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seiijohhh · 3 years

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the slow demise [1/?]

summary: He’d found you coated in blood, surrounded by death, and decided then and there, you were perfect. pairing: megumi fushiguro x f!gojo!reader a/n: this has been reposted from my original account @justauthoring -- so, if you recognize it, that’s why. im also tagging those who originally requested to be tagged in it, so they know where to find future parts. tags: @thatprofessionalfangirl - @sugarandsoft - @honeyy-honeyy-sweets - @strawberryflavoredjeans - @flowersbloominthedark - @juliajempire - @princess-bumblebee - @sageandberries-png - @yue-caelum - @a–nonymousse - @aryksworld - @godsentkita - @kat-su-ki

part one - part two - part three - part four

“This is a hundred percent your fault.”

Deadpanned, Fushiguro glowers down at you. “How is this my fault.”

“Dunno,” you shrug, stretching your arms above your head with an exaggerated sigh, making sure to keep your eyes trained on Fushiguro. Your intent is to make him feel guilty (even if he is right, it isn’t his fault) but that’s far easier said then done. The boy’s as stoic as ever. “Just is.”

“It was about time you came back to the school anyway,” Fushiguro huffs, and you blink slightly at the somewhat distressed tone of his voice – that was definitely off.

He doesn’t let you dwell on it very long before he’s walking off ahead of you, glancing around the rugby field the both of you found yourselves on. Purely because of curse power that basically reeked from it.

“I never was part of Jujutsu High School,” you cut in, rushing to catch up with him. “So I wouldn’t be returning. I’m not returning.” He turns to look at you, to which you glare at him, hoping that’ll make it perfectly clear. But he merely shrugs, not even bothering to respond to you, turning back to the field.

Huffing, you cross your arms over your chest, glancing down just as a curse pops beneath the veil, gurgling and groaning, before disappearing from sight once more. “What’s with this rugby field anyway?” You call out, turning to look over your shoulder at Fushiguro whose gone off the other direction. “Is there a dead body buried here or something?”

“Even if there is,” Fushiguro mumbles, and you turn to see the same curse from before climbing up a pole, “I’m surprised to see one this high-leveled. It’s probably a grade two curse.” Then, meeting your eyes, he frowns. “Must be that cursed objects influence.”

Shuffling on your feet slightly, you glance up at it; “should we exorcise it?”

“Nah,” Fushiguro shrugs, walking past you and up the steps from the field.

Frowning, you glance back at the curse before moving to catch up with Fushiguro. “Why not? It could hurt somebody, the schools littered with stupid teenagers all day.”

“Nobodies walking on this field,” he gestures to the sign in front of him. “Not for a long time anyway.”

Eyeing the sign the blocks off the entrance to the rugby field, reading the words ‘No Unauthorized Entry’, you shrug. You were just tagging along because he forced you to, no need to put in anymore effort then necessary if Fushiguro wasn’t going to.

“Still, it’s presence is too strong to pin down. It feels like it’s close by, but it could still be far away, too. This special-grade curse is really a pain.”

Glancing over the boys shoulder at the photo of the curse he’d been provided, you raise a brow; “it’s been moved, right?” Fushiguro nods, “who could’ve been stupid enough to move it? And where is it now?”

“I have–”

“Over here! Coach Takagi is taking on Itadori from West Middle.”

“Woah, what are they competing for?”

Blinking at the new, bolstering voices, your head turns in the direction before your eyes gleam with excitement. Now, this is what you called exciting. Tugging on the sleeve of Fushiguro’s shirt, you turn to him with a gleam in his eyes; “we have to watch, Megumi!”

“We should really look for the–”

But you’re already pulling him along by the wrist, barely giving him any time to argue further, making it just in time to see what you assume is the coach previously mentioned lugging a weighted ball across the field. He throws it a respective distance, eyes lighting up with excitement as he cheers himself on in celebration.

“Fourteen meters!”

“Oooh,” you sing, clasping your hands in front of you.

Fushiguro eyes you, “what’s so exciting about track and field?”

Turning to him, you laugh; “it’s so…. simple!”

“Simple?”

“Yeah!” You nod eagerly. “I mean, we train every day, exercise curses every other day, but everyone here,” you gesture around you to the kids the exact same age as you, “has no idea and is living a perfectly normal teenage kid’s life. It’s… It’s amazing.”

You’re back to the scene before you, eyes caught by a shade of bright pink, that you don’t notice Fushiguro’s wandering gaze. You’d said it all with a smile on your face, but Fushiguro couldn’t help but notice the absolute longing in your gaze as you watched.

His attention, however, is caught by the growing volume of the crowd as they all cheer on ‘Itadori’ – the boy with pink hair and lanky arms that nearly topples over when the weighted ball is dropped into his hands. However, he swings it with ease and your jaw all but drops when it tosses it as if it weighed nothing, soaring through the air.

“Uh, roughly thirty meters.”

You turn to Fushiguro with a blank expression; “that wasn’t simple.”

All Fushiguro can do is nod.

“Or normal.”

Tugging you forward, Fushiguro and you come to a stop in front of the boy and who can assume is his friends. Knowing Fushiguro is doing the same, you pause, eyeing the boy.

“No curse energy.”

You nod, “pretty amazing.”

“I wonder if he’s like Zen’in-senpai.”

You shrug; “maybe.”

“Well, c’mon,” he sets a hand against your back, gently guiding you forward, “we should start looking for the–”

“Megumi!”

Pulling him back and out of the way from the approaching steps, your head turns in time just to see the boy from before, Itadori, racing past the both of you, with incredible speed. However, it’s the sharp shock of cursed energy you feel the second he runs past and the pair of eyes that seem to stare deep within your sole that have you gasping for air, blinking in surprise.

“Hey! You!” Fushiguro calls, obviously having sensed the same thing, but it’s hopeless – the boys too quick.

“Y/N,” Fushiguro calls, setting a hand on your back as you press your own against your chest. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, shaking your head. “I’m fine.” Then, meeting his eyes, you glance in the direction Itadori had run off. “Are you going to follow him?”

“Try to, at least,” he huffs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You felt it too, yeah?”

“Nearly took my breath away,” you sigh, “but I think I should stay here.”

His brows furrow; “why?”

“I can still sense it here.”

Fushiguro frowns, glancing in the direction of the boy before back at you, lips pursed and worry clear in his gaze. He may pretend not to care, but it’s moments like these the truth bleeds through.

Shaking your head, you huff; “go.” You nod at him, “I’ll be fine. It’s not like I have been sitting on my ass these past months,” you tease lightly, sending him a wink but Fushiguro continues to just stare down at you, causing you to sigh.

“I’ll call you the second something shows up.”

He nods, content, moving to walk off.

“But Megumi?”

He glances back at you, brow raised.

“You call too, okay?” And at the look he sends you, you keep your face impassive, nodding; “the second something happens.”

With a simple nod, he’s off.

You really should’ve trained more.

“Fuck!”

Ignoring the pang that radiates throughout your entire body, and the blood that fades into your vision, you push yourself up, pressed against the wall. Originally, you’d thought that you’d be able to control the curse for just long enough that it’d let go of the two students it was trying to swallow and then you’d focus on getting the curse.

Fushiguro would scold you – tell you that getting the curse was the first priority, but you could stomach the thought of sacrificing lives just for a single finger. Even if that finger was one part of a whole to an incredibly strong, the strongest of all, King of Curses, Sukuna…

None of it really matter however – the finger was making the curse stronger, and you could barely control it for a second before you’d been flung back by your own power. Now, both kids and the finger were about to be swallowed, and you had no idea what to do.

And your phone had been crushed long ago that you had no way of contacting Fushiguro. You had no idea where he was or if he’d be coming back; which meant you were utterly and completely alone.

Ducking from a hit made directly for your head, you slipped past, sliding your hand along the body of the curse, infusing it with your curse power. You used speed you didn’t know you could still have with a pounding head and blurring vision, pointing your left point finger up, the right down, thumbs connection; “Cursed Technique; Domination: The Imprisonment Of One!” before flipping your hands.

The curse stops, your heart thumping and chest panging, but you can barely focus on that when you need to move fast. Rushing forward, you slide to your hip, moving to strike your hand up. And you land a good hit, moving to grab the girl first, before something wraps around your ankle, and pulls you up and away before flinging you across the hall.

You smack into the ground, rolling, your chest seizing as the wind is knocked out of you. Your vision darkens for a moment, and you think you’re going to pass out, but the pain is all too conscious and you realize with a huff that your ankle has been sprained with how it had thrown you.

“Fuck!” You call again, putting all strength in your hands to sit up.

“Y/N!”

Relief floods you almost instantly. You may be half awake, but you’d recognize that voice from anywhere. Hands land on you, and a small smile curls onto your lips almost subconsciously when you find Fushiguro staring down at you. His eyes flicker across your entire body taking in the blood and wounds, before meeting your eyes.

“It’s strong,” you huff, voice raspy, “I can’t hold it and fight.”

Glancing back, Fushiguro growls; “it’s trying to swallow her along with the cursed object?”

“I can hold it,” you call, grabbing his arm and squeezing, pulling his eyes back on you.

“Y/N, you can barely–”

“Just go! I can do it,” you interrupt, voice sharp, “you just have to–”

You’re interrupted by the sound of glass shattering, and before you know it a blur of familiar pink is flickering across your eyes once more. Your eyes widen when you realize it’s the boy from before, Itadori. What the hell was he doing here?

“Itadori!” Fushiguro calls, just as stunned as you. He moves to a stand in front of you, blocking you from sight, and huffing, you lean forward, trying to find the strength to stand.

He grabs the two students, pulling them from the curses grasp, making your eyes bulge in surprise – how did he…?

“So, this is a cruse? Not what I was expecting.”

Pushing yourself to a stand, ignoring the way your ankle throbs, you grab Fushiguro firm around the arm; “Megumi, what the hell is he doing here?”

Sighing, Fushiguro shakes his head; “it’s a long story.” And with a final glance forward, he steps towards the curse, exorcising with one more simple hit since it no longer has the finger so close in it’s grasp, before he moves towards Itadori.

“Honestly,” you huff quietly to yourself, “I leave him alone for a few hours and he’s already dragging an innocent kid into this.”

“I want to ask you what you’re doing here,” Fushiguro calls to him, his demon dogs snacking on the curse behind him, “but good job.”

“Not good job,” you growl, leaning on the wall for support as you glare at the two boys, specifically Itadori; “you could’ve gotten seriously injured,” you ignore the pointed look Fushiguro sends you, “or worse, killed.”

“Why so haughty?” The boy tilts his head; “by the way, what’s that munching on the curse?”

“My shikagami,” Fushiguro answers, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You can see them, then? Normally a curse can’t be seen. Not unless you’re on the verge of death or in special places like this.”

“Oh,” Itadori’s lips part in understanding; “I’ve never seen a ghost or anything before tonight.”

Lips parted, you eye the boy; “you’re not scared?”

“Well, I was scared for a bit,” he answers honestly, still holding his classmate in his arms. “But did you know? People really can die.”

“Y/N, help me!”

“Please. Y/N, stop…!”

“I… I–I can’t–I don’t–!”

Blinking, you force the memory away, shaking your head.

“Huh?”

“So I at least want the people I know to have proper deaths.”

“You’re killing us!”

Pressing your hand against the wall, your breath hitches, Fushiguro turning to you in concern briefly before turning back to Itadori as moves to stand; “not that I really get it myself.” And as he does, the curse slips from his classmate’s skirt pocket, catching it with ease reflexes; “this it?”

“Yeah,” Fushiguro nods, “that’s the special-grade cursed object, Ryomen Sukuna’s finger. It’s a miracle it didn’t get swallowed, though, I think that’s mainly thanks to Y/N,” both eyes fall on you, to which you offer a half-smile.

“Why would anything eat it?” Is the first question that leaves Itadori’s lips, “is it tasty?”

“Don’t be stupid,” you cut in, shaking your head, “you’d do it to gain stronger cursed energy.”

“It’s dangerous,” Fushiguro adds, holding his palm out; “so hand it over already.”

“Sure, sure.”

You notice it a second too late, the curse from above.

“Megumi–!”

You move to pull him back, just as he pushed Itadori out of the way, but the sudden weight on your ankle causes you to lose balance and instead, the hand from above crashes directly onto Megumi. Dust and debris make everything blurry for a moment, but the huge curse holding Megumi is easy to spot as your eyes widen in panic.

“Megumi!”

“Fushiguro!”

It pulls Megumi to it’s mouth, but Fushiguro makes quick hand signs, calling for another one of his shikagami; Nue. However, before he can, a burst of lightening flashes from the curse and he’s slammed against the wall, blood splurting from his lips. Heart racing, you move to stand once more, cursing the way your ankle throbs and throws you off balance once more.

Before you know it, the curse is breaking a hole through the concrete and sending Fushiguro flying through it.

“No…” Teeth clenching, you turn to Itadori who looks torn between helping you and rushing after Fushiguro.

“Go!” You call, shaking your head and ignoring the worry in your chest; you were the one to scold Fushiguro for bring an innocent kid into this fight and now you were sending him off to save your comrade. But this was the only option. Fushiguro wouldn’t last on his own, so, if Itadori could just hold off the curse long enough for you to get your bearings, it’d be okay. “Help him! Please!”

Itadori doesn’t need another word otherwise.

“Get up!” You call to yourself, the bangs and commotion from outside causing your heart soar. “No one else dies because of you, remember? That was your promise!”

Forcing yourself to your feet, you ignore the pang and force the other foot to step in front of you the other. It takes you a minute, but when you look out the gaping hole in the wall and get a good look at what’s happened; you can tell you’d made a severe error in judgement.

“There is a way to save everyone!”

He can’t be serious…

“I just need some cursed energy, right, Fushiguro?”

He really is.

He just… ate Sukuna’s finger…

You just cost a boy his life…

Then, a flash of cursed energy burst from him, ripping the curses hands to shreds, and your eyes widen. It couldn’t be possible. That was rare, incredibly rare…

But the markings that start to cover his skin and the cursed energy pooling around him tell you otherwise.

Itadori… no, Sukuna destroys the curse in one hit.

His laugh echoes, even from where you’re stood, his claws clear as day to your eyes, you’re unable to look away. “I knew it!” He laughs, his voice more deep, twisted then Itadori’s; “the light feels best in the flesh!” Shredding his hoody into pieces without any effort, Sukuna races towards the edge of the roof, glancing at the open area. “A cursed spirit’s flesh is so boring. Where are the people? The women?!

“What a wonderful era to be in. Women and children are crawling everywhere like maggots. Wonderful! It’ll be a massacre!”

But then he’s pulled back, a hand gripping his own jaw, feet stammering backwards; “what do you think you’re doing with my body? Give it back.”

It’s Itadori’s voice.

“How are you able to move?” Sukuna.

“I mean, it’s my body.” Itadori.

“Don’t move,” Fushiguro calls out, voice sharp; “you’re no longer human.” And he crouches, hands moving to make the necessary signs. “Under Jujutsu regulations, Itadori Yuji, I will exorcise you as a curse!”

“Wait, Megumi–!”

You’re suddenly picked up in a pair of arms, a flash of white and purple, before, somehow, you’re behind Fushiguro.

“What’s the situation?”

Turning to the person carrying you, you glower when you realize it’s him.

“Gojo-sensei?! Why are you here?”

Setting you down carefully, he smiles at Fushiguro; “hey! I wasn’t planning on coming, but man,” his eyes drift from you to Fushiguro, “you’re both roughed up. I should show the second years.” He starts to take pictures, specifically of Fushiguro, to which you slap him sharply on the arm.

Huffing, you glare up at him; “never mind that, I’ve told you to stop doing that with me!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he waves you off, “but you looked a little stuck.”

Flushing, you turn away from him.

“The higher-ups wouldn’t shut up with a special-grade cursed object gone missing,” he moves to explain, “so I stopped by while doing some sightseeing. So, did you find it?”

“Um,” Itadori slowly speaks up, raising his hand as Gojo turns to him; “sorry, but I ate it.”

There’s a pause, then; “for real.”

And all at once, all three of you answer; “for real.”

Gently letting go of you, Gojo sets you against the rock the Fushiguro’s leaning on, and you notice the way your vision blurs in response, dark peering in around the edges, before blinking it away and focusing on Gojo. He’s stepped towards Itadori, leaning forward with his head in his hands, eyeing him closely.

After a moment, he lets out a laugh; “damn, it really did combine with you. That’s hilarious.” He steps back, as nonchalant as ever. “Anything off with your body?”

Looking at his arm, Itadori shrugs; “not particularly.”

“Can you swap out with Sukuna?”

Your eyes widen.

“Sukuna?”

“The curse you ate.”

“Oh,” Itadori shuffles on his feet, “yeah, I think I can do that.”

You really, at this point, shouldn’t be surprise.

Moving away for more room, Gojo lowers into a crouch, stretching out; “then, give us ten seconds. Once ten seconds are up, come back to us.”

“But…” Itadori tries to argue.

“Don’t worry,” Gojo calls out with a smug grin, “I’m the strongest.”

“Megumi,” he calls out, “hold this.”

He tosses the bag that’s been in his hands this entire time, and, falling to a seat next Fushiguro, you curiously peek in.

“What is it?”

“Kikifuki from Kikusuian,” he explains, still stretching, and your eyes dull. “It’s Sendai’s specialty, and it’s super good. I recommend the zunda and cream flavour.”

“You went out and bought mochi while people nearly died!” You call, glaring at him.

“It’s not a souvenir, and it’s not just mochi,” he turns to grin at you and Fushiguro, “I’m going to eat it on the bullet train home.”

Yeah, and I think I’m going to throw up.

“Behind you!”

Gojo is barely phased by Fushiguro’s call, and even as Sukuna gains on him he continues to explain; “Kikufuku’s not like other souvenirs…” Before there’s a crash, dust flooding your already wobbling vision. Fushiguro pushes you behind him, arm outstretched as you both prepare for impact, only for you to open your eyes and see Sukuna directly before you, Gojo sitting on him.

“And the whipped cream inside is simply exquisite…”

You can’t focus on the fight. Things start to fade and the sounds of a fight almost seem like it’s miles away. Your skin feels hot, sweat beading on it, and the edges of your vision is turning black; except this time it isn’t fading away. You feel tired, extremely so, all strength fading. You don’t hear Fushiguro call for you, nor do you feel your body falling.

It’s okay though, right?

After all, despite how annoying he can be, you know you can trust Gojo…

He really is the strongest.

A little girl covered in red, coated in it.

Bodies surround her. Torn, ripped apart, limbs apart from bodies, heads apart from bodies.

Everything is silent except for the sound of wailing.

Loud, screaming wailing. Sobs retching, coughs echoing, but the girl doesn’t move, even as she sobs.

She’s frozen in place.

Terrifed.

“I can help you, don’t you trust me?”

“What’s this? Who are you?”

“So little to be covered in so much blood.”

“How about I train you, huh?”

“I’ll help you control them.”

“All of them.”

Eyes blinking open, you frown at the familiar ceiling above you.

You were home. Or at least, your room. It didn’t feel like home to you, but the soft cushion beneath you was definitely comforting with the lasting panging in your head.

Raising your arm, you glance at yourself, the faint bruises, before pushing yourself up so you’re sitting. A small groan leaves your lips, but you ignore the pain, pulling back the sheets to glance at your ankle; it’s been wrapped and treated, but you’re sure that if you were to try and walk on it, it’d still hurt.

You were alive, but you hated being stuck bedridden.

Head falling, you sigh; you wonder what happened with Itadori and Sukuna–

“I’m visiting Y/N.”

“Oooh! I want to say hi, I never properly introduced myself.”

Clearly, he was still alive.

Eyes flickering over to your bedroom door, you simply smile as Fushiguro pops his head in, making sure you’re awake before inviting himself further inside. Itadori bops in after him excitedly, a happy grin on his face despite his scenario which you could only imagine, and of course; Gojo behind the two, smiling down at you.

“Glad to see you both okay,” you smile softly at the two, eyes lingering on Fushiguro’s a little longer.

“You gave us a quite a scare,” Gojo comments, leaning against the frame of your door. “Passing out like that.”

Rubbing the back of your neck abashedly, you let out a small laugh, flushing slightly at the intense look Fushiguro regards you with. “Guess I hit my head harder then I thought,” you mumble, “sorry…”

There’s an echo of silence, and hating it, you hurriedly turn to Itadori.

Sticking your hand out, you grin; “Y/N Gojo,” you laugh at the wide look in his eyes, “it looks like you and me are classmates.”

But honestly, the widened looks on both Satoru and Fushiguro are way better.

“What?” You call to Fushiguro who hasn’t stopped staring at you; “I’d miss all the fun if I didn’t come back to school now.”

And at that, Fushiguro lets a small smile curl onto his lips, Gojo clapping his hands like a small child as he calls out cheerfully “I knew you’d change your mind!” all while Itadori continues to stare at you blankly.

“Gojo?”

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romeo-golf · 3 years

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First Date

I paid the bill and watched you shuffle yourself sideways out the restaurant booth, gut bouncing on your thighs and sliding along the edge of the table as you squeezed out. Your t-shirt was skin tight when you got here, but right now your swollen gut was pushing it even further away from your body, leaving a good 2 inches of space between the bottom hem and your belt.

“My eyes are up here!” you reminded me, not for the first time this evening, as I gawked.

“Do you want to grab a drink?” I asked, “the night is young!”

“Yeah, that would be good, anywhere in mind?”

“It’s a bit forward, but I was going to suggest my hotel room. No pressure, but it means we can chat freely without being overheard…?”

You laughed, “you’re so obvious, Rob! But yeah, I’m happy to come chill with you.”

You’d been clear through all our chats that you wanted to take this slow. This was new to you and you wanted to be eased in gently.

Standing in the hotel lift we couldn’t help but stare at the contrast between us in the mirror. I pushed myself back against the wall and you took a deep intake of breath of maximum effect, pushing a chunk of your gut out the bottom of your t-shirt. Reflexively I put my hand out to grab it and ran a finger in the thick fold between your gut and your belt, wobbling it slightly and watching your whole body shake.

We got to the hotel room and you cracked open a beer from the pack we picked up on the way over, kicking your shoes off and pulling the chair out from the desk, turning it around to face the bed, and sitting with your legs spread apart.

“Making yourself comfortable, fatboy” I joked, kicking off my own shoes and opening another bottle.

We spent a while chatting generally before you lifted the bottle to your lips again to finish the last of the beer and knocked your head back to get every drop. Your t-shirt rode up again and I walked over to you, put my hand on your belly and stared into your eyes as you looked back at me. I leaned in to kiss you, both of us tasting the beer on the other’s lips and you didn’t stop me running my hand up your shirt to grab hold of your body.

I pulled away and put my near empty bottle down on the table. You picked another up and cracked it open to take a sip, distracted, while I pulled a bag out from under the desk and fumbled around behind you.

As you lowered the bottle to you lap I put my hands in front of you, holding a box of cream cakes I’d picked up earlier.

“What’s this?” you jokingly asked.

“Dessert” I said, opening the box and passing you the first one.

You ate the first two voluntarily, but the third and fourth ones only went in when I told you to eat it

“Open up, piglet. I don’t like wasted food.”

You said you needed a sip of beer before any more and while you were doing that I went fumbling in my bag again.

You put the bottle down and gave your belly a wobble before resting your hands by your sides and making a point of showing how bloated you were. I seized my chance.

I grabbed your hands from your sides and pulled them behind you, quickly tying them together behind the chair before you could register what was happening.

“Rob, what the-”

I put another cream cake in your mouth and silenced the rest of your sentence. I could see a mix of horror and horn in your eyes as you realised that all those fantasy scenarios we’d discussed were suddenly becoming very real.

You chewed it, thoughtfully at first and then you realised what was at play and sped up, swallowing it and opening your mouth for another.

“Piggy wants to play?” I teased, pushing another into your face, not even letting you bite it in half to fit it into your mouth. Your puffed-out cheeks chewed it, and the next one left a dribble of chocolate on your top lip. The next left a cream stain on your cheek.

You shuffled in the chair, almost forgetting your hands were tied and trying to bring one around to rub your belly. I did it for you, pulling your t-shirt up over your head and hooking it behind your neck to get my hands over every inch of you, gently tugging your nipples before poking and wobbling your body.

“You epic fucking glutton. Look at the state of you!”

You grumbled your approval and I pushed the last of the cakes into your mouth before undoing your jeans as you chewed, pulling them off down your thick thighs and off your ankles, before taking a photo and showing you how ridiculously fat you looked, tied to a hotel room chair, with food around your face, and your swollen gut covering almost all of your underwear.

“I’m overdressed,” I said, stripping down to my briefs and making a point of comparing the difference between our physiques.

“I’m actually thirsty” you said.

I fetched you some water and held it to your lips so you could drink. You closed your eyes again for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being under my control and powerless to escape. You opened them again just as I unpacked a funnel and tube from my bag and told you to hold the end in your mouth.

“Rob, I… Really?”

“Really” I confirmed.

A catering sized tub of ice cream had been melting all evening in the bag and it poured perfectly into the funnel, sliding into you just quick enough to remind you that you had no control. Swallow or drown, chug, chug, chug. Each mouthful seemed to swell you wider, thicker, heavier. A few drops were escaping around your mouth and leaving a small vanilla trickle down your chin and puddling between your tits at the top of your gut. Every 30 seconds or so you pulled on your arm restraints, forgetting you couldn’t get your hands to your gut to rub it, or to your dick which was leaving it’s own puddle of mess between your thighs.

I stood closer to you. My dick was inches from your face as you kept swallowing the thick cream pouring into you. I rubbed it against your check, pressed it hard into you and let it throb as we made eye contact.

“I own you right now.”

You made a muffled gurgle through the funnel and slightly nodded your approval.

“Your t-shirt was so tight when you got here. I’m not sure what you’re going to wear to walk back outside to your car…”

Your dick twitched again.

“I mean, that meal was pretty huge, I don’t think they expected you to take the bottomless fries so literally; And those cakes are about 200 calories each… and then this ice cream? Fuck, you’re out of control.”

You grunted. Groaned. It was pleasure laced with frustration and it made me wish I’d bought two tubs for you.

The funnel gurgled dry and I could hear you sucking hard on the tube, the pig in you desperate for more. You opened your mouth and let it fall to the floor, panting, sweat glistening on your forehead.

“So, am I gonna see you again?” I asked.

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breanime · 3 years

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Bre’s Boys Picture Preference: Boy Dads

Disclaimer: None of these babies belong to me, they are Instagram babies!

(With a surprise Bonus Boy!)

Billy Russo: Billy never, not in a million years, imagined himself with a family--let alone with a child. Especially after his...accident. Every glance in the mirror was a sharp reminder of Billy’s mistakes, of his failings, of the fact that he was a parentless monster that no one could ever love. And then you came. And he fell in love. He was terrified when he learned you were pregnant, terrified of the awesome responsibility that came with it, and the closer the due date got, the more specific his fears got. Namely, the fear that his child would look at his face and all of the scars that were on it...and be afraid. But he wasn’t. Your son adored his father; his sweet little face would light up in a toothless smile at the sight of Billy’s face. Billy loved having a son; he loved dressing him up in his comfortable little clothes, he loved his son’s high pitched giggle, he loved the way his son held onto his fingers, trying to wobble his way through his first steps, but most of all... He loved that your son wasn’t afraid of him. From day one, the scars on Billy’s face never bothered the baby. In fact, the day he was born, when Billy first held his son, the baby reached up, eyes still closed, and touched Billy’s face. Billy had flinched, sure that the jagged edges of his scars would hurt the freshly created tiny hand, but all his son did was whine and reach out again until Billy leaned forward and let him touch his face again. And then, in that moment...Billy witnessed his baby boy’s first ever smile, and from then on, he was greeted with that smile every time his son saw his face--his reddened, scarred up face--and every time... Billy smiled back, heart full.

Logan Delos: As far as Logan was concerned, he spawned the most gorgeous baby the world had ever seen. He could stare at your son all day long and never get tired of it. “Look at that face,” he’d gush as your son spit up on him, “That’s the face of an angel!” It got to the point that you wouldn’t even be surprised anymore when you came home to see Logan, dressed to the nines, with a camera in his hands and your son positioned in a basket, posing. Even as a baby, Logan’s son was always camera ready. “Okay,” you said, putting your purse down and coming to stand beside Logan, looking down at your perfect little bundle in his fleece-lined cashmere onesie, “I get that he’s all dressed up for his modeling gig, but why are you wearing a suit?” “He likes when we dress up together,” Logan answered, snapping a pic as he spoke, “We have a ritual, it’s a whole thing.” You laughed, leaning your head on Logan’s shoulder as you looked down at your baby boy. He had his father’s dark, enchanting eyes, and you couldn’t help but smile as he waved a tiny little fist at you. You noticed that he only waved when he knew Logan was in-between clicks. He was as much of a diva as his Dad. “Okay, okay, enough,” you reached into the basket and picked your son up, kissing his soft cheeks, “How is my baby boy? Huh? Did you have a fun day being an Instagram model with Daddy?” Your son answered you with a happy gurgle, reaching over to Logan--to the camera. You and Logan both laughed, and you rolled your eyes. “Seriously?” You asked, looking over at your son. “He wants to see the results,” Logan came over to you, showing you both the camera, “Here, son, I’ve already picked out my top ten favorites, but this one I think will look good with a nice, soft filter.” You watched, laughing, as your son eagerly stretched in your arms to see the pictures. He really was so much like his father.

Jax Teller: The Teller smirk had to be genetic. Because when you looked at your Old Man, that smirk on his face as he leaned against the doorway, and when you looked at your son--you saw that same smirk. He had Jax’s eyes too, shimmering, crystal eyes that could make anyone melt--even Grandma Gemma. “What?” You deadpanned, frowning at them both. Your son stood almost as tall as Jax’s knees now, and he crossed his arms just like his father did above him. “I know you two are up to something,” you went on, trying and failing to keep your growing smile at bay, “So what? What do you want?” Your son looked up at Jax, and you watched them have a silent conversation with their blue eyes--as they often did. Finally, they both looked back at you. “So, darlin’,” Jax began, “we were thinking...” “I doubt it,” you drawled with a smirk, “but go on.” “And well...” “Me and Dad think you should let us have breakfast for dinner.” You paused, confused. “Let you? Why would I stop you?” In an instant, a matching grin grew on both of your boys’ faces. “See?” Jax said, looking down at your son. “I told you she’d be down for it!” Your son pumped his fist eagerly. “Yes! Pancakes for dinner!” You laughed, getting up and following them into the kitchen. “You know I’m not cooking a whole breakfast by myself, right?” You asked. Jax laughed, coming up behind you to smack your ass just as your son reached out and kissed the back of your hand--charmers, both of them. “I got egg duty,” Jax announced, going to the fridge. “I can make orange juice! Grandma showed me how!” You watched them move around the kitchen, smiling proudly at your two boys. They were so much alike and brought so much joy to your heart. Truly, they were best friends as much as father and son, and you knew, as your baby boy continued to grow, you’d have another SAMCRO member on your hands. But you also knew, as dangerous as that life could be, that he would always be safe and taken care of, as long as you and Jax were alive. And even when you were both gone, you were confident that you were raising a smart, thoughtful young man, and you knew--while he would, of course, make mistakes--that he would always do his best to protect his family and friends. After all, it was in his genes.

Coco Cruz: You didn’t know how it happened (okay, you did know: sex), but suddenly, you and Letty were outnumbered. You and Coco had three sons, and just like Coco, they had big ass hair. “Who’s hair is this?!” Letty screamed, brushing hair off of the couch. Coco was on the floor with the boys, teaching them how to build a campfire with stuffed animals and pillows. Your youngest son, who was almost a year old, was more interested in throwing the toys around then the pretend campfire, but still. “It’s probably yours,” Coco answered, grabbing the stuffed lion your youngest son had just thrown and handing it back to him. “No, this is the hair of an inconsiderate MAN,” Letty grumped, hands on her hips. “It’s gotta be one of yours,” you added, “no one sits in that spot but you and the boys.” “I like that spot,” your second son said brightly, his perfect face framed by a huge, curly ponytail, “It’s the best vantage point in the whole living room.” “Yeah,” your oldest son replied, nodding, “You can see the whole room and the you can see the window.” “Remember,” Coco said, picking the baby up and bouncing him on his knee, “The best viewpoint is the one where you see everything, but no one sees you.” “Right,” your second oldest nodded, coping his big brother with the gesture, “You’re s’posed to be secreto, yeah?” Letty rolled her eyes at the antics of her brothers. “Yeah, okay--so what about the hair on the couch, huh? Which one of you snipers-in-training didn’t clean up after himself?” “Not me!” The boys and Coco all yelled at once. The baby also screeched out “baaaaaah”, which you took to be a denial of his guilt as well. “I swear,” you sighed, sitting on the loveseat, smiling at your boys, “I’m just gonna sneak into your beds at night and cut off all your hair.” “No!” The boys all cried out--even the baby (”no” was his new favorite word). Coco laughed, looking over at you, “Come on, baby, we’ll do better, won’t we, mijos?” He turned back to the boys, who all met him with wide, innocent eyes and eager nods, making you laugh. Letty laughed too, plopping down on the once-hair infested couch. “I swear, it’s like you four all share the same braincell,” she paused, looking around, “Huh... This actually is a good spot--” her words were interrupted by your second oldest boy chucking a stuffed duck at her. “You gotta be aware of all your surroundings!” “Dude--” she started. “You too, Mami!” Your oldest son added, throwing a pillow at you so hard, you almost fell off of the loveseat. The boys (and Letty) all erupted in laughter, and you fake glared at your boys. Their response was immediate and, of course, in stereo. “My bad!”

Angel Reyes: “This dude here,” Angel grinned, looking down at your son, “Like.. look at him! Why you got so much sauce, man?” He asked. Your son didn’t answer, he was too busy posing and looking cool. You were nearly in tears, you were laughing so hard. The three of you had decided to walk down to Felipe’s shop, and since it was a bit chilly out, you put a hat on your son and suddenly he was just too damn cool. Angel looked down at your baby boy, grinning wide as he watched your son lean against a building, hands in his pockets. “Papi, stop laughing,” your son said, his little voice making your heart melt, “Momma, take a picture of us!” You laughed, taking out your phone, “Okay, papi, stand right there next to Daddy,” you opened the camera app and felt your heart flip in your chest when you saw them through the lens. Your son was purposefully standing with his hands in his pockets, just like Angel was, and as eager as he was for this photo, he couldn’t hide the smile on his little face. You took a couple of pictures (at one point, they stood back to back with their arms crossed), and laughed as you did. Your boys were so full of life, the physical embodiment of joy. Everyday with your husband and your son was a blessing, so full of laughter and love. You knew what Angel’s childhood had been like, how he’d always thought of himself as the ill-favored son, and you knew he made sure his son never felt unwanted. Your baby boy was the prince of the Reyes family; beloved and cherished and treasured (and okay, maybe a wee bit spoiled), and he knew his Daddy loved him more than anything else in his life because Angel told him every single day. You pocketed your phone and watched as your son reached up for Angel’s hand, and the image of your husband’s big, strong hand carefully holding your baby boy’s had your heart clenching. There was nothing more beautiful than seeing the love between your two boys. Your son looked over at you, a smile--that Angel smile--on his round little face, and held out his other hand. “Come on, Momma, Abuelo is old, we can’t make him wait!” You laughed, taking his hand, and kept walking, you and Angel on either side of your son, your little prince. And you couldn’t be happier.

Miguel Galindo: Miguel had several body guards on hand, a security team, a nanny, and Nestor at his disposal at all times, and yet when it came to buckling your baby boy into the car, only Miguel could do it. “Okay, let’s make sure we’re safe,” Miguel said cheerfully as he strapped your son into his car-seat, pulling at the straps to make sure they were secure, “Daddy isn’t going anywhere until he knows you’re safe.” Your son smiled up at his father, babbling sweetly at him. You sat next to the car-seat, watching Miguel interact with your son. You loved how protective he was of him; Miguel was a man of wealth, and as such, he had his share of enemies, but as time had gone on, and the Galindo businesses stared going legit, the list of enemies got smaller and smaller. Still, you preferred the cautiousness over recklessness, especially when it came to the safety of your family. “What do you think, mijo?” Miguel asked as he got into the car, nodding at the security guard who closed the door behind him. “Should we stop by the ice cream shop on the way home from picking up your brother from school?” Your baby giggled, clapping his hands excitedly at the mention of ice cream, and you and Miguel laughed. “Sounds like a yes,” you said, reaching over to run a finger against your son’s smooth, chubby cheek. Miguel leaned forward for a moment, directing the driver to start moving, before sitting back and smiling over at you and your son. He reached out and smoothed down your son’s hair; it had the same natural curly swoop Miguel’s hair did. “He’s getting big,” he said, “You think it’s time to get a new car-seat?” You smiled, watching as your son reached up and took hold of Miguel’s finger, always happy to be close to his dad. “He’s got another few months in this one,” you answered, “Although it might be time to get a new baby wrap-around. The one you have is starting to get worn out.” “Yeah, that’s cause this one likes to hang off my chest while I work. I’m telling you, he’s gonna be a shrewd businessman, this one!” You both laughed. Miguel adored being close to your son and did everything he could to avoid putting him down. So the head of the Galindo cartel would strap his youngest son to his chest as he handled business and called the shots, because as much of a boss as your husband was, he was powerless when it came to his kids--and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nick Amaro: It had been a long day for Nick. As much as he loved his job, as much as he loved helping and protecting others, it could be incredibly draining. He’d just closed a case he and the squad had been working for a month, and while justice had been served, and Nick was happy with the results, it had taken a lot out of him. The things he saw, the horrific stories, the disgusting perps--it was a lot. Plus he’d been forced to work long days and long nights, and Nick hated being away from you and the kids. So when he came home early in the morning, fresh off of a 12 hour shift, he was ready to give you and the kids a quick kiss in your beds before going to sleep himself. But when he opened the door to your house, he was greeted with soft Cubano music and the best sound of all--his baby boy’s precious laugh. Immediately, before Nick had even stepped fully through the door, a smile grew on his face. It was early, but apparently the baby was wide awake, which of course meant you were wide awake. Nick walked over to the corner of the couch, where your son was sitting up, wearing his favorite bear bib, and laughing at the sight of his little black shoes. “Don’t tell me you pulled another all-nighter?” Nick asked him as he bent over and picked him up. He was immediately greeted with slobbery kisses and sticky fingers pulling at his ears, but Nick didn’t mind. In fact, he loved it. Just by hearing his son’s laugh and holding him in his arms, Nick’s mood had already improved. “He slept through the night, actually,” you answered from your spot in the kitchen, “Which is why he’s the first one up. Zara had a nightmare, so she’s sleeping in our bed, and I let Gil have a few extra hours on the tablet last night, so he’s knocked out.” Nick nodded, kissing your son right on his adorable little dimple. “And so you woke up to help Mama with breakfast, huh? What a gentleman,” he teased. Your baby boy laughed, and Nick laughed back. His son was always happy, always eager for a cuddle and happy to be held, and he just brought so much joy to Nick’s life. You and the kids were everything to Nick; you were why he did what he did. He wanted to make sure the world was as safe as he could make it for his family, and as he looked down at his grinning baby boy and listened to his sweet laugh, he knew his son would grow up to be good. And that was all Nick could ever hope for.

Johnny Tuturro: “Me ready!” Your son announced, coming into the living room with his overalls on, toddling towards you and Johnny. You laughed, and Johnny crouched down to be at eye level with his son. “I think you forgot something, man,” he said, affectionately poking him in his cheek. “No I not! Me ready! Me ready for beach!” Your son argued, his dark brown eyes shining with mischief just like your husband’s. “You did a good job with your hair,” you said, ignoring the trail of moisturizing oil, combs, and brushes your baby had left in the hallway when he did his hair, “and you look so cute in your overalls.” “Tank you for helping with the buttons,” he said, giving you that Tuturro smile that had you ready to give him everything he ever wanted. “You’re welcome, baby,” you cooed back. “But we can’t go to the beach till you’re all ready, big man,” Johnny added, he pointed to his son’s teeny tiny little feet, “Shoes.” Your son gasped, slapping his little hands on either side of his face in total shock. He screeched, waddling off to grab a pair of shoes from the rack, and you and Johnny laughed. An expert father, Johnny sat on the floor and let your son plop down into his lap, holding his shoes and socks in his fat little hands. “Help me peas,” he said, looking up at his dad. Johnny bent down and kissed the top of his head, taking the socks and putting them on your son’s feet--a pretty impressive feat seeing as how your son was incapable of not swinging his feet. You leaned against the wall, a smile on your face, as you watched them together. Johnny was telling your son that they’d play in the water until the sun went down, and your son clapped his hands excitedly. They were both beach bums, your son having inherited his love of the water from Johnny. “Okay,” Johnny slipped the first tiny shoe on, “let’s practice our colors. What color is this?” He pointed to the shoes. “Black!” “Good job! How about Mommy’s shoes. What color are those?” “Mommy’s shoes white!” “Yeah, white! What color is the ocean?” “The ocean blue!” He answered, and Johnny rewarded him by picking him up and spinning him around, “That’s right, big man! You’re so smart! Just like your Mommy!” Holding your baby boy with one hand and taking your hand in the other, Johnny grinned, “Okay, let’s go!” You walked into the sunshine with your own two lovable sources of sunshine, all three of you smiling and excited for another perfect day.

Rio: For you, bathtime was war. Your son was a tiny tyrant, displeased with every part of the procedure. He screamed because the water was too cold, and then when you added hot water to it, he whined at the added heat. He tossed the bath toys you provided him, crying because they weren’t the ones he wanted that night. He splashed at the water angrily, tried of being in the tub, and then when you took him out, he kicked his fat little feet and yelled cause he wanted to play in the water. To be clear, he was a sweet baby most of the time, but bathtime turned him into a little monster. Unless Daddy was bathing him. You stood by the sink, arms crossed, pretending to be offended as you watched Rio bathe your son. Rio was on his knees next to the tub, one hand on your son’s back, steadying him in his little baby tub, the other pushing along a toy boat--that your son had chucked at you in annoyance not five minutes before--and making your son laugh. “Okay, time to rinse off,” Rio said, taking a cup and pouring it over your son, who just giggled at the action, “Yeah, now we’re alllll clean,” Rio sang. You bit back a smile as you watched your husband pick your son up. Your son reached for the tattoo on Rio’s neck and tickled it, making all three of you laugh. Rio sat him down on a towel on the sink, and you leaned in, pressing your nose into the fatness of his neck, sniffing that sweet, clean baby smell on his soft, smooth skin. “God, this is like crack,” you sighed. Rio chuckled as you stepped back, and he covered your son’s head with a fluffy brown towel. “I don’t know why you be telling lies on my son,” he joked, “he was an angel this whole time.” “You’ve seen how he gets when I bathe him! He only likes when you do it, it’s crazy!” You huffed. Rio leaned over and kissed your son’s chubby cheeks a good hundred times, coaxing another round of laughs out of the baby. “That’s cause bathtime is boy’s time,” he said, his voice muffled by your son’s cheeks, “Ain’t that right, son?” Rio stood up and turned to you, kissing your cheek as well. “And bedtime is Mommy time,” he whispered, his voice low, “matter of fact... let’s get this boy in his crib so I can wipe Mommy down and rinse her off...” You laughed at the innuendo...and then hurried to grab your son’s pajamas--bedtime couldn’t come quick enough.

Bonus Boy

EZ Reyes: Felipe and Angel both agreed that your son was exactly like EZ was when he was a kid: friendly, inquisitive, adventurous. EZ joked that he was always just a little nerd, but when you watched him with your son, you could see that inquisitive spirit in EZ bursting through. “What do you think,” EZ asked, crouching down next to your son as he patted the bark on a tree at the park, “is this a good tree?” “Good tree!” Your son repeated, looking over at his Dad. EZ smiled, and you could see every woman within a 10 mile radius collectively swoon at the sight of him (the smile, the arms, the EVERYTHING) next to your incredibly adorable baby boy. Hell, even you weren’t immune; you indulged in a quick little swoon yourself. “Papi, tree big!” Your son reported, stepping back and looking up at the tree, his little head reared back. EZ held your son steady with a hand on his little back; EZ’s hand was just about the width of your son’s back. “Yeah, it is,” EZ agreed, nodding, “You know, the older a tree is, the bigger is is. So this is probably a very old tree.” Your son’s jaw dropped, nodding in awe, “Wowwwwwww.” You sat on the bench and watched as your boys walked around the park, examining the various trees and plants. Your son would point to something and look up at EZ, who would start spewing off any and every fact he knew about the object, impressing the hell out of your baby boy. You loved watching them like this; you loved your son’s curious nature, and you were so happy and proud that EZ not only supported it, but helped nurture it as well. As you watched them walk around the park in their own little world, hand in hand, you felt a strong sense of love come over you. This was your family. They were yours, and you were theirs, and you loved them both so much, and they loved you. You put your hand over your stomach, a small smile pulling at your lips as you thought of your little secret. They loved you...and they would love this next little one just as much.

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#bre's boys preference #bre's boys #billy russo x reader #logan delos x reader #jax teller x reader #coco cruz x reader #angel reyes x reader #miguel galindo x reader #nick amaro x reader #johnny tuturro x reader #rio x reader #ez reyes x reader

609 notes · View notes

iamyoursinblog · 3 years

Text

Perfect mistake

Pairing: Kim Yugyeom x Reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 2.1 k

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LIST

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Pov you

The noise caught your attention while you work in the office. “What the hell?” You walked to the front door while someone continued to enter the wrong code. You opened the door and Yugyeom fell at your feet, giggling. This is something new, you thought.

“Yugyeom” you tried to get his attention. But he seemed to completely ignore your presence. He spun on the floor, taking off his jacket. You covered your mouth so as not to laugh when he successfully coped with the jacket, and climbed towards the bedroom.

“It's hard... How hard ...” he grumbled, continuing to get rid of his clothes, crawling on his elbows into the bedroom.

You should definitely have been angry for being in this state, but he was too cute to be angry with him now. Kim Yugyeom in boxers is sleeping on my floor! Great, you grumbled as he fell asleep on the living room floor next to the couch... for a second your head ached as you imagined what would have happened if he had confused the door not with your apartment. You shook your head, driving away the thought.

"Yugyeom, wake up" you tried to bring him to his senses but it was all to no avail. "Damn, why are you so heavy" you tried to drag him from the living room to the bedroom. "I think I broke my back" you fell exhausted on the floor by the bed, after being able to drag the sleeping Yugyeom onto it. Your whole nightie was practically wet with sweat. You didn't sweat that much even after strength training in the gym. You stood on trembling legs and froze when Yugyeom stretched out on your bed, showing off his gorgeous body. Your eyes could not get away from his tight naked body, but even more you were attracted by the part that was hidden by boxers. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, and how did you manage to move into the apartment that was right below the Yugyeom apartment. You've never been particularly interested in guys, although there have been a lot of people suggesting you go out on a date. You didn't even believe in love. For you, "love at first sight" was something like a unicorn, a fiction that exists only in fairy tales. But then you saw Yugyeom in the hall of your agency, which simply captured your heart in a second. Your jaw practically fell to the floor when they told you that you will be his manager and how should you work with him when your stupid heart went crazy with every look ...

To say that you were shocked is to say nothing when you ran into him in the elevator on the day you moved. He hugged you so tightly, congratulating you, even now remembering that moment, your skin is covered with goose bumps. And now he lies only in underwear in your bed... Maybe you must just quit... And what are you doing?, you asked yourself mentally when your hand froze a less then inch from his skin. The temptation to touch him was too great, you bit your lip. You shuddered when Yugyeom, sharply opening his eyes, grabbed your hand. He pulled you towards him, which caused you to practically be on top of him, resting your free hand on the pillow next to his head.

He raised his hand and ran his fingers over your face, smiling at you "You are in my dreams again," he whispered softly, continuing to stroke your face. "Always so close to me and at the same time so far away ... we work together, we live together ... but why is dreams the only place where I can touch you?" his smile turned sad. Before you knew what was happening, he lifted his head and kissed you. Your eyes grew even wider, and your heart seemed to faint, slowly sliding to the floor. You should have pulled away, but your body did not obey you. He hugged you, pressing you against his body, deepening the kiss. You moaned softly as his tongue slid into your mouth. Is it possible only today, will you pretend that this is all a dream? Everything inside you trembled as his hands caressed your body. He turned on his side with you, being on top of you.

"Oh my god" you moaned softly as Yugyeom squeezed your breast, leaving kisses on your neck. Your head was spinning, there were too many emotions to cope with. "Yugyeom" you choked with pleasure when, pushing the edge of your nightie, he licked your nipple. You need to stop! Right now! You scolded yourself mentally, but there was nothing you could do. How could you stop yourself if now you wanted him more than take the next breath...

You moaned as he rubbed a hard dick against your clit as his tongue drove you crazy, caressing your nipples. He put his hand between your bodies, lifting the hem of your nightie up. One movement and your panties were on the floor ... You dug your nails into his skin when he pushed hard at you. "Fuck" you whimpered with a mixture of pain and pleasure. He kissed you, intertwining your tongues as he continued to fuck your pussy hard. Your body shook at how close you were to cum. A tear rolled down your cheek in discouraging pleasure. He moaned your name loudly, thrusting faster as his lips dug into your skin. His arms wrapped around your body. You cum hard by moaning his name on his lips when he kissed you again.

"Yeah baby ..." his movements were chaotic as he started to cum, filling you with his sperm "Mine! You are only mine,” he growled, making hard thrusts at you. "You should only belong to me!" he moaned with a few strong thrusts, prolonging your pleasure, before his body completely relaxed, falling on you.

POV Yugyeom

He groaned and smiled as he lay in bed with his eyes still closed. Today you were also in his dreams. Everything was so real that it seemed he could still feel your scent. If this were a real… he groaned, turning on his side and hugging the blanket instead of you. What is it? He asked himself mentally as your scent grew stronger after taking a deep breath. He opened his eyes and it took him a few seconds to realize that he was not in his bedroom. He sat up abruptly on the bed, looking around, what the hell happened? Where is he? He stopped when he saw a painting that was in front of the bed. He knew this painting. Moreover, he personally bought it. And gave it to you when you moved into his house. Wait a minure, stop! He looked around again. Is he in your bedroom? His eyes widened when he saw some of your photos with friends, on the table next to the window. How did this happen? He lifted the covers and his eyes widened as he realized he was only wearing boxers. Indeed!.. no, it cannot be ... but it was all so real... no, no... most likely the dream was so real because of your scent. How did he end up in your bed? How he ended up in your apartment at all. Oh, why did he drink so much yesterday. Was he so drunk that he came to you at night ... he didn’t do anything stupid, did he? Damn, why, right now, he couldn't remember anything.

He slowly got out of bed. He saw his clothes folded neatly on the chair. Dressing quickly, he left the bedroom. "_______" he called you, but he was greeted only by silence. His stomach gurgled when he went to the kitchen, he smelled food. He went to the table and saw a note from you, next to the food.

“Kim Yugyeom !!! Do not even think that you can avoid punishment for being so drunk that you confuse someone else's door with yours!!!"

He laughed after reading your note. So that's what happened, he just messed up the floor. He sat down at the table, smiling broadly. I wish I would confuse my door with yours every day, he said, looking at the food you prepared for him.

In the evening he entered your office, immediately falling to his knees and raising his hands up. "I agree to any punishment," he muttered.

You laughed at his behavior. "Should I spank you?" He looked up at you and immediately regretted it. Flashbacks of his dream floated in his head. He immediately averted his eyes, looking at the floor. He tried to drive away these fantasies from himself, but they were too real. Your body in his hands, your taste, your scent, your moans ... it was all too real for a simple dream. He looked at you again "What happened yesterday?" he asked getting up from the floor.

"You mean how you literally burst into my apartment drunk or about how you crawling on the floor into the bedroom, scattering your things?" you smiled broadly at him

He fell into the chair next to your desk. “Sorry, I'm such an idiot,” he shook his head.

"You know, yesterday I barely supported myself so as not to get your drunk ass!"

"Oh really?" he laughed

“You generally understand what could have happened if you had broken not into my apartment,” he shuddered when you banged the table. "I need a drink, this job too stressful!"

"Do you want to keep you company?" he asked, but you gave him a murderous look. “I didn't say I will going to drink, I'll just keep you company.” He shrugged as you threw a crumpled piece of paper at him.

"Yugyeom" you practically moaned his name, leaning back in your chair. "You beg to be spanked for your behavior!"

The way you pronounced his name made it aroused to remember his dream again. "Hey _________" he ran his hand over his face.

"What?" you looked at him

"I yesterday ... we yesterday ... is it" he muttered to himself

"What are you muttering there, I don't understand a word"

"Between us yesterday ..."

“No,” you interrupted him without letting him finish. “Whateveryou thought for yourself, there was nothing,” you said, looking away. He didn't even think that he would be so disappointed that it was just another dream.

“I just ... It's a good thing I didn't do anything stupid,” he replied.

"Wow, it's so late" you quickly changed the subject. "Time to go home."

"I thought you wanted a drink" he smiled at you

"Another time," you said, reaching for your bag. Your shirt slipped slightly, exposing your collarbone. He clenched his jaw, trying to calm down and regain his ability to walk. He was already looking away when he saw a red mark on your skin. It was definitely hickey. He grabbed you by the hand, pulling you closer. He exactly remembered this moment in his dream. He remembered how he left this hickey, and all the rest, while he was deep in you. And if it was not just a dream, then there must be another hickey just below . "What are you doing?" You asked in a trembling voice when he raised his hand and took your collar with his fingers He pulled your shirt collar down and saw another mark on your skin.

"So there was nothing?" he asked, pushing you against the wall.

"It just a bruise from the blow" you did not look at him, averting your eyes

“Blow” he laughed softly. “Whatever I thought for myself, there was nothing.” He repeated your words.

"Yugyeom, nothing happened." You wanted to shove him away, but he pressed your hands against the wall, holding them above your head. "What are you doing, Yugyeom?"

He was slowly unbuttoning your shirt. “This is also from the blow,” Yugyeom asked, running his fingers over the hickey on your chest that he left last night.

"What do you want to hear from me?"

“Unlike me, you weren't drunk. And what I remember...” he paused, allowing him to return that night. "You wanted it no less than me."

You escaped from his embrace, buttoning up your shirt. "Yugyeom ..." you turned towards him. He came up to you diging into your lips. He didn't want to hear excuses or anything like that.

"I'm so happy" he took your face with his hands, leaving light kisses on your lips. You rolled your eyes as he lifted you into his arms. "I have dreamed of kissing you for so long" he laughed. "Don't even think that I will let you run away from me now. You are mine!" He kissed you, hiding in his arms.

_______________________

More Kim Yugyeom x Reader:

I am your present (smut)

_______________________

LIST (BTS & GOT7)

_______________________

#got7 #yugyeom x reader #yugyeom x you #yugyeom x y/n #got7 x reader #got7 x you #got7 x y/n #kim yugyeom #got7 yugyeom

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lluvguts · 3 years

Text

Cool Blue ; Chapter Four

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

hold you here, my loveliest friend

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

☽ warnings: none

☽ fic masterlist

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

The air in Alberto's room was stuffy and filled with the uneasy smell of the sweat his bare skin on the sheets left after a fitful sleep. He flung an arm from the blankets to fiddle with the window latch until his sluggish muscles threw it back and open, letting fresh ocean air inside.

He opened his eyes. His face was covered by the white bedsheet like a dead man or just a boy realizing his mistakes much too late and he quickly threw that off of him, too. With the window open and the bottom of the frame just inches from Alberto's nose, nothing stopped the sunlight streaming across his feverish skin in beams and the shadow of the white chipped frame to cast a thin shadow as relief to his sleepy eyes.

The sleep was thick in his green eyes, as he suffered through an uncomfortable dreamless night spent mostly staring at the ceiling with Luca's face burning a hole behind his eyelids.

Oh, God. Luca.

A quick glance at the nightstand was all it took. The polaroid photos were undeniably there. Their white corners, their colored reflections in the daylight. Making those feelings from the night before stir again.

"Alberto? Are you awake yet?" Massimo had his hand splayed flat to the door and knocked.

He jumped at the sound of his father's voice behind the door. Alberto cursed himself for not having a clock in his room, even though he was fervent on the opinion that they were useless and dumb and didn't look nearly as stunning as the sun overhead to tell the time. But now, with the sky streaming in and more worried knocks sounding through the thin walls, Alberto ran a hand through his hair and guessed it was nearing noon. Why hadn't Massimo woken him at dawn with Giulia, to begin the day's tasks? It wasn't like him to allow Alberto to sleep in...

Alberto rolled out from the sweaty confines of his bed and stood, wobbly, to respond.

"Uh, yeah, Papa? Sorry, was I supposed to be up earlier?" He said as he went to the door to open it for Massimo. He saw his father, fully dressed and looking hesitant while Alberto was still in his pair of thin cotton shorts and an equal expression of confusion.

Massimo swapped his worried frown for a quick smile, and affectionately ran his hand across the top of Alberto's messy curls.

"It's okay, son. I figured you, uh," His hand fell back to his side, fidgety, uneasy. "...Needed the rest."

"Yeah..." Alberto let out a high, nervous laugh. His voice was still groggy and dry from sleep, coming out sounding wrong. He coughed, only making their already thick silence even thicker, then stared up at Massimo. He desperately needed a glass of water and maybe a shirt just to top things off.

"Why don't we...uh..." Massimo tried again, searching for the right things to say in the wooden floorboards. "...Have breakfast? Go get dressed and I'll start the coffee."

"Okay," Alberto placed one of his feet behind the other, still standing there awkwardly. Wasn't it a little late for breakfast?

Machiavelli slipped through the gap in the door as Alberto closed it, unprompted, and left Massimo to get the coffee grinder. He sighed against the door frame, scooping up Machi though the cat had his protests.

"Santa Mozzarella..." He breathed, burying his sunburned nose into Machiavelli's neck. The phrase reminded him immediately of Giulia and he smiled around the cat's fur.

He carried Machi in one arm as he, in his dazed, barely awake state, yanked open dresser drawers looking for a shirt and, finding none to his liking, slammed them half-shut.

His head felt too heavy to teeter above the rest of his body, like all of the empty dreams he'd had that night were really just static filling up his brain. The cat growled at the sharp sound of the dresser, and equally at Alberto's annoyance so early in the morning.

"What am I gonna do, huh?" Alberto set the Machiavelli down on his bed and pulled on a customary tank top. Machi burrowed into his sheets, letting out all sorts of odd noises.

He growled deep as he sniffed the bed, then pawed angrily at Alberto's pillow, looking so cross at the linen for no apparent reason until it clicked.

"I know you smell him," Alberto bent down and stroked Machi's raised fur to calm him down. "I can't get it off."

The cat glared at Alberto out of the corners of his orb-like yellow eyes. He continued to paw and swipe at the pillow, hissing and huffing the whole time.

"That's Luca," Alberto kept his voice low and pointed at his bedsheets. "What you're smelling? Yeah. That's all sea monster."

Machi blinked slowly and stopped for a moment. His tail had been lashing wrinkles into the sheets but it hovered, flickering his interest. Then he returned full force to his havoc and dug his claws into the mattress.

Sighing, Alberto left the cat to destroy his bedsheets and went into the kitchen. Massimo was humming gently a tune Alberto didn't know with his back turned, the coffee maker grumbling and gurgling to his right while he sliced oranges with his hand. He had a cookbook propped to one side of the orange to steady it as he brought the knife down.

Alberto stepped in to help him, pulling the book away and holding the half of the orange.

"There," Alberto said, smiling.

Massimo chuckled and handed Alberto the knife. "Thanks. How about you cut the rest of these up for us, and I'll pour the coffee?"

"Sounds good to me."

Massimo shuffled around Alberto in the small kitchen space, grabbing coffee mugs off nailed-in hooks and pouring out generous amounts into both of their espresso cups.

Alberto tried to focus on cutting up the fruit but he was still stuck on the fact that Massimo, who woke up with the sun and couldn't spare a moment to rest, let him sleep through the early-morning fishing?

But Massimo broke the silence before he could ask. He slid one cup over to Alberto, then pat his back, motioning for the dining table.

"Listen, figlio. I already did the fishing for the morning. All we'll have to do is check the nets in a few hours."

Alberto arranged the orange and grapefruit wedges into little rows on his plate, then bit his lip and re-arranged them. "I figured that much."

Massimo grunted and took one of his oranges. "Do you know why we're sitting here, Alberto?"

"Uh...no?" He said in that annoying high keen again, unable to keep his voice level. He really didn't know why Massimo wasted his own time doing all of the work himself...just to have a late breakfast with him? Was he in trouble?

"Am I in trouble for something, Papa?" Alberto voiced his internal worry. The grapefruit flesh he'd torn from the rind was splayed flat and bitter on his tongue.

"Oh, no. Of course not." He smiled through his moustache, a bit of citrus juice clinging to the bottom of it. "I just wanted to tell you that I understand. And that I'm here for you."

He blinked. "Understand what?"

Massimo didn't miss a beat--even though Alberto knew that under the table his hand was clenched. "I understand that...you're getting older, and as you get older there are some...changes, and that's okay. You don't have to tell me about her unless you're ready."

Alberto inhaled the espresso wrong and he felt it burn through his nostrils. He coughed harshly, holding one hand to his throat and spluttered. "What?"

Getting older? Changes? Most of all, girl? Was he walking around blindfolded? He might have only been born with one arm...but he certainly had two fully-functioning eyes.

Massimo put his hand back on the table and took his mug, dainty in his large grip. "I should have seen the signs a long time ago. Never home...the weird smell...how nervous you are at dinner...I see it now, Alberto. So, tell me about her, yeah?"

Alberto paled. With Massimo, there was no way around this. What he said was final, so if he thought Alberto had a female love interest, then he had a female love interest.

"I...uh, she's--" Alberto took another scalding swig of coffee to distract himself. He felt a blush creep up, in the least delicate way possible, on his cheeks. "She's really great."

"What's her name?" Massimo picked at the fruit on the table, eyes flickering from the plate to his squirrelly son.

"Lucia!" Alberto blurted out, chest tight. Massimo barked out a hearty laugh and squeezed Alberto's trembling hand across the table.

"Don't be nervous, my boy! This is great news! And what does she look like?"

He felt like a fish out of water, which made him think of Luca, which made his cheeks redden, so he was stuck with his lips parted, completely stunned.

"She um...has really pretty...uh, eyes?" Alberto tried.

Massimo's dark gaze sparkled with joy for his son and his hold on Alberto's knuckles tightened. "That's okay, Alberto. Don't worry. I won't tease you over your lovely Lucia..."

Oh, God. Alberto gulped and scanned the room for something, anything to look at other than Massimo. The orange rinds. The coffee stain on the napkin from a previous breakfast. Giulia's sock left balled up in the corner by the humming ice box.

"...We'll have to meet her!" Massimo laughed. He'd been talking while Alberto was panicking, and his green eyes widened in horror as he took in the words.

"Oh, I don't think that's the best idea--"

"Nonsense!" Massimo stood from the table, collecting their plates. "Any girl who likes mio figlio will have to meet the rest of the Marcovaldo family! But, Alberto,"

He set the plates down again in his burst of excitement, leaning with serious eyes and a serious, but equally scary hard set of his mouth. "You two aren't...you know--"

If there were more espresso to drink in Alberto's mug, he would have gratefully choked on it.

"--Because if you are, son, I should know about it."

Was this nightmare ever going to end?

"T-That's okay Papa, because that's never g-going to happen!" Alberto almost shouted.

"Oh, I wouldn't say never. It all will happen in it's own time--"

"May I be excused...?" Alberto glanced up wildly at his father, blushing and sweating and hating every additional second this conversation lasted. "Please? I...I have to get something in town! Flowers!" What was he thinking? "Uh...yeah! Flowers for Luca--Lucia!"

"Oh, well..." Massimo straightened up, some of his cheeriness dampened. "Okay. Be sure to grab some for the house too, yes?"

Alberto made a beeline for his bedroom. "Yes, Papa."

"Girls love roses, Alberto. Get her some roses."

"Roses! Got it," Alberto cataloged that information away into his brain for never-use. He felt unexplainable guilt for stringing Massimo on like that, but what else was there to do? Try and convince him that, just like he was born missing an arm, Alberto was born attracted to something....different? And, just as daunting, being made another way didn't mean it was wrong?....Right?

Machi peeked his head out of the mound he'd created of Alberto's sheets, mewling when he examined the worry that creased his brow. He grabbed his wallet on the nightstand, making a pointed effort to avoid looking at the photos. Knowing they were there made him acknowledge the fact that whatever he was feeling was there, too. It was real. He was real.

"Yeah, Yeah. Soak it up while you can," Alberto waved an arm at Machiavelli now curled up around Luca's smell, then shut the door. "Little traitor."

/ / /

With the sun rising higher in the sky, it was the perfect time to sit outside the thin streets of Portorosso to smile and relax--unless you were Alberto. Who, after finding a bouquet of wildflowers for the kitchen window at the negozio di fiori, was sitting in a patio chair overlooking the fountain with his knees pulled to his chest. The flowers sat on the circular table next to him, catching the sun's warmth and sparkling through the clear plastic they were wrapped in. Alberto sighed and let the side of his cheek rest on one knee, twiddling with the metal holes grated into the table. A finger brushed the thin petals, muttering to himself and replaying the conversation he'd had with Massimo for the last hour. He didn't want to admit it, but he missed Luca. Maybe after he dropped off the flowers at home he could go see him again.

"Waiting for your special someone?"

Alberto jumped and sat upright, looking at the shadow that had intermingled with the honeycomb of the patio table, then back up at the voice. It was an older woman, who despite the heat had a thick shawl draped along her shoulders, smiling around greying brown hair.

The woman was fixed on Alberto with a knowing glance at the flowers.

"Oh! Uh--yes, signora." He dug one hand nervously into the back of his hair. The streets were next to empty a half-second ago...

She reached down to take Alberto's hand. "Signora Aragosta."

"Alberto Marcovaldo," He shook her hand, surprised by her skin unmarred by sun or wrinkles, and the thin sheen of sweat that beaded on her knuckles. Signora Aragosta let out a small laugh, still bent down to stare at Alberto.

She sniffed the air, dark eyes flickering around at the buildings behind him.

"How long have you known the sea folk?" She asked him in a hushed voice, covering the side of her mouth with the shawl so as not to draw any attention to herself.

"S-Sea folk?" Alberto leaned back in his chair, not at all enjoying where this was going. Did she work with Ercole's parents? Did she somehow find Luca...?

She tapped Alberto's bare shoulder, freckled and tanned. "Don't think you can fool me, sweetheart. I could smell him on you from a mile away."

"You...can? Is it really that, uh, obvious?" Alberto whispered back while gaping at the old woman. "And how did you--you know it's a him?"

Signora Aragosta giggled to herself. "Relax, boy. To everyone else," She ironically gestured to the empty street. "The scent is just regular old fish. The smell of a male's scales is much stronger, more potent. Not as sweet as a female's...But I'm a bit surprised that I've found it again, after all these years."

"Found what again?" Alberto couldn't help but ask, knowing it was private but this woman had decided to share anyway.

She kept her gaze low and ruminative, looking to the flowers as she spoke. "I almost forgot what they smelled like, so strong it burns your nose, no?" She laughed a bit and playfully flicked her own nose. "I miss her every day."

"Your own...friend?" Alberto said carefully.

Signora Aragosta steeled herself and tipped up her chin, looking stern. But perhaps all Alberto did was mistake her graveness for grief. "My wife."

"And she's? You're--?" Alberto couldn't get the words out he was so startled by this news.

"Oh, hush. I'll just tell you," She pulled out the chair opposite him and settled in.

#luca #luca movie #luca fanfiction #luca and alberto #luberto #luca x alberto #alberto scorfano #luca paguro #luca 2021 #disney luca #luberto fanfiction

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malumsmermaid · 4 years

Text

Piercing Love (LH)

Back at it with another fic from the collab group! This month we were randomly assigned a member of the collab to gift a fic to and I got the ever lovely Lauren @loveroflrh. It’s been a joy crafting a story for my fellow Lauren and I hope that you enjoy!

Collab Masterlist My Masterlist Buy Me a Coffee

Piercer!Luke x Tattoo Artist!Reader

Rating: M (18+ only please!)

Warnings: unprotected sex within an established relationship, nipple play, male receiving oral, discussion of tattoos and piercings (needles)

Word Count: 3.8k

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

Luke placed the second suitcase in the back of his car, smiling as he turned to you after he lowered the trunk door. “Ready to go, sweetheart?” he asked, teeth glinting in the morning sunlight.

You nodded, taking his hand and leaning up to give him a kiss, “After you, sunshine.”

He smiled, leaning in for one more peck before walking around to open your door for you. You settled into the seat, humming as you reached back for the seatbelt. You reached over and gave Luke’s hand a squeeze after he clicked his seatbelt, giving him a reassuring smile before pulling away so he could drive.

As Luke began the hours long drive from your place to his parents’ home, you thought back on the past few months with him.

********

A year ago you began working at Michael and Calum’s tattoo studio as they needed another artist, the studio gaining popularity. On your first day there, you saw this handsome prince of a man, sitting at a table and talking with one of the piercers. You thought it was a little early for someone to be getting a piercing consult, opening not for another five minutes.

Michael appeared around a corner, grinning when he laid eyes on you. “Hey!” He called, bouncing over and putting an arm over your shoulder. “Luke, Aaron, you guys need to meet our new artist. Their work is amazing! Y/n, these are our two main piercers, Luke and Aaron.”

Luke smiled, waving before pushing a blonde curl behind his ear. “I don't think I’ve ever been in a studio with a piercer who doesn’t have any piercings.” You voiced before you could stop yourself.

Luke chuckled, “Most people make that assumption, since I took my lip ring out a couple years ago. Didn’t fit who I was anymore. Was just talking with Aaron about doing my nose though.”

You blinked, the insinuation that he did in fact have piercings you couldn’t see right now catching you off guard. He did up two more buttons on his shirt, the shiny fabric pulling across his chest, the imprint of two sets of barbels appearing in the fabric. He gave you a smirk, raising a blonde eyebrow. “I-I think that you would look good with a little gold hoop on your nose.”

He smiled, nodding at Aaron and both men got to their feet, heading towards one of the stations. The door chimed and in walked one of the other artists, Ashton. You’d had an unforgettable meeting with him when you wrapped up your interview with Calum, Ashton having been getting ready to go to yoga, shirt halfway off and a pair of dermals glinting in his lower back. He grinned when he saw you, setting down his coffee and giving you a tight hug. “Told those two they’d be idiots not to hire you when I caught a glance of your portfolio. Glad to be working with you.”

Four months into working there you’d met and befriended everyone who worked in the studio. However, there had been something brewing between you and Luke. A small golden hoop adored his nose from the day you had met, and a week ago he had scheduled a session with you for a thigh piece. You had since learned why his piercings were so few and disappeared under clothing, just like his tattoos, aside from the few tiny ones on his wrists, he had a side gig as a model (an ‘of course’ had spilled past your lips upon learning this tidbit about the blonde.)

When it came time for his appointment, he stepped over to your station from his, licking his lips anxiously as he looked at you before loosening his belt and letting his slacks drop, neatly folding them before laying down on the table. You finished getting set up and carefully lowered the stencil onto Luke’s thigh, giving him a moment to look and be sure it was where he wanted. He gave you a smile and nod, laying back down and you grinned, bending down and getting to work.

Part way through the session, Calum walked over. You looked up at him, smirking when you noticed that the jewelry in his septum piercing matched the plugs Michael had in his ears today. “Michael is getting take-out, you guys want anything?” Calum asked.

Luke smiled, rattling off his usual order. You hummed, “That sounds good, I’ll have that too.” “We can just share mine, I never finish it anyway.” Luke hummed, turning to look at you.

“Agh! Luke!” Calum cried, hand raised up to cover his eyes. “I get you’re getting a thigh tattoo and that’s why your pants are off, but Prince Albert coming to say hello is not cool.”

Luke gave him a quizzical look for a moment before realization crossed his face. You had pulled back to wipe away excess ink and he shifted to adjust himself. “Not like it’s not something you’ve seen before.” Luke muttered.

Calum rolled his eyes, tongue ring flicking out as he licked his lips, brown eyes going far away. “Not yours though.” He retorted before walking back to the front to tell Michael Luke’s order.

“You’re welcome for that by the way!” Luke yelled teasingly before settling back down to let you get back to work.

Twenty minutes later Michael returned with the food, setting the tray down on your worktable. He gave you a wave, looking at your progress on Luke’s thigh before walking back to the front to sit with Calum. “Do you have time to pause for a dinner break, have a bit of a chat?” Luke asked softly once Michael was gone.

You hummed, analyzing how much work you had gotten done on the tattoo and thinking about your schedule. “I think we can take a break for ten minutes.” You finally decided, walking off to get a plate so you could have part of Luke’s order.

He got down from the bench while you were gone, stretching his back and fixing his boxers while he looked at himself in the mirror, grinning as he looked at the half-completed tattoo. You came back with a fork and plate, settling into your chair after scooping a portion onto the paper plate. Luke walked back to the vending machine and got himself a bottle of water before joining you and digging into his meal.

You sat together and ate, chatting back and forth over the warm food. Once the food was gone Luke cleaned up your station, throwing away trash and wiping down the table while you went to wash your hands. Luke joined you a minute later, washing his hands before following you back to the station, laying back down and scrolling his phone as you resumed your work. Once you finished, giving his skin one final wipe, you crouched in front of him after he got a first look of the finished ink, taking a few photos for your portfolio, unsure if Luke would be willing to let you take healed pictures in a few weeks.

As you started cleaning up your stations, only having an hour and a half to wipe and sanitize everything before your next appointment, a third session for a coverup, Luke grabbed your wrist. You looked up at him, humming, “I’m trusting that I don’t have to give you the aftercare run down.”

Luke chuckled, running his fingers through his curls, “Yeah, but I wanted to say thank you...and ask if you wanted to go out sometime, have dinner outside of the shop or something?” You stared up at him, blinking before agreeing softly. “Great, text me your schedule for this week and I’ll cross reference with mine, come up with something and let you know.”

*********

You were brought out of your memories by Luke’s hand on your thigh, blinking as you looked over at him. “Hey, you hungry? I need to stop to go to the bathroom.”

You hummed, glancing at the time to see that you’d been lost in your memories for a couple hours. Your stomach gurgled as you realized how late in the day it was and you nodded, “Sounds great, Lu.”

He stopped at the first food place on the side of the highway, you placed his order while he went to relieve himself, taking a chance to do so yourself once he found you at the table. Once you’d eaten you took another few minutes to walk around and stretch your legs before getting back in the car for the remainder of the drive.

You arrived at his parents’ home two and half hours later, his mom running out the door before Luke had even turned the car off. He laughed, stepping out of the car and catching her in an embrace as she reached him. As you got out you could hear him say, “You weren’t waiting at the window all day, were you?”

You smiled at the teasing tone in his voice, seeing his dad on the porch before you turned to get the bags from the trunk. “It’s been a while since you’ve brought anyone home,” You heard Liz say, “I was excited.”

Luke hummed, and lowered his voice, thinking you couldn’t still hear him, “Been a while since I’ve had anyone worth it.”

You licked your lips at the quiet admission, taking a deep breath and pretending like you hadn’t heard, closing the trunk and walking over to your boyfriend. He jumped in his mom’s embrace at the sight of you with both suitcases, “I was gonna get those,” he pouted, but you just waved him off.

“Hi Liz,” you said instead of replying to Luke.

You had met his parents over facetime once a few months into the relationship. It had been the first time you stayed over at Luke’s house, waking up in his bed alone, pulling his green button down over your frame and stepping out to look for him. You heard him talking to someone so you hastily did up a few buttons before finding him in the living room, half eaten bowl of cereal in his lap. He had given you a bashful smile before patting the spot next to him on the sofa, allowing you to join him as he talked to his parents.

She grinned, finally releasing Luke and hugging you. You froze for half a second, there had been several things you’d anticipated in meeting Luke’s parents, being wrapped in a bone crushing hug immediately upon arrival wasn’t one of them. You returned her hug, closing your eyes after seeing Luke walking up to his dad, one of the suitcases in hand before opening his arm to embrace Andy.

Finally, you all made it inside, Luke leading the way upstairs to his old bedroom so that you could put your things away. You found a spot to place your suitcase, crouching down to pull out your laptop and sketchbook, needing to touch up a few designs this weekend even though you were technically off. Before you could grab them, however, Luke was next to you, leaning in for a kiss. You hummed, crouching back and returning the kiss, which devolved into Luke hovering over you, now laying on your back on the floor, as his lips moved passionately against your own.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway and Luke quickly pulled back, sitting back on his heels while you sat up and reached for your sketchbook again. Liz gently knocked on the cracked bedroom door before poking her head in. “We have reservations made at your favorite place in two hours, if you two wanted to take a moment to settle in and freshen up.”

Luke nodded, whispering a thanks and she walked back out, leaving the door partially open. You smirked and Luke hummed, “Old habits die hard...honestly surprised that my old posters are still up though.”

You let out a giggle before looking around the bedroom, noticing images of pro surfers and some bands scattered around the room, on the back of the door, the closet door, and a few spots on the walls. You hummed as you took it all in, smiling, “I like this, it’s like getting to know a version of you that I’ve never met before.”

Luke sighed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Glad that you know me as the man I am today instead of who I was a couple years ago.”

You nodded, rubbing his back, knowing from late night conversations the two of you had had both as friends and since dating that he’d gone through a lot before he started working at the shop. He let you hold him for a minute before clearing his throat, “Anyway, the bathroom is across the hall if you want to freshen up first.”

You nodded, setting your computer and sketchbook on the bed finally and going back into the suitcase to get out your toiletries before heading across the hall. Once you’d finished your shower, you walked back across the hall, wrapped in a towel and crouched down to dig through your clothes, “You said this place was fancy right?” You asked, looking over your shoulder.

Luke hummed, “I mean, it’s not fancy fancy, but it’s pretty nice, y’know.”

You nodded, understanding what he meant, pulling out a nicer outfit you’d packed. Luke smiled, walking over and unwrapping the towel from around you, leaning in for a kiss before he picked up his own toiletries and disappeared through the door. Once you were both ready, you settled into the bed, you carefully working on perfecting a rough design a client had emailed you while Luke was texting Ashton. Soon a knock sounded on the door, Andy’s voice travelling through, “We’re ready to go if you are.”

You glanced at Luke, nodding to each other and getting up, following Andy’s retreating footsteps down the stairs. Dinner went well, learning more about Luke’s parents, telling them more about yourself, and hearing some stories about Luke’s childhood. You were all still at the table two hours later, Andy finally settling the check and driving home. Once there, you all changed into pajamas and joined each other in the living room to watch tv before finally going to bed. As you and Luke snuggled up, Luke nuzzling his head against yours, you both let out a content sigh. You could feel Luke smiling against the top of your head, then pressing a gentle kiss there, before he whispered, “I love you.”

You smiled, turning into his chest more before whispering a soft, “I love you too.”

You could still feel his smile against your head as you closed your eyes, slowly drifting off.

You woke the next morning to Luke tracing your tattoos. You slowly blinked, looking up at him, his eyes focused on following the different designs on your arms. “Mum left us a note. She and dad had made plans with some friends a few weeks ago, before they knew we were coming. They’ve gone out for breakfast and then are doing some plant shopping. Probably be back by lunch. She didn’t want to wake us, or bore us with the shopping trip. I was thinking, after breakfast, we could go drive around town for a bit, show you a few places I used to go.”

You nodded, running your hands across his bare chest, having somehow slipped the tank top he’d been wearing when you fell asleep without waking you. You shifted on top of him, noticing the usual presence of morning wood as you settled. Luke let out a groan, hands grabbing your shoulders, “I was trying to get it under control,” he murmured.

You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, fingers coming up to tease his nipple piercings. He let out a low hum, hands moving up from your shoulders and resting against the back of your head, deepening the kiss. “It is just us here, so if you want a better way to help take care of your usual morning friend, all you have to do is ask.”

You felt a low rumble building in his chest and smiled, pressing your hips against his hardening length. You gradually pulled back from his lips, trailing kisses down his neck, taking time to play with his jewelry, mouthing over his nipples as you kicked back the blankets. You both quickly removed clothing, you straddling his lap and grinding on his clothed length. Neither of you could ever take much buildup first thing in the morning, so it wasn’t long before Luke’s boxers joined the rest of the clothes and blankets at the end of the bed.

You sat back on your heels, admiring your boyfriend beneath you. You let out a content sigh, the contrast of the warm weight of his hard cock against your thigh and the cool metal of his piercing was one of your favorite parts of your mornings spent with Luke. You took him in your hand, flicking at a drop of precum that was about to roll down onto his piercing. Slowly, you lined up with him and sank down, both of you letting out relieved moans as he bottomed out, filling you perfectly.

You swivelled your hips, finding the spot where his cock piercing hit perfectly before pushing off of him, setting a lazy pace. Luke let out a soft moan of your name, crystal eyes closing and head leaning back against his pillow, his hands resting limply against your hips as you maintained the slow pace. You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips and pushing his golden curls back away from his face. You cupped his jaw in your hand, smiling as you looked at his relaxed face. “I was right about a gold nose ring suiting you,” you hummed as you sank down on him again. Luke simply groaned in response, relaxed grip on your hips tightening. “Hope you’re right about what I heard you tell your mum in the driveway yesterday.”

“Do we have to bring her up right now,” he whined, thrusting up into you.

“I just...was curious...am I really the first person in a while who’s worth bringing home?” You whispered, hands pressing down in the center of his chest.

Luke smiled, eyes opening to look up at you in adoration, “Course you are. Last person I brought here who was someone I was intimate with was Ash. And my parents didn’t know about that because Ash wasn’t anything serious, and they’d already known Ashton from when we were kids. He just came to support me while I was trying to find myself again, and we certainly didn’t do anything while we were here.”

You smiled down at him sheepishly and he leaned up for a kiss. He flipped you both over, leading to you gasping against his lips. His necklace dangled, pendant brushing your chest as he whispered “I love you,” a kiss punctuating each word.

You sighed, “I love you too,” pushing back against him.

He smiled, giving you another kiss before beginning to thrust his hips, just slightly faster than you’d been when you left off. You moaned loudly as he hit inside you perfectly, nails lightly digging into his shoulders. “Everything about you so perfect babe,” he whispered, “perfect person, perfect fit for me in every way. Will never get over how lucky I am to have you.”

You let out a soft sigh, tightening your hold on him with your entire body, nuzzling into his neck. “I’d say it’s the other way around. Still don’t believe I’ve ever done anything to deserve a man like you.”

Luke just hummed, dropping one hand between your thighs, fingers working to bring you closer to the edge. His lips pressed against yours prevented you from voicing any other doubts that may have sprung forth in your mind, his cock driving into you with more force. You moaned his name, the sound muffled against his lips, coming apart with your high not long after. He helped you ride out your high, soft groans falling from his own mouth as he slowly thrusted. He pulled out after you finished, looking down at you bashfully. “Wasn’t exactly planning on us having a chance to do anything this weekend,” he said softly. “Dunno if we’ll have time to do laundry if I...y’know.”

You smiled, leaning up to peck his lips before moving to crouch on the floor at the side of the bed. He moved to perch at the very edge of the bed, legs spread on either side of you as you cleaned him up, taking a moment to toy with the ring at his tip with your lips and tongue before taking him into your mouth. You knew he was close so you didn’t take him as far back as you could. You hollowed your cheeks, working your tongue along him to help bring him closer, hand alternating between pumping the remainder of his length outside your mouth and fondling his balls.

You felt his cock twitch against your tongue before Luke let out his usual high pitched whine that he made whenever he was right at the edge of his high. You took a deep breath through your nose, giving his thigh a light pinch to let him know you were ready for him. He gave a shallow nod, whimpering as he started to spill over your tongue, giving small, eager thrusts as he filled your mouth.

You swallowed as much of his release as you could, some spilling from between your lips as he pulled his spent cock out of your mouth slightly too soon, slipping off of the bed to crouch in front of you. He gave you a smile, leaning forward and swiping his thumb across your bottom lip, slipping the digit in his own mouth for a moment before leaning forward to connect your lips once again. You both moaned as his tongue slid against yours, tasting himself on you. Finally he pulled away to rest his forehead on yours, “How about we shower and get cleaned up, have some proper breakfast, and then go out exploring. I’ll tell my parents where they can meet us for lunch when they’re ready.”

You smiled, giving him a quick peck, “Sounds like a plan.” You hummed, slowly getting to your feet, holding your hand out to your boyfriend.

He gave you a smile and a nod, taking your hand as he got to his feet, following you across the hall, getting in one last, “I love you” before the shower water started.

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

The Fight

CW: Ableism against a child, references to attempted noncon/assault of a survivor, religious references to the Bible, conditioning, trauma recovery, trauma response

TIMELINE: Immediately post-Creepy Pet Lib Guy. Links in piece.

She hears his footsteps, the soft motion of him through the living room and into the den, where a single lamp is on in the corner on the side table next to the old couch Paul never could bear to throw out. Ronnie doesn’t look over at him, instead picking at a bit of duct tape affixed over a ripped spot while sipping her beer straight from the bottle.

There’s a show on the television - they have a new one finally, but Ronnie’s never thrown out a damn thing that wasn’t broken just because it got replaced and she’s not about to start now, so she moved it in here - but she’s not watching it. Not even sure what the show is, only that the laugh track is tinny and never seems timed to the moments of actual humor.

The house is mostly silent, this late at night. There’s no sound but the occasional gurgle from the ice machine in the fridge, the soft hum of electronics that she never notices except when the power goes out, and then only because of its sudden absence.

No sound but the television’s off-key laughter and the footsteps of her son, creeping up behind her.

“Mommy?” His voice is so high and soft, fuzzy with sleepiness, and she turns with a tired smile to see him dragging his favorite blanket behind him along the floor. It’s a quilt she bought at a church’s Christmas market when he was two, and it had buttons sewn in with the patches, giving the cats the quilt is decorated with three-dimensional button eyes.

His face is rounded and so like his father’s, even so, his face and eyes and his hair are all Paul’s, through and through. He’s an echo, a clone of his father, in a lot of ways… up to and including navigating a world that has already labeled him as difficult, and he’s only six years old.

“Hey, baby. What are you doing up?” She’s twenty-three with a six year old son, and doesn’t that seem strange, some days? So many of her friends from high school are still out until dawn, posting photos of their drunken shenanigans on Facebook, and here Ronnie sits… twenty-three, with a husband who works nights, and a six-year-old son whose teacher calls him hopeless, right to his fucking face.

“I, I, I had a bad dream,” He says, and his eyes are so, so big in his small round face. Paul’s eyes are like that, big and green and soulful. She’d fallen into them, her junior year, and she’d never wanted to climb back out. No matter that her friends thought he was weird, no matter that yeah, okay, he is weird - he’s her kind of weird, and she and Paul understood each other right from the start.

“Oh, no.” She pats the couch cushion beside her and he clambers almost eagerly up to tuck himself in beside her. Her throat nearly closes as he carefully spreads his blanket out to cover them both, the simple gesture of care and love. How do you look this boy in the eyes and tell him he can’t do something? “What was your bad dream about, do you want to tell me?”

“Monsters,” He says, as if that single word relays all the information she could possibly need. Maybe it does, really - at least the monsters her son dreams about are easier to vanquish than the ones Ronnie has to help him learn how to face on his own as he grows.

“Good thing I monster-proofed this house before we moved in,” Ronnie teases. She moves her arm around his shoulders and he smiles, faintly, eyes closing as he leans his head against her collarbone, his ear right where he’s always wanted it, ever since birth - over her heart. Listening to her heartbeat. Sure enough, his fingers find their way to her stomach and start to tap in time with it, and Ronnie sips her beer again.

“Monsters aren’t, aren’t, aren’t real, actually,” He says, speaking quietly and without opening her eyes, and Ronnie thinks if her six-year-old well, actuallys her one more time… she read all the parenting books and has a whole shelf of parenting memoirs she’s picked up and not a single one mentioned that little kids are fucking know-it-alls. Not one.

“Well, if they’re not real, then why are you buggin’ Mommy at midnight because of dreaming about them, huh?” She keeps her voice light and affectionate, just this side of teasing. Tristan doesn’t react well to any kind of perceived anger or rejection, moping for a day or more around while his brain tries to process that she didn’t stop loving him just because he did something that bothered her. Tris as a toddler broke her heart more than once with terrified insistence that you, you, you don’t even like me anymore after time-outs or discipline.

He’s just being manipulative, her mother had said once, but Ronnie knew better.

He’s three years old, Mom. He’s not trying to manipulate me, he’s scared.

He’s just doing what works, Veronica, you can’t always give in to it.

Mom. He is a little boy. Do you realize how you sound?

Now his teacher is repeating the same tired circular logic that cycles round and round her son without ever seeing him. Ronnie is staring down the barrel of another round of meetings, talking to administrators to try and get around the teacher’s rigidity and hostility, arguing for Tris to get moved into a new class, and all the while he’ll fall further and further behind in his in-class work - while at home he rockets through the homeschooling workbooks she buys, a six-year-old already doing second-grade reading and writing work, first-grade math, obsessed with a kid show about science that they have to watch every single day or he has seriously informed her he might die.

The knowledge is there, and his love of learning hasn’t been throttled by school yet, and Ronnie can’t do anything but try to work within a system that tells her that her son needs to be changed or cured in order to not be kept locked away from everyone else.

Monsters are pretty fucking real, in Ronnie’s experience.

One day her son will have to learn that all the monsters are human beings.

God, she’s so tired of fighting, and so very aware that she’s not going to stop until the whole damn world remakes itself to give space for Tristan, until the world deserves how unreservedly her son loves it.

She takes another drink, then sets the beer bottle carefully down on the coaster - she ordered them last year, and they all have little stylized drawings of the three of them on it, faceless sketches of a man, a woman, a child - man and child red-headed, woman with brown hair.

When she’d gotten the positive pregnancy test, right before Thanksgiving her junior year, she’d thrown up and cried for a week and been sullen and silent at the holiday table, trying to figure out what to do next.

But Paul had never hesitated. When she told him, his response had been to go home to his dad and ask to start working part-time with the Garden, running packages he never looked into, playing lookout outside of bars while the Garden met inside. His first pay - cash handed to him in an envelope - he’d spent some of it on a onesie, a baby blanket, and a stuffed puppy with fur so soft Ronnie could barely stand the fluff.

Then he’d spent some more on ginger chews and ‘Preggo Pops’, lollipops that were supposed to help with Ronnie’s morning sickness, and three books on pregnancy for her and one book on becoming a dad for him.

Paul did what Paul always did - took one look at a cliff he had to cross and simply leapt headfirst and hoped for the best. That impulsiveness that she loved and that had gotten him in so much trouble in life, the enthusiasm that carried her long with it.

There are monsters in the world, Ronnie thinks, running fingers through her son’s fine, soft hair. But there are people who help you fight the monsters, too. Even if the monster is just the stares from other students at school as her stomach grew, the way her friends’ parents stopped letting her come to their houses, the thin-lipped disapproval of the principal handing her a high school diploma as she half-waddled across the stage, refusing to be shamed, engagement ring on her finger. Even if the monster is a world that tries to shove her son into boxes that he can’t fit into, or a teacher who sends him home in tears convinced he’s too stupid to learn anything.

Her jaw sets.

Veronica Higgs has been headstrong since birth, and she’s never made a decision she didn't follow through on. Never turned away from a fight. She’s not about to start now, not when it’s her son.

Ronnie has never turned away from the sweet baby that had looked at her with such dark-eyed seriousness when he was born, the infant who cried for reasons Ronnie couldn't’ fathom, the toddler who screamed that the lights at Target hurt his skin, the little boy who lined up dinosaurs and cars and toy horses in perfect color gradients, the boy who rocks in her arms and hums when he’s happy, the boy she hopes will one day be able to live on his own without her, because…

Because if only Paul and Ronnie are going to fight for him, then they’re going to have to be a fight so fierce that everyone else can’t possibly hold out against them.

The doctors said he might not talk - and he talks a mile-a-minute, about any-fucking-thing that comes into his mind. They said he wouldn’t make friends easily, but he goes on sleepovers with his gymnastics buddies, just went to a party at Chuck E. Cheese with a little preparation so he wasn’t scared of the games and lights and noise when he got there. They said he would struggle in school, and-

Well, he does. But only because of the adults who refuse to understand that Tris learns just fine�� if you let him listen in his own way.

“Hey, Tris?” She smiles down at him and he turns those big green eyes up to her. There’s a chapped spot on his lower lip that looks like he might have messed with it until it opened into a sore, and she reminds herself to get some vaseline on it. “You want to stay here with me for a bit? We’ll watch one of your shows, and then back to bed. How’s that sound?”

He smiles at her, and nods a little, still tapping along to her heartbeat. “Oh, oh, okay, Mom. Can, can, can… can-can… can we watch Dino King?”

“Yeah, sure.” Ronnie hates that show, but really - he loves it, and it’s one night, and she could use the way his open, brilliant happiness helps her forget that he’s going to have to work harder and harder to hold onto it as he grows.

She picks up the remote, brings up the menu, switches to a streaming network, and listens to the grating, familiar theme song start to play as her son’s eyes move contentedly to the screen.

He watches the show, but he never takes his head away from her heartbeat.

---

Natalie Yoder has had easier nights than this one, that’s for fucking sure. She leans over the kitchen table, papers spread out in front of her, trying to figure out where they went wrong. This is one of their biggest grants, it’s a bit of funding that she has always relied on, and… denied approval for the upcoming fiscal year.

Thousands of dollars she needs to feed and clothe and house her rescues, gone up in smoke, denied with a bloodless email and no ability to fight back, not for this one. Not this year. It could be a simple error, something she overlooked, sure. Or maybe the association that gives out the grants is suspicious of her story about transitioning homeless people into permanent housing, which really is exactly what she’s doing, isn’t it?

Just… not the kind of homeless people the grant givers are imagining.

She’ll have to call Vince to beg for him to help her fill in the gap, and that will mean time for him to speak with his finance guy and get another couple of shell companies to funnel the money through so it doesn’t go back to him. He’ll give it to her, to be sure - Vince could give her the money to run this place flat out for the rest of his life and still be one of the wealthiest men in America, thanks to his low-key lifestyle and strong work ethic meaning he spends more time filming or producing than he does doing anything else.

Nat knows why Vince doesn’t want to be home, to sit up alone with a bottle or a glass in his hand. She knows his work ethic is simply escaping the demons that will never stop haunting his footsteps, what he traded away for his success, what he lost, what the money and fame can protect him from but can’t remove the stamp of it already written over his soul.

He’s famous, and rich, and Owen Grant can’t touch him now… but the tradeoff of Vince’s survival was that some innocent kid was abducted and turned, through drugs and torture and horrifying assault, into Kauri.

Kauri, who hasn’t answered the phone or sent a text in a week.

Not since that fucking group meeting where Chris was assaulted and Kauri stood up for him. Not since Kauri’s intuition that Kyle had some less-than-savory interest in Chris had proven correct, because… it wasn’t intuition at all.

It was experience.

Nat groans, rubbing her hands over her face, closing her eyes and reminding herself, teeth ground together, to try and stay calm. It’s not unusual for Kauri to disappear for a while, a week or more. It’s not a sign that something is wrong. He was hurt by Nat pushing him, he needs time to think.

He’ll pop right back up again, smiling like nothing happened, like he isn’t giving Nat gray hairs (well, new ones, anyway) trying to tell herself he’ll be okay.

All she can do is trust that he’ll come back when he’s ready.

... and castigate herself for letting that fucking predator get close to Chris without picking up on what he was planning, and for not realizing Kauri wasn’t just being overprotective of a younger rescue, but - in his own way - waving giant red flags that Nat, and Jake, and everyone else just didn’t see.

That, and then losing the grant, have made for one hell of a fucking week.

Nat takes deep breaths. Her hands smell like dish soap and a hint of the roasted garlic she’d put in the soup for supper lingering. The kitchen still smells like the garlic, roasted parsnips and rosemary. Chris had never had parsnips before-

Not that anyone knows if he really hasn’t or not.

“Oh, Nat, you are a mess tonight,” She mutters to herself. “Just full-on moping, huh? That’s how we’re gonna play it?”

Then she hears the soft scrape of a foot on the tile and looks up, blinking, to see Chris in the doorway, leaning against the wood of the frame, the big purple fuzzy blanket she’d gotten him a few weeks back wrapped around his narrow shoulders, the hints of faded muscle that still linger there. Usually he’s draped in Jake’s clothes but tonight he’s only wearing his basketball shorts, no shirt at all.

The rare glimpse of so much of Chris’s skin - she hasn’t seen so much of him since the night he arrived in the pouring rain - tells Nat more than anything else that Chris isn’t okay, either.

“Hey, Chris. What’s up, sweetheart?” Nat glances over at the oven, squinting at the clock, and then groans. “Jesus, it’s nearly 2 am. I lost track of time, I guess.”

Chris doesn’t move from the doorway, not at first. He’s gone quiet again, since the assault, regressing back into periods of stillness and silence that they were so sure he’d gotten past. Jake says he’s testing again, trying to push Jake and Antoni into repeating the patterns that were tortured into his mind as normal, reacting with relief at their rejections - and then testing again, within hours, reminding himself that they’ll never say yes.

Nat looks at him, the shadows under his green eyes, and tries, “Did you have a nightmare?”

He slowly nods, and she watches his hands twist a little into the soft fabric of his blanket, rhythmically twisting to the side and back, nearly invisible with how well he can hide what he does to soothe himself, a skill taught in all the worst ways, learned in a desperate attempt to keep himself sane.

“Hm. I can see that. Was it about the meeting, the other night?”

His eyes dance away from hers, move to the ceiling, and he’s staring upwards at the rough texture up there as he nods, chewing on his lower lip with his top teeth, worrying at a spot that she knows he’ll eventually work to bleeding, sooner or later. He pauses and says, softly, “Kauri… didn’t come find me. That was, was my... my dream. And... it. It hurt.”

His voice, slow drips of speech, hits Nat like a knife to the heart. She nods, slowly, and pushes herself up, chair scraping back across the tile. Chris flinches minutely at the sound, curling a little into himself. “I understand, sweetheart,” She says, softly. “I’m so sorry we didn’t know sooner.”

She thinks, looking at him, of Daniel in the lion’s den, an old Bible story that’s never left her. Daniel trusted God and walked out unscathed, but she’s always thought maybe he wasn’t quite as unscathed as the Bible wants you to think he was.

It’s one thing to have faith that you’ll survive being thrown in with monsters - it’s another to be so inhuman that you don’t wake with nightmares, for months or years after, that you were never saved at all. She is certain, deep down inside of her, that Daniel dreamed of a lion’s teeth and a promise broken, a prayer unheard.

The stories talk about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in a furnace walking out of the flames untouched, but of course the flames had still touched them. Scars aren’t always written openly on your skin.

Of course they dreamed of flames scorching their skin, curling their hair, smoke stealing breath from their lungs. They, like Daniel, must have woken gasping, certain that their faith had been misplaced, that their trust that someone stood between them and the monsters who would destroy them had been betrayed.

They must have breathed, panting, in the middle of the night, and sworn they could still see the smoke in the air, feel the heat against their skin.

They must have needed to come fully awake to remember - and believe - that they had been rescued. They must have needed the reminder.

Chris has no scars from walking with monsters - all his scars are inside his head. Chris’s scars come in his fear that she will not want him, that no one really wants him, when he can’t fight back or say no or defend himself, when he needs someone else to be his defense, to go to war. They come in his insistent, constant testing of Jake, pushing to see if it’s all been a lie, if they only want to use him the way he has been taught he is made to be used.

“Kauri was smarter than any of the rest of us,” Nat says, feeling suddenly exhausted. “We should have listened. I shouldn’t have had to step in. You deserved better.”

Chris deserves a fucking angel to lead him untouched out of the flames.

All he has is Jake - and Nat.

She fills a saucepan with cold milk while he watches her, his eyes on her back a tangible, palpable weight, and pops a lid on, turning the dial until the flames flicker up from the burner to start heating it to a simmer.

“I’m going to have hot chocolate the old fashioned way,” She announces, pulling down a bag with some discs of melting chocolate in it. They cost too much and mostly nobody notices the difference, but tonight… tonight, she thinks the extra effort is worth it. “You want whipped cream on yours, when it’s done?”

“Yes, please,” He whispers, and she looks over at him with a small smile. His hair is mussed still from sleep, a hint of red on his cheek where he must have had it pressed into a pillow. His freckles stand out in the thin light of the kitchen’s overhead light fixture.

Next door, at Miss Ruth’s, a light turns on, and Nat glances through her own window to see it. Jaden, probably - that kid sleeps about as little as Chris does.

“Well, good, because I’m having some, too.” She pauses, leaning her back against the kitchen counter. There’s a long silence that draws out between them. The milk heats, bubbling just the tiniest bit around the edges in the saucepan, and Nat carefully drops in the chocolate discs to melt whisking until the liquid is a rich brown, thickened, ready for her to pour carefully into two mugs and top with the spray-bottle whipped cream she keeps in the fridge.

Nat sets the mugs down on the kitchen table, pulling Chris a chair up right next to hers. He relaxes a little at the tacit, silent request for closeness, drops into his chair with a slight smile playing over his face. He picks up the mug with both hands and takes a sip, getting whipped cream at the end of his nose, wiping it off with a scrunched-up expression that lifts some of the fatigue that dogs Nat’s muscles in the early-morning hours.

“I know the dreams are scary,” Nat says softly, reaching out to lay a hand on his back. He looks over at her, with those giant green eyes in his narrow face, searching for something in her. Maybe just for certainty that the promises she’s made to him will be kept. “But Kauri did come to help you. And you’re safe here, with us. We’ll always come for you, Chris, no matter what.”

He leans over, with slow inevitability, until the top of his head brushes against her neck, his head just at her collarbone. She lets her arm slide around his shoulders, her hand moving to run fingers slowly through his fine, soft coppery hair. “I, I, I forgot how to say no,” He whispers, and presses his head against her.

“I know, honey. But that’s okay, we get back up and try again, right?” Nat sips her own hot chocolate slowly, and Chris holds his cupped warm in his palms, but even as he keeps taking sips, he doesn’t pull away from her. Eventually, he puts the mug back down on the table and shifts a little, so his ear is just over her heart.

“We, we, we try again,” He whispers. “But, but, but I don’t want to, to, to, I don’t-... want to be, um, to be scared again, to… have someone-”

“I know.” Nat swallows, her throat closing, briefly, but she fights it back and keeps her voice - and her hand through his hair - steady as she speaks. “There are going to be bad people out there, Chris, who want to hurt you. But you’re not alone.”

She thinks again of Daniel, waking from nightmares of gnashing teeth, maybe kicking off blankets and pacing a room, his skin written invisibly with the aftermath of a terror that never punctured skin. She thinks of three men in a fire, dreaming again and again that the fourth never arrived to lead them out of the flames.

She thinks of promises made, and kept. Prayers spoken in desperation, and answered, although so often far too late.

She thinks of the prayers for mercy, in the cold white rooms, that are never heard at all.

She’s tired, but she loves them - all of them, who have passed through her doors and gone on to other places - and she can’t imagine being anything but their army, their defense, the wall they can hide behind to rebuild themselves until they fight on their own.

Not on their own, though, never really on their own.

She may never know what happened to him, to bring him here to her doorstep - but she knows that he doesn’t have to face the monsters, the flames, the danger alone. Not anymore.

“You’re safe here,” She says, gently, and turns her head to rest her chin on top of his head. “You’re safe here, and loved, and there’s nothing we won’t do to make sure you’re safe. Whatever comes at you, sweetheart, we’ve got you. And we’ll fight it for you, every time, until you can fight for yourself.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he asks, in a whisper, “Do, do, do you you-you promise?”

“Promise, Chris. Cross my heart and hope-”

“Don’t-... don’t say the, the end of it.” His voice weakens. “Please.”

“Sorry, sweetie.” She tightens the arm around his shoulders a little, and feels him snuggle closer in response, a low sigh of relief at the reassurance in the embrace. “Swear on everything. I’ve got you, and Jake has got you, and we’re not gonna disappear. I don’t-... I don’t know if we can always save the day for you, Chris, but I can promise you that we will always try.”

He hums, eyes closing. One of his hands slides over her stomach, and begins - slight, soft, barely-there - to tap.

It takes Nat a few seconds to realize that he is tapping along to the beat of her heart.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @orchidscript, @itallcomesdowntopain

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magnus-the-maqnificent · 4 years

Text

Lost Book of the White Countdown Event - Parenthood

Lost and Found

(Read on Ao3)

"Oh!" said the warlock when she caught sight of Magnus. "Is that your baby?"

The night sky stretched over the Shadow Market of New York like a large canvas, dotted with a sparse covering of stars like specks of white paint. Magnus was supposed to spend this night in the comfort of his home, looking after his son while his boyfriend hunted down demons in the darker corners of the city. Magnus had been making futile attempts to lull Max to sleep, but then he'd received a call from a warlock acquaintance of his, saying that she needed his assistance immediately and that a few mundanes had been turned into toads.

So Magnus had brought out his best strap-on baby carrier and put Max in it, and walked over to the Shadow Market while Max pointed to random objects like streetlights and cars and gurgled the whole time. Magnus had simply nodded along to his meaningless blabber, occasionally dropping a comment like 'that's right, blueberry' and 'you're so smart, blueberry'.

Now, he nodded at the warlock and said, "Yes, Misa, this is my child. Say hello, Max."

He took Max's hand and waved it at her, though he seemed disinterested in conversing with the warlock. He was intently staring at the pair of antennae that stuck out from the top of Misa's head.

"Hello Max," Misa said, giving him a cheerful smile. Her antennae waved about, probing the air, and Max giggled at the sight of them. Misa looked at Magnus. "I'm sorry for bringing you out here at this time."

"It’s alright. How about you show me the problem?" Magnus asked. He wanted to finish this as quickly as possible.

"Of course, come in."

To summarize the problem, a bunch of teenage mundanes somehow found the Shadow Market, and requested Misa to make a potion that would enhance their beauty. Clearly they hadn't known much about magic or its use, and just wanted to attract more attention to themselves at school, and thought that magic was their best solution.

"But something went wrong with the potion. One of the boys was poking around the tent and knocked an entire bottle of newt's eyes into the potion. Before I could mitigate the damage, however, the potion went awry and vaporized, and they all turned into toads. Luckily I came out fine, and called you as soon as possible," Misa explained.

Magnus extracted some more details from her, such as the nature of the potion she had been preparing and the precise amount of newt's eyes spilled into it. While they talked, Max squirmed around in the baby carrier, occasionally mumbling something unintelligible. Around them, on the ground, the toads were merrily hopping around.

"I don't think we can do anything," Magnus said after a while of conversing. "You'll just have to wait for them to turn back. That will hopefully teach them not to meddle with magic."

Misa sighed. "Very well, then. I'll-"

She broke off with a gasp. The baby carrier felt much lighter all of a sudden, and Magnus jumped when something swooped past his face.

"Did he just turn into a bat?" Misa asked, wondering.

"He does that sometimes," Magnus said nonchalantly, though there was a twinge of panic in his heart. "It's nothing to worry about."

They watched as Max, now a bat, flew around the roof of the tent for a few moments. Then, swift as a bird, he changed course and flew right through the open flap of the tent.

"Max, no!" Magnus yelled, running out of the tent. But Max was much faster. Magnus looked in every direction, but he couldn't see Max anywhere.

Magnus's breathing became labored and his heart picked up speed as he realised with a sinking feeling that he lost Max in a bustling, large, crowded market. How was he supposed to find him?

Luckily, Misa agreed to help him search and they split up, agreeing on a rendezvous spot and to call the other if they found Max. Magnus hustled through the crowds, asking around if anyone had seen a blue warlock baby or a lone bat flying around.

Max!

Panic was starting to set in, making Magnus's hands shake as he held up his phone, showing Max's photo to passersby and asking if they had seen him anywhere. No one knew where he was.

Max, where are you?!

"I think I saw a bat near Willow the werewolf's stall earlier," said one at last. Magnus thanked him profusely before running off to the stall, praying that his son was safe.

Max, come back to bapa, please!

The demon could hardly believe his eyes.

It was a child, a warlock child, sitting on the grimy floor of an alleyway and playing with a few stray pixies. He was giggling as the pixies swarmed around him, playfully tugging at his hair while blue magic spilled from his hands like water. He was so young, and so full of life.

A smile spread across the demon's mouth as it shuffled on the wall, a sharp razor-like tongue flicking out and lashing at the air. It could already feel the taste of the boy in its mouth.

The boy looked up and caught sight of it, his giggles fading as he met the demon's eyes. He looked at it with a sort of wonder, as if he had never seen a demon before. The pixies gasped and flitted away as fast as they could. At least they knew to be scared.

The demon waited a few moments, staring at the boy. His hands sparked with magic, but clearly he was too young to know how to properly use it.

Good.

Bending back its hind legs, it poised, and then lunged at the boy.

"Max!" Magnus yelled, looking around for a trace of his baby. He was close to the stall where Max had been sighted, but the owner hadn't seen him, and neither had any of the neighboring stall owners.

He was beginning to get some looks, but Magnus could care less.

"Max!" Magnus yelled again, his throat feeling hoarse and tight and his heart beating frantically in his chest. Max had to be somewhere close by. He couldn't lose his baby just like that. He had to find him.

Magnus was about to yell once more when he heard a loud scream emanating from somewhere behind two stalls. The voice was unmistakable.

"Max!" Magnus pushed through the tiny gap between the smalls, which opened out into a wider alley between two brick buildings. He froze when he found Max at last.

There was something clutching onto him, something lumpy and black. The figure rose, and Magnus had just begun muttering a spell to fire at it when it turned to look at him.

"Magnus," said Alec, holding a crying Max in his arms, in the light of his own magic Magnus could see a fresh stain of ichor on Alec’s gear. "What happened?! I was patrolling nearby, and some pixies dragged me here just in time. If I had been a moment late-"

Alec didn't need to finish his statement. If I had been a moment late, the demon would've gotten him. And it would all be my fault.

Magnus shook off his half-muttered spell, and stared at Alec for a long time. The only sound was of Max crying.

In retrospect, the image of Alec, fresh from a demon hunt and holding a baby in his arms was very sexy, but in that moment all Magnus could feel was immense relief. He slumped back against the alley wall, but Alec was there first, supporting him with one hand behind his back.

Then the shame hit him. He had almost gotten his son killed. If only he had been more careful-

"Magnus," Alec said in a low voice. By now, Max's cries had been reduced to sniffles, and he was wiping his tears against Alec’s gear. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Magnus said, his voice shaking a little. He reached up a hand to brush his hair out of his hand, and was surprised when his wobbly fingers met a layer of sweat on his forehead. He had been thoroughly shook by the whole experience, and hadn't even realized it. "I'm fine."

Alec was silent a moment, then said, "Come on, let's go home."

Alec was silent the whole time Magnus recounted the events of that night, sitting beside him on the couch with Max held in his arms.

"I'm a terrible father," Magnus muttered after he was done, hanging his head. "I couldn't even handle him for a night."

"Don't say that," Alec said softly. "You did nothing wrong - Max ran away on his own. What matters is that we found him in time."

"But if we hadn't found him-" Magnus couldn't even think of the possibility.

"But we did," Alec reiterated. "We did, and he's safe now, and that's all that matters. And you're an amazing father, Magnus. Don't ever say that you aren't. We're still learning, and we make mistakes, but that doesn't mean we're being terrible parents."

"How can you be so sure?" Magnus asked, though a part of him had calmed down at Alec's words.

Alec smiled. "I know you, Magnus. I know you're never terrible at anything - well, except maybe for the charing."

"I told you never to bring that up!" Magnus protested, but Alec ignored him.

"Also, Max loves you. Don't you, Max?"

Max looked up at Alec. He was playing with a slinky, though it now resembled a jingly mass of wire, and stared incomprehensibly at Alec. Magnus smiled and took Max from him, holding him up at eye level.

"Don't you ever run away like that again, okay?" Magnus warned in a light tone. Max only blinked at him in reply.

"You silly baby." Magnus said, and kissed Max on the cheek. Max stared at him with wide eyes after he pulled away, and then leaned in, brushing his mouth against Magnus’s cheek in an imitation of a kiss.

"Did he just-" Alec broke off, and he and Magnus stared at Max in surprise, though he was oblivious to their attention.

Alec's eyes softened, and he pressed an experimental kiss against Max's cheek. Like with Magnus, Max leaned towards Alec and bumped his mouth against Alec's cheek.

"Oh, my baby," Alec said, taking Max in his arms and kissing him all over his face. "My sweet baby."

Max giggled at the onslaught of affection, and Magnus's heart cracked open in that moment, spilling happiness and love into his veins. He moved in, wrapping his arms around both of them and kissed them on their heads.

"I love you," he said, holding them close, his love and his son. "I love you both so, so much."

"I love you too," Alec whispered, turning his head up and placing a kiss against Magnus’s jaw. Magnus smiled, and held on to this moment, promising to himself to be the best possible father to his blueberry.

#lbotwcountdown #lbotwcountdownevent #magnus bane #alec lightwood #max lightwood bane #my fics

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descendantofthesparrow · 4 years

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commission work - two part- Harry Hook x Reader - Happily Ever After - p1

@musicarose

You woke to cries from the other room, your eyes snapping open. you sat up quickly, blearily looking to the clock on your nightstand, the red lights glowing brightly.

3:15 am

You sniffed, before noticing the cries had stopped, your husband stepping through the bedroom door moments later with your daughter in his arms.

“hey” he whispered hoarsely, the eyeliner smudged around his eyes, making him look even more tired than he was “did she wake yeh?” you hummed and held out your arms, making harry laugh as he walked over to your side of the bed and carefully placed Arella into your arms.

He leaned a little farther and pressed his lips to yours, smiling as he did so “love you lass” he whispered, leaning back and walking around to his side, pulling back his sheets and laying down next to you, laying his head on your lap and cooing up at Arella.

“love you too Harry” you whispered back, kissing Arella’s forehead and leaning back on your pillows with her on your chest, harry staying on your thighs as he stared up at you and Arella with pure love in his eyes.

He still couldn’t believe that he had this, a happily ever after like he was so often told he would never have, because villains didn’t get them.

He was happy, truly happy, he had a beautiful wife and child, with plans for another in about a year, and a big house by the sea, with his own ship (which was a wedding gift from Ben that was more a boat than a ship).

He was nothing like his father, and it was his proudest achievement.

He still remembered the day he met you

He felt his heartbeat loudly as he stared at the (h/c) girl standing next to the brown-haired girl. He swallowed harshly as he heard her voice, it sounded like music to his ears.

What was going on with him?!? He had never felt this way before. Gil looked at him confused as he stared at the girl.

“oh! Aww Ha-“ Harry smacked Gil's shoulder quickly.

“shut the hell up Gil” he muttered darkly, feeling heat creep up his cheeks as he forced his eyes away from her.

He needed to focus.

“hi!” Harry jumped slightly as someone spoke up behind him, he spun around, jaw-dropping slightly as he locked eyes with you “Harry right? We met during the whole…..Audrey fiasco”

You held out your hand, smiling brightly at him, he nervously took your hand, feeling heat creep up his cheeks again. “aye that would be me, and I heard jane call yeh…(y/n)?”

“yep that’s me!” you released his hand, tilting your head adorably, making him mentally scream from it. “I was wondering if you would like to dance?”

“u-um yes!” he squeaked, smiling nervously as you took his once more outstretched hand and dragged him onto the dance floor.

Was this what all those princes and princesses were talking about?

And that set off a whirlwind of events that set his life on the right track, to this day he still got butterflies when he looked into your eyes. And now there was another little light to his life.

His amazing little Arella, who had his eyes and her mother's face and hair. The little girl turned in her mother's arms, her ocean blue eyes staring into his matching ones.

“Hello little love” he cooed, leaning up and kissing her cheek, little happy gurgles coming from her. “yeh just wanted some love didn’t yeh?” you chuckled, knowing as soon as harry had picked her up she had stopped crying.

“go grab some barriers” harry pouted not wanting to leave but obeyed, sitting up and going to the closest, grabbing some baby bed barriers so Arella wouldn’t roll off the bed.

You watched as harry popped the barriers in place, smirking as the light from the moon illuminated his back and arm muscles.

“yer staring~” he teased, smirking at you from over his shoulder. You pouted and rolled your eyes.

“what? I cant stare at my husband?” you teased back, still loving the fact you could call him that.

You looked down at your left hand, giggling as Arella started to try to take the red ruby ring off your finger, you gently pried her hands off, kissing her fingers lightly as you admired the rings.

Your engagement ring was Harrys mother’s, while your wedding ring was a carved golden band with some protection engravings from uma.

Your eyes drifted off, locking on your wedding photo, harry lifting you in a high princess hold, looking up at you as if you were his world, while you looked down at him, pure love and happiness in your eyes.

And then 9 months later arella was born.

…yeah you and harry got pretty busy after the wedding. But anyway back to the main story.

Harry cracked his neck as he stood and walked back over to his side of the bed, laying down properly next to you, quickly kissing your cheek and blowing a raspberry on Arellas cheek.

She let out a loud giggle and reached out for him, you set her between his shoulder and chest and shuffled down to lay next to them, hiking your leg over Harry's hips.

“yeh know, chad told me I would hate a clingy girl but honestly im livin’ meh best life” harry joked, his free hand stroking your leg.

“remind me to kick his butt tomorrow” you sleepily muttered, smiling as Arella yawned and clutched onto your finger.

“yes, ma’am” Harry chuckled, kissing Arella's forehead and closing his eyes.

“Reports have come in about the jolly roger, it is said that captain hook has returned to wreak havoc on neverland and by extension Auradon, we suggest you keep all doors and windows locked until we find him” harry sighed, fingers twitching nervously as he thought of his father running around loose in auradon.

He feared for his wife and child. He sighed, sipping at his water and numbly looking back at the screen.

soon the news switched, to the anniversary of the joining of the isle and Auradon.

Ben was one screen, Mal behind him on his left while Uma stood a couple of feet back on his right, Evie next to her.

“on this day 4 years ago, we finally let down the isle border and reunited our people. And I am proud to say that we have lived well together, the people of the isle finally living without starvation and poverty, and the people of Auradon finally overlooking our prejudice-“

Harry zoned out at that moment, hearing your footsteps from behind him, small wining noises along with your soft speech.

He turned, smiling as he caught sight of you holding Arella, the little babe snuggled into your shoulder, fist in her mouth.

“morning love” he hummed, leaning up for a kiss from you.

“morning” you chirped, handing Arella to Harry and grabbing her breakfast. “so are we still planning on going to the party tonight”

“aye, CJ offered to watch Arella n stuff so we should be good ta go” harry crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out, Arella bursting out in laughter and making grabby hands at him.

“aww…I love yeh my little princess” he hummed, kissing her forehead and holding her close.

You smiled to yourself as you heard him talk to your little girl, god, you were so lucky meeting and marrying this handsome pirate.

You invited the rest of the vks to chill in your house for a small bit. Uma, Gil, Mal, Ben, Evie, Jay, Carlos, and dude following you inside.

As you walked up the steps, you felt a cold chill run down your spine.

The front door window was smashed open. You looked to harry for a split second before rushing to the door, it was unlocked, you slammed it open calling for CJ.

“CJ?!” you heard slightly whimpers coming from upstairs, you heard harry gasp, looking to the wall, you saw one carved long line leading up the stairs.

Someone had run a blade on the wall as they stalked upstairs.

“CJ WHERES ARELLA!” you screamed, running upstairs, almost tripping over multiple pictures that had been tossed on the ground.

“CJ-“ you looked up, CJ was laying on the ground, a couple of feet away from Arellas room, a large cut on her face.

“CJ!” you kneeled next to her, sighing in slight relief as she only had some bruises on top of her cut.

“wheres-what happened” you stressed, helping her sit up.

“da….da he broke in and-and Arella was screaming an-“ CJs voice broke, glassy eyes looking to the broken door of Arellas room.

You let out a choked sob, standing quickly and joining harry in Arellas room, falling to your knees as she was nowhere in sight, her pillow and bed ripped up, her precious octopus plushie torn to pieces.

“NO!” you screamed, sobbing into your hands, hearing harry fall to his knees next to your and tugging you into his chest, his own tears falling into your hair.

“NO!”

Harry grit his teeth, his old isle rage coming back full force.

His father wouldn’t survive this.

He would make sure of that.

--end of part 1--

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#descendants #Descendents #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #commission #2 parter

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starbuckie · 4 years

Text

Some Quarantine Lovin’ Chapter Six: When Can I See You Again?

Marvel Highschool!AU

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Obscene amounts of fluff, kissing, swearing, kinda a lot of angst

Description: Bucky Barnes is absolutely, no doubt about it, in love with Y/N L/N. He’s loved her since the day he laid eyes on her in the third grade. He loved her when he had his own girlfriend, and when he was barely friends with her for a whole summer. And of course, in his freshman year, they are now stuck together. In a house. During a worldwide quarantine. This should be fun.

Words: 3,555 words

A/N: We are almost at the end! Jeez, I can’t believe it. Anyways, I don’t have a lot to say, but the little story about Sam missing his final is definitely based off the time in freshman year of highschool when @transparentfestivaltiger came to class late and had to retake her final, which I still bully her about to this day. As always, thank you to my dearest Geena for being my sassy beta, and y’all need to check out her writing(@transparentfestivaltiger). MAKE SURE Y’ALL ARE STAYING SAFE AND SOCIALLY DISTANCING AND WEAR YOUR GODDAMN MASKS PLEASE! enjoy this chapter, loves <3

George Barnes’ funeral took place nine days after his death. It was a small affair consisting of just Y/N’s family, a few of Mr. Barnes’ work friends, the Rogers’ family, and, of course, Bucky and Becca. Bucky gave a small speech, one written about his father’s life and what he had accomplished, but he didn’t speak one word about what events had taken place inside of his family’s house. There was nothing else he had to say about his dad, no words of endearment or love. George was buried at Evergreen Cemetery, and as his father was lowered into the ground, Bucky was finally able to let go of the burden he had felt all his life.

After they finished the ceremony, none of his father’s friends hung around, due to the ongoing quarantine. Steve’s family stayed, saying they had to talk to Y/N’s parents about something. “Hey, guys.” Steve said. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Bucky sniffled, most of the tears dry on his face and nodded. “Yeah, it has been, pal.”

Y/N stood by his side, baby pink mask covering her face, holding baby Becca. The fifteen-year-old girl couldn’t even imagine how this all felt to the baby. Would she even remember this? She could barely even talk, still letting out little baby gurgles at one year old. As the two boys talked, six feet apart, of course, Y/N wondered what would happen to the Barnes’ siblings. Bucky was only fifteen, he only had a job during the summer, and he needed a legal guardian. He and Becca couldn’t live by themselves yet. Would they go to an orphanage? Or be taken to a family far away? She couldn’t stand that thought. Y/N knew it wasn’t her choice, but she couldn’t help but be a little bit selfish. They needed to be with a family who loved them, who cherished them, and most importantly, that they loved back. “Y/N?”

Bucky’s voice made the girl snap out of her thoughts, and Becca giggled happily and made grabby hands towards her older brother. Y/N envied her innocence. “Hey, Buck,” she said. “Stevie! I haven’t seen you in so long.”

Steve smiled, from what she could tell, under his mask and waved to her. “Yeah, I can’t believe it’s been almost two months. We all need to hang out soon.”

Y/N and Bucky shared looks with each other. Especially because they lived in New York, Y/N’s parents were more conscious than ever of having them going out and hanging around other people. “I can ask my mom and dad, but if we all stay apart I’m sure they’ll agree.” Steve and Bucky nodded together in agreement. “How have you been doing, Steve?”

Sighing, the blonde-haired boy ran a hand through his cropped hair, which had miraculously managed to look the same as the last time she saw him in person. “You know, just been reading and painting a whole lot. Oh, I drew this portrait of Nat! I’ll send it to you.” A few moments after he looked through his phone, Y/N heard her own alert with a message. She readjusted the baby onto her hip, and opening the message, she gasped. Steve had managed to capture Natasha perfectly from a photo she had posted on her Instagram. It was absolutely beautiful, with her red hair looking like a fiery haze and green eyes sparkling. “Jesus, Steve, this is absolutely amazing, it’s so realistic.”

“Let me see, doll.” She handed him the phone and saw his blue eyes widen in awe. “Steve, you really outdid yourself on this one.” His face heated up at the couple’s words. “Aw, you got a little crush, Stevie?” After receiving no response, Bucky pointed at his friend accusingly. “Holy crap, you do!” Steve only managed to nod his head before ducking down in embarrassment.

At this point, Y/N didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t her place to say, but she also didn’t want Steve to get hurt. Natasha had told her and Wanda earlier in the seventh grade that she liked girls, and the two couldn’t be any more proud of their friend. While Wanda did ask Tasha occasionally when she was going to tell the rest of the group, she had a good reason not to. Her parents, while they were kind to her, were closed off to many modern values. Natasha’s mom stayed at home and has taught the red-haired girl that one day she would do the same and take care of her husband and their babies. She felt trapped, and her two best friends completely understood that she wasn’t ready to come out yet.

“How long have you liked her, Steve?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious.

“I think it was when I met you two in third grade, around when Bucky first started crushing on you.” Now that was new information to Y/N. Whipping around her head to look at her boyfriend, she squinted her eyes at Bucky, who seemed to be so very interested in the dirt. Deciding that she would tease him about it later, she turned back to Steve.

“That’s… nice.” Y/N didn’t mean to sound so rude, but it was extremely awkward for her and she didn’t know what else to say. Both of the boys stared at her weirdly for her strange response, and she could feel their eyes burning through her. She felt guilty for not telling Steve before he got hurt, but Natasha needed her, and she was loyal to her. Luckily Steve’s parents had finished talking to the L/N’s so it was time for all three kids to go. “Bye, Stevie, we’ll see you soon, I hope.”

“We can ask the rest of the gang when we work with them. Maybe when we’re out of school and classes are done.” Steve suggested. Bucky took Becca from Y/N’s hold and wrapped an arm around his girlfriend’s waist.

“I’ll talk to you soon, Steve.” The three said their goodbyes, and with a last wave, Steve walked back to his family.

“Are you okay, baby?” Y/N asked. Bucky let out a breath and shut his eyes. The last few tears fell and raced down his face, and with that, Bucky knew he would be okay. He had no clue what was to become of him and his sister, but for now, he was safe and had his girlfriend who loved him very, very much. And that was all he needed for now.

“Yeah,” Bucky let out a small smile, “I really am.” Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder and the two stood in silence, watching over the grassy field.

The lawyer called two days after that. Bucky’s dad had left him in the will, seeming as if there was no one else in their family alive to have the belongings except for those in Romania, who probably had no clue the Barnes siblings even existed. Bucky had to sit in a conference Zoom call with Mr. and Mrs. L/N, his father’s lawyer, and for some odd reason, the Rogers’ parents and their lawyer as well. Y/N sat outside the room, ear to the door, trying to hear what they were all saying, but was sent to her room after her mom opened the door and she fell down.

“Fine then, be that way, mom.” She mumbled on her way to the room. Y/N was trying to be productive while waiting for her boyfriend to return, using this free time to finish her homework for the week, though it was only a Monday. They didn’t have finals, but that just added more to the piles upon piles of homework they were already receiving. Apparently the teachers believed the students had so much more free time, they would be able to finish three packets of Physics in one night. Bullshit.

At some point in the two hours on the call, Becca started to whine so Y/N played with her and watched cartoons on her iPad, while also discovering her interest in “Little Einsteins” on Disney+. “Becca, do you know what song this is?” Of course Becca wouldn't recognize it, but the sweet melody of Mozart reminded the teenager of sitting on the wooden floor of the Barnes’ home as a fourth-grader, and watching in amazement as Bucky’s mother’s fingers drifted across the keys. “Your mama used to play this all the time for me and your big brother when we were younger.” The baby simply just stared at her, bright blue eyes filled with curiosity. Becca didn’t remember her mother, as she had died while giving birth. “She was an amazing person, your mama.” Y/N scooped up the little girl in her arms and cradled her to her chest, regaling stories of Mrs. Barnes. She didn’t even notice until later, but tears had started to trace down her cheeks as she brought back memories.

Suddenly, the door creaked open and Bucky popped his head inside the room, a quiet, but happy smile on his face. “Was that the time in sixth grade when we made that slip and slide in my backyard and got my ma all soaked?” Y/N nodded and chuckled wetly. Bucky, still grinning, walked over to the bed and caressed his girlfriend’s face with his thumbs. “Why are you crying, baby?”

Placing Becca down gently next to her, she slipped into Bucky’s embrace. His hands massaged her shoulders gently, and she could hear his heart beating softly in his chest. “I’m sorry, James, I’m just thinking about your ma too much. She was an absolutely beautiful person.”

“She really was, doll. I miss her a whole damn lot.” Bucky sighed happily and let his chin rest on her head. “But, I’ve got you here with me now, and I’ve got adults who decided to adopt me and Becca who love us, so I’ve got to say that I’m done dwelling on the past and ready for a very happy future.” At the mention of new parents, Y/N’s heart dropped and she snapped her head up to look at him. He was smiling brightly now, and she could not figure out why.

“You’re being adopted?” Y/N asked. She honestly couldn’t tell if her voice was shaking or not, but by the way he rubbed her back more soothingly, she assumed she was. “Are they nice?”

Bucky chuckled at the question, and nodded his head. “They’re very nice, Y/N. I know them personally.” Had her parents adopted him? Well, she was happy that he was in a family that loved him to pieces, but that would mean that she was currently dating her step-brother, which was a slightly disturbing thought to her.

“My parents?” She asked softly.

He shook his head and grinned. “You may now call me James Buchanan Barnes-Rogers.” Y/N’s jaw dropped.

“Are you joking? You and Becca were adopted by Steve’s mom and dad?” Y/N could barely believe it.

“I kid you not, doll, I am now a Rogers.” With a squeal, she pushed forward and kissed him, forcing him to fall on his back on the bed. After a few moments, they both sat up, tears in their eyes. “Okay, I was kidding about the Rogers thing though, me and Bec are keeping our last names, but Steve and I are now legally brothers.”

“That’s why they were talking to my parents for so long the other day?” Y/N inquired. “How is this going to work in quarantine though? Oh, does Steve know? He’s going to be so excited, the two of you are best friends!”

Chuckling at her excitement and endless questions, he cut her off with a chaste, yet nonetheless sweet kiss. “Sarah and Joseph already had a talk with him before we spoke to the lawyers, so I’m going to call him soon. We’ve decided that I’ll stay here for the rest of the quarantine just to stay safe because you know his dad goes out at night to the firm. But we’re selling the house, and all of the money is going to me and Bec’s college funds. That’s pretty much all I know, I was zoning out for most of it.”

Rolling her eyes playfully, Y/N teased, ”Of course you were.” They leaned back together, her head resting on his chest as he ran a hand through her hair. “You’re going to be so happy, James.” Bucky closed his eyes and smiled in peaceful bliss, for what seemed like the first time in forever.

Classes continued that week like normal, as no one else knew about Bucky’s father. That was fine with him, he didn’t need everybody else’s sympathy and there was no need to make it a big deal. It was nearing the end of the year and the exhaustion was continuously catching up to all the students, causing them to fall asleep during their classes and procrastinate on homework. Coffee was inhaled in unhealthy amounts, endless gum wrappers surrounding the wastebasket where Y/N had missed when she and Bucky studied in her room. It was nice to have a regular, scheduled week in contrast to the past one. Well, at least it was normal until Saturday night when two bright headlights shone in through the living room window. Y/N and Bucky weren’t really watching the movie; they had their legs tangled on the couch as they made out, so they didn’t notice Ria’s car pulling into the driveway outside.

“So this is what I get to come home to?” Ria boomed from the doorway. “Two horny-ass teenagers making out on the couch? That’s just fantastic.” Both Bucky and Y/N shot up from their laying down position and stared at the older L/N sibling with wide eyes and kiss-swollen lips. “Jeez, calm down, you both look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Y/N leaped off the couch with absolutely zero grace, and grabbed her sister in a hug. “Oh shit,” she instantly said, “I probably shouldn’t be doing that.”

Ria laughed at her younger sister and ruffled her hair. “Nah, it’s okay, I tested negative, remember?” Y/N had a faint memory of it and nodded, leaning back into her sister for another hug. “Hey, Buck, how are you doing, kid? I’m sorry about your old man.”

“I’m doing okay, Ria, just trying to make it through the rest of this year.” She pulled him into a tight hug and the last part of his sentence was muffled in her hoodie. “I thought you were staying with your boyfriend, what happened?”

“Well, I found out the bastard had cheated on me a few months ago so I dumped his ass, packed up my things, and drove back here.” Bucky and Y/N hummed at her story, knowing that she bounced back from breakups quickly. Ria had had many, many relationships in her twenty years of being alive, and driving four hours back home in a furious haze was one of the least crazy things she had done in the aftermath of a breakup.

“Do you wanna watch ‘Legally Blonde’ with us, Ria?” Y/N asked her sister.

Ria let out a snort and squeezed the two teenagers’ shoulders. “Not if you’re making out like that I don’t. Plus, I gotta check in with mom and dad, I didn’t tell them I was coming. I’ll catch you guys later though.” With that, she picked up her suitcase and left the room. Bucky and Y/N looked at each other and then busted out laughing.

“I don’t care what your sister says, I will make out with you as much as I damn well please.” Bucky said, smirking.

Y/N grinned before bringing Bucky’s face right before hers and licking her lips. “You won’t be hearing any objections from me.” He laughed as she connected their lips again, moving back towards the couch until he was seated, the movie long, long forgotten.

Quarantine was horrible, but with Bucky and her older sister there with her, it made it much more bearable. Now there were three students staying in the house, all doing classes, which made it slightly frustrating and stressful, but she tried to not let it affect her. In the last few remaining weeks of school, Y/N and Bucky worked hard, making sure they had all their assignments turned in and studying for their “quizzes” (aka finals) that would determine the grade they got for the year. It was nearly impossible to fail this semester, the only good thing that came out of the pandemic, but both of them were good students who still actually did the work. Finally, school finished and summer began.

It really changed nothing besides the fact that they were now bored even more often. Y/N wanted to do the Chloe Ting challenge as she had seen on YouTube, but after three days she gave up in exhaustion and forced Bucky to do yoga with her instead, which he ended up enjoying a lot. He and Y/N were bummed out that they wouldn’t be able to continue their extracurriculars, baseball and the play, for that year, but hopefully, the pandemic would end in time for their sophomore year. FaceTime calls between the group became longer just like the days, sometimes stretching to seven or eight hours. They spent a month trying to convince their parents to let them hang out, with promises of social distancing and masks. After much pestering, they were all finally allowed to meet up for Steve’s fifteenth birthday.

Bucky and Y/N walked hand in hand to the Brooklyn Bridge Park. Y/N had gotten Steve a new set of acrylic paints and a set of charcoal pencils, and Bucky had gotten him a baseball signed by the Yankees that he had kept since he met them in a bar with his dad the year before. “Where do you think they are? Sam said he was coming late.” Bucky said.

Y/N snorted. “The dumbass probably slept in like he did the day of his oral Spanish test.�� Both of them quietly chuckled at that until they saw the familiar shock of red curly hair gesturing wildly at them. “And there’s Ms. Natasha Romanoff. HEY GUYS!”

Steve, Wanda, and Natasha all turned around to the couple and though they were all wearing masks, Bucky knew they were smiling underneath. Y/N let go of his hand and ran towards her friends at an alarming speed. “I’ve missed you guys so fucking much- oh shit.” Her foot got caught in the grass, sending her tumbling to the ground. “Oomph.” Natasha rolled her eyes, knowing her friend’s clumsy self, and Bucky once again came to her rescue as her knight in shining armor.

“You okay, baby?” He asked.

“Never been better.” She quickly pecked his cheek, and connecting their hands again, they walked over to their friends. “Happy birthday, Stevie! You’re officially a grandpa now.” She and Bucky placed their presents on the picnic table and sat in the circle their friends had made, six feet apart obviously.

“Thanks, Y/N, it’s great to see you and Buck again.” Bucky sat next to Steve, and the two of them made conversation as Y/N turned to Wanda and Natasha.

“Ugh, you and Bucky are so cute it makes me want to puke.” Natasha jabbed playfully. “You make all us single people feel bad.”

“I can’t tell if that was a compliment or an insult, but I’ll take it either way.” Y/N grinned. “But Nat, I need to tell you something; Steve has a crush on you.” Natasha just sighed.

“I know he does, so I’m actually planning on telling the whole group tomorrow. Steve’ll be able to get over it, he’s also been texting Peggy Carter in our class.” Wanda nodded her head in agreement.

“I’m really proud of you, Tasha,” Wanda whispered, “We all are.”

“Thank you, Wands.” The redhead took a deep breath and let it go. “Thank you, both, for being so supportive of me these past two years, but I think I’m ready to come out. I’m not going to let anything stop me from being who I am, or loving who I want to love.”

“We are so, so proud of you, Tasha.” Y/N said. “Damn your parents if they don’t accept you.” Natasha chuckled, a tear falling out of her eye. “I really want to give you a hug right now but I can’t, goddamn it.”

“HEY LOSERS, DID YOU MISS ME?” Sam yelled. A loud groan escaped Bucky, causing chuckles to rise from the rest of the group. “Happy birthday, o wise one, you’re the last one of us to turn fifteen.” He placed his bag on the table and came to sit on the ground.

“How’ve you been, Sam?” Wanda asked. And just like that, they were back. Maybe it was just for a few hours, but at least in that time they could forget what was going on in the real world. Sitting in the grass, eating their lunches, laughs filling the warm summer air, Y/N and Bucky were content with just being there.

TAGLIST

@transparentfestivaltiger @barnesjamcs @kitkatd7 @adorkably

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emarislaughsmaniacally · 3 years

Text

Finders Keepers

Warning for blood, gore, dismemberment, references to torture, electrocution, disassociation, and murder.

Helmet tilts his head and stands very still, observing him from a reasonably safe distance away. Derek ignores him and stays sitting on the floor, back pressed tight to the wall as his ribs slowly start to shift and snap.

The most unpleasant part of healing misplaced bones is definitely how his skin rolls and shifts with them.

Plus the pain.

Yeah, that's crap too.

"You gonna be alright?" The voice is mechanical enough that he's tempted to sniff the air again but his eyes catch on the puddle Derek's sitting in.

It's admittedly a lot of blood so he just jerks his head in a sharp nod, barely feeling the fresh gush of blood from his chopped up larynx.

"You got anyone you can call? Friends? Work?"

Derek shakes his head.

“Want me to call the cops?”

He gurgles angrily and shakes his head hard enough to spit up more blood.

“Right.” Helmet relaxes, shifts his torso like he's stretching and then starts checking the bodies scattered about the dingy apartment.

Derek flexes his jaw, eyes glued to where Helmet is systematically rifling through wallets, taking photos of everything inside and pressing phones to a thick tablet-looking thing. It's fast and efficient as hell.

His jaw creaks when it fuses in place, face no longer looking like a dented can. Nerves along the cheekbone start reminding him to press the hanging flap of skin back up to knit together faster.

Finished with the bodies and quickly sticking a few more holes into someone playing possum, Helmet straightens and stares at him again.

He absently thinks it would be unsettling if he bothered to give a shit anymore.

"Change before you leave, you look like a murder victim."

Derek's eyebrows climb up as he pointedly sweeps a glare over the destruction.

"Huh. Yeah okay, maybe don't take clothes from an actual murder victim." The man makes a buzzing noise that Derek interprets as a hum and then there's a sudden crackle of victory.

"This jacket's good, yeah? Uh. Yeah, just snapped his neck. Hope it's dark enough outside no one'll notice your pants." Helmet says conversationally as he strips it off the guy and stuffs an enormous wad of stolen cash into the pockets.

This is probably one of the best rescues Derek's ever had and not just because of the considerate donation of money. Hemet waves, presents the jacket and drapes it near the door, not even trying to approach him. Minutes later, there's a collection of household cleaners that Helmet is liberally mixing and splashing around, concentrating on areas where Derek's been. It's reassuring that the guy doesn't gas them out with the chemicals.

It's all so professional and solicitous that Derek lets himself relax a bit, focuses on his repairing body to make sure it heals properly.

Then again, -he flexes freshly grown fingers- he's got to find the box.

He tries to be discreet, surreptitiously eyeing the chaos for it before he gives up. Helmet probably wouldn't want to leave the box behind either.

Derek makes to speak but the sound is harsh, choked and painful, gristle barely stitched together.

Helmet pauses where he's kicking liquid over cracked linoleum. "Christ, you're a regular Judy Garland."

"Box." Derek shakily mimes out the size of it and swallows down a clump of blood. "Can't leave it."

"Ooh, a box." Helmet shifts debris about, eventually digs out a duffel and crams three laptops inside. "Missing anything else?"

Derek checks to find his wallet is still there before he remembers what happened to his phone and keys.

"Sewer."

"Shitty." There's a loud buzz like maybe he coughed or snorted. “What’d you do to get them this pissed?”

He points to his healing face. “Existed.”

"Riiight. This Wolverine shit is kinda creepy.” His speaker crackles a little more, like it’s having a hard time picking up his voice. “You got anyone who can pick you up?"

Derek closes his eyes at a tangle of crushing emotions and shakes his head.

"Okay." The man's body language seems less aggressive, a little more careful to move. "You got anyone who's lookin for you? Anywhere you can go?"

Derek opens his eyes and stares at his dirty feet and clean toes, thinking about the little town in California and the arguments before he left.

"Not anymore."

Helmet sighs expansively as he wanders deeper into the apartment. "Right. I'll find a place. Just, ah, keep on with that healing thing. You're doin great."

The man is still searching for the box when Derek's spine pops back into place. He can't stop a yelp from the shock of it or the agonized groan when the nerves to his legs link up.

He almost forgot they drilled screws into that bone.

Shit.

Shitshitshitshitshitshit

He pushes against the wall like it's the only thing holding him together, blinding pain burning through like acid until his nerves finish healing.

"Hey." His rescuer is suddenly there and looms a little closer than before. "You gonna be alright?”

Derek takes a ragged breath, eyes him warily, and… decides getting the metal out with help is more productive than not.

He tilts his leg a little to let the heads of the screws in a neat row down his shin catch the light against the dark of his jeans.

"Gotta get ‘em out."

The helmet is silent but Derek can still hear the faintest murmur inside. "Jumpin Jehoshaphat…"

Derek silently agrees and motions to the duffel bag now resting by the door.

"The drill there?"

Hemet's hands start clenching and relaxing at his sides, mechanical voice buzzing with a jerky negative exhale.

"I'll find it too." His fists shake. "We'll have to take em out somewhere else though."

There's a protest building in his chest but it slowly dies, pressed down by the pains in his body as the smaller hurts start closing up.

Derek grunts in acceptance, the bone would be weak and take a little longer to fill in anyway.

They're silent for a moment before the man starts his search again.

"So. What's in the box?" He probably means to distract him with a chat but the box is…

Derek looks at his hand and the clean pink skin on the new growths.

The room wobbles a bit.

"Me."

A stretch of silence.

"Well, okay then." The man flicks a switch on the helmet and Derek realizes the microphone is shut off, which would only make sense if the guy didn't know about Derek’s enhanced senses. He hardly has to strain to hear that there's a series of clicks before another mechanized voice rasps out a greeting.

"O, imma need a room. I've got a witness I need to stick to and I don't wanna spook him." The man's actual voice is raspy, almost gruff, and seems surprisingly young. “So I’d appreciate it if everyone would leave me the hell alone for a while.”

Whatever the response is, the mechanical tone is so strange Derek can't understand it so he just sags against the wall and rests.

Helmet guy is going to let him stick around and he's warning others away.

That's pretty great.

A small part of himself is soothed, comforted even, that this man who ripped through eight men like wet paper, has taken an interest in Derek’s wellbeing.

He slips down the wall a little and just… zones out for a while.

The big hurts have righted themselves so there's just a mild ache in a few spots. If he weren't so tired, Derek would be standing, anxious to leave, but Helmet doesn't seem rushed in the least and that confidence bleeds into him too.

He’s still worried though. "Cops don't investigate shootouts around here?"

"Wow, that's an entire sentence. You must be feeling better." Helmet is somewhere in one of the bedrooms still tossing things around. "People would have to call the cops first but, this is Crime Alley so, you know, they don't."

He feels a burble of puzzlement rise through the haze of fading pain.

"I've never heard of Crime Alley in New York." That's a ridiculous name for a place, but New York was filled with them.

"Yeah? Well, that's because you're in New Jersey. Welcome to Gotham, man.” More creepy laughter. “I'd say this is an unusual way to end up here but I'd be lying. You're lucky they came into my turf, anywhere else in the city and no one might've noticed."

"Your turf?” Derek echoes the term curiously. It gives the impression of a gangster or the mob. It seems reasonable because the guy has pistols strapped to his legs and another pair under his jacket. Also the professionalism reinforces the theory.

There's a pause in the sounds then a heavy scrape over carpet.

"It's just a little slice of this shit hole, but it's mine." There's more rustling, then a familiar clatter, like beads.

Derek registers the sound and waits. Hears the scrape of the lid.

"You." More sounds, louder and faster than before. "Hoo boy, can you take some damage."

Derek doesn't respond until Helmet stomps back into the kitchen, stained orange shoe box tucked under one arm, drill clenched in the other.

"Still hurts."

"I bet it does." He shakes the box enough to rattle. "There's more teeth in here than can fit in one mouth."

The atmosphere is tense now and Derek wishes the room didn't smell like death so he could better gauge Hemet's mood.

“I’ve been here a few days.” He shrugs minutely. “Electricity doesn’t really stop the healing, just makes it really slow.”

“So all of this... is from you.”

"Probably." He says, hoping that's the end of it, doesn’t feel like he’s calm enough to talk about the various bits of him in the box.

The man taps with the drill, a muffled beat against his leg like he's thinking it over.

“Police won’t like any of this.”

Derek shakes his head.

“You don’t have a place to crash here.”

Another shake.

“You got money though. You could get a hotel room, get a ticket out tomorrow.”

Derek lowers his eyes to Helmet’s shoes.

“I can do that.” He agrees quietly.

“You don’t want to though. Why?”

He lets his eyes flick back to the batteries. “Doesn’t matter where I go. They always find me.” He stares at a red terminal, almost feeling the current again. “Them or something like them.”

"Right. You're staying with me until you got somewhere to go and we know these fucks won’t come for you again. In the meantime, I need to replace my accountant. Thanks for volunteering."

"Am I being kidnapped again?" It comes out sardonically enough that the guy laughs.

“This sort of thing happen a…” Derek’s already nodding in response. Looks over at the car batteries before his eyes skitter away.

"Okay. Sure. No one lookin out for you means you're mine for now." He pauses at Derek's shudder. "Just for now, understand?” He waits for Derek to nod before he goes on. “My territory reaches down to the docks North East of here. Don't go outside of it. Anyone gives you shit, tell ‘em Red Hood's watching you. Not watching out, just ‘watching’. You see any more’a this crew and you let me know, they ain’t leaving this city with a heartbeat.”

Derek barely stops himself from looking away, from tilting his head to expose his throat.

He nods instead. A little more secure that this beast of a human has offered protection.

"Do I call you Boss now?" He means it as a joke but says it quieter than intended.

"You workin for me? Got a head for numbers?"

Derek nods again. “Bachelor’s degree says so.” Even the mob appreciates degrees, right?

"Oh yeah? Bonus. Then sure. Now get the jacket and find some shoes. We gotta go, someone's gonna come looking for these guys eventually." Red Hood snags a few more bags and goes to drop them at the door.

It takes him a minute to get his bearings, he’s pretty sure he’s got some sort of repressed emotional response that Derek’s just gonna… yeah, he’s just going to leave it alone and maybe never think about it again.

The puddle he’s sitting in is dark and tacky enough now that he isn’t afraid of slipping but it’s still unpleasantly damp along his back and the seat of his pants. Makes a sticky slurp as he stands and he tunes his hearing to Red Hood’s heartbeat instead.

“Ready?” The speaker suddenly sounds like the intro to some techno song and he inanely wonders if the guy sings in the helmet. Derek smiles a bit at the thought because the guy is taller than he expected and stacked like a tank. He probably would sing.

“Yeah. Found my own boots too.” He says for absolutely no reason. It feels momentous though that he didn’t lose all of his belongings.

“That’s great man. Never know what kinda fungus strangers got.” Red Hood hefts a few bags and hands over another. “I’m gonna drop you off first and bring back some Chinese. You like egg rolls?”

Derek gives another barely-there smile and very firmly doesn’t think of his blood soaked clothes or who’s got the bag with the box.

He wonders instead if Red Hood will judge him for the mountain of food he’s about to order.

#derek hale #red hood #Jason Todd #teen wolf #whump

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

heart under construction (03)

word count; 4255

summary; sam is finally confronting his feelings.

notes; yay, I fixed your hearts. for now. we’re building up to the something big now.

warnings; none.

It had been twenty-seven days since you had walked past Sam’s house.

He was counting, he knew.

He had really hoped you might walk past on that first Monday after the argument, but you hadn't. He’d packed extra food in his lunch, the snacks he’d quickly come to realise were your favourites, and he’d eaten them all to comfort himself as he sat waiting at the top the ladder for you for the entire house of his lunch break, and an extra half an hour that Jake told him they could spare.

He understood though, he really did. He hurt your feelings, and he made you feel unwanted, and you didn’t want to see him. He waited all week, but you didn’t walk past at all. He waited during the second week, he stood on the street corner of the direction you came from every morning of the second week in case he would see you, but he didn’t, you never showed and he spent his days sulking as he continued to fix up his house, the entire passion being gone.

In the third week, he had finished patching up all the walls, and the railings on the balcony were up and glossed over, and he really wanted to show you that he’s taken your advice and bought plant-pots to line the walls near the roof. He was hoping he’d be able to win you over with a session of planting the flowers you thought would look good, and some takeaway food. He’d really watch the sunset with you this time, and then he’d show you all the improvements he’d made to the house.

By the end of the third week, he realised you were taking a different route to work, and you weren’t going to see the walls being painted a colour that would perfectly match the carpet you had chosen, which was to be delivered in two weeks, once the bannisters and doorframes had been glossed over.

And now, he was closing in on the end of the fourth week and he was no longer waiting for you to walk past because he knew you wouldn’t, he was no longer looking out for you and sitting in view on his lunch break because he knew you wouldn't be coming to join him.

It was the final Saturday of the month, and as Sam at in his apartment, staring around at the four walls in complete boredom, he realised he was wasn’t really home. It just didn’t feel comfortable, and it had never mattered before now. Before now, it was just the place he was living at right now, somewhere to keep his clothes and sleep between dates, work and seeing his brother, but as he thought about it more, he didn’t want that anymore.

He wanted a home, he wanted somewhere he was proud of, somewhere he was excited to go home to, somewhere he could share with someone who mattered one day. One day, he wanted to settle down.

The shade of oakwood flooring for the house that he’d spent the week laying down was still flittering through his mind, and now he was wondering what it looked like in the night, in the moonlight, what the kitchen tiles would look like in contrast. They were still sitting in the box on the newly installed kitchen counters, he had let to lay them down but he knew you’d love them. They were classic, just like the older theme he was going with, real stone tiles that would be cold underfoot in the mornings and with a deep sigh, he debated just what to do with the night.

He could text Jess, she had been asking him about his plans for the last three weekends, and his phone had been blowing up with notifications from beautiful girls on tinder. He could go to a bar and have a drink, or he could watch one of the recorded baseball matches he had on his tv, but for some reason, he just couldn't stop thinking about the goddamn kitchen tiles.

Maybe it was because he was worried about them just sitting out, maybe he was just bored, or maybe it was because he was convinced that you had chosen those tiles. They were the same shade as the carpets you had chosen, a dark grey with slightly lighter speckles and it added the most perfect continual theme to the entire home. They were perfectly matched to the dark grey solid oak wood that lined the bottom and top floors, and he dragged his hand down his face as your touch on the house only seemed to become more and more prominent.

Jake had been taking a lot of photos of the samples, before having very strong opinions on which flooring they should have, and now that he thought about it - really thought about it - Jake had never had good interior design taste, and the house was going to look perfect, and it wasn’t thanks to them, all they did was rebuild it.

With a deep sigh, he already knew exactly what he wanted to do, and he had no regrets in heaving himself up off of the couch and grabbing his car keys, swiping his coat on the way past and dragging it onto his shoulders as he jogged down the stairwell of the apartment building. It had been fine, comfortable even, when he’d first moved in but now he just felt out of place.

Jake would be at the house, and so he could play off the weird urge to go over and stare at the kitchen tiles you had chosen with longing as instead as spending the night with his brother, and his family. It had been a while since he’d seen Roger and his niece, and it would certainly take his mind off of his wallowing.

The ride over was short, and he knew it by heart now, and he wasn’t sure why the idea of pulling up to the house in the night, the windows lit up with dim light to welcome him in felt more like home than the actual place he lived did.

Throwing the car into park, he jogged up the steps, happiness filling him as he thought about spending the evening with his family, the irritable depression seeping away from him, and the door swung open before him, his brother shocking him by filling the doorway, a loud greeting falling from him upon seeing Sam on the steps.

“Hey! Hey, man, what are you doing here?”

Sam’s brows shot up, his jaw-dropping slightly as he looked at his brother and he gaped for a second, before his brother was shrugging and scratching the back of his head. “Uh.. I figured I’d come and see my niece, spend some time with you guys..”

“Right, yeah, ‘course.” Jake paused, glancing over his shoulder and back into the house for a second, noises of distraction sounding out from him as he fumbled for his words, and Sam stuck his hands into his pockets as he rocked on the balls of his feet, waiting to hear what his brother had to say. “It’s just, you know, normally you have dates or plans of Saturday nights. I figured you’d be with a nice girl at a bar or something. A tinder hookup, you’re a popular guy..”

He finished off his sentence with a laugh, and Sam knew the words weren’t insulting, but they still stung, the idea that he so predictably spent every Saturday night with a random chick who always turned out to be not quite what he was looking for in his life, she never quite seemed to fill the gap of what he didn’t even know he was looking for. “I haven’t really been feeling up to it, lately.”

Jake’s expression seemed to soften from slight panic as he watched him, and Sam felt heat crawl up his cheeks at his brother’s evaluative face, assessing him and trying to work out just why he was really here, and what he was really feeling.

“Can I please come into my house now?” He cracked a smile, choosing instead to try and breeze right past the awkward tension of the conversation between the two of them and Jake huffed out a laugh, nodding and lifting his arms down from the frames on either side of the front door from where he had been caging him out previously.

“Sure, yeah. Just- just give me a minute, okay?” Before he even had a chance to reply, Sam was watching with wide eyes as his brother dashed away and into the house, disappearing into the sitting room and back to the mumbled voices and gurgles he could hear from Alice. He didn’t hesitate to step across the threshold, closing the door behind himself with a soft click and following through the house.

Flickering candles were sitting around on all the temporary furniture that had been set up as they had let to choose light shades and bulbs, and it gave the place a cosy and dim glow. He smiled, watching over the room and freezing as his eyes settled in on the scene in the middle of the empty room.

A picnic blanket had been laid out, glasses of wine sitting around the outside on folded napkins as not to leave marks on the new floors, Chinese food and wrappers that were still steaming, barely even opened as cutlery and chopsticks surrounded them, and each member of the group present looked up at him.

His brother, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as he clasped his hands in front of himself, a slight wave of worry began to flit across his features. Roger, his wine glass raised halfway to his lips as he paused, a happy smile on his face as jovial greetings and questions began to pour from his brother-in-law’s lips. Alice was reaching out to him, her little pig-tails bobbing in joy as she practically bounced, her hands making little grabby motions and Sam wiggled his fingers at her, mumbling a child-friendly greeting as a distraction for himself as he found his bearings.

Finally, he glanced up, swallowing thickly as your eyes met his for only a moment, before you were tearing them away, a polite smile on your face that was directed at him and he cursed himself, because he’d never seen that smile before.

He’d seen your reassuring smile, the first one he’d been given when he had met you all those months ago, as you told him not to worry about his stupidity and that you’d be okay, and he shouldn’t worry. He’d seen your nervous smile, the day Jake had asked you to join him for lunch and you’d first climbed that ladder all the way up to join him at the window. He’d seen your carefree smile, the one you’d given him every time he told a stupid joke and you’d laughed for a while together, holding your stomachs and wiping your eyes. He’d seen your smile of pure joy the moment he’d told you he’d stay behind and watch the sunset with you.

He even had smiles he didn’t like, such as the one he’d seen moments later, the fake ‘I’m okay’ smile you’d shot him. He didn’t like the uncomfortable and anxious smile you’d given him the day he’d exploded and you’d slipped away before he could apologise, and he definitely didn’t like the polite and dismissive smile you were giving him now. It made him feel like an outsider, the sort of smile you gave someone you might pass by in a supermarket whom you vaguely knew but not well enough to actually say hi.

It made him feel like he was a stranger in your life, and he hated it, because that was exactly how he’d made you feel.

This was his fault.

Watching as you tickled at his niece’s side before standing up, and brushing the dust from your pants. His eyes widened, he knew what was coming next and before he could reach out to stop you, you were already mumbling excuses and removing yourself from the situation, his hands sweating and getting clammy, and he wiped them on his jeans as he gaped at you.

His brother and his husband were insisting you stayed, and you were simply thanking them for a lovely evening, and promising you’d do it again soon, despite the fact that you hadn't finished your wine and you hadn't even eaten yet.

He had waited for so long for this chance, and now that it was here, he watching you breeze past him to the front door as you buttoned up your soft-looking blue coat and pure desperation and panic filled him as he stood rooted to his spot, unsure what to do in his frozen state.

Jake shoved him, Sam stumbling over his own feet as he finally snapped to it, and he caught the front door as you swung it shut behind you, chasing you out into the dark garden as you made your way down the path and toward the streets. “Do you think the garden would look good with those little solar-powered lights that go along the edge of the driveway?”

You came to a slow halt, pausing as you left your back turned to him for a second, your shoulders slumping as you finally turned to face him, confusion covering your face. “What?”

He shook his head, cheeks heated as he mumbled to himself about his stupidity, but you were talking to him, and it was something, even if it was about garden lights, and even if you were looking at him like he was insane. Taking slow and cautious steps toward you, he tried not to scare you off, and he ignored how much it hurt to watch the way you stiffened as he stopped a few feet away from you. “The garden. I’m thinking all along the edge of the driveway to light it up, it would look nice, right?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so. Wouldn’t it just be a call that the new owners would make, though?”

He hummed, dropping his eyes for yours when you refused to meet his gaze, a sigh leaving him. “Yeah, but the thing is, I can’t stop thinking about.. the house. I lived in a lot of places before and they felt great, but with.. this house, there’s something different. Something special. I want to keep.. it. I really, really like it.”

He wasn’t sure you were understanding anything he was saying, but he chanced a glance up, at you, your soft gaze on him as you finally looked at him, and he offered you a small and tentative smile. He reached out, daring to take a step closer and he extended a shaky hand to take one of yours from where they were hanging limply by your side, and he distracted himself by playing with your fingers for a moment as he considered his next words.

“Please don’t leave. I’m really sorry. I am!” He could hear the pleading tone in his own voice, and he didn’t care, because all he wanted in the world was to stand here and talk to you, and currently, you were staring at him silently. “Please, talk to me.”

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.”

“Stop telling me that when I do things that aren’t fine, it’s fine!” He let out a ragged sigh, running a hand through his hair in anger as his shoulders slumped in defeat. “It’s not okay that I was too busy texting to see you walking by, and it’s not okay that I said you were a stranger. You’re clearly not! You know my family, so you can’t be a stranger an-”

“Sam.” His jaw snapped shut at your tone, his eyes wide as he halted his rambling, your own eyes scanning over him gently, your shoulders rigid and your body tense before him. “Stop, really. Just because I’m your brother’s friends doesn’t mean you want to be my friend, and that’s okay, it’s okay. You feel invaded upon when I’m around, and that’s okay too.”

He shook his head rapidly, his lips still sealed tightly shut as he waited to check that you were finished talking, your head tilted to the side as you sighed out at his refusal, and he realized it was his turn to talk again. “That’s not it, I swear! I like you, I do!”

He knew his statement wasn’t enough, and he let out a low growl as he tried to find the right thing to say, his lip caught between his teeth, brows furrowed so deeply he was practically squinting, and he thought through everything he could say, he thought about just what he was feeling, trying to express how to fix this.

“I’ve missed you. Every day. I waited for three weeks for you to walk past so I could apologise. I miss you, and I need you. You make me smile and you make me happy. You are my friend, and you’re important to me, and I shouldn’t have said that, I was just angry and upset and-” His throat practically closed up on him as he choked down his feelings once again, word-vomit threatening to take over, and he swallowed thickly, his eyes dropping from yours for only a split second, before he was looking back up at you again, determined to say his piece while you were still listening. “My mornings don’t feel right anymore, because I don’t get to see you, and hear you wish me a good morning.”

It seemed something had gotten through, because your fingers twitched in his hold, squeezing his a little and he resisted the urge to grip your hand, so tightly he never let go, to lift your hand and place it over his heart as he hugged you, or to use it to tug you closer until you were crashing into his chest. “I text it..”

“I don’t get those texts.” Letting out a cautious sigh, he adjusted his hold, threading his fingers through yours to link your hands together, your own fingers curling around his loosely and he didn’t bother to hide the small smile on his face at the action, stepping closer to you as your wanted breaths mixed in clouds within the cold night air. “I don’t get anything, and I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you, Sam.”

A shiver rolled over his body, his eyes stinging as e blinked back tears, the relief flooding his body washed away the sinking and nauseous feeling that had been swirling in his gut since the night it had happened, and he had to check he wasn’t swaying on his feet from how far in the clouds his heart was soaring at the moment. “I should have stayed and watched the sunset with you. I just bailed, and that was a dick move, an-”

“It was just a sunset, Sam. You had a date, and that was more important.” Your shoulders rose and fell in a casual shrug, your eyes watching the way his fingers were twiddling with yours in the now tight hold he had on his hand and he allowed himself to let out a sound of disagreement, his fingers tilting your head up and cupping your cheek as he guided you to look at him.

“I would’ve rather watched the sunset with you.”

You huffed at his words, your eyes wide and he forced you to keep your gaze locked with his, your cheeks heating up under his hand, and the edges of his lips dragged up into a tiny smirk, his tongue poking out to lick over his lips. “Well.. it’s in the past now. It doesn’t matter anymore. I forgive you, okay?”

“Okay, sweetheart.” His shoulders dropped down, small smiles being shared between the two of you as a once again comfortable and light silence weighed between you both. The second you took a step back, his hand tightened around yours, tugging you back in close to him, his head shaking as he grunted in disapproval at your attempt to leave. You crashed into his chest, your eyes wide as you pressed a hand over his heart as you stepped back, far enough to look up at him. “I don’t want you to leave yet. Don't leave me, again.”

“You should go and be with your family, and I should go home.” He shook his head, dropping his head down and letting his eyes close, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll see you around Sam, I’m not going anywhere.”

“See, you say that, but you don’t come by anymore. You don’t eat lunch with me and you never walk past. If I let you go now, I don’t know when I’ll see you again.” You let out a small breath at his words, the warmth of it washing over his lips and he twisted his head, his nose bumping against yours, feeling the way you twitched a little on the contact and he smiled, being able to picture your face in his mind, your eyes closed, the same as his, smiling lightly as you held his hand and felt his heart beating steadily under your palm. “I want to see you.”

It was a while before you even reacted, and his words seemed to fall on deaf ears for a moment, until he felt you shift, your head sliding to rest on his shoulder as your chest pressed to his, your arms looping around his waist as you hugged him gently and he didn’t hesitate this time, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you and squeeze you tightly, holding you to him, with no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“Please.”

“Okay, look. If you’re free, you should come with Jake and Roger to the princess prom.” He let out a laugh at your words, his chest rumbling underneath you and your fingers tightened in his shirt, scratching at his skin lightly through the material as you let your giggles join his in the quiet night.

“The what?”

“Princess prom. It’s the theme for this year's new parents and kids introduction party. All the current nursery children and their parents will be there. We have newcomers and their parents come, and the kids can all play together while new parents can ask current ones about the system, the way we work, and they can talk to all of us, the teachers, too. The children chose the princess prom theme.” He felt you shift against him a little in what he assumed was supposed to be a nonchalant shrug, and he hummed at your statement. “It’s next Sunday, so if you’re not busy and you want to st-”

“I’ll be there.” He pulled back, holding your jaw in both of his palms as he looked down at you seriously, sending you a short nod in confirmation. “I promise. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“O-Okay.” You leaned into his touch, his thumbs, stroking over your cheek as your head tipped to the side, and you nuzzled into his palm just slightly, his cheeks heating up as you did and his heart skipped a beat, one of your own hands coming up to close over his and hold it there for a second longer. “Well, your brother has all the details. You don’t have to dress up in a suit, or tux, or anything. You can just dress formally, you don’t have to go all out if you don’t want to. The kids will all be in their favourite Disney prince and princess costumes, I think. They’re all very excited.”

He chuckled, already picturing Alice in her purple rapunzel dress, the one she insisted she wore to every family meal they had, and every time they went out somewhere that required Jake to wear a tie. She even had the braid head-band extensions to match. “What will you be wearing?”

“I will, of course, be wearing a ridiculous ball gown and a tiara. I’m royalty, you know?”

“Mhm, you certainly are.” He grinned as you scoffed, shoving at his shoulder and he slipped his hands down from your cheek, taking both of your hands on his as he rocked on the balls of his feet. “I’ll wear a suit to match you, okay? What colour is your dress?”

“Navy blue.”

“I will get a blue tie, and I’ll match you.” He added a wink on the end of his sentence, enjoying the way your cheeks lit up red, a cheeky smile finding its way onto his features as you grew flustered under his stare.

“You don’t have to do all tha-”

“I want to. I really want to.” You merely nodded, before giving him a dazzling smile, one full of joy and care and warm emotion that he just wanted to bask in, and he had missed it so. “I’ll see you Sunday, okay?”

“Sure, I’ll see you on Sunday, then..” With a final grin, he raised your hands up to his lips, pressing a series of kisses to the backs of both hands and your knuckles, before giving you a final parting wink and jogging backwards up to the house, watching as you blushed, turning and heading away toward your own home.

He had never been happier to have not been on a Saturday night date in his life.

#sam taylor #sam taylor amazing stories #dylan obrien sam taylor #sam taylor x reader #sam taylor/reader #amazing stories #dylan obrien amazing stories #dylan o'brien amazing stories #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien fic #dylan obrien imagine #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien x reader #heart under construction #HUC

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banashee · 3 years

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Part 5 of my @badthingshappenbingo round 2

With a bit of help

Steve doesn’t run, but he very much wants to. His steps are wide and just quick enough so he can move as fast as humanly possible without making himself any more noticable. Walking quick won’t make him stand out in a busy street, but running would probably earn him some looks. It’s the last thing he wants right now.

There is so much noise around here - chaotic traffic with honking cars and loud motors, people chatting, yelling, laughing. Somewhere, a toddler is crying. Phones are ringing left and right and people are shouting back into it.

The noise on it’s own would be bad enough, but there are so many neon lights, and so many different smells - Steve wants to rip his own head off and bury it in cotton, so he doesn’t have to see or hear any more of it. It’s too much.

Sometime, in the 70 years he was asleep in the ice, the world got really fucking loud. It’s close to unbearable, but how do you even begin to explain that?

Luckily, it doesn’t take long for him to reach the SHIELD facility near Times Square. The street itself is one of his own personal nightmares. Steve isn’t sure if the reason for that is his less than pleasant awakening in the 21st century and the memories with this particular place, or if it is due to the fact that it is even brighter with flashing lights and video commercials here.

In any case, he is happy when he enters the sleek glass building. It’s busy, too, but not nearly as bad as outside.

He smiles politely without really making eye contact at the people he crosses on the way back to his quarters. Once the door falls shut behind him, it’s like he deflates entirely. His hands are shaking, Steve notices, and he drops his bag onto the floor, next to his brand new, unused combat boots that they gave him. He didn’t have a mission yet - he’s itching for it, but at the same time isn’t sure what will be expected of him.

With heavy limbs, feet dragging over the floor, Steve makes his way to the bed in the corner and collapses onto it.

His ears are still ringing, his heart is still racing, and all he wants is just a moment of peace and quiet. Even the ticking of the clock sounds deafening to him, and he knows exactly what is happening in the rooms nearby.

SHIELD barracks have paper thin walls, and his enchanted senses don’t help. In the room next to him, somebody is playing a video game. The gunshots and explosions are fake and Steve knows it, but he can’t help but flinch at the noise every time. It’s too much.

Another room over, someone is having a heated but one sided argument - over the telephone, probably, if he had to guess.

Across from him, it sounds like there are two people and - oh. Oh hell no. He really doesn’t want to listen to that, it would be incredibly rude.

In an act of desperation, Steve crawls out of bed again and makes himself a pair of makeshift ear plugs out of toilet paper, then he buries his head under the pillow.

He is shaking violently by now, wishing the world would be just a little bit calmer. It’s still so new, and he feels incredibly stupid, but he is absolutely overwhelmed with everything.

There is a name for it, he learns later. Sensory Overload.

That’s what he gets from typing “Why am I overwhelmed from noise, people and lights?” into the Google Thingy, and it makes a lot of sense. Unlucky for him, the only suggestion he can really find is to remove himself from the stressful environment, which is not always possible. Besides, he highly doubts that the articles he has been reading have taken a guy from the 40s who woke up in 2012 just a few weeks ago into account. His case is, admittedly, quite unique.

“Quite Unique”, he knows, also means that getting help for The Thing is hard.

Steve makes do with whatever he can, but it’s draining. Oftentimes, he’ll find himself collapsing into bed after a day around people, unable to stop shaking. The thing they gave him for alerts keeps beeping sometimes, even after hours, and he barely resists the urge to “accidentally” step on it one of these days.

Then, aliens attack New York, and his life changes once again. He’s got a team now, even though their start was admittedly messy and his own attitude not the best.

He has a chat with Stark, later, and they shake hands. Steve is not sure he’d call him or the others “friends” at this point, but “friendly” for sure, and he trusts every single one of them. This has to be enough for now.

Steve leaves the point of departure with a bag full of clothes on the back of his motorcycle and a mobile phone with a few numbers programmed into it. He isn’t sure if he’ll use it, but he figures it might be useful. Besides, they tell him that phone booths aren’t really a thing anymore, so better not rely on them.

Steve intends to go see the country for a bit, drive wherever he sees fit at the moment.

His plan to see the cities largely fails - much like New York, there is too much stress, too much noise. Steve can’t relax in any of those places, so he gives up and makes his way into much more rural areas.

Back in the day, when he was with the army, he traveled the world, but he never managed to enjoy the sights, for obvious reasons. Now, he’s got all the time in the world to go watch the stars in a field where no light pollutes the air. He walks on a beach for the first time in ages, letting the feeling of water and sand around his feet wash over him.

Luckily, he manages to grab a small, portable photo camera in a tourist shop. It’s a cheap, easy to use thing which he can deal with. There is a camera on his telephone, Stark said, but that doesn’t really seem necessary to him. He didn’t use the phone, but he keeps it charged - just in case.

Two weeks after he left New York, his phone rings. The damn thing makes him jump and almost crash his motorcycle into a tree.

Cursing, he pulls over to the side and fumbles it to answer. The sound of it ringing grinds his gears, and it takes every ounce of self control not to snap at whoever is at the other end.

“Hello?”

“Steve, hi. This is Natasha. Where are you right now?”

“Oh, hey. I’m in Georgia right now - why? Am I needed back?”

“We have a situation - sorry to interrupt your road trip. Can you please keep your phone on and wait at the nearest point accessible for the jet? We’ll pick you up on the way.”

“Yes, of course. You will be able to find me?”

“Already did.” it sounds like she’s smiling. “See you in about two hours, possibly sooner”

When the jet sets down on an empty space of land, the ramp extends and Steve drives up there. The door closes behind him, and he is greeted by his team, already suited up. Thankfully, they brought his gear and his shield.

The situation is messy and so is the fight they have to take part in, but all of them return to New York in one piece - small favors.

When the jet settles down on the roof of the tower, it does so with little grace. A string of very colorful curses emerges from the cockpit, where Barton is ranting about shitty robots shooting at them and wheels that spontaneously fall off in the middle of landing, but other than that, they’re fine.

Internally, Steve has to agree with him, but externally, he keeps on a brave face. He refuses to lose it over this, although he very much would like to join in on banging his head against hard surfaces. Unfortunately, it’s just a bad look on a leader, so he remains calm.

As soon as he steps out of the jet, the noises of the city drill into his brain, and it takes a lot of self control not to cringe at it. He’d gotten used to the peace and quiet of the countrysides, and even though he’d known it wouldn’t last forever, he already finds himself missing it.

Thankfully, the inside of the tower is a lot more bearable. The walls must be thick and at least somewhat soundproof. It makes it easier to relax, and although the debrief takes a lot out of them all, they’re glad to be back.

Before they shuffle off into different rooms to sleep off the last mission, Tony stops him on the way.

“Oh hey, before you walk off - let me know if you’ll need anything specific, the apartments are in planning.”

Steve blinks. “Apartments?”

“Yeah. Here, for everyone. Didn’t I tell you?”

“Uh, no?”

“Oh. Here you go, then. We’ll move everyone in here and I need to know if you have any specific preferences. Layout, accommodations, furniture whatever. You can tell JARVIS, too, if you’d rather.”

Before he can ask anything else or even say “thank you”, Tony has disappeared, leaving Steve standing there like he just got rolled over by a train. To be fair, this is the kinda feeling that most people have after talking to Tony when they’re not used to him, and Steve has been away for a while.

He mulls over this on his way to a guest room. JARVIS is kind enough to explain the plans in more detail, which helps a lot because “Hey so, you’ll move in here for free, let me know if you want any stuff” is not what he expected to hear once he got back.

Truth be told, it feels kind of weird and overwhelming, so he decides to shower, sleep and think about anything else later.

As it turns out, the walls are soundproof in here - Steve falls asleep and wakes up in total silence, and he sighs in relief. Maybe, moving here wouldn’t be such a bad idea, especially since the tower is a lot more private and convenient than SHIELD barracks.

When he makes his way to the kitchen for breakfast, there are voices and the clattering of plates, sizzling from the stove and gurgling off the coffee machine. His ears can pick up every single noise, but unlike the traffic on the streets or neighbours back at SHIELD, it’s not uncomfortable now that he is well rested and, most of all, got a break.

Maybe, living here isn’t a bad idea. It’s an opportunity to get closer to the team, especially since everyone else will be around as well. So, Steve enters the kitchen to share breakfast with the other Avengers.

He’ll figure out the rest.

*+~

Square 5/25: Sensory Overload

#banashee writes #Bad things happen bingo #marvel fanfiction

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incorrectprodigalsonquotes · 4 years

Text

Carved in the Cradle Chapter 4

Chapter 4

They were in the conference room gazing at their usual murder board. Malcolm had kept the roof of Isabella’s stroller covered so she didn’t have to see anything. Based on the fact that she had just been changed, fed and was currently taking a nap, everything seemed to be alright.

“So have we found out anything unusual about Arianna?” Malcolm asked as he studied the board.

He still couldn’t quite understand how a woman like Arianna could have gotten herself put on this particular sequential killer’s radar. The first two victims had been both been very different. One had been a waitress in a beat down diner and the other had been a mechanic in a downtown auto shop. By all accounts, she lived a relatively different life. Being a teacher in uptown and living in an apartment that had cleaning services and all.

However, that was the peculiar thing.

“Other than the fact that she was living in a brand new uptown apartment on a fourth grade teacher’s salary, not much, not even how she got the apartment.” Dani replied, “All the documents say is that the apartment was bought in her name and the buyer bought it with cash.”

“Could it have been from a boyfriend?” JT inquired.

Malcolm shook his head, “She didn’t have one. Barely anything in that apartment other than Isabella’s nursery suggested the personal touch.”

“Bright’s right.” Gil nodded his head, “Judging by ads for the apartment complex, Arianna hasn’t changed much about the decor inside. Save for a few pictures of her parents and Isabella over the fireplace.”

“No way she could have afforded a place like that.” JT said as he flipped through an old ad brochure of the apartment, “Even if we didn’t have the twins, there’s no way me and Tally would be able to afford this place.”

Dani raised her eyebrows, “Are these places really that expensive?”

Malcolm nodded, “Oh yes, I remember Mother tried to bribe me with one of those apartments. Never saw the appeal; it was too... clean cut.”

Dani smirked, “I’m guessing it didn’t work.”

He smirked back, “Do you see me living in that building? Instead I live in an apartment that my mother threatens to turn into a Panera every other day.” He looked back to the board, “You know... she may not have had a boyfriend but if we can figure out who bought her that apartment then we might be able to figure out if there’s a connection between the apartment and the killer.”

“Good call.” JT nodded in agreement, “There has to be connection there but what about the whole corset thing?”

“First we need to find the corset that killed her.”

“Luckily for us, that apartment building gets its trash taken every other Friday so we can go check their dumpster.”

Just then, they heard tiny sobs and hiccups coming from them. Their heads all turned to the stroller as Malcolm walked over and lifted the roof of the stroller slightly as Gil flipped the board to hide the gruesome photos of Arianna.

“Hey...” Malcolm whispered, “What’s wrong?”

Isabella just hiccupped again as she held out her arms to Malcolm. He picked her up out of her seat as her tiny hands grasped the fabric of his suit jacket. However it wasn’t long until Isabella started hitting him and kicking her legs. Her sobs only got louder as tears started streaming down her face again.

“Isabella-” Malcolm was only cut off by her crying and that she started hitting his face. If she wasn’t so tiny, it might have hurt him.

He tried gently shushing the baby and Dani was the first to notice the look of panic that slowly crept onto Malcolm’s face, “Bright-”

“I don’t know what I did wrong!” Malcolm started with worry in his voice, “I-I fed her right a-and she doesn’t need to be changed. She was just taking a nap-”

“Hey.” Dani interjected, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the cries that just kept getting louder, “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s probably just the same thing that happened this morning.” She walked over and tried to help him keep Isabella from falling out of his arms, “She’s somewhere she doesn’t really recognize. She’s probably just scared.”

Then it hit him, “Do we have any of Arianna’s personal effects?” Malcolm asked over Isabella’s screaming.

Dani furrowed her brows, “What?”

“A jacket, a shirt, something soft that belonged to her.”

“We have a scarf.” JT said, holding up a light blue scarf with pastel pink flowers embroidered on it.

“That’ll do!” Malcolm exclaimed as he snatched the scarf out of the detective’s hands. He looked down at Isabella as he held the scarf close to her and gently tried to shush her.

She kept crying and Malcolm silently wondered if this had been a dumb idea until he felt Isabella move to reach for the piece of clothing. Her screaming cries began to subside into quiet sobs as she held the scarf close. Her tiny fist gripped the soft garment as she began to whimper and settle down.

That’s when it clicked for Malcolm as he let out a defeated sigh. She just wanted her mother but her mother wasn’t coming back. What’s worse is that there was nothing he or anybody else could do about it. He just let the little girl rest her head on his shoulder as she began to calm down.

“She’s starting to realize that her mom’s not around, isn’t she?” JT asked, seemingly the only one who could bring himself to speak after Isabella’s little scene.

Before Malcolm could respond, he heard a shrill voice coming from outside the conference room. “Malcolm! You have some explaining to do!”

He cringed at the sound of his mother’s voice. He looked down at Isabella who had stuffed part of the scarf along with her own hand in her mouth and was chewing on it, “You don’t think she noticed the crib, do you?” Isabella just used her other arm and patted his head, “Yeah, it was dumb to think she wouldn’t.”

He gave an apologetic look to Gil but the older man just waved his hand, “Go explain things to your mother. The quicker she understands, the quicker we can get back to work.”

Malcolm nodded as he walked out of the boardroom.

JT then turned his head to Dani with a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk, “So... you were at Bright’s place this morning?”

“Shut up.”Dani glared.

“I’m just surprised. Bright doesn’t really seem like your type.”JT chuckled, “Didn’t think you even liked his skinny ass.”

Dani turned her head to Gil who seemed a little too amused by this, “Gil, if I killed JT right now, would you still arrest me?”

“I don’t know Powell,” The older man grinned, “He is just asking an innocent question.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Malcolm found his mother waiting by a desk, tapping her designer heel on the floor. Her brows were furrowed in annoyance and her arms were crossed across her chest. Malcolm sighed and tried to put on a fake smile, “Mother-”

“Malcolm, you lied to me.”

“Now Mother-”

“You say that you’re not hiding anything from me but when I went to your apartment, there was a crib, baby supplies and stuffed animals which I am certain were not there a few days ago.”

“Mother-”

“I’ve been trying to give you your space but keeping something,” She gestured to Isabella, “Like this from me-”

“Mother! Will you listen?”

Jessica let out an exasperated sigh, “Go ahead.”

Malcolm adjusted the way he was holding Isabella when she started kicking her feet, “I wasn’t lying when I told you Isabella isn’t my daughter.” Jessica opened to mouth to respond but when she saw the scarf Isabella was chewing on and that her little face was a little puffy, the older woman stayed quiet. “There wasn’t any room for Isabella in any nearby foster homes so I was volunteered to take care of her.”

“You didn’t refuse?”

“I was hesitant...” Malcolm smiled when the baby girl started grinning through the floral scarf she was gripping with her tiny hands, “But other than a few minor hiccups, she hasn’t been much trouble.”

Jessica’s face softened. She may have come off a bit harsh but she had been genuinely offended thinking that Malcolm would hide a grandchild from her. She noticed the baby blinking at her with her wide blue eyes for a moment when suddenly, Isabella shot out an arm in Jessica’s direction. The older woman froze for a moment.

Isabella started to whine when she wasn’t able to get closer. Malcolm chuckled as he held out the baby to his mother, “I think Isabella would like to say hi.”

Jessica gingerly took Isabella in her arms, keeping a hand on the baby’s back to keep her upright. Isabella giggled as she lightly patted the older woman’s face with one hand and kept a death grip on Arianna’s scarf with the other.

“Hello...” Jessica cooed as the baby gurgled at her. She noticed the baby’s red face and tear-stained cheeks, “Have you been crying?”

Malcolm nodded, “We’re guessing that she’s becoming aware of her mother not being around.”

“Oh dear...” She continued to gush over the little girl who suddenly found Jessica’s sparkling gold necklace very interesting, “A lady as beautiful as you should not be crying. It’s not worth the headache you get afterwards.”

An idea occurred to Malcolm, “Would you be willing to look after her for the day?”

Jessica raised an eyebrow, “What?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea.” Gil said as he walked out of the conference room with a slight grin. “I was wondering why it was taking so long.”

Malcolm gave a sheepish grin, “Gil, I-”

“No worries. I could tell that you were explaining our little predicament.” The older man looked to Jessica, “It actually would be a big help if you could watch Isabella for a few hours so we can go out into the field. Talk to some suspects and it’s probably best we don’t have a baby with us.”

Jessica looked down at the baby in her arms and when Isabella looked up at her with her big blue eyes and toothless grin... she just couldn’t find it in herself to hand her back. “Alright...” She adjusted the baby so Isabella was sitting on her hip, “But only if I’m allowed to take this little angel on a shopping spree.”

Malcolm raised his hands in defense as Gil went to get Isabella’s stroller, “As long as she’s fed and changed when she needs it, you can have her until we’re done for the day.”

Gil returned with the stroller, “We need to figure out who bought Arianna that apartment.”

“What apartment?” Jessica asked as she placed Isabella into the stroller.

“That apartment complex you tried to bribe me with a few years ago. Isabella’s mother lived in that building but it’s more than likely someone bought it for her.” Malcolm responded.

“The apartment complex uptown? Every home fully furnished?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah...” Gil furrowed his brows.

“I know exactly who bought the apartments there.”

So... I’m back... *awkwardly waves* Hi guys.

I had writer’s block for the longest time and I’m sorry this chapter is kind of short but this is one of those chapters I kind of had to get through in order to get to the good stuff.

I hope I did the characters justice and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter.

Please let me know what you thought and even you have any ideas on where the story might be going because I may or may not live off of attention.

I promise it won’t take so long for the next chapter to come out and I hope you guys are still interested in seeing where this story goes <3

#prodigal son #prodigal son fanfiction #malcolm bright #dani powell #jt tarmel #gil arroyo #jessica whitly #brightwell #carved in the cradle

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