#just how frustrated she got about not being able to understand almost anyone y’know | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fleursdemeduse · 3 years

Text

Remembrance AU: The First Time

So this isn't the first one I wrote for this "series", but this is the first one chronologically, so I decided this will be the first to be posted. Depending on how well this one and the other two I've written do will help me to decide if this is an AU I wanna continue or not. Feel free to send in asks and stuff about the AU!

Warnings: Violence ; Death

Words: 3.5k

You hated the nether. The thick dry heat choked you in a way that made you feel as if you had stepped into a wildfire in the middle of a desert, but worse. The smell of sulfur seemed to cling to your clothes in a way that made you gag every time. To be honest, you probably wouldn’t even be here if you didn’t appreciate the piglins. You were able to barter with them much easier than the villagers back home, and they had much better stuff. You snorted at the thought, and the large brute before you copied the action.

Home.

The village you had set up base in wasn’t really your home. Just a convenient place that you had set up your bed. A bed which now sat on the other side of the portal you had built on the lower level of the bastion below.

You were grateful to have access to the only thing you really needed in the nether. Trading with the piglins gave you a way to achieve more ender pearls so you wouldn’t have to kill the poor enderman on the surface. You held out another gold ingot to the brute, but he didn’t take it immediately. He was looking at something to the side of your exchange and you turned your head slightly to look too.

The heat of the nether was nothing compared to the warmth that immediately bubbled in your stomach. Everything seemed to fizzle out of existence aside from the large man that had entered the bastion. Which turned out to be your mistake.

Searing pain in your back made you grunt as you were knocked forward into the brute in front of you. You turned to see a ghast behind you that breathed another fireball. The piglin, upset at suddenly being “attacked” started to slice at you with its sword and you hissed at the damage you were taking. You didn’t want to kill the piglin. It didn’t understand that it had been an accident.

You cursed at yourself. You hadn’t realized how hungry you had been all this time, and your health felt dangerously low. Another hit from the explosion of the fireball and a swipe at the brute’s sword replaced the pain with nothing as you died.

You cursed when you woke up in your bed next to the portal. The mattress felt almost too soft as you struggled to remove yourself from it and fling yourself back through the portal. You flew up the steps, your feet taking them two at a time and you hoped your items hadn’t despawned.

You couldn’t help your sigh of relief when you saw Technoblade examining your items. You had been fast enough. You jogged up behind him, a grin on your lips, both relieved for your items and excited to finally meet him. “Hey!”

You immediately jolted to a stop at the sword now placed at your throat, but you could help but laugh at yourself. You should have expected that. You held up your hands in what you believed to be a non-threatening manner as you looked up at him.

“Sorry about that! I’m [y/n].” You watched him slowly lower the blade, eyes behind the mask narrowed at you. He looked both exactly how you expected and not how you expected at all.

“Technoblade.” You couldn’t help the giggle that spilled from your lips as you moved around him to collect your items and put back on your armor. Who hadn’t heard of him?

“Man, I hate ghasts. I worked really hard to save up all those levels, and now I have nothing.” You took a cursory glance at your levels. “Oh, I’m sorry, I have two. Fat load of help that would be. Glad I don’t need to enchant anything for a long while, hm?” You turned back to him once you had your golden boots buckled. You were totally going to take advantage of this opportunity to follow him like a puppy. No one else you had met seemed to actually understand you and the chance at an interaction with someone had you almost crawling up the walls. “Where are we off to, then?”

Techno just stared at you. You were much shorter than he was. At least a foot, if not more. How tall was he again? In this form, about seven feet, he thought. You were very short compared to him. The thought made his lips twitch before he turned, walking in the direction of where he last remembered there to be a fortress.

Chat was going crazy at the discovery of this new anomaly. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t met people he didn’t share a couple lifetimes with before. He had met plenty where they just didn’t meet in a life or two, such as George or Schlatt. But never someone he had shared none with. No one here seemed to speak of anyone new either. It was always the same people, a different storyline. As if DreamXD -or maybe Kristen? He had only met her once, but she had been very kind. Would this be her department, then?- just kept recycling their souls into new realities like a -what did that lifetime call it? A movie? Chat confirmed his thought- played for their own entertainment until they got bored and it was onto the next.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. You were talking again, but the roar in his brain was louder, so he didn’t pay too much attention to your words, despite how the soft timbre of your voice made something bubble in his chest. What were you even doing here? He had seen you trading with the piglins before your death, -you had respawned so quickly, anyone else in this lifetime took two or three days but you seemed to reappear in what felt like seconds- so why were you following him now?

Chat’s whispers echoed through his mind.

I wonder who they are.

They can’t be older than Tommy.

Maybe we should kill them again, see what happens this time.

Wilbur will want to know about this.

They said their name was [y/n]?

Maybe they’re like Phil.

Pog.

Blood for the blood god.

They’re probably closer to Wilbur’s age.

Stab them.

Jump off the edge.

Push them off the edge.

Techno, will you call my friend Rachel a nerd?

All warfare is based on deception.

His fingers twitched around his sword at the thought. Was this all a trick? It couldn’t be.

Could it?

He glanced at you once more, focusing on your words, finally.

“-like they seem to notice, y’know? I just kind of walk into their houses, take from their chests, and move on. Hell, I even put my bed in, I think the library? Not one of them batted an eye! It’s almost scary, to be honest. I can loot their things, sleep in their beds, practically dismantle their homes, and I get nothing but a “Hnn.” in response!” A small pout found its way to your lips and Techno hummed in response. This seemed to be what you wanted to hear because a smile replaced the pout and you looked up at him. “So where are we going again?”

“Fortress.” His words were short, tone clipped, as if he didn’t know if you were gonna shove him into the lava, or if that was what he planned to do to you. It didn’t matter, to be honest. You were just thrilled he was letting you accompany him. Heart soaring at the feeling of interacting with another intelligent being once more. He even seemed to be listening as you rambled! That had to be a good thing, right? You hadn’t really met anyone else on the server yet, aside from distantly watching Dream, George, and Sapnap build the large building that stood in the center of what they dubbed the Dream SMP. A small giggle fell from your lips. That would have been a cute name had one of the members not been named it. Rather, it just felt self-centered because of that. You were mildly afraid of approaching the trio. You were almost afraid of how they would react when they met you.

You edged closer to the bridge to the fortress with Technoblade and you felt your heart speed up a little. Ash floated across your vision and you felt it hard to breathe for a moment. The sweat that made your clothes stick to your skin under your armor made you feel clammy. You had only been in one of these once since coming here when you wanted to try your hand at learning how to craft potions and needed blaze rods.

That.. hadn’t worked out in your favor.

You had only had one set of diamond armor, and you hadn’t even enchanted it at the time. When the wither skeletons had overtaken you and murdered you without a thought, you remembered racing back and trying to get your items back. This had only led to yet another death, however. Your eyebrows furrowed as the question entered your mind.

How many times had you died?

You remember when you first came to this world, waking up next to a river with a chest filled with bread, a map, a wooden axe, and a few other paltry items sitting before you surrounded by torches. The gentle babble of the water easing you awake and the smell of fresh flowers floated through the breeze. You almost didn’t mind the ants that were crawling on the ledge just a tad too close to you. You remember being so confused and the days being so hard at first. You didn’t even sleep the first couple days because you hadn’t found a village yet. The stupid phantoms that had attacked you had made you way more aggressive than you had meant to be. But you were tired and you were frustrated and you just wanted to find a stupid village already. You had been residing in the one you were in now since you had first found it your third day here. The first two deaths happening on your second day. One because of said phantoms and one because you had fallen from a cliff. You were devastated at the lack of supplies and progress when you just respawned next to that river, awaking to a few scattered zombies and a skeleton or two. You had dug yourself a hole and cried in it while you waited for sun-up. Many more deaths had happened since, but you couldn't seem to be able to remember the number now.

You hadn’t planned on returning to a fortress until you had better equipment, fearing another death. Something better than your diamond armor and golden boots and your sole netherite sword, but who were you to miss the opportunity to go exploring with The Blood God? Besides you had a bow with Power IV you had stolen from a skeleton that had been in the village. You didn’t know how durable it still was, but it was better than nothing, right?

The rattling of bones brought you out of your thoughts. Already a couple of blazes and some wither skeletons were approaching. You drew your sword, heart hammering in your chest. This wouldn’t be like last time. You had Technoblade to back you up. The top PVPer. The winner of the potato war. The Blood God. You could do this. You could do this.

A lucky swing from one of the wither skeletons caught you in the arm and you hissed as the wither effect immediately took hold and you jolted at the feeling. It was numbing. You felt nauseated. Another hit and you gasped when you felt your health drop to a dangerous level. You sliced up with your sword, removing its head from its spine with a gnarly “click” and you immediately moved out of fire to drink some milk and eat a couple of the pieces of salmon you had brought with you.

Whilst you were letting your health regenerate, you removed your bow from your inventory, aiming at one of the blazes, only to watch something white hit it first. You hesitated, looking towards Technoblade, only to see him ignoring the wither skeletons that were approaching you and focusing on throwing snowballs at the flaming mob. Your lips twitched. Fine. You’d take care of the skeletons, then.

You grabbed your sword once more and began attacking the skeletons in front of you with reckless abandon. You were growing mildly frustrated. Your arm hurt now and Techno seemed to be leaving you on your own to fight off the horde that was slowly amassing. There had only been four of them at first, but now four more had sprinted over to join the fray when they saw the two of you. Now, minus the one you had already taken care of and the two Technoblade had killed within the first ten seconds of their approach, there were five. You winced when you heard the sound of both blazes being taken care of and you hadn’t even killed one more.

‘-so she throws this apple, she just chucks this apple and says like, only the hottest goddess can take this apple.’ Chat loved it when he told them mythology stories, despite them being there when he had read it.

Greek mythology pog.

Semi-demi god for the win!

Speaking of discord, how’s the new person doing?

Persephone is definitely the hottest.

At the mention of you, Techno turned his attention to the sound of metal hitting metal and was surprised to see you still standing there, despite being crowded by wither skeletons. Just another thing to tack onto the list about you. He watched you kill another one, followed by a yelp as you took another hit, the wither effect turning the flesh around your wound a purplish black before you killed one more. You backed up on the bridge, drinking more milk and eating another piece of fish. He could see how the action pained you, but you were resilient.

They’re stupid.

Look at them wave that sword around, do they even know what they’re doing?

They haven’t died again yet?

They can’t be one of Schlatt’s people.

Save them.

Technoblade, wasn’t Eris the daughter of Zeus?

He decided to wait and see what you did. If you died, there was more for him to loot. If you didn’t, then it was a lesson. Either way, he wouldn’t have to worry about protecting you further into the fortress. His nose twitched at the smell of your blood and of rot that seemed to ooze off the skeletons. He still needed more wither skulls.

The remaining four attacked you again, despite your low health, and you felt as if you were going to cry. You hated the nether.

Two more were dispatched a lot faster than the first ones had been and you swallowed. Adrenaline coursed through your veins and you felt just the slightest bit more confident in yourself.

Two more left.

You ducked at a swing, movement still slow. You only had one more milk left, and that scared you. You couldn’t, wouldn’t, get hit again with their stupid swords and their stupid wither effect. You sliced with your sword, hooking the metal into the rib cage in front of you and sending the skeleton careening into the other just as it swung down, making the attack miss.You flinched at the sound of metal hitting stone, but you recovered faster than the skeletons in front of you. You could do this.

Another hit, your sword cutting through the skeleton’s vertebrate and killing it. You could do this.

One more.

Your sword was met with metal as you blocked its attack and you grunted, knocking it back. You could do this!

A downward slice had you throwing yourself back onto the side of the bridge as you dodged. You couldn’t die. Not here. Not now. Not in front of Technoblade again. You shoved another piece of salmon into your mouth as you backed up. You really hoped there weren’t any more blazes around. Or more skeletons waiting for you. You shoved yourself off the wall, hitting the wither skeleton with your shoulder to knock it back again before you struck once more, across the neck, beheading it.

The sight of three wither skulls in your inventory made you fall to your knees and you let out a sigh in relief. Your arms ached. Your wounds ached. Your head ached. Your vision doubled for a moment. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. You felt great, despite how dizzy you felt at the moment. You looked at Technoblade, hoping to find him still there.

He was leaned against the wall of the fortress, watching you with crossed arms.

Was he waiting on you?

The thought made you perk up and you scrambled to stand, rushing to him while holding the skulls. “Here! I got them all!”

He merely blinked at you as you handed him all three skulls you had gotten from your fight, placing them into his inventory after a moment. He didn’t speak, just turned to descend further in. Were you supposed to follow him?

You did anyways, feeling proud of yourself. He had waited on you!

The rest of the fortress had been like that. You continuously fighting wither skeletons, blazes, regular skeletons, zombified piglins, and magma cubes, only to turn over your loot to the large warrior who would patiently wait for you. You kept a few of the bars of gold, some diamonds, and one of the saddles you had found, but ultimately, you were just spare hands to help him. The experience you were gaining was more than enough, especially since he seemed to be listening to you ramble on and on. He’d occasionally hum or grunt in response, but not much more than that. It was still such a sweet sound in your ears, despite the constant crackle of fire that just filled the nether.

He didn’t speak when he decided he was finished, just started walking back the way you came and you immediately fell into step next to him when he walked past you.

Despite your exhaustion and the pain you felt, this trip felt more than worth it.

When you returned to the bastion where you two had first met, you grinned up at him.

Techno felt his breath catch in his throat at your smile. That smile almost made the sweltering brightness of the nether feel cold and dark. He had never had someone, aside from Tommy, smile at him with such warmth. No one had a smile like yours. They were all weighed heavy with the memories from lifetimes no longer in reach. But you? You were so tired from accompanying him, still wounded from fighting for him. Aside from the couple small treasures you had hidden away, you had given him everything. There was really no reason for you to have gone with him when you received virtually nothing in return. And now you smiled at him like that? You were-

TechnoSIMP.

Look at how cute they are.

They’re stupid.

Take them back with us.

You should give them something for helping.

Hug them.

Awww look at them!

All warfare is based on deception.

He stopped that thought before it could fully finish.

“I should get going. I don’t know how dark it is and I want a bath.” He nodded at you. “I’ll catch you some other time, alright? Don’t be afraid to come by sometime if you need a buddy again, okay?”

He only hummed in response and watched you glide down the stairs of the bastion to a portal he had never noticed before.

A buddy? You weren’t a buddy. What did he really know about you?

You respawned faster than anyone else he had met. There hadn’t been another chance to test that, but you seemed unphased with your death. When you held up your hands, he couldn’t see the usual hearts on your wrist that they all shared. Even when normal members lost a life, he’s noticed that the normally red hearts are cracked and black. Phil himself had one on the center of his wrist. But yours were bare from the mark. You weren’t immortal, were you? Had he come across a god?

He chuckled at the thought.

Such a tiny god compared to him.

For now, he had to return to Pogtopia. He had to tell Wilbur about you. Perhaps write to Phil and ask if he knew anything about people with no or unlimited lives. He would repay your kindness at a later date.

He only hoped you wouldn’t be on the other side of this war.

#RemembranceAU #dsmp au #dream smp au #dsmp x reader #dream smp x reader #technoblade x reader #platonic!technoblade x reader #mcyt x reader #unsure if this will be a series or not?#if it does end up as one #might post multiple non canon romance options #tw: violence #tw: death

80 notes · View notes

spooderboyandtincan · 3 years

Text

You're Gonna Miss Me When I'm Gone

Chapter 2

There’s a spider on the ceiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, bud?

“Can-can you, um, talk? Please?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~

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

Thank god.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“89%, boss.”

“So, not all that bad,” he chuckles.

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

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

~~~~~

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

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

“Dude,” Ned agrees.

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

Peter’s phone rings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup! Are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um-” he tries.

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

“Peter!” Tony exclaims.

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

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

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

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

And with that, the call ends.

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

125 notes · View notes

strange-lace · 3 years

Text

I've been meaning to write something in response to the spider Wukong design that @winterpower98 and @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off have drawn for my Spider Monkie AU! Also features my ship with this AU of Wukong/Spider Queen/Macaque. So here you go!

But content warning for body horror and brief descriptions of blood! Also has brief spoilers for the season 2 finale.

It felt almost like the end of era to Spider Queen when she and the others ventured back down to their old home to start cleaning things out without the threat of the Lady Bone Demon looming over them all. It was one thing for her to start living on Flower Fruit Mountain with the idea in mind that it is a temporary arrangement but this made it feel all the more permanent to her. The idea of never having to live in the ruins, the constant reminders of her fallen reign, and instead live surrounded by greenery, sunlight, and fresh air…

Well, it made the scars, angry and red from where her skin met the scalding liquid of the brazier, not as difficult to look at.

It was enjoyable in a sense, going through her things for moving. Old spell books, faded robes, half finished blueprints. Having Wukong and Macaque there certainly helped, the two monkeys providing their own brand of commentary that never failed to get a chuckle or exasperated groan from her.

Though that changed once they inevitably had to start clearing out the lab.

Syntax, understandably, chose to start transporting things back to the mountain at that moment, Goliath and Huntsman making the decision to go with him. The former because he was concerned about leaving Syntax alone with how shaken he looked and the latter… well even now, Spider Queen couldn’t quite understand those two’s dynamic. They certainly weren’t as antagonistic towards each other like they used to but that didn’t leave them bickering any less than before.

Even though Spider Queen had long since adjusted to the constant gnawing of guilt, it definitely felt like a jab to the gut to see Syntax as he hurried to leave and be back above ground. Far away from the lab and the memories that came with it.

He was in such a hurry that he had not noticed the screwdriver which he had left on the ground.

A gentle prod from Macaque snapped her out of it.

“Hey, c’mon, let’s get through this old junk quick before someone else gets any ideas, okay?”

She could still hear his screams when the experiments were at their worst. How he was barely coherent afterwards, looking so small and vulnerable as she did her best to make sure he was comfortable. How the pain persisted despite the experiments being a “success” and the burning hatred in the Monkey King’s eyes as he glared her down with Macaque in his arms.

“Right, yes, of course,” she mumbled. Macaque was about to say more before all four of his eyes went wide at the sight of something behind her. Spider Queen turned as quickly as she could with her mechanical spider legs and nearly had a heart attack at the sight of Wukong picking up an unused glass tank of her venom that was twice his size.

“Wukong, for all that is heavenly, be careful with that!”

“I got it, I got it! Don’t worry, I’ve carried heavier things than this,” he said as if that actually made either of them feel any better.

To his credit, he kept his balance and grip on the tank well enough that Spider Queen and Macaque felt like they could breathe.

Until he stepped on the same screwdriver that Syntax had accidentally left behind in his rush to leave.

And try as he might, Wukong couldn’t right his balance in time.

Spider Queen swore the world had gone into slow motion in that moment.

The Monkey King landed flat on his back, eyes going wide in horror at the sight of the tank right on top of him. Before he could even move, the tank landed on his body with the glass casing shattering on impact. Without thinking, Spider Queen grabbed Macaque and leaped until they were on the ceiling, far from the reach of the spider venom as it spilled all over Wukong and the lab floor with nothing to contain it anymore.

For a brief moment, they were both silent in horror as Wukong remained motionless before jolting upwards, coughing up a storm.

“Oh gross, I think it got in my mouth!” He sputtered in outrage and Spider Queen let out a sigh of relief. He was still cognizant and not a mindless slave, that was a good sign that the venom didn’t work that way without the spider robots. Perhaps it had become less potent, simply left down here without anyone to maintain it?

That didn’t stop her from insisting that she or Syntax look him over for any possible side effects back on Flower Fruit Mountain, despite the Monkey King’s protests that he was fine. Though, eventually, he caved in.

And to her great relief, there didn’t seem to be any.

“See, what did I tell you? Everything’s fine and I’m fine. You don’t gotta worry about me, that energy is better spent somewhere else.” His eyes wandered towards Macaque as he said that. The monkey demon in question was trying and failing to hide the pain on his face as he rubbed at his back. Spider Queen conceded on that as it looked like she was going to have to brew another muscle relaxer for Macaque and just her luck, they just ran out of the last batch.

“Fine, then help me expend that energy by helping me get the herbs for Macaque’s medicine,” she grumbled, running a hand through her choppy hair. It was still strange, having her hair cut so short to what was a pixie cut, but it was… a welcome change. It also being that way MK did for her while she was recovering and extremely uncomfortable with her hair touching her burn scars helped but… no need to say it out loud.

Wukong followed her lead without any complaint, yet stopped for a second when he felt a weird twinge in his sides. The call of Spider Queen snapped him out of it and rushed to follow her. Yet in the back of Wukong’s mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if that wasn’t just a random pain in his sides.

Almost felt like…

Like something was squirming underneath his skin.

‘Eh, it’s probably nothing to worry about.’ He thought to himself, reaching behind him to scratch at a sudden itch on the back of his neck.

Days passed like normal after that, the permanent move to Flower Fruit Mountain a success, much to his monkeys' chagrin. They were just beginning to warm up to Goliath and were able to be around the others without Wukong having to stop them from pelting the spider demons in fruit. Typically by reminding them that, like it or not, they were also MK’s family and asking them if they wanted to make MK upset by throwing fruit at his mother and “uncles”. That usually did the trick.

Good thing too since Wukong was starting to notice he was feeling… off.

The twinging at his sides had only seemed to worsen in the following days, the sensation escalating from only happening once every two days to it happening three times a day. And while they didn’t become painful, each time it felt like there was more… force behind them every time they happened.

The ignored voice in the back of his head compared it to something almost trying to poke its way free.

Eventually, these “episodes” were enough to stop Wukong from whatever he was doing to try and catch his breath once his sides calmed down. He figured it was only a matter of time until one of his partners confronted him about it. This time being Macaque.

It helped that he had caught Wukong during another one of his “episodes”, this one enough to make him stumble his footsteps and make Macaque rush to catch him before the Monkey King fell ungracefully to the floor.

“Alright Wukong, what’s going on with you?”

A part of Wukong wanted to insist that it was nothing but a passing thing. But passing sensations don’t last this long.

Something was wrong.

“Remember when I dropped that vat of Queenie’s spider venom on me and she didn’t find anything wrong with me?” Horrifying realization came to Macaque’s face at that question, all four of his eyes immediately looking over Wukong for anything out of the ordinary.

“I don’t like where this is going Peaches.”

“Well… a bit ago I started feeling something odd in my sides. Like somebody was poking me. It didn’t really hurt so I thought it was no big deal and would go away on its own, y’know? It… it hasn’t gone away. In fact it’s been happening more often and getting stronger.” As he spoke, Wukong lightly rubbed at his sides, not looking directly at Macaque out of guilt.

“Peaches, I love you, but why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I thought I could handle it on my own! And we have more important things to worry about than me, like you and Queenie, y’know the people who aren’t indestructible and-” He was cut off by a light smack behind the head from Macaque, the demon looking exasperated and frustrated more than anything else.

“You idiot, just because you’re indestructible doesn’t mean that you should have kept this from SQ and me. God, you sound like the kid. We have no idea how the venom could impact your systems compared to me and now who knows what we’ll find. C’mon, we’re having Queen look at you again, no arguments.”

Wukong couldn’t find it in himself to protest. Only hope that it was merely them all being paranoid and stressed.

Those hopes promptly went out the window when Spider Queen had him take off his shirt.

On each side of his torso underneath his arms were two pairs of lumps, each the size of his palm and seemed to almost twitch when she had cautiously prodded at them to feel for bone. He was worried for a moment that everyone was going to see the peaches he had just eaten as nausea squirmed within his stomach.

“This is not good, pretty sure these same exact kind of bumps developed too when we…” Spider Queen trailed off, eyes lingering on Macaque who didn’t need to say anything to show that he understood what she meant. “But this doesn’t make any sense, it took weeks for them to develop at this stage and yet it’s been little more than a week, barely two.” She looked extremely frazzled, trying to make sense of this. Syntax didn’t look any better himself, lime green hair a tousled mess compared to its usual put-together appearance.

“It could be a case of biology, my queen. Wukong’s biology is… incomprehensible to put it politely. With all the methods put into extending his immortality and Macaque’s own biology, it would be pointless to try and compare them and their reactions to the venom. And with how fast these limbs seem to be developing in comparison, it may have already been too late to use the antivenom the moment his skin made contact and he ingested the venom,” he rambled yet Wukong didn’t miss the look of sympathy sent his way at that final statement.

Wukong felt numbness, not sure how to process knowing it was too late for him from the get go.

The sensation of something squirming hitting him again and knowing that it was new limbs developing right under his ribs only made his nausea worse.

He barely noticed Macaque gently pulling him into a hug until his face was buried in coarse purple fur, four arms holding him while the monkey demon nuzzled his cheek.

“Hey, look on the bright side, Peaches. It’s looking like you won’t be growing any new eyes like me. Can’t get any worse than that, right?” Wukong could only give him a small, fond smile that could not even begin to communicate his exhaustion, fear, but relief that Macaque was at least trying to comfort him. For a brief moment, he felt a bit calmer and wasn’t bathed in dread about what was inevitably about to come.

That temporary peace was shattered the moment Wukong felt a stabbing sensation in his sides.

A pain which only seemed to intensify by the second.

He had to leave. Now.

“I-I’m so-sorry, I have to-” Wukong cut himself with a scream of pain as it spiked for a brief moment to a level that his mind was only white hot agony. He stumbled out of Macaque’s embrace and ran off, no clear destination in mind except that he needed to be away.

He could faintly hear Macaque and Spider Queen calling for him to come back, yet he didn’t listen.

The trees blurred as he ran past them and he stumbled into the first temple, nearly tripping on the stone steps and slamming the door behind him. In his blind, pain-filled panic he was able to pile the dusty and old furniture in front of the door to keep anybody out before the pain left him to fall to his knees. Wukong struggled to breath, his lungs feeling like they were on fire.

He couldn’t breathe. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Wukong could only open his mouth in a silent scream of pain, writhing on the floor in a poor attempt to alleviate his suffering. White hot pain ran down his spine as it felt like someone was pulling at it like taffy, skin stretching and organs rearranging underneath his flesh. He gasped in air once the unbearable heat seemed to recede only to let out a groan as it traveled down to his legs. Wukong swore that he could hear the bones in his legs creaking as they grew and thickened, muscles following their lead to fortify them as if ready to carry a great weight.

He sighed, feeling like he could breathe again while noticing that his clothes didn’t feel right anymore.

The brief moment of peace was shattered as Wukong was overtaken by pure agony as he felt something trying to push through his sides.

This time, he couldn’t hold in the screech that bellowed from his lungs.

Spider Queen and Macaque, desperately searching for Wukong, nearly jumped out of their skin as a roar of distress echoed through the forests of Flower Fruit Mountain. They two shared a silent look before running off in the direction of the sound’s origin, his ears leading the way as they twitched to and fro to track their idiot partner down.

“It came from here, I can hear him inside,” Macaque said yet the grim look on his face told her that that wasn’t all. The door didn’t budge when she attempted to pull it open, something heavy on the other side. Rapidly losing patience knowing that Wukong was on the other side and already in the throes of the transformation, Spider Queen felt she could be forgiven about what she needed to do next.

She stepped back before charging at the doors, her shoulder taking the brunt of force.

The fact that she caused the makeshift barricade on the other side to go flying across the temple was of no concern to her. The sight of Wukong curled up in a fetal position on the floor was.

“Peaches!” “Peachykins!”

They were both at his side in an instant, Macaque gently taking the Monkey King off the floor. Immediately he could feel something had changed. Wukong was taller, heavier in his arms.

Gods if that didn’t bring back memories he’d much rather bury.

“You shouldn’t… you two shouldn’t be here,” Wukong wheezed, voice raspy for obvious reasons.

“Quiet you, if you think for a second that we were going to let you deal with this alone, then it seems that venom messed with your brain too. I wasn’t alone for this, so neither should you.” Spider Queen nodded in agreement, running his fingers through his fur in her best attempt to offer him comfort.

Wukong whimpered as the heat and pressure against his sides seemed to grow and grow. Faintly in the back of his head, he could feel that wasn’t the only thing changing. Peach fur darkened as it grew thicker and longer into what was practically a mane. His claws became longer and sharper. For a moment, his entire world was bathed in green instead of gold before his vision returned to normal.

He should feel horrified, to feel himself changing, shifting without any sort of control or way to stop it in front of his partners to add salt to the wound. Feel helpless, powerless, weak.

Yet all that remained on the forefront of his mind was the pain.

“You’re doing amazing Wukong, I promise it’ll be over soon.”

“You just need to hold on a bit longer.”

Just when the pressure and heat had become borderline unbearable and Wukong was on the cusp of passing out, he could just barely hear the sound of ripping past the pounding in his ears.

Cloth ripping as well as something else. Something wet.

Macaque and Spider Queen were knocked back by the force of something punching its way out of the Monkey King's sides, their backs meeting the opposing sides of the room.

Wukong could feel blood dripping down his sides and his entire being ached, not too different from when he had been freed from under the mountain after 500 years. And yet all he could feel was sweet relief, body already working over time to heal his wounds and stop the bleeding. Letting himself a moment to breathe, he cautiously pulled himself up into a sitting position.

Or at least tried, as he fumbled back to the floor the moment he saw just how much his body changed.

Evidently even his “biology” felt the need to one up Macaque as Wukong tested his four new arms. He couldn’t help but mourn the fate of his clothes as it was obvious they were a lost cause, his shirt nothing but scraps of cloth barely able to contain his broader chest and orange stained with red. His pants, while not torn, were now much too short to cover his legs entirely. He could feel that his phoenix feather headdress had managed to get tangled up the much thicker fur which trailed from his head.

Cautiously, he began to move his new appendages. His limbs were clumsy but he slowly began to get the hang of it, belatedly noticing that the fur of his new arms got progressively paler. The second pair more closer resembled his old fur color while the third pair was pure white, all the colors converging around his sides. Or at least it looked like that, since the fur of his sides was sticky and caked with dried blood which stained it a dark red.

Groans of pain pulled him back to focus to see Spider Queen and Macaque pulling themselves off the floor, nursing bumps on the back of their heads from colliding with the walls.

“You… two alright?” His voice was still scratchy and now he had exhaustion weighing on his eyelids.

“Bit of a bump but we’ll live. Shouldn't have been so close honestly. What about you Peachykins?” Spider Queen asked, offering her hand to help him up while trying not to stare at the dried blood crusting his fur. Without hesitation, Wukong took her hand and let himself be lifted back on to his feet. He winced, muscles aching both old and new ones and started to try stretching out the new kinks in his spine.

Spider Queen meanwhile blushed at the fact that she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes now, doing her best to not stare at his muscled and bare chest. Macaque was no better as his eyes looked over Wukong's form, though he had the benefit of fur to hide his flushed cheeks. Their eyes met and they both came to a similar conclusion.

They were doomed.

"Feels weird and I ache all over but…" Wukong gave them both a slow grin once he noticed that he had to look down to see them both, "I think I could get used to this. Got a feeling you guys don't have a problem with it either, am I right?"

Oh they were so doomed.

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #lego monkie kid spoilers #spider monkie au #three bastardeers shipping #sun wukong #spider queen #macaque #my writing #fanfiction

84 notes · View notes

spider6oy · 4 years

Text

Details || JJ Maybank

summary: Y/N has a crush on JJ, but he has no idea about it. Instead of confronting him and telling him, she has to suffer and listen to him brag about his hookups/watch him flirt with random tourons until she can’t anymore and ends up distancing herself from JJ. basically this is inspired by maisie peters’ song ‘details’, so i would recommend giving that a listen whilst you read this because that song would describe this better than i can.

warnings: swearing, under-age drinking, angst (if that’s even what you can call this)

word count: 2430

“Well, well, well. . . look at what the cat dragged in.” Kiara commented as she took a sip from her bottle of beer, catching the Pogues’ attention and turning it towards the blonde fast approaching the porch.

“JJ, what was the hold up, man? Didn’t we say to meet for ten?” Pope questioned, leaning against the railing.

You watched as JJ walked up the steps of The Chateau with a smirk tugging at his lips. You couldn’t help but catch glimpses of dark red bruises that started at the top of his neck and disappeared under the collar of his shirt, his blonde hair seemed shaggier than usual – as if someone had been running their fingers through it continuously and he was wearing the exact same clothes that he had been wearing the day before.

He had hooked up.

“Yeah, sorry guys, but I got a bit held up. . . if you know what I mean?” He sent the group a suggestive look that had Pope and John B hooting and hollering, congratulating the boy, but you were far from jovial.

You had been crushing on JJ since December of last year. You had always been close with him, ever since you were kids. You, JJ, and John B had been the core-3 until Pope and Kiara had joined the Pogues. But you had always been closer to JJ. You had put it down to the fact that you practically told each other everything; dreams, nightmares, future plans, current plans. There were no secrets between you two. That’s what had made the bond between you two so strong and unbreakable. Well, that was until your heart decided to latch itself onto JJ and never let go.

Ever since you had developed your crush on JJ, a rift had erupted between the two of you and you both could tell. You hung out with each other less; JJ was either with John B or some random Touron and you were either in your room (alone) or with Kie. You talked less; you couldn’t remember a time where you hadn’t had a goodnight or good morning message from JJ. Finally, you didn’t share your secrets. But, how could you? How could you tell JJ that you had a crush on him? How could you tell the boy you had known practically your whole life that you were in love with him? You couldn’t. You had decided that from the beginning.

You had gone over this conversation so many times in your head and you always came up with the same answers. One; No Pogue on Pogue macking. Two; It could (and would) potentially ruin the friendship. And three; He probably wouldn’t feel the same – that was the deal breaker. And it didn’t matter how many times Kiara would tell you that JJ felt the same, and that you should go for it, because in your mind he could never possibly feel the same way. If he did, why would he still be sleeping with other people?

“Oh my gosh, Bro, you should have seen her though. Like, when I tell you she was into some freaky shit—I mean, she was into some freaky shit. . .” You couldn’t listen anymore.

You turn towards Kie, who was sat next to you, and it seemed she already knew what you were thinking. She gives your arm a sympathetic squeeze and tells you that she would call you tomorrow, sending you a supportive smile. You try and smile back, but you know it probably looks forced.

As you stand from the bench, all eyes seem to land on your frame.

“Hey, are you leaving? We haven’t even gone fishing yet?” John B questioned, confused.

“Yeah, you can’t leave, I haven’t even gotten to the best part!” JJ added – which made you just want to burst into flames right there on the spot.

You tried to play it cool, rolling your eyes lightly and pushing the strap of your bag higher up onto your shoulder. “And I would so love to hear that, JJ, but I just remembered that I was meant to be helping my Dad with something today, and just completely forgot. I’m really sorry guys, but I promise I’ll make up for it.” You shot them all apologetic glances and quickly made your way down the steps of The Chateau, wanting nothing more than to just curl up in your bed and cry yourself to sleep.

It was a Friday night and the Pogues were throwing a kegger. You were currently sat on a log next to Kiara, laughing at something Pope had said, and were taking large sips from your cup of beer. “Okay, okay listen. Looking back on it now, being on the math team may have put me at a disadvantage in some perspectives--”

“Some? More like all, Pope.” Kiara argued, a laugh slipping from between her lips.

“Well, what if we had to suddenly solve an algebra equation?” Pope countered, gesturing with his hands, as if they could argue for him.

“Why would we need to suddenly solve an algebra problem? When would that ever happen?” Kiara bartered back.

You couldn’t help but giggle from your perspective of the conversation. The pair seemed to be becoming more engrossed in the argument as time went on and you couldn’t help but think that maybe they would make a cute couple – if they would stop arguing for 5 seconds. You continued to drink, laugh, and basically have a good time, until JJ showed up. With a girl.

“Hey guys, what’s going on?” JJ asked as he sat down on a log opposite from you, bringing the girl down to sit on his lap. The taste of the beer in your mouth quickly began to turn sour and you suddenly had the urge to throw up.

“Hey JJ, who’s your. . . friend?” Kie questioned, subtly shifting closer towards you as a sign of comfort. Your grip on the red plastic cup tightened, almost to the point of crushing it, as you watched JJ squeeze the girls’ side – who you learnt was called Jessica.

It hurt. It hurt like hell watching as JJ acted so affectionately towards this random Touron; who he would no doubt forget about by this time tomorrow. You watched as he whispered unheard words into her ear, eliciting small giggles and flirtatious smiles from Jessica. You watched as his hand seemed to rest on the bare skin of her thigh, his thumb rubbing small circles into the skin. You watched as he stared at the girl with hunger and lust filled eyes, probably wanting nothing more than to leave the party and take her back to The Chateau. You watched every single small movement and action, feeling like your heart was tearing apart bit by bit as you continued to witness their displays of affection. All you could think about was how much you wanted to be that girl sat on JJ’s lap, wanting him to be holding you protectively and whispering sweet nothings into your ears.

You finally tore your gaze away from the couple and turned towards Kie, tears already brimming in your eyes. “Hey, Kie, I gotta—I gotta go. I just. . . I can’t stay and watch, y’know?” Your voice was a whisper, but the painful tone you used was clear as day.

Kiara nodded and gave your hand a small squeeze, “Yeah, I understand Y/N. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” You sent Kiara one last pitiful smile before standing from your spot on the log.

“Wait Y/N, are you leaving already?” You stopped at the sound of JJ’s questioning tone. You nod at him, somehow not having the confidence in yourself to speak; unsure of how your voice would come out. You didn’t want to let everyone know that you were practically on the edge of a full-blown meltdown. “But the party has barely even started? You can’t be drunk already?” You roll your eyes (silently praying that a tear wouldn’t slip out) and stifle a laugh.

“Just feeling a bit off is all JJ, must have been a bad keg, or something.” You hoped that JJ didn’t notice the lie. He used to be able to tell whenever you were lying, it was easy as breathing to him. It was just another way that showed how close you two were. You couldn’t lie to each other. But recently your lies were not being questioned, instead being taken as the truth.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?” You didn’t stay to wait for a response. Instead, you turned on your heel and headed for the road that lead you away from The Chateau.

You wiped the stream of tears falling down your cheeks with the sleeve of your shirt. You had left The Chateau about 10 minutes ago and had done nothing but cried as you continued to walk home. Your sobs and sniffles seemed to echo in the quiet night, easily alerting anyone around you that you were crying. You were hopeful that no one was around. You had to continually remind yourself that everyone was down by The Chateau, and that no one would be able to hear your cries from here.

“Y/N? Hey, Y/N!”

Scratch that, one person could hear your cries. Possibly the last person you would want to catch you crying.

At the sound of JJ’s fast approaching footsteps; you quickly wiped at your face, trying to rid yourself of all your tears (and any possible hint that you had been crying). You turned around to see him jogging the last few steps – no Jessica in sight. You wiped your nose as JJ came to stand a few feet away from you, hands instantly going into the pockets of his shorts. “Hey, what was that back there?” You shrugged your shoulders and silently fiddled with the sleeves of your shirt.

“I thought I told you? I’m just feeling a bit off.” You answered, staring at the ground in front of you.

“Yeah, ‘off’ is one way of putting it.” JJ remarked, kicking a random stone with his boot.

You looked up from the floor and sent him a confused look, “What’s that supposed to mean, JJ?” He scoffed as he finally looked towards you.

You prayed that the lack of light camouflaged your red and puffy eyes.

“Are you seriously going to play dumb with me right now, Y/N? Me, of all people?” You could hear the frustration and sadness in his voice, even the slight wobble that clung to the ends of his words. You nervously bit at your lip, trying to drag your eyes away from his but you couldn’t. “We both know something has been off between us recently. I don’t know when it started, and frankly I don’t care. All I care about is the fact that my best friend is pulling away from me and I need to know why?” His voice was almost at a shout now, all of his emotions seeming to get the better of him. You stood there silent; knowing what to say but not wanting to say it. “Why, Y/N?!” JJ was shouting now.

“I don’t want to talk about, okay?” You retorted, tears beginning to fall once again.

JJ dragged a hand through his hair in frustration, taking a step towards you. “No, that’s not ‘okay’ Y/N. It’s completely not ‘okay’ with me! Why have you been pulling away from me?! Do you not want to be friends anymore, or something? Is that it?!” You could tell that he was unravelling now. His emotions were finally taking over. He was all over the place; voice wavering, arms flailing, tears streaming. You sobbed at the sight; wanting nothing more than to take the step forward and wrap your arms around him. But now wasn’t the right time. Right now, he was angry with you.

“No, No, that’s not it JJ! I promise, I do want to be friends with you—”

“Then tell me what the fuck’s going on, Y/N!” His voice cracked, “Just. . . please, Y/N.” He practically begged.

You looked up at him (the both of you subconsciously moving closer and closer together) watching as the tears spilled from his pain-filled eyes, his lips wobbling as he tried to hold in the sobs that clearly wanted to escape. You didn’t doubt the fact that your expression probably mirrored his. You stifled a sob as you held your shirt sleeve up to your mouth, trying to somehow silence your cries long enough for you to get your words out.

“I’m in love with you, JJ.”

His eyes widened and more tears seemed to escape. He blinked rapidly as he took a slight step back. Your heart clenched at the very sight and you felt as though all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the air.

“You—You’re in love with me? Y/N, wha--?” His words came out in mumbles. All of his emotions seemed to water down until he was left with one; confusion.

You protectively crossed your arms over your chest, your hands resting on your shoulders -- as if in some way this would protect your heart and keep it from breaking even more. “Listen JJ, I’m not expecting you to feel the same way. Honestly, I’m not. And—and that’s fine with me, it really is. But, I can’t. . . I can’t listen to you talk about your one-night stands, and I can’t sit and watch you flirt with Jessica, or Jennifer, or whoever else you plan on macking in the future. Because it just hurts too much, JJ.” You let out a shaky breath, wiping the remnants of your fallen tears.

“Y/N—”

“So, let’s not talk about it, let’s just. . . not talk about it JJ, alright? Let’s just, pretend like it never happened okay?” You nod at your own words, more as an attempt at convincing yourself than JJ. “I’ll just keep this all to myself and then, you’ll keep it all to yourself.” You let out a bated breath as you begin to take steps away from the blonde in front of you, trying to run away from the mess you had just created. “But, just spare me the details, JJ.” You look up at JJ one last time before turning on your heels and walking away from him. Leaving him all alone under the glow of a flickering street light with only one thing on his mind; he was in love with you too.

part 2

#jj maybank #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank one shot #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks one shot #jj x reader #jj x fem!reader #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank fic #jj maybank fanfiction #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank angst

2K notes · View notes

horrorxweasley · 3 years

Text

(Part 2) The girl Mafia George x Fem! Y/N Series

Warnings: Swearing! (message if I missed any)

Word Count: 2K

Summary: George Weasley is a renowned Mafia boss who took over from his Father Arthur once he retired, to carry on the Triple W mafia legacy. The only mafia known to be able to keep the Death Eaters (their rival mafia) at bay. However there is one item that they stole from the Triple W’s which George is determined to get back…his mothers necklace, the family heirloom. Y/N Greyback has been forced to comply with the Death Eaters wishes as her family are high up members. What happens when George and Y/N meet? And what happens when they fall in love?

Series Masterlist

George couldn’t get the mystery girl from last night out of his head. Was it truly his mother’s necklace that he saw lying on her neck? It couldn’t have been, one of his men would have seen her enter Diagon if it was, either that or they would have already caught her roaming the streets. He didn’t recall seeing a dark mark tattoo on her left forearm, so she couldn’t have been a part of Riddle’s crew. Unless of course, they had gotten smarter and realised that them all having the same tattoo was a big give away. George couldn’t focus, he was sat in the Leaky cauldron, attempting to each his breakfast but continuing to get lost in thought.

Soon, George felt his pocket buzz, indicating that he had gotten a message on the phones that him, Fred and Ron had all gotten in order to keep in touch. He flipped it open seeing a text from both of his brothers, the usual update saying that ‘No one has yet been caught or seen trying to leave or enter Diagon’. The members stationed all round the boarder of the town were doing an excellent job, George had full trust in them that they had all been keeping an extremely close eye out for any suspicious or unusual behaviour.

George had well forgotten about his breakfast an morning coffee, trying to figure out any more ways he can ensure that Diagon was free from any Death Eater bastards. Being a mafia boss didn’t come naturally to George, so it was at times like these he struggled most, his mind racing with unreliable memories of the girl from last night and the necklace she was wearing. Hitting the table in frustration, George places his head in his hands and sighed.

He wasn’t one to confront a lady, but when it came to his mother’s necklace, he really had no choice, he had to find out where she was staying, who she was, and if she was in fact a Death Eater.

Y/N woke up the next day satisfied with what she had managed to achieve last night. She didn’t know much of George Weasley’s appearance other than the fact that he was tall and ginger. Which suited exactly the description of the man she had bumped into last night. Another thing she hadn’t expected was for him to be so handsome.

In all honesty Y/N felt it was cruel what she had been sent to do. She hated knowing that she would essentially be leading George to his death. Y/N has never agreed with the rulings that Riddle made, she felt that what he was preaching for was extremely prejudice, he wanted to get rid of every poor family so that “the rich could thrive”, Y/N’s heart deep down was set on truly helping those who weren’t as well off as the others.

Thoughts of going behind her family’s back and instead helping George take away all power from Riddle had become extremely prominent in her mind. She knew what she had to do, she had to find George Weasley again, whilst under cover so that the Death Eaters that are currently staying within Diagon don’t report back that they had seen her with George Weasley, the very man they’re trying to kill.

Her mind was set, she was going to purposely seek out George Weasley tonight and tell him everything her family and the rest of the Death eaters wish to do to him, and Triple W. Along with their plans to get rid of all poor people in England.

George had long since given up on his breakfast, and was now making his way back to the old fashioned bar in which Triple W held all of their meetings. As he walked through the building in which the HQ as it were, was located, he could hear a slight murmuring of voices coming from the bar room. Them most likely being the voices of other Triple W members catching up like they normally would, before a meeting began.

George walked into the smoke filled room, heading straight to the back where his seat sat in the centre, almost as if it were a throne looking for a king. He stood in front of his chair, clearing his throat as he looked round the room gaining the attention of the men and women before him.

“As many of you may know, we have had our first night with members scattered round the boarders of this town, and so far there has been no sign of anyone attempting to leave or exit Diagon”

Triple W members began to whisper their frustrations at the lack of Death Eaters being caught.

“Now I know this may seem bad news for right now as we haven’t caught any of those bastards quite yet, BUT, we also need to look on the bright side of things. This also may well mean that we are also, so far safe from any spies getting information of our whereabouts. This meeting is only a short one tonight boys…and ladies, so unless anyone has anymore questions or information they wish to put forward, you are all welcome to go back home, or stay and enjoy a drink”

George stepped away from where he was standing and went over to his brothers.

“So really no further info or suspicions for any Death Eaters, coming in or out, isn’t that suspicious I mean surely they would have sent someone by now” Ron says clearly not convinced that no information has been passed down.

“I was thinking that too y’know” Fred added

“Look, I agree, I surely think that if they were really serious about taking us down they would’ve sent a spy, but they haven’t. There is no doubt in my mind that they are dead set on killing each and every one of us, so this could be their tactic. Let us believe that no one is coming, therefore they wait until we eventually let out guards down, so they have easy access and a higher chance of getting to us”

“You’re not gonna let that happen though Georgie, surely” Fred said

“No of course not, all I’m saying is that this could be their plan, we’re not going to give up to easily just because we get bored due to there being no action, alright so just sit tight because we could be like this for months”

Fred and Ron’s faces both changed into realisation that that could indeed be true.

“Now, I’m gonna head back to the leaky cauldron to relax, keep me posted if any of the guys near you see anything”

With that, George walked out the room, into the streets and made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron, smiling at locals as they passed. Once at the pub he sat down right in the corner, only ordering a glass of water, picking up the local newspaper, ignoring once again the thoughts of who the mystery girl truly was that he had bumped into last night.

He felt a tad bit guilty for not telling Fred or Ron about how he had briefly spoken to a woman, about his age, wearing a necklace that looked suspiciously like the one that was stolen from their mother years ago. Before they were born.

George didn’t know much about the exact origins of his mothers necklace. The basic story he knew was that, his family used to be extremely poor, living off of pennies, barely getting by. Having 5 children at the time wouldn’t have helped either, more mouths to feed, less money to do so. That was until his Father got a massive promotion and therefore a raise in wage at his job. As a treat his Father bought his Mother a beautiful, diamond necklace to remember and symbolise that no matter how much they were struggling, that they were always going to find a way to get past it. Thus it became the most price possession to the Weasley family, becoming their heirloom. You can only imagine the hurt that George’s mother felt when she came back to their house one evening, to find the windows smashed and her necklace gone.

George was too young at the time to understand fully, the impact that the loss of that necklace had on his mother and father, and what it meant to them. But as he grew, and his father created Triple W in order to track down the people who stole it.

Y/N had gotten dressed, in a smart but casual outfit. She didn’t have any desire to be immediately spotted today so she had taken off the diamond necklace and placed it in her bag. She decided that she would try and seek out George today, as she wasn’t expected to have a meeting with another under cover Death Eater until tomorrow, to update them on her progress.

Y/N had decided to make her way down stairs to the pub area of the Leaky Cauldron. As she made her way down the stairs she couldn’t help but notice a fiery red colour sitting in the corner, in her peripheral vision.

She turned her head only to see the one and only George Weasley, sat with a glass of what looked like water, his head stuck in the local newspaper ‘the Daily Prophet’. Even though he had the paper up at eye level and was scanning it back and forth, his furrowed eyebrows and blank expression told her that he wasn’t really reading the newspaper, and that something else was on his mind.

Y/N reckoned it must have something to do with the people she has been forced to work for her whole life. She tentatively began to walk toward the ginger man. She could feel her heartbeat quicken, what is his reaction going to be when she tells him that she actually works for the people he is dedicating his life to defeating and that she is actually in possession of his mother’s extremely expensive and extremely valuable diamond necklace. Her hearing began to focus only on the beating noise of her heart and the noise of her shoes hitting the ground with every step as she walked closer and closer to George’s table.

She could feel the tension rising as if he already knew she was there and who she was. She had caught herself momentarily holding her breath, making her feel light headed and even more anxious at the confrontation she was about to engage in. To say she was scared of George was an understatement, she knew nothing about George or his character. For all she knew he could freak out and kidnap her away to wherever they had their meetings, and torture her for answers. At least, that’s what Riddle would do if the roles were reversed. The only thing that was helping motivate her feet to move closer and closer towards him, was the tiny speck of hope, that he was different to the people she had grown up around.

Her feet came to a halt after what felt like forever, she looked at the man in front of her with a some what calm expression. Y/N cleared her throat gaining the attention of George, who put his newspaper down on the table in front of him, meeting her eyes with his dark hazel coloured ones. Y/N smiled weakly at her before speaking.

“H-hi”

“Hello, you’re that lady that I bumped into last night aren’t you? I’m awfully sorry about that by the way, I hope I didn’t hurt you” he replied, she could hear the genuine concern for her safety which put her mind more at ease, maybe he was nice, maybe he wasn’t the type of mafia boss to torture people.

“Yeah I am, and I’m the one who should be sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going”

“No need it’s all good, what can I do for you?” He smiled

Y/N gulped down any nerves she felt, in order to stop her voice from trembling, she was terrified, not only of George’s possible reaction, but also of Riddle and any other Death Eaters that might see her with him, betraying him.

“We need to talk”

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @love-peachh @pens-and-roses @rosietoesy @comfortwriting @famdomhideout @dracofknmalfoy @pandaxnienke @georgeweasleysbabe @le-weasley-simp @skarlettmikaelson @gaycatlord-stuff @midgardianweasley @writing-wh0re (MESSAGE/ASK IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED)

106 notes · View notes

ravensbug · 3 years

Text

Glasses

Fandom: Legend of Korra

Ship: Kuvira x reader

Request: No

Prompt: No

A/N: I love this idea so much and we need more art of Kuvira with glasses. So soft, I love it.

Summary: You’ve been married for almost ten years. Kuvira’s become the matriarch of Zaofu since then, not that she believed she deserved it. You two are happy. Kuvira keeps up with her dancing and training as always, but she seems to be off. You worry that there’s something wrong and eventually convince her to go to the doctor. When the doctor says that she just needs glasses you’re both relieved. It takes a few weeks for her to wear them more often, but you love them so much. You make sure to tell her how beautiful she looks with them.

You sit outside reading a book while Kuvira trains. You keep telling her that she doesn’t need to do that anymore. She has the guards of Zaofu to protect everyone. But she refuses to go out of practice. The thought that she was still being overprotective was always in your mind, not that you hated that side of her anyway. It was nice to be reminded how much she loved you.

You were always sure to remind her of how much you loved her. No matter how many times she would shrug it off. It’s taken years for her to get over what she did with the Earth Empire and you were there for her every step. No matter how hard it got or how hopeless it seemed.

You looked up from your book to watch your wife practicing her accuracy. She strives for perfection in all things and you had to be there to tell her that she didn’t have to be perfect. This one skill she was always perfect at. And now that she was older she’s seen it get worse. She hides it from you the best she can. She doesn’t like when you worry.

This time you notice. You see how the strips of metal aren’t on the center ring anymore. How they aren’t barely touching each other. This makes you wonder if she’s alright. She’s been better at telling you when she isn’t. Especially with the added weight of being named the matriarch after Su’s passing.

You walk up behind her, letting her know you’re there before you wrap your arms around her waist. You watch as she places the metal strips down on the ground. She leans into your touch and you can’t help the smile that covers your face.

“I love you,” you tell her.

“I know that,” she smiles. “I love you too.”

“You’re doing ok right?” You stop hugging her so she can turn and face you. You gently cup her cheeks and you can see in her eyes that there’s something she isn’t telling you.

“I’m fine. I would tell you if I wasn’t, remember?” She places one of her hands on top of your own.

“I know. I just worry sometimes,” you sigh.

“You worry all the time. We’ve been married almost ten years now. That’s all you ever seem to do,” she lets out a small laugh.

“I’m your wife! It’s my job to worry about you!” you playfully hit her arm.

“I know. I know,” she smiles.

“I promise I’m fine,” she reassures you. You feel only a little better after she says that. You’ve learned when you could try and push her to talk, but this wasn’t one of those times. You hope it isn’t anything serious.

The next few days Kuvira is outside training. She’s doing the same thing over and over and it really begins to worry you. She has a schedule for everything and you know today she would be dancing. But here she is outside training, again.

This time you weren’t going to back down. You knew there was something wrong and you were going to figure out what it was. You did wait for her to finish today, allowing you to obverse her frustration. She knew something was wrong and upset you that she didn’t tell you.

When she finishes and grabs a towel to wipe off the sweat she sees you standing in the window. You can tell she sighs even though you can’t hear it. Your foot taps impatiently as she walks inside to greet you.

“Did you want to ask me something?” She tries to be oblivious.

“There’s something wrong and you’re not telling me.” You cross your arms and you foot continues to tap.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine I promise,” she shrugged

“It’s not nothing, Kuvira.” You used her full name. She knew it was serious when you used her full name.

“You follow your schedule to the tee, but you haven’t been doing that this week. You’ve been training out there for the past three days. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re off.” You kept yourself from raising your voice, but your faster rate of speech showed Kuvira the same thing.

“I don’t like it when you hide things from me. It makes me think of when you were...y’know.” It’s been more than ten years since the Earth Empire fell, since she was The Great Uniter. You still couldn’t stomach saying those words. You hated who you were back then and you didn’t like who she was either.

“Don’t...never think that. I will never, never, be that person again.” She cupped your cheeks so you would look at her. She made sure you knew that she was different. That you were different.

“I know. I just want you to trust me with whatever’s wrong.” You leaned into her touch so she could know that you weren’t afraid. A habit you two picked up together after all these years.

“I don’t know,” Kuvira sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

That made you worry. She always knew what was wrong. When she got sick or injured she knew exactly how to handle it and how long it would take before she was back to normal.

“Then we can go to a doctor. I want to make sure you’re going to be ok.”

“I-That’s ok,” Kuvira hesitated. You knew she didn’t like doctors, which is why she knows what’s wrong with her all the time. She was scared because she didn’t know and if she didn’t know then it must be bad.

“Well go tomorrow ok?” You gave her a quick kiss to calm her nerves. She only nodded in response.

She spent the rest of that day with you, mostly to keep herself calm. You didn’t mind it one bit. She wasn’t the only one nervous, but you pushed your own feelings aside to make sure she felt calm.

The next day you can’t help the feeling of dread in your heart. You can’t even begin to imagine how Kuvira feels. She didn’t sleep for most of the night, even though she tried. All kinds of thoughts were running through her mind and it was overwhelming to her. Her head had never been this loud before.

You're reassuring her the entire way to the doctor’s whether by holding her hand or rubbing her arm. Letting her know that you’re there and you aren’t going has helped with her anxiety and depressive episodes throughout the years. Now shouldn’t be any different.

The nurse at the counter is surprised to see Kuvira of all people there, at a doctor’s office. You told the nurse it was a last minute decision to come and she understood. She told you there was an opening, thank the spirits, so you two sat down and waited.

Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed how worried Kuvira was. She wore her usual stoic expression on her face. You could see beyond that expression and you saw the fear. It was there, no matter how much she tried to hide it and how much you tried to assure her it would be ok. Until the doctor told her what was wrong she wouldn’t be ok. Maybe she would never be ok.

The nurse called you two in and took you to one of the rooms. You could understand why Kuvira hated doctors so much, or at least the doctors in Zaofu. This room wasn’t very friendly, if that was the right way to put it. It felt like a hospital, not a doctor’s office. Your experiences were always friendly. The doctor’s usually had one room and it felt relaxing.

A few minutes went by before the doctor came in. She seemed to be a nice woman, smiled as she walked in, but you knew exactly who she reminded you of. Dr. Sheng. Kuvira never spoke much about the woman before the events at Republic City. But when Guan tried to re-establish the Earth Empire you learned who she was quickly.

“I’m just going to run through all the normal tests first. If I need anything after that I’ll be sure to let you know.” She had a few papers on a clipboard and a pen in her hand.

“The vision exam is first, followed by the hearing test. You can follow me.” She walks out of the door and you both follow her. You stay behind Kuvira, so as not to be in the way.

“I just want you to stand at this line here and read the letters in between the colored lines.” She pointed at the line on the floor and then at the chart with varying sizes of letters. Kuvira read the letters aloud without much trouble, but she did make a mistake. She didn’t seem to notice that.

“I want you to do it two more times, each time covering one eye.” the doctor asked. Kuvira did as requested, missing the same letter, this time on both lines. You wanted to say something, that you had an idea of what was wrong, but you kept your mouth shut. You let the doctor do her job.

The hearing test went perfectly, since you peaked at the doctor’s notes to see that. You were thankful that it only seemed to be one thing, spirits know what would happen if it was more.

When you all went back into the room you still saw how nervous Kuvira was. You were more relaxed because you could see that the doctor wasn’t worried either. Your hand went to Kuvira’s to help calm her down.

“You're becoming near-sighted,” she stated.

“It’s no big deal, often happens as you get older. Getting glasses should be able to stop it from getting any worse as long as you wear them when you need to.” you saw relief flush over Kuvira’s face. Out of all the things she was thinking about, the simple answer had to be it. She was so thankful.

“You won’t need to see an eye doctor or anything. A simple pair of glasses should do. We have lenses here already for basic vision problems and you can pick out whatever frame you like,” she explained. She handed Kuvira a paper with different frame designs on them.

“I’ll let you decide. You can tell the nurse which ones when you’re ready. She’ll be able to grab them for you.” The doctor picked up her notebook at left. When she closed the door you heard Kuvira let out a breath you didn’t know she was holding in.

“You don’t look much happier than before, Vira. Eyesight gets worse with age, that’s inevitable. Don’t be hard on yourself.” You leaned on her shoulder.

“And what if I make mistakes because I can’t see something clearly?” she asked. This was the point where all her self doubt would come bursting through the door. It was your job now to stop that from happening.

“That’s what the glasses are for. You can’t be perfect at everything no matter how hard you try. I don’t expect you to be. You’re human, you make mistakes and things like this happen. I won’t stop loving you any less because of it.” you nailed all the things Kuvira would try and argue about. She didn’t like that because it left her speechless.

“Now stop being so stubborn and pick a pair.” You kissed her. You had a guess as to which pair she would pick. Sleek and simple, much like the rest of her life. You didn’t need to ask her when her mind was made up because she squeezed your hand to let you know.

You two went to the front desk and Kuvira told the nurse which pair she wanted. The nurse took the paper away and went out of view. You could hear her looking through things to find the fame and lenses. When you heard the popping of the lenses being put in the frames you were excited. You wanted to know what Kuvira looked like in glasses.

The nurse came back and handed her the glasses in a case. She told her the basics, just to be sure, and reminded her to wear them as often as possible. Kuvira took the glasses case and nodded.

When you two got back home you couldn’t wait to have her put them on. She didn’t really want to.

“Vira, she told you that you need to wear them as much as possible. That means starting now,” you argued.

“Fine, but don’t expect me to be wearing them everywhere all the sudden,” she sighed. She took the pair of glasses out of the case and stared at them for a second. Spirits she was nervous. She didn’t know what you would think about them, even if you told her she needed to wear them.

When she put them on you couldn’t help but smile. They framed her face perfectly and accented her features. Her beauty mark on her right cheek was still visible, which just helped the glasses look better.

“Beautiful as always.” You cupped her face gently. You couldn’t stop the laugh that came out when her face went red. She was lost for words. So she kissed you instead.

“I love you,” she said when you two stopped kissing.

“And I love you. Don’t forget it.” You pushed up her glasses because they were sliding down her face. That’s what will happen a lot with you being shorter than her. She rolled her eyes when you pushed the glasses up, trying to hide the smile creeping up her face.

“They really do look good,” you smile.

“I suppose...if you think so,” she mumbled.

“You know I’ll be nagging you to keep them on right?” you asked with a smirk.

“I would be surprised if you didn’t. You like them more than I do,” she answered.

“I adore them,” you corrected her. She could care less about how insecure she felt with them. They made you happy and that was worth it. She could learn to wear them for you.

#kuvira #kuvira/reader #kuvira x reader #kuvira legend of korra #glasses #writing

258 notes · View notes

tocrackerboxpalace · 3 years

Text

Le Rêve - Part 3

Summary: John demands an explanation for what happened in part two. The only problem is the response that the explanation is met with.

Warning: NC-17-rated (Buckle up!)

Paul was a bloody mess.

He and John had not directly talked to one another since the car ride. Their interview answers had been chaste and polite, and they had sat as far away from one another as possible, ignoring the persistently quizzical looks from George and Ringo. Paul had desperately tried to act as typical as possible but had felt overwhelmed with humiliation and confusion—and the concerned looks of the interviewer coupled with the “get-it-together” jabs of George’s elbow didn’t do much to reorient him.

They had finished the interview in a hurry, tensions high. On the way back, the boys wordlessly altered their seating arrangements as Paul crawled first onto the floor, curling up as much as possible as Ringo now took his spot on John’s lap. Paul held his face in his hands the entire ride, murmuring a flurry of “I’m all right” and “Maybe a sort of stomach bug, that’s all” to the others’ concerns.

John didn’t seem upset with him, just… indifferent. Which was almost worse. He didn’t scowl at him or try to hit him or mutter bitter, backhanded comments in the interview. He also didn’t curl up next to him tickle his ear or thump the back of his head or straighten his tie, as was typical. He just sat there, as if Paul had never existed. A bad reaction, Paul felt, would be better than this. He had absolutely no clue whatsoever what was going through John’s mind. Was he angry? Confused? Paul’s breath hitched. Disgusted?

Maybe he was just waiting until later to confront him. Away from the others.

The thought of being alone with John made Paul’s stomach churn. God, he had royally screwed up this time. He was alone with John more than anyone in the world, and there was no way he could wholly avoid his songwriting partner for too long. A discussion was inevitable, but that didn’t mean that he wanted it to come any sooner.

Paul threw the pen and pad down on the carpet in a sudden burst of frustration, running his hands through his hair. As soon as they had exited the car upon arrival back at the hotel, he had hurried to his room, buttressing his distress with an “I’m going to be sick” call. He had been hunched over on his bed ever since, staring at the utterly blank paper pad in front of him. He had immediately locked the door—not that he thought John would try and come in anyway, after earlier. Just to be safe.

In all fairness, Paul did think he was going to be sick. His sudden infatuation with John pulled at him from every which way, filling him with questions. Notably: What did all of it mean? For him and John, yes, but more importantly: for him. For his own sexuality and future. His mind was racing at the prospects.

He had tried to get some writing done, but it was no use. Usually, it was a soothing process for him, but he was stuck at a particularly heavy part of the song and couldn’t bring himself to ask for John’s help on the verse, especially after John had approached him with the task. He had had something earlier, but today’s—ahem—disastrous turn of events had left him distracted and empty-handed.

Paul stood, pacing the room frantically and kicking John’s strewn-about clothes to the side. God, what he would give to shamelessly watch John strip them off—

No. Paul’s mind snapped in response. He gave himself a light smack on the forehead, as if to swat the thought away. That’s John, your best mate. Your best male friend. You can’t think about him in that way.

It was one thing for him to show up in the dream, and for the dream to taunt Paul’s waking thoughts. He reckoned if it had been George or Ringo in the dream, he’d be in the exact same struggle—with something that sensual and realistic and wrong playing out in his unconscious, it’d only be right to worry. To obsess over. To over-analyze.

But he just couldn’t start thinking of John in that capacity, outside of dream-state John. He had started off as a bird, anyroad. The real John could never be so eager an interested in Paul in-in that way. Paul had watched his mate bloody lads up time and again for calling him queer when they were younger. So, it would do him no good to start fantasizing about Real John. Dream John would have to be compartmentalized until Paul could get over whatever the fuck was happening to him.

Paul suddenly sighed defeatedly and gathered up the pen and paper from the ground. He rehearsed the incomplete ballad in his head, hoping that with the flow of the song would come the next few lines.

If I fell in love with you

Would you promise to be true

And help me understand?

‘Cause I’ve been in love before

And I found that love was more

Than just holding hands…

Paul groaned in frustration. Nothing. John’s verse was so natural, so pure and beautiful: hey, love isn’t what I’ve always thought. Could you help me figure it out? Paul felt he was dirtying up the ballad, every thought paling in comparison to the vision he knew John wanted. But they’d both been stuck there for a reason, and it was now Paul’s duty to push them forwards.

Than just holding hands…

“Any progress, mate?”

Paul’s head whipped around at lightning speed. He had never heard the door open, but there John stood in its frame, leaning against it with the most casual aura Paul had ever felt. His heart was pounding, chest rising and falling theatrically, almost offended by the carefree picturesque model of John in front of him.

“I—uh, no. Sorry,” Paul spluttered, holding the pen and paper out to John as an offering. “I thought I’d locked the door.”

John ignored the latter comment, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “It’s all right. I kind of dug me self into a hole, there. Sounds like a definitive ending.” He took the items from Paul and set them on the bedside table.

Paul nodded, his voice shaking as it rang impossibly loud in the small room. “Yeah. Maybe launch into a pre-chorus or something, I don’t know. Shake up the rhythm a bit. But I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

“Doesn’t always matter what I want,” John answered. Plainly.

“It’s your ballad,” Paul countered. “I know how you can get with these things. Ask me for help and expect me to read your mind, you do.”

John chuckled, almost to himself. “Sometimes,” he started, toying with the pen on the nightstand. “I’m more interested to hear what you want.”

His eyes found Paul’s, and they were curious. There was something testing in them, and Paul began to panic. He had a feeling they weren’t necessarily talking about the song anymore.

“Why?” was all he could think of to say.

John shrugged. “Because sometimes it’s something new, and daring. Something… that I didn’t think you were capable of.”

Paul cocked an eyebrow at what felt like a backhanded compliment. He almost hoped they weren’t talking about the song. Because, if they were, he was pretty sure John had just called his writing boring. A stubborn defensiveness rose in his throat. “What’s that supposed to mean, now?”

John blinked. “What the hell happened in the car, Paul?”

Paul froze. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. They were stuck in his throat, every word that had ever been. The entire alphabet circling his mind, the infinite possibilities of combinations, the skill of language on the tip of his tongue. But it all eluded him.

John continued slowly when it was clear he wasn’t going to receive an answer. “Because, based on the way you’ve reacted since then, I don’t think I’ve misinterpreted it. I think I know exactly what happened, but what I want to know is—why. Or-or how.”

Paul could lie. He could tell John that he didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. Or that it was a misunderstanding, and he had thought John was acting strange. Or that he had popped a magical pill that was also an aphrodisiac, and it wasn’t anything personal or weird, because it was magical. Or he could tell the truth.

With his options laid out side by side like that, the answer felt quite clear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Paul’s voice came out about eleven octaves higher than normal.

John quirked an eyebrow at him. His eyes surveyed the whole length of Paul’s body skeptically, as if trying to read his inner thoughts and feelings and desires. Paul squirmed under the gaze.

“That’s not true,” he decided finally. He was still standing across from the bed, his looming presence beginning to feel like one of dominance and control. He had the upper hand now, and whether Paul liked it or not, he was going to tell John the truth.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Paul tried. “But then you were acting strange, so I got nervous and reciprocated.”

“Wrong again.”

Paul was beginning to feel desperate. “I took a pill—”

John laughed suddenly, bizarrely. He cast his gaze to the side and bit his lip. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Macca.”

Paul was quiet for a long time. The words were there, it wasn’t a matter of lexical access anymore—now he had to get his heart to say it. Because there was only one right answer to John’s question, and it wouldn’t answer a thing.

“I don’t know.”

Now it was John’s turn to be quiet. He simply stared in wonder as Paul continued unsteadily. “I-I had this dream. A few nights ago. And in the dream, I was getting on with a bird, and we were in the room, y’know? A-and we were. You know. But she was real strange at some parts, like she-she kept changing, and then…” He hesitated. “And then it was you. And you were doing everything that she was. And I woke up, w-with you, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I try, I swear, and I-I’m not gay, it’s just—”

“Why don’t we give it a go, then?” John said softly.

Paul’s words died in his throat. “I—what?”

“You heard me.”

Paul blinked wildly. “John, if this is some sort of sick joke—”

“No.” John stepped closer now, his expression impossible to read. “If it was so damn good that you can’t get it out of your head, and you can’t even control yourself around me… Let’s give it a go, then.”

Paul swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was small. “What if I don’t want to?”

John thought about this for a moment. “You can stop me at any point. We act like it never happened. You say the word, mate, and it’s off.” He paused. “But I don’t think you want that.”

To his dismay, John was right. Paul didn’t want that. His heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears and almost drowning out the unbelievable things that John was suggesting. John had no idea what happened in the dream, and yet he was a wholly willing participant in the recreation? The idea, despite the whirlwind in Paul’s mind, sent a shock of tingles to his crotch.

“But… it’s… I’m not gay,” he tried again.

“Don’t think so much,” came John’s voice, gentle, as he caught Paul’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Paul’s breathing slowed. This was that side of John that he rarely got to see: soft, comforting, calm. Loving. It felt bizarrely out of place in the situation. “Just… just don’t worry about it. If you think, you’ll ruin it.”

Paul nodded quickly, his mind buzzing.

John lowered himself onto the bed, his gaze never leaving his mate’s face. “What did she do first?”

The question caught him off guard. “Who?”

“The bird.” John chewed his lip tentatively. “What did she do first? In the dream?”

“Oh! Erm…” Paul thought for a moment. He knew very well that the dream had started with them making out, but part of him held that thought back. For some inexplicable reason, kissing felt more intimate, more queer, than whatever was about to happen. So, he refrained from mentioning it. “She—um, sort of got in me lap, like.”

John’s eyes flashed in recognition. “The car.”

“Yeah.” Paul winced. “The car.”

“Oh.” John’s voice was curious, and he looked down at himself for a moment before his eyes reconnected with Paul’s. They were wide, intrigued, but somewhat shy, too. A nervousness that Paul had never seen in his friend before. A tremor ran through Paul’s body as he recognized that same piercing stare from the dream.

“Why don’t ya…” John scratched his face apprehensively. “Erm… move back. Against the headboard.”

Paul gradually obliged. He swung his bare feet over the side, shifting himself higher on the bed until his back comfortably rested against the cushioned headboard. John kicked his own shoes off as he did so and climbed up after him.

Both boys paused for a moment, eyes locked, and something passed between them. An understanding that wherever this was going, it was all right, because it was John and Paul. Lennon and McCartney. And everything would be all right.

Emboldened by the exchange, John swung a leg over Paul’s outstretched body and planted himself directly in his lap.

“Like this?” He breathed.

Paul’s fingers found their way to John’s hips, watching the scene in wonder. His voice was ragged and humiliating, cracking at the sudden contact that flooded his mind with millions of filthy thoughts and images. “I—yes. Like that.”

“Then what?” Their faces were mere inches apart, John’s face flushed and almost eager. His eyes continually darted around Paul’s face and body, as if he too couldn’t believe the position they were in. His lips were wet and parted, slightly swollen from his nervous chewing habit. He sucked in the tiniest breaths of the shared air between them, as if he was terrified that Paul would pull away and he’d be left to his own solemn airspace once more.

In the moment, Paul wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

But no, that was too far. The desire in his crotch could be written off as greedy, randy, sexual—a biological need, perhaps. It could be satisfied, and maybe that was all Paul needed to get over the fantasy. The wild, twisted pull in his heart was not so easily dismissed.

“Paul?” John repeated. His pupils were dilated, his chest slowly heaving.

“Right. Erm… then she started, sort of, rocking a bit, I suppose.” He cringed inwardly as the words spilled out now, both humiliated at his own forwardness and betrayed by the almost desperate response his body was giving to John’s presence.

John didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed, however. He simply shifted to where his knees straddled Paul’s hips and placed his backside directly on Paul’s hardening member. A whisper of a groan escaped Paul’s lips as John slowly began rocking back and forth, grinding down into him.

“Like this?” John said again.

“Just like that.” Paul murmured as his eyes fluttered shut, cocking his head back against the bed. The feeling was all too familiar and quite simple to deal with—if Paul closed his eyes, he could nearly pretend that it was a female. One of those ladies from a Hamburg club giving him a lap dance. While the thought was entertaining and calming, part of Paul was alarmed at how easily John mimicked those movements, how convincing it all was.

“Paul,” John said suddenly, halting his movements.

Paul’s pulse quickened again. “Hmm?”

His friend broke out into a reluctant grin, chuckling at his own perplexity. “I can feel it. Already.”

Paul looked at him uncertainly. He knew he was hard as a rock now, all of the blood having rushed dizzyingly fast to the lower half of his body. The arousal and sudden shame made it hard to think. “Is it bad?”

John took a moment. “No.” He gave an experimental twist, slotting his body against Paul’s as he grinded down again, his face in the crook of Paul’s neck. A hand laced its way up the back of Paul’s neck and into his dark locks, giving a quick tug.

Paul couldn’t bite back the “ah, fuck,” that was pulled from his throat. The dizzying combination of sensations sent buzzing shocks through his dick, which now felt as though it was frantically trying to push its way out of his slacks.

“What next?” John asked, pausing the shift of his hips. There was an edge to his voice now as shaking fingers reached up to tease at Paul’s shirt buttons. “Maybe… she got you a bit undressed, is all.”

Paul nodded lazily. Why the hell not? It would make sense. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t really recall that happening. “Yeah… yeah, I think she did.”

John continued to rock in Paul’s lap, letting out curious hums at the minute twitches and moans coming from his friend. His long, delicate fingers struggled to successfully pop Paul’s buttons free, but Paul refrained from offering any assistance. He was amazed, shocked even, by the submissive display John was putting on show. A sudden jolt shot through his chest as he realized that John might do anything he asked him too.

John inhaled sharply as he undid the last button. Paul leaned forward a bit to shrug the white dress shirt off of his shoulders, casting it to the floor as it joined its friends.

John’s eyes wandered over his shirtless frame. They had seen one another in the most compromising of positions before—hell, they’d walked in on each other in the middle of a good shag countless times—but something was different now. This looking, feeling, touching… it was intentional, and it was just them. And it felt strange: an intoxicating concoction of arousal and desire and fear and confusion. Paul couldn’t help but wonder if he had wanted this for much longer before now and simply never realized it.

John’s calloused fingertips traced their way down Paul’s jawline, onto his neck, chest, stomach. Paul simply watched and felt, felt the way the touch that ran over him made his skin prickle and his face warm. John was regarding him cautiously, deliberately, as if he was a work of art that John was afraid to mar.

“I’m sorry if she teased you for this long,” John’s voice came, breathless. His fingers found the waistband of his trousers and hooked inside them. “When do I come in?”

“Right about now,” was Paul’s reply. His mind had entirely disregarded the remainder of the dream, not recalling and not caring. It was just him and John now, real John, who somehow really wanted to do this with him just as much as he wanted it to be done. Perhaps Paul had fallen asleep again while working on the song, and this was just a recreation of the first time. Another lucid fantasy.

The feeling of his cock popping free as John undid his zip let him know that this was all but a dream, though. He arched up off of the bed to help John shimmy the remainder of his trousers down his legs, kicking them off with fervor. The sudden change in John’s mood as the reins were passed to him caused Paul to check any reserved guilt or shame at the door. The tent in his boxers was no longer a burden but a beacon, an invitation for an inexplicably fervent John to do whatever he desired.

Then, the boxers were gone too. Tossed to the side with a particular carelessness that made Paul’s skin prickle with sweat. And that was that. Paul laid there, entirely naked and exposed under the watchful gaze of his best friend, his partner. John.

“I’m going to try something, Macca,” John started nervously, shifting so that he was directly between Paul’s thighs. Paul’s eyes went wide at the implication, at the scene. John’s mouth was only centimeters away from his flushed cock. And he eyed it, almost hungrily.

The sight made Paul moan, and John’s eyes flicked up fearfully. “You can stop me, Paul. Just tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me to stop…”

John almost sounded like he was talking to himself.

“Go on,” Paul whispered hoarsely.

John shot him one last daring glance before reaching out at grasping at Paul’s dick. The sudden sensation caused Paul to arch forward, brow knitted in roused concentration. His hands clutched at the bedsheets to steady himself as John began wanking him in an encouraging rhythm. “Bloody hell, John,” he groaned.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” A note of confidence, arrogance even, laced John’s voice.

“Y-yes. Very.”

Paul forced himself to open his eyes and jerked at the heated gaze that met his in return. John’s expression was dark with arousal, and his tongue flicked out teasingly between his teeth. The dynamic had wholly changed, John’s assuredness growing with every new step he was allowed to take, every dirty sound that was elicited from Paul’s throat.

When a bud of precum began to spill over, John wrapped his lips around the head and dipped his tongue over the slit, sucking it dry like the last few drops of an ice lolly.

Holy fuck.

“Shit. Ah, Christ!” Paul was babbling now as the sensation and notion struck him at once: John was giving him head. And it felt damn incredible. “God, John.”

The feeling of his throbbing member inside of John’s mouth was unreal. He could see it pulsing against the inside of his cheek as John bobbed his head, tongue and cheek muscles massaging him slowly to insanity. Paul cocked his head back and tossed it back and forth, unaware of how to respond to the situation.

Paul decided he had never gotten a blowjob before this. All those others were a silly game. Maybe it was John’s willingness and enthusiasm. Maybe it was that he, a male, probably knew how to best please another male. Maybe it was the taboo nature of the extremely explicit act they were engaged in, adding further logs to the fire. Whatever it was, Paul didn’t care. This—this was head.

John pulled off for a moment but continued stroking, the mixture of saliva and precum making the slide all the more easier. Paul felt lightheaded at the immense pleasure. “Christ,” John murmured, his voice unsteady. “Look at you, Paulie.”

Paul only moaned in response, hoping to draw John’s wonderful mouth back down.

John happily obliged, licking a long stripe up from his balls to the tip of his dick and swallowing it all down once more. Paul could note his inexperience, from the length he could take in and the variety in his movements, but somehow, the knowledge made it all better—the idea that John was doing this for the first time (or, one of the first times) to Paul. He made extra sure to gasp and groan loudly when John did something he particularly enjoyed, as if to almost teach the man what to do.

When John began to pull back for a breath, Paul hooked his ankles around the small of John’s back without thinking, pulling him closer.

“Fuck, Paul,” John groaned back. “God, I want you. I want you, Paulie.”

Paul hardly paid the confession any mind. John was babbling now, just like him, but Christ he would be lying if it didn’t turn him on more.

He let out another broken string of incoherent curses as John took more of him into his mouth than he thought possible. He grabbed a fistful of John’s hair and pulled him up aggressively, relishing in the light “Ah!” of surprise that escaped John’s lips.

“Dirty-talk me, John,” he practically begged, whispering into his mate’s ear. “Just—fuck—tell me what you want.”

Paul could feel John grin knowingly against his jaw. Uh-oh. The lad had an idea.

“You know, Paul, you’re not very quiet during sex.” John spoke into his ear teasingly, sensually. He began to pepper his jawline with kitten licks and nibbles. Paul only whimpered in response as John’s hand slowed to work him lazily. “Actually, you get quite loud. Make a whole fuss of it.”

“I—hadn’t noticed,” Paul panted.

John’s eyes glinted dangerously as he momentarily lifted himself. Their faces were only centimeters apart. “Paul? Do you want to know a secret, Paul?”

Paul’s mind barely registered the question. He nodded hazily, letting out another soft moan as John bent back down to lick at his earlobe.

“The thing is,” John started slowly, his hand beginning to pick up speed. “Sometimes you bring a bird up. Usually at a hotel, just like this. And we all know—me, George, Ritchie—we all know what’s going to happen when we see her come up.” John moved downward and began paying special attention to the junction of his neck and jawline. “But knowing what’s going to happen is different from hearing it.”

Paul immediately blushed, trying to discern where John was possibly going with this. Did he want him to be louder now? Or quieter later? Did he… Oh God, was John suggesting that they should—

“So here’s the secret,” John interrupted. “The other night, in Glasgow. I’m sure you remember.” He paused, as if to give Paul a chance to recount the night. His hand began pumping furiously, and he bit experimentally at Paul’s jaw. The mix of pleasure, shock, and pain, coupled with the words John was saying and the way he was saying them, was beginning to feel overwhelming. A string of filthy moans and groans were drawn out of him as he began to feel a familiar pull in the pit of his stomach. John looked at him expectantly for a moment, and Paul wasn’t sure if he was gauging his reaction or waiting for a response. Paul opted for the latter.

“I—fuck—remember.”

“Good. I do too,” John replied simply, sounding almost like a schoolteacher. Suddenly, his voice dipped low, and he placed his mouth directly in Paul’s ear to whisper the next bit. The second the words flowed out, John grinded down hard into Paul’s thigh, and Paul could feel an erection perhaps more pressing than his own.

“I gave me self a wank to it. And it wasn’t the girl.”

“Shit, John.” Paul’s mind instantly flooded with obscene images of John touching himself to the sound of Paul’s broken moans. His cock twitched in John’s hand and another series of moans and curses spilled out. He felt so close, John’s firm fist feeling so good around him, but part of him wanted to hold back. He began to panic.

If Paul let John touch him, that was one thing. It didn’t have to mean anything. They’d seen each other jerk themselves off countless times. He could convince himself that this was basically the same thing, just a slight shift of hands. He could ease his conscience by saying nothing had really happened.

But if Paul came on him, by his hand? He didn’t know if he could reconcile that one.

Paul bit his lip and tried to focus on anything but the image of John that was now burned onto his eyelids. It didn’t help that John was now rutting against his thigh and letting out involuntarily groans of his own. He couldn’t hold off much longer.

“John,” Paul started insistently. Before he could speak again, however, John pulled his face from where it was buried in his neck and pressed his lips against Paul’s own.

Paul was struck with surprise, but John wasted no time waiting for him to adapt. His tongue forcibly parted Paul’s lips and he licked into his mouth with fervor, as if this had been something he’d needed his whole life. Paul hesitated momentarily, but the roughness and intensity was impossible to ignore. He let his own tongue dance around with John’s. In a spur of dominance, Paul pushed back against John and licked into the other’s mouth, running his tongue along his mate’s teeth as if he wanted to trace every part of the man. Teeth clashed as both impossibly fought for more. When John retreated for air, Paul bit down on his bottom lip and grabbed him by the waist to pull him back in.

“Fucking hell, Paul,” John mumbled against his lips. He thrusted down particularly hard against Paul and moaned into his mouth, and Paul decided in that moment that it was the most sensual thing he’d ever experienced in his life.

“John.” He pulled back as much as possible from the kiss, turning his head so that John was met with his cheek when he went back in for more. “John, I can’t—” He thrust up weakly into John’s fist as if to emphasize his point. “John, stop, I-I’m gonna come—”

Just then, the door flew open.

Paul and John froze in their compromising position. Although it was only seconds later when John pushed himself off and scrambled to the other side of the bed, Paul grasping at the bedsheets to cover himself, it was too late.

George stared at them, open-mouthed, his hand still on the doorknob. No one spoke.

Paul, in that moment, solemnly decided they had no alibi. His mind ever-so-helpfully constructed an image of what they must have looked like: Paul, completely naked, his cock trapped between John’s skilled fingers, tongue-fucking each other as John dry humped his leg.

George’s eyes flitted between the two as their chests heaved. He made no motion, no effort to speak. Paul almost begged him to say something, watching as his mind worked furiously to come up with some excuse for what he just saw his mates doing.

Without a word, he turned and shut the door behind him.

“How could you not lock the fucking door?”

Paul turned his head towards the voice. His fingers trembled as he pulled the sheets tighter to his chin, twisting onto his side so the tent in the sheets wasn’t so humiliatingly evident. He felt dumbfounded. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?” John’s gaze looked frighteningly angry. “Are you absolutely daft? Are you actually just the pretty one? Paul, how could you not lock the fucking door?!”

Paul felt his own anger begin to rise in his chest. He felt helplessly defensive. “Are you mad? You started this! You’re the one that closed us in here. If anyone should’ve locked the door, it should have been you!”

“How was I supposed to know you were begging me to shag you? I just wanted to know what the hell was up with the car ride.”

Paul was aghast. “Begging you to shag me? I didn’t want to fucking tell you, John! I knew what would happen. You forced it out of me.” His voice grew cold. “You wanted it just as much as I did.”

John stared at him for a moment, his words faltering. Paul wondered if he had learned something tonight about John that he wasn’t supposed to know. He felt a sudden sick pride in his ability to shake him. The feeling, however, was short-lived when he noticed with a start how glassy John’s eyes were.

John sat up and ran his hands through his hair. His voice was shaking. “Shit, shit, shit. I bet he’s in the other room talking to Ringo right now. Telling him everything. There’s no other explanation for what he saw, Paul. They’re gonna tell Brian. Someone must have heard us, too, and they’ll get ahold of the press. Or the police. It’s over, everything we have is all over—”

“Hey,” Paul interrupted, softening his voice. He couldn’t bear to watch John spiral, especially in the tornado of emotions that was tearing through the room already. If John lost it, he would too. “It’s not going to get out. We’ll go get George and Ringo, and tell them what really happened, and—”

“What really happened, Paul?”

John was quiet now. His eyes were burning into him, pleading. Paul tensed up at the question, feeling his mind falling blank on any possible response. He didn’t know what answer John was pleading for. So he didn’t answer.

John met Paul’s eyes with the iciest stare Paul had perhaps ever seen. It suddenly felt as if a chill had come over the room.

“You’ve ruined everything.”

Paul watched numbly as John bent over on the edge of the bed, putting on his boots. He knew John was furious and spewing things he would soon regret, but another part of him knew that John was right. He had ruined everything.

“Where are you going?” He asked quietly, already fearing the answer.

John paused by the door. When he turned to look at Paul again, his expression was hard and unreadable.

“I’m not fucking queer.” And he slammed the door behind him.

Paul could only stare.

#the beatles #beatles fanfiction #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #beatles smut #mclennon smut #mclennon #part 3 #chapter fic #ao3 #smut warning

34 notes · View notes

liquorisce · 3 years

Text

reading between the lines (High School Years, Ch 2)

pairing: eren x mikasa (shingeki no kyojin) // mild erehisu, yumihisu

rating: t

summary: (modern au) Junior year is difficult, especially for Mikasa, because it turns out Eren’s decided to test the dating scene.

(banter, jealousy... and lots of feelings)

part 1 | read on ao3

A/N: this chapter has been a long time coming (5 years omg), and tbh I have a lovely anon to thank, who messaged me asking for a sequel to hsy, which made me actually want to put down my scrambled headcanons on paper. if you're reading this anon, i'm truly grateful for the push you gave me.

NOTE: although i intended a sequel, this is a COMPANION fic to chapter 1, it is meant to fill up the gaps in the story that the previous chapter didnt tell you. i hope you enjoy :)

Today was not one of Eren’s favourite days, for 2 reasons. For one, the day started off with … an encounter. Two, today they would be getting the results of their final trig assessment, which Eren knows perfectly well he didn’t have a chance of passing.

The ‘encounter’ happens pretty much without preamble.

…

“… Hey, it’s Eren, right?” He turns around from his conversation with Armin, to see the same guy from a couple of weeks ago, the one who was talking about Mikasa, and her pretty hair. (he wasn’t wrong)

“Yeah?” He does his best not to let the subconscious irritation seep into his tone.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot the other day,” the guy with the oddly horse-shaped face says, “… My name’s Jean.”

“… Nice to meet you,” he says awkwardly delivering his dishonest words.

“… So, I wanted to be straight up with you,” Jean says, cheeks oddly pink. “About Mikasa… and you. I’ve heard some rumours, and I thought it best to address it with you directly, because I really don’t want to cause any trouble.” Clearing his throat, he says, “Are you guys… y’know, together?”

It’s in the way Jean speaks, he thinks, or the way he talks about Mikasa (or even thinks of her?) - it makes him want to ram his fist right in the middle of his ugly face. And because he was too busy clenching his fists to actually respond, Armin says with a laugh, “… Ah, don’t worry, Mikasa is totally single.”

And then proceeds to wink at Jean.

Eren can barely believe his eyes and ears. And once Jean is out of earshot he hisses, “… what the fuck, Armin?”

Armin blinks up at him innocently. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

“… You didn’t have to encourage him,” Eren mumbles petulantly, when he admits to himself that Armin did, in fact, say nothing wrong.

“Erm, why not?” He sighs, “Look, I know you… worry about Mikasa,” Armin keeps his tone as neutral and veiled as possible, because worried is definitely not all Eren feels for Mikasa, “… but Jean is a good guy! And if anyone deserves attention from a good guy, it’s her.”

…

ii.

She finds him lurking near his locker, stuffing his crumpled papers in, probably wishing away their existence.

“That bad, huh?” She asks, hiding away her grin at his predictable reaction. Eren has always been predisposed too sulking - whether he was a 7-year-old who wasn’t the fastest on the field or 16-something and having just received his trigonometry results.

“… You look like you did just fine,” he mutters, not having to see the A+ on her paper to know that Mikasa had no problem acing the trig test (or any other test).

“You could just ask me for help, Eren. I could help you out for the retakes,” she offers softly, not for the first time.

He sighs. When he glances at her, dark eyes offering earnestly, he knows she means it without any pride or arrogance, but he isn’t able to suppress the prick of his own ego that has him mumbling, “… the mandatory remedial lessons should do just fine.”

…

iii.

When he shows up for class, he sees only a couple of others unfamiliar faces, so he curses under his breath at his own ineptitude towards mathematics for getting him in this situation and takes a spot at the back of the class.

The Support teacher - Erd, he calls himself, apparently too young to be addressed ‘Mr.’ or any of that - seems just as tired as the rest of them, sighing at the lack of answers, obviously frustrated at the complete lack of interest or gratitude of the teenagers in front of him.

So, 20 minutes into the 1-hour lesson, when the short blonde walks in, out-of-breath and apologetic, the sarcasm in his tone is biting. “You’ve already missed 1/3rd of this class, you might as well have stayed out entirely and practiced your cheer routines.”

Eren watches sympathetically at the visible cringe on Krista’s face and offers her an empathetic smile as she takes the seat next to him.

Later when they’ve been informed that the retake is just an assignment filled with proofs and average difficulty problems that they can do in pairs, he looks at Krista, the only known person in the room.

They weren’t that close, but they had quite a few mutual friends what with him playing basketball and her being part of the cheer team. So, when she says, “… see you at the library tomorrow evening?” with a pretty smile across her pretty features, he grins gratefully.

She doesn’t struggle with trig even half as much as he does. In fact, she seemed to be happy to do most of the work herself and explain her solutions - if he actually had the interest to understand them.

“I don’t understand,” he admits after she solves the 5th problem in a row effortlessly, “you seem to have everything down already. How come you didn’t pass the test?”

Her eyes skittered nervously away from him. “I was… sick,” she mutters. “I couldn’t really focus.”

He eyes her closely, observing the sudden change in her countenance. Usually Krista was all easy smiles, twinkle in her blue eyes. Now, she looks uneasy, unwell almost. Deciding it wasn’t his place to pry, “… Well, I guess I turned out to be the lucky one in all this,” he grins, “… I get to hang out with you and have you do my assignment.”

She rolls her eyes. To be honest, she’d enjoyed the past couple of evenings with him. Eren was easy to talk to, despite being somewhat of an airhead and being completely incapable of anything remotely math related. But regardless, he made her laugh and just about forget what happened the morning before she showed up for this test, with fresh tears choking her throat, and purpling bruises on her thighs.

“I guess you owe me then,” she quips back, smugly.

“… I definitely do,” he says smoothly, green eyes watching her in a way that makes her feel warm. “How can I make it up to you?”

Flustered, because she hadn’t expected his easy response, she mumbles, “… Dinner?” And with red cheeks hidden by her blonde bangs, she whispers, “I like pizza.”

…

iv.

She finds him at the end of the day, on one of the wooden tables outside the basketball court, chin resting in his hands, eyes glued to his laptop.

“… Hey,” she breathes, giggling when startled green eyes flash up to her, body jerking in surprise.

“Damn, you got me,” he grins, pushing his laptop away and leaning up for a brief kiss. She’s happy to return it, and she lets her fingers wind into his hair, enjoying it for a moment longer.

“Mmm,” she mumbles, “I saw you closing that browser window,” she teases, wrestling control of his laptop, “watcha lookin’ at?”

When she manages to open his browser history – much to Eren’s protest – her eyes widen. “Women’s dresses, spring collection??” She waggles her eyebrows at him.

“… It’s not for me,” he grumbles, deciding to make it painstakingly clear before Krista enthusiastically begins to tell him what dress would suit him the most – he knows his girlfriend, crossdressing would be absolutely acceptable, if not encouraged – and he watches her eyes feign disappointment.

“… Boring,” she sighs, rolling her pretty blue eyes, “I don’t see how you’re not curious about how you look in a dress,” – she gasps, hand flying over her mouth, “Wait… was that… a surprise… for me?”

“… Um,” Eren starts, intelligently, because the situation that was already awkward in his opinion, just became even more so. “Well,” he gulps, taking in the sparkle in her eyes, knowing fully well just how much she likes surprises, feeling guilty even thought he needn’t be, “itsformikasa.”

He hangs his head in apparent apology, but more so because he doesn’t want to see the disappointment flit across her features.

“… Oh.”

He chances a glance at her, and there’s no particular emotion per se, and it worries him, because she gets this faraway look in her eye sometimes, and he can’t really tell what’s going on, and they’ve only been together a few months and he’s not an expert in reading her silences –

“I see, is it for her birthday or something?” Her tone is measured, and she’s looking pointedly at the screen.

“Um… yeah.” Eren sighs, wondering what the hell was up with his own reaction. He had nothing to feel guilty about – where did that even come from anyway? – Mikasa’s his… family (or something). Shopping for her was normal. He did it every year. This isn’t something he needed to hide.

“Yeah, it’s next month,” he says, giving her a smile. There was no need for this to be awkward if he didn’t make it so. Besides, it wasn’t like he was buying her lingerie or something! (he brushed this thought aside faster than the red blush crept up his neck)

“Do you think, you could help me with it?” He blurts this out, partially in an attempt to distract the weird atmosphere, and also partially because he could really use the help.

Krista blinks. “Err, yeah. Sure.” She pulls up Mikasa’s profile on Instagram. “Let’s see,” she murmurs… Turtlenecks… Jeans… a ridiculously modest swimsuit that she wore to a pool party two years ago. The sexiest outfit on her entire profile was probably her in her tennis shorts and that had more to do with Mikasa’s undeniably ripped body than anything else.

She looks up at Eren, who’s still looking at her tentatively, green eyes unsure.

This whole thing was silly anyway, she thinks, offering him a genuine smile. He and Mikasa were close (and they lived together, which she did her best not to think about), but this wasn’t a surprise so it’s about time that it came up in some way in their relationship. In any case, she hadn’t felt any hostility from the raven-haired beauty and Eren was usually quite forthcoming about everything, so she didn’t really have anything to worry about.

“So, um, does she have a favourite colour or something?” She’s eager to kill the awkward mood and is grateful to see his shoulders visibly relax as he ponders.

“… Red, I think. Maybe, like, a darker shade. Sort of… maroon, y’know?” He thinks of the scarf he gave Mikasa when they were younger. It was a ratty, yet fluffy maroon thing which she was absolutely terrible at tying, but she wears it everywhere during the winter, even though his father had a bought her a better one at some point.

They peruse their options for a bit, and Krista picks out a deep red number, a shimmery satin one, with slinky straps and a slit that travels up an already high hemline. It wasn’t really a spring dress but more of a cocktail night outfit, and Eren is weirdly embarrassed thinking of Mikasa in it.

He eyes the screen incredulously. “… Somehow, I just can’t picture Mikasa wearing something like that.” He opens up another link, to a denim overall dress, “… now this, she would wear.”

“And that,” Krista retorts, “is why she’s still single. She has an amazing body; she should flaunt it.”

“… What would she wear it to?” Eren asks, unconvinced. (Also, what was wrong with Mikasa being single?) “… Student council meetings? Debate competitions?! I just,” –

“Parties, Eren,” she says, exasperated, “… it’s high school!”

“You know she doesn’t” –

“Drag her to some! C’mon, we’re going to be seniors soon. She’ll thank you for it!”

…

Six hours later, she’s closing up her shift at her part-time job. It’s a job she’d rather keep hidden – from her friends at school and the law – because she isn’t sure what the age policy was in these kinds of establishments. It worked out because it was close enough to home, and between her and the bartender, the tips compensated the poor wages. Plus, the bartender – a slightly older girl named Ymir with a pretty fringe and a sharp tongue – was genuinely fan to hang out with. And she was surprisingly protective of the small blonde, particularly with the rougher customers, whom Ymir scared off quite effectively with her glares.

“So,” she says, as she scrubs the counter clean, “… I helped my boyfriend buy a dress today.”

She doesn’t turn back to see her, but she can hear Ymir’s raised eyebrows as she says, cheekily, “… I didn’t realize you guys were into that stuff.”

Snorting, she replies, “Well that would be interesting. But no, it was for his, um, friend. Or something.” Or something, because sometimes Eren refers to Mikasa as his best friend, sometimes his family, and sometimes it just felt like… something else, basically.

She turns around to look at Ymir, who says nothing, continuing to rinse the rest of the glasses. “Her name’s Mikasa,” she continues, her voice getting oddly unsure, “They’ve known each other forever. They even… live together.”

“… What,” Ymir stares at her in disbelief.

“It’s not like that,” Krista finds herself sounding defensive, “Eren’s dad is her guardian… or something. Has been for some years. So, it’s not like they moved in together…”

She elects to skip the part where Eren’s dad is a doctor with Doctors without Borders and is barely home for more than a couple of months a year. She didn’t like the look Ymir was giving her anyway.

“So… they’re like brother-sister or what?”

“No,” she says, realizing that the word came out more vehement than she intended. But she knows that was definitely not the way Eren saw their relationship.

“… Krista,” Ymir starts, and the blonde can tell by the tone of her voice that she’s going to get all protective on her, “… I know you’re in high school, and… you’re dating – as you should – but you don’t have to waste your time on shady boys.”

At this she laughs because, “Eren’s not shady, he’s a nice guy,” –

“… You could get anyone you want; I mean look at you, you’re beautiful.”

The defense that was bubbling up in her throat suddenly stilled, because there’s something about the way Ymir just said that – called her beautiful – earnestly, quietly, and it made her feel funny. It took her breath away for a very brief second and replaced it with a warm flush that creeps up her neck.

It’s strange, she’s heard it before from so many boys with obvious motivations; Eren’s always calling her pretty, and complimenting her eyes or whatever… But when Ymir said it, and looked at her like that, honey brown eyes, deep with unnamed emotion, all she could do was avert her eyes.

…

vi.

It’s 7pm and the library’s home only to the nerds by now. The librarian is lax (and underpaid) enough to ignore the low buzz of two over-enthusiastic AP chemistry students that grates on Mikasa’s ears.

Ordinarily she’d just plug her earphones in and ignore the world to focus on the assignment at hand. But today she accepts anything to distract her from the scene earlier at home. And even though Armin’s sitting right next to her, supposedly doing his own thing, she doesn’t miss the worried glances he sends her every now and then, which she really doesn’t want to address.

Her feelings for Eren were a well-known secret by now, just as well-known as the fact that he clearly didn’t return those feelings, so she wasn’t particularly in the mood for Armin’s indulgent pity… regardless of how well-intentioned it was.

So, when its 8pm and the librarian is shooing them out, and she bumps into Jean, she’s grateful for the few extra minutes of conversation surrounding absolutely nothing important.

When they continue to the parking lot, their conversation having progressed from awkward conversation starters to an animated discussion on Jean’s tennis form, Armin’s well and truly realized that he has no place here.

After Armin’s said his goodbyes and Mikasa recognizes that she doesn’t mind staying away from home and possibly Eren and Krista in the middle of their 5th round, she asks Jean, “… so do you like Chinese food?”

…

When she walks in a little after 10 pm, cheeks cold from the night air, there’s a small grin on her cheeks, because she’s made a new friend today, whose company she genuinely enjoyed.

But when she enters the living room to see Eren fast asleep on the couch, she finds herself staring in the face of the reality she’d tried so hard to escape. It’s difficult to ignore the ruffled quality of his brown hair, mussed up in a way that could only have been achieved by someone (a very blonde, very beautiful someone) raking their hands through it.

She can’t help the wave of irritation that sweeps through her - so she doesn’t bother to soften her footsteps as she walks up the wooden stairs.

Minutes later, she hears his sleepy voice at her door. “Hey,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice, “you were out pretty late, so I left you some dinner. We made pasta, it’s not as good as yours but,” -

“… I ate already,” she says, tone clipped.

“Oh.” He’s quiet, just watching her put her things away, and there’s irrational tears pricking at her eyes, anger, and frustration that she knows she doesn’t have the right to, so she doesn’t turn to acknowledge him. “… Mikasa, are you…,” he clears his throat, “… is something wrong?”

When she says nothing, he sighs, turning, “… Well, if you want to talk about it, you know I’m always here,” -

“… Could you please go over to Krista’s house next time?”

She colours, surprised at herself for her outburst of honesty. But her blush pales in comparison to Eren’s as he processes what she’s saying. “… This is my house,” he sputters, “… I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to want to bring my girlfriend over.”

“Well, it’s not just ‘bringing her over’, is it?”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “… What I do with Krista, in my personal space, is definitely not your business, Mikasa.”

“It is when I can hear it, Eren,” she retorts, as he shuts the door forcefully behind him.

…

vii.

It’s been two weeks since that… confrontation, and Mikasa’s barely spoken to him since.

She leaves before he does, makes sure dinner’s left out on the stove for him, whether he needs it or not, and locks her door when she’s done. And although he’s found himself staring awkwardly at that shut door multiple times, he’s never had the courage to actually knock.

He simply cannot comprehend this situation because despite the numerous arguments they’ve had in the past - it was always him, whining about something like a petty child and sulking till he got his way - she’d never truly been mad at him. And she’d never, ever, gone days without talking to him. And as he stares at the locker next to his (it was Mikasa’s) with a horrible ache in his chest, he is well and truly sure that he loathes this situation.

So, when small hands reach around his waist, enveloping him in a tight embrace, his subconscious reaction is to jerk back in annoyance. “I didn’t realise it was you,” he murmurs apologetically, rubbing her hands softly.

“… Who else would it be?” Krista asks, somewhat thrown off by this mood that had been festering for days now.

“You ask some very valid questions there, babe,” he mutters, a distracted half-smile on his face.

Taking a deep breath (determined to shake him out of his pensive aura), she whispers, “… You know, I don’t have work today.” She leans against him, reaching up to murmur in his ear, “we could hang out at yours for a while, if you want?”

She makes it clear what she means by “hanging out” by the way she presses up against him, and even though he’s responded with fervent enthusiasm to a similar invitation in the past, today he just averts his gaze, awkwardly.

Swallowing the rejection with a graceful exterior, she puts an arm’s length of distance between them. “… What’s going on, Eren? Your head’s been somewhere else all week.”

And before he starts to stay that it’s nothing, just that he has some stuff going on, she says, “… does this have something to do with Mikasa?”

His green gaze jerks up at her, startled with unfortunate honesty. “… I haven’t seen you talk to her all week.”

“…I,” he starts, but his throat closes up, for some reason, unsure whether he should really tell her what happened. He doesn’t want to put her in the middle of something that was clearly between him and Mikasa.

But with every passing second, the guilty look on his face only begins to feed the fears that she had successfully kept dormant all this while. “… Did something happen between the two of you?”

And when he looks into her eyes, bright blues seeping insecurity, he says, hurriedly, “… wait, I hope you aren’t thinking that we,” - he inhales sharply, wondering how he manages so successfully to upset the women in his life - “God, no. We had a misunderstanding, that’s all. She said something, I was pretty rude to her, and I shouldn’t have been.”

“And,” he murmurs, admitting it to himself, finally, “I’ve just taken too long to apologize.”

…

She’s barely finished washing the vegetables for dinner, when she hears the thud of the front door closing loudly.

(She remembers Carla reprimanding him every time, for not being gentler)

Mikasa has managed to avoid Eren successfully these past days, because she knows his schedule, knows that despite his complete lack of organization, he’s fairly predictable. And with his recent interest in a particular cheerleader, he almost invariably never comes home before 8.30 PM. So, when she hears him enter their kitchen at little over 7, she isn’t prepared.

She isn’t prepared because she’s been quite cowardly, saying things that she had no business saying, and then being unable to own up to it, unable to apologize to him. Because she knew that when she looks at him, she’ll feel the way she feels right now - taking in the sight of him, drizzle droplets fresh in his brown hair, as he runs a hand through it, his mouth twisting into an awkward grin. She knew she’d realize that her feelings for Eren were never really much of a choice, they just were.

“… I brought your favourite dumplings from Li’s,” he announces. “And I brought an extra serving of the spicy soy sauce so we don’t have to fight over who gets the last bit.”

…

He’s grateful for the small smile that forms on her face when she accepts the dumplings (the peace treaty as he calls it in his head), and for the small banter that she indulges him in as they eat.

After they’re stuffed with dumplings and inconsequential conversation, he clears his throat, because he remembers he came home early tonight with a certain conviction.

But as she does with most things, she beats him to it. “… Eren, about the other day,” she looks at him earnestly, “… I had no right to demand that of you. I’m sorry.”

And when he’s still quiet, she mumbles quickly, “I don’t know what got into me that day, honestly, I,” -

“Don’t apologise, Mikasa,” he says, a strange disquiet taking over him as he replays her words, “… the last thing I want, is to make you feel uncomfortable.” Or to make you feel like you can’t demand what you want from me.

This is the part that settles into him slowly, that somehow, the one person in his life that he’s always felt he could ask anything of, could demand anything of, and actually receive it without fail… she didn’t feel that she could count on the same from him. And it twisted painfully inside of him.

“I appreciate that, Eren. But honestly, I’ll get used to it… so don’t worry.” She smiles, in that genuine way of hers, small lips, curving shyly, “… and who knows, maybe someday I’ll want to ‘bring someone over’ too.”

She laughs as she does the air quotes and even though he manages a small grin in response, all he can say, without really meaning it, is –

“Yeah… Of course, yeah.”

…

viii.

She takes her frustration out on the cash register. “… Damn thing doesn’t open when I need it to, and doesn’t close when I want it to,” she mutters under her breath.

“You just need to show it some love,” Ymir says, amused, promptly closing the problematic register without any difficulty. “… Go sit, I’ll close up here.”

She does as she’s told, pouting slightly, but she’s grateful for the older girl’s help and understanding. “So… want a beer before I close the tap?” Ymir asks with a wink.

“You need to stop offering underage girls alcohol,” Krista whispers, scanning the room hastily.

The brunette rolls her eyes. “You need to stop with the innocent act every time. You’re a hot cheerleader for god’s sakes, everyone knows what goes on at your high school parties,” -

“Ok ok,” she acquiesces, suppressing the blush at Ymir’s offhanded compliment and deciding that that there was no point in panicking every time they did this, “… but only if you join me.”

“Cheers,” Ymir says, offering her glass to Krista’s and taking a generous gulp. “So, tell me. Boy trouble, again?”

Krista nurses her drink slowly before taking a sip.

To Krista, Eren was a breath of fresh air. He didn’t hover, he didn’t foam at the mouth every time she spoke to another guy, didn’t hound her if she didn’t pick up his phone call.

Does he even care? Ymir had asked her once scathingly, but she had disregarded it, grateful for the freedom she felt in his embrace. Freedom from toxic attachment, from past trauma or unresolved baggage like the one she was destined to carry. When she was around him, she had felt different. Lighter almost, as if this persona that she had created for herself could actually have a shot at happiness after all.

But lately she’d begun to wonder if she’d just been fooling herself… again. She’d begun to question if she had just convinced herself to see the promise of something that was never there.

“… I thought this guy was one of the good ones,” Ymir says, watching Krista closely.

“He is…” she sighs, “He is one of the good ones. It’s just…” she trails off, unsure if she should give voice to her thoughts. “Ah fuck it, I’m just feeling a little insecure, it’ll be fine…”

“… Is this about that sexy flatmate of his?”

She winces, feeling exposed. It often felt that way with Ymir. Like there was no point to any of the barriers she had worked so hard in constructing.

“She is attractive,” Krista admits, begrudgingly. “… I’m only surprised Eren hasn’t noticed that.”

“… But that’s what you’re worried about, aren’t you? That he has noticed that of late?” Ymir narrows her eyes at Krista. “You should just ask him about it!”

“I did,” she states defensively, “… and he said there was nothing,” -

“… Oh, sure there’s nothing. I can’t believe he thinks he can lie to you and get away with it,” -

“Ymir, I trust him, he’s my boyfriend,” -

“But that’s the problem with you. You just trust everyone, and you let them walk all over you. You did this with Reiner and now with,” -

“Ok,” she whispers, “Stop it, Ymir.”

“… Krista, you need to trust your gut about this sort of thing. If your gut is telling you that he’s a lying asshole, then you should just dump his ass and,” -

“… See this is why I didn’t want to tell you about this,” she cries, her voice rising In frustration. Because this is how it’s always been with Ymir, no one she dates is ever good enough, no decision she makes is ever smart enough.

“You’re always shitting on my boyfriends. And I know you were justified about the last one, but,” her voice cracks just a little bit, because at the end of it all, she just feels weak, “… it feels like you’re just taking a massive crap on me as well.”

“I didn’t mean,” Ymir starts apologetically, brown eyes remorseful, “… look, that wasn’t my intention.”

She takes her hand, slowly, lets her long fingers intertwine with Krista’s smaller, dainty ones. The crumpled expression on Krista’s features has her regretting ever opening her big mouth. But she was tired of seeing one person after another, enter her Krista’s life, and undo the progress she was trying so desperately to make.

“… The truth is,” she takes a deep breath, ready to unleash a truth that’s been stifled for so long, she can’t even remember when it first sprouted, “I think you’re pretty fucking amazing. And I see you wasting all your time and your feelings on these stupid boys who don’t deserve you.” The words come out quickly, rushed almost. A sharp contrast to how long they’ve festered in Ymir’s chest, growing and growing until these feelings knew no reason.

Ymir doesn’t look at her, she keeps her gaze focused on Krista’s hand, afraid of what might happen if Krista understands the depth of feeling behind her words. But more important than her feelings, there were some things she wanted Krista to see clearly.

“Did you tell him about your father, Krista? What he does to you when his wife isn’t looking?”

Krista tugs on her hand, a wave of unbridled panic spreading at the mention of her father. “I trusted you with that information, Ymir, you promised you’d never bring it up,” -

“… Did you tell him your real name?”

She can’t answer this question, even though she knows the answer, knows it’s an emphatic ‘no’ - but she cannot answer because there’s an overwhelming lump in her throat, and it’s taking everything from her to barely keep it together.

“… Let go of me, Ymir,” she pleads, and that’s when Ymir loosens her grip.

“… You trusted me to keep quiet about your secrets - and I’m fine with that. I’m fine with doing anything you ask of me,” her teeth grit together, because she doesn’t know, Krista doesn’t know just how much she would do.

“You asked me not to do anything about the fact that your father is hurting you, and it even though it kills me, I listened to you. But now I see you hurting yourself in this farcical relationship with fabricated feelings for some boy who doesn’t treat you the way you deserve, and I don’t know if I can be quiet about that anymore.”

And because it’s grown too large, too much to keep inside of her anymore, she whispers, “I love you, Historia. And if you want me to let go of you, I will. But,” she brushes her lips gently against Krista’s cheek, “… You can trust me with your secrets, and your heart, if you’d let me, because I could take care of you.” She feels a warm tear roll down Krista’s cheek and her heart clenches, “… I could make you happy.”

…

ix.

“… I really appreciate you making time for this,” she murmurs, as she watches him lay the white lilies at her parent’s grave.

He always remembers, without her prompting, because the first time he’d come with her, she’d spent hours crying at their gravestone, telling him tear-filled anecdotes of the dishes her Mama cooked, the bedtime stories her Papa told, the flowers that they used to grow in their garden together (white lilies).

“C’mon Mikasa,” he rolls his eyes at her, “… we do this every year. Why wouldn’t I make time for this?” And why the hell are you thanking me?

She can’t really explain it to him, the possibly childish notion that she thought he might be too busy with his girlfriend to remember the death anniversary of her parents. She regrets doubting him, regrets that of late she’s been so clouded by petty jealousy, that she hasn’t truly appreciated how little he’s changed around her.

“It’s ridiculous,” she confesses, softly, “… you’ve given me everything. A home… A family.” She smiles at him, somewhat blurry. “But I can’t help it, every year on this day, my mind always goes back to that… moment. I lost them… in what felt like the blink of an eye.”

He tenses, as he always does when he sees her upset, or shedding a tear. There is a fundamental part of him that deeply despises the sadness on her features; it makes him feel helpless. So, he does the only thing he can - he wraps an arm around her, tucking her face into his shoulder as she snuggles into him.

“I miss them every day. But you saved me, Eren,” she whispers, dark eyes looking up at him with a gratefulness that he has never known how to accept, and never felt worthy of. “… and now I have you.”

Her voice trails off, almost wistful. “… I guess the world really can be cruel but beautiful at the same time.”

…

When he stops to think about it, he supposes it really is ridiculous it took them so long to get here. And by here he means - Mikasa wrapped securely in his arms, in his lap, on their couch, taking advantage of the privacy they’ve had all along.

He feels her tongue flick against his - it makes him shiver - and he can do little more than just wrap himself around her tighter, and sigh into her kiss. Her fingers make their way into his hair, cradling his head, pressing sweet kisses on the side of his mouth, on his jaw, and on the sensitive spot beneath his ear.

And because Mikasa’s always been a quick study (she’s learnt what he likes, what he’s weak for), he stills her exploration (very reluctantly) before she goes too far.

“Are you okay…?” He whispers, rubbing a thumb along the dried tear stains on her cheek – a reminder of her tears, of knowing the pain that he’d caused her, bubbled quietly within him, having been quelled temporarily by the glorious feeling of having her in his arms.

She laughs, shaking her head, “… I love you. I can’t believe I finally get to say it.” She rests her forehead against his, a happy smile forming on her lips.

“… You could have said it ages ago; you know. No one asked you to keep it inside for this long.” Even though he teases her with his words, his lips drift back to hers, brushing softly, unable to stay away for too long.

“… Well, you never know, I actually might have said it. If it wasn’t for, you know, you having a girlfriend.” He senses the eye roll, the teasing lilt of her voice, but he can’t help but regret the time he wasted. Because even though Krista was a dear friend, and there were no ill intentions there, now that he is here, chest to chest with the girl he loves, he only wishes he’d been here sooner.

“You’re going to use that against me forever, aren’t you?”

She grins in response. “… I have a question though.”

“Shoot,” he murmurs, nibbling against her lower lip.

“… Why’d you guys break up?”

He groans, kissing her jaw testily. “… Do you really want to go into that right now?”

She hesitates, torn between potentially ruining the mood and needing to know what happened. God knows, she had spent countless nights losing sleep over the details anyway. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay, I guess…”

“It’s fine,” he says quickly, realising that if he wanted to set a precedent where she could ask him anything, then it‘s best he starts now, “… She’s in love with someone else. A girl, actually.”

Her eyes widen, not having expected that turn of events. “… Please tell me you didn’t ask for a threesome.”

“What the fuck, Mikasa, of course not!” He pulls back, offended.

“Good,” she murmurs cheekily, “I’ve raised you well.”

“Hmm,” he hums, “Speaking of ‘raising me’, you should probably stop saying stuff like that. Do you know that Connie asked if you were like a ’sister’ to me?”

He grins, seeing the shocked expression on her face. That’s exactly how he had felt when he was posed that question, with a little mortification added to the mix. “… Is that really how everyone sees our… relationship?”

His fingers drift to hers, where they rest on his chest. “We’ve been living together for a while now,” he caresses her knuckles absentmindedly, “Kids our age… they don’t really understand it, I guess. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

“My turn: I have a question for you,” he murmurs. This is a question he’s long considered, stopped only by his embarrassment, fielding it from others only to put the vaguest labels on it.

“… What am I to you, Mikasa?”

The question throws her, because even though she’s told him candidly how she feels, that she loves him, she always has, he is asking her, right now, to define their relationship.

The very notion, the expression that flits on her tongue, bubbles up in her heart with an exciting warmth, even though she hopes this is just temporary, that it will grow, that Eren is so many things and will be so many things to her that she cannot possibly define right now - “… My boyfriend, of course.”

- fin -

A/N: i've been really nervous to post em, because its just been so long, and the writer that wrote chap 1 is different from the one that wrote chap 2, and honestly i dont even know if there are inconsistencies. so my request to you, dear reader, is to please let me know if i have made any fuck ups in writing this - or if you have any ideas for pacing, or storytelling that could possibly help me improve.

also there will be a chapter 3 focusing on eremika’s sexual exploration~

#eremika #erehisu #yumihisu #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #shingeki no kyojin #liquorisce fanfiction

33 notes · View notes

olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 34

First

For those of you who read it Satisfied’s Alternate/Alternative Ending has a new chapter <3 dual update for Easter

Chat hadn’t known what to think when he was woken from his nap by buzzing. His brain had felt fuzzy, sure, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t supposed to be audible.

He pulled his face out of his pillow -- ignoring Plagg’s cry of surprise at being displaced -- and cracked an eye open.

Oh. His room was full of bees. And they were apparently taking the glitter out the window to the nearest dumpster. Oh. Okay. Why not? His life was already so weird.

He buried his face in his pillow again and went back to sleep.

When Ladybug stopped by, he had been playing late-night video games on the floor with Plagg. (Did he have an unfair advantage in his ability to hold the entire console at once? Yes. Was he going to go easy on the kwami? No.)

He tensed a little. Was she checking on her prank and about to get angry that Chloe had fixed everything (he made a mental note to thank her later, if they were both still alive)?

Ladybug and Chat looked at each other, silent, unreadable expressions on their faces... until the sound of Plagg finally beating his character with a loud screech pulled them back to reality.

Plagg may not talk, but the way he floated around Chat’s head, pumping his tiny fists in the air, was a pretty clear ‘hahahahaha I won you loser I winnnnnn’.

“Hey,” said Ladybug carefully, pulling his attention away from the gloating kwami. “Sorry if I’m interrupting something, but we really should talk…”

He hesitated slightly.

She held up her hands. “It doesn’t have to be right now but… soon?”

Chat bit his lip, and then turned off his console and set down his controller. “Now is fine.”

Ladybug nodded. “I was thinking we could get out of town for it...?”

Get out of town? Was this risky in some way? Were they about to get akumatized? Or, at least, have akumatizable emotions?

“Sure.”

So, after getting Rena to cover them for an hour while they booked it, they both left. Ladybug had her phone out, apparently to hold a map, though he didn’t really understand why because they were only really going in one direction.

“Alright!” She called suddenly from where she was flying along overhead. She swooped lower until she was buzzing along by Chat. “I think we’re far enough past the border to be safe.”

Ah. That was why. He nodded and skidded to a stop. She touched down on the ground beside him. They both mumbled to detransform and their kwamis almost instantly dove to hide in their jackets despite the fact that they were both still invisible to passerby.

They continued on in the direction they’d been heading in silence. No one was around, which wasn’t shocking considering it was nearing 1. They came to a stop at a bakery that was still open and she hesitated.

“Want something?”

He bit his lip. “Passion fruit macarons?”

She blinked, and for a moment it looked like she was going to say something, but then she nodded and headed inside to get some.

She came out a few moments later with a box of macarons for him and some regular chocolate chip cookies for herself. They settled to eat it just outside.

She nibbled at her cookies, eyes locked on a spot on the ground. He’d tried waiting for her to be ready to talk, but after a few minutes of her looking without seeing he decided he should at least say something:

“... you wanted to talk?”

She blinked a bit and looked at him, then quickly pulled her gaze back to the floor again. “Yeah. I guess I just wanted to say --.” She made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “I can’t -- I --.” She glared at a crack on the ground like it had personally offended her. “You speak English, right?”

He startled a little. It was an odd question. But, still, he nodded. “I’m rich. I had to learn English and Mandarin.”

Her face lit up and for a second she looked at him again. “You speak Mandarin?”

He nodded.

“Can we…?” She started, unsure.

“Yeah, but I might be a little rusty.”

“That makes sense. If you don’t know a word I can translate it for you. Since we’re using my language not yours,” she said in Mandarin.

(Some vague part of him noticed that she took on a different tone in Mandarin, that her voice was lighter and a little smaller, that she seemed almost happier. He wondered if she’d like it if he spoke it with her more often.)

He nodded and made a vague motion with his hand, wordlessly telling her that he was ready for her to talk.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry and… I wanted to explain myself.”

He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to, that he was also at fault, but she was already going on:

“Kwami, this is kind of embarrassing to admit to you, but my first few months of being ‘Ladybug’ didn’t go well.”

He nodded his understanding. Memories of his first few months as ‘Chat Noir’ were painful for him, too, despite how long ago it had been. All the people questioning his abilities, questioning his intentions, questioning his choices… had he not been used to media scrutiny, he doubted he would have continued on with it despite finally being able to go out in public as himself.

“I was second -- as you know, obviously -- and… a lot of comparisons were made. You’d had a year’s experience by then, and you’d had fight training beforehand, but I was just… new. You could always do things better, you were always preferred, you always got the bigger akumas while I got stuck with Mr. Pigeon and people like him. I even had a support-class-type power. Everything seemed to point to me being stuck as number two to you forever. And I think a part of me resented you for it.”

“I’m sor --.”

She cut him off with a look. “It’s not actually your fault. I shouldn’t have let it get to me as much as it did.”

He laughed without humor. “You were thirteen.”

She opened her mouth to argue, and then just shook her head and let the subject go. “Time passed, and Carapace came onto the scene, and people stopped comparing us as much… but they kept criticizing what I did. If I tried to be fun I was a ‘copycat’ and if I tried to act more serious I would be ‘bitchy’ and if I was neutral I was ‘boring’.”

He nodded slowly. He was beginning to understand where this was going.

“My sideeffects started coming in, and suddenly I was very lucky. None of the attacks ever seemed to hit me unless I REALLY messed up, and I started getting a reputation as ‘perfect’. And…” Her voice cracked a little and he looked away as she brought her arm to her face to wipe her face. “And I figured that, since I wasn’t even close to perfect, I should go with that kind of personality. At least it wouldn’t hurt as much when people criticized me, y’know? So I became everything I wasn’t, serious and perfect and --.”

He hesitated, biting his lip, and then he grabbed the sleeve of her hoodie and pulled her close. He gave her plenty of time to pull away, but she didn’t. She just buried her face in his shirt and stood there, arms limp at her sides, as he hugged her.

“I’m sorry, I should have helped --.”

“It’s fine, you couldn’t have known.” She gave a wet laugh. “You’re really good at hugs, by the way.”

“And you suck, apparently,” he teased lightly.

“Rude,” she muttered, arms coming up to wrap around him as well.

She actually was good at hugs, he thought vaguely as she molded herself to fit against his body.

He bit his lip. He could just leave the subject there. She apologized and he’d definitely gotten enough of a punishment…

He buried his face in her hair. He couldn’t even admit this to Carapace, how was he supposed to admit this to her? But… he really did want to talk about it with someone, and if anyone could understand it would probably be her...

“I… I’m in the public eye a lot. As a civilian. And my persona is a lot like yours. I’m the perfect, sweet son of --… my dad. And so, when I saw you pretending to be perfect out in public to keep up an image… I might have projected a little. I’d always kind of wanted someone to expose me as not perfect so I could be more free to be myself in public, so I wouldn’t have to spend my few hours out of the house with perfect posture and even more perfect smiles to make sure it didn’t reflect poorly on my dad.”

She smiled against his shirt. “At least you being ‘perfect’ is kinda true. Sure, you’re a little lazy sometimes, but you’re still pretty much amazing. It’s almost annoying.”

“PLEASE. If kwamis could talk, I’m sure Plagg would have a lot to complain about.”

She laughed, properly this time, and pulled away from him. She took a step back and then leaned against a lamppost without even glancing behind herself to make sure something was there. “Tikki probably has some stories, too. But, either way, you’re practically as perfect as people can be.”

He wasn’t convinced. “My first response to negative emotions was to make someone else mad enough at me to be a distraction for a few days.”

She didn’t look surprised. Not that he’d really expected her to. If Carapace had figured it out then surely she had, too; she had a few more months of psychology experience than him.

“Yeah, and? You were still calculated enough to choose the person who was least likely to get akumatized. As perfect as a person can be.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and she mimicked the action.

He looked her up and down twice before locking eyes with hers. “You’re still comparing yourself to me. You have to think I’m perfect so you can feel like Parisians were justified in comparing us and putting you down because, if they weren’t, then you have to accept the people you save on a constant basis are kinda sucky.”

She blinked and then a blush spread across her face. “Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh’.”

“I can psychoanalyze you, too,” she said, breaking gaze with him to glare at her feet. “You can’t bring yourself to believe you’re perfect because your shitty parents probably used that as a basis to punish you and you’d like to believe that they were doing it so you could be your best self rather than admitting the truth that they don’t care about you as much as they should.”

He sniffled. Wait, when did he start crying?

“... oh.”

“Yeah...”

She cleared her throat a little and that’s when he noticed she was starting to cry, too.

“Kwami, we’re both messes, huh?”

She laughed through her tears. “Fuck, maybe WE’RE the ones who need therapy, not the rest of Paris.”

“No no no, everyone in Paris needs therapy. The minute we defeat Hawkmoth I’m getting a psych degree. That’s where the money is going to be.”

“We already have honorary psych degrees. I bet if you ask Chloe she could get her dad to give you a license.”

He snapped his fingers and then pointed at her. “Smart. All those years would probably make it so therapists wouldn’t be needed as much.”

“A few years? With as much trauma as Parisians have? Nah. You’ve got at least a few decades of consistent customers. ESPECIALLY if you market it as therapy from Chat Noir.”

He managed a smile, and they were silent for a moment other than the dying sniffles and shudders.

“Are… are we good?” He asked quietly.

She blinked at him, and then looked down. There was a beat, and then she took a deep breath. She brought a smile to her face and stuck her hand out.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you! My name is Ladybug! I promise I won’t displace my anger towards Paris onto you!”

He stared at the hand, uncomprehending, and then a smile stretched across his face. He shook her hand. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, too! I’m Chat Noir! I won’t be blind to your problems and will help out when people are being rude to you!”

She gave him a skeptical look. “You don’t even stand up for yourself.”

“Uh… you’re right… uh… I’ll make Carapace help out when people are being rude to you!”

She laughed and shook her head. “Stupid.”

“I try.”

She smiled and hooked her arm through his.

“Whatever. Let’s get home.”

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write @trippingovermyfeet @melicmusicmagic @meimei3841 @roseliali

#a miraculous tiktok account #chat noir #adrien agreste #queen bee #chloe bourgeois #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #carapace #nino lahiffe #rena rouge #alya cesaire #miraculous tiktok account #miraculous fic #ml fic #mlb #chloenette #chlonette #adrino

33 notes · View notes

jojparasol · 4 years

Text

golden

thank youse for 200+ followers, i’m surprised because as far as i remembered, my one follower consisted of those fake sex accounts so thank you :) here’s an angst for the fine line series because that seems to be all i write alongside pregnant fluff? also the fine line series is not connected with each other but through their songs!

the one where Harry wants more but Y/N is afraid

Word count: 1.8k

angst!

He blinked. His vision blurred as it came to the light with a weight on his chest. He was holding her as if she was the most fragile thing in the whole world. Harry couldn’t believe that she was in between his arms, hearing her soft humming that travelled in their shared space.

“Harry?”

She seemed half-asleep, her voice weak and soft. Her lips barely parting and her finger grazing his silver rings in a small, circular pattern. And when Harry heard her, he knew that with a simple call of his name - she would catch his attention wherever he was.

“Yes, lovie?”

“Take me home.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows at that, their previous moment ruined and he was questioning if her drowsy state was able to fully comprehended the meaning of her words. As far he understood, they were both content at his apartment. She usually stayed the night anyway so what was the sudden need to go back?

“What d’you mean?” She looked up at him, her eyes were half-lidded and blinking more than often. As if sleep would be able to devour her consciousness in any second. So why couldn’t she sleep here? Right at Harry’s apartment.

Y/N yawned, stretching her arms before lifting her head away from Harry’s chest and giving him a tired smile. “I need to go home, ‘avent’t fed Atticus yet.”

Atticus was her cat, her grumpy tortoiseshell cat that only gave his love and affection to his rightful owner. Heck, that cat despised Harry with every inch of its nine lives that it had. It was an ongoing joke by Harry that Atticus was closer to being Y/N’s boyfriend than Harry is.

“Well, if you want we can stay at yours?” Harry was hopeful, maybe desperate. He was focused on her facial features as they eventually became sunken.

Y/N shook her head, releasing herself from Harry’s grip that got tighter within time. “Y’know that can’t happen H.”

With a sigh of defeat, Harry nodded his head, not wanting to push her any further so he accepted with a slight sombre. He watched her get up from the couch, looking around the living room as she picked up her things so she could go home. And he couldn’t deny the slight hurt he felt because he foolishly thought by now that Harry was her home.

The car ride was silent. Only the low music that played from the radio and if anyone listened closely, they’d hear the occasional sniffs coming from Harry as his fingers tapped against the edge of the steering wheel. Y/N had her head in her hands, her legs slightly pointed away from Harry as she focused her gaze on the view passing by.

It felt like hours until his car pulled up in the driveway of her flat although, in reality, the ride was only ten minutes. Harry turned off the ignition, clearing his throat as Y/N unclicked her seatbelt, grabbed her bag that laid on her feet and nodded her head.

“Thank you.”

“Y/N?” She had her hand on the handle but it loosened when her name was called out. She didn’t reply though, simply looking back at Harry with raised eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

“What are we?”

She let out a small groan, shaking her head at the question that she knew all too well. “Harry, I thought we talked about this. Why ruin whatever we have by labelling it?” To anyone, Y/N may be sounding like a complete bitch and for a second she thought that too but she excused it, telling herself that she was just tired.

And to anyone, that included Harry. He couldn’t help but feel broken, all his hope that he gathered was shattered. Of course, he wanted to label it. He wanted her to be his girl and all those silly other names that he saw other couples claim for each other. Harry liked her a lot and he shamefully admits that he’d be willing to drop down on his knees for her although he knew she wouldn’t. Completely besotted as what Mitch would say whenever he saw the two together and Harry didn’t deny it either. And how could he not be besotted with the girl? Y/N was golden. Like the colour of the sun lighting up his forest eyes. She was the sunshine in a crowd of grey clouds. She made him feel out of his head and straight crazy.

He had asked her before and at the time, they managed to agree upon an unlabelled, carefree relationship. Some could call it open or friends with benefits but in the end, Harry knew he wanted her for himself. Selfish but true as it gets. He felt her take control in a way she didn’t know about and he knew he was smitten to the core, holding onto her like an antidote. But as far as Harry knew, she was scared of broken hearts, hence her lack of seriousness in a relationship. But he was open for the adventure of loving her and hating the loneliness.

“I know that you’re scared because hearts get broken... but do you think I’d ever break yours?”

She let out a deep breath, not wanting to look at him at all. “Harry…”

“That’s crap Y/N, you know yourself how much I like you. Everyone’s aware of that.”

“But Harry, look how happy we are. It shouldn’t matter what the title of girlfriend and boyfriend holds with us.”

Harry let out a pathetic scoff, knowing at this point, it was something else. He didn’t exactly know what but through her fiddling fingers and shaky breaths, her words weren’t what she meant.

“Is it someone else? I know whatever we have isn’t official so maybe that’s why-”

“God, no! ‘ve been with you every single day. How and why would I be with anyone else?”

Harry blinked at her. “Do you see my point?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, mumbling something under her breath before opening the car and storming out. As dramatic as she was, it would’ve made sense for Harry to let her walk away but he followed. Sure she didn’t say his name but he followed either way. He was quick at her feet as she unlocked the door and walked inside.

“Not so fast, Y/N!”

She huffed, turning around and seeing Harry look distraught after holding open the door before it shut.

“Harry fuck off.”

He didn’t let those words get to him, simply turning around to shut the door and sitting down on her couch. Motioning his head for her to sit down.

“Let’s talk.”

She was stood up, her hands crossed against her chest. Harry sighed, he knew she wasn’t going to budge. Standing up again to walk in front of her, he left good distance between them.

“Are you afraid?” He asked gently, scared to break the girl. Although her demeanour seemed hard, he knew that was never the case.

“No.”

“Then why don’t you wanna be with me? We’re practically together.”

“Okay well if we’re practically together then why can’t we just stay like this?”

Harry started growing frustrated. “Because when we’re like this,” he pointed between their two frames, “I don’t know who the fuck you’re going to fuck!”

“So you want to claim me so I don’t go whoring around?” Harry could hint a little hurt in her voice but he was quick to brush it off, stubborn to get a proper answer. At this point, they were just throwing their words at each other hoping one would break down, slacking off at the attempt to work whatever they had out.

“That’s not what I meant Y/N. I don’t know if you’re blind or you just can’t comprehend the fact that I don’t want to be alone! I want to be with you.”

“Harry I didn’t want to label whatever we had.”

“Then what’s the point?!” He was almost shouting and Y/N started to grow quieter every time he spoke. But this time, she didn’t speak at all so Harry took his queue, just a little more delicately. “Y/N, you can’t just leave me broken and make me hope that someday you’ll open.”

It was silent. “Don’t you get it, Harry? I’m scared. Fucking terrified because you’re out there. You’re out in the world as an open book and I’m just a blank page. I’m scared because it’s so easy for you to leave me and I don’t want my heart to get broken. It’s stupid but it’s true.”

Harry’s features softened, knowing that she just revealed the truth. How could Y/N be so afraid? She was this golden palette that filled his heart like no one else did. He didn’t think, hell he was sure that no one could ever do the kinds of things she makes him feel.

Golden, golden, golden.

That’s what she was to him. He was silent for too long, too deep into his thoughts but it was shut down when he heard Y/N let out a small hiccup. He looked up, seeing her slightly hug herself.

“C’mere lovie.”

With that, she stepped into his open arms as he engulfed her into a tight hug. It allowed her tears to fall. He hummed in an attempt to comfort her, caressing her hair.

“I’m so scared of commitment,” her voice muffled into his shoulder.

“And ‘m guessin’ it doesn’t help I’m out there in the open?” He whispered, his head slightly resting onto hers. He felt her nod, grateful that they managed to understand each other.

She let go, pulling her head back but his grip around her waist remained. “I’m sorry, it’s so stupid.” Y/N let out a small, amused laugh in between her words.

Harry instantly shook his head. “No, it’s not. I understand. I’m scared too. But I want you to know I’m willing to work for this if you are.”

“I’m scared-“

“I know that you’re scared because I’m so open. I know. But baby steps, okay?”

Y/N nodded before a low meow was heard from below them. Looking down, her cat was rubbing his face against Y/N’s legs, softly purring. She coos, leaning down to pick her cat up as he cuddled into her.

“Baby steps,” she mumbled, closing her eyes as Harry carefully gave a kiss to her temple, aware of the resting cat in her arms.

He was thankful, knowing that although being afraid was inevitable in one’s relationship, Y/N was able to admit it. Sure, he too was afraid but he knew he didn’t want to be alone and she was opening. Y/N was the gold in his life that he longed for.

Golden, golden, golden.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic

242 notes · View notes

i-need-entertainment · 3 years

Text

Tsukasa Iizuna + “Make you mine”

This is the 3rd Oneshot for the Valentines Day Event, thank you so so much to the anon who requested this, I almost had a heart attack when I saw it!!

Character: Tsukasa Iizuna x reader

*This takes place AFTER nationals, so it’s graduation time~*

“Y’know Captain, if you stare any longer you might drill holes in her head.” Iizuna blinked himself out of his daze as he tore his stare away from the beautiful girl, choosing to instead direct a glare towards the second year libero. “Shut up, I wasn’t staring.” Iizuna avoided Komori’s gaze, choosing to instead look back at you. You, the ever so beautiful and kind Y/n L/n. You, the girl Iizuna had liked since first year. And you, the girl Iizuna could never bring himself to confess to. “Why don’t you just confess to her already? You like her don’t you?”

The setter sighed in frustration while he dragged his hand down his face, a downcast expression appeared on his face as he looked towards Sakusa. “You know why I can’t do that.” Turning back to look at the girl Iizuna was instead met with the one thing that was stopping him from telling her how he felt. Or rather, the one guy who was stopping him. Making his way through the hallway was the one and only Ken Hashimoto; also known as the ever so popular third year captain of the baseball team, and Y/n’s boyfriend.

Komori gave Iizuna a sad smile as he gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. “I don’t see why he’s stopping you, he’s a jerk and an idiot.” Komori deadpanned, “Are you really the one who should be calling someone a jerk?” Sakusa glared at his cousin; who gave him an innocent smile that said ‘please don’t hurt me’ as he stepped closer to Iizuna- for safety reasons.

Iizuna groaned, hand coming up to run through his ash blonde hair. “I wish it was that easy...it’s definitely true.” The three returned their gaze to Ken and Y/n, observing as he had his arm hung around her shoulders, obnoxiously laughing and messing around with his baseball buddies while Y/n stood there uncomfortable and ignored. Iizuna looked at her with longing and adoration, wishing that he’d bring himself to tell her...but he knew it was a useless argument to have with himself, because everytime he tried every time he had a chance he could never bring himself to do it.

Because he just knew in your eyes and in the eyes of everyone else he was a small fish compared to Ken, or that’s how he saw himself anyway. Soon enough the bell rung, signaling the start to the school day. Iizuna waved to his juniors as he headed to his class, class 5, the class he just so happened to share with you. Iizuna walked in, greeted the teacher and sat at his desk taking out his homework and other papers.

He sent a glance your way, but with the way your hair had slightly fallen over your shoulders, and the look you had as you concentrated on your work he couldn’t help but let that little glance turn into a one sided staring competition. That is until you noticed his gaze and gave him a smile and a small wave, and once he realized what was happening he of course returned the gesture. Just when you were about to speak the teacher started talking signaling the start of class and you turned towards the board, Iizuna trying to focus on the lesson and not the beautiful girl sitting diagonal from him.

After an eventful school day the bell rung indicating the end of the school day. Just as Iizuna was about to get up from his desk and head to the gym Y/n came up to his desk. “Hey Iizuna! Uhm, before you go to practice, I just wanted to know if you were going to the graduation party this Saturday?” Iizuna nodded, “I was planning on it, are you going?” Y/n nodded, “Yeah, it’s being hosted by the baseball team so, I don’t really have a choice.” Y/n lightly laughed and Iizuna cursed himself in his head for only being able to focus on how cute she looked.

He forced himself out of dreamland and nodded, making an expression of understanding, “Ah, yeah that makes sense…Uh, listen I wanted to ask you-“ “Babe!” Before he could finish the ever so enjoyable Ken entered the room, sauntering over to wrap his arm possessively around Y/n’s waist as he looked at Iizuna giving him a very obviously fake smile. “Oh, hey Iizuna, sorry to interrupt but uh, I’ve gotta get this cutie and I to practice. We’ve got our last rounds of nationals coming up, don’t wanna mess up those! And we especially don’t wanna get injured, that would be really embarrassing- oh, my bad. You uh..doin okay?”

Ken’s ‘buds’ behind him snickered behind him while you shot him a glare, “Ken! What the heck!” Ken smirked as he looked back at Iizuna. “What?! The guy can’t take a little joke?” Iizuna swung his bag over his shoulder as he stood muttering a ‘it’s fine’ as he tried to leave. “But uh, seriously, that was a pretty nasty fall you took. You gonna be okay, captain?”

The mocking tone of his voice almost sent Iizuna over the edge and his fist into his jaw, but he was stopped by you, albeit not directly. “Ken stop! Just- go to practice, we need to talk. I’m sorry Iizuna, I’ll see you Saturday.” Iizuna exhaled and gave Y/n a smile, “Don’t worry about it, see you L/n.” while he walked out of the class, meeting up with a frowning Komori and a scowling Sakusa.

*Time skip to Saturday at the party*

Not long after word got around that you and Ken had broken up, which wasn’t a huge surprise, he was a jerk. So that gave Iizuna a new goal for the night; he was finally going to tell you how he felt, he was finally going to make you his. Iizuna walked up the concrete sidewalk to the house the party was being held at, a good chunk of the volleyball team behind him. Originally it was a party just for third years, buuut exceptions were made for nationally ranked teams, the men’s volleyball team being no exception.

Iizuna knocked on the door and waited until someone let them in. Sakusa immediately headed for the corner, where Komori decided to follow him since he didn’t know anyone either and Iizuna just kinda floated around talking to a few classmates here and there. And then he saw you. You were talking with some friends by the dance floor when you locked eyes with him, smiling bashfully before you looked away, your friends laughing as you tried to re-compose yourself.

This would be the first time you had ever seen Iizuna in anything not his school uniform or his jersey, and he looked nice. He was wearing black jeans with black/white vans and a white t-shirt, paired nicely with a dark colored jacket. Just as you couldn’t really take your eyes off of him, he had an equally hard time taking his eyes off of you. You who was wearing some perfectly fitting jeans and a white turtle neck shirt. Giving you a knowing wink your friends left you as they saw Iizuna make his way over to you.

You smiled as he was In talking distance. “You came.” He smiled and nodded his head, “Yeah, uhm, you look really nice.” Your eyes widened as you took a moment to short circuit. “U-uhm. Thank you! You look really nice too.” Iizuna felt the heat creep up his neck as the tips of his ears turned just a little bit red. “A-ah, thanks.” A short lived silence settled between you two before you decided to ask him something.

“Uhm, if you don’t mind me asking, when we last talked you were going to tell me something but Ken interrupted. It’s been haunting me for the past few days..” It was Iizuna’s turn to be surprised, you had remembered…? “Ah, yeah um….it’s a little hard to talk in here, do you maybe wanna take a walk?” You smiled as you nodded. The unknown truth is, you liked Tsukasa Iizuna. You just didn’t know he liked you! Hence why you spent the last year and a half dating the jerk Ken, but when he had come after Iizuna a few days ago…you snapped. And broke up with him.

“I heard about you and Ken…I’m sorry.” You shook your head smiling, “Don’t be…I’m not.” He chuckled, hands going into his pockets as he glanced towards you before he returned his gaze to in front of him continuing to walk to no where specific on the concrete sidewalk. “…I always thought he was an idiot, but he proved it when he let you go,” He turned his gaze to you once again, Your eyes widened and your mouth slightly open in shock.

“You’re smart, you’re kind, you’re easily the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen and since first year there’s been one thing I’ve wanted to do. One thing I wanted more than nationals or to be captain,” He stopped walking, turning to face you as he took the smallest of steps closer, taking your hand in his as his eyes came back to yours. “For the longest time the only thing I’ve truly wanted was to be yours…so, Y/n L/n, if you’ll let me I want to be the one to make you smile and to make you laugh and to take care of you…let me make you mine.”

For a moment after his proclamation it felt like you had forgotten how to breathe, all the words you wanted to say were stuck. You snapped your self out of the trance you were in and surged forwards to hug him, whispering a ‘yes’ while his arms locked around you and you held onto him tight. Three years seems like a long time to wait for someone, but it’s hard to regret that time when the person you’ve longed to hold is in your arms, holding on just as tightly and just as scared to let go.

“Put your hand in mine, you know that I won’t stop until I make you mine, until I make you mine.”

#iizuna x reader #iizuna tsukasa #iizuna x y/n #y/n #Haikyu!!#Haikyuu!!#haikyuufanfiction #haikyu x reader #hq oneshot #Valentines Day Event 2021

28 notes · View notes

curls-cat · 3 years

Text

Who we Grew to Be

HAPPY HOLIDAYS @vertdegrece!!!! You asked for grown up Daphne/Pinocchio, so you got a lot of vaguely purple prose leading up to adult Daphnocchio! I haven’t written for this ship in a while, I forgot that I like it!

also posted on AO3

Daphne and Pinocchio do not grow up together. That would be too easy. Daphne stalls out for a little bit at eleven, when she gets her first zit, but besides that, she grows like any human child: straight through.

Pinocchio, on the other hand, grows in fits and starts. He’s been cursed that way, because the Blue Fairy, his absent mother, takes as much as she gives. All her blessings have a little bit of the monkey’s paw about them, so he only grows as old as he acts, forever cursed to act his own age.

The upshot of this is that they don’t spend much time together in childhood. Daphne is much closer to Red, who grows at the same pace she does. Pinocchio, too, is closer to Red. They live in the same house, after all. And Red may be aging at the same pace as her best friend, but she’s got a sort of ageless quality about her that makes it easy for Pinocchio to spend time with her no matter how different their ages are, physically.

Oh, they see each other nearly all of every summer, when Henry and Veronica pack up their rarely-used car to make the drive up from NYC to Ferryport Landing, towing their children with them. Summers are nice. Daphne likes summer, when she has her whole family together in Granny’s newly-renovated ramble of a house for two entire months. Even Puck and Uncle Jake are nearly always there.

But they don’t hang out. Daphne out-ages Pinocchio for the first two years, the growing difference between seven and nine not nearly as much of an impediment as Pinocchio’s snobby brattishness. Then he makes a leap forward, catching up and almost outstripping her to ten. They leapfrog their way through childhood, only matching up briefly every few years. Then he makes a final jump from sixteen and moody to somewhere much closer to twenty, and he’s off to university while Daphne is still sixteen herself, and he throws himself into the kind of universities that he now looks old enough to be a student at.

Sixteen is a weird time. They’re the same age, for once, and they’re together in Granny’s house, for the last time, it’ll later turn out. Pinocchio spends a lot more time with her than usual, but he’s grumpier than he’s been since he was ten, demanding her attention one minute and then scoffing at her the next. Sabrina rolls her eyes and tells him to get his act together, but she’s mostly too busy hate-flirting with Puck to explain what she means, even though she gives Daphne knowing looks whenever pressed.

Then Granny dies, and Daphne’s family shatters.

Puck and Uncle Jake disappear to opposite corners of the globe. Sabrina and Pinocchio go back to school and if Daphne didn’t drag her sister home over the weekends, she’d never see her. Her parents start fighting, both of them either at work or at home but not present. Mr. Canis is so heartbroken that Red is spending all her time, nearly, with him, trying to make him eat or sleep or smile. Basil is furious and heartbroken by turns, begging Daphne for hugs one moment and screaming at her the next. Daphne feels like she’s alone, pulling at a dozen different strings that are all tied to people running as hard as they can in opposite directions. Like she’s being drawn and quartered by her own grief, by her own desire to keep her family together.

It doesn’t come to a head at any one point. It’s several smaller heads, a million little breaks, separate scenes where Daphne begs each of her family members to come back to her one by one. Most of them do. Puck and Pinocchio don’t.

And she gets it. She knows, from the way Mr. Canis and her dad look at her sometimes, that she’s the most like Granny out of all of them. She’s got her grandmother’s righteous indignation and need to help everyone, her rigid moral compass that even she knows is a little shy of true north, her big, enormous heart. Of course it’ll hurt to come back to her. Of course it’ll be like looking at the little imperfect shadow of the woman they’ve lost, the woman who loved them when nobody else would.

It doesn’t make her any less furious at them. And, for a year or two, she’s almost glad they’ve stayed away, her hurt turning into anger.

Fast forward again, to Sabrina’s wedding. By this point, Pinocchio has sort of been back in her life, by virtue of being back in Red’s life. He’s halfway through a doctorate in history, and Daphne’s learned through Red that he wants to get more, in anthropology and archaeology, among other things. He wants to get all the doctorates, from the sound of it.

Sabrina’s wedding goes strangely. Daphne may have meddled a little bit. Just a tiny, tiny bit. But it’s not her fault Sabrina kept moping about Puck. It was super obvious. And Bradley’s a nice guy and all, and Daphne knows Sabrina loves him, but it’s not gonna be a happy marriage if they don’t at least get all the Puck baggage out in the open. So she meddles. Finds Puck, pulls him out of his five-year mope, and throws him at the wedding.

It’s a mess, obviously. There’s a huge scene at the wedding, it sort of falls apart, a lot of forgetful dust has to be spread around. At the end of it, Daphne’s left standing, exhausted, with an empty bag of forgetful dust, watching the last of the guests leave. Or, at least, she thought it was all the guests.

“Are you cleaning up as penance?” someone says behind her, in an absolutely gorgeous voice.

“Come again?” She turns, and there’s Pinocchio, in all his dark academia glory. He’s grown into his nose, though it’s still a striking centerpiece to his face.

“For turning your sister’s wedding into a fiasco,” he clarifies. “I assume that was you.”

“Maybe,” she says, trying for teasing. It comes out a little more flirtatious than she meant it. What? He’s cute, okay?

“How—how have you been?” Pinocchio asks.

He could’ve asked her that any time in the past five years. Any time. She’s honestly kind of surprised he came to the wedding. She will not give him the cold shoulder, though. She won’t. She’s better than that now.

“I’m all right,” she says. “In college. You?”

“Also in college,” Pinocchio says. He gives her a small smile.

She smiles back. It’s all very awkward. She starts gathering up wedding decorations.

“I, uh,” Pinocchio says after a minute. “I think I owe you an apology.”

Damn right he does. She doesn’t say that, though. She does look at him expectantly.

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, not making eye contact. “After—Well. You know. I shouldn’t have run away like that. I was hurting, and spending time around anyone who knew your grandma just made me think about how much I hurt. So I ran away. And that wasn’t fair. Because you were all hurting, too, and I know you, especially, wanted everyone to stay close.”

“Very nicely said,” Daphne approves. “Did Red coach you on it?”

“Only a little,” Pinocchio admits. “But I mean it. All of it.”

“All right,” Daphne says. And she takes a deep breath, the way she’s been practicing with Cindy, and she lets the anger go. “I forgive you. But only if you’re done hiding.”

“I am,” he says, and he smiles at her.

They keep in contact after the wedding. Pinocchio still has a tendency to bury himself in books and forget about other humans, but if she texts him, he’ll text back the same day. Usually. She tells him about the weird things going on between Puck, Sabrina, and Bradley. Occasionally he’ll send her an unprompted message ranting about something she has only the vaguest understanding of. She’ll patch it together across the pages her phone’s divided it into and have wikipedia open for reference as she reads. They go out for coffee at least once a month, sometimes with Red, sometimes without her.

Daphne refuses to ask him for help with her homework. Getting a degree in social work requires a lot more of the hard sciences than she’d anticipated. It’s frustrating, but it’s worth it. She’s gonna be able to help people, when she’s done with this. Everafters and humans alike. Oh, Sabrina’s got her child advocacy law thing going on, and that’s great, but Daphne’s determined to help people before they get to the point where the courts have to get involved. And she’s not going to do it by depending on Pinocchio for help. She can do this on her own.

But as she moves from her bachelor’s to the postgrad degree it’s apparent she’s going to need if she wants to actually get a, y’know, job in her field, she does start complaining to Pinocchio more. They’re at the same university, Pinocchio now well into an anthropology degree, so they hang out at the library pretty often, their noses buried in separate books or laptops.

Pinocchio’s funny. She’d forgotten about that, or never really learned it. He’s got a dry sense of humor, and he’s sarcastic like you wouldn’t believe. He’s fun to be around.

“I had a crush on you, you know,” he tells her one day, apropos of nothing, as he stretches in his chair, taking a break from whatever he’s working on right now.

“What?” Daphne pauses, not sure she’s heard him right. She’s been pretty intent on putting together a case study review.

“When we were, oh, sixteen or so,” Pinocchio says. It’s too casual to be anything but feigned. He knows exactly how old they were. “G-d, you were so—friendly. Overwhelmingly so.”

“Am I not friendly anymore?” Daphne asks, but she’s teasing. Friendly. What a reason to get a crush on someone!

“Nope,” Pinocchio teases right back. “Downright unpersonable. I must be rubbing off on you.”

“If Sabrina couldn’t turn me into a grouch, you’re definitely not gonna manage it,” Daphne says with an easy grin. “This new ‘unpersonable’ thing is all me, baby.”

“The world has worn on you,” Pinocchio says with a melodramatic sigh. “You’ve finally lost your childlike joy.”

“Only took twenty-three years,” Daphne says with a grin. The conversation dies for a minute, then Daphne brings it back. “Why bring it up now?”

Pinocchio shrugs. “I was just thinking about it. Thinking about back then. It was nice. I miss it.”

“You barely talked to me!” Daphne says with a laugh.

Someone two tables over glares at her, and she gives them an apologetic wave and a smile.

“I was shy!” Pinocchio protests. “I didn’t know how to talk to someone I liked! Let alone someone who was in my house the whole summer!”

“Fair enough,” Daphne agrees. “I hope you know this is teasing fodder for forever, though.”

“Oh no,” Pinocchio says, deadpan again. “What will I ever do. You’ve never teased me before in my life. I don’t think I can handle it.” He pauses, then says, “You don’t seem surprised. That I liked you.”

“What can I say?” Daphne winks at him. “Nobody can resist my charms.”

“Fair enough,” Pinocchio says, giving her a shrug. Then he goes back to studying.

Time passes. Daphne graduates, can’t get a job through normal channels, but gets herself employed working for Faerie. Pinocchio teases her about nepotism, but listen. If there were anyone else qualified, she wouldn’t need to do this job. She and Pinocchio don’t spend all their time together in the library anymore, but they do meet up for lunch, and dinner, and sometimes breakfast. Someone has to make sure he remembers to eat, after all.

Several months into seeing each other nearly every day, by choice rather than by ease, something occurs to Daphne.

“Are we dating?” she asks.

Pinocchio chokes a little. “What?”

“Are we dating?” she repeats, emphasizing each word a little more clearly.

“How would we be dating?”

“We see each other almost every day,” Daphne starts, ticking her points off on her fingers as she goes. “We go out to dinner together, just the two of us. We watch movies together. We hang out in each other’s apartments. I text you almost as much as I text my brother and sister, and more than I text Red. When I have news, you’re the first person I want to tell. You leave your little nerd fort to hang out with me.”

“I mean—” Pinocchio splutters. “You’re— Dating usually involves a certain amount of intent, doesn’t it?”

Well, yeah, okay, there’s that. But Daphne’s stumbled into relationships before, only realized what they were partway through. Love is messy like that. But, well. Pinocchio likes things to be clearly labeled. People don’t come naturally to him the way they do to her.

“Would you like this to be dating?” she asks.

“Would you?” he counters, still spluttering and blushing.

Would she?

She thinks about all the things she listed, about how she wants to spend time with him, about the way he’s comfortable. About his dry sense of humor, about his stupid handsome face, about the way, every time she sees him she’s struck, a little, by the sight. About how it makes her heart beat faster. She’d put it down to his being one of the hottest men she’s ever seen, but that should probably have worn off sometime in the past few years, right?

“Yes,” she decides. She would like to date him.

“Oh,” Pinocchio says. His blush deepens.

He says nothing else for a long minute, and Daphne starts blushing too. “If you don’t—I mean, I—listen. It doesn’t. I’ve gotten crushes on friends before. If you don’t want to date me, that’s fine. It doesn’t have to change anything. We can forget this whole conversation!” Because she’d rather keep his friendship than anything else.

“No!” Pinocchio rushes in. “No, that’s not—I just—I mean—” he’s stumbling over her words, now, the two of them talking over each other to explain themselves, when he says, “I like you too!”

“Oh,” Daphne says, stopping abruptly. “You do?” She smiles at him.

“Yeah,” Pinocchio says. “I think I never really stopped.”

“That,” Daphne says, reaching a hand forward to grab at Pinocchio’s, “was downright romantic, you handsome sweetie.”

Pinocchio gives her a dopey, lovestruck smile. Then, after a long moment, he says, “So are we dating then?”

Daphne laughs, twines their fingers together. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, we are.”

#sisters grimm #the sisters grimm #daphne grimm #sisters grimm holiday exchange #sisters grimm secret santa

26 notes · View notes

dindjarindiaries · 4 years

Note

How about a mute character who won’t speak, but the first time the Pedro characters hear them is when they cry because they’re trying to but don’t know what to say?

A follow up of what I suggested in this ask! These are gonna be long and they’re gonna be sad. Prepare yourselves accordingly (especially you, @frozensobanoodles).

Din is just as quiet as you are, to start. He doesn’t mind the silence and he most definitely doesn’t mind the absence of any pressure to talk. Over time, however, he swears he’s slowly starting to go insane at the silence that haunts the ship—other than the child’s coos and the occasional rattling of the Crest’s old parts. He thinks that maybe if he starts speaking first, you’ll be able to as well. When he says his first modulated words, he sees the look of surprise on your face—but he gains no answer. It doesn’t matter, because now he’s too far gone; he starts telling you everything. His past, his Creed, his struggles that he’s internalized ever since the day he watched his parents die. And, somehow, it doesn’t kill him inside when he still gains no response. It only makes you feel like an extension of himself, a new place to store his thoughts, worries, and whatever else he hides underneath the beskar. He starts to care for you like you’re a part of himself—his other half. So, when he suddenly hears a new, faint sound coming from the hull, he can’t help rushing out of the pilot’s seat and seeing what’s happened, just to have his once-cold heart shatter into pieces at the sight of you slumped on the floor. Your hand attempts to hold back the sound of your crying as your eyes reveal the struggle within you. Din kneels in front of you, asking what’s happened, and you’re still unable to answer—so you gesture to your lips, hoping he’ll understand. He does, and he rests his helmet against your forehead while reassuring you that you don’t have to say anything. He’ll wait for you and your words as long as he needs to.

Javier will first attempt to tease his way into hearing your voice. He hopes that his joking quips at your work and your silent nature will eventually earn him a sharp Shut the fuck up, Peña. But, no matter how many times he tries, his jokes aren’t enough to get you to say anything. He can’t even make you laugh. Sometimes, he sees you stifle a chuckle, but that’s all he gets. And it drives him crazy. He wants to figure you out almost as badly as he wants to catch Escobar. Each day spent at the embassy becomes a mission for him, and he tries to find out what makes you tick. His eyes have never observed someone as carefully as they’ve observed you, paying attention each day to the things that make your eyes darken and the things that make the corner of your lips twitch just a bit further up than usual. He builds his own file up on you that he hides in one of his desk drawers, writing down whatever he finds. One day, he finally gets the guts to ask if you want to hang out at his apertment for the night, when Steve and Connie are going out on a date for their anniversary. You give him a nod and a smile—which, according to Javi’s file, is very good news—and soon find yourself sitting at Javi’s kitchen island. He treats you to a home-cooked meal, talks all about his life back home, and even brews you a cup of coffee just how you like it (yet another thing from his file)—and you still haven’t spoken a word. When you find yourself sitting beside him on his couch, you struggle to say something, wanting to so badly but finding the words stuck in your throat. No matter how hard you try, you can’t get them out, and soon a tear falls at your frustration and disappointment with yourself. You try to turn your face from Javi so he won’t notice, but it’s too late, and he’s soon using a hand to turn your face back to him. “No, hermosa,” he whispers gently. “What’s wrong?” This only makes more tears fall, and you avert your eyes to gesture to the pen on Javi’s coffee table. He hands it to you, offering his hand and letting you write your words on it: I’m trying. Javi looks back at you with a small smile, brushing that palm of his hand against your cheek as he comes closer. “I know,” he assures you before kissing away one of the tears on your cheek, bringing you a feeling that words definitely couldn’t ever say.

Ezra is no stranger to mute partners. He reminds you time and time again, his last partner was mute, but he can still tell you’re nicer and more full of some degree of life. This makes you hold back a chuckle, which Ezra’s sure would be music to his ears if he got to hear it. To fill in the void air, Ezra will go on and on about the things he’s learning in the books he reads whenever you stop to camp in your tent or on the ship traveling somewhere else. One day, he finds himself reading a book on birds, and he widens his eyes when he looks up at you and makes a connection. “I’ve just had a most spectacular epiphany,” he tells you excitedly. You say nothing, as per usual, but offer him a raise of an eyebrow. “Little birds often migrate alone—recall the moment when I found you alone and advantageously requested your companionship? Thus, I must now refer to you as little bird.” This excites Ezra because, since you don’t speak, he never got a name for you. Now, he’s made his own, and he’s glad to see your eyes sparkle at the sound of it. This holds him over for quite some time—but, soon, his self-doubts start to get the best of him. Are you not speaking to him because you know what he’s done? Because he doesn’t interest you? Because you never even wanted to be his companion—it’s something he forced you into? These fears eventually lead him to talk honestly with you, and he says that he’ll be going on his own again. But, just as he turns away to part from you, he feels you grab his arm and stop him. He turns around, wondering if the glass of his helmet’s smudged or if he’s seeing tears fall from your eyes. He sees your mouth moving, as if you’re trying to get words out but can’t. Ezra understands right away, and he steps back up to you and holds your hand in both of his. “I’m sorry, little bird,” he apologizes softly. “I feared you regretted our companionship—but I’ll stay. There’s no need to lament.” Your relieved smile says a thousand words words to Ezra anyway—and he swears to remain at your side until you say yourself that you don’t want him to.

Whiskey is intrigued by you and your silence. He’s used to being around loud, boisterous people who talk over each other almost obnoxiously. So, for you to appear at Ginger Ale’s side one day without a single word to say to him or anyone else is something spectacular to him. He finds himself spending more and more time up in Ginger’s stomping grounds, just so he can watch you and see what you’re like. Soon, she catches on to his frequent visits and stares, and she has to pull him aside to address it. “Jack, you can’t be coming up here all the time and watching her,” she chastises him. “You’ll scare her.” Whiskey will sigh before insisting, “I can’t help it, Ginger. She’s fascinatin’, the way she’s so quiet. Do y’know why?” Ginger shrugs and just asks him to take it easier. Feeling guilty now, Whiskey will slowly start to lessen his visits until he’s almost never there anymore. Little does he know that you notice this, and you miss his presence. His lively atmosphere made you feel comfortable and a part of a world you want to join, but struggle to. So, one day, you decide to go find him and ask him to start coming back. Whiskey’s surprised to feel a tug on his sleeve and see you standing behind him, but nevertheless, he smiles widely at you. “Oh hey there, sugar!” he greets in his warm voice. “Can I help you with somethin’?” You’ll open your mouth to try to answer, and you’ll freeze up as your throat completely closes up, keeping you from speaking. You’ll try again and again, but you’ll just look like a fool, and your cheeks will heat up until you shake your head and walk away from him quickly. Concerned, Whiskey will follow you, feeling his stomach turn when he finally hears the sound of your crying. When he finds you hiding around the corner of a hallway, he walks up to you and pulls your hands away from your face. “What’s wrong? Was it somethin’ I said?” Whiskey’s questions will earn him a vigorous shaking of your head, and upon him noticing your mouth closing and opening fitfully, he’ll realize what’s happening. “Oh, you’re tryin’ to talk. Don’t rush yourself, sugar. I’ll be here, ready to listen, whenever you’re ready to talk.” You’ll be unable to keep yourself from hugging him then, and Whiskey will smile at the gesture that says much more than you possibly could’ve before.

Frankie (Catfish) needs the peace. He’s had too much noise in his past, too many things he’s trying to forget. When you offer him that peace and don’t probe for him to talk about his problems, he’s more than welcome to the offer. It becomes easy for you to snake your way into his heart, even without saying a single word. Frankie gets his information about you from other sources and never even dares to make you feel as if you need to say a single word. This way of his, however, makes you start wanting to say something. You know that he needs to talk, but you have not a clue what to say, and you don’t want to interrupt his peace. It’s something he brings up often, almost as if he’s trying to reassure himself by saying the words aloud. “Thanks for the peace and quiet, babe,” he’ll say, kissing your cheek before leaving the dinner table every night. You want this to make you feel comforted, to keep doing what you always do and say nothing, but it also makes you want to give him another option—the option that isn’t easier, but is more helpful. You reach your limit when you’re laying beside him one night, awakened suddenly by a painful whimper from Frankie’s lips. Alarmed, you sit up and look at him, seeing his eyes squeezed shut harder than usual as his lips make fretful sounds. A coat of cold sweat covers his shirtless form, and you know he’s having a nightmare—a bad one. You try to wake him up, but your throat again produces nothing. Desperate, you hold his shoulders and try to shake him awake, but it doesn’t do much. Tears begin to fall from your eyes in struggle, your mouth still trying to make words as you watch him suffer before your very eyes. Your tears escalate into sobs, and that becomes the sound that ultimately jolts him awake out of his torture. He sits up with you, catching his breath before seeing you crumbling apart before him. Frankie holds your face in his hands, concern written all over his expression. “What happened?” he asks, panicked. “Are you okay?” You gesture to your mouth, then to your throat, then to him, and he understands immediately what you’re trying to say. He shakes his head and pulls you to him, letting you hide your face in his chest as he secures the back of your head there. “It’s okay, my love. All I need is your peace right now. That’s it—I promise.” And that’ll be enough to comfort you, letting you close your eyes as you take in his recovering form.

170 notes · View notes

magioftheseas · 4 years

Text

Can’t Even Trust

Summary: In which Ouma is annoyed that a certain luminary is friendly with a murderer.

Rating: PG

Warnings: None, really?

Notes: I rewatched a bit of dragon maid, which you can tell. I just thought it’d be neat to apply this sort of thinking to Ouma but within the context of v3, it’s kinda...complicated? What am I even trying to say... Guest-starring Kaede because I wuv her. Yes I could’ve written this in the canonverse bUT THEN KAEDE WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN THERE SO FUCK THAT.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

There are people that can be trusted and shouldn’t be trusted. It’s easy to figure out when a person shouldn’t be trusted, but when it comes to those who can be trusted, it takes a lot more time. A lot more patience. And a little bit of good will that may or may not be deserved. It takes a lot that, realistically, you wouldn’t be able to give every single person.

It’s both easier and more practical to just not trust people at all than to dance around the idea. Giving trust freely is just way too reckless and stupid, especially under certain circumstances.

It’s no wonder, then, that Momota-chan is so goddamn annoying.

Seriously you go through all the trouble of revealing that someone’s a merciless assassin—something that someone with any amount of reason would want to avoid and it still doesn’t stop the astronomical idiot from getting close anyway.

“It’s probably because he wants to bang her,” Iruma offered ever helpfully, which just made him sour even more.

“Well, trusting is good, right?” Gonta asked ever innocently, which nearly made him bite off his own lip in frustration.

“Yeah, it’s pretty worrying,” Akamatsu agreed, to which Ouma instantly perked up.

“You get it!” he exclaimed. “It doesn’t make any sense at all! Of all the people to want to associate with, why the killer girl?!”

“Mm...” Akamatsu pursed her lips. “Well... Harukawa-san was forced into it, wasn’t she?”

“So? It’s not like she feels bad. She threatens death to anyone who even slightly inconveniences her.” He let out a sob. “Akamatsu-chaaan, just the other day! She strangled me half to death! I was so scared! I really thought that was the end for me!”

“I remember, I was there,” was her terse reply. “So you’re not lying about that...although I distinctly recall you laughing at the time, Ouma-kun.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of a brave front?!” He wailed into his hands. “It was an act! All an act! I just didn’t want to give away how frightened I really was! And Momota-chan, he...he...!”

He had separated them. He had given that killer a strange kind of look, and right when Ouma was about to hide a smile against the other’s back, Momota still offered that murderer his hand.

What an utter moron.

“You’re worried about him,” Akamatsu said. “I mean, I’m not a detective like Saihara-kun, but... It is pretty obvious, y’know.”

With his hand still buried in his hands, Ouma frowned.

“It’s honestly not that. That kind of recklessness could get more than just him killed, y’know.”

Akamatsu hummed. Even that’s a musical sound, befitting the Ultimate Pianist.

“Well, even if it’s difficult... Maybe trust that Momota-kun can reach her?”

Trust him? Is that some kind of joke?

When he checked, Akamatsu looked pretty serious. He couldn’t understand that at all. He really waited for the other shoe to drop, for her brave face to break and for her to confess fear and uncertainty like any other normal person would in this situation. But it doesn’t. She doesn’t. And she’s hard to read.

And he actually kind of liked her a little. How disappointing.

“Okay!” he chirped, so sickeningly cheerful it almost made himself gag. “If anyone can do it, it’s Momota-chan! You’re absolutely right!”

Akamatsu’s expression does strain. He doesn’t feel any satisfaction, however. Not in a situation like this.

“Just trust!” he repeated, laughing. “I’ll just trust him!”

What a shit fucking joke.

And thus, he’s wasting valuable nights that could be used for investigating instead making sure nothing unsavory happens between Momota and the killer girl. Mind you, if the two do start banging, he’s going to just fucking leave, Momota-chan be damned. But, they’re just exercising. Well. The murderer is doing most of it, leaving Momota and Saihara in the dust.

Oh yeah, Saihara. The actual detective.

You would think that’d be reassuring enough to get on with his own business, but for some annoying reason that Ouma couldn’t figure out, he was still there. Still watching.

Watching Momota roll over and laugh once done and watching Saihara give him a fond smile while Harukawa scoffs and rolls her eyes. Gross. It’s like they’re an actual group of friends or something.

Except who the hell would be friends with a murderer? Ouma wondered, even more irritated at the fun they were having. He has half a mind to ruin their night but he doesn’t want to give away his position and make spying on them down the line harder.

Thus, he just lets them be. Watches until Saihara’s too sore to continue and Momota declares the whole affair another success. Success for what? Something about fighting oneself?

He’s so stupid.

He thinks that, but he still lingers after the trio part and return back to their rooms. Even though Harukawa leaves first, he still watches out for Momota.

He’s so stupid it’s dangerous. Maybe he’s the one I should worry about?

Momota lingers out for a bit to watch the stars by himself. He also gets in some extra exercise, stretching out his limbs and swinging them about with his teeth gritted together in an audacious grin. He does that for a bit, but when he’s finished, he still doesn’t leave.

Instead, his head turns towards the direction that Ouma is in. Ouma stares back, positive that their eyes are meeting and challenging the other all the same. Momota glares at him. It’s confirmed.

So much so that he doesn’t bother to move as Momota marches up to him, folds his arms with a scowl, and demands, “Just what the hell are you doing, Ouma?”

“Napping.” Ouma flopped down to the ground. “Awww, you’re interrupting my beauty sleep, Momota-chan! And I was having a really good dream, too! You weren’t there.”

“I know you were spying on us!” Momota yelled, pointing at him quite rudely. “Both of my sidekicks noticed! You can’t lie your way out of this one!”

Both of them, huh? Yeah, shouldn’t have underestimated Saihara-chan, probably. Although...

“Akamatsu-chan told you, didn’t she?” he asked, his tone dulled. “Ah. Shouldn’t have trusted her at all. What a shame. She’s a traitor.”

“She just said you were worried,” Momota snapped. “Don’t twist this! Your sneaking around would’ve been found out regardless.”

It takes a lot of time and patience to trust someone. Too much that can be reasonably given to each and every individual person. And yet, this idiot...

“She lied,” Ouma said, huffing as he stood and dusted himself off. “I wasn’t worried about you at all. I was just bored. And I saw you weirdos doing weird things and I got curious.”

Momota raised an eyebrow, still glaring down at him with little patience.

“It’s part of my evil plan!” Ouma exclaimed, waving his hands. “Can’t believe you caught me, Momota-chan! I must really be losing my touch!” He cackles. “Nishishishi, you’re shaping up to be quite the formidable adversary!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Momota just looked more annoyed. “We’re not adversaries. We’re not friends, either, but I still wouldn’t go that far.”

Someone whose thoughts and philosophies are so adverse to my own... I’m not sure what else you’d call us.

“Anyway, the sneaking around’s unnecessary anyway,” Momota went on. “If you’re that curious, you can join us. Your scrawny arms look like they could use our training.”

The dumbass had the audacity to look smug, but Ouma just twisted his body away. He folded his arms behind his head.

“I’ve got no interest in following an idiot’s orders. Being on the opposite side suits me far better.”

“Who are you calling an idiot?!”

At least it was easy to push Momota’s buttons, at least it was easy to work him up. If he could be this easily manipulated, maybe some of the danger he posed could be mitigated.

Except instead that just makes him even more annoying. So much so I want to violently shake some sense into him. Except I’m not a violent person. I’m the most peaceful person out there! The exact opposite of a murderer! Which is why Momota-chan and I can only be on opposing sides.

The silence of the night, the light breeze rustling the grass, the stars above, and Momota fuming behind him—even in such carefree moments, Ouma felt the weight of the truth and goddamn was it unpleasant.

Worrying about him is a waste of time.

True.

If he stupidly gets himself killed, it’ll be safer for all of us to be without that dangerous idiocy of his.

True.

I couldn’t care less about him.

Lie.

It’s that lie he has to cling to if he wants to keep himself sane.

“Idiot,” he repeated, because it’s the only truth that doesn’t annoy him at this moment. “I’m done. This spying was a waste of time.”

Momota huffs, but he comes close, reaching out for him. Ouma’s quick to avoid, jolting away from him. He does look back, and Momota has such a stupid, stupefied expression on his face.

“Ouma?”

Ouma just smiles.

“Have a nice night, Momota-chan.”

He’s quick to disappear, quick to retreat, back to where there’s walls upon walls between the two of them. It’s safer that way, after all, especially given how his heart is hammering.

#Magi fics #Oumota #kokichi ouma #kaito momota #Kaede Akamatsu

27 notes · View notes

boogiewrites · 4 years

Text

No.9: The Body

Chapter Five

Characters: Diego Hargreeves & OFC Eve Corpuz

Summary: Diego breaks down Eve unexpectedly, and Luther attempts to break down Diego.

Warnings/Tags: Light descriptions of fighting. Little bit of Luther. Talk of past trauma/abuse/death.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT! If you’d like added to the tags, just let me know. This is a multi-chapter fic.

Eve walked into the gym after work as she did most nights now. It greeted her half-lit but still bright enough to see the training area. She’d continually thanked Luther for being so accommodating, and he didn’t seem to mind in the least. She felt almost bad keeping him in the dark about her powers. She was dying to tell them all, to have people understand, to be around people like her as she tried to newly navigate this alternate reality she’d found herself having to accept. But Diego said to trust him, it was best to keep it as low key as possible until she felt a bit more certain. She did trust him, so she did as he suggested even if she felt like a kid being denied a gift.

She had acetaminophen in her system, her usual jug of water, and another large container of Gatorade in tow. She was as ready as she’d ever been. She was actually glad she decided to go late instead of early for her sessions. She was at least awake and warmed up and accustomed to the hungover feeling at this point.

“You showed up.” Diego smirks as he wraps his hands to ready for training.

“Of course I did.” she sasses back and throws her bag against the wall. She also liked not having anyone looking at her or bothering her while she worked out. No one around to steal her things, she could toss them instead of throwing them into a locker and be able to totally focus.

“You were getting a little faded when I left last night, didn't know if you’d be up to this.”

“I’ve already put in a shift today, dude. Don’t come at me with that shit.” she laughs and begins taking off her outer layers. Still staying in an oversized t-shirt and leggings as was her usual, she shook and jumped to warm up everything after it’s exposed to the still cold late winter air of the city that drafted through the old brick walls of the industrial-looking building.

“How was work?” he asked, always down to hear the gross-out stories she had to tell.

“Not great.”

“You good?” he asks, brows high and making an effort to meet her eyes.

“I’ll be fine. Just y’know, dealing with kids is hard.”

“They call you a butt head and it hurt your feelings?”

“No, they died from a drunk driver.” she stares into his eyes and she sees his instant regret.

“Oh shit. I-I'm sorry.” his posture slinks.

“It's what I signed up for, Diego. I’ll be fine.” she motions her hand to halt his sympathetic approach to her. “Just wear me out so I have to go home and collapse into a dreamless sleep.”

“Oh I’ve never let a girl down that’s asked me that.” he falls back into his playful self, trying to deflect the embarrassment he felt.

“Let’s not start now. C’mon.” she begins stretching and heads over to the heavy bags.

------

“Eve. You aren’t hitting like you MEAN it!” he says for the fifth time, trying her patience.

“I’m TRYING! I don’t know what you mean? I’m putting my whole body into it.”

“No, this isn’t about your body, you’ve got to FEEL it.” he shakes the bag as he holds it so she can hit it. She’d been shown how to wrap her hands, and get used to the feeling of hitting something and it jarring her back. But she kept hitting the bag, focused and form correct and he kept asking for more. She was starting to get frustrated.

“Is my form wrong?” she asks with dropped shoulders, panting.

“No, it’s perfect. That’s the problem. I want to see you get messy. In a real fight, you won’t have your head on perfectly straight. I want to see you give everything you’ve got and HIT. Like you HATE this bag.”

“I’ll hit it like it’s you if you don’t stop with this hippy sounding nonsense.”

“THAT is what you need!” he says exasperated too, trying to get her to give in and break, put her heart, not just her mind into it. He knew a fighter was inside her but her years of polish to appear as perfect as possible was a hard varnish to breakthrough. “Imagine it’s someone you hate.”

“I don’t HATE anyone…” she lies.

He cocks a brow at her. “Bullshit. Think of something that made you cry, made you lash out, made you want to beat someone's head in. HEY imagine it’s whoever stabbed you? What would you have done now that you KNOW how to fight huh? Imagine it’s them and that you’re going to give them what's coming to them.”

She takes a deep breath and presses her lips together. He didn’t really know what he was asking of her. Her therapist would be slapping him for requesting her to do such a thing. But she trusted his philosophy. And she imagined the bag was her mother. “I’ll… try okay. Just...stop talking and let me... focus.” she rasps out and stretches her neck.

He motions zipping his mouth and throwing away the key, and braces himself for her hit.

A one-two. A flash of her mother screaming at her. A few more hits. The feeling of true fear as she saw the wild in her mother's eyes. She begins a pattern, a few hits, and a deep breath. Eventually, it becomes a continuous downpour of hits, making sounds as she hits each time. It sounded like pain and Diego knew she’d found what she needed to fuel herself.

“There it is. You got it. Keep goin’.” he says softly, watching her eyes.

Her naturally dark hair is falling out of its tight ponytail, now flopping with every hit. She could hear her mother's voice, feel that fear for her life, and the deluge of insults that would be her inner monologue for so many years after. The hits came harder, with more grunts and whimpers after each one, each a time she’d been afraid. Her breathing buckles, the hits harder and harder, her knuckles aching until she throws in knees and kicks. It doesn’t stop, the feelings were broken open and he’d gotten what he wanted, but at what cost to her.

Diego was proud for a few shining moments until he saw the tears start to fall. Her lips went from tight to gasping, sobs breaking through her angry sounds of impact until her hits lost strength and her head hit against the bag. Her shoulders shook and his eyes went wide, quickly reaching around to her support her as the sobs hit and her knees gave out.

With an unsure hand on her back, her on all fours and trying to gasp through the sobs, the day and her past became too heavy at that moment and it all hit her, breaking her down into a tired, sweaty mess on the gym floor.

He sits next to her, silently, a now supportive rub to her back. “I”m sorry Eve I didn’t-”

She reaches her arms back and hits him lightly. “It’s-you didn’t-” stuttering inhale that she couldn't control.

“Sh… just breathe. Sit up here.” he pulls her up, sitting on her knees, pressing between her shoulder blades to give her lungs room to breathe. “Count in five, out seven.” He counts out loud for her, as her hands begin to still against her thighs and the sounds of pain cease. “I didn’t know you had panic attacks.”

“I dont,” she says wiping her eyes. “I just... it’s been a hard day.” she begins more weakly crying and lets a small laugh out to hide her pain.

“Uh…’ he takes his hands off of her as she begins to let herself stretch and retie her hair. “I think this is where I ask if you wanna talk about it?” he offers and his delivery makes her laugh.

“Better question.” she moves to wipe her face with the hem of her shirt. “Do you wanna hear it?”

With a pause he answers, “Of course I do.” and she turns to face him with still watery eyes.

“Really?” the disbelief almost hurt his feelings.

“Yeah. If we’re gonna be in this together, I wanna know what’s gonna set you off like this. I don’t wanna...make things worse than I already do.” he shrugs.

She nods, turning and plopping down to sit on her butt and cross her legs. “That’s... that’s really nice…” she wells up again and then laughs and rubs her face. “Must be time for me to start my period or somethin’,” she mumbles and it makes him chuckle.

“Or you’ve had a shitty upbringing that still follows you around no matter where you run. Not that I would know anything about that though, right?”

She considered hugging him. For the goofiness he showed, he also had a depth that you had to access through empathy. They both had finally let that facade of having their shit together break down and now they sat like two children in a play circle, sharing secrets.

“Did your dad ever stab you?” she asks with a weak smile as she let herself slump over with a deep sigh.

“He did actually. Tried to kill me.” he nods with an annoyed look on his face.

“Well fuck.” she snorts and rubs her face. “Maybe you do get it.”

“I do.” he leans in and puts his hand on her shoulder. “So tell me.” he asks softly.

“It was the night I ran away for good.” she begins, eyes wandering and looking at nothing as she recalled it. “There was this kid, this guy at school that used to bully me. He’d had me cornered and was... “ she sighs, “he was trying to hurt me. And he ended up having a seizure and dying.” her eyes stare out blankly. “Whispers started fast. Saying I killed him. Although how would I?” she says defensively still. “My mom...knowing about my...abilities she did blame me. She became convinced I’d kill her too. So she tried to beat me to it.” her face wrinkles, pulling her knees to her chest.

“Shit.” he quietly exhales. “That's fucked up, Eve.”

She lets out a genuine louder laugh that confuses him. “Yeah, it is.” She shakes her head and rests her chin on her knees. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we’re both pretty fucked up, Diego.” she offers with a smile and tears still wet on her lashes. It makes him give the smile back, a soft laugh shared between them. Sometimes you had to laugh not to cry.

After pulling her to her feet, he tells her there’s no way he’s making her train more tonight and sends her home. A comforting hug between them before she parts, it felt right to do so. She’d entered the gym with a secret that no one else knew, and left with the weight of it shared. It was no small step, and even though it hurt like hell, in the aftermath it felt worth it.

Diego has a contemplative look on his face as he begins to tidy and shut everything down. Luther appears from the men’s locker room, an apologetic look on his face.

“Didn’t know you were still here big guy.” Diego looks him up and down, trying to read him.

“Yeah…” he drags on, eyes not meeting his brothers.

“What?” Diego demands with a jutted out chin.

“I...uh...kind of heard….all of that…” he pushes back his chin and presses his lips. “Were you gonna tell us you found another person like us or… just keep that to yourself?”

“I didn’t want her to get freaked out by you all and leave.”

“Well she’s already met me and I’m the freakiest there is.” he chuckles softly.

He shrugs in non-insulting agreement. “I just… she’s the first person since..”

“Yeah.” Luther interrupts.

“Y’know who's GOT me. Like, she gets how messed up everything is, man. I don’t want her to…” he sighs and drops the tension in his shoulders. “I don’t want her to leave.”

Luther put a large hand to Deigo’s shoulder. “Ever think she might want to be a part of this?”

“No, Jesus why would she?”

“She’s been alone since she was what? Sixteen she said? She didn’t have support like we did growing up.”

“You’re gonna call what dad did to us support?”

“Look, the point is.. She doesn’t have a family. And even if you hate your family, like you claim to, you still keep coming back right?”

“I can stop.” he sarcastically suggests.

“Well, maybe that’s what she needs. A family. Or at least y’know...friends that understand her. She didn’t know what was going on when she was younger. Can you imagine that? I can’t.” he muses with raised brows, feeling bad for the kind doctor lady.

“I hate to admit this...but you’ve got a point.”

“I know. I do that sometimes. If anyone would listen.” he mumbles defensively. “And I mean.. she’s very nice. She seems...cool. I wouldn’t mind being able to help her out too.” He offers, and Diego knows he only means it in the nicest way possible.

“She is cool.” he nods and looks down, voice soft. “Just let me… I’ll do...somethin’. Just give me some time okay?”

“Secrets safe with me.” Luther says proudly.

“Oh shit, Luther you can’t keep a secret.” Diego groans.

“Yes I can!”

“This is going to end so badly…” Diego complains childishly and loudly. “She’s gonna get introduced to Five and he’s gonna be a DICK and she’s gonna leave and hate me and-!”

“Ah. I get it.” Luther grins.

“What? What’s there to get? We’re a bunch of crazy people, and she’s a nice girl and you’re all gonna freak her out!”

“You like her.” Luther keeps the same cheesy grin on his face.

“PSH!” Diego says dramatically. “I don’t- pfft. I don’t like her. She’s cool and all but-”

“Diego…” Luther comes in and gives his brother a forced hug. “Can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.”

“I don't.” he murmurs into his brother chest, being held against his will.

“It’s been like what? A year? Over a year now? Since… Voldemort happened

“Voldemort?” he pushes away.

“She who must not be named.”

“You can say her name.” he grumbles.

“Since Lila. You were a wreck. It’s about time you started to move on.”

Diego pouts and holds a low brow, looking up with disdain for his brother. Who was right. “Doesn’t mean you have to say it.” he mumbles back but Luther hears and laughs.

“I can’t wait to meet your girlfriend, Diego!” he cheers out as his brother sulks away.

“SHE’S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!” he protests but the flush on his cheeks from embarrassment says otherwise.

@s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s @jaegeeeeer @diegos-butt @anglovesthis

#diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves fanfic #diego hargreeves fic #diego hargreeves fan fiction #The Umbrella Academy

22 notes · View notes