Rico’s car, the way the engine would make quiet tut tut tut tut sounds when he was driving real slow along the path of a dirt road.

Or maybe he just recognizes this car, since he’s heard it pull up to the Shack parking lot every day since its owner turned sixteen and could finally drive himself, even on the days when he wasn’t scheduled to work. Stan would always try brushing him off with fake annoyance, he’d try sending him home to no avail, but deep down Stan really appreciated that there was someone in town that chose to be in his company for something other than necessity.

Either way, Stan can recognize Soos’s truck pull up without even getting up from his recliner, and boy does he have a story to tell. He can already picture the stars in Soos’s eyes as he embellishes his tale of how he rescued Mabel from the water tower as it came crashing down, and how the adrenaline from saving his grand-niece’s life cured his fear of heights. He straightens his posture up in his chair, takes a sip from his soda, and waits for the inevitable moment Soos is gonna walk in and sit down on the living room floor like he lives at the pace.

...but that moment doesn’t come, because Soos never walks through the front door. Stan can hear the muffled sound of Soos talking to Dipper, though he can’t really make out what they’re saying. Soos asks Dipper a question, going by the change in the inflection of his voice, and there’s a long pause before Dipper replies.

Another long minute passes before the door opens and Dipper walks in by himself. Stan’s about to question him on it, but his mouth closes when he sees that Dipper’s favorite vest is nearly torn to shreds, and his shorts have identical holes in each leg that reveal his scraped knees. Most of his face is blocked off by his pine tree cap, and even the color of that has faded from a pristine white to an unpleasant shade of light brown, caked with dirt and grass stains.

That’s right. The whole reason he’d been hiding out at the arcade all day is because that obnoxious teenage boy with the horrible singing voice had challenged him to a fight over....what, Wendy’s honor, or something? Stan doesn’t know, he usually avoids petty teenage drama like the plague.

Stan settles for a shrug of his shoulders, and raises his soda can to Dipper as if it were a chalice. “How’d it go, Hercules? You win the girl over, or what?”

Dipper’s laugh is weak in response. He removes his hat to wipe some dirt and crushed leaves from his hair, and it’s when he finally meets his gaze that Stan notices that one of his eyes is swollen and bruised shut.

“Hah,” Dipper tries for cocky, and it fails miserably when his voice cracks. “You should’ve seen the other-”

He’s suddenly overcome with an intense coughing fit before he can finish his sentence, keeling over and gripping tightly to his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping his little chest from shattering to pieces. His coughs waver in-between wheezes as his breath hitches like he’s about to start crying from the pain of it all.

Stan’s up to his feet as soon as he recognizes the motions. He’d had his fair share of experiencing the same thing Dipper’s going through back in his boxing days. When you fight in an underground ring that once stood as an abandoned speakeasy, your competitors never really followed the standard guidelines of a clean fight. You can only get hit in the chest with a boxing glove underlined with sharp rocks or brass knuckles so many times before you’re bound to crack a rib or two.

But...there’s no way, right? That Robbie kid that’s always coming into the gift shop to flirt with Wendy looks as though he couldn’t weigh more than a pound heavier than Dipper, and for all his tough guy talk and bleeding heart hoodies he still won’t look Stan directly in the eyes when he addresses him.

“Kid…” Stan takes a knee, and Dipper flinches when Stan gently touches his shoulder. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, you know…” Dipper rolls his eyes, subtly avoiding eye contact with Stan. “Robbie and I were gonna fight, but then we, uh, overheard these two other really tough guys duking it out with each other, and, uh, we didn’t wanna get them in trouble with the police!” He flashes a grin. “So we put our differences aside and...tried to tear them off of each other. But wouldn’t ya know it, these guys thought we were attacking them, see? So, uh, they started beating on us, but uh...we eventually got them to stop so we could explain everything, and we all had a good laugh about it”

Stan raises a skeptical eyebrow. He’s not sure how the kid’s even related to him, if he’s that bad a liar. He honestly would’ve been more convincing if he’d said he’d given himself the black eye, or just said that Robbie just stuck his foot out and tripped Dipper before walking away. But before Stan can question him again, Dipper’s coughing fit returns, and he drops to his knees, gripping his chest like he was suffering a heart attack.

Whatever Robbie did to him, he clearly doesn’t want to recount it. For the briefest of moments, Stan’s vision goes red, and the half-full soda can he’d been holding suddenly bursts from the sudden pressure of Stan squeezing it like a stress toy.

...What the fuck? What kind of sick freak thinks it’s funny to beat on some poor kid like he’s a punching bag? And for what? Because he has a silly crush on Wendy that he’s probably never going to act upon? Was he never twelve years old? Did he never go through that phase of crushing on every girl that gave him the time of day? It’s not like Dipper was threatening him, or anything, and even if he had, what kind of coward would Robbie have to be to respond this violently?

Stan sighs, and the sound of it is gruff and lined with anger. He’ll deal with that kid later.

For now…

He reaches out to place a reassuring hand on Dipper’s shoulder, but catches himself and retracts it to his side. He stands to his feet with a grunt, and awkwardly scratches at the back of his head.

“Y’know, I can...help you out with that”

Dipper stops in his coughing for a moment, if only to ask, “Help me with what?”

“Your chest?” Stan puts his hands to his hips and rolls his shoulder. “You think your Great Uncle Stan got so good at fighting and punching things naturally? I’m flattered, kiddo, but I can recognize a damaged rib when I see one.”

“Damaged?” Dipper whispers in horror, grip on his shirt tightening.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there” Stan’s back to his knee in an instant, resting a large hand on top of Dipper’s frail arm. “These kinds of things happen all the time, see? They ever tell you how easy it is to break someone’s rib when you’re doing CPR?”

Dipper, who’d started chewing anxiously at the collar of his shirt, spits it out, “Y-yeah, we talked about in health class”

“See? They just snap easy, is all. All you gotta do is follow a few simple home remedies and you’ll be good as new before you know it.”

Dipper raises an eyebrow. “Grunkle Stan, I’m not sure I trust your definition of a home remedy”

“Ha!” Stan laughs loudly. “I like you, kid. Nah, home remedy just means you don’t need any doctor to charge you hundreds when he’s just going to tell you things you could’ve figured out yourself.”

He stands again. “Find somewhere comfy to sit, kiddo, you’re gonna be there for a while. I’ll run into the kitchen and grab a few things for you that’ll also help with that black eye of yours, while we’re at it”.

“Okay,” Dipper mumbles, his voice sounding closer and closer to a whimper, and he sits down on Stan’s recliner. Just before Dipper can settle his back against the rest, though, Stan gently reaches behind Dipper’s back and hands him the extra cushion.

“And, uh, if you start having another coughing fit, which you probably will, try holding this to your chest instead of clawing at your chest with your hands. It’ll hurt a lot less”

Dipper doesn’t respond with words this time, just with a small smile as he reaches for the remote on the recliner's armrest, and that’s all the response Stan needs. He disappears into the kitchen and opens the fridge to look around for something that could suffice as an ice pack. Stan curses under his breath at himself for not picking up a box of gel packs the last time he was at the store, but chalks it up as a mental note to just buy double what he thinks he needs next time he’s there just in case.

Stan eyes fall on a half-eaten bag of frozen corn forced closed with a hair tie, and places it on the counter beside him. That should suffice for his chest, since Dipper could just place it between the armrest and himself so he doesn’t even have to bother trying to hold it in place. Humming to himself, Stan continues to rummage through the fridge to find something...softer for Dipper to hold over his black eye.

He freezes when he comes across the large steak packed away with the other meat cuts. Does he dare live up to the stereotype? He’s not even sure if it was ever proven whether or not using a steak for a black eye even did anything, and he was never able to afford one when he was younger when he needed something to take care of his own black eyes.

As a matter of fact, it’s a miracle he can even afford the steak now. He remembers purchasing it after a particularly good sales week, and how he told himself that it’s for special occasions, and that he’d only buy it just this once, because he knew if they became a regular purchase he’d bankrupt himself before the end of the tourist season. He holds the slowly defrosting package in his hand, weighing his options, when the sound of Dipper laughing weakly at something on the TV rings into the kitchen from the other room.

...Screw it.

He closes the fridge door, and rips open the plastic packaging surrounding the steak cut. He takes the roll of paper towels off of its stand, and uses it to wrap the bag of frozen corn, and carries the two makeshift ice packs back out to where Dipper’s still sitting in front of the television.

“Uh, bon appetit” He says, offering the two makeshift ice packs to Dipper. He laughs, squishing the cushion against his chest as he takes them.

“I know you’re just trying to help, but I think it’s low even for you to expect me to cook my own dinner after this”, he smirks. “You could’ve at least asked if I even wanted steak and…” he shakes the bundle of paper towel in his hand “...whatever this is.”

“Hardy har har” Stan replies sarcastically, and takes a knee beside the recliner. “Look, I know a lot of these are gonna sound contrasting, but you have to follow my advice very carefully.” He holds up the bundle of paper towels. “This one’s for your chest. All that coughing you’re doing is gonna hurt your rib even more, and in a little while you’re gonna see some bruising. Try to keep this ice pack on the places where the bruising looks the worst. You’re gonna wanna keep it there as long as you can handle it the next couple of days. If it gets too cold, you gotta adjust the paper towels, and if it stops feeling cold at all you have to replace your pack” He scratches at the back of his neck. “Right now that’s corn, because it’s the first thing in the fridge I could find, but I’m sure there are a lot better things in there you could use in case it defrosts”

He holds up the steak. “This one should be pretty obvious. I made sure that frozen bundle for your chest was small so you could use it without holding it, but this one’s another story entirely. This one you’ve got to hold up to your eye, but don’t push on it. Just sort of...squish it up to your face.” He shrugs. “You gotta keep at it until you’re sure the swelling goes down, and then you’re gonna need to switch to a hot compress instead”

Stan just knows that one day, once Dipper's better, he’s going to corner him and ask how he knows all of this medical information. He just knows he is. Better not dwell on that now, and as soon as the kid doesn’t need his immediate attention he can always sneak off so he can think of a good excuse that’ll convince the kid to get off his back about it.

Oh, and while he’s on the subject of sneaking off…

“Now listen to this last part, and listen good. This is the most important rule, and if I catch you breaking it I’m driving you to the hospital and leaving you there”.

That came out a lot harsher than he intended, but Dipper’s frantic nod is enough to tell him he got the picture.

“For the next couple of days, I don’t want to hear a peep about you running around in the woods trying to solve some spooky mystery. I don’t wanna hear you jumping into the passenger side of Soos’s truck, and I don’t want to hear you running into Wendy’s arms even if she suddenly decides she wants to marry you, or something”

Dipper’s face goes beet red. “Uh, actually, that last one-”

“Doesn’t matter” he cuts him off. “You go running off into those woods and you’re going to make it all worse. Got it?”

Dipper looks hurt, but Stan can tell it’s not him he’s upset at.

“Yes, Grunkle Stan” he murmurs, and Stan grins as he stands to his feet, ruffling Dipper’s hair.

“Ah, cheer up kid, it’s not gonna be as terrible as you think it is. You get to sleep down here in the recliner instead of walking all the way up those creaky stairs, and I bet if I even mention the idea of a slumber party to your sister she’s gonna bring your whole bedroom down here to keep you company”

Dipper huffs in quiet laughter. “Yeah, yeah, I guess that doesn’t sound too awful”

“See?” Stan snaps his fingers. “You’re sounding better already.” There’s a pause, as an idea comes to him, and then, “You think you’d be okay if I stepped out for an hour or so? Your sister should be around here somewhere if you need anything”

Dipper blinks. “You’re leaving so soon after you told me I couldn’t?”

Stan laughs. “Just gotta run some old man errands, kiddo, I don’t think they’d be up your alley even if you could come with”

“...Fair enough” Dipper shrugs, and slumps back into his chair.

Once Stan pulls his car into downtown, it doesn’t take long to find where Robbie had disappeared to. The old car he definitely borrowed from his parents based on the bumper stickers is parked right out in the open in the lot of the arcade, almost as if he was acting like nothing had happened between him and Dipper at all.

Stan parked his own car beside his, and with a quick glance in one direction he could see that Robbie’s car was empty, which meant he must be inside, and a quick glance to the other direction told him that there weren’t any cops around.

Perfect.

Opening his car door as quietly as he can, Stan slips out of the door of his car and crouches as low as he can towards Robbie’s car, lest anyone in the arcade catch onto what he’s doing. From his suit he pulls a pocket knife, and in one, two, three quick motions he slashes the wheels of the car, leaving only one perfectly intact. With a grin on his face he slinks back into car and speeds away from the arcade as fast as he can, screaming out the open window that nobody messes with the Pines family and gets off scot-free.

#gravity falls #my writing #stan and dipper bonding #stanley pines #dipper pines #pines family

34 notes · View notes

tata0017 · 3 years

Text

A cold morning and a hot coffee, a good mix

Hi! This is my very first fic. I would appreciate if you gave me tips on how to do this because I rlly have no idea. Besides, my first language is not english so sorry in advance if you find grammar or spelling mistakes. I hope you enjoy it :3

Bucky x f!reader

Summary: You live in Bucharest and are trying to be low. While doing this, you meet this wonderful guy who is really introverted but somehow managed to become very special for you.

Warnings: Mentions of blood and violence, mentions of food, loneliness, fluff.

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

It was cold.

"Another cold day" you thought for yourself. However, even if you wanted to, you just couldn´t lay in bed curled up within the blankets. You had to go to work.

Quickly you stood up and headed to the bathroom, muttering. You took your normal shower and got dressed. You loved your work, but the fact that you had to get dressed (as your boss one told you after finding you in sweatpants and a hoodie), really got on your nerves. However, this battle wasn´t finished. You were NOT going to wear heels or a skirt. That was not gonna happen, specially given how cold it was outside.

A pair of black jeans, your good old boots, a white turtle neck and a big black jean jacket with fur inside did the trick.

6:40

"Damn it". You ran to the coffe shop.

- Same as always? - The waiter smiled to you while already putting you name on the cup.

- Yeah... and..

- And make it quick. You should really start waking up earlier y'know-he interrupted you. This had become a habit but waking up earlier was also a NO NO.

Fortunately for you, it was indeed quickly. 6:45 and you were running through the streets of Bucharest with a hot coffe in one hand and your back pack in the other one. You were almost there, only one turn left. But just when you were turning and could see the library just in the middle of the block, you felt how the air escaped your lungs as you hit the floor.

That took you by surprise and when you realized you had collided into someone, another thing hit you and that was the burning hot coffee on your chest.

You hissed and quickly walk to the library, bended and holding the wet and hot cloth from touching your burned skin.

-That coffee was really damn hot- you said while opening the door.

Not a soul was in there because that day, your coworker was doing stuff and well, you didn't ask because she was really nice and never made questions either.

-Err... Le.. Let me help you- a low voice snapped you back while you put the empty coffee in the trash and your back pack on the counter. You just realized that what you had jumped into was in fact a man (a really big and strong one to be precise). You weren´t processing what was happening until a cold breeze reminded you the burn on your chest.

-I... I need to get this off- You said, still trying to figure out who he was or why he followed you or why he entered to the library with you. You went to the bathroom and he walked behind you, trying to keep his distance so that you wouldn´t freak out. You took off your jacket and handed over to him and while doing so, for an instant, you saw the redness on his cheeks and realized he was in fact sorry but he didn't know how to help.

-Could you bring me the first aid kit? Its on that wall- you signaled the wall and he ran to get it to you.

-Well, to be fair, it could be worse- after taking you turtle neck out, your chest was shown. The sports bra you were using was not wet, so it really didn't protect your skin from the hot drink you managed to pour over you. It was really red and it hurted a lot. Besides, it was sticky because of the coffee.

-You need to get it clean. It doesnt seem bad but you could get an infection given the fresh cuts you have- the misterious man talked while opening the first aid kit, seriousness behind his voice. It seemed as if he knew what he was doing, and because of your knowledge, you knew he did.

-Sit- he demanded and you did as told. Two seconds ago he seemed as a lost puppy and now he was giving you orders. He started cleaning with the wet pads, with a concentrated face. You could smell his long hair and as he breathed, a small hint of mint got to your nose.

-Auch-

-Sorry, those fresh cuts are going to hurt a little bit. But I need you to stay still-

Ah, yes. The cuts. Well, you actually kind of didn't have a choice. Last night you were walking to your apartment and some guys tried to rob you. Little did they know you had abilities and you were not an easy target. However, strength was also found in numbers and you stood there, in an alley, againts 6 armed men. They didn't rob you, but you didn't got out unharmed. Some cuts in your chest, a rather deep wound on your arm and some body pain was the price you had to pay to keep your belongings with you. You were used to that. But you had been trying to stay low for some time now, but it seemmed you would always get in fights. You sighted.

-What's with that? you okay?- he asked you, eyes moving from the redness in your chest to your eyes, filled with curiosity.

-Yeah, its nothing- you stared at him a little too long, looking at his eyes. Blue, ocean eyes. Beautiful eyes. But eyes filled with pain. Just like yours.

His cheeks started to go pink and he quickly took up on finishing his first aid job. -Finished- He stood up and was leaving the bathroom until you realized.

- I... I actually have.. emm... nothing to wear y'know- He looked at you surprised, as if he had just realized you were sitting in front of him with nothing but some pants and a bra. He looked another way, flustered and with a small hint of regret.

-Wait for me- He left for a moment and you could hear cloth. Then a gloved hand was in front of you, with a reddish long sleeve shirt -Use it-

You put it on, feeling how warm it was. It felt big, way to big for you, but it was somehow, just perfect. You blushed a little and turned to put back the first aid kit things where they belonged so that he didn´t see your cheeks.

When the blush was gone you faced him -Thanks - you simply said offering a small smile.

- Its okay, It was my fault afterall- he chuckled and looked away

-No! it wasn´t. I was running through Bucharest and wasn't paying attention.. I.. Im sor...- every time you were nervous, you started talking way too much

-Don't, its really okay- He looked back at you with a soft smile.

-At least let me say sorry, you probably are now late to something because of me-

-I... No one is wating for me- he muttered, almost like a whisper, sadness in his eyes.

The words hit you like cold metal, and you felt instant regret.

-I.. I would like to wait for you, y'know. Maybe a coffee wouldn't be bad... Just if you like, if you don't its really ok. Im just-

-Yeah, that would be nice- He smiled again, like a little kid. But he was looking to the floor - Afterall I think I owe you a drink, I have to wash your shirt that is full of coffee and, you need to give me back mine-

-Well that is true- You looked at him and smiled, and he smiled back. A soft giggle left your mouth.

-What are you laughing at- suspicion in his eyes.

-Its nothing... I just... Its weird we got to know each other under this - you signaled your whole body - circumstances-

-Saturday 10 am is okay?- he smiled to you once again.

-Yes, Saturday 10 am

You gave him your phone so he could add himself to your contacts.

-Bucky Barnes, do we have a first name or are we incognito?- you inquired, ligting one brow and giving him a sided grin.

-James, James Bucky Barnes- He looked at you and offered his hand.

-Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you James- You shook his hand

-Nice to meet you Y/N-

#bucky fluff #bucky x y/n #mcu fanfiction #marvel mcu #bucky imagine #bucky x female reader #fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes

3 notes · View notes

myownworldstayout · 5 years

Text

New Friends Ch. 13

Ch.1 / Ch.12 / Ch.14

(buckle your seat belts because this one’s gonna be bumpy)

Felix hit the snooze button of his blaring alarm clock, extremely relieved that it was the weekend. He’d come to love the days he didn’t have to deal with his idiotic classmates. Of course, that also meant he couldn’t see Marinette. Pros and cons, he supposed.

It didn’t take long to get ready, combing his blonde hair to the side, pulling on his grey shirt and dark grey vest, along with his black tie. He wanted to waste no time on his few days of peace.

Felix grabbed his book bag, filled with a few selections from the school library, and bid his mother a brief fair well as he walked out the door. The park would only be empty for so long on a weekend.

Despite hanging out with a group of people constantly, Felix still found himself hating human interaction. He’d warmed up to Luka and the others, sure, but if he was being honest, he really only hung out with them because Marinette.. well that was a different matter.

The park was abandoned when he got there, thankfully, though he assumed it would only be a matter of time before others arrived. It was still early. Thus, Felix sat down on the wooden bench shaded by the trees and began reading. The blonde was determined to enjoy his solitude as much as possible.

Unfortunately, he had only gotten through a few pages when a loud crash was heard from across the courtyard. Felix snapped his gaze upwards, dearly hoping it wasn’t what he thought it was.

It was exactly that.

An akuma rampaged through the park, Ladybug and Chat Noir close behind. The akuma’s bright green suit was plain as day. Plants were sprouting around them, lunging towards Ladybug and Chat Noir. The duo appeared to be having difficulties, especially when Ladybug tripped on one of the plants, causing her to almost be swallowed up in vines.

Felix didn’t know what possessed him to spring into action, but he ran towards the three in an attempt to help. They needed a distraction. They needed time to come up with a plan.

“Hey, overgrown fern!” he called out once he was close enough.

This caused all three heads to whip around in his direction. The akuma was angry, Chat surprised, while Ladybug was just down right horrified.

Felix paid the heroes no mind as he scooped up a stray rock and chucked it at the akuma, hitting It square in the face.

The akuma cried out in anger and pain, charging towards Felix.

The blonde took a step back, glancing around for some sort of weapon. Surprisingly, he hadn’t thought the rest of this plan through.

Suddenly, Chat Noir hit the Akuma from the side and the two tumbled.

Before Felix knew it, he was in Ladybug’s arms, being whisked across Paris.

They bounded over streets and rooftops until Felix couldn’t see the park anymore. She only stopped when they landed in a secluded, back-way alley.

“What were you thinking!” Ladybug nearly yelled. She looked angry, but her bluebell eyes- he swore he knew those eyes -were filled with worry.

“I..” Felix trailed off. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was thinking either.

Ladybug gave an exasperated sigh. She tried to form some sort of response or reprimand, but ended up flailing her arms a bit in frustration. The gesture was familiar to Felix, though he couldn’t quite place where he saw it.

“Look,” she finally sighed, “I appreciate the help, but it’s too dangerous for a civilian to get involved.”

“But-”

“Please, Felix, just stay here.”

He paused.

Felix.

She knew his name.

But he’d never given her his name. This was only the second time they met, after all.

Was it? A voice in the back of his mind asked. Felix shook the thought from his mind. It had to be a coincidence. His family owned a lot of banks, perhaps she knew him from that?

Not likely. The voice spoke up again.

Felix frowned, glancing back up at Ladybug. Her eyebrows were furrowed as she waited for a response. Her raven black hair, which was pulled into pigtails, swayed a bit in the wind. Felix has seen that hair before.

But where! Why can’t he remember! It’s as if he had all the pieces to a puzzle, but couldn’t put it together. Almost like something was blocking it somehow.

Then he saw it. The scratch. The one Marinette got last night from the fall, in the exact same place on Ladybug’s cheek.

Everything suddenly clicked into place.

“I need to go. Stay here.” Ladybug cautioned after he didn’t respond, turning and readying her yo-yo to swing off.

“...Marinette?” The words tumbled out of Felix’s mouth before he could stop them.

The hero froze.

~~~~~

The last thing Marinette wanted to do on her day off from school was fight an akuma. Sadly, Hawkmoth was nothing if not inconsiderate. Not to mention, creating one so early in the morning. Did this guy ever sleep?

Things only got worse when a certain blonde intercepted their battle, throwing stones and calling names at the akuma.

It helped distract the akuma, but that didn’t stop Felix from being in the heat of battle without protection. Once Chat got the akuma on the ground, Ladybug was quick to swing away with her classmate, stashing him in an alley a good few blocks away.

She was tired, scared for his safety, and frustrated because she didn’t have a plan to take down the akuma yet. She gave him a quick scolding and told him to stay put. After that, Ladybug got ready to throw out her yo-yo, thinking that was the end of it.

Until she heard him call out her name. Her civilian name.

Marinette froze in her tracks. Maybe it was because it had never happened before, or maybe because it was the first time Felix had actually called her by her first name. Either way, the pause was too long to ignore. She knew Felix had his answer.

“It is you..” He breathed, confirming her fears.

“I-I have to go!” she blurted out, not daring to turn around. Marinette ignored his protests as she swung away, back towards the akuma.

Her thoughts were racing, her heart pounding. What was she going to do now that he knew? She couldn’t avoid him. They went to school together. Would he confront her about it? What if he told everyone?

The swirling thoughts only made her panic rise. She felt like curling into a ball.

“M’Lady, are you okay? You look shaken.” Chat asked with a frown when Ladybug landed next to him.

Ladybug nodded grimly, not saying a word as she jumped towards the akuma.

Once they figured out the akumatized item was in the akuma’s hairpin, it was much easier to defeat. It left a confused girl in its place. When she saw the heroes, she babbled on about her garden being demolished by careless construction workers and gave apologies.

Chat turned to Ladybug with a smile, holding up his fist and saying, “Pound it!”

Ladybug didn’t respond, pressing her lips into a thin line as she looked to the ground. Truthfully, she didn’t even hear him she was so lost in thought.

“Ladybug?” Chat knitted his eyebrows, tapping her shoulder.

Ladybug startled, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Ah, I’m sorry. Pound it.” she apologized, holding up her fist with a wavering smile.

She saw the concern flash across his face as he took her hand into his.

“My lady, if there’s something bothering you-”

“Ladybug!” A voice interrupted. The two looked up to see a familiar, red headed reporter running towards them with phone in hand.

Ladybug mentally groaned. This was not what she needed right now.

Right before the journalists got to them, though, the boy she thought she left blocks away stepped in between them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Alya demanded, putting her hands on her hips as she glared at the boy.

“The heroes are about to transform back. They need to get going.” Felix said coolly, returning her glare. As if on queue, Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous gave a warning beeping.

Ladybug touched her earrings, looking to Felix. What was he doing? Did he run all the way back to the park?

“He’s right. We should go.” She agreed, yet she didn’t make any moves to leave.

Felix turned around to look at her then, and her breath caught in her throat. So many emotions were swimming beneath his gaze. She imagined she looked the same.

They had to have stayed like that for at least two straight minutes, because Chat and Alya glanced at each other awkwardly. Her partner cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Bugaboo? We really should be going.” The black clad heroine insisted, raising an eyebrow at Felix.

She could tell he was jealous, Chat noir. He always got that way anytime she so much as looked at a boy, which, ironically, is what she was doing.

“I.. yeah, okay.” Ladybug muttered, shaking her head and flinging out her yo-yo.

She was out of there in an instant, sparing a last glance at the group. Felix stared after her, an unreadable expression on his face. Alya glared at Felix in annoyance, likely upset for losing her “scoop”. Chat was bounding off in the other direction.

“What are you gonna do about Felix?” Tikki asked once Marinette got to a safe place and dropped her transformation.

Marinette bit her lip, trying to think of a plan.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

~Can you come over to my house tonight?~

A text from Felix, to her dismay.

“Wow, you’ve never been to his house before!” Tikki commented cheerily.

Marinette sighed, giving a short nod. “I only wished it was under better circumstances.”

~~~~~~~~

Felix mentally groaned as he set the table for dinner that night. These certainly weren’t the circumstances he imagined when he had thought about Marinette coming over to his house for the first time.

He assumed they would share answers from homework, or watch a movie. Maybe even play a game since she liked those so much. He would have never guessed he’d be confronting her about being Ladybug.

Ladybug! Of all people!

Looking at it now, it made perfect sense to Felix. What with Marinette being as sweet and kind hearted as she is. He was just shocked that one of Paris’ heroes had been so close to him.

“Oh, I can’t wait for her to get here!” his Mother squealed, putting a few dishes on the center of the table. Contrary to his own feelings, his mother was ecstatic that Marinette was coming over. Probably because she was blissfully unaware of the previously mentioned circumstances.

“Calm down, dear, you’re going to scare her away.” Felix’s father chuckled, giving her an affectionate peck on the forehead.

The woman hummed, leaning into his touch. “I don’t think so. From what Felix has told us, Marinette shouldn’t be too deterred by my antics.”

A twitch of a smile came to Felix’s lips as he met her gaze. “Maybe you should tone it down anyway, just in case.”

His mother scoffed, opening her mouth to reply when they heard the doorbell. Felix bee lined for the door, hoping to spare Marinette from his mother’s overly joyous greetings. Just before he opened the door, however, Felix hesitated.

This was the moment. He was going to talk to Marinette- to Ladybug, the savior of Paris. What would he say? How would he bring up her alternate identity? Would he even get the chance to?

Felix didn’t know, but he did know this wasn’t something he could just ignore.

So, against his better judgements, Felix drew in a shaky breath, and opened the door.

~~~~~

Marinette shifted from foot to foot in front of the grey, hotel door that Felix had directed her to over the phone. The hotel they lived in was much more luxurious than she imagined, thought Felix did say that his family owned some banks so..

“Marinette you’re wasting time. Just go inside.” Tikki coaxed, gesturing to the door.

“I know, I know.” Marinette whined, chewing on her lip as she tried to calm her nerves. This was it. She knew that he knew she was Ladybug. There was no denying it. He invited her over to talk about it, she was sure. What was he going to say? Would he even bring it up?

Marinette gasped.

What if he told his parents?

Her kwami sighed, subtly flying up and using the door-knocker before Marinette could stop her.

“Tikki!” Marinette scolded in a whisper, only to have the kwami giggle at her.

Footsteps and voices sounded from the other side. Anxiety seep into her chest as the doorknob started to turn.

Then it opened.

Felix and Marinette’s eyes met and the two paused, that is until an overly giddy woman behind him spoke up.

“Marinette! It’s wonderful to meet you! I’m Felix’s mother.” She introduced, extending her hand to Marinette.

Marinette smiled, shaking the woman’s hand. “Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Culpa.”

The woman scoffed.

“Please, call me ‘Bridgette’.” She insisted with a warm smile.

Marinette nodded, taking in the woman’s appearance. She had raven black hair, like her own, but it went down to her back instead of her shoulders. Her stark white sundress stopped short just below her knees and she wore a black, quarter sleeved jacket over it. Marinette thought it to be very stylish.

“Why don’t you come inside.” Felix suggested, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Ah, thanks.” Marinette responded awkwardly. She quickly stepped inside the apartment complex, Felix closing the door behind her.

If she thought the lobby was luxurious, their house was just plain extravagant. It was a large penthouse, with a kitchen off to the right corner of the room and the living room to the left of the kitchen. Only the kitchen was secluded with walls. The rest of the first floor was completely open. Not to mention the wall on the far side of the front door was solely windows.

“What do you think?” Bridgette inquired, gesturing vaguely around the penthouse.

“It’s very.. Calming.” Marinette answered truthfully. Despite being used to small, comfy houses, the wide, open walls gave her more space to think, in a way. The cool grays and calming blues they had painted and decorated the house in helped significantly. It just gave an all around peaceful vibe.

“Good,” A man spoke up from the kitchen, bringing in another dish to set on the dining room table.

“We designed it to feel that way.” He informed, setting the dish down and brushing his hands together.

His hair was blonde, like Felix’s, but it was longer and tied into a neat braid that just barely fell on his left shoulder. He was wearing a light blue, button up shirt that had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the shirt was tucked into his light grey dress pants. She assumed that’s where Felix got his style from.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Felix’s father, Mr. Culpa, but you can call me ‘Francis’.” he said, offering her his hand as well. The man had a stern way of talking, but his sky blue eyes held a warmth that Marinette could connect with.

“Marinette.” She smiled, shaking his hand.

“Now that the greetings are out of the way,” Felix interrupted, turning to Marinette, “Would you like to have some dinner?”

Dinner was.. Interesting, but nevertheless enjoyable. Bridgette chatted on about finally meeting Marinette and Felix’s stories, those he told her and those from the past. Felix was obviously embarrassed by this, interrupting his mother as much as possible. Sometimes he would just cut her off in general. Francis seemed to be the sensible one, quietly sitting next to his wife and nodding along to the conversation.

Finally, Felix set down his silverware and stood up, gaining his parents’ attention. “May we be excused to go work on homework please?” he requested, his gaze flickering to Marinette, then back to his parents.

Marinette sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to cringe out of anxiousness. She knew all too well they weren’t going to be working on homework.

The parents didn’t notice her sudden shift in behavior though, and Bridgette eagerly urged them to hurry up and go work on homework in Felix’s room. By themselves.

It strangely reminded her of Sabine when Adrien came over for that gaming competition.

Marinette frowned at the thought of Adrien, but she pushed that to the side. They had much more pressing matters to deal with right now.

Felix led her up the curved stairway, towards a bedroom at the end of the hall. As soon as he opened it, she could tell it was Felix’s room.

Not only was the room as dark as his clothes, everything was completely spotless. Marinette could bet that not even a speck of dust was out of place. Contrary to the rest of the house, Felix only had an average sized room, not too big, not too small. His bed was in the middle of the room with two oak wood bookshelves that went from the floor to the ceiling on both sides. A single bed side table sat to the right of his bed with a small lamp- she assumed he used it for nightly reading. To the left of the doorway, right in front of the first bookshelf, was an oak wood dresser. In the right corner of the room, she noticed a three-cushion couch with an oak wood coffee table in front of it. Across from the bed was a single, grey door, and Marinette figure it was probably his closet. He had to get all of his suits from somewhere.

Over all, his room was.. Picture perfect. She dared to say too perfect. The only thing even remotely out of place was the small pile of neatly folded shirts on his bed. Felix took care of those quickly, though, picking them up and stuffing them into a drawer. Marinette had a hunch he’d be refolding those later.

“Have a seat.” He said impassively, gesturing to the black couch.

Marinette gulped, warily wandering over to the leather furniture and carefully sitting down on the right side. It almost looked as if she were afraid the couch would swallow her whole.

She glanced up at Felix, who wordlessly sat down on the left side of the couch, only a cushion between them.

The ravenette fiddled with her hands and chewed on her bottom lip in nervousness. She could either get straight to the point, or beat around the bush as much as possible.

“So.. how was your day?” She asked lamely.

Beating around the bush it is.

Felix raised an eyebrow at the comment. “I think you know.”

He was right. Marinette did know how his day had gone. Because hers went exactly the same way, both freaking out about the fact that she was Ladybug and that he knew about it.

The two went silent. Whether they didn’t know what to say or were just reluctant to talk in general, Marinette wasn’t sure.

Finally, Felix spoke. “Has it always been you?”

Marinette pursed her lips, then nodded.

Felix nodded as well. She could see the questions swirling around in his head as he decided which ones to ask first or not at all.

“So, you’re-”

“Ladybug.” Marinette whispered in confirmation.

The blonde let out a short gasp of disbelief, shaking his head. “H-how did I not know this before? You don’t even change your hair.” He was whispering now too thankfully. It gave Marinette hope that he hadn’t told anyone yet.

“Yeah..” She said sheepishly. How do you explain the magic of a miraculous? “You didn’t.. Tell your parents or anything right?” She asked instead.

Felix did a complete double take at that one.

“Wha- why would I- no. of course not, Marinette.” He assured urgently.

Marinette flushed. There it was again, he said her name.

“Besides, it’s not my secret to tell.” He added, shifting in his seat.

She blew out a sigh of relief, putting a hand to her chest. Her secret was safe, and she was glad to see Felix didn’t plan on telling anyone.

“So you’ll ignore what happened today?” She said hopefully. Maybe she could actually rest well tonight.

Unfortunately, Felix’s expression hardened. “No, I can’t do that.”

Marinette frowned. “What? But you just sai-”

“I said I wouldn’t tell anyone.” Felix interrupted. “That doesn’t mean I’m gonna ignore the fact that you’re saving Paris daily.”

Marinette furrowed her eyebrows. “Then.. what are you going to do?”

Felix drew in a deep breath at the question, straightening his posture with a determined look in his eyes. “I wanna help.”

Marinette blinked, then blinked again. “You wanna- you wanna what?”

“I refuse to let you go through this alone any longer than you already have.” he elaborated, glancing away from her now.

She might have thought of the gesture as sweet had they been talking about literally anything else.

“I’m not alone.” Marinette pointed out. “Chat Noir’s also there.”

Felix scoffed. “I’ve seen the news reports, Marinette, He gets taken out of the fight half the time. You’re mostly fighting on your own.”

Marinette went to object, but Felix continued.

“Also, that doesn’t account for things after the fight. It’s my understanding that you can’t talk to anyone about your responsibilities. That much pressure on a teenager with no outlet isn’t healthy.”

The ravenette sighed, sticking out her bottom lip slightly in a pout. Times like this made Marinette hate that Felix knew so much. He was too perceptive for his own good.

“I think it’s a great idea for Felix to help!” Tikki suddenly said from her purse.

Marinette let out a panicked squeak, while Felix just stared.

“That.. That wasn’t you, was it?” He asked, confusion coming onto his features.

Before Marinette could respond, the red kwami flew out of her bag- without permission, mind you -and over to Felix.

“Nope! It was me!”

Felix flinched back with a yelp, nearly falling off the couch. Marinette bit back her laughter, settling for a wry smile.

“Felix, meet Tikki. She’s my kwami.” She informed calmly, gesturing to the tiny god.

Felix glanced at Marinette, seeming to relax when he saw how composed she was.

“What’s a.. Kwami?” He asked, unsure if he said it right.

“We Kwamis are the beings that give heroes like Ladybug and Chat Noir their powers.” Tikki gingerly explained.

Now that the panic had passed, Felix was taken over with curiosity and intrigue. He nodded along thoughtfully, studying the kwami and thinking over the information he’d just been given.

Marinette watched him silently. A part of her was glad he was taking this so well, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she was also frustrated.

How could he be taking this so well? She expected him to freak out or get angry or something.

But he wasn’t. Felix looked calm and completely at ease with the situation. The most Marinette had seen him get riled up was when Tikki came out of her purse. Even that didn’t last long, though. After a few seconds he was chatting along with Tikki like she was as common as a housepet.

Finally, Marinette couldn’t take it anymore.

“How can you be so calm about this?!” She half-yelled in frustration.

It was so sudden and out of the blue that Felix and Tikki both turned to her with shocked expressions.

“I mean, I’m Ladybug!” She whisper-yelled the last part. “Doesn’t that- oh, I don’t know -bother you at all?”

Felix furrowed his eyebrows. “Why would that bother me?”

“I-” Marinette cut herself off, then let out a sigh and buried her face in her hands. “Nevermind. I’m sorry for yelling..”

She felt so stupid, now. Blurting that out for no reason. Felix was probably thinking the same thing. Shouldn’t she be happy things were going smoothly? Why did she feel so sick to her stomach when he acted like all of this was normal?

Marientte didn’t see the blonde give a wary glance to Tikki, who looked just as concerned.

She didn’t see Felix hesitantly move towards her, nor did she notice his arms reaching out for her. It wasn’t until she was enveloped in his arms that she looked up.

A hug. Felix was giving her a hug.

“Is.. this alright?” He asked, somewhat awkwardly.

Marinette didn’t realize tears had formed in her eyes until one rolled down her cheek. She sniffed and gave a short nod, hiding her face in his shoulder as she clung to his vest. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying, but it felt as if she had been holding it in for a long time. Maybe Felix was right. It wasn’t healthy for her to balance her double life by herself. Yes, she had Tikki and Master Fu, but in all honesty, they only provided so much comfort.

Felix didn’t say anything, instead pulling her closer and letting her cry it out. They stayed like that for a good while, simply taking comfort in each other.

By the time Marinette started the walk home, She was exhausted, yet relieved. Someone knew her secret, and now she could share about it more. Though it wasn’t likely, Marinette also dared to hope Felix might share some more things with her too.

Tag list: @unabashedbookworm @bluerosette23 @minightrose@kuroko26@im-here-for-the-content @angstyrastuff @clumsy-owl-4178 @fanboy7794@choaticneturcl @bigcheeseyboi @burntnugget-tae @ayuchan07@honorisfortheweak @knightrose15 @mjisntme@rhub4rb @simplythebestbug@wilhelmares@zebrabaker@dargeon-lissa @kristycocopop @alumneia @kaydenth3gayden @thornangelic727 @flirtshobi @whatamessofwords

#Felix Culpa #Felinette #New Friends AU

761 notes · View notes

junetuesday · 5 years

Text

sweetener - [six]

Look At Me Now

Pairing: Tom Holland x Female Reader - uni AU

Word Count: 3346

Warnings: swearing, sushi, softness

A/N: hello! this part was so much fun to write so i hope you guys like it! lemme know what you think. the title for this chapter is a reference to All Time Low - For Baltimore which kinda fits this chapter perfectly so I recommend listening to that (I’m on such an ATL hype lately it feels like 2010 in my house). p.s. shoutout to @starksparker for the moon story lmao

Updates Sunday nights

You're really fucking cute when you laugh. You're even cuter, Tom thought, when you're laughing at something he said.

Was that a bit egotistical? Perhaps. Perhaps he was a little biased, but he was pretty sure it was true. He was staring, he knew he was, but he couldn't bring himself to look away just yet. Your eyes were closed anyway, screwed shut as you leaned back in your seat, cackling with laughter. As the evening had gone on your laugh had gotten louder, and maybe it was the wine or maybe it was just because you were more relaxed (and maybe one had impacted the other), but what started as a polite giggle had grown into a chuckle, into a chortle that seemed to take you by surprise, and now into an outright cackle. Tom was laughing too, obviously, but he was holding back to make sure he didn't miss anything, make sure his guffaw didn't drown out your giggles.

You started to compose yourself then, so he looked away, looking down at his cider and bringing the bottle up to his lips.

"Okay, okay," you leaned forwards, resting your elbow on the table and your chin on your palm, fingers curling around your jaw. "So he actually thought that each country has its own moon?"

"Yes."

"Like, the moon we see is a different moon to the one they see in the US?"

"Yep."

"Wowww..."

Tom felt a little bad about using his brother's stupidity for his own gain, but only fleetingly - it was his right as an older brother, surely?

"So d'you have any other siblings or is it just the two of you?"

You sank back in your seat again, more relaxed now, running your fingers along the stem of your wine glass as you talked. You'd already been over your family tree, anecdotes and Fun Facts thrown in along the way.

"Yeah, no um, he's a twin so there's those two and then Paddy's the youngest."

"Oh cool, twins. Are they identical?"

"Nah," Tom shook his head. "Both boys but not identical. They were pretty similar when they were little but not really any more."

"Ah okay. All caucasian babies look very similar to be fair." you shrugged, the corner of your lips curving up as you spoke.

"True." Tom chuckled, nodding.

There was a brief pause as you both drank, the chatter of the other people in the bar filling the silence. It was relatively busy, but not so much so that you couldn't hear one another speak.

"Four boys though - Jesus, your poor mother."

"Yeah," Tom smiled as he set his bottle back down. "Our house is, uh, loud, to say the least. Until a couple of years ago there was always at least one broken bone in the house. Mum still sends a Christmas card to the Minor Injuries Unit at Queen Mary's."

You snorted into your wine at that, spluttering, and okay, maybe it wasn't exactly pretty but Tom decided it was definitely the cutest you've looked all evening. Which was saying something, because he was starting to think you always looked cute.

"Don't make me laugh when I'm drinking!"

"Sorry!" He lied, he wasn't sorry at all. "She does though!"

You coughed a little as you composed yourself, still smiling as you set your glass down. Which, Tom noted, was almost empty.

"D'you want another drink?"

"Not yet," you shook your head. "I'm gonna pop to the loo, actually."

"Oh, cool."

Tom watched you hoist your handbag over your shoulder as you stood up, following you with his eyes until you disappeared down a corridor towards the ladies, and he couldn't help but grin to himself at how well the evening was going. It was a little awkward at first, obviously, but only a little. He was saved from that kind of weird interaction of "do we hug? What's the protocol here?" when you first arrived because it was pouring with rain outside, so you were busy shaking out your umbrella anyway. Plus, the weather gave you something to talk about at first, which led to you telling him about how you really needed to get the hole in your boots fixed. You always forgot until it was raining and your toes got soaked, but you were kind of waiting until you went home for Christmas anyway because the cobblers where you lived had a dog that hung out in the shop and you wanted to have an excuse to see how he was doing. That led to him telling you about his dog, and it just kind of went from there, conversation pausing only to order drinks and pick a table to sit at. You'd laughed and aww'd at all the appropriate times when he told you how he'd saved up his wages from his first job the summer after GCSEs to buy a puppy without telling his parents, and were suitably enamored when he showed you photos, whining "oh my God I love her, what an angel" (which, in his opinion, is the only acceptable reaction to Tess). He'd almost choked on his drink when you did a startlingly accurate impression of Harrison, and by the time you were onto the next round all awkwardness and anxiety had melted way.

Tom almost felt stupid - no, he did feel stupid - for how much he'd umm'd and ahh'd about you the previous week, how much time he'd spent whining when he could have been hanging out with you. The thing was, it wasn't that he couldn't talk to girls, or that he didn't know how to flirt, he just struggled to know when to do it. It was fine at work, say - he could make off-hand comments and fire cheeky grins at every other customer, because then there was a barrier between them. It wasn't real, not really. It didn't matter if they liked him or not, it wasn't going to go anywhere and it wasn't supposed to go anywhere. It was just easy. And he knew how to be someone's boyfriend - he was quite good at it, if he did say so himself - it was just the bit in between that vexed him. Past casual flirting, once it got to the "wait do you actually like me? Do I like you?" stage, he lost his footing and got completely thrown off. It'd been so long since he'd actually started a relationship with someone, and last time he didn't even really start it, it just sort of happened, and now he couldn't help but second guess his every move. He hated it, hated how uncertain it made him. He wasn't used to it, and he supposed that was what made it all the more unsettling, like he didn't even know what to do about not knowing what to do.

That all changed though, when that little red (1) badge popped up on his phone next to the Snapchat icon. Once he'd gotten over the initial shock of receiving a photo of you in your underwear, it was like something clicked inside his brain. That couldn't be misconstrued, right? You wouldn't have sent him that if you weren't into him, right? After that, it was all so much easier. He could relax and, as Harrison so helpfully suggested, just do it. He still agonised over what to send back, of course he did, lifting his t-shirt up enough to show a hint of the muscles he worked so hard for and then deciding to just take his t-shirt off altogether (as though that made him look like any less of a dickhead), but after that it was fine. He hadn't even realised how long you'd been texting until you said you were going to sleep, and he decided if he couldn't carry on talking to you right then, he had to ask you on an actual date. A first date? He wasn't sure if the library counted. Probably not. Anyway, this, he was fairly sure, counted as a date.

Tom was snapped out of his thoughts when you set your bag down on the table, so caught up in his own head that he didn't notice you walking back over. Shame, he thought, a missed opportunity to look at you fully.

"Have you eaten?"

You sat down as you spoke, wiggling your skirt down into place. A deep maroon colour, it sat perfectly on your waist, skimming over your hips and stopped at the tops of your thighs. Opaque black tights covered your legs, an off-white blouse tucked into your skirt and heeled ankle boots on your feet.

"Not really," Tom shook his head. "Had a Rustlers at lunch but I don't think that really counts as food."

"No," you laughed. "I'm pretty sure there's no meat at all in a Rustlers burger. Um, there's a Japanese place 'round the corner that I've heard's good, if you wanted to..."

"Sure, yeah." He nodded enthusiastically as you trailed off, picking up his drink to finish off the last bit.

You downed the last mouthful of your wine, smacking your lips together as you stood up. Pulling on your coats, you both headed for the door.

"Think it's stopped raining, thank God."

Tom held the door open for you, smiling when you thanked him. You were right, it had stopped raining, so your wet umbrella, no longer required, dangled from your left hand. Unfortunately, Tom didn't clock that until he was already on your left side, falling into step beside you. If he had, he would have gone to your other side, because he kind of really wanted to hold your hand. Sigh.

"So is this place like sushi or noodles, or what?" he nodded in the direction you were leading him, which he assumed was towards the restaurant.

"Both, I think? You can order proper dishes but they've got a conveyor belt that goes around with little sushi plates on that you just like, take what you want."

Your eyes lit up and you grinned as you talked, the prospect clearly like being a kid in a candy shop to you. It was very cute, and Tom was really kicking himself that he wasn't walking on your right so he could squeeze your hand as it swung about excitedly.

"That's just asking for trouble."

You shrugged. "Instant gratification. Works for me. It's this way."

You pointed to your left, rounding the corner at the end of the block. You turned before him, knowing where you were going while he was just following you, so he fell a step behind. Perfect.

"Oh I see," he sighed, falling back in line with you, only on your right side. "You're high maintenance."

"I'm no-" you gasped, affronted, cutting off when you turned to your left and he wasn't there. You looked over your shoulder before twisting back around to look to your right, rolling your eyes playfully when he started laughing. "That really confused me for some reason, I was like 'where the fuck has he gone?'"

"Too much wine on an empty stomach?"

Tom glanced down at your hand, preparing to reach out and link his fingers through yours - only to find that you'd swapped your umbrella to that hand, your left now free. What the fuck?

"Probably. But no, I'm not high maintenance, I just...I like getting what I want - but doesn't everybody?"

He couldn't really argue with that, so he just shrugged. "Fair enough."

"And right now," you said as you slowed down in front of the restaurant. "What I want is sticky rice and California Rolls."

Perhaps it was unwise to let you sit next to the conveyor, picking things off with a wide-eyed 'oooh' every few minutes. It seemed to make you happy though, so Tom could hardly complain, though he did almost choke on his water when the waitress added up all the plates and gave you your total bill.

"Whoops," you murmured under your breath, biting your lip sheepishly.

Looking up from reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket to see you pulling your purse out from your bag, Tom shook his head vehemently. You'd bought a round each at the bar, though he'd tried to pay for both, but this time he was putting his foot down.

"I'll get it, it's fine."

(It wasn't fine, he was about to go into his overdraft and there were still two weeks left until Christmas break, but you didn't need to know that.)

"No honestly, I ate way more than you did."

He scrunched up his face at that, tilting his head. "I really don't think you did."

The waitress snickered, watching the two of you argue.

"Split it? I'm not letting you pay for my lack of self-control."

"Fine," he sighed exaggeratedly, rolling his eyes. It was clear you weren't going to give in.

You smiled, satisfied, and handed your bank card to the waitress triumphantly.

The bill settled, Tom excused himself to the bathroom before you left. Looking at himself in the mirror, he readjusted the collar of his pale blue shirt, smoothing out the white t-shirt he had on underneath. It was warm in the restaurant, so he'd left his leather jacket discarded on the back of his chair, his arms exposed by the short sleeves of his shirt. Normally he would have rolled them up a bit, but it made his arms look lumpy when he had the jacket on, so he'd left them down. Probably for the best, Adam says it makes him look like a prick when he does that.

After a cursory glance around the bathroom to check he was alone, he gave his armpits a quick sniff - all good - fixed his hair, and leaned in close to the mirror to check that the spot on his chin was definitely still gone and hadn't reappeared since he left the house. On checking his teeth for any rogue bits of seaweed - again, all good - it occurred to him that he'd just eaten rather a lot of seafood, and he really really hoped he had some gum. As luck would have it he did, one piece left in a crumpled wrapper in the back pocket of his jeans. He chomped quickly, aggressively, trying to get the mintiness in contact with as much of his mouth as possible, before tossing it into the bin on top of the paper towel he used to dry his hands. Not wanting to be in there too long in case you thought he was having a shit, Tom left the bathroom after one last look in the mirror, ruffling his hair to make sure it didn't look too done.

When he got back to the table you had your coat on ready to go, your legs swinging off the edge of your seat while you sucked on mint happily. You offered him the other one off the tray that had come with the bill, putting it into your handbag when he declined.

"Shall we?"

He didn't really know what he meant by that, but it's just what you say isn't it. Thankfully you didn't question him for specifics, just nodding and getting to your feet once he had his jacket on. Over the last hour or so your umbrella had dried sufficiently for you to put it away in your bag, Tom noted, both of your hands wonderfully free by your sides. He opened the door for you again, and you waited while he stood there holding it open for an elderly man to shuffle past into the restaurant without so much as a glance at Tom. He frowned as the man passed, but didn't say anything, holding the door open until he was fully over the threshold - obviously, he wasn't going to drop the door on him. You were watching the man too, murmuring 'you're welcome' once it was clear he wasn't going to say thank you. That sort of thing would normally have annoyed Tom, because really there's no excuse for bad manners, but just then he didn't really care, because you smiled as you looked back over your shoulder at him, and he slipped his hand into yours when he came level with you. You bit your lip, but he could see out of the corner of his eye that you were smiling almost as wide as he was.

You walked hand in hand back the way you had come, towards the center of town where the buses went from, a comfortable silence between you as the wind whipped around your bodies.

"You getting the bus home?" you asked as a bus stand came into view.

"Mmhmm," he hummed. "You?"

"Nah I'll get a taxi, bus that goes to mine stops at ten."

Tom looked at his watch, surprised to see it was well past half-ten.

"Shit, sorry, you should have said I-"

"No no," you cut him off, shaking your head with a soft smile. "It's fine, I was having fun, y'know."

You were approaching the bus stop by then, and he was about to say he had fun too, until he saw his bus go past out of the corner of his eye.

"I think that was my bus."

Real smooth.

"Oh."

"They're like, every fifteen minutes though." He checked the live departure board, even though he knew there'd be another one soon, but he could feel you looking at him so he had to do something. "Yeah, due in thirteen minutes."

"Cool." You nodded when he glanced at you. "Should we-" you gestured to the bench under the shelter "-I don't mind waiting."

You dropped his hand as you both sat down, crossing your legs towards him and tugging your skirt down a bit.

"Thanks. But yeah, I, uh, I had fun too."

Your tongue flicked out over your lips, pulling the bottom one between your teeth as you smiled. You must have put lipgloss or something on while he was in the bathroom at the restaurant, because your lips were glistening, little flecks of glitter making them look so plump, so inviting...

"Ahhh-"

A gust of wind blew through the bus shelter, pushing your hair across your face. You brushed it away, but a strand or two stayed stuck to your lips, clearly as drawn to them as he was. Muttering under your breath, you tried to pull them away, but couldn't quite get them.

Cute. Too cute.

Tom chuckled, reaching out and pulling the hairs aside, tucking them behind your ear. His fingers grazed over your cold cheek, and he couldn't have asked for a better opportunity really, so he cupped your jaw instead of dropping his hand back into his lap.

"Thanks," you breathed, and Tom felt more than saw your lips move, because they were right under his, your warmth breath ghosting across them before they connected.

It was different than before - last time was just a peck, really, closed-lipped and chaste. This was more, your lips parting slightly and working with his own. He went to pull back after a moment, but your hand on his thigh stopped him, made him move his hand from your jaw down to the back of your neck. You leaned into him, your lips prising his further apart until your tongue slipped delicately into his mouth. You tasted minty and sweet and vaguely like vanilla - which was ironic, Tom thought.

Or he would have, if he'd been thinking at all, and not entirely consumed with how you were kissing him and how your hand was gently squeezing his thigh and then, oh, you pulled away.

You laughed breathily, your hair whipping against his hand as another blast of wind blustered through. Tom swallowed, glancing between your eyes, down to your lips, and back to your eyes, and all he could think was that he really didn't want to stop kissing you.

"Is this-"

He didn't even get to say "okay?" before you were humming against his lips. He laughed into the kiss, feeling you smiling back.

"Cool."

⋘FIVE | SEVEN ⋙

tags: [bolded url means i couldn’t tag you!] @starksparker @bi-writes @softspideys @thwippeter @cutiehollands @loserparker @madmadmilk @hollandlovely @spiderboytotherescue @hollandbaby @dtftomholland @cabbagebag @iknowisoundcrazy @spiderman-n @luvnyuh @parkerpuffwrites @thwip-it-real-good @positiveparker @ap93mcu @popculture-parker @bilkyrie @pineapplwz @thequeensardine @hollandroos @mikalaka @awkwardfangirl2014 @booksaremylife @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @mcuspidey @summernykolemusic @smashley816 @unicorn-princess-1999 @uwu-peter-parker-uwu @shawnraulparker @curlyhairedparker @curlytoms @darlingxholland @smexylemony @musiclover1263 @hueppily @therealcap @alwaysafanficwriter @timelock97 @trustfundparker @bon-travail98 @babyplutoszx2 @xxtomxo @que-es-life @spider-babes @expcto-ptronum @rosieredcheeks @laucontrerasv @sweet-baby-cakes @mismatchingsocks @rxsesinjune @toomuchdaegu @baebeepeach @killer-barnes @hauntedbysilence @fratboievans @splashofbi @nicole-lynne @whydidichoosebiochem @parkerindustrys @parkersvibes @tomhollandsbitch @summertime-acoustic @solarspidey @enchantingkittengaditor @hcneybugs @queenofthefangirls7 @fabtasticass @driftingtonystark @txmhoelland @applenter @little-hoseok @mayaisntfunny @toodeeptowake @dangerousluv1 @chubby-cheek-calum @awwyeaahh @aussie-mantle @spiderkat1248 @underoosjae @ultrunning @stormyparker @supernatural-girl97 @petersfreckles @tiny-parker @madeinthemidnightmemories @iamcalledsteph @bellsclarkee @iamscribby519 @captainsteverodgersgirl @jessjesstotherescue @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @littlebookbengal @danicarosaline @xplodingsocks @yourwonderbelle @tommyhollandaisesauce @spiderrpcrker @mellow-delight @danny-the-coolest @gennyld-blog @parkerstylesperalta @spidey-waffles11 @wisdomsprydexparker @hannahholland1811 @hufflepuff-wanda @what–you–egg @lexshead @thisismyblogthing @i-stan-brie-larson @ohmyquackson @tiny-friggin-human @deathofmissjackson @stop-wonder-think @alexs-mardy-bum @marshmallow-babe @smolholland56 @relise-thefury @stretchkingblog97 @1022bridgetp @nedthegay @jurassicparker @fairydustparker @altuniverse @rekrappeter @sofiarasines @misslexilouwho @kissykissykissykissykissy @tomshufflepuff @theideasofa-troubleminded @bearsbeetsbarnes @lala-florez @plxstic-rose @cancerous-lizard666 @quinjetboi @newsienewsie @crazy-bout-books @adayasgeorgia @alexv2902 @fragilebeautifulchaos @oh-my-fancan @amor-y-comida @soccerstud004 @myimagineoutlet @kaleidoscopic-sunflower @boundtorain @holdinbacksecrets @spidermeggo @redmxnn @wdwimagine @chewie-redbird @sedulouswrtr @5secondsofalphas @undiadeestos @hufflepuff-always-and-forever @queenbcornelia @aclassypuppy @rhapsodyparker @kindheartsclub @littlegreenpill @particularmila @fangirling-gallifreyan @vintage-parker @peterparkoure @captainbuckyy @tom-hollands-blog @imagine-lovebug

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #tom holland headcanon #tom holland fluff #tom holland x female reader #tom holland uni au #uni!tom holland #student!tom holland #student!tom

735 notes · View notes

kbstories · 4 years

Text

Contingent

con·tin·gent (adj.) Dependent on; conditional.

There’s only one thing Trafalgar Law is truly afraid of.

(Or: Bepo will be damned if he loses Law just when he got him back.)

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Nakamaship, Amber Lead Syndrome, Medical Inaccuracies, Childhood Trauma, Medical Procedures, Bepo Needs A Hug, Recovery, Law whumps well and I have no excuse

Read Chapter 1 here. Content warning for discussions of medical procedures.

***

Two minutes.

That’s how long Bepo gives in to the panic building inside him, back pressed against engine-warmed metal and his head heavy in his paws. Two minutes in which his lungs struggle under the imperative to keep breathing, and guilt reaches for his heart with clawed fingers and squeezes. One beats, two, stumbling, unable to catch the inevitable fall–

Kikoku is with him, the red string slung across Bepo’s chest and its guard digging into the meat between his shoulders, an unkind pressure that’s not-quite-pain. Behind him, he can hear Law mumbling indistinctly in his sleep even through the closed door.

Two minutes since he sent the distress signal to the other two Pager Snails that exist on the Polar Tang and Bepo tries not to feel disappointed because nothing about this is fair. Shachi is just following orders, getting their guests settled on the other side of the submarine and Penguin knows it falls to him to keep an eye on the helm when Law isn’t there to do it himself.

Of course it’s Bepo who should’ve paid attention, who should’ve realized Law is walking around exhausted and near-delirious from fever – and who knows how long that’s been going on. It’s no secret that Trafalgar Law is a terrible patient for all that he’s a medical prodigy and it’s always been Bepo’s job to counteract that.

None of the excuses bubbling up his throat like bile can change the fact that Bepo failed Law.

And yeah, he’s going to have words with his captain once all this is dealt with: They might’ve spent the past few months apart but that doesn’t mean Law has to shoulder everything himself. Not anymore. Not ever again, if Bepo has any say in the matter.

For now, all he can do is drag in a breath that feels like it’s dripping fire all the way to his gut and–

Footsteps echo down the hallway, sure and carefree and unfamiliar, and Bepo’s gaze snaps to the sound with the intensity of a predator.

“Oh, it’s you”, says Roronoa Zoro with some relief, like he hasn’t wandered by at the worst possible moment. His lips twitch upwards, into something akin to an amicable smile. “That’s our room, right? No offense to your ship but all these hallways look the same to me.”

He wanders closer still and Bepo–

Bepo growls, low and rattling in his throat, fangs bared. With one harsh step, he’s between Zoro and the door, instincts roaring to life as Zoro’s hand immediately falls to his swords and a wave of something hits Bepo.

An eternity passes in the span of a second; Bepo huffs, loud in the icy silence, not to be cowed. Something softens in Zoro’s eye then, and the pressure eases.

“Something happened”, Zoro states, voice calm. His smile is long gone.

There’s concern there, though, meant to be read plainly like lines on a map. Bepo’s ears perk up first, rising tentatively where they had been pressed flat – he tempers the heat in his blood to a dull thrum, shaking the snarl off his face for good measure.

“Sorry, I– You startled me.”

Zoro merely blinks, waiting for more. There’s a careful edge to his gaze that wasn’t there before and Bepo really can’t blame him. It’s shameful, for a mink to lose themself like that.

Bepo rubs at the fluff of his cheeks and then his eyes, noting with grim satisfaction that they’re dry, untouched by the emotions whirling within him. Dragging any of their guests into this is the last thing Law needs right now.

“It’s nothing we can’t handle. This is Captain’s room, though. You guys bunk all the way across, over there.”

Zoro doesn’t track the direction Bepo points to. His look flicks to the door entirely blocked by Bepo, mouth going flat with tension.

“Traffy doing alright?”

A beat of silence follows the question and, well, Bepo never was the best at lying. “He will be”, he settles on, shoulders stiff and hackles ready to bristle despite himself. “Any chance you met Shachi on your way here? Penguin, maybe?”

It occurs to Bepo that Zoro might not have memorized all their names yet; before he can start explaining Zoro tells him, “No”, simple and honest. Then: “They’re coming, though.”

And perhaps Bepo should start believing whatever the swordsman says in that serious voice of his since, not a moment later, the two burst around the corner, all but running towards them.

“Bepo!”

“Sorry! We came as fast as we could.”

It takes everything Bepo has not to catch both of them in a hug and crush them close to his chest. Their presence alone makes the buzz of anxiety in his veins dim to a bearable level.

“You guys!”

Penguin practically crashes into him, followed half an instant later by Shachi. Tears jump to Bepo’s eyes but Zoro is there and so he blinks them away. The embrace is brief but exactly what Bepo needed – while Shachi throws a confused glance at Zoro (“Seriously? All you had to do was turn left once!”), Penguin ruffles the fur between Bepo’s ears and whispers, “You or Captain?”

Bepo gives him an unhappy frown and well, that’s an answer in itself. “It’s just a scare, I think”, he says vaguely, Shachi’s attention returning without a second’s delay and Penguin’s ever-present smile fading. “I hope. I have to do research, find out what’s– Yeah. Stay with him?”

“Of course”, Shachi promises without missing a beat, and Penguin nods emphatically. “Bart is watching Command and Umi’s keeping everyone busy with the suits. Just give us an update when you can.”

Gratitude swells inside Bepo, one big ball of love that makes his throat feel tight. He nods too, out of words to say but he knows there will be time for those. Later, when the desperation on Law’s face doesn’t haunt his every step.

Penguin and Shachi disappear through the door quickly thereafter. A few feet away, Bepo catches Zoro scratching his neck and turning to leave, and he’s taking a step towards the swordsman before he can stop himself.

“Zoro, wait.”

He does, one eyebrow raised. “Hm?”

“You guys – Franky, Usopp, Robin, you – you were there, right? At Dressrosa. You saw what happened.”

And Bepo knew that Dressrosa was a mess, but to see a warrior as infamous as Pirate Hunter Zoro grimace at the mere mention of it is… Well. Not a great sign, all things considered.

It only serves to solidify Bepo’s resolve, though. There, with his captain at his back, Bepo bows his head, ears folded to the side as he humbles himself before Strawhat’s first mate.

“I know you’ve already done plenty – you brought my captain back alive, and I can’t ever repay you for that – but… Please. I need your help.”

There’s a flash of surprise on Zoro’s face, then he shakes his head, slowly. Bepo’s heart clenches, paws turning to fists inside the orange sleeves of his suit.

“Raise your head, Bepo. Did you forget? Without you, Luffy wouldn’t be out there, off to fetch our idiot cook – and I wouldn’t be here. Alliance or no, it would be foolish of me to go back on a life debt like that.”

Bepo looks up and catches a glint of anguish, hidden deep in that singular eye of Zoro’s. It’s been years and yet, the question why the Strawhats didn’t follow their captain into war returns to his mind like an old acquaintance.

There’s a time and place for that, too. Perhaps one day, he will be lucky enough to hear the story from the source itself.

For now, Bepo swallows it all down. He whispers, “Thank you”, and he doesn’t apologize: There is no regret in his heart, for any of it.

“I need to know what happened. All of it.”

The Strawhat Pirates share a look among themselves, expressions ranging from mild surprise to sympathy, and Zoro nods at Bepo when their eyes meet. In that measured tone of his, he tells them, “Traffy’s sick”, and it seems to be all the context the others need to comply.

Franky says: “I wasn’t there for most of it. Luffy told me to go all out on that SMILE factory, so I did.”

Usopp says: “Same here. I saw flashes of them fighting their way to the palace and I helped where I could but… Well, I’m a sniper, y’know? ‘s not my job to brawl.”

Zoro says: “Law got shot by that bastard Mingo. Looked pretty gruesome. Lost track of ‘em after ‘cause Captain needed his back free.”

Robin says: “I know what happened afterwards”, and Bepo takes a moment to react because he’s still processing the information that Doflamingo shot Law. He shot him. After all he did, he shot–

Law is powerful but his Devil Fruit is a paramecia-type. Underneath it all he’s still human.

Law is strong but there’s a reason why he flinches at the sight of guns, and Bepo hates Doflamingo.

Robin’s eyes are calm, her smile small but kind. An exhale shudders out of Bepo’s mouth.

“Tell me. Please.”

The story, for all it’s full of heroics and victories all around, is not a pretty one. Bepo remembers Law’s voice when he told Bepo, pretty fucking horrible, he had said but there’s horrible and then there’s that.

Robin speaks, and Bepo detaches himself from the mental images rushing through his brain and focuses instead on the list Law gave him. Viruses, iron deficiency, infection– Amber Lead.

“Traffy was barely conscious for the part with his arm but he insisted on doing his own medical care, afterwards. Chopper wasn’t with us so there was no reason to deny him that.”

Chopper.

Bepo’s head snaps up from the blank-eyed stare he’d slipped into while listening, and Robin’s brow moves with subtle emotion. “Do you want to talk to him? They should be at sea still.”

There’s a choice to be made there, one Bepo never even considered because Law’s past is theirs and nobody outside the original three of the Heart Pirates should ever know, much less without Law there to consent to it. Even thinking about it feels dangerously close to betrayal and Bepo would rather run to the next-best hatch and let the ocean crush him into nothingness than go behind Law’s back on anything.

But.

“Did Law… Did he say why he wanted that asshole dead?”

Bepo is nervous the answer will be a resounding no, and all four Strawhats look a little puzzled by the question. Again it’s Zoro who speaks first, humming pensively.

“Luffy wanted the guy gone, too. That was enough for us but… Traffy told Luffy, I’m pretty sure. Captain was pretty vicious and that only happens when one of us is hurting.”

One of us.

It’s that that makes Bepo clench his jaws and blink rapidly, a few tears escaping regardless. Law didn’t just make allies, out there by himself. He made friends, and Bepo feels his doubts melt away inside him, heartbeat by heartbeat.

“Okay. Let’s call Chopper.”

Countless fathoms deep, the snail takes longer to connect. They use the customized one brought along by the Strawhats – a miniature hat is placed on its shell, crafted with a lot of care – and it awakens with surprised, brown eyes.

“Zoro? Is that you? What happened?”

Nami. Bepo motions for the receiver before Zoro can say much. The man shrugs and complies.

“Nami. It’s Bepo, navigator of the Heart Pirates.”

“Oh, Bepo. No need to be so formal, I remember you. We’re allies, you know?”

“Yes, of course. I apologize. Is Doctor Ch–”

In the background, someone asks, “Bepo?” and suddenly the snail’s expression shifts to one that’s unmistakably Luffy. “Future Pirate King here! Is everything okay with Traffy?”

Bepo’s fingers tighten around the snail. Damn Strawhat and his instincts. Around him, the Strawhats share a round of fond eye-rolls.

“Um. He’s not feeling too good right now. That’s why I’m calling, actually. Is Chopper around? It’s important.”

“Oi, Chopper! Traffy needs your help!”

For a third time, the snail adapts to a new speaker, eyes going round and curious. “Doctor Traffy?”

“Ah, no, sorry. It’s Bepo. I need to ask you something.”

“Oh! Sure, go ahead.”

All eyes fall on him. Bepo takes a deep breath, then: “Do you– Amber Lead. Do you know what that is?”

There’s a sharp inhale close to him and Bepo glances over to see Robin’s eyes go wide. That’s a yes, then.

“Amber–? I… think so. I read a paper about it once? It’s–”

“Poison”, Bepo says, voice flat and allowing no other answer. “It’s an ore that was mined at Flavence, North Blue. If… if you read about it then perhaps you know what happened there.”

A noise of protest, coming from Usopp. “Wait, wait, I’m out of the loop on history stuff. What–?”

“Flavence, also known as the White City.” Robin’s brow is drawn in subtle lines. “The town was rich but the population grew sick from being exposed to the ore for generations. The disease was said to be highly contagious and…”

“The Government locked everyone up and killed them all”, Bepo finishes, that old familiar heartache turning the words into a snarl. “All except for one.”

A stunned silence. Even Zoro looks a little pale at the implication, and Bepo closes his eyes and lets go of the tension in one breath, shoulders slumping.

“Amber Lead Syndrome, it… It shows as white blotches on the skin. The poison shortens one’s life span to nothing, and when I met Law, he should’ve already been dead but he wasn’t. He found a cure and lived.”

The snail is teary-eyed and Chopper’s voice is more wobbly than stable. “That’s… That’s incredible.”

“Bepo-bro… Why tell us all this?”

Franky had been so quiet that Bepo forgot he was even there. The cyborg is wiping his eyes furiously, mouth sloped downward but his gaze shines with the sincere need to understand.

“Because I need to ask. What are the chances of an illness like that coming back years later?”

It’s so quiet that the Tang’s monotone song is the only thing to be heard. Bepo’s vision goes blurry around the edges and he sniffs, the weight on his shoulder almost crushing him then and there.

“Don’t spare me i-if… Please. I just– I need to know. There aren’t any new spots but he’s running a fever and he can barely stand straight. Law said there’s no way to tell for sure without c-cutting himself open again and I won’t let him. Not unless there’s any other option–”

“Bepo. Traffy won’t die, okay?”

Even repeated by the snail, Luffy’s voice is strong, rock-solid with determination.

“I kicked Mingo’s ass so he can be free and live however he wants. There’s no way he’s dying after all that. Chopper, tell him.”

And Bepo knows, he knows that Luffy is aware things don’t always work out just because he wants them to; the man stormed a prison and fought a war and cried his soul out to learn that lesson. Hope lights in his heart all the same, flickering bright against the tears still rolling down Bepo’s cheeks–

“I’d have to examine him myself to say for sure but it is unlikely he’s still affected. Even dormant, chronic conditions tend to flare the worst under duress, not after.” Chopper hmms, pensive. “Did Traffy say anything else?”

Shaking his head, Bepo remembers belatedly they can’t see it. He rubs his arm across his snout, wiping away snot and residue tears. “No. Just that his body hurts and that he can’t focus.”

There’s a tap on Bepo’s shoulder and an hand next to his knee, gesturing for the receiver. Reluctantly, Bepo gives it away and watches it wander from palm to palm until it reaches Robin.

“Chopper.”

“Robin! Hey!”

She chuckles. “Hello. Could those symptoms be caused by an old or badly-healed wound? Traffy was already in quite a bad state before being dragged across the battlefield and fighting his nemesis to near-death.”

All Bepo can do is focus on his breathing. Still alive. He’s still alive. “Sorry ‘bout that”, comes from Luffy and he sounds genuinely somber about it.

Zoro huffs. “You did what you had to do.”

“Bepo”, Chopper talks over them without much hesitation, and Bepo straightens up, makes a noise of acknowledgement. “Traffy’s arm. Have you taken a look at it yet? The wound was healing okay last time I saw it but with those symptoms… Infections can always happen, especially given how the wound came to be. It would explain the fever, too.”

Bepo isn’t a doctor – and neither are Shachi and Penguin – yet all of them have served as assistants during difficult operations, the ones that take hours and leave Law wiped out enough to sleep through the night and the morning after too.

All kinds of things can happen to wounds, and Law’s arm was cut off by strings... It makes sense. The thought takes a moment to settle in Bepo’s mind. It makes sense. It’s not Amber Lead.

We can fix this.

“I haven’t but I will. What do I have to do?”

Through the snail, Chopper crinkles his nose. “You won’t like it. If it really is an infection, he needs a full dose of strong antibiotics and… Well, you have to practically re-do the stitches.”

Distantly, Bepo feels his stomach turn. “You mean…?”

“Yeah. If Traffy didn’t notice the wound festering it’s probably because the infection sits deep in the muscle. The wound needs to be drained and cleaned properly and that means cutting it open again. Sorry, I know it’s… not what you want to hear.”

All this time, Kikoku rested calmly against Bepo’s back but the mere thought of wielding it against its owner makes Bepo hyperaware it’s there. He swallows whatever complaints he might have and says:

“Okay. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.”

Suddenly, Zoro is there, gaze hard as he murmurs, “Don’t be stupid”, and Robin is offering him the receiver before he can snatch it out of her grasp.

“Captain.”

“Hm? Zoro?”

“I’m gonna cut up Traffy.”

Oh, that’s an even worse idea than anything Bepo could come up with. “What?! No, no, absolutely n–”

“Okay. Be nice though.”

Bepo gapes at Zoro and the swordsman stares back. “Look. You can either try your hand at using that without any experience – or you can leave it to me. Besides: Do you really want to raise a sword against your own captain?”

“… No”, murmurs Bepo, eyes dropping to his feet. He wrings the front of his suit with his paws, unsure what to do with the mix of relief and guilt and hope pulsing in his chest.

“I’m in your debt. Thank you, all of you.”

Zoro just groans. “This again?”

Before Bepo can do more than shoot him a disgruntled glare, Usopp speaks up next. “Man, are you kidding?” He looks at Bepo like he’s grown a second set of ears, lips pouted and brow creased in concern. “Traffy’s our friend. And he saved Luffy.”

“Yeah!”, comes from the snail, its head bobbing enthusiastically.

“It’s in our interests to keep our ally alive. Chopper, how much do we charge for medical advice?”

“Nami!” Chopper is laughing, though. It’s a good sound, full of optimism. “Things will be okay, Bepo. Let us know how it goes?”

“We will”, Franky promises in Bepo’s place, an easy-going grin on his angular face. “It won’t do to cut our adventure short. I still need to figure out how the Tang can dive this deep without getting crushed!”

One of Robin’s hands pushes Franky’s mouth shut, another patting Bepo’s back gently. Robin smiles and despite himself, Bepo does too, taking the confidence he finds in her and making it his own.

“Go back to your captain, Mr. Bear. I’m sure he’s already waiting for you.”

It gets worse before it gets better. Those had been Chopper’s words, tinny through the speaker of the snail. The pills should help him sleep through most of it. His body needs to replenish a lot of blood on top of everything else but… The worst is behind him. You did it, Bepo!

A part of Bepo’s brain had soaked up the information like much-needed water in a desert: Chopper had sounded satisfied with their work, relieved even, and on some level Bepo had been aware his previous reassurances had perhaps been more optimistic than the situation truly warranted.

Okay, he’d said, and thank you, and he’d promised Luffy to call in a few days time – after the date of the wedding, but that went unsaid. With Law’s life on the line, Bepo had entirely forgotten the other time bomb steadily ticking towards zero.

Bepo sits at Law’s bedside, eyes unfocused and head filled only with the rush of blood in his ears. The room is virtually unchanged from when he carried Law out (barely conscious, questions a half-coherent rasp against Bepo’s neck) and brought him back hours later, deathly still and arm wrapped in thick layers of gauze.

To call the operation gruesome would’ve been a compliment to it. The image of Law’s blood spilling across the tiles of his own operating room is one that will follow Bepo into his dreams for weeks to come.

Lethargically, his gaze moves from pristine covers to Law’s face. His features are slack with unconsciousness, the rings under his eyes bruise-like against the pallor of his skin.

Out of the three of them, Shachi has the calmest hands and thus he was the one to sew everything back in place while Penguin stayed behind to clean up the mess. For a while after, the captain’s cabin had held all four of them: Bepo at his spot at Law’s side, eyes fixed on Law’s chest that barely shifted with every breath; Penguin and Shachi all anxious pacing at first and nearly collapsing when the adrenaline inevitably gave way to bone-deep exhaustion.

Bepo practically had to throw them out to catch some sleep. That was the second time in 24 hours he’d had to yell at those he considers family, and it didn’t move a single thing in him. His heart hangs limp in its tangle of veins, wrung dry of any emotion Bepo had to give.

Now it’s just him and Law again.

Reaching out, Bepo ignores the tremor in his fingers in favor of pushing back sweat-soaked hair. His mouth twists unhappily at the heat he finds there. The fever has yet to break, Law’s cheeks tinged an uncomfortable pink – his brows draw together at Bepo’s touch, and he hopes the cool press of his palm brings him some relief, at least.

This is exactly what Chopper’s warning had been all about. It doesn’t make any of it easier.

“It wasn’t Amber Lead, Captain.”

The words come unbidden to Bepo’s lips, a rough whisper that is lost to the suffocating silence around them. Swallowing heavily, Bepo keeps combing ink-black strands and imagines that it makes a difference, that it helps ease some of the tension around Law’s closed eyes.

“You hear me? You’re cured, and it’s not coming back. You’re gonna be okay.”

A drop of sweat trickles down Law’s temple; carefully, so carefully, Bepo wipes it away. He rests the back of his hand against Law’s pulse point. Lingering, just to feel the too-quick beat of Law’s heart.

“B’po?”

Bepo’s own pulse skips a beat. “Law?”, he asks, voice hushed with quiet hope. His thumb traces along the line of Law’s cheekbone, paw pad brushing shifting lashes until–

Law’s eyes are molten gold, shining with fever, not-quite-there.

“B’po.”

Bepo smiles so wide it hurts, eyes crinkling with it. “Yeah, ‘s me. I’m here. Welcome back, Captain.”

Law smiles too, the skin on his lips a little cracked.

“’m alive.”

Bepo nods and he’s crying, tears leaving moist dots on the sheets. “You are. You are.”

With a slow blink, Law reaches for Bepo’s face, the tips of his fingers brushing his nose clumsily. “Don’t… Don’t cry, Bepo.”

Bepo holds his hand and presses it against his cheek, nodding weakly. “Okay, Captain.” He feels Law’s fingers twitch weakly against his, trying and failing to hold on to him, too.

“Hey, ‘s okay. I’m gonna be okay.”

“I know. I’m sorry, so s-sorry.”

It’s like he can’t stop saying it, apologizing over and over against the back of Law’s hand that’s wet with his regret, his guilt. There’s a quiet noise of distress and Bepo looks up to see one, then two tears drip from Law’s lashes, trailing down his face in glinting lines.

“I dreamed of Cora, Bepo. I saw ‘im. He… He looked so happy.”

Bepo whines in his throat but Law shushes him, smile growing, showing a glint of teeth.

“I’m glad. I missed his stupid smile.”

“Law”, Bepo breathes, because Cora is dead and so was Law, almost, almost. “Please. Please.”

What he’s asking for, he doesn’t know – Law understands him all the same, like he always does, like he always will. “Bepo”, and his name is so much more coming from Law’s mouth.

“Don’t be scared. Not leaving you behind, remember? I promised.”

And Bepo has long forgiven him for almost going back on his word. The important thing is that Law came back, just as he returns to him now too, rosy-cheeked and glassy-eyed but there, alive. “Honest?”, Bepo asks him helplessly, nuzzling close to Law’s wrist.

Feeling his pulse against his lips, beating, beating.

“Honest”, Law tells him, soft with affection and it sounds like always, like forever. A promise that paints the Polar Star in Bepo’s sky, ensuring he can bring them home each and every time.

#one piece #fanfiction #trafalgar law #bepo #one piece fanfiction #whoo boy this one got long #anyhow team wano took a nice long vacation after this 'cause gotdamn they deserve it #this fic is also on AO3!#my stuff

23 notes · View notes

tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Patience (Tales From The Heart)

Fandom: One Piece Rating: Gen Warnings: none Characters: Penguin, Shachi, Law

The first time Penguin saw Law's arm turn black, he thought he'd been hallucinating. He knew the Ope Ope no Mi gave his captain some odd abilities, but he wasn't quite sure how limbs turning black helped in any way, shape or form. The main clue that he probably wasn't seeing things was the grin on Law's face – self-satisfied and smug, it was just like when he performed one of his new operations perfectly. Whatever had turned Law's arm black, that had been what he'd been trying to do.

"What are you up to?" he asked, watching the black recede back away to nothing as Law's attention snapped to him.

"Haki," the younger teen answered, as if it was obvious. Penguin had never heard of it before in his life.

"What's that?" Shachi asked, apparently drawn from his attempts to prod a sleeping Bepo into wakefulness for who-knew-what-reason by the conversation.

"Something useful," Law shrugged, before eyeing the pair of them with a glint in his eye, as if an idea had suddenly struck him. Penguin regretted speaking up, and saw Shachi falter next to him. "You two should learn it, too."

"What's it good for?" Penguin made the mistake of asking, prompting a full blown lecture from his captain on haki and its applications, as well as how there were three different types ("but you won't need to worry about conqueror's because you can't learn that") and how they were best utilised. He never explained how he knew as much as he did about the strange abilities, but Penguin didn't need to ask; it was obviously either something he'd come across in his reading, or something he'd learnt about as a Donquixote Pirate.

"So we just have to focus?" Shachi summed up once Law finished. "Doesn't sound so hard." Law's eyes flashed with annoyance before settling back to his cocky smirk.

"Then give it a go," he encouraged. Shachi did so, clenching his fist and pinching his lips together as he let out a quiet humming noise. His face twisted oddly, turning pink as he began to run out of air, and Law poked him in the stomach, forcing him to relax all at once. "Not like that. You need to concentrate, not hold your breath."

"I was concentrating!" Shachi protested with a whine and a pout before repeating the action. Penguin could have sworn he saw smoke coming out from his ears.

"Concentrate on creating a defensive layer for your skin, not on holding your breath," Law scolded lightly, before frowning down at his own arm. Slowly, the black colour crept into existence to cover it again. Penguin mimicked him, focusing on his arm and trying to mentally order it to harden. He tried not to be discouraged when it didn't work, unlike Shachi, who whined and stomped off after several more minutes of red cheeks and panting. His patience didn't last forever, though, and after half an hour of watching Law's arm shift slowly from black to skin coloured while his own stayed stubbornly flesh-coloured he got up and left him to it.

Law brought the conversation up again over dinner, Bepo shovelling plates of fish in front of them before taking mouthfuls out of his own serving.

"It's taken me three years to get this far," their captain said out of the blue, black coating his arm slowly again to leave them in no doubts what he was referring to. "You won't manage it in a single session." Penguin nodded, understanding, but Shachi let out a harrumph of dissatisfaction and stuffed his face full of fish instead.

Penguin quietly joined Law in his training after that, encouraged by the admission that it wasn't an instant process. Shachi grumbled whenever he walked by, tugging at his cap as if to block the sight out as he carried on with life.

It would have been convincing, if Penguin hadn't seen him hiding in a corner of the large empty room on the Tang they'd designated the training room, trying in vain to get his arm to coat itself in black. He let him be, unwilling to provoke Shachi's temper as, like Penguin, he failed again and again.

It was a year before he finally succeeded, his arm sheathing itself in the ever-elusive black, and he cried out in excitement, drawing both Law and Shachi's attention. Bepo had long since grown used to his human nakama's noisy antics, as he called them, and simply raised his head from where he'd been pouring over maps and charts, shook his head and returned to his studies (although he did get a congratulatory hug from the Mink later, on the way to dinner).

Having felt success, it gradually became easier for Penguin, to Shachi's obvious irritation. His secret training sessions were secret to exactly no-one, although they all pretended they didn't know, and even several months after Penguin made his breakthrough, there was still no joy for him.

"It's not fair!" he finally broke, wailing into the air in frustration. "Why can't I do it?" They had no answer for him, and the ginger spent the rest of the day locked up in an empty room, refusing to come out for anything or anyone (all three of them tried to coax him out in their own ways, and all three failed miserably).

Their answer came, unexpectedly, in a fight two months later. The stubborn ginger had kept up his fruitless attempts, but his hope was failing and it wasn't uncommon to find him in a dejected lump on the floor that refused to acknowledge anyone that came near him. One such slump occurred out on deck as they sailed between islands, and a rival pirate group attacked them unprovoked.

The first hail of bullets caught them all off guard, Law, Penguin and Bepo all unable to evade them all and finding themselves quickly covered in small wounds from grazes, and the occasional larger wound as a bullet properly tore through flesh.

Shachi, initially curled up in a slump on desk, dodged the entire deluge, to the horror of their attackers. Clearly they had never experienced the insanity of someone evading every single bullet, and by the time Penguin had dragged himself back to his feet, clutching at his arm where a bullet had sliced clean through the muscle, the fight was over. Off balance, the other crew hadn't had a chance against an irate Shachi, especially not when Bepo joined in with his electro as the first to recover from the attack.

"That felt weird," Shachi confessed afterwards, as Law patched up the rest of them in the infirmary. "How the hell did I know exactly where to go?" Penguin had no answer, as confused as Shachi, but a grin painted itself across their captain's face.

"I think we need to change your training," he said, with a glint in his eye they'd long since learnt meant run. Shachi took a small step backwards and Penguin tried to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. "You've been trying to master the wrong haki."

The dawning comprehension, and associated grin, on Shachi's face was totally worth the past two years' of frustration, as far as Penguin was concerned. He hadn't even noticed how much confidence Shachi had leeched until it all returned in one swoop as Law's words sunk in.

Shachi wasn't useless at haki after all.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #heart pirates #tales from the heart #tsari writes fanfiction #trafalgar law #penguin #shachi #bepo #haki

12 notes · View notes

bobasheebaby · 5 years

Text

One More Day- Learning to Breathe chapter 2

Pairing: Widow Riley (Drake x MC), no pairing yet

Word count: 2,057

Warnings: bone crushing angst, mention of character death, grief, depression

Summary: Flashes of Riley’s coping strategies.

Song inspiration: One More Day by Diamond Rio

A/N: I have no heart because I have crushed it, my chest is now an empty pit that aches from this. That’s my way of telling you this is gonna hurt go grab your comfort drink, a blanket and tissues, you will need it.

Series warnings: This series will follow Riley, Liam and Bastien after Drake’s death. It will deal with the grief and pain of losing a loved one. Possible NSFW content to come. Possibly dark. If you click read more you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, I’m simply borrowing from PB for a bit.

Riley moved through her room in a trance. Her body still felt numb, she wasn’t sure she’d ever get over the loss of him and what returning to the manor alone truly meant. What was to be their shared home would always simply be hers.

Riley stared out the limousine window, everything moving past in a blur of shapes and colors as she saw straight past the scenery. She felt like she was moving in slow motion as she returned to the duchy. Her head was fuzzy, leaving her feeling completely dazed. She still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that she had to bury the man that she loved. No she did bury him. He was gone, he was in the ground. Her body felt numb from the second she heard the shot go off. A piece of her soul had broken off and left her when he did.

Their love was such a whirlwind, she didn’t have nearly enough time with him. Time. The concept that it went on without him made her want the earth open up and swallow her whole. She didn’t know how to move forward now that she was once again alone.

She looked up at the looming building as it appeared in her view. The once welcoming duchy where they dreamed up their future seemed monstrous, casting a daunting shadow upon her, reminding her what they would never have.

Why did he have to die? It didn’t seem fair, for her to live and mourn him and everything they had dreamed up with wide smiles. Her future without him was more terrifying than the thought of never taking another breath.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the limousine pulled to a stop, she was home. Home. Once it was to be their home, now it simply felt like a reminder of everything she lost. How could she enter the building without seeing ghosts of what would never be? Every corner once held possibility, now it just held deep crushing sadness.

She exited the car, breezing into the manor, blocking out all questions from her friends. As much as she hated the thought all she wanted was to be alone. Alone with her grief and misery, not afraid of hurting someone’s feelings when she tuned them completely out. She knew they were there for her out of kindness, but it all felt like a weak substitute for what she was meant to have.

She slammed the door to her master bedroom shut flicking the lock, she wanted to be allowed to cry without the looks of sadness and pity on her well meaning friends faces. She shed her fitted black dress, leaving it discarded on the ground. Her entire life changed in an instant. It went from fairytale ending to living nightmare in a blink of an eye and a blinding flash of a muzzle.

She dropped her gaze down, she could still see remnants of his blood coating her arms and chest. She closed her eyes, but was only met with the scene replaying in her head. She could still hear the loud pop the gun made and the ear piercing shriek that left her lips. Her life felt foreign, she wasn’t sure she would ever get over the heartbreak of losing the man she loved the same day she became his wife.

Riley looked up into the mirror, knuckles going white as she gripped the vanity edge tighter as she frowned at the pale face staring back at her. She barely recognized the woman she’d become since he died. Her chestnut brown hair brushed the first time in a week, missing its usual shine. Her hazel eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed, deep purple circles proving though she barely left her bed that she barely got any sleep. Any sleep manage was not a reprieve from the pain she felt, instead it was simply a reminder of all she lost.

Riley smiled, her eyelids slowly fluttered open as she felt his calloused hand brush against her cheek. “Morning.” She breathed as hazel locked on warm chestnut brown.

“Morning.” His lips quirked into a lopsided smile as he leaned in for a kiss.

“You have morning breath.” She pulled away half seriously teasing her husband, her heart.

“So do you.”

Their lips met, a spark lighting through her. She brought her hand up, fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. She felt complete, at peace. She never wanted this feeling to end.

She rolled, reaching for him in the bed. Her hand hit cold sheets, forcing her back to reality. It was all a dream, a beautiful, wonderful, horrible dream. Tears streaked down her pale cheeks soaking the pillowcase in fresh tears. She rolled to her side, staring out at the balcony. She had once found the view so serene and beautiful, now it was just another reminder of all they dreamed of and would never have.

She felt completely lost without him. She didn’t want to move, she barely ate, let alone showered. How can I move on like he was never here? They said ‘time heals all wounds’ but how much time is needed to mend a broken heart?

I shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be the one who is gone. On the outside she wept, deep inside she didn’t simply feel bone crushing grief, she felt pain but also guilt. She knew Liam said his name because he loved her. If I had said no to Maxwell he never would have died and I wouldn’t feel so terribly alone surrounded by friends. She didn’t want to be here, she didn’t want to live, but her faith ingrained her with a fear of taking her own life. Instead it was easier to just sit in her bed, refusing every tray Hana brought to her with a sad smile. She just was waiting to fall asleep and never wake.

Why did I agree to weekly get togethers that are really check ups on the grieving widow? I don’t want to see people, I don’t want to talk. I just want to be left alone. She frowned as her phone lit up with the doctor’s name that Olivia had all but forced her to see. Why can’t they just let me go? I don’t want reminders of him. I want to be on my own or with him. Why couldn’t they just leave me be. She so badly wanted to push decline, but she wanted to prove to them that their concern had been over nothing. Hopefully now they’ll let me leave.

Riley rushed around her room stuffing clothes in her open suitcase. Only what she brought, she wanted to forget all her time spent in Cordonia all her frilly gowns were to stay behind. She couldn’t stay, not here, she couldn’t take the memories that were etched into every corner of the country she’d come to think of as home.

She wasn’t sure where to go. New York would be just as bad, she’d be drawn to the bar they met at. She couldn’t go back to Montana, she’d be reminded of all the times he talked to her about Walker ranch and the simple life he wanted to show their kids. She placed her hand on her flat stomach, they’d never have children. She’d never see him beam as he held their newborn in his arms. She’d never get to argue over who the baby resembled more, him of course, not that she’d mind. She shook her head sniffling back fresh tears. It’s time to forget every dream.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She closed her eyes as Olivia’s voice broke through the still room. She had hoped to avoid this. She didn’t want to have to try to explain why she was running away. “I’m leaving Cordonia, I can’t live here anymore. It’s too hard, I see him everywhere. I’m sorry but I need to leave.”

“Like hell I’m letting you leave.”

She sighed. “I wasn’t asking for your permission Liv.” Oh god. Her hand flew to her mouth as her stomach turned. She rushed to the en-suite, emptying the meager contents of her stomach into the toilet.

“The only place you’re going is the doctors. You are making yourself sick from not eating. Maybe you even need—”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I swear if you say I need antidepressants I will stab you with your own damn dagger!”

“There is the fight. Now let’s get you to the doctor.”

“Liv I don’t want to.” She paused as she met Olivia’s murderous gaze. “Fine but when the doctor says everything is normal for someone grieving you have to let me leave Cordonia.”

Olivia sighed. “I hate it, but fine.”

Riley stared at the opposite wall, her feet rooted to the ground as her heart hammered in her chest. “I’m sorry I think I misheard you, could you please repeat that?” No it has to be a mistake. This can’t be happening.

“Of course.” Her voice cheerful and chipper. “I said congratulations, you’re pregnant. By the levels and your last known period we would estimate about three months but we would need you to come in for an ultrasound to confirm.”

Pregnant? Her heart stopped in her chest. Three months? Tears sprung to her red rimmed hazel eyes. He’s almost been gone that long. Her legs gave way, her body crumbling to the ground, phone slipping from her hand, tumbling to the floor. I—I can’t be. This can’t be happening. Please let me wake up from this endless nightmare.

She didn’t know what was worse, knowing he was gone and she’d never see him again, or doing this all on her own. It felt like some cruel joke the universe was playing on her, giving her a piece of him, a reminder of what could have been. Would she be able to watch a miniature version of him grow without her heart completely shattering?

All the stress she was under after losing Drake she barely even noticed that she was late. It wasn’t until she had been getting increasingly nauseous that she’d noticed anything was amiss. Even so, she wasn’t eating as much, sullen and depressed, it wasn’t until Olivia had all but threatened her that she even went to see what was wrong. She was convinced it was due to stress and lack of care, she never even suspected that she may be pregnant.

Pregnant. The word brought her fear and sadness instead of filling her with joy and love. She sat on the floor, her body a broken heap like when she’d held Drake in her arms, all the pain she felt that night rushing back to her tenfold. A baby, his baby. She’d been struggling to find a reason to hold on, to move forward, can I do this? How can I watch our child grow without completely falling apart?

“Riley?” His baritone voice tinged with concern as it filtered through the halls.

She opened her mouth to call out to him, no words coming. He’ll find me. With the news she’d forgotten he was stopping by to check on her, usually she’d be waiting for him in the kitchen. She looked up as she saw his shadow before his tall frame filled the doorway.

His face briefly flitted with relief at finding her. “Riley, what’s wrong?” He rushed to her side.

Her silent tears turned to a loud broken sob. How many times would today mirror the one where she lost her husband? “The-the doctor called.” She stammered, barely getting the words out. “I’m—I’m pregnant.” The last word lodged itself in her throat. Her heart ached as she spoke, she shouldn’t be crying, Drake should be by her side, both of them feeling overjoyed at the news. “How can I possibly do this on my own?”

His heart broke for her, he knew this couldn’t be making things any easier for her. “You aren’t alone.”

She wiped at her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “I know I will have help and support, the gang has been, you have been kind enough to check up on me, but he should be here.” He would be here if it weren’t for me.

How can he just be gone?

Feedback fuels me, please like, comment reblog or send an ask. Feel free to scream, I promise I can take it.

Masterlist can be found in my bio.

Taglist will be reblogged.

#past drake x mc #olivia nevrakis #bastien lykel #riley brooks #trr au #the royal romance #the royal romance au #choices the royal romance #one more day #learning to breathe #one more day: learning to breathe #chapter 2 #angst #tw depression #tw grief #this hurts so much!#long post #read more

126 notes · View notes

constantlyunlightening · 5 years

Text

Prove It (Part 1)

Fandom : BNHA

Pairing : Pro-hero!Bakugo/F!Reader

Genre : the beginnings of smut, 18

Rated for : unapologetic smut with little plot, a competitive Bakugo, sassy reader with a possible death wish and unhygienic work practice! Really, I'm just thirsty for Bakugo. The next chapter will be even more of that

Maybe his quirk needed to shoot out of his eyes instead of his hands. Sure, the idea of explosions blasting out of someone's face was unrealistic. Yet, with the look this man was giving her, she was convinced that's where his powers should originate from. She could almost see the sparks flickering in that crimson gaze of his as he locked it onto her with disdain.

"The fuck did you just say to me?"

A growl, as harsh as his glower, seeped into the space between them. This guy was intense - but she knew that already. Everyone who ever heard of Katsuki Bakugo, the hero, knew that. His reputation had succeeded him as being loud, explosive and oh-so-very-intense.

That reputation of his was even more of a reason why she shouldn't be trying to pick a fight with him. But she couldn't help but to return his sharp gaze with an indignant look of her own. But if she was already past the point of no return; may as well stick with it at that, right? "I said Deku is better than you. He's a better fighter, better strategist, and has a better attitude… Just better," she reinstated, her attitude spiking up in the face of the hot head before her. It wasn't until the words were spilling out of her that she even realized what she was saying. "Hey, I bet he's an even better fuck than you are too!"

Did she say it because she needed to release some of her own anger? Or was she was spending too much time around Midnight? Or, maybe, she said it because she was out of her mind and prepared to say anything for the satisfaction of pissing him off. Hell, she could just be sexually frustrated for all she knew or cared at this point. She just needed to get a rise out of him.

Honestly, their argument didn't have a genuine point to it. Trying to search for her reasoning for getting involved wouldn't solve anything. She and Bakugo happened to be paired up for a mission from their agency. And, well, working with Katsuki long enough tended to make a person pretty irritated in the process. There was steam that needed to be blown off. So here they were. The mission was finished. Everyone was safe and sound. And at the end of the day, the two of them were left in the agency's office alone to finish some paperwork. And after such a long day of endless bickering, there was an air of tension suspended around them.

She just had to go and make it worse.

Katsuki didn't waste time with his response. In a heart beat, the male pinned her back against the wall causing a scatter of paperwork, that she had been carrying, flying up into the air in their wake. He had her pinned to the wall, his arm right above her head as he leaned over her. His body naturally portrayed dominance - the only role Katsuki ever learned to play. The scene could have been romantic were it someone else. Maybe even sexy. But that potential was ruined by the scrunched up look on his face; like a demon seeking vengeance. He looked like he had clawed himself up straight from hell with a visage like that. "Where the fuck did that come from, you perv?" He snarled, voice low in pitch but a slowed crescendo in volume as his patience wore thin.

She should have backed out - put her foot where her mouth is - but she didn't. "Just saying." Her response was blunt, without hesitation, as if it were just an obvious fact. "When I said better, I meant it in every way, so that's included too." Why stop anyway? She wasn't in any real danger. Even if Katsuki was a bit over the top, he was still a hero. He wouldn't hurt her- not much, at least. So stepping out of line with him wasn't a grave mistake, even with his tendency for death threats. Besides, who knew? Maybe it'd end up making her feel better if she had the chance to storm and shout a bit.

But it was Katsuki who was yelling first, as usual. His volume snapped up in that moment as his face steeled itself in that angered expression. "Shut up, you brat!" His tone was somehow even harsher now. Oh, maybe she had somehow struck a chord. But it was Katsuki. It wasn't by any means hard to do that, especially when bringing up his rival hero, Deku. "I can beat that damn nerd's ass any day of the week! And at anything, ya hear me?!"

This was the man she worked with. The man who, like it or not, she'd seen in many different situations. She knew he was capable of handling himself, capable of being the best. He had proven he was dependable, even if his words didn't always match. And yet, he was so easy to reduce to a rampaging mess - over a statement so outrageous and pointless, no less! This up close, she could see the conviction flickering in his eyes as he shouted in her face. His body tempature seemed to be rising, based on the sensation of warmth that ghosted over her once he got in even closer. Maybe he was just getting ready to blow her to smithereens.

It was probably time to get some distance. It was that desicion that had her more casually trying to brush him off, making an attempt to duck away from his grasp. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Katsuki-"

"You don't get to walk away from me!" It was a warning; one she wasn't sure what the follow-through would be, but a warning all the same. He blocked her with his other hand, pounding against the wall to trap her in, his body now a cage. "You don't get to look down on me."

Was she imagining it or was his tone getting even more intense? She assumed he was mostly always at his peak emotion levels - albeit that emotion mainly just being rage - but somehow he seemed to be building up more and more. He was like a snowball racing down a hill in the winter getting bigger and faster; an extremely explosive snowball.

Unless she apologized right this instant and backed down, she was fairly sure he wasn't about to calm down for anything. And even an apology wasn't a for sure strategy. But she wasn't about to say sorry to the hero who had been yelling at her practically all day. Even if she was being just as unreasonable as he was. "… For someone so sure of himself, you sure are getting defensive over this, huh?"

"That's it!" He gave more of a grunt this time around, words laced with pure aggression as his hand came off the wall and he instead was using it to clank the metal of his buckle off in a sudden burst of motion. What the hell…. "Take off your clothes!"

Her shouting had been random but somehow his was worse. Katsuki really was never one to be outdone, huh? She stared a solid ten seconds, eyes widening and mouth slightly agape, watching him tug at his own clothes before she could even think about possibly responding to his odd request. But he was far too impatient for her to figure out her words and instead, he gave her a prompt this time. Pausing his stripping for a moment, belt now undone and hanging loose around his waist, he held his palm out to display just a brief bit of sparks - enough to intimidate. "Take your fucking clothes off or I'm going to blast them off of you."

"You're kidding," she flat lined, finally finding her vocabulary admist his spontanous demand. The look of disbelief remained as she stayed caught in the trap his body had formed and all she got in response was a snort followed by another crackle of the power in his hand. "Why on earth would I take off my clothes? We're in the middle of the agency! And it's you!"

"The hell is that supposed to mean?!" His tongue made a loud click as he leaned in even closer, getting right up in her face. No way to even try and ignore him now. He was demanding full attention and he damn well was going to get it. "Listen, if you're going to talk shit you better be damn well prepared for me to make you eat your words. I'll prove I'm better. I'm the better fighter, I'm the smarter one and I'll fuck your brains out until you can't even say the name Deku if that's what it takes to get you to shut the hell up."

His voice had once again dropped down to that dangerous octave, his body tensing as he hovered over her. Suddenly she was having trouble breathing properly under his imposing presence. Crap. She had worked with him for how long? She had handled her fair share of his absolute bullshit and now, somehow, she was having trouble trying to find her words against him? She just hadn't expected him to threaten to 'fuck her brains out', no matter how vulgar he usually was. How on Earth was she supposed to react to that? She opened her mouth, ready to speak, protest, something. But before she could utter more than a syllable or two, her words were lost. Not of her own volition, but of his.

Her sentence was trapped in the confines of his lips as they melded against hers - taking advantage of the open mouthed position her attempt at speech had left her in. His tongue flicked out, darting to explore her mouth and take sole control of the kiss. He was a black hole in her space, stealing away her voice, her thoughts and her very breath in his vaccum.

It wasn't until he pulled back that she realized his hand had snuck its way into the hair at the base of her neck, tugging and twisting on the strands to force her eyes even further upwords. He may have broken the kiss but he was still only a hair's breadth away. Any slight motion from him would have her trapped by his will again, especially with the anchored hold he had on her. "Shut. Up." Her urge to fight was quelled with two simple words in tandem with a kiss. It was almost staggering how a such a simple action could so easily ignite such a burning sensation within her. While her argumentive spirit had been doused, a new flame had lit inside her heart - a different sort of passion. With one little kiss, the atmosphere changed. It was instantaneous how the world melted away around them. It was just him and her in this big open space. Despite them being coworkers, despite them being in their work place and despite him getting on every single one of her nerves in the past twenty four hours, whatever moral restrictions that kept her back were suddenly gone. "I'm going to make you take it back. If you don't want me too, than back off and don't go spouting off stupid shit anymore."

He was giving her the chance to escape. No matter how aggressive he was, he clearly wasn't about to force anything on her. As long as she shut her trap and backed away now, she'd be fine. Common sense dictated that was the right answer. But she wasn't using her common sense as her main source of judgement right now. Her actual response was very different.

"… Fine. Prove it." The conviction in her answer surprised even her. It didn't match up with the frantic rush of emotions whirling inside her and yet, she couldn't have sounded anymore absolute about the desicion. And with the addition of her hand moving up to tug down the zipper at the back of her suit, she seemed pretty damn sure of herself too.

Katsuki took advantage.

Usually, he was the one to make the first move in a fight and this wasn't an exception, either. The words 'prove it' kicked that fighting spirit of his into high gear. It was the slight loosening of the fabric at her shoulders that signaled him in, his hand snaking around her and tugging on the zipper himself. She wasn't moving fast enough for his liking. He yanked, causing a moment of worry for her about the suit itself ripping with his excessive force. But before she could contemplate too long or voice her concern, his lips had crashed right back down on hers in another heated kiss. He was either really into this or he just didn't want her talking again.

He didn't give her the option to get upset about it. His movements were sweeping her thoughts up a bit too much too quickly for her to make any proper protests. But she was pretty sure she wouldn't have even if she got the chance. His kiss was a devastating blow to her composure and it sent a wave of heat crashing over her. And while she was loosing herself in his overwhelming force, he used his hands to tug her suit down and off her body in rough motions, tossing off any hero accessories that just so happened to be in his way. Pretty expensive equipment to be tossing around the office, but Bakugo clearly didn't care. His one and only priority was being the best. If her clothes and accessories were damaged in the process - well, that was simply collateral.

It didn't take her long to be stripped bare - free of any type of clothing. The cool air grazed over her bare flesh and started to kick a more logical part of her brain into action. This was too vulnerable. He may have undone his pants - the waist starting to dip down his hips - but other than that and his gauntlets having been discarded once the paperwork started - he was still dressed and in his hero costume, no less. Something in her mind screamed weakness and as Bakugo's hands began to taper off and explore her new state, her hands rushed to even the playing field, trying to bare the man before her.

And he was having absolutely none of that.

The second her hands tried to tug at his outfit, his hands bolted off her waist and instead he had her wrists up and over her head, holding her against the wall. If she thought being caged in place by his body was intimidating, this position was now a whole lot worse, causing her cheeks to flare up. "What the hell? Are you backing out?"

Indignation flashed in those crimson eyes - the usual. But there was something off from his normal heated gaze. This look he was giving her was more than just competitive, more than just fired up. It was absolutely primal. The heat had shifted. While usually he was more reminiscent of a volcano during an eruption, now he seemed to be the moments before - it was a slow heat. Dangerous. Even while the lava paced itself, it consumed anything daring enough to try and near it. She wasn't about to explode being near Bakugo. Right now, he was about to burn her all the way from the outside in. She was feeling feverish as his hands tightened around her wrists to the point where a whimper unwittingly left her lips from the strength. "You want me to prove it? Then we're doing this all on my terms. Your dumbass isn't messing this up."

She could have retorted. She had a split second to come back with a comeback, but the low growl of his voice had her own voice hitched, unable to find words. And taking her lack of speech as a sign of submission, his grasp shifted, using one large hand now to hold both of her wrists up and above her while his other hand dropped down in a flash. Her little motion to try to even the playing field not only failed, but also backfired as now he seemed to have skipped the exploration of her body. Instead, he was apparently taking a more direct approach. "Open up," he growled as instead of that one hand now holding her, two digits were right at her lips and after a beat, she obliged. His fingers slipped right into her mouth, taking advantage of the obedience.

His fingers pumped in and out, slicking themselves in her saliva. His palm pushed back on her chin, forcing her head in place against the wall so she had no control over the tempo or the depth of how his fingers moved. She was compliant in the action, a bit too dazed over the way he was melting her to be much of a driving force. But if Bakugo knew how to do one thing, it was trash talk and that usually had a certain way to get people going. "Come on. Suck like you mean it. This is weak." His fingers accented his words with a particularly harsh pump, driving down deeper towards her throat to cause a muffled little squeak out of her as that smirk formed back on his lips. "Maybe you're the one who doesn't know how to fuck, huh? Need some motivation to get going?" He didnt need an answer, instead, his knee pressed against the wall and pushed right up against the juncture of her legs, forcing her to slide right down against the fabric over his leg as he used to force to prop her onto her toes. Her body had a nice stretch in this position, hands way above her head to keep her still even as she struggled for balance on her tip toes. But it was hard to focus on the stretch with the way he was rubbing his leg against her bare skin. It wasn't the touch she was finding herself craving but it worked to knock her back into listening as she suctioned her lips on his fingers just as he picked up the speed in which his fingers fucked her pretty little mouth.

His fingers only came out with a little pop when he was satisfied with how wet they were and then they found a new place to toy with. He replaced his leg with his hand, letting his now damp fingers target her folds, rubbing the slit of her body to rile her up. And damn, was it working. Not releasing her wrists from his grasp, his other hand found her clit in a matter of seconds and that first glide over it caused her body to jolt a bit in his grasp. Her muscles strained against his hold but it wasn't by any means enough to break it. She was strong, she had the power and wits to fight him off at least a little if she really wanted to but she was too worked up and she wanted to see the kind of explosions this man was about to give her. And honestly, right now, Bakugo clearly had the upper hand anyway.

"Better prepare yourself, ya little shit. I'm going to make sure you fall to your hands and knees begging for forgiveness when I'm done with you."

18 years of age or older! If you're under, do not read or interact.

#Bakugo Katsuki #BNHA #Bakugo x Reader #Fanfic #My writing #this is completely self indulgent but read it anyway #I love validation so plz

49 notes · View notes

that-bog-witch · 5 years

Text

A Faded Trail

Characters: Gender-neutral fey (Halcyon) x Gender-unspecified reader

Warnings: A thunderstorm, getting lost in the woods

Rating: Citrus (just a kiss on the hand)

Words: 1.8k words

Set in a fairly generic fantasy setting.

You knew it was going to rain. You could see it in the green that overtook the clouds. The trees swayed as the wind picked up, whispering among the branches. A heavy fog rolled off the river. The path ahead was obscured, but you knew the way well. You traveled this path home, often. Your feet would guide you where your eyes could not.

Or so you thought. The rain fell first as a drizzle, then in thin sheets. The path became muddy. You should’ve reached home, by now. One look at your compass made sure of it. You were going in the right direction. Something must be very wrong.

It was then that you turned to retrace your steps, but found no footprints. It had been only moments- there was no time for them to have washed away. You paced the clearing. The worst of the storm hadn’t hit, yet. There was a chance.

About an hour later, you were in no better shape. The fog had grown fitful and thick, and you could hardly see the end of your own arm. Thunder crackled above, but it was still far away. Only the occasional lightning lit up the path. Your lantern had refused to light, its fuse too damp. It was then that you really took it in. It was dark. The sun was going down. You would be stranded out here, at night. During a storm, no less.

A sense of urgency overtook you. You were too lost. There was no use in fumbling about the nighttime woods in the fog. You needed to find shelter.

As it turned out, shelter found you. Leaning to inspect a fallen oak that might serve as shelter- albeit a shoddy one- you slipped and rolled. Your feet went out from under you and you landed heavily in a pile of leaves. You stood, looking around at the shallow ravine you had fallen into. It blocked the wind, and the outcropping above it shielded you from the worst of the rain. It was far better than nothing, and on high enough ground that flooding wouldn’t be an issue.

Unable to sleep, you stared out at the sheets of rain and flashes of lightning. A shiver had begun to set in. Delirious from the cold, travel, and lack of sleep, your vision began to blur. Two soft, fuzzy lights pierced the fog ahead of you, but you couldn’t quite make them out. They vanished for a moment.

There. They reappeared in an instant. The soft lights came closer, flickering at the edge of the ravine. Soft footfalls followed, and a darkened figure drew near. In your delirium, you only managed to tilt your head a bit. It hardly occurred to you that the figure could be dangerous.

“You poor thing,” a soft voice spoke, somehow cutting through the rain and thunder, “You must be freezing!” Unable to put up much of any protest, you were lifted up and hauled over the figure’s shoulder. You blinked. Your vision swayed and gave out.

---

When you woke, you were warm and wrapped in something soft. You opened your eyes and blearily took in your surroundings. The mud that had caked your skin and clothes after your fall into the ravine was gone, but you still wore your own clothes. You weren’t in the ravine. You were in a bed. It wasn’t your own. With your heart starting to pound, you glanced around the room. It looked like a cabin of sorts, but it had a soft, unearthly glow to it. Everything was a bit too fine and warm, like the summer home of a prince.

A mug of steaming apple cider and a fresh biscuit were set on the bedside table. The biscuit seemed homemade. You glanced around, then inspected the biscuit. Surely no one would bother saving you from the storm, just to poison you. You took a hesitant bite, and discovered that it tasted great. It didn’t take much longer for the biscuit to be gone. You hold the mug of cider between your hands, letting it warm out the last of the storm’s chills. Before you can raise the cup to your lips to take a drink, the door creaks open. You nearly jump.

“Awake, at last,” the creature standing before you is no vacationing prince. For one, they’re nearly seven feet tall, but rather slender and with the appearance of carved driftwood. Their hair is made of cascading marigolds, and matching tattoos- all flowery and gold- run across their skin. They’re clothed in rich, honey-colored silks. Most striking, though, is their eyes. They’re entirely amber, with neither iris nor pupil, and seem to glow softly in the morning light. They must’ve been the lights you saw in the woods.

“Oh,” you find yourself at a loss for words as the creature stands over you. You it in. This is a fey. A creature of legend, one that you knew existed but never even dreamed of meeting. The same fey people whispered about. The ones that stole people away and tricked them. And you had been saved by one, and eaten their food. Surely you owed them something horrible, “You’re... You’re a fey, aren’t you?”

“Why yes, I am,” spoke the fey, voice as gentle as ever. They lower and sit at the foot of the bed, “Are you alright? Warm enough? You weren’t hurt at all, were you?”

“Ah, yeah. I’m fine. Thank you, really,” you respond, setting down the cider.

“Don’t worry about that,” the fey waves their hand at the empty plate and the cider, “It’s a gift. You owe me nothing for it.”

“Really?” You can’t help but be amazed. In stories, a fey could own your life for a simple sip of wine or bite of bread.

“Yes, really,” their smile is as sweet as their honeyed voice, “Although you do owe me for saving your life, but that’s more of a given.” You feel your heart hammer in your chest as the glowing, golden eyes regard you.

“I don’t have anything to repay you with,” you manage to say, though you know they aren’t talking about money or possessions.

“I’m sure you know the stories,” the fey chimes, leaning to pick up the cup of cider, “May I have this, if you aren’t drinking it?”

“Yeah,” you squeak out.

“It is such lovely cider, isn’t it? I grew the apples, myself,” the fey starts, “Though they haven’t been as good since that storm a few years ago-”

“Can we talk about cider after you’re done weighing my life in your hands?” You blurt out, unsure of where the confidence came from. The fey looks stunned for a moment, and you nearly curse at yourself.

“Certainly,” they say, rising from the bed, “Let’s discuss this at the table, shall we? It’s bad for my posture to be slouching over by the bed, you know.” Confused by the fey’s continued anecdotes, you stand and follow. You have a couple of bruises from your fall, but it’s nothing bad. In the next room, the fey has seated themself at an ornate wooden table. You sit across from them.

“So... I would really prefer not to work for you, forever. As sweet as you are,” you paused at the statement, “I would like to continue to live my life.”

“Well, you’re quite sweet, yourself,” the fey takes a sip of cider, “I would love to have your company, but I understand.” They put down the glass, “Though I’m impressed that you found this place. Really, you’re quite something.”

“Found this place?” You echo, a bit flattered but thoroughly confused, “I didn’t find it. I fell into the ravine looking for shelter.”

“The fallen oak. It’s sort of a gateway to my woods, so to speak,” the fey responds, tucking a vine of marigolds behind their ear, “Most travelers pay it no mind.” The fey stares into your eyes from across the table, “You can go free, but I will miss you. You’re the only company I’ve had in... perhaps centuries.”

“Well,” you mutter, “I know how to get here, roughly. I can come back from time to time.” The fey’s eyes light up.

“Oh! I hadn’t thought of that at all!” Their smile is all pointed teeth.

“Wait, really?” You frown, “The only two options were keep me forever or let me go free? You didn’t think of an in-between?”

“I’m not very good at the whole “bartering” thing,” the fey admits, “I don’t make many deals. It’s not like I need to.”

You laugh a little, and the fey’s smile grows wider.

“What a beautiful laugh,” they coo, and you feel your face flush.

“You’re too kind,” you say.

“Nonsense!” The fey chimes, standing from their chair, “Now, you said you had to be going?”

“Ah, yeah,” you say, “I needed to get home.”

“Take this,” they say, and a flurry of orange magic comes from their palm. It vanishes, revealing a basket with a few pastries, “In case you get hungry on the walk, home.”

“This isn’t a test, is it?” You think to ask.

“No, no,” they reassure, “I’m not very good at being a fey.” They hand over the basket and make their way to a heavy oaken door with a stained glass inlay, “Will I see you, soon?” They ask.

“Yes,” you nod, “It’s been nice, however short.” As you step into the doorframe, the fey bows. They take your hand softly and kiss the top of it. A glimmering filigree of marigolds wraps around your wrist, forming a sort of bracelet.

“This will help you find your way back to me,” their face appears flushed with a slight, yellowish glow. You blush and smile, “And if you’d like, you may call me Halcyon.”

“You’re... real name?” You remark.

“Yes?” They say, as if that’s so strange.

“Fey don’t usually give those out,” you comment, “Since names have so much power.”

“Well, I’m bad at being a fey,” Halycon muses, “And I trust you. I found you at my doorstep in that storm, and took you in because I saw your heart glow through the fog.”

“That’s...” you whisper, but don’t manage to form words.

“It’s okay,” Halycon says, “Don’t worry yourself. Get on your way home.”

“[Y/N],” you say, “That’s my name. It’s only fair,” it was said to never give your name to a fey, but then again it was always said that fey would guard their names like their lives depended on it.

“It suits you,” Halcyon whispers, and the fey forest fades to glowing sunlight and fireflies as the door closes. You start on your way home, a warm feeling in your chest and the basket held tightly by your side.

#exo fics #exophilia #exo #monster x reader #monster love #fae x reader #my writing

104 notes · View notes