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feeder86 · 4 days

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The 1%

It had been such a thrill, finding that the scouts had picked him; those same experts who had signed up the likes of Harley Hawkinson and Carl Williams. Did they really see the same potential in Nicko as they had done in those superstar football players? It all felt so surreal as he got off the plane to Oklahoma and entered the training facility.

Nicko knew it wouldn’t be easy to prove himself. He looked around the large sports hall, filled with over one hundred large, athletic college guys, all hoping for the same dream of a professional sports contract: to play the game that they loved and get paid handsomely for it.

“As you all know, the modern game of football is dominated by guys who are more muscular than we have ever seen before,” an older guy explained to them from the staging area during this first welcome meeting. “In the last three years, we have seen the average weight of a professional football player increase by 30lbs. And that number looks set to continue to increase.”

Looking around at the other guys, Nicko couldn’t help but understand why he was saying this. Sure, the guys around him were full of talent. How else would they have got here otherwise? But put them on a field with the professionals out there these days, and they would get trampled down in seconds. They all knew it. None of them had the muscle and the bulk that was needed to survive in a big league game.

“Our training scheme and medical support can give you that last hope of achieving your dreams,” the man on stage went on; selling the scheme which each of them had already signed up for. They all knew this was their only real shot at success. These days, no professional football player got anywhere without the experimental drugs offered in places like this; not that anyone would ever admit it outside of these walls. “So, my advice to you is, train hard and work with us… Now I’m going to hand you over to someone you will all be very familiar with. We’re so proud of him and delighted that he has given up his time to be with us today. Boys, please may I introduce you to… the one and only… Carl Williams!” he beamed, as the large room of excited college athletes roared into life.

An enormous, hulking mass of man began strutting from the door and onto the stage. He lifted his arm up, accepting all the applause and smiling from ear to ear. Every muscle on his body was pumped and full. Even his forearms looked incredibly developed. Nicko could hardly believe his eyes! His biggest celebrity crush, right here in the same room with him! Carl was known for playing rough and dirty on the field and, in Nicko’s wildest fantasies, he was much the same in the bedroom. Not to mention the fact that, in terms of celebrity bulges, Carl was off the charts. Every gay site he visited had picked up on the fact Carl was packing something absolutely enormous between those giant thighs.

The man didn’t speak to them for long, but soon had everyone up on their feet, chanting his name. He stuck around too, and was there that evening as they sat down to their first meal together.

“They say he has some sort of sixth sense about which guys will go on to do well here,” Nicko’s new friend, Steve, whispered to him; both of them looking with jealousy at the six young guys who had been invited to sit on Carl’s table.

Nicko shook his head sceptically. “Nah, they’re just the loud ones who know how to sell themselves,” he scoffed, having met a couple of them and deciding that they were not the type of guys he would want to hang around with here; so pumped full of arrogance and self-importance. “We’ve just got to train hard, that’s all.”

Steve exhaled and raised his eyebrows. “I wish that was true,” he mumbled. “But we both know the only thing that sets this training academy apart from the rest is the drugs they use. You can train as hard as you like, but if the drugs disagree with you, that’s the end of the line. Career over.”

Nicko rubbed the spot where he’d had his first injection earlier that day; straight into the muscle at the top of his right butt cheek. ‘Please work!’ he thought silently. There was nothing more he wanted in life than to be up on that top table with Carl Williams.

During the first three weeks, some guys started to stand out remarkably well. Shoulders began to widen, whilst larger glutes and thighs made the training sessions more intense and physical than ever before. Nicko could see the changes in his roommate, Steve, each time he came out of the shower: his biceps bulging and his pecs pumped.

As for Nicko, he had seen only minor changes in his muscle mass, and he was yet to make any impression on the trainers. But as certain guys began to bulk faster, hit harder and dominate on the field, it became more and more of a challenge to stand out, or even stay on your feet.

Egos were beginning to run riot at the camp. Those guys who had quickly responded to the treatments began to strut about with more confidence and ownership of the place than any of them had expected. The larger guys hung out with each other more, sitting together at meal times and excluding those they obviously found inferior.

“Don’t worry,” Steve whispered to him as it was obvious that everything was getting to Nicko. “You’ll respond more to the drugs soon. You’ve just got to focus on the training. That’s the important part.”

Nicko nodded, knowing that Steve didn’t believe a word of what he was saying. In two weeks, they were making their first eliminations, and Steve knew he was heading straight home.

During the assessment, Steve very quickly got a sense of how badly it was going. He was weighed, prodded and poked to within an inch of his life; seeing the same grim faces on the medical professionals all around him. In the end, he was simply sent to a small room and told to wait there for someone to come and speak to him. The afternoon training session was to begin in thirty minutes, but no-one was in a rush to ensure he would make it. The reason for that was obvious: he wasn’t coming back.

It was no shock to Nicko that he was in this position. The last week in particular had been especially hard. He’d been thrown around by the larger guys in training, beginning to understand how the nerds must have felt back in high school. At twenty-one years old, Nicko was in a place that was little better than a kindergarten playground.

Without warning, and making Nicko jump with surprise, the door suddenly opened and an enormous muscular man entered. It took a couple of seconds for Nicko to focus and recognise the person who was now filling the tiny room they were in, but when he did, he shot to his feet and held his arm out, desperate to shake the guy’s hand. “Carl Williams!” he blasted. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Carl looked across at him with a smirk; his eyes travelling up and down Nicko’s body as he reached out his hand for him to shake. “So you’re Nicko, huh?” he asked, as if trying to hold back a laugh.

Nicko nodded, hardly believing that this meeting was even happening. Carl was even more insanely huge and attractive up close like this.

“Sit down, Nicko,” Carl ordered, grabbing a chair himself. “I need to break something to you.”

“I’m being kicked out, aren’t I?” Nicko shot back, not wanting to draw this out and ruin his one-on-one time with his biggest celebrity crush.

“Oh, of course you are,” Carl chuckled, seeming surprised that Nicko had only just figured it out. “But one of the boys told me you had a bit of a crush on me, so I thought I would come in here to soften the blow.”

Carl gazed at Nicko with a sly grin on his face. He knew that he had embarrassed him and he was enjoying the period of time when Nicko was squirming and desperately thinking of how to respond.

“Um, so… how come I’m going home?” he asked, trying to fill the cringing silence.

“Because you’ve not responded to the drugs the same as everyone else,” Carl shot back, looking at him as though he was stupid for not being able to see that for himself.

“But there are a few guys who aren’t packing on muscle all that fast either,” Nicko protested.

“Oh, you’re right about that,” Carl nodded. “But you’ve not gained any muscle mass at all,” he stated harshly. “In fact, you’re part of the less than 1% who actually lose muscle mass on this treatment.”

“That’s not true,” Nicko protested. “I have gained weight since I’ve been here.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Carl laughed. “You’ve only gained fat since you started.” He pointed at the slight paunch that always popped out whenever Nicko was on a bulking diet. “All the guys can see that. I hear they’ve been giving you a rough time this week? The medical team spotted a nice collection of bruises on your body this morning.”

“Not too bad,” Nicko lied, not wanting to look pathetic in front of his idol.

Carl simply laughed as if he knew differently. “Sure, sure,” he nodded patronisingly. “Those guys are just learning; being on a football team is like being part of a pack of wolves. So when you see a little piggy on the field with you, you’ve got to go for them.”

Nicko’s eyes bulged at Carl’s rudeness. But the professional athlete simply smiled at him, as if daring him to call him out on his comments. Then, when Nicko kept quiet, the big man nodded in approval.

“I like you,” Carl grinned wickedly. “You’ve got the right attitude and you don’t live too far from where I play, do you?” he asked, having clearly studied Nicko’s notes before coming in. “I’d love to grab a few beers with you sometime in the coming months.”

Nicko nodded his head frantically.

“Good,” Carl smiled, reaching his large hand out to stroke Nicko’s thigh. “Play your cards right and I might even let you suck me off,” he teased, before standing and heading straight out of the room.

Despite the daring, unbelievably hot fantasy Carl had dangled in front of Nicko’s nose: home still beckoned. He had lost. The dream of sporting success and insane riches was now over.

With a mediocre college degree, Nicko settled into an equally mediocre office job, close to home so that he could move back in with his parents. He’d suffered from a great sense of failure after the training scheme had gone so badly. No one wanted to be the first one sent home; he hadn’t even had a chance to say even a quick goodbye to his friends. He’d got himself into quite the slump, finding that no matter what he did, he simply couldn’t shake off the little arching paunch he had developed in Oklahoma. In fact, despite all his careful eating and gym work, it actually seemed to be increasing in size more than anything.

The same could be said for the rest of his body, with Nicko’s underwear pinching uncomfortably as his tight glutes began to pack on some extra, softening mass. Was he really developing love handles at this age, even after all this exercise? It just didn’t seem physically possible. His date, the weekend before, had even called him out on his extra pounds. Perhaps he had even been right to do so; his profile pictures really were a little out of date these days. It meant that when he got the call from someone on Carl Williams’ staff, trying to set up a date for their beers, Nicko went immediately into panic mode. There was nothing in his closet that was suitable for drinks with a football superstar; at least, nothing that fitted!

“Well, well, well…” Carl smirked as Nicko entered the very private VIP room at the back of the noisy, exclusive club in the city. The enormous 335lb football player looked sexier than ever, all dressed up as he was for a night out. “Let me get a look at you,” he demanded, ruthlessly kicking away the table in front of him with his feet and making space for Nicko.

Having travelled for an hour to get here and arguing with the security outside for twenty minutes that he was a guest of Carl’s, Nicko wanted nothing more than to just sit and have a drink. However, when Carl clicked his fingers and pointed again to where he was being summoned, Nicko only did as he was told.

Immediately, Carl reached forwards, slapping one hand on Nicko’s larger butt and the other on the furthest extent that his paunch was now sticking out. He smiled, bouncing both lightly and seeming to appreciate the new width across the middle of Nicko’s body. “Look at you!” he growled with disgust. “You wouldn't last two minutes on the football field now. My boys would rip you to pieces!”

“I’m trying this new diet…” Nicko began explaining, not knowing what else to say.

Carl winced and shook his head impatiently. “Shh! I don’t want to hear about shit like that.” He leaned right back, then tapped his outstretched thigh, silently telling Nicko to sit on it.

Again, Nicko did as he was old, unable to comprehend that he was getting so close to his football idol. He heard Carl growl in appreciation as Nicko’s torso slipped so easily into his reach. Then, without a word, he began unbuttoning Nicko’s shirt from the very top.

“Wait!” Nicko jumped. “Don’t people come in here?”

“Yes,” Carl replied, unperturbed as he reached the fourth button down.

“What if someone comes in and sees me like this?”

“Then they will see…” Carl smiled, finally reaching the end of the buttons and now splaying the shirt material to the sides, “...THIS!”

Nicko tensed as his fleshy torso was revealed to the one person he had been carefully dressing to conceal it from.

“Fuck!” Carl blasted. “Even the tits are coming in!” he laughed loudly, reaching up and bouncing one of Nicko’s nipples.

Nicko got up, feeling embarrassed. He felt Carl’s strong hand clasp the back of his pants and pull him back over his knee so that Nicko actually fell into the space on the couch beside the football superstar. From there, the enormous man seemed to envelope him, his arm over his body and his face so deliciously close.

“Don’t be shy,” Carl whispered teasingly. “This happens to all the boys at the training camp eventually. Well…” he grinned, raising his arm to show off his incredible bicep, “...almost all.”

“Weight gain?” Nicko asked, feeling his stomach rolling over his belt as he sat, half on his back, with the enormous athlete looming over him.

Carl nodded. “A fat belly, jiggly tits, a giant, doughy butt… you know how it goes,” he laughed; his lips devastatingly near. “But the one percent, well, that boy is always very special.”

Niko nodded, remembering Carl referring to the muscle stimulant medication having an opposite outcome for one percent of the people who used it. Which, in Nicko’s group, had been him. “I’m special?” he asked, aroused by all this attention he was getting.

“Very much so,” Carl grinned, rubbing Nicko’s cheek with an outstretched finger. “The one percent packs on fat faster than anyone else. In less than a year, he can go from a chiselled athlete to a full grown superchub!”

“That can’t be true,” Nicko replied. “They’d never allow something like that.”

“And yet…” Carl laughed, grabbing the roll of fat hanging over Nicko’s belt: his point made. “You really have no concept of how much money there is to be made in football, do you? How vital things like this are for the economy? Fatties like you are just… collateral damage… a necessary evil on the way to creating superstars like me.”

“How do I stop this?” Niko asked, watching the athlete getting up and unbuckling his pants.

“Sucking on this should help,” Carl lied, pulling his monstrously large erection out and slapping it into the palm of his hand. It was even bigger than Nicko had ever imagined, gazing at pictures and videos of the guy’s bulge over the years

Overcome with lust, Nicko slipped his mouth over as much of it as he could, just as he was directed. Everything that had happened since entering this room had been like a dream. Whatever weird things were happening in his life right now, here he was, pleasuring a football champion!

“Oh, yeah! That’s good!” Carl moaned. “Yes! Work that tongue, One Percent! Take as much of me in as you can!”

In those moments, Nicko did not care what was happening to him. He was the luckiest guy in the world, feeling ecstatic as he brought the enormous man to a full climax, simply by using his mouth.

Clearly impressed, a sweaty Carl buckled his belt back up and sat himself down again. “Keep that up and you’ll go far with me,” he sighed in appreciation.

As Carl fixed his clothing, Nicko tried to do the same, beginning to refasten his shirt buttons. However, Carl was still having none of it; placing his large hand very decidedly over Nicko’s and saying ‘no’ in a very strict manner; as if training a puppy.

“Have you ever thought about moving to the city?” Carl asked next.

Nicko shook his head. “I couldn’t afford it. Plus, I don’t know anyone here.”

“Good. That means you wouldn’t go wandering,” Carl shot back bluntly. “I can get you somewhere by next weekend. You can live there, and then you’re close by for me to pop in whenever I want. I keep a few guys that way.”

“Why would you do that for me?” Nicko asked, confused by what he felt were a rush of mixed messages.

“At a game, the front row seats are always the best,” Carl simply replied, leaning across once more and flicking the fat roll that fell over Nicko’s belt. “And this is a show I have no intention of missing…”

It was a couple of months later. Nicko stood at the large picture window of his apartment, still unable to comprehend the amazing view he had over the cityscape. Fully furnished and decorated by professional interior designers, Nicko was living a life he could have only ever imagined in his very wildest of dreams. He was even paid a salary each month and had new bank accounts set up entirely by Carl’s people. And all it took was the signing of several non-disclosure agreements from the athlete’s numerous lawyers.

“It’s time to put that pizza down, Fat Boy!” Carl called out, striding in unannounced, as usual.

Nicko chuckled. He hadn’t been eating any pizza, although you would never have guessed that from looking at him. Upon Carl’s insistence, he wore only his underwear around the apartment, catching glimpses of his increasingly lardy reflection in the many, many mirrors that Carl had insisted was part of the interior design.

“Jeez! Look at you!” Carl laughed, undressing himself at the door, as he always did, and watching as his secret project came waddling into view. He pulled his erection out and stipped even his boxers, standing there as the perfect masculine specimen. “Your tits just won’t quit growing, will they?” he laughed. “And look at this fat butt!” he marvelled, dropping Nicko’s underwear and slapping the oversized glutes which had been filling up at a faster rate since Carl had been sending over take-out most nights. Nicko could tell from the way that Carl was handling them, exactly how the big man wanted to fuck him that evening.

The big mirror in the hallway was always Carl’s favourite spot. He could bend Nicko over the sturdy little desk and watch their reflections as he powerfully bombarded his boy’s chubby’s rear with blow after blow.

“You played well last night,” Nicko offered afterwards as a naked Carl lounged on his sofa for a rest afterwards..

“Yeah, yeah,” Carl sighed, rolling his eyes. He had people blowing smoke up his ass all day long. This wasn’t what he kept Nicko for.

“I felt so proud, I decided to finish all those doughnuts you sent me,” he explained, hoping to please his lover.

“Good,” Carl nodded. “It’s about time you stopped resisting the ways I’m trying to help you fatten faster.” He beckoned Nicko closer, just as the chubby boy had hoped. “So, tell me, how did it make you feel, eating all that for me?”

Still fully loaded and, as yet, unsatisfied, Nicko gasped in excitement as he felt Carl’s hand moving onto his thigh, ready to pleasure him if only he said the right things. “It felt incredible,” he replied, exaggerating. “It made me want to eat even more food and please you so much more,” he continued, feeling his erection having a gentle stroke; so subtle and yet so precise.

“Go on,” Carl demanded, not letting Nicko stop. “Tell me more.”

Nicko gasped, always climaxing pathetically quickly whenever Carl was the one touching him. “It made me so excited to get heavier for you…” he offered.

“Oh, no. That’s not the right word now, is it?” Carl sighed with disappointment. “You’re not just getting heavier, are you? Tell me what’s really happening, One Percent.”

Nicko gave another gasp of arousal, his jaw slackening as the pleasure built. “I’m getting fatter for you,” he replied diligently.

“What else?” Carl demanded again, having found a small crack in Nicko’s defences and prizing it open in any way that he could.

“I’m getting lazier. I don’t exercise. And I eat like a pig,” Nicko whispered, just as he had been trained.

“You are a pig,” Carl shot back at him, spiking Nicko’s arousal even more. The shock he felt over the word was now gone, given how many times Carl had whispered it into his ear whenever he came. Now the word had become a key for unlocking Nicko’s arousal.

Nicko nodded, gazing submissively into the big man’s eyes. His breathing was heavy and his entire body twitched as the orgasm built.

“Piggy, Piggy, Piggy!” Carl sang teasingly, forcing Nicko’s hardess to erupt explosively yet again.

“My goodness! What on earth have you been eating?” asked Nicko’s mother a few weeks later as he called home for a quick visit.

Nicko could feel his face flushing. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled, trying to conceal his stout gut that had quickly formed and dominated his torso. It was all his family wanted to talk about, demanding explanations from Nicko about exactly what he was doing to gain so much weight so quickly. Didn’t he have any regard for his health? His appearance? His ability to find someone nice to settle down with? Just what was this city life doing to him?

“She’s only thinking of you, Son,” Nicko’s dad offered later that afternoon, as the pair retreated into the TV room to watch the football.

“I know, I know,” Nicko huffed, trying to concentrate on the game to see how Carl was playing. Then he winced as Carl went in for a big tackle, destroying the opposition.

“Ouch!” Nicko’s dad hooted. “He’s a nasty piece of work, that Carl Williams! Look at him getting up like nothing’s happened. That poor guy will be out for weeks after that tackle.”

“So?,” Nicko replied defensively. “It wasn’t an illegal tackle. He’s not broken any rules.”

“No, just another guy’s shoulder by the looks of things. Third one this season by my count.”

They both watched the screen as Carl strutted about on the pitch, waiting for the medical team to finish up so that play could resume. Nicko knew the football player well enough to know when he was trying to suppress a proud smile.

“A man that big has no place on the football field,” Nicko’s dad continued. “Look at him! His arms are bigger than my thighs! The game has gone ridiculous!”

But Nicko definitely was watching, feeling blood pumping into his groin. He rubbed his fat tummy, just as Carl would have, suddenly knowing that he wanted to gorge himself stupid on fast food on the way home.

“I weighed myself this morning,” Nicko explained, lying on his front, naked on the bed after a particularly boisterous session with Carl. “Three hundred and forty one pounds,” he smiled, rolling a little and grabbing a wedge of belly fat.

“You have to start eating more then, won’t you?” Carl replied, unimpressed. “You’re only just a little heavier than me.”

Nicko laughed. Whilst the fact was true, his and Carl’s bodies were complete polar opposites in terms of composition.

“I mean it,” Carl stated seriously. “Three fifty by next weekend. Make it happen.”

“Am I the fattest of the guys you keep?” Nicko asked, knowing how Carl supported lots of secret lovers all over the city.

“Not even close!” Carl laughed.

“Do you think I could be, one day?”

Carl looked at him seriously, studying his face in a way that he did not usually. Then his answer, when it came, was actually a lot more considered than anything else that usually came out his mouth. “Why? Do you want to be?”

The feeling of having Carl’s attention was a drug that Nicko could never wean himself off. “For you,” he smiled, “I’d do anything.”

With Nicko’s new enthusiasm and commitment, he felt himself rising up the ranks in Carl’s mind. The athlete came over a lot more and took a very active interest in ensuring that Nicko continued to grow as he’d promised he would. One such perk was having free seats to any of Carl’s games; often getting himself on camera as he gorged on corn dogs in the stands.

“Steve?” Nicko asked as he recognised the man standing by the rest rooms after the game. “How’re you doing, buddy? I can’t believe I’m bumping into you!”

The young man Nicko had met and made friends with in the training camp failed to recognise him until Nicko introduced himself once more. His jaw dropped and he spluttered and mumbled his way through the conversation, clearly not quite believing that they had once been roommates a little over one year ago.

“How did the training camp work out for you in the end?” Nicko asked. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to anyone.”

“Yeah, we got used to that,” Steve nodded. “We’d see guys at breakfast and then… gone. Kicked out. I got down to the final thirty or so. But it got so toxic in the end,” he grumbled, reeling off the names of the guys both he and Nicko had despised: the ones who were now making names for themselves in the professional game. “In the end, I was quite happy to leave.”

Nicko looked down to Steve’s body, noticing a stout little stomach under his pumped pecs.

Steve noticed him looking and he sucked in hids stomach slightly, clearly feeling a little awkward. “I’ve been trying to keep up the training,” he rambled on, clearly used to making excuses for his appearance. “It’s just hard to balance now I’m working full time as well.”

“It’s much easier when you give into it,” Nicko smiled knowingly.

“Yeah, well…” Steve smiled awkwardly. “I’m not quite ready for that.”

Nicko wondered whether he should tell his old friend that the weight gain wasn’t going to stop; that just like him, Steve was heading on a path to enormous obesity as a result of their time in the training camp. However, he resisted, giving his old friend the goodbye hug he had never been allowed at the camp, and watching the guy’s meaty, round glutes and stubborn love handles as he walked back to his girlfriend who was now out of the restrooms. If only she knew the body her boyfriend would soon inhabit: another victim of his own lust for sporting success.

It was only now that Nicko realised just how involved Carl had been from the beginning, having invested millions in the training camp they had attended, and reaping fifty times as much in return. It was what he loved most in the entire world; never missing a single event day they held, and personally seeing to it that more and more naive college boys were signed up each year.

“You’re such a good pig these days,” Carl grinned, watching Nicko nibbling on the specially made giant doughnuts that fitted perfectly around Carl’s thick erection. “Just seeing you without your clothes on now… you’re so disgustingly obese, and yet… look at you eat!”

Nicko nibbled and licked the remaining bits up quickly and sat up so that Carl could touch and jiggle his enormous body, laughing as the waves of pure fat travelled in such interesting ways through his entire body.

“How about we get you somewhere nicer to live than this dump?” he asked, scorning as he looked around the plush, luxury apartment. “Somewhere a lot more superchub friendly.”

Nicko nodded, happy to live wherever Carl thought was best. As he had grown, the wage that was deposited into his account each month had been increasing more and more. Carl had always been great at incentives. In a couple more months, he would even be able to buy his own place, should he so wish.

“I’m looking for somewhere very exclusive for my original piggy to live in,” Carl explained, bouncing up and pushing Nicko onto his back on the bed. “I’d like it to be somewhere for you both to live together,” he smiled, picking up another cream filled doughnut and pushing it into Nicko’s submissive mouth.

Chewing quickly and swallowing as much as he could, Nicko nodded with interest. “This is the guy you first went on the training course with? Your fattest boy so far?”

“You wait until you see him!” Carl grinned excitedly. “Mountains and mountains of pure blubber!” he chuckled, stuffing yet another doughnut into Nicko’s mouth and watching as the greedy boy swallowed it down for him “But he’s not always obedient, like you. He still tries to push against my rules on occasion,” he sneered in irritation. “The pig’s almost one hundred pounds heavier than you are,” Carl explained, having never actually given Nicko any insight into the differences between him and the other fatties he kept. “Yet, he still thinks he can defy me at times.”

Nicko looked up at the gorgeous, hulking monster above him. “Don’t worry. I’ll sort him out for you,” he stated with certainty.

Carl threw his head back and laughed. “My disgusting fatty is setting himself a mission, is he?” he mocked. “Well, you do that then, One Percent,” he nodded approvingly. “Turn him into a good piggy, just like you.”

Nicko smiled, delighted to be trusted with such a task. He rolled over, feeling Carl’s large hand smacking an entire palmful of lubricant into his crack. Then he pulled his heavy, fat-filled glutes wide apart to demonstrate that he was ready to be fucked again. Nicko didn’t know exactly when he had stopped caring about anything else in his life; devoting himself entirely to Carl’s wants and needs. He knew that the guy was wicked and manipulative; throwing his money around and flaunting his good looks to get whatever he wanted. He knew as well that the guy could get bored of him and drop him in a flash. But whilst he was here, basking in the limelight, he would enjoy every second of it.

He would be the very best piggy.

#gainerstory #gayfeeder #gayfeedee #gainerfic #gainerstories #gainer fic #gainer story #gainer stories #gainer fiction #gay feedee

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auteurdelabre · 6 months

Text

Something to Fight For (Part Ten)

Word Count: 10.0

Pairing: Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader (no use of y/n, no age or physical descriptions)

WARNINGS: Potential trigger of abandonment. Self Pleasure. Brutal conversations.

A/N: The story is gonna twist and turn and you may want to jump ship. But I hope you can trust that as your captain I’m gonna get our two leads to a safe and happy shore.

Hours after the heat has cooled from his veins Joel calls you. With a pounding heart he holds the phone to his ear and silently begs the universe to help him. To have you forgive him his initial devastation.

You don't answer.

You're on a train. You're on a plane, he tells himself. You'll call him when you stop.

But you don't.

For the next two weeks Joel calls you every day leaving messages asking you to explain what's going on. He doesn't ask Maria anything because it feels like an overstep. He don't know how much she knows about you two.

But he needs to know you're okay. He tells you that he wants to be there for you, that he's sorry he left in a huff. He'll go to wherever you are if you'll just call him back.

He wants to prove that he'll be there you just need to call him back so he knows if he's overstepping or not.

He even tries texting. Just one word.

Please.

You never answer him. You don't text or call or make contact with him in any way.

When at Christmas dinner with Tommy, Maria and Sarah he overhears from Tommy that you've contacted Maria, that you're safe, Joel feels extreme relief and then a crashing devastation.

On New Years Eve he gets spectacularly drunk and spends hours thinking about you. He considers asking Maria where the fuck you are. He wants an address. He'll fly wherever you are and see you and make you explain. He'll make you listen to him apologize. He'll do anything to be in the warm sun of your smile.

But when he sobers that first day of a new year and he realizes it's going on week three of radio silence getting you, something starts to shift.

He doesn't tell Maria or Tommy about you two. Why would he? There's nothing to tell is there? You were never his and he was a fucking idiot for thinking you were.

Joel doesn't get to have things like Tommy does. Joel gets wives who leave him. Joel works hard and gets things taken from him.

Over a glum lunch Sarah, who had been so distracted by Christmas gifts and parties and Santa, asks where you are. It's the sight of her concerned face, the panic that you're not coming back that strengthens his resolve.

For the first time in almost three weeks he doesn't try to contact you.

///

Then it's January.

You never call.

He stops waiting for you to.

///

The wheels of your plane touchdown in Austin the first week of February. It's been six weeks since you were last here.

You've used up all your vacation time. Poor Alex had been called upon to run things the entire time. But you'd called to check in, helping with what you could over the phone.

You're paler than when you left, your face more pinched. Maria notices this when you exit the airport and approach the car dragging your suitcase behind you.

"Missed you. Ready to go?"

You nod, letting her embrace you. She knows not to ask anything about your trip. You made that clear on the phone earlier then week.

She drives you through the nearest Tacodeli to get a breakfast taco, something you've been craving all month. Something you can't get back in Chicago.

You think about returning to work. It seems impossible. Everything seems impossible.

You swallow your breakfast thoughtfully, your eyes going to Maria driving solemnly.

"How are things with Tommy?"

"Good," Maria replies in a voice that sounds tight. You make a mental note to touch on that later.

"Frank and Bill still adorable as fuck?"

Maria relaxes at this and starts giggling. "Frank wants to plan this big Valentine's getaway and Bill's nagging him about budgeting. Says they spent enough on their Christmas party."

"Valentine's?" Your brows furrows as you observe the rapid passing of time. "Wow I didn't realize how..."

You trail off, biting into your taco and watching the passing scenery. You tilt your head back against the seat, your heart hammering as you think of the next topic you want to touch on but can't.

Joel.

When you get home Maria orders you to change into the pyjamas she gives you before joining her upstairs. You do so, leaving your suitcase on the bed before opening the bag she gave you to see candy cane nightgown. You laugh, pulling it on and entering into her place smiling widely.

She's decked the entire living room out to look like Christmas. The artificial tree in your place has been brought upstairs, along with all the twinkle lights.

Maria is wearing a gingerbread man robe and she laughs at your reaction, bringing you over a hot cocoa.

'Maria," you say motioning to the room. "What the fuck-"

"You missed Christmas!"

She sits you down cross legged on the sofa before bringing out a large armful of gifts.

"You still have presents, to open," Maria says dumping the lot into your lap. She sits back in her chair sipping her warm drink and looking on at you like a proud mother on Christmas morning.

You laugh again before you start tearing into your gifts. A sweater you’d been eyeing and a biography on Jane Goodall. Both from Maria and both perfect.

There at the bottom of the pile is a rectangular box. You're curious as there's no name on the outside, no card. Maria eyes it curiously as you tear the paper open, pausing as you see its contents: two photo frames.

You feel a ragged breath escape you as you bring the frame out of the box, your fingers trembling.

It's the photo of you and your parents. The one from your fifth birthday where your arms are hooked around their necks. The one ruined in the flood, the one you thought you'd lost forever.

You glance up at Maria's tensed face.

"Is this from you?"

Maria shakes her head. "Uh, Joel actually asked me to get the photos for you. I called your mom and she had copies."

You stare at the photo, your fingers tracing your youthful face behind the glass. You reach in the box to grab the second frame and are not surprised to see the blurry photo of Pongo you thought was gone forever.

Your eyes are wet, so filled with tears that when you blink they spill over your warm cheeks effortlessly.

"When?"

"Back in September I think? Right after the flood," Maria says as you sniffle. "He asked me not to tell you in case I couldn’t get the photos. Think he said he made the frames himself. Tommy says he likes to wood carve."

He'd done this month's before. Back when you were convinced he still hated you. He'd spent time making the beautifully carved frames for two photos you said meant so much to you.

"He said he didn't get me anything," you say in a quiet voice.

Your fingertips are slipping along the wood frame of the photo. Little details have been carved into them. Flowers and hearts for your Mom and Dad. Little butterflies and paw prints for Pongo.

Hours later after the presents have been opened and Maria has forced you to eat the expansive holiday meal that has you feeling sated but bloated. When the sun has set and you feel yourself getting drowsy you take your gifts and go back downstairs.

You put the photos on your fireplace mantle. They’re beautiful there.

Then you crawl into bed, pulling the covers over you.

It's a week and several forced meals and showers from Maria later that you emerge from your cocoon ready to face the world again.

You know who you want to contact first.

///

The thing is your last meeting with Joel is kinda blurry. Obviously the night before had been the the sexiest you've ever experienced in your entire life. Joel's face when you told him you needed him in your mouth will be forever etched in the deepest recesses of your brain.

It's just the next morning that you can't recall. You'd been so tired, so distracted. You know he'd come to get you for breakfast and that you'd told him you couldn't make it.

But that's all. You hadn't even waited for his reply before your mind had been distracted by thoughts of plane rides and taxis and you'd started closing the door.

His messages in the following weeks had been devastating. Apologizing for not waiting. His voice rough with emotion as he begged you to call him back.

The thing is you'd felt no anger towards Joel. Not at all. Him leaving so abruptly had significantly lessened your burden that day. You'd wanted to be alone.

Before Joel you had Paul and before Paul you'd had yourself. You'd never been able to count on men. And you're confused why Joel carries this heavy burden, as if he thinks he was supposed to come in and chase away your demons.

You never wanted him for that.

You wanted him because in the darkest of days he's the sun.

But now you know that you just have to call him. You tell yourself you don’t have to tell him everything that happened. But you do need to speak to him. He deserves some sort of an explanation.

"Hello?"

After so many weeks of not talking to Joel, just the familiar rumble of his voice causes your insides to melt. Neediness travels through your veins at the first sound of Joel's low rasp.

You'd thought this was a good idea. A way to phone and explain yourself. But now? Now it seems like the worst thing you could have done. You should have done this in person. You should have done in when you could have held his hand in yours.

"Uh, hi," you say suddenly anxious. "How are-"

"What do you need?"

Joel's voice is quiet but sharp, stabbing into your ear.

You hadn't been expecting that. Maybe you were naive, but you'd thought that maybe he'd be kind. Soft and gentle like the Joel you know.

But of course he's upset. Wouldn't you be? From his perspective you'd promised not to run and then done exactly that. Even if you had a good reason, even if. . .

Suddenly there's the sound of Sarah in the background and cutlery being placed on the table and you feel your breath leave you.

Sarah.

Your sweet, little bug.

Your heart pangs at the sound of her little giggles. You want to be there in the house, hugging her, kissing Joel. You want to be back in their universe. You want that comfort, that security. You want the warmth of being with the Millers.

But in order to do that you need to be honest with Joel. You need to tell him everything even if it hurts. You can trust him. You can tell him.

"I know it's been a while since we spoke."

Silence. His disinterest is palpable, so much so that you're shocked he answered the phone in the first place.

"I just wanted to explain what happened."

"Not necessary."

You feel as if you've been slapped across the face. The brutality in how he's speaking feels physical.

"Joel, I just-"

"Are you wanting dessert?"

You feel your stomach bottoming out at the sound of a woman's voice on the other end of the line. Her voice is husky and warm and it sounds like the tone of woman comfortable in her surroundings.

And you know in that moment that it’s too late.

You’re too late.

"Yep, just finishing up here," Joel calls back. There's a pause and you can almost feel his jaw flexing through the phone. "Anything else?"

Disappointment isn't even close to how you feel right now. You close your eyes and feel your chin tremble.

"Nope," you say quietly shaking your head. "That's everything."

"Bye."

///

Alex is elated to have you back at work. She’s not a demonstrative person by any means, but when you come into the office your first day back with a package of VooDoo Donuts as thanks for her hard work, she wraps you in a tight hug and welcomes you back.

You settle into your office, hanging your jacket and your eyes draw outside to the kennels. They’re built. They look stunning and sturdy and Alex tells you they’ve been able to be used in the time you’ve been gone.

Joel will have no need to come back here. His job is done. Another way he is slowly being pulled out of your world.

When you’re settled in for the day Alex comes into your office and drops a sheet of paper on your desk. She’s smiling widely, almost bouncing on her heels. You read it over twice before the news hits you.

The sanctuary has been approved. The grant is coming your way.

For the first time in weeks, you feel true, untarnished joy.

///

You and Maria are both on your sofa and holding magazines on your laps. This is one tradition that you've never lost over years, the catch up over wine and magazines.

You like the ones on fashion and movies, Maria likes ones like architectural digest and celebrity gossip. Normally you share the articles that catch your interest, but tonight Maria is withdrawn. You sensed it the moment she came into your suite laden with magazines.

You watch Maria perched on the end of the sofa, her legs curled up underneath her. She's biting the skin around her fingernails, a classic sign that something is wrong and when you prompt her, she turns her large eyes on you and you can see they are filled with tears.

"I'm worried Tommy's cheating on me."

You weren't prepared for that to come out of her mouth. You place your wineglass on the coffee table and fix her with a look you hope conveys your disbelief.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"He's so busy I never see him and when I do he's so . . . Distracted." Maria sighs heavily. "And he's getting secretive."

This catches your attention and not in a good way. Secretive is not the kind of word you want to hear in a relationship.

"Like how?"

"I asked him where he was last Friday because he was late picking me up from one of the showings. He told me he had a real long meeting at the Bison. But then I'm having coffee with my real estate friend Melanie on Sunday and she says she saw Tommy that same day in Cedar Park."

"Was he with anyone?"

"Mel says he was with some woman that she didn’t recognize.”

“It was probably a meeting for the company.”

“If it was then why lie about where he was?”

You've never seen Maria like this. She doesn't get like this over men. She's the one to break things off at the first sign of trepidation. With Tommy and Joel's company doing so well she has been seeing less and less of him and it's obviously taking a toll.

“Tommy is not like that,” you insist, even thought your stomach wobbles. “I see how he is with you. How he looks at you. He’s fucking crazy about you.”

Maria shrugs.

"I’m sure the woman he was meeting with was a client. And he hasn’t been around as much because he's busy with that new army base project," you say patiently. "And you know Tommy and Joel, they're meticulous. They take their time doing everything perfectly. He's probably just so focused on the project now that he can't think of anything else."

Oh yes, the Miller boys take their time. You know from experience with the elder Miller.

Stop it.

"You're probably right," Maria says but you can tell she doesn't believe you. You want to press it but you don't. Maria knows she can come to you when she's ready. You stand up and go to your record player, popping on one of your favorite vinyls and plopping back onto the sofa.

Her mood has lifted slightly and she points out a kitchen she’s inspired by. You listen but your mind is far away on Rancher Lane.

Joel.

Fuck, you wish you could stop thinking about him. But now that you've known him in this carnal capacity it seems impossible to go back. You think about his broad shoulders, the way his mouth felt against yours. So soft and warm.

During your time away a few things had become apparent to you and one of those had been that being with Sarah and Joel made you feel contented. Not just when you're watching Sarah, but also in those quiet moments when the three of you are curled up on the sofa watching TV, the laughter over the dinner table, the feel of Joel watching you from the doorframe as you tuck Sarah in.

And you've fucked it up.

You ran and you cut yourself off. The clear indication that you weren't interested. He shared the most vulnerable side of himself and you ran. You ran after promising you wouldn't.

Yes, you can blame some of it on the circumstances, but how many times had you looked at the phone and thought of calling Joel only to chicken out? How many times with a tear-streaked face and heavy heart had you reached for the phone as he called only to turn it off?

And now it's too late. You're too late you just know it. You fucked up everything.

Maria watches you go back to your magazine for several moments. She rests her head on her palm as she regards you.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened with you and Joel?"

She sees the way your eyes widen as they follow the page.

"Nothing happened, Maria," you say with a heavy sigh.

You can tell Maria most things, but this is a topic that you just want to ignore.

"I know something happened with you two," Maria challenges and all of a sudden you can see her how she must be at work. All business, her face flat.

"Nothing did," you lie. "What are you talking about?"

You're pissed off. You have no desire to share what happened. You're humiliated at how you handled everything and going over it is just going to make the ache stronger.

"That night when Joel came up to you at the party. He looked so upset."

"Yeah I remember.”

"So what did he say?" Maria is leaning forward on her elbows. "Because he asked Tommy to take Sarah home. I was there with Tommy when Joel got home later that night. He was fucking elated. Couldn't stop smiling even when Tommy told him he looked psychotic."

Your heart thumps painfully. Joel was happy about you two. Happy about what was hoping to happen next and you fucked it up.

You always fuck everything up.

"Maria I don't want to talk about Joel anymore."

"But-"

"I'm serious," you say. Your tone is harsh, much harsher tone than you have ever used with her. "I've had a horrible couple of weeks and I'm tired of everyone assuming there's something there between Joel and I. There's nothing there. We're barely even friends."

Maria falls silent, adjusting to this information. You can tell she doesn't believe you at first but there's such sincerity to your tone that she's not sure.

"I have nothing against Joel," you say with finality. "I love babysitting Sarah. But that's it. That's all that'll ever be."

///

It's Wednesday night and you and Alex have decided to go for dinner after work. Alex wants to see more of the places that the locals eat at. You decide on a Mexican place nearby, assuring her it’s the most authentic you've ever tasted.

You both order drinks, chatting animatedly about the sanctuary when you

Tommy is sitting with a woman around his age. She's very expensive looking and she smiles toothily at Tommy as he speaks excitedly. They’re sitting close to each other, their shoulders almost touching. At the sight of this you feel ever nerve ending in your body pulled tight.

“Gimme a sec,” you mumble to Alex. “I just saw a friend I need to talk to.”

You and Tommy, while peripheral friends, have never talked much or even hung out independently of Maria. So it’s no surprise that as you near his table the first niggles of self doubt touch you.

Maybe it’s all a mistake? A misunderstanding?

Then the woman excuses herself from the table just as you arrive, giving you the perfect moment to strike and so you propel yourself forward. Without ceremony you toss yourself into the recently vacated seat across from a shocked Tommy Miller.

“I suggest the tamales here,” you say coolly. “They’re great for sharing.”

Tommy looks terrified. His eyes have gone wide. He has papers on the table that he shuffles under his arm.

"W-what are you doing here?"

"Better question is what are you doing here with her?" You point in the direction of the woman who has just exited the table.

"It's a meeting about a construction job," Tommy says but you can see the lie in it. "So do you mind-"

You lean forward across the table, your chest almost knocking over the Margarita at Tommy’s elbow.

"If you are screwing around on Maria, Tommy, I will personally see to it that you live the rest of your days as a dick-less wonder. People will come from miles around just to view you and laugh."

Tommy is staring at you open-mouthed. You realize Tommy and you have never been particularly close. He doesn’t know this side to you. The side that will fight and protect with all she has.

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” Tommy’s tone is strong but his dark eyes are owlish in his face.

“If you hurt Maria Tommy I swear on all that is holy, I will tear your life apart brick by brick. I will spend every waking moment of the remainder of my life finding out new ways to cause you pain.”

“I would never hurt her,” Tommy insists, looking both agitated and terrified as he sees the woman exiting back from the washroom. “I promise I’ll explain everything to you later. But right now please go before she gets back."

“Why?”

“I can’t-“ Tommy flounders, trying to find the right words. “It’s just, you gotta go.”

"Oh yeah, wouldn't want to spoil your date,” you say with a sneer before picking up the margarita his date has left. “You absolute piece of shit."

You throw the drink it into his face like something out of a bad sitcom. Tommy stares at you covered in pale yellow drink, bits of salt sticking to his cheeks. A lime wedge flops comically onto the table between you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Tommy’s face has erupted into fury. You go to lunge for him but Alex has you around the middle and she's tugging you back. Tommy’s date has returned, looking between you and Tommy in shock.

"What on earth?" The woman is watching you being dragged away from the table.

Alex practically carries you out of the restaurant, not letting you go until you’re both buckled into her car. When your heavy breathing has subsided she starts the car, not offering anything but a pointed look and:

“I think you need some new friends.”

///

When you receive a knock on your door later that night you don't expect a Miller man to be standing there.

Unfortunately it's not the right Miller man.

It's Tommy looking anxious as he greets you. You glare at him, angry and then confused by his presence at your door. He doesn’t smell like margarita so you assume he had a shower at home first.

"Can we talk?"

You consider your next moves. Do you punch him in the face? No, you need all the information. Then if it's as awful as you think it is, then you'll punch him in the face.

Good plan.

"Fine. Come in."

You motion to the table, quickly shuffling your paperwork off the chair nearest to him so he can sit. You've just made yourself a cup of tea and offer him one which shakes his head at.

“Don’t really trust you with a drink in your hand,” he cites with a small smirk. “’Specially not a hot one.”

You don’t say anything to that. When you eventually take the seat across from him he stares at you for what seems like forever. The kind of stare that has a million questions behind it.

"Tommy what the fuck is going on?" You press him. "Are you cheating on Maria?"

Tommy immediately blanches, almost spilling your tea. "W-what? No. Never. I love her!"

"Because you'll never do better than Maria," you begin to rant. "she's the most perfect most beautiful woman in existence!"

"I know!"

"She's not just beautiful she's also wickedly smart and if she wanted she could be president, Tommy. Not vice president. Not secretary of state. President.”

"I agree. Everything you said is true."

"Then who was that woman? Why were you being so secretive?"

Tommy gives you a hard look, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He gives a glance around the kitchen as if expecting spies before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small velvet box.

"Please don't say anything," Tommy drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as he cracks the ring box open. "I'm proposing."

Anxieties about everything are erased the minute you look to the ring box. Inside is a delicately carved gold band and diamond. It's elegant and no nonsense, just like Maria.

"The woman-"

"A friend from an old job," Tommy assures you, looking down at the ring proudly. "Maria always wanted an heirloom ring. You know how she feels about blood diamonds. But it was hard to find a good one. Then Joel suggested Betty, that's her name, she works in vintage jewellery. Took months of going back and forth before we found this one."

You feel so fucking stupid. "That's why you were in Cedar Park?”

"How did you know that?"

"Friend of a friend," you say with a sigh. He doesn't need to know that friend was Maria.

“Betty had a lead on a really good piece,” Tommy says with a sigh. “She said I needed to come out to Cedar Park to see it and decide that day because there was another interested buyer. Waste of a fucking drive though ‘cuz it was hideous. Not Maria’s taste at all.”

You look at the ring he decided on, seeing that even in this small token he sees Maria.

"Tommy I'm so sorry."

Tommy's eyes are amused. "Good to know she's got Mike Tyson in her corner. Well, Mike Tyson if he was a bartender."

You move from around the table and throw your arms around Tommy's neck, hugging him and laughing. Every angry thought you'd ever had about him is instantly erased. He gives you a one-armed hug back, laughing along with you.

"Oh my God!" You shout as you pull back. "When? Where?"

"Valentine's Day. It's the only way I can surprise her. She thinks we're going out for a romantic dinner and dancing."

You're swooning, knowing just how Maria is going to react. And now Maria's panic over her "distracted" boyfriend make total sense. You want to laugh and cry all at once, so you decide on smiling with tears in your eyes.

"She's gonna be so happy."

"Sure hope so," Tommy says smiling shyly. "But I need your help to pull out off."

"Me?" You're surprised and delighted. "Of course. Anything you need, just ask."

"Great, is there any chance you're around on Saturday night? It's why I came over."

Tommy smiles over at you looking hopeful. Saturday is Valentine's Day. A day you've been dreading since Paul broke things off last spring and Joel stomped all over your heart.

You had plans that involved a bath, a big glass of wine and discounted chocolate. But of course this plan will be moved happily for your dearest friend and her future fiancé.

"Sure, what for?"

"I need you to babysit Sarah."

The smile immediately dies on your face. You lean back in your chair, your eyes drifting to your mug.

" Is Joel helping you propose or something?"

"No, he’s just busy that night."

Of course Joel would take a meeting on Valentine's Day night. You give a half-hearted chuckle at the thought.

"Did you tell him you're proposing? Can't he just cancel his meeting that night? Who meets on Valentine's anyway?"

"It's not a meeting," Tommy says, still smiling at the ring box. "It's a date."

The world tilts. You physically feel it spin on its axis as Tommy tells you this. The woman you heard on the phone. You were right. You were fucking right. That horrible pit in your stomach, the one you’ve been trying to ignore, widens.

"A date?" You say before you can stop yourself. "Joel?"

Tommy gives a quirked brow at your response. "Yeah. Some mom of a kid Sarah has play dates with all the time."

The twist in your gut takes your breath away. You feel cold and shaky and have to sit down. Tommy is so wrapped up in his dilemma that he doesn't notice.

You know who he's talking about. Fuck, you've even seen her. You can't remember the name right now but you remember the way she'd smiled at Joel when he came to pick Sarah up. You can vividly recall the casual way her hand had brushed against the small of his back.

Tess. Yes that was her name.

"They've been going out a few weeks and this kinda stuff is important to him," Tommy explains with a soft look as he pockets the ring. "Joel has always done everything for me. Sacrificed everything when our mom got sick. Bailed me out when things got too much. I think he really likes Tess and I don't wanna fuck it up for him."

I think he really likes Tess.

Really likes Tess.

Jesus Christ that's like a blow to the sternum. You place a steadying hand to the table.

Tommy takes a seat across from you, his dark eyes filled with concern.

"You okay? If you're not feeling well please don't feel pressured. If you can't babysit I'll just reschedule, it's -"

His voice fades into the background as you think of your friend. Maria has done so much for you and she deserves the world.

One awkward evening, that's all it is. And you'll get to see Sarah. Plus your best friend will be getting engaged. How can you possibly say no?

You can't.

"Of course I'll babysit," you interrupt with a croak. "What time should I be there?"

///

Later that night as you lay curled in bed sobbing you hear the gentle chirp of your phone.

You sniff as you flip it open and bring it up to your face.

Any chance u wanna get together for coffee? Chat?

You pause, looking at the text before closing the phone.

You don’t delete it.

/////

Joel doesn't know how to function this week.

You called him finally, after weeks and weeks of silence. Just the sound of your voice had made his knees tremble. He'd had to reach for the kitchen counter, holding himself upright.

When later that week Tommy tells him about his engagement plans and having you babysit Sarah, Joel initially balks at the idea. He'll reschedule with Tess - she's a practical woman, she'll understand.

But Tommy had been insistent, telling Joel he didn't want to fuck this up for him. Tommy is so rarely earnest like that it had made Joel relent.

And now you're coming tomorrow and he's what? Supposed to act like everything is fine?

Fuck that.

Sarah is asleep and Joel has been drinking. He does that more often now. Not enough to be a real concern, but enough that he notices. He calls you without pausing to check if it's too late to call. You answer on the first ring.

“Hello?”

"Hey."

Joel closes his eyes, a wide hand going over them. Your voice is so sweet in his ear. "Hey I’m sorry if I was a bit short when you called the other day. You surprised me is all and I had company over."

"Oh. Okay."

You sound so sad. He can imagine you sitting in bed, covers around you as he talks.

“Glad you got home safe,” Joel offers awkwardly, wondering how he thought this conversation could ever go smoothly.

“Yeah, it’s good to be back.”

"Why didn't you call me? I left so many-" Joel catches himself, embarrassment covering him before he’s compelled to continue. "Is it your dad? Your mom? Or was it something else? Paul?”

Joel can't stop himself from asking more and more questions. He needs to know why you did this. He just needs closure. He hears your breathing on the line, shallow and tense.

"I really don't want to talk about it Joel," you eventually say and that hollow, empty voice is back. The same one he'd heard that day he came to get you for breakfast.

"Right."

Joel knows there are tears gathering at the corner of his eyes and he blinks them back. As much as he wants to talk to you right now, it hurts. Too much trust has been dismantled on both sides.

Sarah's anxious face when she asked where you were? He can't have that for his daughter. He can't risk everything on a woman who'll run and leave nothing but silence in her wake.

Maybe if he was a young, childless bachelor he'd do it. He'd pursue you and convince you to tell him everything, to confide in him. But he's not young or childless. And you’re not telling him.

"I had my reasons, I just never told you what they were," you continue with a tremble in your voice.

"Why?"

“It’s my choice to tell people things when I want to tell them. And I wasn’t ready. Still don’t think I am.”

He wants to push it. He wants to be in that room with you, his hands on either side of your face, forcing you to look at him. Forcing you to tell him what you’re hiding from him. He thinks he knows and it makes him sick. But he needs the confirmation.

"Joel, it's not supposed to be this hard, is it?"

"What isn’t?" Joel's stomach clenches when he hears your shuddering breath.

"Being together."

Initially Joel doesn't know what to say to that. “We're we really ever together?"

There's a thoughtful pause and then your sad little voice again.

"No. Guess not."

Joel feels absolutely sickened by this entire conversation. He didn't know what he'd expected when he called you, but it definitely wasn't this. This grim finality.

"I think I hoped if I just came back that things'd go back to how they were," you're saying in a voice no longer hollow, but still not completely you. "But I guess they can't."

"No," Joel acknowledges quietly. "I guess they can't."

"But maybe we can try friendship?"

A stab to the abdomen would have hurt Joel less. He physically recoils, his eyes slamming shut.

Friendship? He’s supposed to go back to being your friend?

"I don't know," Joel answers through closed eyes. "I don't know if I can. Not quite yet."

Joel evens his breathing, knowing that there’s nothing else to say to save the two of you but dreading the act of hanging up, of severing the final tie. Then your voice reaches out to him, tentative across the line.

"Can I still see Sarah? Can I still babysit tomorrow night?"

Joel is quiet for a long while considering.

"Yeah. Sarah would love to see you."

//////

Saturday night arrives and with it a bundle of nerves you can't seem to shake.

Rancher Street.

The bus lurches to a stop and you hasten an exit, pulling your purse up your shoulder. The door seems larger than you remember. Taller. When you knock it feels like it echoes forever. The door opens with a quick whoosh and you hold your breath as two familiar dark eyes slide into view.

Joel.

You see the flash of something in those eyes, something warm as they sweep over you before the chill is abruptly back.

"C'mon in," he says, the tone of his voice unreadable.

He's painfully gorgeous. There's no other word for it. His hair is combed, his shirt freshly pressed. He smells like cologne, an expensive, spicy scent. It makes you want to bury your face in his neck.

He never usually wears cologne. He usually smells like wood shavings and laundry detergent.

The knowledge that he's wearing it for her, Tess, makes you want to heave.

Tess. What a stupid fucking name.

You follow Joel into the kitchen and feel your stomach drop. On the counter is a bouquet of deep red roses wrapped beautifully. You don't have to be a genius to figure out these ones are for Tess. He's pulled out all the stops for her.

It wasn't so long ago Joel was bringing you flowers.

He's not even wearing jeans tonight; he's actually got dark slacks on for this date. He looks so fucking good, so divine, it causes you to physically ache. You remember how his curls felt under your fingers, the taste of his lips on yours. You want to kick yourself for fucking this up.

"Work been good?" Joel asks with his eyes on the clock.

"Yeah, just busy," you offer feeling awkward. "Got a meeting with the city next month about the sanctuary. Looks like we got the funding."

"That's good."

"Mhmm."

You could cry over how awful this interaction is. How stilted and awkward the two of you look and sound standing across from one another in the kitchen.

Grateful doesn't even touch on how you feel when Sarah suddenly skids into the kitchen. She screeches, throwing her arms around your waist tightly until you give a small "oof". You curl, hugging her gently.

"How have you grown so much?" You ask in awe, shocked that not even two months could make such a difference. You could swear she looks taller.

"I got a My Little Pony for Christmas," she announces, not caring to answer your question. "You wanna see?"

"Sure."

She goes to her seat at the table and pulls out the pink and purple pony before announcing: "I named it after you."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I missed you."

Sarah is smiling up at you in a way that brings tears to your eyes. You blink them back, cupping her cheek with your hand.

“I missed you too, bug.”

After everything this is one of your biggest regrets. Your isolation from everyone included Sarah, the sweetest child to walk the planet.

You had forgotten Joel was still there, watching you both until you hear him clear his throat.

"I'll be back around midnight. Emergency numbers are by the phone, like usual. Pizza should be here pretty soon."

"Okay."

Sarah clamours up on the chair, sliding into the booster seat with your help. You smile down at her, chatting away to her pony. In your peripherals you watch Joel pull on his jacket and grab the bouquet of flowers from the counter.

In another life maybe those would have been for you.

In another life maybe it could have worked between you two.

You hear him walk towards you along with the crinkling of the cellophane wrapped flowers. He comes to stand next to your seated form. He's so close you could tilt your head and rest it on his hip.

You smile as you see his hands come into view, watching as he passes one of the roses to Sarah by the stem, making sure to strip it of it thorns first.

"Happy Valentine's Day, babygirl," he says with a kiss to the top of her head. Sarah takes the flower gleefully, pressing the lush petals to her nose and inhaling.

"Okay daddy, you can leave now," Sarah tells him calmly. You laugh at her bluntness and catch Joel's dimpled smile in response.

"Guess now that your best friend is here again, poor ol' dad's just second fiddle," Joel says with an exaggerated frown as he motions to you.

"It's not your fault," you assure him as you smooth Sarah's hair with your hands. "I'm just that wonderful. Right, Sarah?"

"Right."

She really is just the best kid.

Joel doesn't reply to that, but then again you never expected him to. The tension from before seems to be ebbing, it's almost like things are slowly going back to how they were before.

This is good. This means there’s hope.

Joel watches you stand and move across the kitchen. You go to pull down some plates for the pizza from the cupboard. When you turn to go back to the table you're surprised to see Joel is still standing there looking at you.

You feel your heart picking up its tempo. But then his phone buzzes on his hip and you know without asking that it’s Tess messaging him. Immediately you feel your heart retreat from your gaze and you force a smile.

"Have fun tonight."

Joel nods, presses one more kiss to Sarah's head and then he's gone out the door. You hear his truck rumbling away and only then do you breathe normally again.

The pizza arrives shortly after and you inform Sarah that if she's really good and eats the salad that came with it, she can eat dessert in front of the TV later on. She is very amenable to this suggestion.

"Daddy is seeing Miss Tess," Sarah tells you as she takes a bite of her cheesy slice. “She was here before.”

He's already brought her into this home?

Of course she has you moron. She's seen Daniel and Tess at school how many times? How many play dates?

"Daniel's mommy," Sarah says in a hushed voice, frowning when you don’t reply. You feel your stomach bottoming out at this. Your eyes widen before you school your features, staring at the oblivious girl opposite you.

"Does Miss Tess come here a lot?"

Sarah ignores your question and instead starts babbling about something happening with Daniel's hamster, Zippy. You hold back the desire to keep peppering her with questions.

However she continues to drop little hints throughout your evening together. The next one comes when you're in the kitchen washing up from dinner. Sarah sits at the counter with her paper and crayons making some elaborate hearts on the page. A Valentine for her dad, she tells you later.

"That's the cup Miss Tess used," Sarah says pointing to the oversized green mug you're soaping. Joel's favorite mug.

It takes everything in you not to smash the thing into pieces. Two months ago he had his mouth between your legs, now he's bringing some new woman here?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"What's Miss Tess like?" You ask, trying to sound casual as you wash the dishes in the sink.

"Tall."

That's all you get from her for now. She continues coloring and you continue doing the dishes in silence. You catch your reflection in the dark window in front of you and are shocked at how devastated you look.

It was just a night. A night of pleasure. You didn't make lifelong promises to one another. You admitted mutual attraction and need, that's all. And even if it's not all from your side of things, Joel has clearly moved on. And you can’t be mad at him for doing so.

When you finish up, Sarah is putting the last finishing touches to her card before gripping it in her tiny hand and holding it out to you.

"You have to give this to Daddy when he gets home. It's my Valentine for him."

You look at the little pink envelope covered in Snoopy stickers and smile. You take it from her, seeing her uneven printing on the front. Love. That's all it says. You smile fondly at her. You idly wonder if she’s too young for a ‘romantic love is an illusion’ conversation.

"I think you should give it to him when you wake up tomorrow," you offer.

"No." Sarah looks uncharacteristically agitated. "It can't be tomorrow. Tomorrow isn't Valentine's Day."

You give a sharp nod, making your face solemn to convey you understand the gravity of delivering this missive.

"I see."

"Promise me you'll give the card to my Daddy tonight?"

"I will."

"Promise," she says holding up a tiny pinky in your direction. "A real promise."

You hook your pinky around her tiny digit and shake, smiling. "I promise, Sarah."

"Good."

The next 'Miss Tess' tidbit comes as you're putting Sarah to bed. She's watching you rifle through the books on her shelf.

"Miss Tess has light hair. Lighter than yours."

"Hmm," you say bringing a few book over to her bed. "Wind and the Willows again or Charlotte's Web?"

You decide that you don't want to hear anything more about 'Miss Tess'. In fact you don't want to hear anything more about Joel or whomever he decides to date ever again.

You have to close your heart to him or this will be the last time you'll see Sarah. The last time you'll read to her, last time you'll laugh with her.

It'll be the last time you can join Maria and Tommy at theirs for a party that the whole family is invited to.

It'll be the last time you can venture upstairs to Maria's without fear that Joel might decide to drop by.

Because you have no right to be upset. You don't. You kissed him, let him make you come and then ignored him for almost two months. What was he supposed to do? Know the crazy inner workings of your fucked up brain? Know the sordid story of your horrible life?

No. You need to be happy for him and for Sarah. If this Tess woman is as great as everyone makes it seem, then you have to be happy for Joel and Sarah.

You have to.

"I missed you reading," Sarah tells you when you bring the blanket up to her chin, tucking her in an hour or so later. "I like it when you read best 'cuz you do the voices right."

You try not to feel unnecessarily smug about that.

You tuck her in, feeling distracted as you press a quick kiss to her forehead. She can sense that the nighttime routine is coming to a close because her tiny hand reaches out to grab your sweater.

"Say 'goodnight, bug'" she prompts you.

"Goodnight bug," you say pressing another peck to her forehead. "Get some sleep."

Sarah nods, closing her eyes and rolling on her side. You can hear her murmur something to toad and you smile as you close her bedroom door.

You walk down the creaking hallway, ready to walk down and watch TV. But as you pass Joel's room and you see his door is ajar you pause.

Joel's room. You remember how in awe you had been the first time you saw it. How surprised by every detail. Now in the dark of night it seems alluring and seductive. It beckons you to explore, to touch.

You draw over to it, your hand moving independent of your brain to pull the door completely open before stepping inside and closing the door tightly behind you.

The first time you’d seen his room there had been lotion on beside table, a horse picture above the bed. Now the lotion is gone, the side of his table cleaned. The horse picture is still there though, calling out for all weary travelers.

You step in further, your eyes going over the books on his shelves, the fan that hasn’t been used since the summer. You trace your hand along the exercise bike in the far corner, a towel draped over it. Does he use it?

You sit on the edge of his bed, pulling open the drawer next to it. You think you might see something interesting inside. Your curiosity is peaked. It opens with ease and it takes you a full moment to realize what you’re looking at.

It’s the guitar strap and pick you got him for Christmas.

This sight causes you to leap to a standing position. Joel kept the gift? He must have picked it up when you weren’t looking, dazed on the sofa. But he kept it? Still? Why is it hidden away?

You don’t want to think about that for too long. Maybe he’s hidden it because Tess will ask him where he got it. He doesn’t want her to see it. He wants to pretend you never existed to him.

You stop. You’re hurting your own feelings.

You see one of Joel's t-shirts hanging over the dresser. He'd obviously tried on a few before deciding on the linen one for tonight.

He made the right choice, you acknowledge. He'd looked amazing tonight. Memories of how good he'd looked are making your lower abdomen flip pleasurably. A depraved need washes over you.

You feel as if you're watching yourself from outside your body as you lock Joel's door before striding back across the room.

"Stop," you murmur to yourself even as you lower yourself onto his recently made bed. It's surprisingly soft.

You settle back against the pillow, your hands on either side of you like you're in a plush coffin.

He's touched himself in this bed, you just know it. You can picture his work wide hands stroking himself to completion. A man like Joel feels deeply, works hard and has needs.

Fuck you want to be the one to sate those needs and you never will be. But you don't let your thoughts linger there. You want to enjoy this stolen moment.

You turn your head on the pillow, your eyes sliding shut as you inhale. It smells masculine, deep and musky mingling with the scent of his shampoo and laundry detergent.

It smells like Joel.

And that is what makes it impossible to stop. Because when you close your eyes you can almost imagine he's there with you. You can imagine that he came back the next day after the party and everything was fine. You can imagine that he’d backed you into your place and fucked you there on the floor, the both of you too desperate for each other to make it to the bed.

Your fingers are fumbling with the button and zipper of your jeans before your hand is thrust under your panties in a fervor.

Flashes of memory and fantasy intersect, bursting in searing snapshots into your mind. Joel's hands on either side of your face as he kisses you. His mouth on your neck as he fucks you in this very bed. His brows knitted together as you suck his cock. His tongue skating over your nipples. The feel of his soft mouth on your twitching core.

This is so fucked up. You know this, you're so painfully aware of how fucked up this is. And yet you can't stop yourself from thrusting into your hand, from murmuring his name over and over. You whimper his name like an oath, a desperate, needful prayer as you feel his phantom touch.

All at once the memory of Joel's head between your thighs assaults you and you see stars.

Your head is thrown back as you come, your moans muffled by the hand you've sealed over your mouth. When your hips finally stutter to a stop the shame hits you like a slap in the face.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You readjust your jeans, throwing yourself from the bed with a yelp. You rush to the bathroom, washing your trembling hands. You can't even look at your reflection right now because you know what you'll see. Cheeks stained with humiliation, shame clear in your features and overwhelming regret in your eyes.

You go downstairs and force yourself to watch bad TV. You have it on quietly and even though you try to focus on what’s happening and why some beautiful woman would be married to some loud-mouthed lout who works as a delivery driver, you can’t.

All you can think about is the passing of time. How late it’s getting. You keep tilting your head to look at the clock hanging by the kitchen. Then your watch because you’re certain the kitchen clock must be moving slowly.

Nope.

Eventually it’s past midnight. Joel had said he would be home at midnight, hadn’t he? You start to feel irritated. You’re here babysitting Joel’s kid and he’s definitely off fucking Tess. You’re certain of it.

Your thoughts don’t linger there long because an ungodly scream has sounded from upstairs. A heart-wrenching scream with your name in it. You nearly trip over your own feet running up the stairs, your heart in your chest. The door to Sarah’s room is yanked open so viciously you’re convinced you pulled it off its hinges.

“Sarah!”

She’s sitting up in bed shuddering and holding toad. She bursts into tears when you rush in, her arms reaching for you as you approached. You throw yourself onto the bed, pulling her tiny frame into your lap. She throws her arms around your neck, her sobs loud in your ear, her face wet with her tears as you rock her back and forth.

“Shh,” you soothe gently. “I’m here, honey. I’m here. You’re safe.”

You rock her like this for several moments, listening as her sobs become hiccups and then finally just ragged breaths as she pulls back from you, looking up at you from your lap.

“Wanna tell me what happened, bug?”

“Someone hurt my Daddy,” Sarah says and you can see the tears starting again. “He was in the forest and someone took him. They hurt him.”

You hold her tightly to you again, making soothing sounds and rubbing her back. “No one’s gonna hurt your Daddy, I promise.”

Time passes and eventually Sarah is calmed enough to climb back into bed. She looks to you with her big eyes, terrified in the dark as you bring the blanket to her chin.

“Will you sing me a song?" Sarah begs. "A nice one."

You give a good natured groan, thinking back to songs you know all the lyrics to. You remember the song Bill sang to Frank that one evening, the sweetness of Bill's reedy voice. You can't remember all the words but you know the tune. You start of at what you remember, tucking Sarah in for the second time that night.

Caught in my fears

Blinking back the tears

I can't say you hurt me

When you never let me near

And I never drew one response from you

All the while you fell all over girls you never knee

"What does that mean?" Sarah interrupts.

"I think it means that the girl singing is in love with a man but he doesn't know she exists," you say trying to piece the song together. "So she's really sad about it."

Sarah nods, her eyes starting to shutter. "Keep going."

You laugh, trying to remember your place. You hum a few bars, trying to recall where you left off.

Cause I've done everything I know

To try and change your mind

And I think I'm gonna miss you

For a long long time

You really go for it, your voice clear and strong. As you sing your fingers trail over Sarah's forehead, lulling her to sleep.

Cause I've done everything I know

To try and change your mind

And I think I'm gonna love you

For a long long time

Your voice drops to a whisper as you sing the final verse. Sarah's eyes are almost all the way closed.

"Goodnight Sar-"

"Do you love me?"

You're not expecting the way her tiny voice reaches you in the semi darkness. It takes your breath away, tears starting in the corner of your eyes. You swallow the knot that has formed there.

You look down at her little face and feel the answer is so obvious. Has been for months now.

"Yeah," you answer truthfully. "I do."

Sarah smiles widely, gripping your hand in hers with her eyes still shut. "Will you sing the last part one more time?"

Oh she’s a good little manipulator.

"One more time," you insist with a faux grumble. "Then sleep!"

She nods and you sing a very quick very quiet rendition of the last verse before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Deals a deal, bug."

"I like that song," Sarah nods sleepily before craning her neck to look at her bedroom door. "Do you like it, daddy?"

Your breath catches as you jerk your head over your shoulder to see Joel leaning in the doorway of Sarah's room. His arms are crossed over his broad chest. You can't see his eyes, but you know he's looking at you.

"I didn't know you were there," you say feeling your cheeks reddening.

"Didn't want to interrupt," Joel says softly.

"Sarah had a nightmare," you say standing quickly. You feel like you should offer something else but you stand awkwardly instead before you sail past him, heading downstairs. You hope he can't see the pink high in your cheekbones.

Joel enters the kitchen minutes later, his dark gaze focused on you.

You want to ask him how the date went. Obviously they've been seeing each other longer than just tonight if Sarah is anything to go by. How long exactly was it after he kissed you that he fell in with Tess? Tommy didn't say. Have they slept together yet? Has he said the same things to Tess as he said to you as he worked his mouth between her legs?

Doesn't matter. Not your business.

"She was really good tonight," you tell him as you look for your jacket, locating it in the kitchen. Your eyes fall on the pink envelope from earlier.

"Before I forget, this is for you," you say sliding the thick Valentine card to him across the kitchen counter. "Sarah was adamant I give it to you before I left."

Joel looks distracted. He would normally be opening the card to see what his daughter created. But instead he just stares at it on the counter.

When you stop to look at him you notice he actually looks quite pissed off. This confuses you. He reaches into his back pocket to grab his tan leather wallet.

"Are you ok-"

"You can't tell her stuff like that," Joel interrupts gruffly pulling the bills from his wallet.

"What do you mean?"

"That you love her." Joel's eyes finally reach yours when he says it. "She can't have women saying they love her, comin' in and out of her life-"

"Who says that's what I'm doing?" you ask offended.

"It was bad enough with her mother," Joel is ignoring you, talking over you and looking upset.

"I'm not her mother," you defend. You would never do what that woman had done to Sarah.

"Damn right you're not."

His eyes are blazing and for a moment you think this might be the cruellest thing Joel Miller has ever said to you.

He tosses the wrinkled bills at you on the table and you hold back the overwhelming urge to slap him. Instead you clench your jaw, levelling a scorching glare at him.

Joel leans over the counter, his hands braced there. He can't look at you.

You stare him down furiously for a moment longer nonetheless before pulling on your jacket and heading out the door, leaving the money beside the Valentine on the counter.

It's not until you're at home in bed that you allow yourself to cry.

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vhstown · 6 months

Text

miles g morales ★ general headcanons

warnings: sort of angsty, mentions of his dad's death, money being tight and such 😞

a/n: hi my little piranhas im feeding you today say AHHHHHHHH.... all my random non-relationship miles g thoughts dumped into one! he has 6 lines but less is more right 😁 im okay i promi

Let me just geek out about his non-existent gear functions for a moment 😞 Miles is all about little modifications and improvement so when he messes around with his uncle's gear he decides to make some adjustments to the design and also the functionality. Has his own spin to all of his gear cause a part of him really wants to be like the superheroes he sees in comics with their own sort of persona. But of course it has to be functional so...!

All of his gear is coordinated and he has a mode where he can turn off all the lights for stealth and such! The lights are actually off most of the time but he puts them on to show off mostly or make himself known when he's bored of waiting.

A really cool function would be if he could redirect or offset his lights so when he's fighting in complete darkness he can easily confuse his enemies. Tends to scope out places and mess around with the power supplies — uses the occasional smoke bomb too. He's in his element in dark, maze-like places, which essentially makes Brooklyn his concrete playground.

Scarily good at lockpicking. Has broken into his own house multiple times from forgetting his keys. He can open most doors with simple tools and disable electronic locks with a little work.

Can I just mention his shoes as well... they're like the jumpy shoes from Subway Surfers you can't prove me wrong until the next movie comes out like— Okay no but seriously I imagine he can stick to surfaces and things and maybe they can propell him upwards? You see those glowing lights idk figure it out 😞

Also somebody (I have no idea who but here's the link to the original post) had a headcanon that he'd have a high auditory intelligence, so for a while, he spends time developing a voice modulator. He likely has one anyway to keep his identity a secret, but what he really wants to do is is create a device that can replicate other people's voices.

Because he's good with sound and physics he makes it work in no less than a few weeks. The first voice he tries is his uncle's and he says a bunch of dumbass stuff. (Aaron is a little annoyed but more proud of his nephew than anything.) Eventually it gets to the point where he can calibrate it with a couple clicks since he has such a good ear for frequencies and the like that deceiving villains is no trouble at all.

I think Aaron and Miles would still have that cool uncle and nephew relationship but its also a mentor and student one. While Miles is good at the tech stuff I think he's a pretty lousy fighter at the beginning and Aaron has to teach him a LOT.

Uncle Aaron probably used to fight for sport back in the day (boxing mayhaps? 😁) so a lot of Miles' technique stems from MMA due to its versatility (anything hand-to-hand at least.) Even then, most of the problem is being able to think quick and act quicker, so Miles goes through lots of practical training (so he's being chased by the Sinister Six from day one 😭) It's well worth it though because without the Spider-powers he has a lot of catching up to do.

While training with Aaron he's exposed to a lot of his old records and develops a taste for jazz. He comes to associate certain manoeuvres with the way the music goes, so he tends to hum to himself while casually knocking the wind out of people. His uncle finds it just a little creepy, but again, he's glad to see Miles coming along.

In fact, Aaron is relieved. His nephew had been reserved and was pretty much holed up in his own room for weeks after his dad passed. Of course the passing of Jefferson was hard on Aaron, but Miles has it even harder. Eventually, they decide to paint the mural together, and Miles lets Aaron know what's on his mind. He's always been close to his uncle but especially then spending time roaming the streets, painting, boxing and listening to old records was his lifeline.

Miles figures out his uncle is the Prowler before Aaron even lets him in on it. After seeing how determined his nephew his is, that's when it all started.

But with everything going on in his vigilante life, his normal life is something he has has to be careful not to fall behind on. At the age where college applications are coming up, Miles is driven to the bone with school, despite not actually being there half the time. Still, he's somehow averaging As and the occasional B, easily the top of his class in AP Physics and Calc.

He doesn't try to talk to people in school like he might've before, but he's not antisocial by any means (sometimes his bluntness is mistaken for talking back though 💀)

He's also the type of dude to do homework as soon as the teacher hands it out, because he knows he will not have time later (and to avoid all the night-before crises of freshman year.)

Rio is being pulled thin too, always covering shifts for her colleagues at the hospital just so she can have a little extra pay. She's been saving for Miles' birthday since his last one, always checks his clothes for holes or if they still fit, and makes sure there's something in the microwave if she can't be there for dinner. Rio makes sure he always has everything he needs, even while paying bills and rent. They're not struggling too much, but it's not like they can do whatever they want.

Despite that, they're managing; what she doesn't know is that the sigh of relief she breathes every month is because of him. Miles always makes sure to take care of his belongings, put in any cash he makes from his "part time job" into her account, just doing whatever he can to help. Also, he's become more and more protective of his mom, and he always takes the opportunity to do errands for her, especially when it's getting dark outside.

Miles is actually more paranoid than her when it comes to saving. Even when it's winter, and she tells him to turn on the heating whenever, you best believe he's throwing on his jacket in his own room and firming the cold. It's entirely unnecessary of course, but he can't shake the guilt when he feels the only reason his mom works so hard is because of him. They've moved twice already and there's no way they're moving again, so if the landlord gives them trouble he'll just give them hell (let's just hope it won't come to that.)

Miles learnt how to treat his own injuries from Rio. She taught him basic first aid at the very least, and on a couple of occasions he's tried to learn things himself with the clunky old first aid kit at home. Rio never asks why the stitch on one of their pillows is done with dental floss, and looks strangely like that of a suture (a very bad one at that.)

His Spanish also improved a lot too. After his dad's passing, he met a lot of relatives from his mom's side that he doesn't remember ever seeing before, but it encourages him to learn how to speak better. Long gone are the days of silently observing family drama over the phone — he has to keep up now, and he'll defend his mom cada día de la semana (even if she's somewhat embarrassed by it.) Essentially he's at that level of fluency where he can be rude without being rude 😭 (just saying some of the things his relatives say are NOT helpful.)

With all of this going on in his life, it's no surprise that sleep doesn't come easy. Or maybe it is, considering how much he works his body. Either way, he's left staring at the ceiling or curled up on his side most nights, the untouched toys and collectibles in his room to keep him company. Miles used to sleep at 8pm on the dot and wake up at 6; that was when things were good, and he didn't have his whole universe on his shoulders. All his bed is now is a place to collapse, and close his eyes until it's light outside. Most days, he's exhausted — bone-tired — but the most he gets is a light, forced, uncomfortable sleep. It's one in which he wakes up more tired than he was the night before, but he presses on, getting exercise in during the morning and trying to make breakfast for his mom because he knows a slice of toast is the most she'd bother to have.

And despite all that's changed since his dad has passed, Miles is still a kid. He has a thousand pictures from the time he went to Comic-con, a sketchbook full of drawings he never finishes, meticulously-organised playlists, college applications — all in the midst of a city that's falling apart at the seams as much as he is.

But he's okay, for now. As much as he can be.

"Keep your head up, son."

It's what his dad would've wanted, at the very least.

@phoenixinthefiles @qiupachups

hey 😊 "where's ain't no love part thre—" (GLASS SHATTERING NOISE) (CAT MRYEOWING) (BABY CRYING) (POLICE SIRENS) (WEE WOO WEE WOO)

forget miles IM being pulled thin ... half of this may or may not be projection... schrödingers headcanons anyone 😞 anyways ive been like busy. so . SOON! (lying in 4K)

reblogs appreciated!!! 😘 FIND MY MASTERLIST HERE and urrrr my 42 x reader headcanons here if you're interested ?

#miles g morales #miles gonzalo morales #prowler miles #miles g #42!miles headcanons #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles #42 miles morales #miles 42 #the prowler #atsv headcanons #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #beyond the spiderverse #vhstown

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moonshine-nightlight · 1 year

Text

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Eighteen

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter 18 - MoonshineNightlight - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] Part Eighteen [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

You have to remind yourself not to go through the mead too quickly, but you can't help wishing for any escape from this conversation.

You can tolerate some degree of martial talk on any given day, but it has been over an hour.

What had begun as a general training discussion among Grandfather, Dale, the Captain of Connton’s city guard, and a few knights, some who had performed in the tournament over a week ago, had moved from there. The various benefits of polearms had at least come with some visual information, as the Governor who was hosting this particular betrothal gala had a large display on the wall of such pieces.

However, the conversation has only continued to grow more in depth. Between personal preferences and a number of, likely embellished, stories to best champion said preferences, you’ve long grown bored with nothing to contribute and every sip of drink is both something to do and a reason not to say anything. The discussion has devolved to the minutiae that differentiate different—near identical from what you can tell—swords from one another.

“Lords and ladies,” a demure voice catches your attention and you see a footman gesture to a table freshly set with hors d’oeuvres. “Please, help yourselves.”

A small chorus of absentminded gratitudes comes from the group at large, with the majority continuing to carry on their conversation, but you, Manuel—the cousin who traveled with Dale for part of his abroad trip, you remind yourself—and two of the knights from the tournament, head for the table with the nibbles.

Usually you’re too nervous at these sorts of parties to be particularly hungry during them. This often results in needing to ask your maid to fetch leftovers from the kitchens afterward, but you’re bored enough that your nerves aren’t suppressing your appetite. You busy yourself with a small plate, taking one each of the toasted breads offered—all with a different sort of topping.

You’ve keep an ear tuned to the conversation between those who came with you. You’re looking for an opportunity to contribute something innocuous to the changing conversation of the food so they don’t think you a complete dullard. The rest of you is still paying attention to Dale, monitoring him for any sign of inhmanity as is your habit these nights. Without even thinking, you’ve positioned yourself to keep him in view.

Honestly, Dale’s been in fine control these last few days—and if he’s not kept so out of your sight, then no one’s noticed enough to raise a fuss, let alone call for a purge. You’ve all been tied up in making arrangements. Since your arrival, you’ve barely had time to settle into the Northridge city home between the meetings and introductions with city officials. It feels like all you do in your rooms is sleep, dress, and then head out.

Connton’s position at the crossroads where Northridge, Eastmont, and Centria meet leaves it in a relatively uncommon position of having both its own authority and also having to balance three overlords. Northridge has the closest main estate to the city and provided more of the land and funding, leaving it with more influence than the other fiefs, but it is also more important and vital to Northridge as only one city within its borders is comparable—and Fallridge is on the other side of the fief.

Seeing an opening, you tune back into the conversation to chime in, “I agree, Lady Catherine—this ricotta is by far the superior spread.” She grins in triumph at the other two and you feel relieved to have contributed something since you’ve done nothing but make agreeable or interested hums for the past half hour.

The closest call by far had been with that sanctif on one of the first nights in town. However, not only is Sanctif Ellon doing alright after his reaction, but Grandfather has backed off in nearly every way. He still seems particularly attentive to both yourself and Dale—especially when he first rejoined you that night, but he far more easily loses that wary edge. Even though initial wariness before he settles is still enough to make you tense, it’s also relieving to see him let go of his suspicion faster each night.

Slowly, you’ve felt some of those fears surrounding Grandfather and Dale and demons be replaced with worries over keeping straight all the officials you met, making good impressions, and future plans. It’s exhausting and nerve-wracking, for all you are aware no one expects you to memorize or be able to perfectly recall the mountain of information you’re receiving. Grandmother has even gone out of her way to reassure you of such, but it feels like failure not to do your best.

Every night, after long hours of meetings and socializing, you try to write down everything you can—sometimes in a neater hand than others. Then in the morning, you painstakingly copy what you’d jotted down the previous night and flesh out the details—trying to keep the facts all straight. The only good thing about entering week two of these events is that the rush of new people is slowing and you’re starting to get to know some of the more important players better.

You’re hopeful in the next day or two you’ll be able to have a strategizing session with Dale and his grandparents. Then you and Dale can focus on scheduling meetings with those you want to meet with rather than introductory meetings with everyone. Not that you’ll have too much time for that because eventually even more people will arrive for the wedding proper and then it will be time to return to the Northridge estate with those guests in tow.

You’re pulled from your thoughts by the sound of your name. You can’t help but jump a little as you turn to see Lady Breighton looking directly at you. You blink at her in surprise before you straighten. Of all of Grandmother’s children that you’ve met so far, she is the one who most seems like her personal heir, most similar to what she must have been like in her prime in the capital. You can’t help but feel scrutinized whenever Breighton so much as glances your way.

“Lady Breighton,” you greet her with a nod. She seems to have come over looking for you and you’re not sure what that might mean. “How are you?”

“I am well,” she replies with a polite nod. “Yourself?”

“Myself as well,” you say, taking notice of how much more comfortable she appears the few times you’ve seen her in Connton—she’s clearly used to the city lifestyle. There had been a hint of discomfort with the more rural estate, with the tighter way she held herself, that you hadn’t noticed until it was gone. Her stylish suits, her ease in the various government buildings you visit, her competent navigation of the maze of streets all speak to that comfort. She’s accompanied you, Dale, and the grandparents to a number of meetings and clearly was familiar with most of those officials for all she lives up in Verlind. “Is there something I can do for you?” You can tell she’s sought you out for a reason and she’s the type of woman to prefer the direct approach.

“Yes,” she says, her eyes intent enough to make you somewhat retroactively relieved that Grandmother’s eyesight is not as good as it once was. Her blue eyes are piercing, making you feel as if she can read every thought in your head—reminding you strangely of Dale, the newer one. You doubt it is her intention to single you out though. They certainly appear to be as sharp on everyone else as they are on you. “I would like to introduce you to someone, if you can be parted from your present company.”

The others are quick to murmur politely about rejoining the previous weapons discussion you all have taken a momentary reprieve from with the food. You smile and bid them farewell, eyes following them back to the group where Dale and Grandfather still are embroiled in debate. Dale and one of the knights who had also traveled with him abroad are describing some particular foreign style of blade workmanship and you see no evidence that Dale has any memory lapse with this particular story. Grandfather seems engaged enough with the conversation, no hint of suspicion in his expression or body language.

You do catch Dale’s eye and they meet yours with a straightforward question in them. Then you can see them flicker to Breighton and you tilt your head in that direction to indicate you’ll be heading off with her. Dale gives a minuscule nod to show his understanding. You turn back to Breighton to see she has a faint smirk on her face, as if she’d watched your little silent conversation with Dale with amusement. You feel some heat fill your face at the thought and try not to sound flustered as you say, “Of course, please show the way.”

Breighton offers you her arm, which you take, letting her steer and allowing you to use your other hand to lift your skirts enough to ease your movement. “My interests are particularly scientific, as you may have heard. I primarily study geography with an interest in seismic activity and study. My travels, while not frequent, have let me have personal experience with most mountain ranges on our continent and even some of the southern and eastern ranges.”

You had heard some of this before, with Grandmother and Grandfather proud of her accomplishments—her books are proudly displayed in a specific section of the library back on the estate.

“Regardless,” she waves her free hand, “I have interest in all manner of academic subjects. Given your interest in medicine, I thought you might enjoy meeting a colleague of mine.”

“Oh,” you blink in surprise, not having expected her to have either taken notice of your interest or to have thought of you much outside the various meetings and Northridge itself. “I would be honored to meet such a scholar, although I hope you understand my interest and study are primarily amateur.” You feel the need to verify that Breighton has not gotten an inflated view of your own knowledge—nor passed this impression on to an accomplished professional.

She glances over at you, that same sensation that she is weighing your words and your worth present once more. “You’ve had no formal education in either the medical or botanical areas of study at all?”

“Well,” you hedge and her eyes brighten. “I attended South Ardere Academy and they provide a certain amount of basic heath in their curriculum.” She nods as if to say ‘go on’. “They also offered a degree of flexibility to the lessons available, as one aged, which included the ability to go further in depth in some select areas. I was interested in health and medicine so I took a few more classes in those areas than was required. Not enough for any sort of certification—let alone a degree,” you try to stress, before allowing only, “but enough to grant me perhaps more knowledge than the average layman.”

“I see,” she says, effortlessly weaving through the crowd with you. “What prompted this interest, if you do not mind my asking?”

“I was sick as a child,” you reply without thought, before hurrying to add, “Nothing catching and nothing which greatly impacts my health presently.” You don’t want her to think you would pass on poor traits or sickness to your own children, Northridge’s heirs. She didn’t need to see the full physical report Grandmother and Grandfather had received—far more detailed than the report your own parents had required of Dale since he had no history of physical complications. A typical requirement for noble marriages, primarily revolving around ensuring the couple could produce children since when it came down to it—continuing the family line is the most fundamental reason for noble marriages.

Breighton doesn’t seem troubled by your admittance and so you continue with less urgency, “It was enough to make such matters ever present in my young mind and therefore of great interest when I grew older and more able to truly understand what had afflicted me.”

“Do you have any interest in pursuing additional scholarly studies or even becoming a physician yourself?” she asks, the most interested you believe she has ever appeared to be in your words.

Your first instinct is a vehement denial, not wanting her to think you would prefer to neglect your duties to Northridge. To reassure her that you do know how much work and effort being a Lady entails. That you are dedicated to your role going forward, dedicated to Northridge. But you stop yourself before those automatic words come tumbling out. Thinking over what you know of her, you don’t think that is a major concern to her. While it may not be her place in the family, she has not married and has dedicated herself as a scholar so you doubt she would think too negatively of such things.

“I considered it,” you say slowly, still choosing your words carefully, but making sure to be truthful too. “And I enjoyed those lessons. However, I ultimately prefer to learn those topics as a personal interest, rather than a profession. The day-to-day life, the experimentation, the care for patients—I find books or papers or case studies of such fascinating, but I have no desire to conduct them personally.”

Hoping you had not read her wrong, you look back up to see her nodding with understanding. “Yes, I know many who feel similarly. I personally greatly admire sculpture, yet I’ve no interest or talent in creating such works myself.”

You smile. “Yes, precisely. All I would say is that I do believe perhaps the general curriculum could be expanded—some of what I learned seems like it would be useful for all to know.”

Breighton grins at that. “Yes, many who find themselves with specialized knowledge believe their area should get more prominence with the general educational curriculum.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“Not a comment on you specifically, dear, I assure you,” Breighton says with a wave of her hand. “We’ve all thought so—for why would we study something we don’t see as valuable?”

There’s a knot of people below one of the musician’s balconies—the dancing and music having taken a break over an hour ago—that you seem to be headed for. When one catches Breighton’s eye, you're sure these are the ones you’re coming to meet.

“Some of these went to the same university that I attended, others I met at various scholarly conferences,” Breighton explains. “As interesting as city officials are, I admit that academia is where my interest lies. Not that governments cannot be instrumental in acting on and spreading learned information. And business is necessary to make these discoveries actionable and relevant to people’s everyday lives. But a good debate between scholars is what I enjoy most, much in the way Mother used to in the senate.”

“There you are, Breighton,” a short woman closer in age to you than Breighton says. “We were beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”

“And did you manage to catch the mouse you sought?” an older man with an impressive mustache asks, clearly teasing as he peers around Breighton to look at you.

What exactly did Breighton tell these colleagues about you?

“Yes, you lout,” Breighton replies with a roll of her eyes as she knocks her shoulder into the man who asked. “Do try to remember to act as if you are in the presence of lady while we attempt to entertain her.”

“Are you not also a lady?” a woman in a green dress asks with a purposely sweet grin. “Have we not already been on our best behavior?”

“By the light, I hope not,” Breighton replies dryly. “This is my nephew’s fiance.” She gives your full name, including your family name, which you hadn’t been aware she even knew—already Grandmother was introducing you with Dale as the future lady of Northridge at meetings. The six others all introduce themselves and you frantically try to keep up with all the new names.

“Now, as lovely as you all are,” Breighton says, scanning the group. “I was hoping to introduce her to Louisa. Did someone else pull her away?”

The woman in the green dress—Teresa of Goldam—shakes her head, her curled hair bouncing with the movement. “She went to ask after the study rooms as she never likes how noisy these grand halls can get. In fact, here she returns.”

Teresa nods at a woman in a bold red brocade gown, her sleeves long despite the time of year, and her skirts fuller than your own, separating her from the others around her by just that additional amount. Her brown hair is pulled up in a tight circular braid pinned to the top of her head and the locks framing her face are straight, rather than curled.

As she gets closer, she says, “They’re clearing out the Governor’s personal study for us. My voice is already tired from trying to be heard above this noise.” The others thank her for securing such a room for them before her eyes land on Breighton and you.

Breighton moves in smoothly to introduce the other woman, “In return, please allow me to introduce you to Doctor Louisa of the Viska Isles.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” the other woman says. Despite the similarity in your heights, she gives the impression of looking down on you.

“And you as well,” you reply, although you’re not certain it is. Louisa seems particularly smug, something very self-satisfied with her general countenance. It rubs you the wrong way, reminds you of similar students back at school: Gareth of Hilsbury and Nadine of Timodul. Both had condescension down to an art form. Louisa seems cut of the same cloth.

“Dr. Louisa has a Physician’s degree from Silverkeep University, with a concentration in chemistry and an additional philosophy masters in Demonology, with a concentration in botany, from Oroburum University.”

You feel your stomach drop. Oh, crap.

[Part Nineteen]

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sensitivesiren · 6 months

Text

"Now, you can behave while I finish my work, or I will have you removed."

found myself nostalgic for the days before GOs2, where we had all of those cheesy, fluffy oneshots from their time post armageddidn't. So I wrote one! Enjoy.

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[NIGHT - Int. Bookshop]

"Angelllllll, you are killing me. You know Beethoven is still one of Hell's right?"

Aziraphale does not smile, eyes trained studiously on the original Brandenburg Concerto scores he is restoring.

Well, attempting to restore.

He now has all six of them! He couldn't be more delighted. Worn down by time, but with just a touch of angelic love the pages illuminate and breathe beneath his gentle gloved fingers, the music rising to meet him sweetly as he lovingly mends its pages.

The music halts with a clang as an off-key groan sounds from the sofa. "Angel, when I agreed to come over I didn't think I was going to have to literally watch paint dry." Crowley is immaculately sprawled across the length of the sofa with one foot on the floor, a pilfered glass of Aziraphale's private reserve scotch hanging lazily from his fingertips. He tips the liquid into his mouth, miraculously spilling none of it on his tailored suit.

Aziraphale clears his throat primly. "If you remember, it was you that invited yourself over." Aziraphale deliberately turns a page, earning another groan from Crowley. "Now, you can behave while I finish my work or I will have you removed."

"Please, I would love to see you try." A sharp burst of laughter nearly upends the inkwell on Aziraphale's desk, the precious scores spared an oily demise only by the grace of a hasty miracle. Aziraphale takes a deep breath, rolling his neck, a small smirk curling the corner of his mouth.

"Goodnight, Crowley." Aziraphale says in a clipped tone, peeking at Crowley from the corner of his eye. He just barely sees Crowley's smug grin shatter.

Millennia of self control will not fail Aziraphale now. He lets Crowley squirm.

Crowley swallows, his throat bobbing with the movement. "What?" His voice is achingly small. "Angel I'm - Fine. If that's what you want. I'll go." He hears Crowley's glass hit the table with a sharp clink.

Aziraphale slowly turns to face Crowley then, one eyebrow raised, pressing his lips together to hide his triumphant smile.

Understanding and terror dawn on the demon's face.

"You!" Betrayal and relief fight a bloody battle on Crowley's expressive face, ending in a draw as Crowley drops his head back against the arm rest with a long, drawn-out hiss, his eyes slipping shut. He drains the rest of his whiskey in one go. "That'sss wicked, Angel."

"Ah, but you asked so nicely. It would have been rude to refuse the challenge." Aziraphale smiles fully then, ignoring Crowley's grumbling, removing his gloves and setting them gently on his desk. He rises, moving quietly across the floor until he can gaze down at his demon, the silly, silly serpent.

He lowers himself and climbs over the wiry body beneath him, earning him a small yelp of surprise as Aziraphale settles between his legs and wraps his arms around Crowley's middle, resting his chin in the middle of Crowley's chest.

"Is this what you wanted, my love?" Aziraphale says in a low voice, blinking innocently up at his big, tough, very scary demon.

Crowley scoffs, turning bright red to the tips of his ears, and Aziraphale could swear he saw the tiny snake tattoo squirm. "S'not funny." He growls, his fingers already carding gently through Aziraphale's curls, a soft smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

Aziraphale drops a chaste kiss on Crowley's sternum before nuzzling his cheek against his chest.

"I proved my point, though, didn't I? That's what you get for interrupting me while I'm working." Aziraphale sighs, breathing in the familiar tang of smoke and brandy, pulling it deep into his lungs, surrounding himself in Crowley.

"This is what I get, eh? I should never let you work again." Aziraphale can feel the smirk in his tone as Crowley's lips brush his hairline.

"I would love to see you try." Aziraphale challenges, a smile pulling at his lips.

Crowley huffs a quiet laugh, wrapping his arms around his Angel before planting a soft kiss on his forehead, lingering like a single violin note, the music sweet in Aziraphale's ears.

Perhaps the Brandenburg Concertos can wait.

#fluffy one shot #fluff #good omens #ineffable husbands #sensitivesiren #fanfic #classicmeg #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #writing

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zbeez-outlet · 2 years

Note

Hello, I have another Levi Ackerman x femreader request after the amazing job you did on my first one! I would like to request one where the reader is sick and Levi has to look after her. Like one where the reader is sick during training and Levi carries her back to his office and claims it's his duty to look after her as he's her Captain. Fluff, hurt/comfort and angst would be much appreciated. Hope that's okay :)

Fever

Levi x FemReader

Canon Universe

Pre-relationship

Concept: See request above!

Summary: As the newest member of the Special Operations Squad, you're eager to prove yourself not only to your Captain, but also to yourself that all of your hard work has paid off. Weakness breeds doubt, something you're not willing to entertain for a moment. Waking up with a fever and nausea curling in your stomach makes proving yourself just a pinch more difficult. Maybe no one will notice.

Warnings: Angst, illness, vomit, fever, some cursing, (If I missed anything, please let me know)

A/N: I am now tackling the amazing requests I've gotten in my inbox. If you've made a request, know that it's on its way and I'm writing as much as I can. You all have some great ideas! If you want to make a request, check out my Submission Guidelines for more details and keep an eye out for my inbox to reopen :)

The world tilts dangerously about a third of the way through your ninth lap around headquarters and you're starting to think the ache you'd felt that morning in your stomach was more than just residual cramping from your last period. Since then, you've gotten dizzy, become prone to sweating and sudden chills within seconds of each other, with a sore throat and a heavily congested chest, and you've had to swallow down the threat of nausea several times since breakfast.

You're sure the sloppy oatmeal you'd choked down will look just as appetizing coming up as it did going down.

Sweat drips into the divots of your collarbone, soaking unpleasantly into the fabric of your uniform and making everything disgustingly sticky. You struggle to suck in air as you run, already several meters behind the others in your new squad, but something heavy has settled in your chest, pushing on your lungs.

You feel pathetic.

It's been nearly six weeks since you were transferred into the Special Operations Squad by request of Captain Levi himself. They welcomed you with open arms and teasing taunts for the newbie, but you were quick to give as good as you got once you got a feel for their dynamic and boundaries. You'd managed to keep up well despite being several years younger and with only a fraction of the experience they'd survived, making especially close friendships with Petra - as the only other girl - and Eld, who tended to act particularly brotherly. Just those few weeks and already you feel like you've gained a new family.

And now here you are, two weeks from the next expedition, sick pooling in your stomach and pulsing in the heartbeat behind your eyes, unable to finish your squad's morning lap rotation. Shame swirls in your throat, a part of you angry with yourself that you can't just shake this off. The larger part of you is just trying to stay on two feet while the world seems to shift unnaturally below you, practically praying that the tears you feel building in your eyes don't overflow.

At the sound of someone calling your name, you trip to your knees when the vertigo of looking up has you stalling. Strong hands steady your shoulders so you don't completely face plant into the grass, and before you think too much on it, your own fingers grip at their wrists as a grounding point.

"Cadet, talk to me," a deep voice you know all too well barks by your ear. Your Captain was the one to catch you, how embarrassing. You wonder how much he's questioning your addition to the squad.

"Captain I - sorry, sir...dizzy." You lean further forward passed Captain Levi's shoulder, practically folding yourself in half as you try to steady the shifting haziness in your vision. "Woke up not - not right...thought it'd pass but...but got worse."

Even you think what you just said makes about as much sense has one of Squad Leader Hange's rambling titan tangents.

Fingers cold like ice press to your forehead, the shocking sensation having you flinching back onto your heels. "Tch, don't move so much," your Captain orders, holding you in place by the scruff of your neck and laying his palm against your forehead again. "You have a fever. You're done for the day, Cadet."

"Wait, no - I can...just give me a minute - "

"You disobeying me, Cadet?"

You swallow, both to keep the rising nausea at bay and at the subtle sting of the harsh authority in his voice. "No, Captain Levi, sir!"

"Lose the equipment, the others will take care of it. I'll help you back to the barracks." He sounds uncharacteristically soft when he says it, helping to guide your hands along the straps. You always train in full kit to make sure your bodies are toned and used to the extra weight.

As you go about unbuckling the various straps, you finally notice the rest of your squad huddled around your pitifully kneeling form. You expect to see teasing smirks barely holding back biting jabs about being new and weak and young, but you only spot the curving worry of Petra's frown and the matching concern sparkling in Eld and Gunther's eyes. Even Oluo, who's always had the iciest barbs to through about your age and minimal experience, seems gruffly perturbed by your downed state. It almost makes you want to cry, realizing how much they already care about you in such a short amount of time.

You pass off the last of your equipment to Eld who has taken to kneeling beside you, heavy hand on your trembling shoulder. "Getting sick happens, just take care of yourself, alright? You'll be running laps around us again in no time." He smiles at you, gently cuffing your chin with a soft fist. You nod and manage half a watery grin in response.

"Eld, I expect you to lead the rest of training today. No slacking off you four," Captain Levi orders, not even bothering to watch as they salute him and head back to the lap route. His eyes are strangely focused on yours, and you briefly wonder how disgusting you must look between the cold sweat and the dirt that's built up on your uniform. "Think you can stand?"

Honestly no, but you think you can try, so you nod anyway.

Standing turns out to be the easy part, as long as you go slow. Your Captain stays close, hands hovering like he expects you to fall. A fair assumption, but you're proud to say you got to your feet with little to no issue - except the ache in your joints and migraine sharpening in your temples and the shivers wracking your body. Then you attempt a step forward, and it feels like the grass and the clouds have suddenly switched places as you try not to collapse again.

"Tch, yeah thought so," Captain Levi grumbles behind you. You're about to apologize when his hands are abruptly turning you just so, arms winding around your shoulders and below your knees. He holds you close to his chest, quick steps heading towards the barracks, and all you can do is stare at the sharp curve of his jaw as a blush you want to blame on the fever rises to your cheeks. His silver eyes glance down at you and he scoffs. "You throw up on me and you'll have stable duty for the next two months."

You snap your gaping mouth shut, choosing not to question the bizarre situation you've found yourself in, and hope the way you relax into his arms isn't too obvious.

"Sorry Captain, for disrupting training," you mumble, daring to rest your head below his chin because your muscles are aching and your neck was struggling to hold you up.

He hums, the rumble of the sound vibrating against your arm. "Not your fault you're sick, brat. You tried to work through it, I get that," he sighs like he's as exhausted as you are. "Just, listen to your body next time. Go to the infirmary, ask for some rest. We take training seriously here, but not at the expense of your overall health and wellbeing. It would do more harm than good. Don't be an idiot."

That makes sense, and you probably would have done so if you weren't so caught up in the pressure associated with being in the Special Ops Squad. Only a few weeks into your new assignment at that. This feels like a major step back from your progress in the military, not to mention a hit to your pride.

But still, sloppy training at the risk of your health is dangerous. You should have known better.

"Apologies then sir, for not speaking up sooner."

"Stop with the apologies, I already said it's not your fault," he huffs, rolling his eyes as he steps into the cool corridor of the barracks. You've never been this close to him before; his eyelashes are beautifully long and his cheeks seem soft. "Besides, as your Captain, I should have noticed something was off."

You're quick to shake your head despite the way it makes your vision spin. "Captain no, I - "

"Shut up, we're not going to argue about this now. Or ever." But you want to argue because the decision you made to move forward with training despite not feeling well was hardly his fault. You bite your tongue, focusing instead on the startling fact that he's not leading you to the infirmary or your dormitory.

"Uh, sir?" You frown, slowly recognizing the bend of the hallway. "Are we...are we going to your office?"

"We are." He slightly adjusts his hold on you, a fresh wave of heat highlighting your cheekbones when you're reminded of your position. "That a problem?"

"No, no I just...don't understand. The, um, the infirmary - "

"Is crowded with disease and noise and not a suitable place for getting any real rest. And someone needs to keep an eye on you so you don't choke on your own vomit or something."

It suddenly hits you as he's deftly maneuvering his body to nudge the door to his office open, outside of orders and mission briefs, you've never heard him speak this much before. You chew on your cheek, fingers fiddling in your lap. He has a really nice voice.

You can't really imagine him bringing someone like Oluo, or any of the others, to his office like this - except maybe Petra, but they've always been especially cordial - and you feel overwhelmed by the whole situation.

The Captain's quick to leave you standing on your own, leaning against the edge of his desk for balance, while he disappears into his adjacent quarters. You're left stumped and still a little dizzy while you wait for him to come back. Idly, your fingers trace the dark wood of his desk, coming away clean of course, noticing the intricate alignment of every little knickknack and stack of paperwork on the surface. You end up having to grip the surface when you feel yourself start to tip over.

You blink, and Captain Levi is standing in front of you, brow furrowed as he steadies you with one hand, the other holding a pile of blurry fabric. Blurry? No, no wait, that's just you.

"Showering's out of the question until you can stand more than a few seconds without falling over," he mumbles - to himself, you think because he doesn't seem to wait for any kind of response from you. He pushes the fabric into your hands. "Change into these so you're at least in clean, comfortable clothes. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Where...?" But you don't finish, exhaustion suddenly pulling at the weight of your tongue.

"Some tea will help, and Hange has a store of medicine in their office. Get changed, sit on the couch, I'll be back soon." It's gruff and curt and the familiarity of the tone has you relaxing into the strange circumstances that have lead you to your Captain's office today.

He's out the door before you have a chance to nod that you understand, so you sigh and take a moment to just catch your breath.

That turns out to be a bad idea.

Your stomach churns, and you only have the warning of your throat constricting before you drop the clothes and scramble towards the bathroom you know is in the Captain's quarters with your palm holding your mouth shut. A few agonizing milliseconds later and you're heaving into the porcelain bowl of his toilet. You're so fucking grateful you made it to the bathroom, pretty sure that if you had thrown up all over your Captain's clean floors, not only would you be off his squad, but you'd probably also find yourself dishonorably discharged from the military entirely.

The way your stomach cramps brings tears to your eyes. You were right, the oatmeal looks about the same as it did going down. A mix of sweat, tears, and saliva drips off the point of your chin, and you can't think of a way to be more miserable.

You're not sure how long you sit there, fingers white-knuckled on the porcelain edge, throat gagging even when there's nothing left in your stomach.

"Shit," you hear, cold hands dragging across the clammy skin of your neck, tugging back your hair. The Captain's back, pulling your hair from the slick of your sick. Walls, you hope you don't look as pathetic as you feel. "Okay, okay just...let it out."

"Hu-hurts," you whimper, spitting into the toilet.

He shushes you, swiping what you think is a cold damp cloth across your sweaty forehead and spit sticky chin. It feels nice. "I know, I know. It'll pass, just let it out."

Minutes pass stuck in the miserable cycle until you finally feel steady enough to push away from the bowl, leaning back against the wall to take deep gulps of air. You flinch at the clear glass of water held to your lips, but manage a few stale sips without feeling the urge to cough it back up again.

Captain Levi runs the cool cleansing cloth along your skin, sharp silver eyes tracking all over your face so intently you find yourself swallowing for a different reason entirely. Eventually his gaze settles on your own, the concern softening the stoic glare you're so used to seeing, and you nearly want to cry again.

"Thank you, Captain," you manage between labored breaths, eyes half-lidded at the drop in your energy.

"Levi."

"Hmm?" Your brows furrow, head lolling back against the wall in your confusion.

"Just Levi is fine, we're not on duty right now."

You're not sure what to say, stalled by your tongue stuck in your throat. Actually saying his name like that, so familiarly...you don't think you can.

Levi.

Maybe you can just think it.

Instead of replying you just nod, sniffing a little as you flush the evidence of a disgusting half hour down the toilet. "Sorry about that."

"Couldn't be helped, don't worry about it," Levi - wow, that's strange - dismisses with a wave of his hand. "Thanks for sparing my floors."

A halfhearted and decidedly painful chuckle shakes your shoulders, though you're grateful for the levity. "Anytime, sir."

He scoffs at the honorific, but can he really expect you to drop decorum so easily? You hardly think so, though he's already treated you a fair bit better than some friends of yours in this situation, let alone a superior.

Levi tosses you the same clothes he'd picked out before, standing to his full height, seeming as imposing as ever from your spot on the tile. "Try to change, go slow if you feel dizzy. Drink the rest of that if you can," he points to the water glass on the vanity. "I'll be right outside in case you fall or something."

Changing clothes turns out to be less nausea inducing and far more exhausting than you expected. You fold your uniform as neatly as possible, stacking the clothes on your discarded boots in the corner of the bathroom. The pants Levi gave you fit well enough, a little short on the ankles and tight at the hips - not surprising given his slimmer waist. The socks are warm and thick, almost cozy. He gave you a larger t-shirt that you almost wonder if it even belongs to him, the shoulders of it broad and length extra baggy, but you've been known to buy oversized sleep clothes for the swaddled comfort, so you don't think on it too much. The fabrics are soft and smell like fresh linen, clean and slightly lemony.

You pull back your hair to quickly rinse your face and gurgle some water to get the acidic taste of bile off your tongue. Without a toothbrush, you try to scrub at your teeth with your finger to clean out as much as you can. Dutifully, you tackle the task of drinking the water cup, both parched and fearfully nauseous at doing so.

It goes down relatively smoothly, which allows at least some of your lost pride to trickle back in.

You clumsily stumble from the bathroom, surprised at how quickly Levi's arms find their way around your waist to steady you. He keeps one hand high on your hip, the other gripping your elbow, as he leads you back into his office to sit on the couch. He sits on the table next to the tray of tea he'd promised and a bottle you know is some tasteless medicine you'll have to choke down.

"Better?"

"Much." You lick your lips, looking from your Captain to the tray of tea. "I have to drink that now, don't I?"

A dry smirk pulls at his cheek as he goes about pouring you a cup with a small drizzle of honey. "If you want any chance at feeling better, yes. The tea will settle your stomach, the medicine is for the rest." He takes what looks like a comically large table spoon in your hazy eyes and fills the curve of it with the amber colored medicine. Your nose scrunches, lips drawing into a thin closed line. "Don't be a baby, just take the damn medicine."

"Gross."

"You fight titans for a living."

"They're gross too, what's your point?"

"My point is, a talented soldier like you shouldn't be afraid of a little medicine."

Your chest puffs up, a weirdly teasing smile drawing across your face. Everything about this has been strange and otherworldly as Levi actually cares for you on your sickbed - er, couch. "Talented, huh?"

"Shut up and take the shitty medicine before I force it down your throat," he grumbles, and you have to blink away the illusion of a dusty pink warming his ears. You lean forward to accept the spoon, fully aware of the reality of his threats. Like the water, it goes down smoothly if a little bit thick, and tastes of the herbs you remember from childhood under the care of your mother's kindness when illness struck. Once Levi proves you've swallowed it with a hilariously thorough scan of your open mouth, he brings the warm cup of tea to your lips and encourages you to drink the whole thing in a string of gentle sips. The warmth of it spreads through your body, soothing the ache in your throat and relaxing your muscles, helping you sink further into the cushions of the couch.

He's wonderfully patient with you, and you're not really sure how to feel about it besides grateful and maybe a bit embarrassed.

You blink slowly, lids drooping and chin dipping towards your collar when staying upright proves to be a challenge.

Strong hands you trust with your life guide your head down onto a pillow, lifting your feet from the wood flooring so that you're lying across the length of the couch. A heavy quilt is draped over you, curbing the rising shakes you feel building up in your spine, and you can't help but snuggle into the plushness of it all.

"G'night, Levi," you mumble in the exhale of a yawn, eyes slipping shut with a gentle flutter.

"Get some rest." Your name rings from between his slips, quiet and fond and almost reverent if you were coherent enough to be aware of such things.

You fall asleep to the loving touch of something soft and rare and precious against your forehead.

#levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman #sick reader #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #attack on titan #fanfic

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dotster001 · 2 years

Text

Enemies to Lovers part Five out of however many it takes for my coworker to get off their high horse and like Vil already!

Summary: The time has come to choose the new Pomefiore housewarden, and you and Deuce get a front row seat.

Part One. Part Two. Part Three. Part Four. Part Six. Part Seven. Part. Eight. Part Nine. Part Ten. Epilogue.

You and Deuce were in a set of Pomefiore robes that Vil had pulled out of storage, and were sitting with Epel's family in a seating area for participants' families and friends.

Before Vil had gone off to prepare himself and Rook for the event, he had given both of them a stern warning to behave. You were sure as hell not going to behave if the situation presented itself.

You'd been in the Pomefiore throne room many times, but today it was looking a little different. The seating area was off to the left of the throne, and diagonally facing the normally empty area in front of the throne. Today, there were five lab tables full of ingredients and potion making supplies.

At length, Professor Crewel entered the throne room, followed by the five students in the running for next housewarden, Epel third in the line. He always was adorable in your eyes, but today, something was different about him. He looked absolutely radiant.

The line halted in front of the throne, and Crewel joined the seating area, taking the empty seat next to you.

"You are in for a treat today, pup," Crewel whispered to her. "Potionolgists all over the world would give anything to be able to watch this."

The crowd had been murmuring, but it all ceased when Vil entered. He was in his full Pomefiore robe, crown delicately worked into his hairstyle, makeup giving him an otherworldly shimmer. He arrived at the throne, and sat gracefully, crossing his leg with practiced ease.

Rook followed closely behind, carrying a decorative box, with a clasp that was a sword piercing a heart. He took his place, standing to Vil's right. He handed Vil the box, and stood at attention.

"Students, visitors, contestants, today you are going to witness the crowning of the next Housewarden," Vil stated, voice booming to every ear in the room. "Contestants, please introduce yourselves, state your year, then state your intentions."

The five contestants each took turns stating their names and years. The two before Epel were third years. And then it was Epel's turn.

"Epel Felmier, second year. My intention is to prove I am worthy of representing the fairest queen."

"Kick their asses, baby!" Deuce shouted loudly as you let out a whoop. Epel threw you both a wicked grin, as Vil stiffened and rolled his eyes.

The last two boys introduced themselves, then Vil spoke again.

"The representative of the fairest queen is chosen by a trial. The representative must be able to brew the most potent poison." He opened the box, and pulled out a jar, and an apple. He opened the jar, then, holding the apple by the stem, dipped it into the contents of the jar. When he pulled it back up, the apple was quickly decaying, bleeding juices all over the box and jar, before it just outright disintegrated.

"This is the poison I brewed when I was chosen," Vil stated, returning the contents to the box, then handing the box to Rook. "You will have twelve hours to brew a proper poison. We will then test them to prove your worth."

He flicked his pen, causing a large hourglass to materialize.

"Your time begins now."

The five boys moved to various stations, each clearly knowing what they were doing, beginning their potions with practiced ease.

You let your eyes wander to Vil. If not for his eyes flicking about the room, you could easily mistake him for a beautiful statue.

Deuce leaned over to Crewel. "What are his odds?" He whispered.

"Vil had been training Epel for this since the entrance ceremony. Despite being a second year, he has a high likelihood of winning against at least three of his competitors," Divus pointed at another second year, who was at a table a row ahead of Epel. "That is Morgan Hexe. Should Epel slip up, he is destined to be the new Housewarden."

You watched as Morgan's green eyes flicked through his notes. He definitely had an aura about him, which usually meant…

"Is he fae?" You asked Crewel, thinking you had been quiet enough.

However, Morgan's eyes met yours, as he smirked and winked at you, before pulling his long purple hair into a bun, and continuing his work.

"I think that's your answer," Deuce whispered, clearly having noticed the exchange. You looked at Vil, but he didn't seem to have noticed. Not that you cared.

"So it's probably between those two?" You reiterated.

"Correct," Crewel responded.

Normally something like this would have been boring, but watching the contestants brew their potions was riveting. The tension in the air was palpable, and it was becoming quite clear who could hold up composure under pressure.

Crewel used the opportunity to teach Deuce and you about various poison brewing things, pointing out mistakes or good points whenever they arrived.

The hour glass had only a third of it left when the room was filled with a violent yellow explosion.

"That's my cue," Divus said as he stood up from his seat, approaching the third year whose potion had exploded. Luckily for everyone, and unluckily for him, he was the only one injured in the explosion.

Divus treated his wounds, and after some deliberation, both seemed to agree that he was unable to continue in the competition. He took his seat, gracefully, and watched with the crowd for the rest of the event.

Vil left the throne for the first time, and went to go see the student. He said something to him, which made the student beam with pride and straighten his posture as Vil returned to his throne. You would have to ask him about that later.

As the last grain of sand in the hourglass dropped, it dissipated into a shower of purple glitter. Rook set a table in front of the throne, and the remaining four contestants brought their potions to it.

Vil left his throne, and summoned an apple. He placed it into the first potion, removed it, and set it in front. He did this with all four potions, then picked up each apple to observe it closely.

The first one had shriveled and faded in color. Epel's was next, since the person before him had dropped out. His apple had turned black, and looked like it was bleeding thick ink. Vil squeezed it, and the thing practically burst, covering everything the table and his hand with the substance. Vil nodded approvingly as Rook handed him a towel to wipe his hands. The next one was quite similar to the first, except for a couple burnt holes in the flesh. Then it was Morgan's turn. His apple was a sickly green, and breaking into pieces wherever it was touched.

Vil waved a hands at Crewel, who took a second glance at the apples, before whispering to Vil, who gave a curt nod.

He walked back to his throne, but instead of sitting, stood down left of it.

"Epel Felmier, please take your place as Pomefiore's new Housewarden," he said, giving a warning glare at you and Deuce, who were about to start cheering.

Epel walked around the table, and took a seat on the throne, looking as though he was destined to sit there from the beginning. He stared straight ahead as Vil removed his crown.

"Epel Felmier, do you strive to embody the fairest queen in all you do?"

"I do," Epel said in a confident voice.

"Then, I now crown you as my successor," Vil placed the crown on Epel's head, then stood back away from the throne, conceding his time here was over.

The audience cheered. You and Deuce stood in your seats and shouted the loudest of anyone.

After a moment, Epel raised his hand for silence.

"My first act as queen will be to kiss my king," he grinned his wicked grin, and gave Deuce a "come hither gesture", which he happily complied to. You watched Vil roll his eyes, and pinch the bridge of his nose, as you giggled, and Epel tossed an arm around Deuce's neck, pulling him to his level, and kissed him passionately. After the kiss, Deuce returned to his seat with the most lovesick expression on his face.

"My second act as queen is to appoint Morgan Hexe as my Vicehousewarden. Do you accept this position?"

"Yes my queen," Morgan said, a satisfied smile on his face, as though this is what he wanted the entire time. He took his place in Rook's old spot to the right of the throne.

Epel stood from the throne, and addressed his new subjects with dignity and confidence.

"As the new Housewarden of Pomefiore, I invite you to the after celebration. There will be food and drink for you. All are welcome."

With that, he swept out of the throne room, followed closely by Morgan. When your eyes met Vil's, he was smiling and his eyes were filled with pride.

He approached you as everyone headed to the celebration, and took your hands in his, giving them a soft squeeze.

"Do you understand now, sweet potato? Do you see what it was all for? Do you understand the world that has opened up to Epel today?"

You grinned, but gave a playful eye roll. "Okay, you win this round, Schoenheit."

He scoffed, but placed one of your hands on his arm, as he escorted you to the celebration.

...

Tag list- @stygianoir @da-disappointment @shytastemakerthing

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #epel felmier #deuce spade #epel x deuce

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regalmagic · 1 year

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[ gong jun , 30 , cis man , he/him ] have you seen , WILLIAM ASHEWOOD the WARLOCK has entered court? said to be resilient + determined , we can only hope their good qualities outshine that they are also bitter + vengeful . when asked about them , people are always reminded of: flowers growing back as thorns | anger that has been polished into a knife | surrounding your soul with high walls so the world cannot take that too . They are RULING LORD OF HOUSE ASHEWOOD. They believe in THEIR FAMILY AND THEMSELVES. May their wand guide them to absolution.

BASICS

FULL NAME: william lucius ashewood. GOES BY: will, william. TITLES: ruling lord of house ashewood. AGE: thirty. GENDER: cis man, he / him. ORIENTATION: heterosexual, heteroromantic.

STATUS: unwed, unbetrothed. LOYALTY: his family, himself.

PERSONALITY

POSITIVE: resilient. determined. hardworking. gallant. protective. NEGATIVE: bitter. vengeful. guarded. aloof. melancholic.

APPEARANCE

FACECLAIM: gong jun. HEIGHT: six feet, two inches. HAIR: long and black. EYE COLOR: dark brown.

HISTORY

william ashewood has never not been a dutiful son. as the eldest, he had the expectations of being the family's heir placed upon his shoulders since he was young, but william never wavered. he proved himself to be not only a capable, honorable heir and also a protective older brother, but also a brave and strong wizard. many remarked that he was a gifted wizard, though it had nothing to do with some innate talent; in fact, william struggled in his classes during his first year at hogwarts, but what he lacked in natural skill he made up for with hard-working and determination, proving that he wasn't someone to be underestimated. he especially began to excel in his defense against the dark arts and potions classes, the former being his preferred subject and something he studied in his free time.

due to his status and family's wealth, there was no need for him to pursue any career following his graduation from hogwarts but william made the decision to train as an auror regardless - and despite hesitation from his parents, who worried for his safety. once again he found himself struggling at first, and once again he persevered and proved himself worthy of joining the auror ranks. william loved his job because it allowed him to protect and help people. it also allowed him to put all his studies of dark magic and combat against it to practical use. while will was an honorable man, he was also willing to do what had to be done, which sometimes caused people to grow cross with or question him. but nothing serious arose when he was an auror. however, his career was short lived. when his father passed away the responsibilities as ruling lord were officially placed in his hand, leaving little time for his duties as an auror. will didn't retire completely, offering his help when needed, but his main focus shifted to his new role.

william was completely caught off guard when suspicions were placed on him following the 1784 attack. initially, he believed that the truth would win out, proving his innocence - only to watch more and more "evidence", including his time as an auror being twisted as something that would've given him inside knowledge of the ministry, be presented; evidence that, despite william declaring them fabrications, convinced too many. people he believed friends turned their backs on him, some even testifying against him, and no matter how loudly he or his family protested, their words fell on deaf ears, and william found himself being convicted and condemned to azkaban.

for the past two years, william lived within his own personal hell. the stories of azkaban's horrors didn't hold a candle to the reality of being there. while he tried holding onto his sanity, and had succeeded more than most would've expected, it came at the cost of his softness, thorns growing were flowers once resided, anger festering where forgiveness would've once drowned it out. william hungered not only for justice but revenge, and he was determined that he would have it, no matter how long it took.

#i. william ashewood — intro.#wizardcourt.intro

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omiscurls · 3 years

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Diluc, zhongli and childe reaction to their s/o breaking up with them after something they said, maybe after a week or so after they argument they think the s/o forgave them but they break up instead? I WANT THE ANGST

consequences

plot: reader decides to break up with the character after not speaking to them

contains: diluc, zhongli, tartaglia (idk how am i going to do this to my special boy but ill try my best)

warnings: angst, breakups, implied past toxic behavior

a/n: OH MY GOD THIS WAS SO HARD- I DONT HAVE THE HEART TO BREAKUP WITH PEOPLE

diluc

hopeless thoughts ran through your head as you fought with yourself about wether to enter angel’s share or not, hand halfway through to the doorknob. your mind hadn’t been made up just yet, you were still in between two very different scenarios - the urge to forgive him for his hurtful words growing stronger each day, as anger and other emotions subdued to loneliness and the feeling of a part of you missing, ever since the two of you stopped talking.

your mind flashed back to the exact moment when you looked into diluc’s eyes, always so soft and calm for you, forming a way of anger he never expressed towards you before. to the feeling you got right then and there that this man is not the same one you’ve met and fell in love with.

the process of coming to terms with that conclusion was as painful as the first strike of his angry glare, and even though he seemed to have realized the weight of his words right after saying them out loud, no matter how hard you tried, you could not erase them from your memory.

one strike of that pain, one memory of that night was enough to make you go through with your plan, door to the bar opening with a little screech.

it was like just another late afternoon, with charles tending the bar, knights and townsfolk filling the hot room, and the smell of alcohol traveling through the air.

“hi” you said to the bartender “is master diluc around?”

charles, busy with his work, quickly replied that he’s out back, opening a barrel. you nodded and went where his directions guided, pushing open yet another door to see the back of the man you loved, looking just as always from this angle, working over said chore. he didn’t even seem to mind the fact that someone walked in on him working.

“diluc” you said with a sigh, and he almost immediately turned around, tools falling from his hands and onto the ground.

“darling, hi” he replied quietly, walking over to you but stopping half way, eyes set to analyze your expression, figure out what was going on in your mind. “i’m glad you’re here safely, i haven’t heard from you in over a week” he added cautiously, as if weighing every word before deciding to say it out loud.

“well” you sighed again, once again going over wether you should actually break things off right then, mind taking pity on his troubled expression, tired eyes, on the obvious eyebags that were much more apparent than before, a sign that he didn’t catch too much sleep. “i had to come to terms with what i’m about to say”

he wanted to tell you he was sorry, he really did, but words didn’t seem to come out of his throat. obviously he was sorry, it was a bad day and he meant none of what he said, but you knew that, right? you knew he always cared for you and loved you… right?

he wasn’t the best with words, hence, the idea of apologizing with a gesture after you were done teaching him his lesson came to mind. a brilliant idea, one could never go wrong with a thoughtful deed for their significant other, just give him one more chance.

“and my conclusion is, we need to take a step back and… reevaluate things in our lives. i’m not saying this is the ultimate end, but what you’ve said, and how you’ve said it made me realize…”

you were making a good point. you were talking about your feelings. he should listen, but the only thing he heard was the blood pumping through his veins, and the two single words

the end

so there won’t be another chance? he won’t be able to prove himself? what do you mean, the end? the best thing that ever happened to him in his sad life was coming to an end because of him? but he was so careful, he treated you like his treasure, because that’s how he truly felt, like his lifeline, something he could never lose…

and all it took was one sentence too much, one glare too intense. for the first time in what, six, maybe seven years, his eyes began to water, as he blinked the tears back at a rapid pace.

“… and that was a shitty thing to do. i hope you know that. i don’t know if i had anything else i wanted to say, perhaps i did, but… that’s all. see you around, i guess” you mumbled, loosing confidence in what you were saying, taking one last glance at his lost eyes before turning around.

turning around from him, from the love of your life, was perhaps the hardest thing you ever had to do, and yet you did do it.

before you could reach the door again, though, a cold hand caught your forearm. your eyes met his, with just a glimmer of hope that he would magically say all the right words and somehow make you stay, you didn’t want to leave, yet knew you had to. if you wanted to preserve the respect you had for yourself, you had to leave.

why were you giving him time to say something?

his helpless gaze seemed to speak with a thousand words, begging, pleading you to not leave through that door, but as much as his lips did part, not a single word left.

he couldn’t say anything to hold you back, and you ripped away from his grip, turned, and walked away.

and just like that,

he was all alone, again.

he was gonna need a drink.

zhongli

tears flooded your vision, blurring every details of zhongli’s face, causing you to only see a pale color palette, instead of your favorite person, ever. maybe it was for the best, maybe it would make it easier, you thought, but that was a foolish thing to hope for.

even through the salty tears, you could make out his eyes, it’s glow never failing to guide you, and comfort you, now seeming to burn their way through you, through your body and soul.

“you’re stuck in another love, zhongli, we both know that!” you exhaled a bit louder than you intended to, the outcome sounding more like an accusation than a fact. “how can you ever say you love me, when it’s so obvious, and so apparent, that every time you look at me, you see someone else? you HOPE for someone else?”

you could only wish the words you spoke didn’t come out as a complete mess, because of those tears you were constantly choking on. desperation seeped through your voice, as the feeling of helplessness rose every time you looked at your lover and at the anguish, and confusion he presented.

how could he make this so hard? it’s not like you’ve presented some statement he didn’t know already, right?

you hoped your eyes would say all the things you didn’t trust your voice to. you hoped he’d somehow hear how all you ever wanted was to be enough, was to meet his standard, how it tore you open that every time he said <i love you> his eyes wandered everywhere but onto yours, how all his touches seemed absent, how all his compliments were truly about some other face, some other smile, some other kind soul.

the worst part was, how could you blame him? how can anyone, ever, blame someone for being in love, of all things? love was something beautiful, and once you’ve experienced it, you’re drowned in it forever, and don’t even want to see the surface again.

love is beautiful. when you’re the one who’s receiving it. love was beautiful, to you, too, when you loved how his wisdom flew through his words, how his kindness hugged your spirit, how his aura brought you comfort. you loved his eyes, you loved his cheeks, his lips, every single detail of his skin.

the love you felt made you complete, made you warm, until you finally realize the thing you should’ve seen much sooner.

that you were merely a mirror for him to look at someone else, someone long gone.

suddenly all the warmth you felt was directed back at you, burning you inside, making you wish you never felt it in the first place.

“aren’t you gonna say something?” you whispered.

his long fingers found their way to your hand, but you snatched it away.

if you fell onto his charms now, you wouldn’t be able to get out once more.

his breath hitched as he gathered himself to speak

“i want nothing more than to love you” he said, although quietly, it rang through your ears like the loudest of screams.

you scoffed.

“we both would’ve wanted that, then”

“and i’m sure i can, if you just—“

now, laughter was all that you were capable of letting out.

“zhongli, you can’t train yourself to love someone. and even if you could, then how do you think that would make me feel? like i’m so unlovable you had to force yourself through it to grow accustomed to a feeling similar to love?”

“that’s not what i—“

“that’s what it means! let it go, please, please just… let me go” you sighed, standing up from the bench over at liyue harbor that you were sitting on. the sun has begun to set on the other side of the sea, and you couldn’t help but notice, it would’ve been the perfect date.

“i do sincerely hope you’ll find someone who’ll love you just the same” he finally stated, as he gave up on trying to make you stay.

“why?” you chuckled “so i could make them suffer the same way you made me?”

tartaglia

(archons give me strength)

you found nothing but guilt, looking into the endless ocean trapped in his eyes. for the first time in forever, they glistened, but not with a spark of joy, like you always hoped they would, they shone a sickly shine, caused by a thin layer of tears, that didn’t dear to spill over his porcelain cheeks, almost as if afraid of making contact with the ruthless face of the number eleven of the fatui harbingers.

he could’ve easily been crying if only he let himself go. he would’ve been in tears, sniffing and coughing, but he just… wasn’t. he held those tears in the gates of his eyes, as if his life depended on it.

the guilt you found inside them, wasn’t his, but yours. you felt guilty, watching this composed, confident man fall into pieces right before you, crumbling before your sight. why were you doing this? you seemed to forget all those terrible things you’ve heard just from the way his irises begged for forgiveness and brows furrowed in inexplicable sadness.

but you couldn’t, no, this time you couldn’t.

“my word” you swore on dear life you’d burst into tears if your voice shook right now “my word is final. we’re over. and that’s… that’s it. you need to understand that there won’t be another chance.”

the moment his lips parted, you knew you were lost.

“i have told you so many times already, but i will say this as much as i need to, it will never happen again! i swear, on everything i love and everything that i am, i swear on life itself, i won’t ever let that happen again! you know i won’t! come on, i promise you, if there’s anything you can say about me is i do keep my promises, don’t i? darling, please…”

“promise yourself to heal and become better, first” you stated coldly, watching faith disappearing slowly from his fixed look.

“im sorry, you know i am, im sorry, im sorry, im so fucking sorry!” a scream left his throat as desperation took over both reason and self-respect.

“sorry isn’t gonna cut it”

“then what will? i’ll do anything, anything in the world, anything to prove myself to you. i get that you can’t love me, i understand that, but please, let me win your trust again.”

he said unnaturally calmly, compared to what he did before, and you got concerned immediately.

i understand that you can’t love me, his words rang through your head. oh god, what were you doing? guilt stroke again, right at where you felt your heart to be.

right when you wanted to turn around and leave, he must’ve sensed that, and pulled you into a tight embrace. not suffocating, as they often describe it, not toxic and desperate, but… as loving as every other hug you’ve ever received from him. as calming and grounding, even though you could feel his heart racing. he didn’t refuse for you to leave, he didn’t trap you.

you understood after a while,

he was saying goodbye. all the love trapped inside his heart seeped out onto you, all his feelings surrounding and engulfing you.

“let me promise you this” he whispered, voice shaking painfully “the next time i’ll see you, i’ll be a better man. someone you will be able to be proud of, someone worthy of both your trust, and love. i won’t stop until i’ll be enough for you to look at me without the disgust and fear you have now. i promise. i’ll be better.”

“until then, then.” was the only thing you were capable of saying before leaving.

as soon as the door shut behind you, you rested against a wall and covered your mouth with a hand, unable to hold your tears any longer.

you heard a cry through the door. so he does have some feelings left, after all

your daily reminder that requests are open [here]

#genshin angst #genshin impact #diluc angst #zhongli angst #childe angst #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x reader #gender neutral reader

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malarki · 3 years

Text

Harry Potter FanFiction I greatly enjoy (it’s just tomarry and sevitus)

Fair warning, I’m not good at describing stuff, and most of these are not complete (yet) but if you have similar tastes as I do then you’ll definitely like these stories.

Meddling of a Mischief Maker - by Athy

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380535/chapters/12427268

I enjoy this fic because it shows a more human Voldemort with him still being an asshole as per usual. They do a good job of having Voldemort believably change into a not crazy murderous bastard haha. It also has Sirius interacting with Voldemort and for some reason I find those scenes hilarious in any fic I read.

“Harry's being a horcrux is a bit reworked here in this AU Story set during the summer after 5th year. A Mischief Maker intervenes in the Ministry during Voldemort and Dumbledore's duel, changing the course history. MorallyGrey!Dumbledore, Sirius, Restored Souls, HP/TR”

Draw Me After You (Let Us Run) - by ToAStranger @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22327684/chapters/53334382

This story is a delight, it’s tone is very good and they do a great job of writing in the characters ‘voices’ for their pov’s. I especially like the posh way Voldemort talks and acts. This story is also hilarious on top of just being a very good slowburn, AND it has Sirius, which as you might have guessed, I love dearly. They also don’t bash any of the characters, and instead make them well rounded but flawed individuals, which I really appreciate.

“Harry Potter,” comes the soft, sibilant hiss of a voice he has heard in his dreams, in his nightmares, in his waking hours for years.

Slowly, carefully, Harry twists over and pushes up onto his hands and knees. He stays there, short breath fogging in front of his face, and his pursuer lets him. Harry has no doubt of that; he’s being allowed this respite. This small moment to catch his bearings, heart pounding in his ears, blood singing.

“It seems I have finally caught you.”

Consuming Shadows - by Child_OTKW @childotkw

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7040089/chapters/16011331

I’ve read two of childOTKW’s fics and both of them are fantastically written and attention grabbing stories. This one was the first one I read, and it has a very interesting take on lily Potter (one which I really enjoy) and the plot can leave you on the edge of your seat at times. The characterization is great, and the process of Harry and Tom getting to know each other is done very well.

“His attention skipped passed the students and moved to the politicians’ pavilion. His gaze locked with crimson, and he nearly faltered under the sheer hunger in those eyes.

It unnerved him how fixated the man was on his dirtied, exhausted figure.

But what troubled him more was the slight smirk he could make out on the man’s lips. It was almost pleased.

On the night of the attack, Lily managed to escape with her infant son, but at the cost of her husband’s life. Distraught and distrusting of her friends, she fled to France with Harry, to raise him away from the corruption in Britain and the rising influence of the Dark Lord. She trains him to the best of her abilities, shaping him into a dangerous, intelligent and powerful wizard.

But when Britain re-establishes the Triwizard Tournament, and Harry is forced to return to his once-home, he finds himself questioning whether he really wants to kill the Dark Lord. Voldemort finds an unexpected challenge in the child, and as his intrigue and amusement grows, so too does the desire to possess the spark in those defiant green eyes.”

A story that is kind of similar but not really: The Train to Nowhere

You Belong To Me (I Belong To You) - by child_OTKW

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11270490/chapters/25203408

This is a story inspired by the manwha ‘At The End Of The Road’ by Haribo. A comic I read before reading this, which is very good I recommend it. They do not take the exact plot from the comic though, obviously changing significant details for it to work properly as a Tomarry Fic, but one main thing stays the same, which is that this is a body swap. Honestly I really enjoy childOTKW’s works, and this is no exception. The characterization is wonderful as always, and Harry is Fantastic. Plus I’ve always been a fan of time travel fics. (Fair warning this is another slow burn and Harry centric)

“What I find absolutely fascinating,” Riddle said, stalking closer, “is you.” He marched forward, backing Harry up until he was pinned to the cool wall of the common room. “Do you know why?”

“No. And I’ll be honest here, Riddle, I don’t particularly care.”

The taller boy grinned at him, small yet infinitely pleased. “That. Right there.” One hand rose and brushed some of Harry’s fringe from his face. “Nathan Ciro was a spineless little boy too afraid of his own shadow to dare even glance in my direction. But you…”

He leaned closer, “You look at me like you want to stab me.”

“After an accident, Auror Harry Potter wakes up in the body of fourteen year old Nathan Ciro, a tormented Slytherin who recently tried to end his own life. Seeking answers to his strange predicament, Harry returns to Hogwarts, and causes quite the stir through staff and students - especially when they come to realise he is not the same boy as before.

He tries to avoid suspicion, but as his quest for the truth draws more and more attention to him, Harry begins to think that he might not like what he will discover.”

Some Bonus AU tomarry

A Thousand Paths Among The Stars - by Haplessshippo @haplesshippo

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12015060/chapters/27191238

This is a star trek au and it’s honestly my favorite tomarry au fic. Granted, I am a huge sci-fi fan. There’s also a bit of a twist at the end, or at least it surprised me, due to the way we usually expect tomarry plots to go.

“Harry Potter, newly appointed Captain of the Marauder and son of the famous Captain James Potter, was falling apart at the seams. His crew didn’t respect him, he was lost in the empty expanse of space, nightmares plagued his sleep, and his Commander deserved the Captain position more than he did. Good thing multiple attempts on his life and a vicious warlord after his head was all it took to turn it all around.

Alternatively, that space fic in which Harry Potter almost dies too many times, Tom Riddle slowly becomes the most smitten fool on the ship, and the rest of the crew are all just a bunch of assholes with popcorn watching the show. And exploding ships, don't forget the exploding ships.”

The Matchmaker - by TanninTele

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16507676/chapters/38664089

I am ALSO a huge true crime fan, and this story has a criminal that kinda reminds me of one that might appear in Hannibal (but with less murder). I enjoy the characterization, though tom is pretty tame in this compared to more cannon fics, considering he’s not the criminal and instead an investigator. Harry is also different from how people usually portray him, but I still like it.

“'The Matchmaker' is a serial abductor whose modus operandi consists of pairing two same-sex individuals together in a coffin, six feet underground - buried alive. He isn't a killer. He's a kidnapper with morals, and Detective Chief Inspector Tom Riddle finds himself obsessed with solving the case.

Unfortunately for Tom, the Matchmaker is just as intent on knowing him.”

And on to the Sevitus Stories

Far Beyond A Promise Kept - by oliversnape

https://archiveofourown.org/works/547431/chapters/974693

A classic, Harry stays with snape and unintentionally proves all his assumptions wrong and makes snape care about him. Both the stories have this aspect, but this one has snape a bit nicer from the get go. Probably because it takes place during the third book, so they’ve only known each other two years. It’s quite wholesome though, and I rather enjoy the progression of their relationship.

“Snape never wanted anyone to know of his promise to Dumbledore, but has realised that he can protect Potter much better by taking a less passive role in the boy's training. Actually liking Harry Potter has never been part of his plan. mentor/guardian.”

Crime And Punishment - by melolcatsi

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102232/chapters/58018174

Snape and Harry have way more of a rocky start in this one, and Snape having to pick Harry up from the police station Really Doesn’t Help Snape’s opinion of him. This story very realistically shows the progression of their relationship, going from enemies to family, and near the ‘end’ (it’s not finished) it becomes very wholesome with Snape trying to help Harry with his mental and physical health after years of abuse/ neglect.

“Harry is accused of burglary. The Dursleys leave him to rot. Dumbledore sends Snape to remedy the situation. Harry finds himself in the care of an irate Snape. Not slash, gen-fic w/ focus on Sevitus relationship. Angst galore. Warnings: coarse and suggestive language, mentions of abuse/neglect. Un-betaed and un-Britpicked.”

#tomarry #tom riddle #harry potter #sevitus #severus snape #fanfic #fanfic reccomendation #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #tom riddle x harry potter

366 notes · View notes

vanderlustwords · 3 years

Text

We're Going There || part i

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Please do not repost/translate anywhere. Reblogs/Comments are much welcomed ♥

Masterlist || Taglist

Summary: Bucky's just bidding his time because something's always in the way. When you have someone, he doesn't. When he has someone, you don't. But the way you look at each other, Bucky knows exactly where it's going. [angst with happy ending]

Note: Inspired by the song 'There's No Way' by Lauv ft. Julia Michaels. Bucky as an ex is unparalleled. There'll be 2 or 3 parts to this! Comment to be added to a taglist for the next part! :) *psa this isn’t a cheating fic*

If any of you watch psych, know that I extra love you LMAO

Warnings: Pining, a lil spicy, petnames (honey, doll, baby), a lil angst.

Count: ~3k

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

You fall back against the wall, chest heaving heavily.

You try to pull back, but there's nowhere to go. You don't think you want to go far, anyway. It's evident in the way your hands are clutching his dress shirt desperately.

"We shouldn't. This is a bad idea," you whisper.

His eyes open, and you feel your heart flutter at his cobalt eyes, dark with desires as he stares at you. You can feel his breath on your lips as he pants.

Bucky grins at you, encasing your head between his arms. "Is it, though?" He brushes his lips against yours, sending chills down your spine. "Or has it been a long time comin'?"

Bucky keeps pressing his lips against yours over and over in short, chaste kisses. "I haven't stopped thinkin' about you since the day you left, honey."

He tastes like whiskey and mint, and your hands clench tighter unwittingly. Your body feels flush with heat. You still stand by your words—this was an undoubtedly bad idea. There had been a reason you left after all.

"Admit it," Bucky lifts one of his hands from the wall, cupping your jaw lightly as he caresses your cheek with his thumb. "Six months of all that tension has just been a lead-up to this. We're going there, honey. We're going all the way for good this time."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

You felt your heart fluttering in your chest, filled with nerves and anxiety.

It's been two years—two years since you've been James Buchanan Barnes.

Two years since you've broken up.

You run your hand through the side of your hair nervously, trying to not think about it. The last argument, the last words, before silence.

"Are you okay?"

You turn your head over and smile at the concerned look.

"Yeah," you put your hand down in your lap. "It's just been a while since seeing the entire team, you know? So much has changed."

There's a deep, gravelly laugh before a large hand settles on top of yours. "Yeah, you probably weren't expecting to be in Santa Barbara that long, but chasing powered serial killers take longer than you expected, huh? Also doesn't help you met an incredibly handsome man. You nervous about introducing me to the team?"

You cock your brow at him with a smirk. "You nervous about meeting a bunch of superheroes?"

"Oh, but sweetheart, I'm also a superhero," he puts his fingers up dramatically to his temples. "A psychic."

You roll your eyes playfully as your shove him with a laugh. "Santa Barbara may buy that, but I saw through that schtick after our first case. You know Wanda and Vision will know immediately too, right? In fact, many of them will be able to figure it out."

"Well, I mean...psychic is such a loose term. Who can truly say my skills of deduction aren't visionary?" He puckered his lip in avoidance. "What matters is that my visions stay visionary in Santa Barbara. So..."

You sigh, "Already ahead of you. I've already emailed Natasha that my boyfriend, Shawn Spencer, is a fraudulent psychic and to please ask the team to say nothing about it."

Shawn whines, "Babe! You're not going to even try to let me see if I can trick 'em?"

"Shawn...there is a literal magical witch, an AI that can read your mind, a God and multiple trained biologically enhanced agents. You're not fooling anyone here."

"You, my dear, are a spoiled sport," he sticks his tongue out at you, and you laugh as he leans over and kisses your nose. "I'm really glad I could come with you."

You continue to smile because you like Shawn, and Shawn likes you. Despite everything that had happened, Shawn wanted to try to make it work even though you were being hauled back to New York.

You wondered if it would work. After all, you were anxious to see Bucky again, and Shawn had been anxious to leave Juliette behind.

"Me too."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Bucky checked his reflection in the mirror for the 16th time that day.

He just freshly got a haircut and had that stubble you always liked. He wasn't trying to do it for you per se...but knowing you were coming back after all this time, Bucky was nervous as hell.

Two years of silence gave him a lot of time to miss you. Shit, he'd been such a punk. He should've let Steve and Natasha smack him upside the head when it was all going down.

Knock some sense into him that he was losing the best thing in his life.

Honestly, the worst part is that Bucky doesn't even remember what the two of you even argued about daily. There had been deep, underlying issues that you had tried to bring up and that he was trying to suppress.

The nightmares.

The lack of communication.

The mandated therapy.

You had felt alone.

Bucky sighed. Shit, he really was an asshole.

But Bucky was ready to prove to you that he's changed. That losing you had changed him. He had gone to therapy religiously and done the work to help himself.

He'd also seen people on and off, no one ever really sticking the landing for him. Bucky knows it's probably because he's holding out for you.

There was a sudden knock on his door.

"Come in," Bucky said as he tried to fix up his hair one last time.

"Hey."

Bucky could see in the mirror that it was Nat. She looked rather tense as she had her arm crossed.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asked as he turned to her. "We should probably head down soon. She's gonna be here in an hour."

"Yeah," Nat said softly. "About that..."

Bucky's heart immediately starts to speed up, worry wracking through him.

"What? What's wrong?" Bucky immediately asks again. "Is there something wrong with her flight? Is she—Did she decide she's not coming back?"

Nat shakes her head. "No, no. She's coming back. I just checked my emails, though, and thought I should warn you."

Bucky stares at Nat, silent as he waits for her news—bad news, it seems.

"She's dating, Buck. She's bringing her boyfriend home with her."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Everyone was outside the Compound, ready to greet you, when your cab pulled up.

"It's been way too long," Natasha said as she pulled you into a tight hug. Wanda hugged you right after Natasha let go.

"It's not the same here without you," she said in your ear, and you smiled and patted her back.

"Yeah, I'm really happy to be home too," you say.

Steve pulls you into a hug that lifts you off the ground and a spin. "Good to have you home." He lets you down before he joins Shawn in pulling your bags out.

"I got it," Steve said as he clapped Shawn on the back in greeting and pulled out the bags at once with ease.

"I could've lifted it," Shawn says with a joking jilt of his chin.

"But I just wanted to see your muscles in action. I'm trying really hard to not have a man-crush on you right now. Can we take a picture? Gus is going to be so jealous."

Steve laughs with a shake of his head as he sets the bag down and leans into the frame of Shawn's phone for a photo.

You sigh as you turn to everyone. "Well, this my boyfriend everyone. Shawn Spencer, everyone. Everyone, Shawn Spencer."

"Nailed the introduction, firecracker," Tony smirked as he bumped fists with you and turned to Shawn. "So, this is the famous psychic we've heard literally nothing about except for a paragraph long email today?"

"That would be me," Shawn dramatically bowed.

"Don't buy it one bit," Tony puckers his lips. "But I guess it's just observation skills, meh."

"Please do not reduce my powers to such things, Mr. Stark. In fact, let me get a reading on you," Shawn brings his fingers to his temple, and you sigh again as Tony looks curious.

Shawn does that thing where he squints, and you try to not roll your eyes with a laugh. "You, Mr. Stark, have had three and a half cups of coffee, you've been wearing the same shirt for 3 days now, and you're in the midst of a breakthrough on your prosthetic project but your lovely wife has specifically threatened to strangle you and leave you in the dog house if you didn't take a break. You're supposed to call in and check in with her in the next..." Shawn hums, "ten minutes to let her know how my lovely girlfriend is since she couldn't make it."

Tony's mouth drops. "What—How did you—"

Shawn looks so smug as he cockily swipes his thumb under his nose. "What can I say, the spirits speak to me."

"And it's your B.O. that we can all smell, the coffee stains on your pants and tremors in your hand, you're still wearing a prosthetic prototype, and you keep checking the time so you don't miss check-in time with Pepper," you drawl.

"Ugh, babe!" Shawn whines, but there's a twinkle in his eye.

You shake your head as everyone introduces themselves to Shawn. As people begin to crowd around him, you're finally left with the last person in view.

Your breath hitches in the back of your throat.

Bucky Barnes stands in the back, looking equally winded by seeing you.

He looks...good. Healthier, happier than the last time you saw him. The dark circles have vastly reduced, and while he was always muscular, he looks like he hasn't skipped any meals. He's not as pallor.

The chattering becomes a distant noise as Bucky approaches you.

"Hey," Bucky says first, and his tone is so gentle, so soft that it makes you sigh with relief.

"Hey," you give him a small smile. "You look really good, Bucky."

He smiles back at you, genuinely happy, but there's something sad just underneath it. "Thanks. After you—uh—left, it kicked me into gear to get the help I needed. I don't even have to see my therapist anymore, but I still check in every three to four months."

Your smile gets wider, but your eyes are slightly sad. "I"m really happy and proud of you, Buck," you say, and you are. You really are. But at the same time, you can't help think there's a little tragedy that you had to leave, that things had to end for Bucky to decide to want to help himself.

Bucky swallows. "You look good, too. All that California sun did you good, huh?"

You bring your hand to your mouth as you laugh a little. "It did. It was a good change of scenery."

"Happy to be home, though?"

You stare at Bucky for a long moment before you nod.

"Very happy."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Bucky stares at you in the distance as he holds his drink and lingers at the bar.

He watches you laugh and something Natasha says and watches your boyfriend place his hand on the small of your back.

It's just a small get-together to welcome you home, though the floor is packed because so many people are happy to see you. You were always the brightest part of people's day. Of course, they're so glad for you to come home.

Bucky tries to not feel devastated about the fact he probably dimmed a little bit of your light the last few months before it was over and before you left.

But that light looks like it returned, and Bucky is happy for it as much as he's heartbroken. Because it's not him that helped you get that light back. It's your boyfriend, who seemingly only has a wardrobe of oversized jeans, run-down sneakers, and dress shirts. It's a very odd combination.

"How you feelin', pal?"

Steve slides up to Bucky, drink in hand as well, and Bucky just shrugs. Steve knew that Bucky had been so excited for you to come home, so excited to try to make things right and win you back.

"Think I blew it," Bucky admits as he keeps watching you. unable to rip his eyes away. "I should've called her, should've gone to Santa Barbara but I really wanted to get my shit together before I saw her."

Steve purses his lips as he looks down, unsure how to comfort his best friend.

"It'll be alright, Buck," he says as he bumps his shoulder against Bucky's. "If it's meant to be, it will. If not, you'll have her as a friend if you want and there's plenty of fish in the sea."

Bucky snorts. "Now that you're dating Sharon, you're full of wise dating advice now, huh?"

Steve grins. "Can't always be a punk."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

"You sure you're good out here?"

You nod as you kiss Shawn on the cheek. "Yeah, go on back inside. I know you want to try to lift Thor's hammer. You've got to facetime Gus too so he can be here in spirit. Gus'll never forgive you if you forget."

"Oh, right," Shawn laughs. "Alright, see you in a bit?"

You nod again.

When you're left to your own devices, you let out a sigh.

Things are strange. A part of you doesn't really know if bringing Shawn was the right idea—if trying to make it work was the right idea.

You had seen his phone earlier, just by coincidence, when he pulled it out to check who was calling him.

It was Juliette, probably checking to make sure things were okay.

You love Juliette, you do, and you respect her as a colleague and a friend you've gotten to know. You just try not to think about how she's probably still in love with Shawn, that the reason they had only split up was that she wasn't ready to get married when Shawn popped the question six months ago. Shawn said she had stuttered when he tried to ask her when she'd be ready.

It was surprising to everyone.

You think Shawn's probably still in love with her, too, but he's just too good of a guy to not try to make this work between the two of you.

You can't blame him.

After all, one look at Bucky Barnes had you swallowing back all the feelings, the denial you were still in love with him too. But you were still going to try to make it work with Shawn because you think there's just too much history between you and Bucky to try to make it work.

There were too many hurt feelings, and things left unsaid when it was over.

The balcony doors open, and you jump in surprise.

"Oh, shit—sorry, I didn't think anyone was out here."

You place your hand over your heart and calm yourself when you realize it was Bucky.

"Just getting some fresh air. It's getting a little overwhelming," you let out a chuckle.

"Yeah, you're definitely the center of attention tonight with it being your party and all," Bucky grins, and you grin back.

Bucky comes and joins you over the railing as you peer out into the distance, into the trees and night sky.

Silence envelopes the two of you.

You suddenly feel more melancholy.

"I'm sorry," Bucky suddenly says.

You turn your head and blink at him.

"Sorry?" You repeat unsurely.

Bucky turns to you fully and nods somberly. "For everything that led up to you leaving. For the terrible, terrible things I said. For how I really hurt you when you were just trying to help."

You instantly feel something raw claw at the back of your throat, something stinging in your eyes.

You suddenly hear the last words Bucky had said to your flash in your mind.

"Jesus fucking Christ! Do you know how unbelievably aggravating it is to have you bring this up every other day? I'm not one of your little projects for you to fix. I've asked you to leave it be for me to deal with and you're constantly getting on my case about it. I can't get a moment of peace with you around!"

You pinch your forearm subtly. That had been two years ago. It didn't hurt as much anymore, but it had been those words that pushed you to the outside.

But Bucky is standing before you now, apologizing and looking better, and you just want to let it go.

"It's okay," you give him a small smile. "I know you were just hurting."

Bucky purses his lips because it's not really okay, it'll never be okay, and he wants to make it up to you even if he doesn't know how exactly yet.

"Are you happy?" Bucky asks, and you look surprised.

"Happy?"

Bucky nods. "No one deserves to be happier than you, not in my book anyway. Even though you were gone, I never stopped caring. I'll never stop caring."

The words ring your heart painfully.

A part of you wished Bucky never said that, and a part of you can't help but be elated.

But caring hadn't been enough the first time around. It's probably not enough now.

"Yeah, I think I am," you tell Bucky. "Shawn...gets me. I get him. We're working with what we have and I think that's enough for me."

It's a strange answer, but Bucky nods because despite him thinking you deserve more than that, you said it was enough for you.

Bucky wonders if he should hold on or let go.

But as you smile at him before turning back, the moon illuminating you with a slight breeze, Bucky doesn't think he can ever let go.

So, he's content to watch you.

"I'll always care about you too, Bucky," you say softly. "I hope we both get to be happy. You deserve happiness too, more than anyone. At least to me."

Yeah, Bucky thinks as he feels an odd pang thud in his chest, right against his ribs. He's content to watch until he knows he can't anymore.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #buck barnes imagine #bucky x you #avengers x reader #shawn spencer x reader #avengers imagine #v.myfic #s.weregoingthere

152 notes · View notes

tennessoui · 3 years

Note

Ummmmmm can i please request 5

This was written all on my phone waiting for my train and I’m trying to post it through my phone which tumblr is being a lil bitch about but here is

5. Falling Pregnant After A One Night Stand (3.6k)

(squick: a/b/o dynamics, mpreg)(two tags I never thought I’d write lmao)

Anakin’s working on the couch when he hears the key in the lock of the apartment door, signaling that finally—finally—Obi-Wan’s home from his week-long hastily planned stay at Bail’s place.

Bail and Breha’s place, Anakin reminds himself. Obi-Wan’s mated friends pose no competition to Anakin’s inner alpha, which definitely thinks of Obi-Wan as his omega.

Obi-Wan comes into the main room quietly, putting his bag on one of the barstools and leaning against the counter for a second, head bowed.

When he lets out a sigh and a heavy curse, Anakin can’t stop himself from speaking up, alarmed. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

Obi-Wan jolts and turns around to face the couch, clearly startled. “Anakin!” he yelps, one hand flying to his stomach and the other to grip the counter behind him, as if Anakin is an intruder, and not the man he’s been living with for six years. “I thought you’d be at work!”

Anakin fights the urge to flush. The truth is, he’s tried to go into work for the past three days, but Obi-Wan’s absense has kicked his alpha hindbrain into a special kind of panic mode, where he can’t stand to leave the den until the omega returns to it safely.

It’s not like Anakin’s going to say that though, not after five years of pining for the older omega from afar. He’s a pro at this by now.

“Working from home today,” Anakin says. And then so Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s spent his entire week alone on the couch waiting to be not alone anymore (he has), he lies, “Woke up hungover.”

“On a Thursday?” Obi-Wan says, sounding a bit concerned.

Anakin purses his lips and tries not to pout. He rakes his eyes over the omega, taking in his messed up hair and untrimmed beard and the dark circles that have popped up beneath his eyes. “You didn’t answer, Obi-Wan,” he accuses. “What’s wrong?”

The omega’s scent tinges with distress, which only proves Anakin’s point further. Obi-Wan never lets his scent leak through his blockers, not if he can help it. Anakin’s always made sure to luxuriate in his unbridled scent when he can, one that smells like maple and rain and cinnamon. But to smell it now just makes him feel more worried.

“Are you going into—“ Anakin stutters over the word heat. Obi-Wan’s at least feeling well enough to roll his eyes fondly. The older omega thinks Anakin’s one of those alphas that get wildly uncomfortable talking about an omega’s heat. It’s not true. Anakin’s helped friends through heats both platonically and sexually. Look, he’s run to the corner bodega at two in the morning to get Padmé heating pads to be left outside her door. He’s no stranger to heats.

But the idea of his prim and proper roommate writhing around in his nest, begging for something to fill him up the way he needs—that makes Anakin stutter and blush and trip over his words.

“No,” Obi-Wan says, but there’s something off in his tone, something sour in his scent. Anakin puts his laptop aside—the screen’s gone dark already anyway—and makes to stand, his inner alpha baying with the need to run his hands over the omega, to make sure he’s not bleeding or hurt or injured—

“I—I’m going to unpack and take a shower,” Obi-Wan decides, pushing away from the counter and closer to the couch. Not close enough. But closer. “And then I need to talk to you about something.”

“Are you…” Anakin casts around for the right word to say. Ill. Leaving me. Sick. Sick of me. Done with all of this. Dying.

Obi-Wan pauses and gives him his own sort of once-over. Whatever he finds in either his body language or his scent brings a soft smile to the omega’s face. “I’m fine, dear one. I—I need a shower. I don’t—smell right.”

Anakin blinks after him, hands balling into fists and relaxing as he processes those words. Usually it’s Anakin who wants Obi-Wan to shower off the stench of other alphas after his business trips or stays at his friends’ places. Obi-Wan’s always insisted he smells fine, but he’ll cave if Anakin’s mood gets bad enough.

It’s not something he’s especially proud of, but it’s worth it when Obi-Wan curls up onto the couch beside Anakin and he smells only like the shampoo and soap they share.

Sometimes if he’s tired enough, he’ll even let Anakin scent mark him so that next time he goes out, everyone will automatically assume he’s already in possession of an alpha and not looking for anything.

Sometimes, he even asks for it. Those times are the best.

Anakin tries to sit still while he waits for Obi-Wan to come back, but it’s impossible. He moves to the table, then to the kitchen counter, then back to the couch. Where should he sit, where would be a place he feels safe enough to receive whatever news Obi-Wan’s putting off telling him?

In the omega’s arms in his own bed, is the answer that comes to mind. But can he really ask that of Obi-Wan? They’ve done it before, when Anakin’s mother had died, when Ahsoka had left the city to get a degree abroad, when Anakin feels as though he’s going to shake apart if he doesn’t hold onto his omega and make sure that he at least can’t leave him too.

When Obi-Wan comes out of his room, all flushed from the shower with his hair still damp and messy, wearing a blue sweater Anakin’s pretty sure used to be his and a pair of sweatpants that are definitely currently his, there’s hardly a choice to make. If Obi-Wan wants to wear his scent, Anakin will give it to him.

Silently he takes his hand and leads him to his bedroom, toeing out of his shoes and tugging him into his bed and into his arms.

Obi-Wan goes so easily that it only makes Anakin more worried. His heart cannot take this level of stress and he has to hide his face in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck and inhales greedily at the pure scent of omega—Obi-Wan omega—his omega.

“Obi-Wan,” he says nonsensically, just to feel the way the omega in his arms shudders at the sensation of his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck.

But then Obi-Wan doesn’t stop shaking and Anakin can feel a growing wetness against his shirt. He can’t stop the distressed rumble that comes out of his throat, but he bites his tongue just in time to stop the alpha command to tell him. Obi-Wan wouldn’t like that and Anakin wouldn’t like doing it.

His hands stroke soothingly over the omega’s back as he starts purring from within his chest. An alpha’s purr is supposed to reassure an omega, make them feel safe and protected, but Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to realize this because he doesn’t stop crying.

“Talk to me,” Anakin murmurs nosing at the short hairs behind Obi-Wan’s ears. “Baby. Obi. Omega. What is wrong? What can I do?”

Obi-Wan wipes his eyes dry on Anakin’s shirt and looks up at him with a heartbroken but strangely resigned expression. Like he already knows what Anakin’s going to do, and he thinks nothing he says will change anything.

As if.

When Obi-Wan went on a two month long business trip three years ago, Anakin grew out a beard and it only took one look from the omega upon his return before Anakin was shaving it off. The point is, Obi-Wan doesn’t even need to speak half the time for Anakin to agree. He’s just that in love. It’s pathetic. He can’t remember who he was before it.

“I’m a mess, I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan finally gets out, retracting one of his hands from the tight grip he has on Anakin’s shirt to rub at his eye. “I told myself I wasn’t going to be like this, but. I don’t—it’s—“

“Hey, hey,” Anakin soothes, leaning back a bit so he can knock their foreheads together. Packmates do that all the time. “It’s okay.”

Obi-Wan nods slowly, and his scent expands with the pleasant notes of a comforted, protected omega.

“Do you remember…when I went to Seattle at the end of August for that conference?” he starts slowly.

Anakin hums in acknowledgement. He’d wanted to go with Obi-Wan, instincts demanding that the other side of the country was too far for the omega to travel alone, but he’d not been able to get time off of work.

His heart drops into his stomach at the idea that somehow maybe Obi-Wan met someone there during his four-day trip, and he’s in love with them and is trying to find a way to tell Anakin he’s moving.

Would it be pathetic if Anakin followed him? Would Obi-Wan’s new alpha allow Anakin to live with Obi-Wan still? Would Obi-Wan’s alpha be amenable to telling Anakin how he made Obi-Wan fall in love with him in a matter of days when Anakin’s been trying to get the man to love him romantically for six years?

Anakin’s heart rate is up, but it’s nothing compared to the staccato beat of Obi-Wan’s. He tries to send out more calming pheromones, but he can’t even find them for himself.

This is it. He’s about to lose Obi-Wan. The alpha inside of him whimpers, and it takes all of his willpower not to crush his omega tighter to his chest.

No. Not his.

“I met a man there, just at the hotel,” Obi-Wan says. It would have been kinder if he’d just stabbed Anakin with the kitchen knife. There’s no relief to be found in this slow death. Because—because surely, Anakin will die without Obi-Wan. Not physically, of course. He’s not one of those alphas who doesn’t know how to take care of himself.

Actually, it’s Anakin that cooks most of the time for both of them. And Anakin will do the shopping, will keep an eye on the amount of cleaning supplies they have, how much toilet paper, how many garbage bags.

But what would be the point of cooking anything if Obi-Wan isn’t there to taste it and shower him with praise? What’s the point of cleaning the apartment if Obi-Wan isn’t there to tuck himself into his arms on the couch and thank him for the work? What’s the point of anything if he’s doing it without Obi-Wan?

“Anakin, I—“ Obi-Wan stutters and falls silent. Anakin braces himself for the end he should have seen coming. “I’m pregnant.”

White noise. Anakin doesn't even think he’s breathing. Obi-Wan is pregnant. Obi-Wan…had a one-night stand in a city 2,400 miles away from Anakin, and he’s pregnant. Someone touched Obi-Wan, someone made Obi-Wan come, someone got Obi-Wan pregnant, and maybe…maybe there’s a chance they’ll get to keep Obi-Wan too.

The alpha in his chest howls at the thought. The idea that—that someone else will have a better claim on Obi-Wan’s heart. What’s six years of living together compared to a child?

Except Obi-Wan presses further into his chest, with a shaky whine. The omega is here now, not with any other alpha, not in any other city. He’s in Anakin’s bed, in Anakin’s arms.

Anakin opens and closes his mouth, trying to figure out what to say, how to say it, how to speak. He needs to know so much more. He needs to know what Obi-Wan is going to do, if he’s in contact with the father, if he’s planning to move, if he’s planning to raise the—

As if he can hear his thoughts, Obi-Wan starts talking again, very fast as if he’s afraid Anakin’s going to kick him out in a few minutes and he needs to get the whole story out before he does.

“I’m keeping it. Them. I—I’m so old now—“ he’s barely 38– “I’m afraid this could be my only chance at…at a family.”

Anakin closes his eyes and hides his face in the still-damp strands of Obi-Wan’s hair. He doesn’t want Obi-Wan to see how devastated he is at this response. Anakin’s family is Obi-Wan. He’d thought…he’d wanted….

“I understand if you want to move out before the lease ends,” Obi-Wan mumbles, but his hands clench tightly around Anakin’s back. “I know…a baby…another alpha’s baby…you shouldn’t have to take care of them. I know it’s not what you signed up for, I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t hold it against you.” His voice gets smaller and smaller until Anakin has to strain to hear him. “I can do this alone.”

He sounds as if he’s telling himself as much as he’s telling Anakin. But Anakin can’t even focus on that because his entire attention is caught by everything else Obi-Wan’s just said. Because it sounds…it sounds as if Obi-Wan is planning to stay in the city. In the apartment. Without the sire.

Alone.

As if Anakin would ever let Obi-Wan be alone, given the choice. As if Anakin would ever leave Obi-Wan to struggle through any difficulty without him.

Obi-Wan presses impossibly closer to him. “Say something,” he demands, running his nose up and down Anakin’s neck, over his scent glands, as if he expects Anakin to be able to form whole, coherent sentences when he’s doing that with his mouth.

The pregnancy must be messing with Obi-Wan’s instincts and emotions, Anakin realizes distantly. His body must know he’s not mated, that he’s about to be a visibly pregnant, unmated Omega in a dangerous city. No wonder he’s trying to cover himself so completely in Anakin’s scent. He has to wonder if Obi-Wan even understands what he’s doing. He’s never been one to try and he in touch with his Omegan side.

“Alpha,” Obi-Wan pleads, and Anakin has a second realization that it’s been ages since he’s said something. The room fills with the scent of distressed, in pain omega.

Anakin lets out an involuntary purr and tightens his hold on Obi-Wan’s body. It would be nice to look him in the eyes, but he thinks they both need as little distance between themselves as possible. “You’re going to make a great parent,” he soothes, nuzzling along Obi-Wan’s hairline. “And I’m not going to leave you unless you want me to.”

Obi-Wan stills completely as if shocked to his bones, and then he relaxes bonelessly into Anakin’s arms. This time, Anakin feels the tears as soon as they start and he goes about stroking up and down Obi-Wan’s spine again.

“I was so afraid,” Obi-Wan admits between sobs. Anakin thinks to himself privately that he definitely knows how that feels, but one of them shouldn’t be crying. “I didn’t know how to tell you—I didn’t want you to hate me for making such a stupid mistake—“

There’s nothing Obi-Wan could do to make him hate him. Sure, Anakin’s absolutely filled with hatred for whoever caught Obi-Wan’s eye on that business trip, but none of those emotions bleed over into what he feels for Obi-Wan. Not when his love is too strong and entrenched.

“Bail said you’d understand but I’m just—a mess, I don’t know what I’m doing half the time and these goddamn hormones are making me feel out of control—“ Obi-Wan continues. The fact that Bail fucking Organa found out about Obi-Wan’s pregnancy before Anakin did will drive him crazy if he lets it, so he puts that aside for now and focuses on comforting his omega.

“We’ll figure it out,” Anakin says, scenting Obi-Wan back. “It’ll be alright.”

————

A few hours later, Obi-Wan awakens from the nap he’s fallen into with a start. Anakin’s gotten no sleep, too busy drawing nonsense lines on Obi-Wan’s back and staring at the ceiling, thinking about the future. About what’s going to happen to them, around them.

No matter how much he hates the sire of the child in Obi-Wan, he already feels attached to the baby. It’s part of Obi-Wan. Maybe they’ll have his hair color or his eyes. Maybe they’ll have his compassion, his wit. Maybe they’ll let Anakin teach them how to play soccer or swim or cook.

The possibilities are endless and all of them involve Obi-Wan falling in love with him because of how amazing of a father he is to his child.

It’s not the most pressing thought in his mind, but he has to admit at least to himself that it’s there. That he’s just as in love with Obi-Wan as he was when he woke up in the morning. Now he just has another part of Obi-Wan to love: his child.

Maybe their child.

“I need to tell him,” Obi-Wan mumbles from his spot laying across Anakin’s chest. “I don’t—I don’t particularly want his involvement or, or money, but he should know. He should have the option to be in his child’s life.”

The part of Anakin who has just spent the past three hours getting used to the idea of raising Obi-Wan’s child as if he’s his own bristles at the idea of the sire being involved at all.

“Do you have his number?” Anakin asks reluctantly. He can’t imagine getting to sleep with someone as gorgeous as Obi-Wan and not trying to give him a means of keeping in contact.

But Obi-Wan shakes his head.

“His address?”

Another negative. “I…know his name and where he works.”

Anakin bares his teeth at the ceiling. “And?”

Obi-wan sounds more than a bit embarrassed. “Ah. He was the bartender at the hotel. And his name tag said Set.”

“You went to a medical conference full of alpha surgeons and researchers and you…slept with the bartender,” Anakin says blankly, before he can stop himself.

Obi-Wan huffs. It’s the most Obi-Wan response he’s given since he got home from Bail’s. “Sorry my one-night stands don’t meet your standards.”

Anakin hums. The truth is the only person who will ever meet his standards as a romantic partner for Obi-Wan is Anakin. “So what do you want to do? Call the hotel and ask for Set?”

Which, by the way, is the most pretentiously Seattle name he’s ever heard of. Set’s given name is probably, like, David and he just wanted to sound cool and grunge.

“I can’t just—this isn’t something I can say over the phone, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. He falls silent.

“It’s mid-November,” Anakin points out. “Neither of us are hurting for money, but plane tickets are going to be astronomical until January at least. If they’re available at all.”

There’d be shitty seats available, of course, but Anakin’s not going to let his pregnant omega cram himself into an uncomfortable, smelly seat for eight hours.

“You don’t—I don’t expect you to come with me,” Obi-Wan mumbles into Anakin’s collarbone.

Anakin just manages to bite back a scoff and the urge to point out that last time Obi-Wan went off to Seattle without him, he got pregnant. Who knows what would happen if he does it again?

“Well, I’m gonna,” he says firmly. “But I think we should drive. It’ll take longer, but I’d feel much better about what you’re exposed to, not to mention how much more comfortable my car is than a coach seat. We can share a motel bed to cut costs, and—what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Obi-Wan picks himself up off his chest to stare at him quizzically. “What if your job won’t let you take the days off? They didn’t even let you leave for the original Seattle trip and that was only a few days. We’re talking weeks here, Ani.”

Anakin sets his face into a scowl. He’s worked at the same finance firm since moving to New York, but if they won’t let him take time off for this, for Obi-Wan, he’ll quit. Simple as that. “Then I’ll go anyway and they can fire me.”

Predictably, Obi-Wan has several protests. Anakin will hear none of them. If he is fired, if he can’t find another finance job in the city that makes the same amount of money, then they’ll move out to somewhere else. He’s heard good things about Denver. And if Obi-Wan doesn’t want to move that far, maybe they can move upstate. It’ll be easier to raise a kid outside of the city anyway.

He’s not dumb enough to tell Obi-Wan this, knowing it makes him sound literally insane, but he is just stupid enough to cut Obi-Wan off and say, “you’re the most important person in my life, Obi-Wan. You….you both are.”

Hesitantly he moves his hand down to rest it gently over the slightest swell of Obi-Wan’s tummy. The omega’s breath catches in his throat, but he lets him touch.

“I’m going to be there with you, every step of the way if you’ll have me,” Anakin adds, stroking his thumb over the impossibly soft skin. Pregnant. Obi-Wan is pregnant.

It’ll take a few days more to get completely used to that idea, that’s for sure.

Obi-Wan studies his face with eyes still red-rimmed and puffy from all that crying a few hours ago. Slowly he raises his own hand to Anakin’s neck and rubs up and down his scent gland with something almost like longing in his expression. They’re so close together. Anakin would let him have anything—everything.

Everything.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan agrees with an air of strained incredulity in his voice , placing his other hand over Anakin’s on top of his abdomen. “Yes. Let’s drive to Seattle so I can tell my one-night stand that I’m carrying his child.”

Anakin nods and adds privately in his head, And so I can tell him that that kid’s gonna be mine in everything but blood and he better stay on his side of the goddamn country.

He’s not losing his family to some stupid Seattle alpha.

#asks #prompt fill #I could definitely see 2 more parts of this #part 2 the road trip #part 3 the get together where anakin meets set and is very surprised when they look identical #this was so fun and cute to write that’s why it’s 3.6k btw #squick tag: a/b/o #squick tag: mpreg #stuck between calling this the roadtrip au or the baby daddy au #baby daddy vs found father showdown fight to death au #anakin would 😌❤️#anyway this was supposed to have a lot more italics but they didn’t copy from the Google doc so when I finally get home I’ll add them #obikin #omega obi-wan kenobi #alpha anakin skywalker #roadtrip au

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latetaektalk · 3 years

Text

(he)art thief | jjk [i, preview]

“jungkook is charming, kind, smart, and funny. jungkook is the guy to fall in love with. he is perfect in every sense, except that he is also a member of a notorious heist group and only getting close to you to steal from you. but what does he do when he starts to fall for you? who does he choose? his brothers or you?

genre: heist! AU, thief! jungkook, art curator daughter! oc, ocean’s! AU, fluff, angst, sexual themes/implied smut (in later chapters)

pairing: jungkook x female reader

estimated word count: 35 to 40k

warnings: cursing/swearing, a bit of alcohol consumption

a/n: this is loosely based off the ocean’s film! to be added to the taglist, shoot me an ask/message! also, gureum is jungkook’s dog! and thank you to movie club for helping me come up with this amazing title!!

coming sunday, may 30th 2021

Jungkook avoids playgrounds.

Does so because when he was at the tender age of just seven, he fell off a swing. He ended up in the hospital (his first but not last visit); seven stitches, his mother told him, but he could swear it was a million.

Needless to say, Jungkook has been avoiding playgrounds like the plague ever since.

But here he is, in the middle of one, dog leash in his hand, and heart pounding in his chest so violently it might just explode.

A mob of boys runs past him, all of them no older than six—which means that, for the most part at least, they’re harmless—but still, Jungkook flinches. It’s embarrassing, even more so because Gureum turns and stares at him. If one of them should flinch, it should be Gureum, with him being a dog and Jungkook a full grown adult, but God, today is just not his day. He’s stressed! Out of it! Nervous! A wreck-

“Did you just flinch?”

Jungkook feels his heart drop. Fuck, he thought he walked out of sight!

“No, I didn’t, Tae,” he hisses, pressing the earpiece further into his ear.

“You flinched! We can still see you- ah, okay, not anymore. But we saw that-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I definitely did not flinch-”

“Denying it is pointless. We all saw it. Back me up here, Jimin.”

“You definitely flinched.”

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks, is about to walk back to the car and tell them that they must be hallucinating because he definitely did not flinch when-

“Can you see her already, Kook?” Namjoon asks and for a moment, Jungkook forgot why he is here, you.

He looks around himself, and it doesn’t take him long to find you, sitting on a bench, under a big tree, soft shadows dancing on your skin.

“Yeah, I-I see her,” Jungkook says under his breath.

“Okay, good. I’m gonna need you to focus up then,” Namjoon continues, and Jungkook nods like Namjoon could see him.

“Yeah, if you screw this up, it’s your fault if we end up in jail-”

“Tae!” Namjoon warns, and judging from the ‘ow’ that follows, someone punched him. Jungkook’s guess is Jimin.

“What? I’m just saying-”

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you come,” Namjoon mumbles and runs a hand down his face. “Hey, Kook, don’t listen to Tae, yeah? He’s just messing with you.”

“Yeah… I know,” Jungkook mutters, and he means it. He really does know that Taehyung is messing with him, but there’s a part of him that takes it to heart, that is worried sick about how he’s going to fuck this up and be the reason for why they all end up in jail.

“Don’t worry, Kook,” Jimin cuts in, taking the phone from Namjoon. “We’ve got your back. All you have to do is repeat after me, say what I say. You’ve got this. Remember what I taught you?”

“Always smile and laugh and never talk about yourself. Keep the conversation about the other person because people love talking about themselves,” Jungkook repeats, and looks at you again, heart heavy in his chest.

He shouldn’t feel like this, wishes he wouldn’t. But he can’t help it. This isn’t how he imagined he’d meet you. Jungkook thought he’d meet you at some fancy event, sipping expensive champagne, or at some luxury clothing store maxing out your parents’ credit card—after all, your mother is a world famous art curator. But instead you spend your time at playgrounds, babysitting.

There’s actually no reason for Jungkook to be this nervous. Jimin did practise with him this exact scenario, but he can’t help but think that with a flute in his hands and some alcohol buzzing through his system, he’d feel more comfortable. But here he is, in the middle of a sea of children.

“Kook, do you copy?”

“What? Sorry, I wasn’t…” Jungkook pauses. He shouldn’t admit that he wasn’t listening.

“Get your head in the game, please,” Namjoon tells him over the earpiece.

“Sorry, you’re right. I’m here,” Jungkook says and starts to walk again even though he still feels fucking lost as a goddamn adult at a playground. Gureum follows him when he tugs on the dog leash.

“Okay, good. Just- just try your best,” Namjoon says, voice a bit muffled. “You’ve got this.”

Jungkook could swear that there’s a waiver to his words.

“Don’t worry. We’re here,” Taehyung tells him before Jungkook can think about it too much, distracting him from the quiver he heard.

He stops behind a tree, close enough for Gureum to spot you, but not close enough for you to spot them. His knees crack when he kneels down to stroke Gureum’s ear.

“Hey, Gureum? I’m gonna unleash you in a second and then I’m gonna need you to run towards,” Jungkook points as discreetly as possible to you, “her, yeah? Just like we practised? Remember? Remember how you ran towards Seok and Yoongi? Do it exactly like that again, okay? If you do, I’ll get you your favourite treat.”

Gureum doesn’t run away instantly when Jungkook unclips him because he’s trained, but when he points at you and whistles, he’s gone.

You react surprisingly calm to a dog barreling towards you, barely flinching. You lean down and greet Gureum.

“Approaching target now,” Jungkook mumbles quietly and can only faintly register how Namjoon tells Taehyung to be quiet from now on, all of his attention on the mission now.

With the leash in his hand, Jungkook jogs towards you, heaving extra hard to sell the act of a dog-owner-who-has-been-chasing-his-dog-for-the-last-ten-minutes to you.

You look up to him when he stops in front of you, eyeing him. Jungkook stands there, bend over, his hands on his knees, breathing like he’s struggling to catch his breath.

“Uh…. hi,” you start, brows pinched together.

Jungkook puts on his most charming smile, ignoring his thumping heart to the best of his abilities.

“Hi.”

“Oh, we’re starting- okay, showtime: I’m sorry, are you okay? My dog- he just ran and I couldn’t stop him. I’m so sorry,” Jimin says in his ear.

“I-I’m so sorry.” There’s a quiver to Jungkook’s voice, and it isn’t on purpose. “Are you okay? He just ran and I-”

“It’s fine,” you tell him with a small smile, still petting Gureum who has clearly taken a liking to you. During practise with Seokjin and Yoongi, Gureum always ran back to Jungkook, but now he’s staying at your feet, relishing in your pets. “Is that your dog?”

“Yes, yes, it is. I’m so sorry. I just unleashed him for a second, but then he ran away and I couldn’t catch up with him. Are you okay?”

“Yes, and I’m so sorry. I just unleashed him for a moment, thinking it was okay, but-”

“Can you prove it?” you interrupt and Jungkook pauses. “I mean that it’s your dog. It’s just that he isn’t really reacting to you, you know?”

Jimin’s response comes a bit late. “Oh, yes, I can. His name’s Gureum and he is- what’s the breed of your dog again? I don’t remember. If you look at his collar, you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

“Oh, yeah, I can,” Jungkook smiles, wiping the non existent sweat from his temple. “His name’s Gureum and he’s a white Maltese dog. If you look at his collar, you’ll see that I’m not lying.”

You actually look at the collar and part of Jungkook is offended that you don’t just believe him. Does he look like a liar to you? “Actually, I have pictures too-”

“No, no, it’s fine. I believe you,” you say before gesturing for Gureum to go back to Jungkook. He does, but somewhat reluctantly and Jungkook doesn’t know how to interpret this.

“Ask her if she’s okay again.”

“Are you really okay?” Jungkook says and offers you a smile the way Jimin taught him to. “I really am sorry about-”

“It’s fine,” you tell him and wave him off. “Nothing happened. Don’t worry about it. Just leash your dog.”

And then, you turn away from him. Jungkook stands there awkwardly for another moment before kneeling down to Gureum, absentmindedly petting him, mind filled with questions because what now? How does he communicate to the others that you turned away from him? That the conversation has ended and he has no idea how to start it again?

“What’s going on Kook? Is she smiling-”

“Ah, Gureum, no,” Jungkook cuts in. “Don’t turn away- I can’t leash you if you do that. Don’t turn away.”

“Oh, shit, she turned away, huh?”

“What now, Jimin?”

“Shush, Joon. Let me think, yeah?”

Jungkook fiddles with the leash like he has a problem clipping it, hoping that maybe you’re going to offer him your help. You don’t. And why would you? He’s an adult after all.

Before Jimin can come up with anything though, the solution to the problem presents itself. It comes in the form of a girl running and tripping right next to Jungkook and him catching her just in time before she can faceplant in the dirt and scrape her knees open.

“Oh, hey, careful here!” Jungkook brings the girl back up on her two feet. She stares at him with big eyes, and he recognises her from the pictures. It’s Siyeon, the seven year old girl you babysit regularly, the reason why you’re spending your afternoon at a playground today. ”You okay?”

“Kook, what’s happening right now?” Namjoon asks.

Siyeon looks at you, and you’re already kneeling beside her, fixing her hair.

“Siyeon, I told you not to run. See, you almost fell now!” You say it the same way a mother would, less strict though. “If he hadn’t caught you, you would have hurt yourself, wouldn’t you have? Now, what do you say?”

“T-thank you,” Siyeon mumbles, and Jungkook isn’t sure if she’s staring at her hands because she’s embarrassed or just about to cry.

“Who’s that? Who are you talking to? Who’s he talking to?”

“Was that a kid?”

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks Siyeon, ignoring Namjoon and Taehyung to the best of his abilities.

“Y-yes, thank you.” She won’t look at him.

Jungkook smiles. “Well, I’m happy that you didn’t get hurt there.”

“Kook, answer please. Do you need help?”

“Should we interfere?”

Jungkook’s about to snap. Does it seriously sound like he needs help? He’s talking to a seven year old, for fuck’s sake! Sure, he didn’t practise this scenario, but God, he was capable of improvising!

“Thank you. She’s really clumsy,” you say to Jungkook.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m like that too. After all, I let,” he looks down at Gureum and finishes his sentence by gesturing to him and then you. You laugh.

And that’s when Siyeon seems to notice Gureum for the first time, eyes growing big at his sight like she has never seen a dog before. A chance.

“His name’s Gureum. You wanna-”

“Do you think we should go over there? See if he’s okay?”

And with that, Jungkook snaps. Yoongi is going to give him an earful for destroying his oh so precious equipment, but he can’t do this any longer with Jimin, Namjoon and Taehyung in his ear. So in one smooth movement, Jungkook digs out the earpiece and crushes it between his fingers, hiding it in his hand.

“Sorry, a fly, I think,” Jungkook says, swatting at his ear, and before you can think about it, he moves on. “Do you wanna pet Gureum, S- Is it okay if I call you Siyeon?”

Siyeon stares at Jungkook like he can’t believe he just asked her that. It’s probably the first time an adult has asked her for permission to call her by her name, and she seems to appreciate it immensely because she beams at him and gives him a huge nod.

“Okay, Siyeon, do you maybe wanna pet Gureum? He doesn’t bite, I promise.” Jungkook can feel your eyes on him. He’s doing it, charming you!

Siyeon turns to you.

“Can I-?”

You hum. “If Gureum is okay with it-”

Siyeon kneels down. “Hello, Mr Gureum. Sir, can I please pet you?”

Jungkook melts, and so do you.

Receiving no response from Gureum, Siyeon looks back up to you. Jungkook quickly takes his paw and waves. “Hello, Mrs Siyeon, if you promise not to hurt me, you can pet me. I like it especially if humans pet me at the back of my head. Just, please, be nice to me.”

In all of the years he has had Gureum, Jungkook has never tried to imagine what his voice would sound like, but he knows for a fact that he doesn’t sound like a chain smoker. It’s a questionable choice, but he doesn’t regret it. Because not only does it make Siyeon laugh, it also elicits a chuckle from you.

You look at him with a grin. “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet, have I?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Jungkook says, and you two rise to your feet when Siyeon starts to pet Gureum and he doesn’t bite her.

“Well,” you stretch out your hand, “I’m Y/N.”

Jungkook swallows the ‘I know’ that wants to slip him and takes your hand. He has to stop himself from bursting with pride, only allowing his smile to grow into a blinding grin.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, and he means it. It’s really nice to meet you. “I’m Jungkook.”

coming sunday, may 30th 2021

#jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #jungkook #bts #linh.preview #(he)art thief

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much-obliged-timothy · 2 years

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Devil May Cry: Unexpected Ties Part 7

Find the other parts here!

Nero was emotional.

Dante wasn’t used to dealing with that; he was pretty good at controlling his own emotions, and Vergil had always been levelheaded when they were growing up. He really wasn’t used to dealing with an emotional child.

Dante had to keep reminding himself that Nero was just a little kid- Dante hadn’t even asked after his age yet, but he’d be shocked if the boy was any older than five or six. He was still learning how to emotionally regulate himself. Dante got a crash course in that after his family was destroyed.

Dante kept his distance from Nero but left more little surprises for him so Nero knew he was still around. He kept a close eye on Nero in case he got it in his head to go back to the forest again.

But he was suffering outbursts, angry at everyone around him one moment, angry at himself the next. The adults in charge of him didn’t seem to know whether to punish him for his outbursts or soothe him for his self-loathing moments that followed.

The older boy, Credo, at least tried to help Nero find a productive way to work off his anger. He took Nero outside and raced him, or battled him with toy swords, or held a competition to see who could throw rocks the farthest. Nero seemed to do better when he had something physical to do with himself.

Dante was torn on whether to train the kid or not. Sure, having something physical to do would help him, and it would be good for him to know how to protect himself.

But what if he accidentally started Nero on that same quest for power his father had lost himself to?

If Dante left it alone, the Order would eventually train Nero, and he might just focus himself on gaining enough power to prove himself to the Order. That could be enough for him.

Dante hoped it would be enough for him.

The kid’s form was sloppy when he had his pretend sword fights with Credo. But he had a surprising amount of resilience, refusing to quit even when he was clearly outmatched and exhausted. Usually, they only stopped because Credo insisted they go get a drink.

Dante couldn’t help himself as he lounged down one of the sidestreets. Nero was on his own today and Dante knew he’d take this path.

Sure enough, Nero rounded onto the street after a few minutes, headphones on. He looked up and spotted Dante, immediately pulling his headphones down and picking up his pace.

“Heya, kid,” Dante said, saluting him.

“Hi, Dante,” Nero said. He was trying to act casual, but Dante could see the eagerness in his eyes and the relaxed set of his shoulders. He’d been waiting for Dante’s reappearance.

“So, I promised you those fighting lessons,” Dante said. “Got anything you can use to practice with?”

“I have a fake sword at the house,” he said. Then he frowned. “But it’s not very- oh! Credo has a practice one from the Order. I’ll take that. I don’t have a gun, though.”

“No need. Not good for your ears,” Dante said, falling astride Nero as he made his way towards the house at a brisk pace. “Won’t Credo know you took his stuff?”

Nero shook his head. “He’s at training right now. Even if he knows, I’ve been in trouble before.”

Dante couldn’t help but laugh at that. Nero seemed pleased he’d managed to make Dante laugh.

Dante lingered outside as Nero hurried into the house to ditch his robe and grab the practice sword. He came out with it strapped to his back, his balance only a little thrown off by it.

“Hey, how’s your arm?” Dante asked as they got walking again.

Nero touched his bandaged arm. “It’s fine. I heal really fast. Kyrie says…” He trailed off.

“She says?” Dante prompted.

“She says it’s probably my mom watching over me,” he mumbled.

Ah- not quite. More like his guardian douchebag dad.

Still, quick healing was the first solid proof Dante had that Nero wasn’t entirely human. He was quick, but not abnormally so, at least not that Dante had seen. And he was tough, but again, Dante had yet to see him in a situation that required inhuman strength or endurance.

“Can I see it?” Dante asked casually.

Nero reached up and carefully unwrapped his bandages. The wound had healed noticeably, far faster than it would’ve for a normal human.

“Looks like it’s healing well,” Dante said.

Nero rewrapped his arm, seeming to think nothing strange of his quick healing. “Uh-huh. Barely hurts.”

“Good. That means I don’t have to take it easy on you,” Dante said.

Nero grinned up at him. “Better not. I can handle it!”

Dante led them just inside the forest again. Nero pulled the sword from his back, looking ready to fight anything that came his way.

“Yea, no, not happening,” Dante said, striding forward. When Nero swung at him, he easily sidestepped it and kicked Nero in the back. He yelped in surprise as he hit the ground, the sword clattering from his hands.

He immediately scrambled for it, but Dante snatched it from the ground and held it to Nero’s throat. Nero went still and Dante thought that was the end of it.

Until Nero shoved himself back and kicked to the side, out of range of the sword. He leapt to his feet, crouched low, his fists balled up for a hand-to-hand fight.

Dante couldn’t help but laugh. “You don’t quit, do you, kid? C’mere, you can have this back. I was just trying to make a point about how horrible your form is.”

He held the sword out and Nero cautiously took it back. Dante knelt beside him and adjusted his grip on it. Nero’s hands were so small, he struggled to get a good grip.

“Okay,” Dante said once he was pleased enough with Nero’s grip. “Now hold it like- no, no, not like that. You’ll throw your back out. Save that for when you’re an old man.”

He spent a long while just having Nero practice his grip and basic movements. Nero was clearly frustrated at first with being reduced to such simple tasks, but as he saw improvements, his frustration turned to focus.

But even that only lasted so long. “Dante, when can I actually fight?”

“Basics first, kid,” Dante said. “You’ll lose every fight if you don’t even know how to hold or swing your sword.”

He did pick things up quickly, though. Dante pulled him over to a tree and had him practice slashing away at it, stopping him frequently to adjust his stance, or his grip, or the way he moved his arms and back.

The marks he left in the tree were noticeably deep. The kid’s strength was not mind blowing, but it was noteworthy. He shouldn’t have had that kind of strength at his age.

“You’re a natural at this,” Dante said, placing his hands on his hips. He didn’t like upsetting Nero, but he was curious. “Has anyone told you anything at all about your parents? Maybe skill runs in the family.”

Nero’s expression was that sad one, torn between anger and pain. He sliced a deep cut into the trunk of the tree.

“No,” he said. “I dunno nothin’ about my parents. Credo taught me how to use a sword.”

“Ah, yea, brothers will do that. Leave you plenty of bruises while they’re at it, too,” Dante said with a sigh.

Nero stopped hacking away, his gaze wide as he looked at Dante. “You have a brother?”

Shit. “Had. He’s- well, I lost him when I lost my mom.”

“Oh,” Nero said, looking down at the sword in his hands. “I’m sorry you lost your brother. I don’t know what I’d…Credo and I argue a lot, but I wouldn’t want to…” He tightened his hold on the sword. “But if I’m strong, then I can protect Credo and Kyrie.”

Oh, no. Bad road. Time to cut this off.

“Nero, it’s getting late. You remember what happened last time we were here past dark,” Dante said, nodding to Nero’s arm. “Let’s get you back, kid.”

“Will you teach me more?” Nero asked, refusing to move out of his stance.

“Sure, kid,” Dante said.

Nero relaxed and put the sword on his back again. “Okay. I guess I better get the sword back before Credo finds out.”

Dante took the lead, Nero falling into step beside him. He was alert, keeping his hand on the hilt of the sword as he watched their surroundings.

“Hey, Nero, you said you've never left Fortuna. Where would you want to go if you did?” Dante asked.

Nero seemed startled at the question. “I don’t know. A- A beach?”

Dante wished he hadn’t asked. Now all he could think about was bringing Nero to a beach, training him with a sword on the sand during the day and swimming in the ocean to cool off after. He could imagine Nero’s delight as he dug his toes into the warm sand or let the waves lap at his legs, the sun setting and casting a fiery glow over the water.

And instead, Dante was bringing him back to Fortuna. A town that hadn’t seemed to change in hundreds of years, inhabited by religious zealots worshiping Sparda while mocking his grandchild.

Dante chewed on his lip thoughtfully. Maybe…if he took the kid, just for a few days…

No. He couldn’t. They’d hunt him down. Even if the adults didn’t think Nero belonged, Dante highly doubted they’d just turn the other way if they thought the boy had been kidnapped.

“I hope you get to go someday, kid,” Dante said.

“Me too,” Nero said softly.

Dante wanted to scoop the kid up and run them to the nearest beach. But instead, he walked him back into town and left him to walk the dark, familiar street back to a house he did not feel at home at, with a family that was not truly his.

#devil may cry #Nero Sparda #Dante Sparda #dmc nero #dmc dante #DMC #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfiction #dmc unexpected ties #My writing

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starshiningsirius · 3 years

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Our adorable little junior (Yandere Vice dorm heads x reader)

The dorm heads aren't open to compromise as much as the vice dorm heads who are more civil. Surprisingly I can't find any yandere fics with all the vice dorm heads simping for one darling. Despite them being more scary, manipulative, and having more husband material.

I thank @writer-akihiko for the inspiration I had in the middle of the night to bring you this.

Color coded speaking habits are based off dorm colors and what tumblr had, so keep that in mind.

💝💗HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY 💗 💝

It all started with you wobbling through the courtyard only to bump into someone. They held on to your shoulders to keep you from falling to the floor immediately.

"Woah there! Y/n? What's up with you? You were weaving back and forth through the courtyardwith every step. Your not sick are you?" A slightly worried or rather maybe that was in your head to call it slight, maybe that was a illusion in your mixed up head.

You looked up to see a tuft of green hair with a pair of glasses that reflected golden eyes, and an unmistakable clover on his cheek.

"Ah Trey, no I was just studying for magical history a bit too late last night and now I'm --" Has Trey always felt this warm and soft? What ever the case it made him the perfect pillow as you slumped over toward him, which startled him for a second before he heard your soft snores and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Geez don't scare me like that, it's rather worrisome that you'd fall asleep like that out of nowhere." He held her up a bit more to have her leaning on him as support. He was able to see the calm sleeping expression you had on your face.

"Still so naive though, if it was any other guy how do you think they'd react to such a vulnerable girl in this situation." He had a faint blush on his cheeks as he pushed up his glasses and made his way to Heartsbyul with you in tow before lunch would be over.

Thankfully he made a few sweets yesterday giving you one would give you a bit more energy not to mention the look on your face that would light up would be worth it.

The next day Rook had approached you after classes. Before you could say any sort of greeting he dragged you off to Pomeifore without providing an explanation. When you both arrived tea was already made for some reason, and small treats like macaroons were set in the lounge.

"Mon chérie I heard from Rose Chevalier that your in need of some assistance in magical history, I could be of aid to you." She contemplated his words, wondering who he was talking about before immediately assumed Trey. That made sense as they were both in the science club.

The offer he made did sound very tempting, she needed as much help as she could get.

"Yes please I'll be in your care Rook-senpai!" That short phrase did send a few butterflies in his stomach.

She was just as cute as when she slept at night. He did take a few pictures without your knowledge and managed to distribute them out to the others but there were these other expressions he saved in his head that were exclusive for him to see.

The radiant smile and look of triumph you showed toward him when you understood the concept he told you about. It was much more lively, he couldn't choose what he liked more the vibrancy of your smile or the vulnerability of your sleeping expression. Either were just fine afterall you were such beautiful person one that could do anything and would still have shown its beauty in his eyes.

That ended another day for you.

The next had you struck with some bad luck. As your pocket had gained a hole in it. Whatever money you had for lunch had been lost too. If you traveled back to your dorm all the good stuff would be gone, but it would be better than starving so you left the cafeteria. On the way in the halls you saw Jade who inquired where you were off to when lunch just started.

You told him your dilemma and he told you to follow him. After walking all the way to Octanivelle in silence and entering the Mostro Lounge you thought if he was going to try and convince you to sign a contract, but he only asked you to sit at a booth and wait for him.

20 minutes into lunch and he came back with some food for you both.

"Ah, Jade you didn't have to do that! I can pay you back just tell me the cost and I'll-" He leaned over a little bit and held a finger to your lips with a closed eyed smile on his face.

"It's fine, why not enjoy the meal? I made it with your tastebuds in mind. Afterwards preferably after class I can sew up the hole you mentioned." He removed his finger, but it didn't stop your face from heating up and turning red to the tips of your ears.

The reaction was cute in Jade's eyes seeing you nod obediently and take bites of the food he made with an embarrassed expression. It was all too entertaining for him, such entertainment made his heart rate accelerate rapidly and he'd keep sneaking glances while he ate himself. For it was always wonderful to bask in your presence.

Yet another day came to an end and another began. It was on this day that you didn't have to worry about lunch either. Jamil handed to you a bento box. You thanked him with a big smile on your face.

Your bright smile radiated so much energy, it looked like you genuinely appreciated his effort he put into making this. Such a smile made him pull down his hoodie a bit more to hide his blush taking over his face.

"It's not anything impressive, but since you like it just ask and I'll have lunch prepared for us everyday. It's no trouble." For you was what he meant to say. If it meant seeing such an expression again it certainly would be well worth the effort.

"Thank you Jamil! Kalim always says your food is the best I can't wait to try it!" That caught him off guard, hearing his own heart pound and feeling his face rise in temperature he thanked the great seven he wore a hoodie.

He put it over his face and waved it off saying the same response he'd have for everyone else downplaying his own capabilities, but she eagerly denied it causing even more embarrassment on his part. God another thing Jamil couldn't stand about Kalim was when he ran his mouth.

* * *

That very same day that started with luck had dropped significantly and took an opposite turn to bad. The misfortune of bumping into a few Savanclaw students whom find simple reasons to get angry whether they started it or not.

Luckily before they could throw a punch they suddenly started fighting each other for some reason. From their conversation it didn't sound like they were in control of their bodies in the first place. As soon as it started they suddenly stopped and ran off with anger for one another after embarrassing themselves.

A voice came from behind her that startled her for a split second before she recognized it.

"You've got to be more careful, Savanclaw is the dorm to avoid picking a fight with, Y/n." Ruggie came from around the corner twisting his magical pen in between his fingertips before placing it in his pocket.

Before Ruggie could chastise his junior a bit more she ran up and hugged him.

"Thank you Ruggie! If there's anything you need then I'm at your service!" He didn't hug back. For one is was abrupt and when his mind actually processed feeling your warmth radiating off you on to him, his face flared up.

His ears twitched and he tried to occupy his mind with some other thought to preoccupy which only led him to recall your words.

'Anything? Doesn't she know that prey like her shouldn't just say whatever.' He wasn't denying the fact that the offer sounded so sweetly tempting to take her up on, but with the others taking their chances with you and him low on the food chain out of the five others he knew the risk wasn't worth it.

"No it's fine just watch yourself next time. I may not be here to help all the time."

How many times had a student helped you now?

The next morning Lilia had joined you.

The thing is while Lilia was regailing an enchanting tale of his past it kept you occupied in not noticing the five other pairs of eyes that had set themselves on watching mainly you. Whether it was them keeping an eye on their dorm heads, or on their way to their own class they kept their eyes trained for as long as they could before she left their sight.

Lilia had heard the details from Ruggie and out of all the vice heads he was the most free as the others were commanded to do things by their dorm heads or were their unofficial babysitters. Lilia of course was the strongest and most capable by far out of all six of them. So he had jumped at the chance of being able to brighten up your day with many of his travel stories.

Seemed like you were spending more time with the vice prefects more than usual. Though Savanaclaw had none Ruggie was pretty much the unofficial for it.

They were reliable, more so than their dorm heads at times, that could be said for mainly Jamil, Ruggie, and Lilia. But some had proved their skills far exceeded their position and it was known to other dorms as well, like Jade, Rook, and Trey.

But with all these people who adore one so much to the point of doing anything for her, it had to go bad at some point. Obsession festers for many reasons, like worry, denial, or paranoia.

In this case its deemed worry.

The very next day you were offering sweets you made yourself to the six of them to thank them for their aid the past couple of days. They were all so happy, nothing would damper their mood for the rest of day, knowing you appreciated how much effort they put in for you. Well of course it didn't last long it didn't matter who you went to see last, mainly either Jade or Jamil, or Rook too. They were the type to pay attention to the little things. Though this time they were a bit preoccupied with their own deeds. You had found Jamil last as you assumed he'd be busy with Kalim the majority of the day. He was in the kitchen as usual fixing tomorrow's lunch for Kalim and him, and her too.

He was happy to accept the treat until he noticed how you looked. You looked like you were spent. He noticed your smile, one they adored to the point of insanity looked forced. Not to mention it looked like you were wearing make up under your eyes, in which he assumed you were tired and had to hide your eye bags.

He tried to tap you on your forearm before you could go and leave, but when you froze and winced with a petrified look, that's when he began to notice something had been wrong than what he already had imagined. He was worried seeing as the state of your expression was slight fear, but it didn't look to be of him.

When he asked her to tell him what's wrong, you asked to first be brought in private to hear the dilemma. He decided his room would be best seeing as the desert of Scarabia at night got cold.

When they both entered she immediately broke down. Usually she always seemed so positive but this was the complete opposite. He tried comforting and coaxing you into telling him what happened, so he could eventually inform the others in their group chat and eventually you did. Though it made whatever self restraint he had held back within his life snap.

You told him of how yesterday a student came up and flirted with you. You politely disregarded him, but the student didn't get the memo. He had gripped your arm tight enough to cause a bruise. That's when you kneed him in his gut and once he let go, used your leg to make his head hit the floor with a blow to the neck, successfully knocking him unconscious. You ran back to your room after that without looking back. Then you thought back to all the good deeds recently the vice heads had done, and decided you'd haven't been showing enough appreciation toward them. That's why you gave him and the others treats.

He also interpreted that he had touched you where the bruise was located and given you slight PTSD in which he apologized for his earlier actions. You probably didn't get much sleep either. You told him it was fine since he was just trying to figure out what was wrong and that you were just caught off guard. No soon after you finished your statement did he ask to see the bruise in which you received.

Slowly you took off your blazer and uncovered the bandages located where your elbow was on the inner part where the skin was softer and bone was located. That made his heart stop to see the bruise you obtained. His thoughts ran rampant with the thought of what he would do to the person who did it. Surprisingly he was never usually angry for someone else's sake but you had made it that way.

He had to put on a front for you though and he told you to stay while he got a pack of ice to ease the swelling. While away walking through the halls of his dorm he was seething with rage. One would think if someone touched him it would be the end of that person's life when he released such anger.

He started to text in the chat where all the vice dorm heads would inform each other of their encounters and Y/n's problems to find solutions. He told them to gather in Scarabia at the fountain for an urgent situation pertaining to their favorite little junior on his phone, though he would have informed them through the chat, he was more focused on getting the ice pack. They agreed to meet up in said dorm that their junior was currently in to hear the details from him himself.

When he had finally made it back to his room he found the person of their obsession in question asleep on his bed with their blazer still in the same spot and legs dangling off the bed as to not have her shoes touch the covers. Hugging his hoodie as a pillow of sorts. He would have savored this sight if not for the tear streaks that were on your face and the prominent bruise in the same spot.

He gently placed the ice pack on her arm and brushed away the stray tears and streaks with his thumb. The sight was normal for him considering Rook had distributed sleeping pictures to all of them. This was realer than any picture though. Soft breaths rhythmic breaths and silky hair like an angel.Despite that you looked to be uncomfortable seeing as the arm you were using had to replace the other one that was bruised and probably hurt to bend. He softly sighed knowing he had to get ready as the others would arrive soon and that the situation would not be pretty for the misfortune planned that ignorant person who dared lay a finger on their favorite junior would receive.

When everyone had arrived in the meeting dorm all had sour moods to be called a bit late after set curfews in two of the dorms or just the time taking away from their leisure after taking care of tasks that came with their position.

"It seems we're all gathered here now, Monsieur Multi-Compétent why have you called us here in the late hours?" Rook had a smile on his face which was normal but he was intrigued and serious about the matter at hand.

"You mentioned it's urgent regarding to our little angelfish correct?" Jade as well had his usual smile, but the slightest glimpse in his eyes had a rather invited gaze.

"You sure you couldn't have just texted it to us, it woulda saved us the trouble of coming here." Ruggie grumbled.

"I know you all are busy, but tell me did you notice something off about her today?" Jamil inquired to the other five.

"Now that you mention it when she gave me the treats she made it seemed like she was off. I was focusing on some tasks Riddle gave me so I didn't think too much of it." Trey had thought back to hearing her call out to him in a lower tone of voice.

"She didn't seem too energetic either when she gave me mine either. Sebek was a bit of a handful so I couldn't pay attention as much as I liked to her and she said she had to go give out the others." Lilia remembers asking her to stay for a little longer but she put up a facade and said she had other things to do.

The others agreed on the same notion that today she lacked her usual energetic, positive, behavior. Since their dorm heads and first years put them through the wringer today they didn't have time to think much on it. Jamil was used to dealing with Kalim's mayhem and chaos since they were children and had learned to still be skeptic even if he was exhausted or at his wit's end.

"Exactly, seems as though someone laid their dirty fingers on her the day prior and now she's a bit broken down mentally." Jamil had informed them of the situation, fully going into depth and detail seeing their facial expressions change throughout the retelling.

"Right, now I know you all want to see her, I can do that but you've gotta be quiet. She fell asleep in my room because she wanted to talk in private. She and other dorm residents are asleep so try to keep noise to a minimum."

They all had no reservations about that. He guided them to his room in which he did have some irritation toward letting them in. Thankfully he hid the picture Rook gave him so she wouldn't see it unless she looked. Slowly opening the door to see the sleeping girl, they surrounded her unsuspecting figure. They examined her for a moment taking in the sight before noticing the tear streaks on her face and the ice pack placed near her elbow.

Seeing the ice pack on her arm Rook steadily removed it to give the others a glimpse of the injury. Some of them froze while others who usually weren't so expressive of true feelings like Lilia, Trey, and Jamil had a look of anger. The ones who were more prone to dirty methods and violence like Ruggie, Jade and Rook had a look of bloodlust for the person who dared to do such a thing, despite Jamil having already saw it.

They all exited the room and ventured to the common room, closer to the outside section.

"Such a poor unfortunate soul, he doesn't even know the enemies he made."

"How foolish of them to touch something that's ours."

"Oh Rose Chevalier, you've been rather silent, no objection to such acts?"

"Don't get me wrong I'm angry, Rook. It's not as if I can stop you all from doing something horrible to some idiot. Fights happen all the time at this school."

"I'm sure I could find the idiot in no time, it's much easier to catch unsuspecting prey!"

"Since you all have your 'plans' I'll go and make a potion to rid her of that unsightly injury that foo-, I mean so she won't have to feel anymore pain."

"Since that's all finished what do you all suppose we do about her?"

"We've got to keep a better eye on her."

"Yes that much is clear, but with all of us having to be so busy all at once, going about that is rather difficult."

"Especially since she's a lot more frail, if the student were a beastmen then she probably wouldn't have gotten away."

"I propose we reveal ourselves to our angelfish. She may not like it at first, but it's clear that unless we know where she is at all times then we can't ensure her safety."

"Whose dorm is best suited to keep her there?"

"I was going to offer up my own, I'm sure your dorm heads would condemn our act of unsavory deeds, but Azul is different of course. Just let me handle all the details."

"As expected of Monsieur Mastermind, fully equipped to handle the situation."

"While that is going on, Ruggie how about you bring that cretin to Diasomnia, I'd love to have a chat with him. Don't worry I'll make sure no one is nearby to hear his fate."

"Ah, okay. Better than bringing him to my dorm and having to clean up a mess."

"Oh how about you let me in on your conversation, Monsieur Curieux, and I'll bring a few things to aid in the clean up Monsieur Dandelion!"

"Trey I need a favor."

"Depends on what the favor is?"

"I heard you can change the taste of something with your unique magic. Can you cast a spell on the potion before she drinks it? She's already suffered enough a disgusting potion is an easy fix."

"That's nothing, too complicated. Hand it over to me when it's finished once it's done."

* * *

Screams could be heard within the bounds far away from Diasomnia. Near the edge of a cliff stood three people while another person was on the ground. Burned, bruised, and battered not to mention a few broken bones, and loss of some organs devoured. They were proud of what they did to say the least.

Ruggie had the most blood on him mainly around his mouth while Lilia had some on his hands, Rook had a blade coated in it and still managed to get some on him. The lifeless corpse on the ground was where the blood had originated from as they tossed it off the cliff.

Lilia had cast green flames in order to rid the evidence. It was easy for Rook to cast a spell to clean their clothes with. Now they just have to go meet up with the others.

* * *

Based off the decorum of the room, she could only assume she was in Octanivelle. That's where she had woken up, but she remembers Scarabia last. Soft covers on top of her were thrown off as she hurriedly looked around the room to see no one.

She tried to go toward the door and twist the knob only for it to not budge. Using magic as well didn't move the door an inch. Her pen was gone too, so she was limited without its usage. Not to mention first years only knew so much less you came from a country where magic usage was prominent like the Valley of Thorns then it was likely you weren't to know much before entering school.

She sighed and took a moment to sit back down on the bed she woke up on and think why she was brought here. The last person she saw was Jamil, and she was in his room last but that didn't spark anything as to how she ended up here. She hoped at least that Jamil was okay if she was here by force then he might have tried to stop the captors and got hurt in the process.

The door opened after about an hour she heard the key being inserted. It revealed Jade who stepped in the room with a smile and revealed five others who came in with Lilia slowly shutting the door back closed.

All of them she recognized were Vice dorm heads who she had spent time with the past couple of days. She didn't open her mouth yet still trying to piece things together, and the first to come to mind was that they brought her here. Connecting the dots over the past several days she spent time with them more than anyone, and they each seemed to know her problems or were curious about them.

She just couldn't understand why though. Nothing added up and when she glanced at each of them a nervous shiver came through her body.

She finally decided to speak.

"Why, .......... would you do something like this?

"Because prey like you, has to be protected."

"Such a sweet thing could easily be devoured."

"That's why your such delicate and fragile flower."

"Precious and meant to be protected like the most valuable treasure."

"Mon amour we do commend you for defending yourself but fret not,"

"Our dear little angelfish we'll fix all your problems so that you have no worries."

Masterlist

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