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rollingsins · 1 year

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the secrets that you keep

summary: Vada tells her Mom a little too much. Again. An argument ensues.

warnings: (+18): smut: pussy-eating, vaginal fingering. reader/vada are both 18+.

word count: 1.7k

a/n: couple of people requested Vada/reader so here you go. let me know if you liked it/what you want to see next!

“You told your mom we had sex?”

Vada blinks back at you, confused. Not even a minute ago you’d been on top of her, pressing hot kisses down her neck. And then she’d opened her mouth. Confessed a little too much. As she always did.

“Yeah. It just kind of- came out.” She chews her lip. “You know how sometimes I talk and talk I can’t stop talking-“

You huff. Climb off her. Shuffle to the other side of the bed.

Mrs Cavell had been so weird when you’d arrived. Overly friendly. Her voice a little higher than usual. And she’d insisted Vada keep her bedroom door open. A hot flush creeps up your neck and taints your cheeks. This was so embarrassing.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Of course I’m mad at you.” You say, voice clipped. “I didn’t want anyone knowing we’d- done that - let alone your mom.”

Hurt flashes through her features. If you weren’t so annoyed, you might have taken it back.

“Oh. Alright.”

She draws her hands into herself.

“What exactly did you tell her?” You rake your hands through your hair.

Vada avoids your gaze.

“Vada!”

“That we- we did… oral stuff and… I might have mentioned the fingering-“

It’s worse than you thought. You stare.

“Unbelievable.” You snap. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Blood rushes to your ears. You launch yourself off the bed, grab your things. If it was possible to die of humiliation, you think this might just be the end for you.

“I’m sorry.” She says, her voice a little small. She draws her legs up to her chest. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You never mean to do anything, Vada, but you do it anyway.” You say. Irritation flooding through you.

Vada was like that. One of those people who floated through life never worrying about the consequences of her own actions. You’d found it endearing when you’d first met her. It’s not so cute right now.

She looks up at you like a naughty child who’s being scolded.

“So, you do regret it then.” She says. Her stare is piercing, “Even though you told me you didn’t.”

“I-“ You trail off. Think for a moment.

“No.” You say, quietly, “I don’t regret it.”

“But you’re embarrassed by it.” She says, her eyebrows furrowed, “You’re embarrassed by me.”

She’s hurt, you can tell by the way her voice shakes a little. The irritation is gone. Guilt creeps through you.

“Of course not. Vada-“

“Then why can’t we tell anyone?” She asks. Her eyes are off you now, she’s staring down at her fingers as she picks at them. “I mean. Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t have told my mom-“

Your eyebrows fly to your forehead.

“Maybe?”

She ignores you. Looks up, eyes shimmering.

“But why can’t we tell anyone else? Why can’t I tell Nick? Why can’t we tell people at school?”

“Because it is embarrassing.” You say, flush creeping into your cheeks, “Sex. Not just sex with you, Vada. In general.”

“I don’t think it’s embarrassing.” She says, voice quiet. “I liked having sex with you. I’m not embarrassed to tell people about it.”

“Clearly.” You mumble. Your eyes fall to the door. You wonder if Vada's mom can hear you arguing.

Vada chews at her lip again. She does that when she’s insecure, you’ve noticed. You swallow hard. The last thing you wanted to do was make her feel like you didn’t want her.

You sigh. Move over to the bed. Hesitant, you brush a strand of hair from her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You say. She’s staring up at you through mournful, brown eyes. “I’m not embarrassed by you. I’m not embarrassed by- what we did.”

Her expression doesn’t change. She doesn’t believe you. You try again.

“When we had sex it was- new. And confusing for me.” You confess. “It’s still confusing for me.”

She looks away. You take her hands between yours, try to draw her attention back to you.

“But I liked having sex with you too.” You say. Her eyes lock back to you. “And I want to do it again.”

A slight smile tugs at her lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You tilt your face closer to hers, capture her lips in a soft kiss. You feel her relax. Entwine your fingers with hers. When you pull away, her eyes are still closed. You nudge your nose against hers.

“You should tell Nick. And anyone else you want.”

She grins. “Really?”

You nod. “Just- please don’t tell your mom anything else, okay? About the sex. It’s not fun for any of us.”

Vada nods. “Okay. Sounds like a deal.”

She leans in, kisses you again.

“So, about that sex we’re going to continue having…” Her eyes twinkle. She tugs on the band of your jeans.

“Vada-“ You sigh into her mouth. “We can’t. Your mom-“

“-Is downstairs.”

She’s slipping her tongue into your mouth. Guiding your hands to her hips. Not a trace of insecurity now. This is the Vada you love. Bold, confident. No fucks to give. You sigh happily into her mouth. She’s wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and those orange basketball shorts she likes so much. Your fingers brush the waistband. Arousal surges through you. She releases your lips, moves her hand down to guide yours.

She slips your hand into her underwear, bites her lip as your fingers brush the length of her. You groan as you feel the velvet of her folds, already coated wet with her arousal. You coat your fingertips with her wetness, rub gentle circles over her clit.

You brush your nose against hers. Her eyes are hooded, pupils wide with arousal. You dip your fingers down further to her entrance, kiss her jaw as you slip a finger inside her.

She’s impossibly warm, and so tight. Your mouth falls open as you slip another in. She grips around your fingers, making these noises, satisfied little sighs every time you brush her clit with your thumb.

You tilt your head again, watch the door. Well aware Vada’s mom could round the corner and find you two fingers deep inside her daughter.

Vada’s hands are on your face, tugging you back to her. She wants your attention, kisses you desperately as you draw your fingers in and out. She’s getting wetter with each curl of your fingers. The way she’s sighing into your mouth, pussy tightening around your fingers, you can tell she’s close.

“Fuck.” You whisper against her lips. Your mouth waters, “I want to eat you out so bad.”

She makes a noise low in her throat, her cunt squeezes impossibly tight around your fingers.

“Yes. Please.” Her voice is thick with arousal. You can’t resist any longer.

You retract from her, pull her further down the bed. She gasps as you withdraw your fingers, then as quick as you can, tug her shorts down her legs.

She looks so pretty with her legs spread like this, pussy gorgeous and wet and swollen for you. You no longer care if the door is wide open, you have to have her now.

You press your lips against her inner thighs, tease her. Her hands are in your hair, trying to guide your mouth to where she wants you. She’s soaked with arousal, you lick it off her thighs, clean her up a little. She tastes so good, bittersweet, as amazing as she had the last time you’d done this. You loop your arms around her thighs, pull her close to you. Her smell is intoxicating, it makes your mouth water. You lean down, press your lips against her folds.

She moans, a little loud, her thighs tighten around your head. Encouraging you.

“Shh.” You whisper into her thigh. “You have to be quiet, okay?”

She nods, desperately. You kiss her thigh once more.

Now you’ve had a taste of her, you can’t get enough. You lick a broad stripe from her entrance to her clit, mouth watering at her taste. You dive in, licking and sucking. She likes when you lap at her entrance, you realize, the way her hands grip tighter in your hair. She likes it even better when you take her clit between your lips and suck hard. You alternate, kissing, licking, exploring her, until her thighs are gripping tight around your head and her back is arching into the mattress.

She’s moaning again, too loud. You’re too far gone to care now. You lap at her, drink her in.

You gasp as you feel her orgasm, fresh wave of cum drizzling into your waiting mouth. She pants, grip slackening as she comes down from her high. You press a few more kisses to her thighs, lick every last drop of her you can find.

Then, you kiss your way up to her lips. Let her taste herself on you.

“Whoa.” Vada says. You can feel the thrum of her heartbeat as you press your lips to her chest. “That was even better than the first time. And the first time was good-”

“Shh.” You murmur, pressing your lips to hers, “You’re ruining the moment.”

“Sorry.” Vada says. She drops her head back into the mattress. “I never know when to stop.”

You lay there a moment, rest your head on her chest.

“Girls!” Vada’s mom’s voice from down the hall snaps you out of your reverie. You lift your head, roll off her body. “It’s quiet up there. Everything okay?”

Vada groans.

“We’re fine, mom, we’re just watching a movie!” She yells out.

There’s a long pause. You throw Vada her pants, help her tug them back on.

“Why don’t you come watch it downstairs?”

It’s not a question. Vada falls back into the pillows, lets out a dramatic huff. You swallow hard. Vada’s mom totally knows what you’ve been doing up here.

You smack her stomach, gently.

“I told you to be quieter.”

“Ow.” She rubs her stomach. Sits up with you. “How was I supposed to be quiet when you were doing that.”

She loops her arms around your shoulders. Leans in to press a kiss to your lips. You relent. Hum against her lips.

“Girls!”

Vada groans again. Pulls away.

“We’re coming! Jesus!”

#vada cavell #vada cavell x reader #vada cavell x you #jenna ortega #mine #jenna ortega x y/n #the fallout #wednesday

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phantomtgm · 1 year

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Phantom - Chapter Seventeen

Phantom’s P.O.V

The tears wouldn’t stop coming even though it's been a week and a half since the news of my father’s passing.

Actively avoiding texts from Maverick and my friends, I sat in silence, staring at the floor. No matter how many times my mother tried to get me to come out of my room, nothing could take this dull, aching pain away from me as much as I wanted them too.

Guilt.

All I felt was guilt for not being there when he passed. If I had been there, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. I don’t think the hole in my chest was ever going to go away. I couldn’t look or talk to anyone and yeah it was concerning but what else was I supposed to do?

I couldn’t talk to Maverick because I’m sure he is going through it too, I don’t want to unload on top of his feelings. I couldn’t be that insensitive. I wish he would get that but he just kept calling and texting. I felt bad for ignoring him. I didn't know what else to do.

It had only been a week and a half.

Today was the funeral which meant I had to see everyone. Maverick. Phoenix. Bob. Rooster.

How was I supposed to face them in all of this grief I was feeling? It was consuming me and I didn’t know what to do.

A knock at the door interrupted my dark thoughts and I sighed.

“Come in!” I yelled and my mom walked in with a sad look on her face. I felt for her. I know she was feeling bad, perhaps even worse than I was. I couldn’t imagine.

She walked towards me and pulled me into a hug. It took everything in me to not burst into tears. I needed to stay strong for her. I didn’t want her to see how torn up I was.

We all knew this was coming but what could possibly prepare you to lose a parent? Pulling back, I attempted a smile but she rubbed her thumb over my cheek. She knew better but didn’t say anything.

With a sad smile, she softly voiced “It’s time.” I clenched my fists and turned towards the mirror, smoothing over my officer uniform.

Reluctantly, I said “Let’s go.”

The cemetery was overly crowded. Being an Admiral, my dad had friends and subordinates in high and low places.

I walked toward the casket, standing next to my mom, and waited for the ceremony to begin.

Watching as Rooster, Bob, Phoenix, Omaha, Payback, Harvard piled in, I couldn’t as my eyes searched for him.

Someone nudged my arm and I looked over to my mom who leaned in and whispered “You should go talk to him.”

“Wha-” I started to say then mom pointed straight ahead and there was Maverick in his captain uniform. My heart fluttered and I failed to understand how this man could almost bring me to my knees in a time such as this. He was too handsome for his own good, especially in that uniform.

Apparently I caught his attention because he nodded and I looked away in a hurry. I didn’t know what to say to him, especially after avoiding him.

I turned back to my mom. “I can’t.” An eyebrow shot up and I almost wanted to laugh at the expression that her face held. She seriously was not trying this right now in the middle of dad’s funeral?

She opened her mouth and I shook my head, directing her attention to the sound of Taps.

After being presented the American flag and the flyover, I managed to step away from everyone, isolating myself. My fellow aviators tried to speak to me but I just couldn’t at the moment. It was too hard.

I walked away from the casket as they lowered and leaned against a tree. All of this unexpected along with the mission was giving me a headache and all I wanted to do was just go be alone for a while with no worries.

That wasn’t going to happen. I couldn’t just escape life as much as I wanted to. I needed to get out of this funk. I needed to make my father proud but in this mindset, that wasn’t going to happen.

Sighing miserably, I turned and ran straight into a rock hard chest. Seeing all of the medals and awards on their chest, I knew exactly who I had just run into.

“Careful.” His tone was cautious which I appreciated.

My breath hitched as I finally looked up into his eyes which held tears similar to my own. I opened my mouth to speak but a lump in the back of my throat formed. Maverick reached out with his hand and brushed back a piece of my hair.

Looking down, I worked up the courage to speak. “I…I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry.” A perplexed look appeared on his face and he said “For what?”

I furrowed my brows and said “For avoiding you.” “Sweetheart…” He started out slowly. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

A strange feeling crept over me. “Why not? I’d be. I-” He cut me off, saying “And why would I be? I just want you to be okay and if…avoiding me helps then..” He trailed off, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down and a rush of tears came rushing down my face.

I didn’t want to hurt him because I knew he was already hurting. I turned away from him and he wrapped his hand softly around mine.

“C’mere.” He said, pulling me forward, no resistance from me as I melted into his embrace. There the tears went. His hand smoothed down my face as I cried into his shoulders.

Several moments of me crying, the tears finally slowed down enough that I peeked my head up again.

“I’m sorry.” I apologized again, earning a surprising chuckle.

“For what?”

I sighed and explained. “Because I’m not the only one hurting here! I’m over here boohooing and being highly insensitive when I know you are hurting too! I’m so selfish!” Anger flooded through me as more tears came.

It was a roller coaster of emotions.

“Ava…” He spoke roughly. I turned away from him, attempting to stop the tears but Maverick spoke again. “Ava look at me.” I sniffled, not being able to stop myself from turning.

I finally looked up at him and saw one of the most vulnerable faces that he had ever made. He walked forward, pulling me in once more. Looking down at me, my heart began to flutter. “You’re not being selfish darlin '. We both…are grieving and that’s okay but you don’t need to worry about me. Let me worry about you okay?” Rubbing my chin with his thumb, a sudden peacefulness washed over me and all I wanted to do was dive right into it.

I closed my eyes and relaxed. Moments passed as we stood there wrapped up in each other. I didn’t want to leave this warm embrace of peace and calm. I looked up at Maverick and saw the same in his eyes.

I struggled to identify this warm feeling although I had suspicions but I didn’t want to say anything too soon so I wrapped my hand around his.

“Let me take you home….”

I slowly blinked. “Okay.”

A look of surprise appeared and he backed up. “Oh? No objections for once?” I smiled as best as I could and said “Not today.”

A soft chuckle later then we headed towards his bike.

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun 1986 #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #maverick imagine #maverick #maverick x reader #maverick fanfic #pete mitchell imagine #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell x reader #pete mitchell x y/n #pete mitchell fanfiction #maverick top gun #maverick x y/n

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daisydays-26 · 8 months

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I feel compelled to make this post for whatever reason so here it goes. This is a really personal post (i mention homophobia and anxiety) so if you don’t want to come to my blog for that content feel inclined to ignore this.

So, I’m really young. I’m 19 (at the time of writing this) and until very recently I thought I was straight. Yes, until April of this year I was in the closet to even MYSELF, which there’s no problem with, of course. Everyone discovered themselves at their own time.

I, however, have grown up in a very Christian household in the south section of the good ole USA. You can imagine how most gay people are treated behind closed doors. That’s not to say people are getting rampantly abused or outcast where I’m from, but I did have to grow up with lots of homophobia and transphobia as of recently being spit out from my parents (mostly my mom).

That’s scary. I used to always feel bad when it was said but now when it’s me they talk about without knowing… It’s different. Additionally, being Christian doesn’t help. I love God, always will. I consider myself a Christian despite being queer and I always will. I always thought the LGBTQ community should be welcome in the church. Why would God turn away his own children from his word? He wouldn’t.

Nevertheless I’m scared for my future. Nervous is closer to how I feel. I worry about losing my parents and such. Religious guilt. There was a time very recently where I overly worried about my relationship, about being a “sinner,” and a disappointment. All these feelings got jumbled up and it lead to a lot of anxiety. I overthought everything thinking about the future and what could happen. I was crying in class it was so bad.

In fact, my August kind of sucked bc I was adjusting to moving into my apartment, dealing with a bunch of issues for the new semester, and grappling my new found gayness in one month. It double sucked bc I was originally excited about all of these changes. Oh well.

Having calmed down, I feel way better! I’m sure I’m not the only person dealing with overwhelming anxiety, the social issues that come with being gay, being gay in more conservative situations, or hey even all three! So I just want to share some advice I’ve been thinking about.

Literally, don’t worry about it.

And I don’t mean don’t think about it. These anxieties could very well be for a reason. However, the more I thought about my worries the worse I felt. I was trying to fix a situation that didn’t exists, and my mind kept shutting me down every time. It’s not fair to me. And it’s not fair to you either.

So I forced myself to be in the moment. I can enjoy the wonderful love I’ve found in my queer relationship and with my queer friends. I can enjoy God’s love I find in that too. I can worry about the future when it gets to me.

Life is meant to be lived. It’s not perfect. And sometimes it’s messy. But you have to let it be messy when it’s ACTUALLY messy. You can’t re-vacuum a floor that you just vacuumed bc it COULD get dirty in the future.

I think the best way to say what I’m trying to say, is to think of anxiety as a fire. If you give the fire more oxygen by watching it and thinking about it, it’s gonna grow and get out of control. But if you let the fire just be a fire, and you don’t hold anything to it, it’s eventually going to dwindle out. There’s plenty of factors that randomly spike out anxiety, it’s ensuring you don’t feed into it and let it consume you that’s important.

Idk if this was helpful at all I mostly just wanted to share what I’ve been dealing with. I’m kind of a whole new person now and I feel like she’s worth sharing. I hope this helped someone, especially if you feel like you’re in a very similar situation. Trust me, you’re never alone.

#personal #rant #text #sorry guys you can ignore this if you want #advice #coming out?#idk

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i-can-even-burn-salad · 2 years

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Game Over (Damien)

Glass Shards

Warnings: Major character death (yeah… I cried), terminal infection/septic shock, intentional overdose of painkillers, have I mentioned death, abandoning a dead body

Yeah, sorry, this is sad, and exactly what it says on the tin. Apparently I felt like cutting my heart out and putting it through a blender :’)

It’s a reply to this ask game, which has been sent for Damien by both @suspicious-whumping-egg and @whump-in-the-moonlight

It’s basically a “Bad End” AU I guess, written by someone who said she doesn’t do AUs (aka me). Don’t read it if such things make you sad. Or do read them, I’m not your mom.

Also, you know what. I know I’m a day late, but I couldn’t write it yesterday, because some things you really can’t do during your mom’s bd dinner, so I’ll pretend it’s not a day late and enter it for @whump-of-the-month ‘s W day. Because someone surely gets fucked over by infected wounds. Sorry, my inspiration has been 🤏 this last week.

Masterlist

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

Merridy stared at the healer, white robes fluttering as she packed her things. Tinctures and salves, potions and bandages, one as useless as the other, all vanishing into her bag. When she was done, she didn’t close it yet, instead raising her head, meeting Merridy’s gaze, then looking at Damien.

“I can give you something against the pain,” she offered.

“We have something,” Merridy said. It didn’t even sound like her own voice in her ears.

The healer nodded, snapping her bag shut. Merridy’s ‘thank you, anyway’ was automatic; as were her steps, following the healer to the door, opening it for her, closing it behind her. The sound of the key locking it was overly loud, the sound coming from the bed barely audible.

Damien’s gaze was distant, almost blank. But then, he had already felt it, said it, before Merridy had dragged the third healer into the inn. Wasting money she didn’t have, to hear the same thing over and over and over again. There’s nothing I can do.

She stumbled towards the bed, falling to her knees next to it. Her hands rested on the mattress, not quite daring to reach for him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying to blink the blurriness in front of her eyes away.

“It’s not your fault.”

The weakness in his voice was what broke the dam, letting her tears spill over and turning her next breath into a sob. Perhaps it wasn’t her fault — but what if it was. What if she could have saved him, if only she had changed the bandage more often, had gotten a healer sooner, had done more.

She had promised to save him, promised that everything would be all right. Merridy wondered if he had ever believed her, not knowing which answer to that question would be worse.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, because what else could she say, what else could she do.

Damien’s left shoulder twitched. The healer had pulled the blanket up to his chin, and he was too weak to free his arm. Merridy reached under the blanket, taking his hand, feeling how cold it was. Cold, trembling, clinging to her touch with whatever strength he had left.

“I’m sorry.”

Holding his hand, she bedded her head on the mattress and started to cry.

During the next two days, she barely left his side; only to grab some food she barely tasted, or to go to the outhouse or fetch water. Damien’s condition was worsening, both too quickly and not quickly enough. She had stopped changing the bandage, because what was the point — it only made him scream in pain, and it wouldn’t do anything to save him.

Instead she spent both days and nights sitting next to him on the bed. Holding him when the fever left him shivering, trying to get him to drink; water and those herbal mixes that did nothing to help him. Talking to him, reading to him, when he was awake and lucid. Those moments had become rarer. Sometimes he didn’t recognize her, didn’t know what had happened, or where he was.

It was hard to bear the pain in his voice, the fear in his gaze and the trust he still put in her, even when he couldn’t remember her name.

“Merry?”

His voice was strained, as if the only thing keeping him from crying openly was his weakness, or a scrap of willpower, or perhaps both. She looked up from the book she hadn’t been reading for a while.

“I’m here.”

“Too… soon?” he asked, his words barely louder than his ragged breaths.

Merridy looked at the little vial, her heart heavy as she nodded. She hadn’t quite stuck to the healer’s instructions of using the drops no more than twice per day, but it had only been three hours since the last time. They barely seemed to work for two anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she said. How often had she said those words in those two days?

“Does it… does… matter?”

There was something else in his voice beside the pain and weakness. A resignation that was new. She studied him, trying to figure out if he was aware enough to understand what he was asking of her.

“It might kill you,” she said.

“I’m… dying.”

So he was. After everything, he was back to how she had found him; on the brink of death, scared and in pain. She saw it in his eyes in those moments when he forgot he had gotten out. When his broken words begged her to stop hurting him, to let him die, until she managed to get through to him, to tell him that he was safe. Safe, but dying all the same.

Merridy’s hands were trembling as she lifted the pitcher, to pour some water into the cup. Only a bit, to make it easier to drink. Then she counted the drops, watching them dissolve, turning the water the slightest shade darker. Too little water, too many drops, too soon. The bitter taste didn’t matter, not anymore. Nothing mattered anymore, she guessed.

When she was done, she propped a pillow under Damien’s head, fighting back the tears as he clenched his teeth and still screamed at the pain; not loud enough to draw anyone to their room, hopefully.

“Give… me. Not. Not you. I’ll do. Not…”

It was hard to figure out his words, and easy to figure out their meaning. He wanted to do it himself. She put the cup in his hand, closing his fingers around it, letting go.

It took Damien several minutes to find the strength to lift the cup to his lips. Some of the water ran down his chin, but he managed to drink most of it, the cup slipping out of his grip as he was done. Merridy caught it, put it back on the nightstand, then wiped the spilled drops away with a piece of cloth. His tears she wiped away with her thumb, feeling him shudder under her touch.

Holding his hand and fighting back her own tears, she waited. She didn’t have to wait long. The relief as the drops started to work was visible. His features softened, his hand in hers relaxed. His gaze, looking for hers, was unsteady.

“Mer… ry?”

“I’m here.”

The same answer, every time. The way he instantly calmed down, every time. When she slid her fingers to his wrist, she could feel his heartbeat; too quick, too weak, too irregular. His body was fighting a fight it could only lose.

“I’m here. Get some rest,” she whispered, laying down next to him. “I’ll stay with you.”

Wrapping her arms around him, trying her best to avoid the worst of his injuries, Merridy could feel him shiver. He had been too weak to sit up, to put a shirt back on, and his skin was clammy and cold. She slipped beneath the blanket, pulling it up over both of them. Sharing some warmth, and hoping her touch would tell him he wasn’t alone, even when unconsciousness would claim him again and her whispered ‘I’m here’ couldn’t reach him anymore.

Merridy awoke wrapped in numbness and cold dread. The body in her arms was too still, not quite cold, but also not warm enough; not after days of fever and chills and restless, nightmare-plagued sleep.

She didn’t have to look to confirm it, and she didn’t want to look, instead squeezing her eyes shut and holding onto him. For a moment only, until the unnatural stillness became too much to bear. It was wrong, so wrong, and she finally let go, pulling back and sitting up.

His features were relaxed, his eyes closed. His unkempt hair and wiry beard looked twice as dark as usual against his pale skin. She had sometimes wondered how he would look healthy and groomed and with a true smile, not the short kind, overshadowed by the sadness in his eyes. She would never find out now.

Merridy raised her hand to his head, brushing it through his hair, the one touch he had never shied away from.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this.”

There was no rationale behind her whispered words, not enough knowledge of his past, of his alleged crimes, of the person he had been to truly evaluate exactly what level of suffering he might have deserved. There was only the hint of his kindness she had seen, and the certainty that no one, absolutely no one, would have deserved what he must have gone through.

Merridy wanted to scream at the unfairness of the world, to cry until her head would be empty, her feelings flown out of her eyes. But she had to keep it together. Had to figure out what to do next. She forced herself to look away, to get up on shaky legs and walk over to the window. It was still open, a chill on the breeze that made the curtains flutter. She didn’t feel the cold on her bare arms, not when her heart was so much colder.

Another kind of horror settled in as she realized that there was nothing she could do. Whatever the protocols would be for an unexpected death in this city — contacting a healer, a priest or an undertaker — she couldn’t follow them. Couldn’t risk fetching anyone who might ask questions, connect the dots, ask her why exactly she was renting a room with a wanted criminal.

She might be able to come up with some excuse, some kind of explanation, and she would have risked it for Damien, without hesitation, but… Damien was dead. There was no point in risking anything, not anymore. He wouldn’t have wanted her to. No, she had to get out of here, as quickly as possible.

With trembling hands, Merridy grabbed one of her bags, emptying it, so she had room to fill it with her most important belongings. The few things she needed, and the even fewer things she was truly attached to. Between clothes and books, trinkets and tools, the bag filled way too quickly, and she decided to take a second one. Two, she would be able to carry, if barely. Still, there was too much she would have to leave behind, and no way this time to sell any of it.

She could get new clothes, new blankets, new yarn and needles. Instead she decided to pack the things she had gotten Damien, the toys to help him train his dexterity, and the clothes she had gotten him. Her fingers traced one of the buttons she had sewed on, replacing bands so he would be able to close them on his own.

She packed, and she paused, and she cried, and she sat down in front of the window, her back against the wall. The city had woken up, was bustling with activity, while the silence in the room was deafening. She wanted to break it, so she started to speak, to herself, to him, words that didn’t make sense, or perhaps they did. Fragments of thoughts, telling him about everything she would have wanted to show him. Asking him all the questions she’d never get a chance to ask now, about what had happened to him, how he had ended up like this. Telling him about her own life, things she had never told anyone, tears falling both for him and herself.

At some point, she started to pack again, the silence stretching longer and longer between whatever else she found to say. She pocketed the pouch with the coins that remained after paying for the room for a few weeks — weeks they’d never get to use now — and the healers and everything else she had tried to save him. There was enough money left to easily take two portals: one out of the city, to cover up her tracks, and another one back to Caldeia. If she hurried, she would make it before noon, would be able to pick any city she wanted.

But she couldn’t leave yet.

Placing both bags on the floor, she dragged a chair next to the bed, sitting down on it. Staring at Damien and at nothing, thinking of Damien and of nothing, talking to Damien and to no one. In between, she pulled the blanket up, straightened it. Hiding his battered body, and all the wounds that had been his end. The almost faded bruises on his face were the only traces she couldn’t hide.

By the time Merridy felt ready to leave, it was late afternoon. She had missed most of the portal attunements already, and if she didn’t go soon, she might have to spend another night in Dragon’s Reach. And she couldn’t, not in this room, not next to him. Perhaps not even in another inn, knowing that he’d be lying here, all alone, waiting to be found by someone.

She’d leave the door slightly open; not wide, too afraid someone might discover him before she managed to get away, but hoping that someone would find him soon. Despite everything, she felt bad for leaving the innkeeper to deal with it. Or she knew she would feel bad, if she could feel anything at all. As it was, even her fingertips felt numb as she scratched a few words into the wax tablet she had gotten Damien: I’m sorry for the trouble.

What a ridiculous message. She stared at it, racking her brain for anything better to say, but coming up blank. There were no words for this. She placed the wax tablet on the table.

She picked up her bags and started to walk towards the door, but then she paused, turning around again. Staring at him again. At the too-pale skin, the too-still body. He looked almost peaceful, almost sleeping, almost as if he could wake up again. Merridy crossed the distance, standing next to the chair, her hand trembling as she reached out to touch his cheek. His skin wasn’t fully cold, but definitely too cool to the touch, and despite her best attempt at keeping her touch light, she could feel the unnatural stiffness beneath.

She hated it, hated that this would be her last memory of him, but she also needed it. Needed it so desperately, knowing that he was truly dead. That he wouldn’t wake up, alone and terrified, that she wouldn’t leave him behind, abandon him to his fate.

“Farewell,” she whispered.

Her back and shoulders were aching from carrying her bags, her feet sore from walking so long and her eyes burning from all the tears she had shed when no one was looking. With barely three hours of sleep to show for the last two days, she had finally made it back home. Just that it didn’t feel like home, not anymore.

Merridy walked through the streets of Caldeia like a ghost, not seeing, not thinking, her feet finding their way on their own. Finding their way to Cedric’s house, where she slid one bag off her shoulder, raising her hand to knock at the door. She could have opened it herself, but she didn’t have the energy to try, to even reach for her lockpicks, buried somewhere in her belongings.

She didn’t have the energy for a lot of things.

While she was waiting, her gaze fell on the wind chimes, hanging next to the door. For some reason, the colorful glass, reflecting the rays of the midday sun, made tears well up in her eyes. But then, most things had made her cry during those last two days.

When the door opened, the person standing in front of her was blurry.

“Merry?”

Cedric’s voice was familiar, gruff and warm and concerned all at once. Merridy blinked, but he didn’t become any clearer, just swimming in her vision as he reached out for her. She dropped her second bag as she took a step towards him, finding herself in his embrace a moment later.

He didn’t ask what had happened, and he didn’t have to. “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling her close, wrapping his arms around her.

Cedric hadn’t trusted Damien, and he might even be relieved that the ‘problem’ had solved itself. If he was, he didn’t show it, taking her bags and leading her inside. Holding her as she fell apart. Carrying her to his bed when her strength left her, with a glass of water on the nightstand and the promise that he’d be downstairs if she needed anything. Letting her stay for a few weeks, in his office, quickly turned into a guest room. Not asking her any questions until she was ready; and even then only the necessary ones, careful to not open up more wounds than necessary.

With time, she’d return to her old life, a bit more careful on her heists than before. She wouldn’t forget Damien, but the pain would fade, a sadness stored away in her heart, only letting tears spill if she allowed it.

But sometimes, watching the stars or reading a book or folding a blanket, there would be a fleeting memory, a word, a smile, a gesture. Bringing the question of ‘what if’, and the deep yearning of a missed chance. Perhaps, in another life, things could have ended differently.

Tagging: No one, it’s too sad :’)

#Glass Shards #whump #fantasy whump #major character death #heed the warnings above please <3 #w day #w day 2022 #my writing

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msgyshen · 11 months

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"Big Girls Don't Cry"

An Autobiography by yours truly

I remember crying about every little thing when I was a child. I would cry whenever I can’t find my toy. I would cry when I don’t like the food in front of me. I would cry whenever I don’t see my Mom. I would cry when I get hurt from playing even if it’s just a tiny wound. It’s not because I grew up spoiled, but because I was overly sensitive to my environment as a kid. There are nights I can remember I’d wake up to angry screaming, loud thuds, and constant sobbing. There are days I can recall I’d watch heated arguments turn into frustrated crying. And every time, I remember feeling this instant build-up of a lump in my throat as my vision slowly turns cloudy, until I feel warm and wet tears falling down my face. I think maybe it’s all the crying around me that made me such a crybaby.

When Elementary School came, it was fun but hard for me. I was fitting in, but my friends were not really friends. I’d often feel left out, out of place, or insecure despite being in the inner circle. I remember trying my best at school, striving for good grades, and being active in extracurriculars so that when I come home, I’d be greeted with proud smiles instead of angry tones and disappointed eyes. I was doing great at school but it did not feel fulfilling because, at home, it was rarely about me. And instead of welcoming the feeling of appreciation, I’d feel the lump in my throat greet me and tears caressing my face instead. My parents were emotionally absent when I was a kid, and whenever I cry they tell me “Don’t cry. Big girls don’t cry.” But it never succeeded to make me stop crying about the hugs and praises I craved from them but never got. Maybe that is why when I feel like I’m not doing enough, I’d cry instead because that’s when I’d feel comforted.

Until I graduated from Elementary School and entered Junior High School. It felt like I truly belonged, and I still cared about grades but I only strived on my capabilities instead of beating myself up for my family’s validation. I was part of a group filled with genuine and encouraging people, so I rarely cried about anything at school. It’s also the reason why I like being at school more than I like being at home. I did not know it was possible to have back-to-back family arguments, screaming, and crying about literally anything. And if back then I was only witnessing these, now I am a part of it. Becoming a teen undergoing puberty was already hard enough, then problems at home started piling up. I liked going to school because I was able to escape the chaos at home. It was the only loud place I can stand. Sometimes I still wanted to cry it all out–the problems at home–but whenever I feel that lump in my throat building up, I would always hear a voice at the back of my head saying “Don’t cry. Big girls don’t cry.” And I obey. But as it turns out, emotionally suppressing can only last for a while until you break down.

One day, my friends started wondering why after every class I would go outside, sit, and stare. The question I remember them asking me a lot was “Why are you crying?” And I would only respond with sobs instead of words. I had come to a point where I still go to school every day but I would just cry myself out and not speak at all. Even though I had no energy to even listen during class, I was still present because I’d rather be there than be at home. Eventually, our class adviser had to take me to the school counselor because I was behaving differently than normal. And even after talking to the school counselor, I did not feel any better. I just felt like crying more because it was the only time that I can feel something. It felt worse after going to the school clinic because it felt like a slap that what was happening to me was not normal and okay.

It took me almost a month to regain myself. Although I was still having problems at home, because of the few people in my life who sat beside me, patted my back, and said “Cry it all out. It’s okay to cry.” I was able to slowly feel out of that dark place I felt trapped in. Those people were my friends who were persistent but gentle enough to stay with me during the days I didn’t want to be with anyone. They stood by me and offered to be a shoulder to lean on as I cried myself out. In a way, they hushed the voice at the back of my head that always held me back from crying. It was because of them that I was able to be myself again so I’d like to think they saved me.

Over time, I learned how to confront the voice at the back of my head and I learned how to control the lump in my throat—not because I wanted it to be gone, but because I knew I needed to embrace that part of me that needs to be held. And that part of me was the child that was always woken up hearing angry screaming, loud thuds, and constant sobbing. It was the little kid in me that witnessed all those heated arguments and frustrated cryings. It was the little me that was neglected, and unappreciated. She’s the one that always instantly responds to everything by crying because that’s all she knew how to do when things are rough. I also realized that underneath what I was witnessing when I was a kid was a person who also needed to be held. So as I grew older, I realized that I did not have to stop her or get her out of my system; instead, I needed to be the one to comfort her and let her cry when she feels like it. And now, whenever I feel like tearing up on even the tiniest inconveniences up to the most heartwrenching ones, I let myself. It is only through that that I can heal myself—me and my inner child.

I know I can’t get through life by crying all the time, but at least by letting myself freely feel the emotions I’m feeling, I would be able to hold on much longer. And if it ever feels too much again, I know there will be people in my life that will willingly sit beside me, pat my back, and let me cry it all out—just like before. I also always remind myself that crying does not make me weak; it is natural, it is reactive, it is comfort. Now, I let myself cry whenever I feel neglected, angry, sad, or even when I’m happy. Turns out, holding back tears is what’s not good for you. One thing I learned that I will always continue to live by is that: it is your emotions that make you feel that you’re truly alive.

#inner child #healingjourney #autobiography #creative nonfiction #Spotify

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im-just-a-random-fandom-girl · 2 years

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having a really hard time rn and just need to rant so i’m posting below the cut

having my worst couple weeks in a good 6 months or so. my anxiety is off the charts, and when my anxiety is bad, so is my depression. i’ve gotten into at least 1 argument per day with my mom, and a couple days ago got into 4. i feel like she’s suffocating me. i love her, but she’s always been overly protective and has strong opinions. college has given me the opportunity to dress how i want and do what’s best for me with my schedule without worrying that she’ll judge me or get angry with me for whatever reason. i’ve cried myself to sleep more nights than not. i’ve only been home a week and a half.

i also just feel very alone and not cared about right now. i’ve barely seen my sisters since getting home, and i was so excited to see them. they still have school, but i hardly spend time with them after they get home or on the weekends. with my youngest, it makes sense. she has final projects and tests right now, so she’s been busy with work. but any down time she has is spent with friends instead. like today, she obviously wasn’t going to do homework on a friday when she has a long weekend. but she invited her friend over to watch stranger things instead. i love stranger things and would have loved to watch it with her, but she chose her friend that she sees every day over me, her sister that she hasn’t seen in months. my middle sister still has to go to school, but she’s done with classes because she’s a senior. she has no homework, and still, i barely see her. she’s either in her room doing god knows what, or hanging out with people from school. mind you, this makes no goddamn sense because she hates her grade. she’s jumped around more friend groups than i can count, and can’t wait to go to college. it doesn’t make sense. i have friends from home, but not everyone is home this summer. everyone who is works, and the distance makes it even more difficult to see anyone. i went to a private school 30 mins away, so my friends live all over the place. i don’t know anyone from my home town really

basically, with my high anxiety and depression, i can’t function well enough to motivate myself to do anything that might help alleviate some stress, like drawing or reading or music. so i sit around, and try not to get into arguments with my mom, which just means doing a shit ton of work around the house. washing dishes, doing laundry, more dishes, walk the dog, make us all lunch, more dishes, talk to my grandma (who berates me about “not speaking spanish well” even though my spanish is very good, despite some mistakes, and claims that my youngest sister speaks better spanish than me even though her spanish is crap, AND says that my cousin can speak and understand spanish even though he doesn’t understand A SINGLE WORD i kid you not), go to the grocery store, pick up my sisters, help make dinner, walk the dog, do more dishes, and then spend the rest of the night alone.

to top it all off, i’m turning 20 on monday and i don’t think we are doing anything to celebrate. a lot of attention has been on my middle sister, and rightly so! she’s graduating high school on saturday, her prom is on thursday, she went to another prom yesterday, today she did the senior 6 flags trip, etc etc. but it also hurts. my senior year of high school was 2020. i didn’t get any of this stuff. i left from spring break and that was the last time i saw my grade. we had a graduation, but it was social distanced, and not everyone could be there. only my parents were allowed to come. i missed all of the senior year traditions that i was so so so looking forward to. i’m not jealous or angry, i just feel a little sad and some longing for what was lost. i’m just feeling very vulnerable and no one seems to notice or care. and the sting is worse because, like i said, it’s my birthday on monday and hardly anyone has given it a single thought.

idk. i feel stupid and lost and alone and i don’t know what to do.

#sara stupidity #long post #just ranting sorry

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tryingtobeskinnynow · 1 year

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Over Due Update

I started this blog years ago and never really kept up with it. I ended up moving over to Instagram for a time. However, tumblr never really left my life I just always tried to ignore this blog.

I guess I should give some warning before I continue this is a relapse entry I talk about how I was doing good and I've relapsed and how I use to feel and how I'm starting to feel now. I also talk about migraines and doctors. If any of this seems like it can trigger you please move past I'm just writing more for me to get release then anything!

I guess I thought if I ignored it but didn’t delete it I wouldn't fall back down the rabbit hole of my ed. Enough of a reminder of how bad I was getting. Yet, here we are clearly not working to the effect I would like.

I’ve been struggling again. I stopped eating most days. Enjoying be busy as it gives reason to “forget” to eat. I pick up too many shifts and if I don't I try to sleep the day away so I don’t feel hungry and end up binging.

I was doing good for a while eating well, being active but not overly so. I was... happy.

But I’m back to old ways. Some part of me always hoped this would stay in my younger teen years. That as I aged it would go away. I know that's not how it works but I wanted it to work that way for me.

I want to be normal, I want to be able to look at food and eat it without stressing about what its going to do to my body how it will add to my weight. I want to be able to eat something I love the taste of and not feel guilty because its carbs or full of sugars and calories.

Past few weeks I've been going to the gym. I noticed that as I start to get about 20 minuets into my workouts of any kind I get migraines. I've tried taking Tylenol or Advil as soon as they come so it wont effect my workout. It never works I end up going home taking a shower and hiding in my black room till I sleep and its gone or it passes on its own.

I’m putting this here about my migraines because I had a panic attack over the fact that if I can’t work out I'm gonna gain weight, I'm not going to get to where I want myself, where ill be happy with my self.

Its making me gain weight I'm even getting them if I get over exerted at work. My mom who I think knows of my ed but never actually says anything just try's to get me to eat. I think she wants me to go to the doctor.

How do I go to a doctor and say I get migraines when I workout or work to hard and it caused me a panic attack because I cant work or go to gym. She will laugh me out the room thinking I'm lying or being lazy.

I've suffered migraines since a kid. Yes, they are getting worse but my doctor never did anything before why would they now?

I feel lost again. I feel out of control. Like I'm spinning and every one around me is still and calm. I don’t want to go back to how I once was...

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redux-iterum · 3 years

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Ok, here's a little challenge for you and the editors; roast for me 10 WC couples of your choice.

This was fun! We each took five with a bonus from the editor, and you can read our complaints after the readmore.

LYNX (editor)

Violetshine X Tree: I'm still trying to get through the latter half of AVOS, so I haven't seen their first time meeting up or them falling in love or anything like that. What makes me rather uncomfortable with this couple is that Tree's old enough to be Violetshine's father. Pebbleshine and Hawkwing were already young lovers, but with the release of Tree's Roots, one can calculate Tree to be born around the same time as Hawkwing. He even meets a heavily pregnant Pebbleshine when he's around fifteen months old. Honestly, if his and Violetshine's dynamic in late AVOS is good enough for a Warriors couple, I'm willing to just headcanon him as at most eight months older than her to make it more palatable. By the way, this has nothing to do with the ages when they meet up. Violet's a year old by Darkest Night and nearly an adult if her sister's warrior assessment is anything to go by.

Clear Sky X Storm: It's been some years since I read DotC, but the love drama in The Sun Trail was pretty stupid. Especially the insta-love thing. Maybe it was an insta-attraction? But this is Warriors and we can't have that, noooooooooo...

Clear Sky X Star Flower: Everyone's gone on with how Clear Sky getting with his son's ex is rather dubious, but what is often neglected is the fact that Star Flower can make choices too! She made the choice to go for her ex's dad which is about as questionable as Clear Sky's choice! My personal headcanon is that she's the kitty equivalent of a gold-digger.

Pebbleshine X Hawkwing: Alright, so you're either of these two nitwits who've recently become a warrior. Your very way of life has been drastically upturned by someone you thought you could trust. You've lost family and friends to your betrayal, and what's worse is you've lost your home. The world you've known for your whole life has been ripped form you and you have to keep ambling forward with the hope that the place you'll finally settle in will be worth all this hardship. The path ahead of you is long, uncertain, and dangerous, and you'll need to have a clear head to have a hope of surviving this season. SOUNDS LIKE THE PERFECT TIME TO BOINK AND START A FAMILY, AM I RIGHT?

Bumblestripe X Dovewing: Pushy, inconsiderate, trademark Nice Guy, from questioning why they haven't had children yet at some random meeting to suggesting they have children at her friend's funeral, everyone's said it already. Bumblestripe is not a good cat for Dovewing. I'm glad she's not with him since that makes her happy. But... Tigerfartstar X Dovewing: Yeah, Dovewing, your taste in toms is awful. This temperamental, arrogant, patronizing shipdit, while not as bad as Bimbostripe over there, is still pretty bad. It's been a long while since I read OotS and I haven't yet read Tigerheart's Shadow, but I probably should to get a refresher on why I hate this couple.

DULLARD

Bristlefrost x Rootspring: So ignoring that Rootspring as a -paw is a whiny, overly defensive putz that acts self-conscious about having Tree as his father, Bristlefrost does not ONCE show interest in him. Not once. Count ‘em, zero times. In fact, she’s aware of his crush on her and is embarrassed whenever he comes around and whenever people notice him staring at her. She actively avoids him and speaks curtly, even rudely, to try and drive him off. Then, out of buttfuck nowhere, she says she has feelings for him once he’s a warrior? When they’ve barely interacted beyond her spurring his affections? Fuck with that?

Crowpaw x Feathertail: Feathertail, you’re a nice girl. You’re team mom and almost a second in command to Brambleclaw. Everyone likes you. So why in the good god damn fuck does a pissant like Crowpaw (an apprentice at the time, by the way) deserve your recognition, let alone your love? You could get literally any other cat you wanted to, and you go for the fruit that was formerly hanging the lowest, but dropped off the tree and is now rotting on the floor. He is nothing but a dick to you and only starts being remotely kind two seconds before you die. Please love yourself and do better in StarClan.

Bluefur x Oakheart: Speaking of low hanging fruit, this is a very, very easy one to dunk on. It’s moreso the fact that this entire “relationship” is treated as one of the great tragic romances in this series than anything else. The two of them talk, what, two or three times? And then have exactly one night together before Bluefur kills one of their kits and shoves the other two on him and then that’s it. That’s all they had. A one night stand and child death. What a love story. Why does Bluefur think Thrushpelt is the worse option, again?

Dustpelt x Fernpaw: GOD, this relationship is creepy. I still get simultaneously unnerved and mad whenever I read the first arc, because Dustpelt initially seems like he’ll go with Sandstorm before she stupidly falls in love with Fireheart, but then he sets his sights on someone so much younger than him that he actually asks if he can mentor her instead of his original apprentice (her brother, fun fact). Let me emphasize that, because he is actively seeking a power imbalance in this relationship, and he clearly intends to eventually get with her. Bear in mind that she is still being treated like she’s a young kid, if not a teenager, by the narrative. I could be here all day on this fucking topic, but let’s move on.

Berrynose x Poppyfrost: We all know what I’m going to say here. Berrynose having the brass to say loving things to a dying, agonizing Honeyfern after she spent all this time pining after him, and then less than two months later, he shacks up with her sister. That is the coldest thing he could possibly have done to her. The fact that the writers decided that she’s totally okay with the relationship and takes care of her sister’s dead kits like they’re hers is extra terrible. Like, she still gets the scraps when she’s dead? Seriously?

#ask #readmore #relationships #shipping #i speak #lynx #editor #rant

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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Merlin Scar Reveal Part 2(final part)

Merlin tries to pretend nothing happened, Arthur says “that’s stupid.”

Part 1

Merlin’s nightmares last for the rest of the afternoon and extend well into the night.

The heat certainly doesn’t help, and it takes all of Gaius’ effort to keep his temperature low enough to not boil him from the inside out, but he manages with help from the knights. Mordred and Lancelot refuse to leave the servant’s side of course, but the others loiter in the corridor the entire time, and take turns sprinting to the cold store and kitchens for ice water and cloths.

It was difficult to stand there waiting, being given scraps of information on Merlin’s condition, especially when most of the scraps consist of something along the lines of “Hopefully he’ll snap out of it by the morning.”, which was certainly not helped when the occasional whimper floated out to them from the young servant’s room.

After a few hours, Leon was the one to draw the short straw to go and talk to Arthur. Whilst all of them were mildly miffed that Arthur had pushed Merlin so far, they knew that ultimately, it was all of their faults. All of them had pushed him, and none of them had protected him from being injured in the first place. None of them knew how much he had suffered, was still suffering. Considering Arthur’s... extra feelings for his servant, it was no wonder he’d reacted even worse than the others.

The First Knight agrees to go, knowing he had the best chance of talking some sense into The King, though he refuses to leave until he sees each of the others settle in their beds; it had been a long day, and would likely be an even longer day tomorrow. They all need as much sleep as they can get.

Arthur doesn’t answer when Leon knocks on his door, but the knight lets himself in after a few moment regardless, doing so quietly so as not to startle the man if he was asleep or, more likely, deep in thought.

The King was sat at his desk, chin resting on his hands, and Leon has to stamp down the surge of protective adrenaline in his lungs when he sees the dry tear tracks on the younger man’s face. He doesn’t notice Leon’s presence, not even when he very deliberately clears his throat, so the knight walks over to him slowly, rapping his knuckles harshly on the desk. That finally catches Arthur’s attention, and he looks up with a start, hands reaching for the sword that Leon knows he has hidden under the desk.

The King lets out a deep breath and relaxes back in his seat when he sees that it’s just Leon, hastily wiping his eyes before clearing his throat and looking up with a fake confidence:

“Sir Leon, what can I do for you?”

Leon just raises an eyebrow, but when Arthur holds strong and doesn’t react he lets out a deep sigh and collapses into the seat on the other side of the desk:

“Come on, Arthur. We need to talk about this.”

Arthur gulps, trying to keep his unaffected façade up, but failing and dropping it after only a few moments; something about the soft, overly concerned look Leon was giving him made him want to wrap himself in blankets and sob himself to sleep. He frowns and just about manages to keep the tears in:

“Why wouldn’t he tell me? If not about the physical scars, then about all the times he’s been hurt. Does he not think I would’ve given him time to recover? Or, God forbid, helped him?”

Leon purses his lips slightly in thought, still having to make a concerted effort not to gather The King up in a tight hug as he considers his questions:

“I don’t think it’s about you, Arthur. Merlin is... a private person by nature, and he doesn’t like worrying people. You heard Mordred, he and Lance found out by accident, and even then Merlin tried to keep them away from it as long as possible.”

Arthur stands, the guilt and sadness in his gut now frothing with anger as well. He paces around to the centre of the room and Leon stands to watch him carefully:

“He can say it’s not about me as much as he wants, but I’m The King, Leon,-”

He whirls on the knight, and Leon clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to raise a mocking eyebrow. He knew to expect anger at some point, but that doesn’t mean Arthur was entitled to it:

“-I have a right to know what’s going on in my Kingdom. I should’ve been informed of Nimueh and Morgause’s deaths, I should’ve been informed that Cenred was torturing people for information. How many other countless adventures has Merlin had that have put himself, Me, the Kingdom in danger, simply because he didn’t want people to know much about him?? None of that was his call to make.”

Leon does raise an eyebrow at that, but Arthur was too busy furiously pacing to feel scolded quite yet. The older man crosses his arms and huffs slightly, waiting for The King to calm before responding:

“Be that as it may, that’s not why you’re angry. You can lie to yourself, Arthur, but you can’t lie to me, and you certainly shouldn’t lie to Merlin. If you go to him pretending that you’re angry because he put the Kingdom at risk, and not because you’re heartbroken at him having suffered so much, then he’ll never forgive you. And when you realise that, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

Arthur looks to Leon sharply, but the anger drains from his face within seconds and his whole body sags slightly, the exhaustion of the day having caught up to him. A glance to the now dark window tells him that it’s well into the evening, but he can’t find it in himself to be annoyed at the unfinished paperwork on his desk or the hunger in his stomach from not having eaten since before noon, not when he knows Merlin is being tortured by nightmares and injuries that have long since healed. Injuries that he should never have had in the first place. Leon waits patiently for Arthur to respond:

“I don’t want him to be in pain. I just want to help him.”

His cracking admission has Leon give up on holding himself back, and he strides towards The King to pull him into a tight embrace. Arthur tenses at first, but quickly falls into the older man’s affection, accepting a hug for the first time since he was a child. Leon responds softly, aware that he only had a short time before Arthur pulled away and put his walls back up:

“Merlin’s already in pain, Arthur, but that doesn’t mean we can’t now help him.-”

He feels Arthur nod into his shoulder and squeezes the man tighter for a moment before pulling back, keeping a tight grip on The King’s shoulders:

“Come on, you need to get some sleep.”

Arthur’s tired, longing gaze moves to the paperwork spread haphazardly over his desk, and Leon shakes his head, tugging Arthur’s shoulders so he looks back at him:

“No, work isn’t an option, your mind is not in any sort of state to be productive right now. You’re exhausted, Arthur, a few hours of sleep will do you some good; I hate to say it but The Kingdom won’t stop needing attention whilst we... sort through this, and you’ll need the energy tomorrow.”

Arthur shakes his head, stepping back and rubbing his eyes tiredly as he takes a deep breath and straightens his back. Leon steps back as well, re-introducing the respectful distance that should be between a King and his Knight, waiting for Arthur’s no doubt stoic response:

“The councilmen will survive without me for a day or two, if not then that really should be something I’m made aware of so I can get to replacing them. Merlin and I need to...-”

He cuts himself off and clears his throat:

“-has there been any news? Any change?”

Leon shakes his head, but catches Arthur’s wrist when he begins walking towards the door:

“Arthur. I just about managed to convince everyone else to get some sleep and you need it more than them.-”

Arthur looks back indignantly, failing to portray his Kingly Anger in his exhaustion and looking more like a scolded child:

“-You know I’m right. Get some sleep, Gaius will inform you if anything changes.”

For a moment, it looks like Arthur wants to argue, but he quickly lets out a deep, bone weary sigh, nodding before moving sluggishly towards his bed. Leon nods approvingly, muttering a soft “Goodnight, My Lord” and smiling slightly at Arthur’s hummed response before quietly exiting the chambers.

Arthur can convince himself, for a few blissful seconds, that it was all a bad dream when he wakes up the next morning.

His curtains are thrown wide open; the sunlight streams in and forces The young King to groan and roll over, attempting to shield his eyes from the brightness. Merlin’s cheery voice echoes throughout the various chambers:

“Come on, Sire, up and at ‘em!”

Arthur just grumbles a slurred “Fuck off.” before his brain wakes up and he throws himself from the bed, thankfully wearing sleep clothes but only just managing to catch himself on the bedside table before he falls over:

“Merlin!! What the hell are you- are you ok?! Did Gaius say you could get up?!”

Merlin looks back at him with the same disapproving, mocking glare he usually uses in the morning; Arthur is taken aback at the darkness in his eyes. He can’t quite decide if it made it’s first appearance this morning, or if it had always been there and he just hadn’t noticed. He doesn’t know which idea he hates more:

“I’m fine, Arthur, no need to worry about me. And for your information, I’m a fully trained physician, I don’t need Gaius telling me what I can and can’t do.-”

He rolls his eyes and turns to The King’s desk with a huff, gesturing at the mess:

“-It’s flattering that you rely on me so much Arthur, but really, this is ridiculous.”

Arthur is finally broken out of his shocked stupor, shaking his head disbelievingly and taking a few short steps towards his manservant. He goes to yell but quickly backtracks, snapping his mouth shut and taking a deep breath before trying again, softly this time:

“Merlin... we have to talk about yesterday.”

Merlin’s reaction is immediate and harsh. The quill that he had picked up from Arthur’s desk snaps in his sudden tight grip and the tension in his shoulders is painful looking. He freezes for just a moment before forcing himself to relax, casually throwing the broken quill into a waste basket before continuing to organise the desk, refusing to look up at The King:

“No, we really don’t. I’m fine, My Lord.”

The lack of sarcasm or sass in Arthur’s title worries The King greatly, but the way Merlin regains more and more of the tension in his shoulders the closer Arthur walks to him is even more worrying:

“Merlin... look at me.-”

The servant gulps, biting his lip at he stares at the desk for a few more moments before forcing himself to look up. He recoils slightly at the tears in Arthur’s eyes, but doesn’t allow himself to look away. Arthur opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the door to his chambers opening with a bang as Mordred and Lancelot rush in. They’re both red-faced and panting, speaking at the same time:

“I swear to the Gods if he snuck out of bed to work, I’ll-”

“I apologise My Lord, I don’t suppose you’ve seen-”

They both freeze as they see Merlin stood behind Arthur’s desk, paperwork crumpled in his tight grip and face fallen into a annoyed frown. Arthur throws his hands up, frustrated as he paces and mumbles:

"Just... come in why don’t you. No, don’t worry about knocking just run on in like you own the damn place.”

Lancelot spares him a quick glance but locks the door behind him and crosses his arms like an angry mother as he looks to the irate servant:

“Merlin, we’ve talked about this, you’re meant to take the morning off after a bad night, Gaius says-”

Merlin just rolls his eyes and turns away, interrupting Lancelot’s scolding as he continues to tidy around the room, his annoyance evident in his harsh tone and hurried movements:

“I’m a physician too, and I say I’m fine. I would like to just... get on with things, please.”

Arthur has to stop himself from recoiling at the way Lance and Mordred’s faces fall, the pain and grief sadder than anything he’s ever seen in their expressions before. He takes a moment to think before giving the two of them a pointed look and quietly asking:

“Can you give us a minute?”

Lancelot looks doubtful, but willing. Mordred plants his feet and crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s obvious he has no intention of leaving Merlin’s side; as much as Arthur finds that admirable on a personal level, as King it’s unacceptable. He’s normally not a fan of pulling rank among friends, but maybe that’s because he normally doesn’t need to. Perhaps this whole mess was his fault, Mordred obviously felt so, but Arthur could hardly fix it with them glaring over his shoulder. He raises himself to his full height, a good few inches above Mordred, and uses the tone of voice he normally reserves for particularly difficult councilmen:

“You forget whose presence you are in, Sir Mordred, you’d do well to remember again. You are both dismissed.”

Mordred’s eyes go wide and he takes in a sharp breath, but after a quick glance to Merlin’s turned back he dutifully bows and walks from the room stiffly. Lancelot’s postures straightens as well, and he follows Mordred after a confident:

“We’ll be in Gaius’ chambers should you require anything, My Lord.”

Merlin was oblivious to the conversation, though Arthur reckons he was deliberately ignoring it as opposed to being actually unaware, especially with the way the servant’s shoulders relax when the door shuts behind the second knight.

Arthur sighs as Merlin continues to putter around the room, refusing to look him in the eye; he leans against the edge of the desk and crosses his arms:

“Merlin,-”

His voice is soft, but the servant still doesn’t look at him, giving a non-committal hum as he clears out the hearth with shaking hands:

“-come here, please.”

Merlin freezes for just a moment, and if the problem wasn’t so glaringly the context of the situation, Arthur may have been able to fool himself into believing that Merlin was just shocked he said please. The younger man stands slowly, turning to walk towards Arthur with his gaze stuck to the floor. He stops with about five feet of space between them and Arthur sighs again, closing the gap until only a few inches separates them. The King ignores the tears gathering in both of their eyes as he lifts a hesitating hand, dropping it softly on Merlin’s shoulder only when the servant doesn’t flinch away:

“Merlin, I... you mean a great deal to me, and I know I don’t say that often enough, or at all, really. You... look after me, keep me alive and unhurt, evidently more than I had originally thought. You make me a good King, and a better man.-”

Merlin looks up at him sharply and Arthur can tell that he’s about to argue, so he squeezes his shoulder and quickly hurries on:

“-You’ve been hurt, you’ve suffered in your service to me, and that’s unacceptable but it’s also my fault; I should’ve made it clear that I would protect you from anything. These scars prove your strength, but I understand not wanting to acknowledge them, so I promise I will never ask again. You tell me when you’re ready, and if that’s never, then that’s completely fine.-”

Merlin seems surprised by the promise, and the tears slowly dripping from his wide eyes just make Arthur regret yesterday even more. After a second or two of shock, Merlin visibly relaxes, relieved with the knowledge that he doesn’t have to expect the conversation that he really doesn’t want to have. Arthur gives him a weak smile before continuing:

“-I’m sorry, but I’m also grateful. Thank you, Merlin. But...-”

Merlin re-tenses at the “but” and Arthur squeezes his shoulder again, giving him what he hopes is a reassuring smile:

“-please don’t keep doing this alone. I... I don’t expect you to ask me for help, though I would drop anything in a heartbeat to keep you safe. Even... even if it’s Gwaine, just... I don’t want you disappearing off to save the Kingdom only to never come back again because no one knows where you are.”

Merlin smiles weakly at the disdain in Arthur’s voice when he mentions Gwaine, but quickly frowns again and looks at the floor. He gaze stays lowered when he asks his one word question, his voice quiet and ragged:

“Anything?”

Arthur frowns for a second, confused about what Merlin was asking, but quickly realises, lifting the other man’s chin with his hand, his voice a whisper:

“Merlin, I would give up the Kingdom to rid you of the burden you’ve place upon yourself. I just want you safe and happy and by my side.”

Merlin once again looks like he wants to argue, but a quiet sob falls from his mouth instead and Arthur, damning the consequences and his stupid reputation, pulls the younger man into a tight hug, cradling his head into his shoulder and running a soft hand up and down his back. A few tears of his own slip free but he finds he doesn’t care that much as Merlin shakes in his arms; he presses a barely-there kiss to Merlin’s temple and begins swaying slightly on the spot, wanting more than anything to take away his servant’s pain.

Merlin’s cries slow to a stop after what feels like hours, but Arthur doesn’t let go quite yet, eyeing the unmade bed over Merlin’s shoulder with eagerness, knowing that neither he nor Merlin had slept well last night. He feels Merlin stifle yawn against his shoulder and that just strengthens his resolve; he squeezes the younger man to get his attention and then speaks quietly:

“Reckon the council can survive without me later?”

Merlin clears his throat and responds, but still doesn’t let go:

“Doubtful, but Leon and Morgana could probably whip them into shape. Why?”

Arthur nods and pulls back, frowning at the slight panic in Merlin’s eyes when he steps away but doesn’t mention it, letting his hand slide down from the servant’s shoulder to grip his hand. Merlin visibly relaxes, but still looks confused as Arthur tugs him towards the bed gently; he allows himself to be pushed to sit on the edge and looks up at Arthur questioningly. The blond stops himself from grinning widely at the trust in his expression, instead turning away to shut the curtains and lock the door as he says:

“Shoes and belt off, I fancy a nap, how about you?”

He was expecting an argument, so he's surprised when he turns back to the bed to see Merlin softly smiling as he sets his shoes and belt on the bedside table neatly. They both climb under the covers wordlessly, and Merlin doesn’t hesitate to curl into Arthur’s side when he holds his arms out to him.

The King holds his servant close, tucking his head against his chest and burying his chin in his soft hair, his arms wound around Merlin tightly. Merlin closes his eyes without issue, finding himself unafraid of the darkness or the nightmares or the firm touch against his back for the first time since his collection of scars began.

The warrior sleeps, plagued by nothing but pleasant dreams and the warmth of a protection he knows he can trust.

THE END!!

That took me FOREVER to write, writer’s block really does suck, but I’m glad I finally got it finished. I feel like it’s a little underwhelming, but I hope y‘all like it :)

@1stbonesfan asked to be tagged! <3

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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years

Text

Dog Days

Relationship: Natasha Romanoff x Reader Warnings: N/A, just fluffy! Summary: You agree to accompany Yelena to the pet shelter so she can look for a dog. While there, though, you lock eyes with the sweetest golden retriever... Natasha ends up coming home to quite the surprise. A/N: Bad title, even worse summary! but what’s new.

Masterlist

When you woke up that morning, you hadn’t expected that by the afternoon you’d be standing in what felt like a sea of dogs. In fact, you knew for a cold hard fact you weren’t supposed to be in this position.

Earlier in the week, Yelena had finally announced she was committing to getting a dog, a task she had been hemming and hawing about for months. Naturally, you and Natasha were pretty excited for her. It felt like you two were becoming aunts in some sort of way. Natasha then offered to go to the shelter with Yelena and the plans had been made.

But come the morning of and Natasha was whisked away to a meeting or something. You didn’t know, you weren’t an Avenger — you only dated one.

You broke the news to Yelena that morning when she came to pick up Natasha. There was a tinge of disappointment written on her face but she did her best to keep up that unbothered persona. It never worked on you when your girlfriend did it and it certainly wasn’t working now with her sister. After a short debate with yourself, you had impulsively grabbed your purse and told Yelena you’d go with her. She didn’t fight you on it.

And that was how you ended up being pestered by dog after dog after dog. They seemed to be never-ending as you two walked up and down the aisles of the local shelter. There were big ones, small ones. Loud ones, shy ones. Puppies and seniors. Each and every one of them looked up at you with the sweetest eyes. It was starting to become concerning how much your heart ached for these little guys. But you weren’t here for yourself — no way, that was never the plan — and instead directed your attention to pointing out potential adoptees for Yelena.

She was quick to shut down your chihuahua suggestion which, well, was sort of reasonable. Yelena didn’t come off as the type. Then you passed some cages of great danes but those were a little on the too big side. Another fair point, they could be tough to corral.

Then you two stumbled upon the German shepherds. You don’t think you’d ever seen Yelena’s eyes light up so much. If falling in love at first sight was a thing with dogs, it happened at that moment you observed. While Yelena approached the cage to introduce herself to the dog, you stepped around looking at the others in the area.

That was when you had your own love at first sight moment. There, in the cage right next to the dog Yelena was looking at, was the sweetest, happiest golden retriever you had ever seen. He perked up immediately as you stepped towards the cage, tail wagging happily, mouth opened to what looked like to be a smile. As weird as that fact sounded, it felt true. This dog certainly looked happy to see you. The feeling was mutual.

Carefully, you stuck your hand between the cage bars and the dog sniffed you out. Within seconds he was licking you, a silent greeting and acceptance. It was over for you then and Yelena apparently had picked up on it.

"Natasha is going to have quite the surprise for her once she gets home," she laughed, watching you pet the dog as well as you could between the bars.

You bit your lip, holding back your own laugh. "It’s not like I can just walk away."

"Of course not."

"That’d be cruel."

"I agree."

You playfully rolled your eyes. "You just want me in trouble."

Yelena shrugged. "I do think it can be amusing hearing you and my sister bicker."

"Oh, just worry about your own dog," you shooed her away. She turned back to the German shepherd, letting out another laugh. The shepherd barked.

When Yelena found a volunteer to begin the adoption process, you followed as well. Like your feet had a mind of their own. Or maybe it was your heart. Whatever it was, you just knew you hadn’t expected your day to go as such.

***

It was very clear that Natasha also hadn’t expected the day to go the way it did.

It was close to midnight when the apartment door opened. You and the new dog, which you had found was named Sparky, were still up playing with the variety of new toys you had purchased for him. After adopting the golden retriever, you realized, well, you had nothing for him. He wasn’t technically supposed to be in the back of the car, looking around all excitedly, if today had gone the way it was meant to.

You stopped by a pet store on the way back which Sparky was very, very excited about. You found he was very kind with other dogs and got overly excited about anything flavored with bacon. You even let him pick out his own toys which led to quite the array of items.

You had just bounced a ball for Sparky to chase when you noticed a presence in the entryway of the living room. You nearly jumped out of your skin, still not used to the way your assassin girlfriend could be so stealthy.

"Nat, hello!" You exclaimed as if everything was normal and this was a very typical night. She didn’t look impressed standing with her arms crossed, eyes darting every now and then to the golden retriever who was now prancing back to you with the ball.

"What’s going on here?" She asked slowly, curiously. Sparky finally noticed Natasha and trotted over, trying to say hello. Your girlfriend looked a bit unsure, to say the least.

"Um, that’s Sparky the Golden Retriever," you explained, motioning to the dog still waiting for Natasha to pet him. She patted his head gently.

"I see that," she nodded. "I guess I’m asking… What’s he doing in our apartment?"

You stood from the floor and took a few steps towards your girlfriend. You discarded the toy in your hand, trying to figure out how to really explain everything now. "Well, you see, after you went to that meeting this morning, I told Yelena I’d go with her to the shelter."

Natasha nodded, encouraging you to go on.

You sighed. "I-I didn’t plan on it, obviously, but I saw Sparky in the cage and I just… Oh, Nat. You should’ve seen the way he looked at me. He’s so sweet. We got along right away and he seemed so excited to meet me… I couldn’t just leave him there!"

Natasha let out a light laugh, completely abandoning her angry girlfriend persona to finally kneel to the golden retriever’s height. She scratched behind his ears which earned a happy sigh from the dog. "Of course you couldn’t leave a face like this."

You let out your own sigh of relief and kneeled down as well. Hesitantly, you asked, "You’re not upset?"

Natasha shrugged. "I was certainly surprised," she admitted, "but I think I should’ve known this would happen."

"Excuse me?" You let out a faux surprise gasp. Natasha chuckled.

"Well, when I knew I couldn’t go I figured you’d step in," she explained. "You are absolutely hopeless when it comes to resisting animals. It was just a matter of time until I came home to this."

You smiled at her analysis of you. Ever the spy, can never turn it off. "Yelena was no help either in the situation. She definitely persuaded me but she was just banking on us arguing over it."

That made Natasha let out the most joyous laugh. You couldn’t help your smile getting bigger at her finding the situation amusing. "I expect nothing less from her," Natasha said.

You nodded in agreement. "Thank gosh it worked out," you said and began petting Sparky’s back. He was stuck between a shower of love and was taking in every second of it, tongue hanging out in happiness, eyes shut in content. "I was worried you’d make me return him."

Your girlfriend shook her head. "That’d be impossible." She sighed, "I can’t believe I’m now a… What do they call that? A dog mom?"

You gasped, a lightbulb going off in your head. "We could get little dog mom shirts made. Sparky could even get his own bandana. We’d have matching family outfits."

Natasha raised her hand, wordlessly asking you to slow down. "Please don’t push it, dear."

You playfully rolled your eyes. "Fine," you shrugged, "but you can’t control what I get you for Christmas."

As if he understood, Sparky let out a bark in agreement.

Natasha sighed. "I’m outnumbered now, aren’t I?"

Sparky turned towards you, giving your cheek what felt like a million licks. Through your laughter, you confirmed your girlfriend’s suspicion.

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makeste · 3 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 299: No Chains Left

Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi was all “and then AFO broke out all of the inmates from six other prisons and took a nap. well anyways, here’s the hospital angst.” Kacchan woke up two days later and was all, “WAIT BUT HOW ARE DEKU AND TODOROKI AND ALL OF THE OTHER CHARACTERS EXCEPT IIDA DOING” and then we cut to Shouto’s room where the other U.A. kids were sitting around being Mutually Traumatized and giving each other moral support and such. Everyone was alll, “...”, and then the rest of the Todofam showed up, INCLUDING POSSIBLY REI?! which, omg. The chapter ended with Kacchan STOMPING THROUGH THE HALLS all “WHADDYA MEAN DEKU HASN’T WOKEN UP YET”, dragging along Satou and Mineta behind him, fueled by the power of ALL OF THE FUCKS HE NOW GIVES. He gives so many fucks now you guys. This boy cares so much he can probably deduct it on his taxes.

Today on BnHA: SPEAKING OF PEOPLE WHO GIVE A LOT OF FUCKS, the story cuts abruptly to Hawks, freshly recovering from his near-death experience, and pondering the threads that have weaved the tapestry of his life and led him to this moment. Basically he grew up in poverty with his Jerk Dad and Jerk Mom until his dad got arrested one day and his mom sent him off to go Find Money Or Something, and so he rescued a busload of people and found himself a new career. Back in the present day, Hawks and Jeanist ride around town in Jeanist’s Jamborghini having awkward encounters with civilians in a country on the brink of social collapse, and visiting Hawks’s mother’s home. Hawks is all “I know from an outsider’s perspective it must look like my life currently sucks, but now that the HPSC is gone, my public image is shot, and my parents are finally out of my life, I’m actually feeling SURPRISINGLY GOOD.” Anyway so he’s gonna go meet up with Endeavor now, and p.s. this chapter was fucking fantastic though, damn.

oh my god?? is this Hawks narration?? something about him growing up watching the heroes on TV and thinking of them as fictional characters

okay I scrolled down a little bit more to see the rest of that “Keigo” panel, and wow

this is basically a shed. poor boy definitely grew up rough. let me tell you guys, I came in here ready for some BakuDeku shenanigans; I was not prepared for Hawks Flashback Angst. I AM HERE FOR IT, but also wow I gotta brace myself now lol

HELLO MISTER HAWKS’S JERK DAD, SIR

BnHA sure does have an array of Jerk Dads, doesn’t it. makes me appreciate characters like Masaru and JirouDad all the more for bucking the trend

anyway. so Horikoshi, you really thought that one itty bitty chapter of hospital catharsis would be enough to calm us all before you went right back to showing us child abuse huh. my god man can we rest

BABY HAWKS

swear to god this kid can’t be more than five or six, and yet he has this completely blank look on his face even with his dad looming over him being all threatening and shit. like he’s shut down his emotions to protect himself. imagine what has to happen to a child for him to have learned this at such a young age. fuck

AND MEANWHILE THIS GUY

don’t mingle with humans?? not “other” humans, just humans?? what is this implying here?? and also holy shit Hawks definitely didn’t inherit his looks from his dad orz

then again he doesn’t really bear much of a resemblance to his strung-out mom here either

omg omg omg. and this child is basically trapped here in this environment with these two people. this explains a SHITLOAD about Hawks’s personality though you guys. his ability to completely separate his real thoughts from the face he presents to the outside world. his pragmatic approach to analyzing and solving problems. his layers of emotional walls. turns out almost none of that came from the HPSC training -- that was all learned hands-on in his own personal do-or-die survival nightmare childhood!! oh, boy

and small wonder then that he latched on to Endeavor so strongly if he really is the one who brought down his dad and inadvertently saved him from this. also, just putting this out there, I know people are always talking about him and Dabi being foils, and I think it’s very interesting how Touya grew up in a household where he saw firsthand the dark side of hero society, and so ended up becoming a villain in order to bring it down. whereas young Keigo had almost the exact opposite experience, growing up experiencing the dark side of villain society and becoming a hero in order to bring about a world where no one else has to experience that. just. both of them are so determined not to become their fathers. some interesting parallels there

so Hawks was sort of an accident after his parents had “thanks for helping me not get caught after I killed that guy” sex, and now this little boy is growing up in squalor and being beaten by his father for things like Sitting In The Wrong Out-Of-The-Way Corner Trying Not To Be A Bother To Anybody. holy fuck. this is so rough to read through you guys

wait so does Jerk Dad have a an eyeball manipulation quirk?? because he doesn’t have the wings like his son, but wth are these things??

this presumably also means that Keigo has never been to school or anything either. he basically doesn’t exist. he thinks heroes are fictional characters, he doesn’t realize that they’re real people. these are people who could help him if he could escape and find them, but he doesn’t know, and they don’t know about him

OH MY GOD HE’S JUST SITTING IN HIS CORNER HUGGLING HIS ENDEAVOR PLUSH OH MY GOD

how could this child possibly have an anti-fandom when he’s done NOTHING WRONG HIS ENTIRE LIFE. huh. just explain that to me. lol I mean I’m not looking to pick a fight with anyone, but also, MAYBE I AM, idk?? this kid has gotten me all riled up lmao

anyways, Protect Keigo 2021, and thank you Horikoshi for these three very terrible pages. I am pleased to inform you that you’ve effectively gotten your point across and you may now commence saving this kid already

YAY

oh no, Keigo’s dumbass jerk dad tried to steal a car and the popo nabbed his ass and now his mom can’t just sit around neglecting her VERY YOUNG SON all day long, oh horrors. sorry lady my tiny violin is on backorder. just imagine that I’m playing a very sarcastic song on it for you

anyway so what are you gonna do now, abandon him? I can hardly imagine he’d be worse off, if anything it might be a near-instant improvement

LMAO HE’S ALL “WAIT WHAT ENDEAVOR’S A REAL FUCKING DUDE?!”

AND THEY SAY THAT A HERO CAN SAVE US~~~~ I’M NOT GONNA STAND HERE AND WAAAAAIT~~~~~ I’LL HOLD ONTO THE WINGS OF THE EAGLES, WATCH AS WE ALL FLY AWAAAAAAY~~~~

lol what a randomly pivotal moment in his young life. TIME TO GO MAKE THESE MEMES INTO DREAMS YOUNG ONE

anyway so his mom freaked out and grabbed him and they wound up at a train station with her TELLING HIM TO GO GET HER SOME MONEY, oh my god. SURE MOM LEMME JUST WALTZ RIGHT ON DOWN TO THE “JOBS FOR FIVE-YEAR-OLDS” STORE AND TELL THEM I NEED SOME CASH. ffff manifesting someone to come help him in 3... 2...

...

SIGH, JUST GO RESCUE THE PEOPLE FROM THE BUS, KEIGO. is this the outfit he was wearing when that happened?? it must be, right?? I can’t imagine them surviving more than a couple days out here unless this starts getting REALLY dark in a way I know that even Horikoshi won’t explore, so yeah. cut to the HPSC now please. never thought we’d be glad to see them. I mean sure, it may be an “out of the frying pan...” case, but good god

THANK YOU!!

and I guess it was his mom’s eyeball quirk then. anyway, whatever, see you again never, hopefully. lol oh man. thaaaat, was upsetting. need to center myself here for a sec. NAMASTE

OH YAY THE PRESENT

so we cut from Baby Hawks Angst straight to Present Day Hawks Angst, huh. not that this exhausted and traumatized lil lad isn’t still a baby to me too, I’ll have you know

BEST JEANIST, ALWAYS WITH THE JOKES

“WHEW, THOUGHT YOU DIED ON ME FOR A SEC THERE KID.” lmao. Caleb will no doubt ruin this by making his word choice all stiffly formal as usual, so I’m just going to treasure this “WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT, I’M FRESH OUT OF FUCKS” version of Jeanist while I can

look at him, driving his Jeanistmobile

again, is it any wonder Kacchan was bitching about Endeavor’s dinky little car when he was used to riding around town in style like this. anyone else staring at this panel trying to figure out how this car is somehow secretly made of jeans

NOOOOO

FUCK YOU DABI LMAO. PUTTING THESE VOICE ACTORS OUT OF A JOB ONE BY ONE

anyway so Jeanist is all “GOOD THING IT’S THE FUTURE AND WE’RE SO GOOD AT MEDICAL SCIENCE” to handwave how Hawks went from one step shy of being a very handsome corpse, to sitting around texting Jeanist in a car all of two days later

OH MY GOD, AND FINALLY AN EXPLANATION FOR THIS

wait a minute. I’m so confused lmfao. soooo, was Hawks all “anyway, here’s Jeanist’s dead body, you can examine it but please don’t look at him too closely and also I’m gonna need that back unharmed.” how tf did you pull that off lmao

(ETA: also isn’t this technically confirmation of the ol’ Noumu Jeanist theory lol. I’m gonna go ahead and say it is.)

NO BUT PLEASE, CONTINUE. I unironically love reading Horikoshi’s overly convoluted “SEE IT’S NOT A PLOT HOLE” explanations

lkldslfk so wait, you’re telling me Hawks convinced Dabi and the League to put Jeanist’s body in storage, and basically just hoped they wouldn’t use him for any experiments until he could put his plan into action and have the HPSC’s people break in and find and revive him?? WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG. A FOOLPROOF PLAN IF I’VE EVER HEARD ONE

fff this man really asked Jeanist to risk it all to prop up his little cover story, and Jeanist was all “sure why not” omfg. anyways, thanks for recapping all of this out loud for no particular reason in your car conversation you two

LMAO NOW WHAT

TROUBLE YOU SAY? GOOD THING THE NEW NUMBER ONE HERO IS ON THE JOB THEN

okay no it’s just some random thugs strolling around terrorizing the downtown. fuck ‘em. so Jeanist is making short work of them now

uh oh

won’t come? not can’t, but won’t?? what???

WOW

well I guess that makes the local heroes A BUNCH OF SHITHEADS now doesn’t it?? jesus

and okay, serious question, if the cops are spread too thin and the heroes have literally walked out on the job, what exactly is stopping everyone from deciding to use their quirks to defend themselves, legal or not? nothing, as far as I can tell. society just got a hell of a lot more chaotic

anyway so this is an interesting panel here

man, Dabi really did pull it off, didn’t he. well anyway so here’s that better world all of the villains were wanting, you guys! isn’t it so great?? everyone’s terrified and angry and losing hope and society is inches away from collapsing into total anarchy! but hey, at least we exposed the number one hero as a hypocrite

anyway so what are these guys up to

fucking hell, he’s visiting his mom. I really wasn’t prepared to commit this much emotional energy towards reading this chapter today. BUT VERY WELL, WE PRESS ON

?? wait she’s not there?

is this supposed to explain how Dabi knew who Hawks really was? except that there’s the little matter of how he even know where to find his mother in the first place. feels like we’re still missing something there, but oh well

OH MY GOD

RHA I TAKE BACK EVERY WORD I EVER SPOKE AGAINST YOU. YOU ARE A SCANLATION GROUP FILLED WITH ANGELS LMAO. I WILL TAKE THIS PANEL IN MY HANDS, AND TREASURE IT AND KEEP IT SAFE

ANYWAY, BECAUSE MY TIRED BIRD SON’S LIFE SUCKED SO MUCH ALREADY, IT TURNS OUT HE’S ACTUALLY PLEASED WITH THIS NEW TURN OF EVENTS LOL HOW ABOUT THAT

GOOD FOR YOU BBY. YOU GO OUT THERE AND BE YOUR OWN PERSON

and in all seriousness, I love that identity he chooses -- chooses, because it actually is him making a choice now, possibly for the very first time in his life -- is “guy who helps people”, though. it really is nothing short of miraculous that he held on to that kind of optimism and desire to do good even with everything he’s been through. there were so many times he could have chosen to turn his back on the world in retaliation for the way it treated him. but he didn’t!! and here he is now, finally free, and what he wants to do with the rest of his life now is simply to help others. anyway please excuse me for a moment, I need to go find some sort of basket or a big vase to put all of my fresh new Hawks Feels in, pardonne-moi

YEAH BOIIIIII

“FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS, MISTER JEANIST, WHERE DID YOU FIND YOUSELF THAT SWEETASS CAR.” hey, all I’m saying is if this boy’s wings really aren’t growing back, he’s gonna need to find himself a new means of transportation y’know?

oh my god you guys it’s a flashback to his mom buying him the Endeavor plushie when he was like two because, and I quote, ALL MIGHT WAS TOO EXPENSIVE

oh my god oh my god. my boy out here with a new lease on life finding hope in the darkest of times

wasn’t your throat supposed to be all fucked up lmao. Horikoshi was suddenly all “oh shit the VAs are gonna be pissed at me if I keep this up huh”

“that’s why Bubaigawara was such a great guy” motherfucker IT IS A TERRIBLE DAY FOR RAIN. FORECAST SAID NOTHING ABOUT THIS

:’)

yes ma’am. yes indeed. confirmed, I really will straight up fight some motherfuckers for this child. well not really, but YOU KEEP YOUR DISCOURSE OFF MY LAWN AND OUT OF MY BLOG YOU HEAR. THIS IS A HAWKS-FRIENDLY SPACE. WE RESPECT TAKAMI KEIGO IN THESE STREETS

and he’s saying (or is he thinking?? what a weirdly shaped speech bubble this is) that even if what Dabi said about the Todoroki household is true, “I’m not sure it’s the same now.” which happens to be ABSOLUTELY CORRECT. man this whole chapter really is all about saying “fuck the past” and moving forward and I am living for it

SON!!!!

“the first step is at my beginning” fklkjlk. what an iconic fucking line??

AND HIS WINGS!!!! THEY ACTUALLY ARE GROWING BACK AHHHHHHH. “PUT A RAINCHECK ON THAT CAR, JEANIST-SAN.” THE HAWKSMOBILE CAN WAIT, RIGHT NOW HE HAS TO GO INSERT HIMSELF BACK INTO THE TODODRAMA WHETHER THEY LIKE IT OR NOT

you guys. I came here ready for some BAKUDEKU HOSPITAL ANGST, and I got DIDDLY SHIT of that, and none of my other kids were even in this chapter, but!!! ASK ME IF I CARE LMAO omg. because bird son is hanging with his new best friend, and he’s out here Finding Himself and picking up the pieces and putting them back together stronger than ever because RESILIENCE HAS A NAME, AND IT’S SPELLED H-A-W-K-S, and you guys. profound, my love for this child. holy shit. hey google, play Silence by Marshmello

#bnha 299 #takami keigo #hawks (bnha)#best jeanist #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #I found peace in your violence #can't tell me there's no point in trying #I'm at one #and I've been quiet for too long

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yesimwriting · 3 years

Text

The Promise of Rain, Blurb 3

Technically the third in a blurb-ish series (though this is kinda long for a blurb lol) but can technically be read as a stand alone, but i think the other parts make this seem more significant lol

A/n kinda angsty, not sure if i loveeee this but i haven’t posted a fic in such a long time bc of graduation chaos but now it’s summer and i’m working on a lot of requests/stories :))

Summary: jealousy is out of place when there’s no real warrant for it, and sometimes it’s okay to be content--to not need the rain to make you promises.

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y! reader

Tiredness dulls the part of me that craves the rambunctious, but I’m still positive. I smile when someone does something only the truly inebriated find comical. I laugh when something somewhat actually funny happens, and I let the world around me drink. Twenty minutes--in twenty minutes I will claim a headache and go upstairs.

“You okay, y/n?” Jesper’s concern would border on genuinely considerate if it wasn’t for the slightest hint of slur in his words. Nights in which he consols himself after losing game after game are when he’s the friendliest. “You’re strangely quiet--you’re never quiet.”

I press my lips together oddly, smiling in a way that finally reaches my eyes. Jesper’s nice in an oddly particular way when he’s tipsy. Overly observant and careful. “Just a little tired,” I shift in my seat, leaning back against the plush seat in Kaz’s office, “I wish Kaz would just get here and dismiss us so I can go to bed.”

Jesper smiles, lifting his arm slightly and causing his glass to sway. Kaz is not going to take it well when he realizes that Jesper was extremely involved in the downstairs celebration. He turns ungracefully, moving to sit next to me with no warning. I half-heartedly glare as he takes up most of the small couch.

“You’re grumpy when you’re tired,” Jesper hums, stretching his casually.

I sigh once, but it lacks any bite. “I do not.”

He smiles easily, tilting his head so far to the side that it falls against the back of the seat, “No...but I know the real reason you’re grumpy.”

Rolling my eyes, I suppress my instinctual reaction. That would only expose his words as true. “I am not grumpy, there is no reason--”

“You know he hated it.”

I exhale, tired and slowly losing my fragine hold on fake tranquility. “Yeah.” That should make it better. “I know.” It doesn’t--it doesn’t make anything better.

So the contact we so desperately needed on our side took to flirting with Kaz. It was an uncomfortable situation because of its precariousness and I was worried because I know about his issues with touch. But it’s not like I care about the flirting part. No. It was unprofessional and so easily turned messy--that’s what my problem was.

Jesper sighs, stretching even more. I let him stretch his legs over me, too tired to push him off. I sigh, setting my chin on his bent knees. “What’s with the face, l/n?”

I roll my eyes again. Sometimes having someone care about you is annoying. I take back all of my positive thoughts about him--Jesper Fahey is an annoying drunk.

“There’s no face,” despite my words, I feel my expression sour even further. Jesper’s expression shifts from that of gentle worry to teasing pride. “And if there was one, it wouldn’t be because of Kaz Brekker.”

Jesper’s lips twitch upwards, something strange tainting his tipsy grin. “I never said a name.”

“One more condescending comment, and I’m shoving you off this damn couch.”

He laughs flatly, shifting closer and making himself more comfortable. Drunk and touchy--anyone else would have been slapped by now. “You’re nicer after some of this.”

He holds his glass out towards me casually, amber liquid sloshing slightly. I blink at the liquid with slight disinterest. I’m not exactly in the drinking mood...but I’m not exactly in the mood for any of this. The sound of the door opening doesn’t phase me--it’s not Inej, because she never lets herself be heard. Kaz doesn’t say anything, taking one dull step and then another, footsteps leaching the room of any warmth. The coldness he exudes so easily as a mask is strong tonight, I haven’t even looked at him and I can feel it.

Maybe I do need a drink.

I take the glass from Jesper, taking a quick and shallow sip of the liquid. It’s offensive in smell, taste, and the way it spills down my throat. The taste is much more intense than expected, some of the liquid slips past the corner of my mouth. Somehow more bitter than this moment, the liquid leaves me ready to splutter like a child. I exhale, pushing through the burning. Jesper moves his hand forward absentmindedly, wiping a single drop of liquid from my chin carelessly. The gesture would be sweet if my throat burned less.

“Jesper,” the warmth of the alcohol takes root in my chest, “That’s--” He laughs at my reaction, coaxing a smile from me. “Like literally the worst--why do you even have this?” If this is served in the Crow Club, I’ve never heard of it, this is the kind of under the counter alcohol that isn’t mass produced.

He laughs a little more freely. “Won it off of someone passing through--I don’t always lose.”

I wrinkle my nose, “An outlier shouldn’t be--”

“Oh, shut up.” Jesper laughs again.

“Both of you ‘shut up’,” Kaz sighs, stepping further into the room, “If you need to drink, at least wait until after my meeting.” I frown, ignoring Kaz’s lingering and sharp gaze, “You should all follow Inej’s example.”

“We can’t even see Inej.”

Kaz raises an eyebrow, but he regards me with nothing but voidness. He’s never exactly emotive, but normally in moments like this something I can never interpret touches his expression, coloring it human. “Exactly.”

“You’re funnier than people give you credit for.” The comment isn’t exactly sarcastic, but it’s something lighter than I should be offering. It’s an attempt at peace, the slight stiffness between us is starting to bother me. Our usual dynamic isn’t exactly friendly, but it’s more than this. Kaz glares. “But not tonight.”

His expression hardens. “Business is business. It’s not humor, it’s not whatever you try to make it.” Right. Just like it was business when that girl spent more time hitting on him than actually revealing real information. The thought leaves my expression tight as I swallow back my instinctual words. “It’s not whatever you’re currently doing.”

It takes me longer than it should to realize he’s referring to the position Jesper and I are in. Can he relax? It’s not my fault Jesper is tipsy and touchy.

“Kaz,” Inej’s voice is soft yet determined as she emerges from the shadows. It’s a miracle the way she’s nothing more than a shadow until she chooses not to be. “What’s our next job?”

Prompting Kaz in order to prevent a fight--Inej, always the closest thing to a mom available. I give her a partial smile, glad that she’s wedging herself between us and the tension, preventing conflict I’m too tired to follow through on.

“A merchant’s house,” he begins slowly, “We’ll be searching a merchant’s house but I’m seeking evidence more than property.” Jesper swings his legs off the couch with no warning. My head falls. I glare at Jesper who offers me a slightly apologetic tsk before dropping his head on my shoulder. Kaz must note the exchange because something in his expression tightens. He’s extra irritable today. “I’ll disclose more tomorrow,” he sighs once, already turning away, “Most of you are beyond listening tonight anyways.”

He’s at the door before I can tell him that I’m not drunk. The door opens and closes, but Kaz’s heaviness lingers like led. I frown, letting my head fall to the side, resting on Jesper’s.

“He’s weird today,” I mumble, unsure if I want a reply.

“He’s always like that,” Jesper breathes, “You’re losing your novelty, y/n--he always learns to harden himself against anything bright.”

The words leave me even more tired. “I don’t think I’m particularly bright.”

“Kaz does,” Inej replies, “And it has nothing to do with ‘novelty’, Jesper’s just cynical when he drinks.” I don’t know if I believe her, but I like knowing that Inej thinks that. “And Kaz can’t harden himself against you, and he hates that.”

I press my lips together, straightening my spine. “I’m not that great, and whatever Kaz does or doesn’t harden himself against doesn’t affect me at all.” My nails press into the plush seat. “I don’t even know why we’re talking about this because whatever he does or doesn’t feel doesn’t matter to me.” I force myself up, doing all I can to seem perfectly calm. “All I care about is going to bed.”

Turning my head, I start to approach the door. Kaz has been strangely cold all night, and while I’m used to his moods, he hasn’t exactly directed them at me so fully since the day he caught me waiting for him to wake up after he almost died. If he wants to go back to how it used to be, then it can. Maybe I’ll care in the morning, when the growing weight of my eyelids is no longer a distraction.

“Sometimes the two of you confuse me,” Inej begins, “And sometimes I see you try to deal with emotion and I see the common ground.”

The words leave me cold. I don’t think being compared to Kaz is an insult, not when there’s so much it could mean. He’s much more complex than he wants to be. There is goodness within him, gilding the parts of him that are more shards than anything else.

I exhale, refusing to turn. Inej is too observant for her own good. “There is no emotion.”

“I’m not going to waste my time arguing over that because I know it’s a waste of time.” She pauses and I consider turning around in hopes of reading something less honest from her expression. “I’m just telling you as a friend that one of you needs to be mature and talk to the other tonight before the tension gets worse and that it’s not going to be him.”

She’s right. I exhale, “Do you think I should let him go?” Even just saying that leaves my heart aching. I know instantly that that’s not what I want, but it might be what he wants--it might be the best option. I might have the strength to let him go if I work at it. “I don’t--that’s not what I want and I’m not sure I could, but maybe that’s selfish of me.”

“Y/n.” I turn slowly, but I purposefully avoid her gaze, keeping my head down. “I know that I’ve known Kaz longer than you, and I know that when he’s getting along with you he’s,” she trails off, uncertain, “More him, in a good way.”

My heart swells, and with that comes feelings of panic. I never wanted to change him--to make him better or worse or anything; all I’ve ever wanted is to know him and to maybe help him with his burden. And to hear that maybe I’ve done that from someone so close to him--someone so observant and aware. That’s everything. And that terrifies me. Nothing good can last; nothing that seems to be all you could ever want actually is. I know that from life before the Crows, before I ran away from the castle I called home.

“I think he does the same for you.” I’ve never really thought about Kaz’s effect on me outside of the fact that he makes me feel warm in small moments and painfully seen in large ones.

I smile because she’s trying and she’s given me something. “I’d say I’d tell you when I make my decision, but something tells me you’ll know.”

She nods, expression shifting to something kind. “Goodnight, y/n.”

Jesper stretches out on the couch, settling himself comfortably, “Night, y/n.”

“Goodnight, guys.” I disappear past the door easily, heading towards my room.

I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to look for Kaz tonight. How much damage could be done in one night? Maybe he needs space. Maybe seeking him out now will make things worse. I exhale, opening the door to my room easily. I’ll decide before going to sleep.

When I step into the room, everything is in place. Everything is fine--but something about it feels off. The light is on. I didn’t leave the light on. Nothing else raises any red flags, so I continue into the room calmly, examining everything carefully. Nothing feels out of place as I further enter the room. I take in my bed, my dresser, and lastly my nightstand.

My heart swells all over again, but this time it feels even heavier than before. On the center of my nightstand, in perfect condition, is a copy of Pride and Prejudice. The same book I told Kaz about, the one thing besides clothing I took from the palace. I told him it was my mother’s favorite and then he asked me to read it to him.

I can’t picture him seeing this and thinking of me. I can’t picture him thinking of me--but no one else knew about my attachment to the book. I need to find him. I need to--to see him, to speak to him. To look him in the eye and see something I only ever see when we’re alone. Maybe he won’t have that look this time, but that’s okay.

I can’t expect to always understand him, but that does not mean I don’t know him.

The thought leaves me feeling a little more settled within the boundaries of my skin, but I don’t ease entirely. The good is more frightening than the bad. My fear of happiness is a benign secret I haven’t had to worry about in years. I don’t know enough about it to know how to deal with it let alone mention it to Kaz. Not that it’s his problem.

I squeeze the book to my stomach. Swallowing pride is a difficult thing, but I’m used to it with him. It’s usually worth it with Kaz because sometimes when I try he tries in his own way. I should find him. He’s not awfully creative about where he goes when he wants to be alone because people know better than to bother him. Kaz is probably in his attic or getting air outside or…

The lights were on when I came in. I’m an idiot. I didn’t feel weird when I walked into the room because of the book. Someone’s in here. He’s in here.

Setting the book down like I should have never touched it, I let out a sigh. “Lurking is unbecoming.”

“It’s also unbecoming to work for me and be so easily distracted by a book.” His voice reveals nothing as he emerges from the shadows. “I could have killed you with how long it took for you to notice my presence.” He pauses, eyebrows drawing together. “The light was on.”

Normally I’d have some kind of comment, some kind of joke that offers a more peaceful situation. “I know.” It’s a flat response. “I think on some subconscious level I knew,” I drop my gaze away from him, “I knew I was okay.” That sounds dumb. “I mean...I think I knew it was you so I knew I was okay.” Yeah, that wasn’t anymore eloquent. “That doesn’t make sense, but if you get to be confusing, I do too.”

“Confusing? There’s nothing to understand.” Curt. Simple. Dismissive.

I frown. ‘Nothing to understand’. Right, because there’s nothing confusing about how quickly he decided to dismiss me just to bring me some obscenely sentimental gift. “If you’re mad at me, you should at least tell me why.” I press my lips together. “At least that way I’ll know if I need to apologize or kick your ass.”

At that, he presses his lips together, corner of his mouth threatening to tilt upwards. “You would kick my ass?”

Great, even when he’s easing he has to be annoying. “I could.” There is no universe in which I could take him in a physical fight. “On a good day.” I let out a breath, doing all I can to not focus on his expression. Awkwardness settles in my chest as my eyes land on my bed. I sit down, trying not to let my shoulders slump tiredly as I stretch my legs across my bed. “You’re not having a good day.”

“My day is fine, I’m just not naively cheerful like you,” his words turn sharp, “Or Jesper.”

Weird addition. “Jesper’s not cheerful, he’s just drunk.” I let go of the ‘naive’ part, deciding to focus on the bigger picture. “And I’m not as naive or joyful as you think I am.” I’m not sure if I mean that as a rebuttal or just a fact. “I have bad days too.” This isn’t the kind of conversation I should have while this tired. “I could be less cheerful if you’d like.”

He’s so silent I momentarily wonder if he’s left. “No.” It’s not much, but I take it. Straightening my back, I pull my legs beneath me, intentionally creating space. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ah, blatant rejection. It would sting if I was less in the right. “Maybe you’ll be less weird then.”

“I am not being weird.” At least I’m getting some kind of reaction from him. “You’re the one who--”

“Who what?” Finally--progress.

Kaz sighs, turning slightly. “You’re the one who decided to ignore me after we met with the contact.” I part my lips, ready to retort, but no words come. He did pick up on my slight annoyance, and he reciprocated it in a much larger way.

He can never know that this all came from some ridiculous, territorial--partial jealousy. “I didn’t mean to ignore you,” partial lie, “I’m just kind of in a weird place today, I’m tired.”

“Not too tired for Jesper, it seems.”

What? Is that what this is about? “What? All I did was sit there--he’s a touchy drunk and I just happened to be next to him.”

“You laugh with him,” he says this blankly, “You can touch him.”

The edge of unsafe territory cuts into me at an odd angle. Is this about him? Is he really tormenting himself over something so asinine to me when it comes to him? I’d rather have him than all the physical touch in the world. The book on the nightstand feels closer to me, growing by the prospect of its significance alone. That gesture, that’s more intimate than anything Jesper and I did downstairs.

“So?” I straighten my back slightly. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

He presses his lips together. “That’s the problem--anyone can manage meaningless contact…” The silence is louder than the words that came before it. Oh. I guess I’m not the only one who gets just a little jealous in an unwarranted way. “What if you were hurt? What if you were hurt and we were alone and you needed someone to help you and I couldn’t?” He lets out a sigh, a sound too tired for me to associate with him. “You say you don’t care now, but you’ll grow tired of it--the only life I can offer.”

Inej’s words about the similarities between Kaz and I echo in my mind. “Sometimes I don’t like when things are going well because I don’t know how to be truly content, fully happy.” Saying this twists my stomach. “I don’t know how to trust good things, so whenever there are good things I think about all the ways I could ruin something and then I do.” I take a breath. “I’m not saying that things are particularly good for you or that you’re happy, but I am saying that maybe you shouldn’t think three steps ahead when there’s nothing to think ahead about.” I regard his expression carefully, but nothing has changed. “I told you the only thing I want is to know you, and that’s not going to change.”

“Y/n,” his voice is low, “I am not rain--I can’t promise you anything.”

I scratch my knee, dropping my gaze. “For once I don’t want rain.”

Kaz sighs. “Get some sleep.” Something about the way he’s speaking is authoritative but it lacks any weight. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I frown freely, “Kaz--”

“You look tired,” he mumbles, “You need rest.” He’s using this as an excuse to escape his feelings, but he’s already given me more than I expected. Greed ruins things, but then again, so does selflessness. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“For the job?”

Something strange crosses his features as his expression teeters on shifting. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he repeats, a little more certain.

The response doesn’t satiate me. “Kaz--”

“I may not be the rain, but I’m capable of making promises as well.” There’s something final about the way he says this, but it doesn’t feel cruel.

Maybe I’d protest if my eyelids were less weighted. “Goodnight, Kaz.”

My head falls against the pillow. I’m not sure if he replies, too lost in the drawl of sleep before he can even close the door.

General taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #six of crows imagine #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone show #my works #shadow and bone netflix #six of crows fic #soc imagine #soc fic #sab fic #kaz brekker imagine #grishaverse #grishaverse imagine #grishaverse x reader

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cotton-tails · 3 years

Text

So I saw this last night, and the little angsty plot bunny in my head woke up and I just had to write something. Fully intended to be a drabble of sorts, but of course it turned into a four page tear-fest, so grab the tissues and strap in.

Oh, and I haven't edited this, it's just 3am word-vomit, so enjoy the mess!

“So, this hasn’t exactly gone to plan.”

Della snorts cheerlessly at Donald’s deadpan comment, struggling into a sitting position and wincing at a twinge in her elbow. The chains dig into her arms with every movement, a very clear upgrade from the ropes they’d all been able to break out of within several minutes not too long ago. These idiots don’t know who they’re messing with.

Or they do; probably a little too well, hence the plan that fell apart very quickly. And the chains. And the scary looking red lightning below them.

“Shut up!” Heron snaps behind them, cuffing Donald a little too roughly around the head.

He doesn’t react more than a sharp hiss and a dark glare behind him, and Della can’t help the sharp pang of guilt under the surge of anger. She bites back a comment, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground until the villain is out of earshot.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes, keeping her voice low.

“What? Why?” Donald sounds confused but she can’t bring herself to look at him.

“You should be with Daisy right now,” she says, “I’m the one who guilted you into staying, into coming on this stupid trip. And now we’re facing the very real possibility of dying.”

Donald is quiet.

Forcing herself to look up, she frowns at the look on his face. He still doesn’t say anything, but the expression says it all; ‘Della-you-absolute-idiot-what-are-you-blathering-on-about?’

“I came on this stupid trip cause our kids were in trouble,” he hisses eventually, “my family were in trouble! You think I wouldn’t ditch my vacation in a heartbeat for any of you?”

“I-” Della starts, but her voice catches, rendering her utterly speechless. He’s not lying, she knows exactly what he would do for the family, for her. Yet, somehow that knowledge isn’t exactly helping.

She misses her chance to reply, all conversation cut off with the explosive arrival of Scrooge and Bradford through the roof.

Della clenches her fist and almost bites through the inside of her cheek as he slams to the ground. She manages to chime out a ‘Hey Uncle Scrooge,’ with Donald when his pained gaze finds them. Beakley mutters a sarcastic ‘Fantastic,’ from her other side. She can only watch as a now armoured Bradford, armed with the sword, picks him up by the back of his coat and drags him up the stairs. He’s blathering on about something, but she’s stopped listening; too busy focusing on her battered and beaten uncle and how this could have gone so completely and utterly wrong.

It’s the usual spiel anyway, threats to destroy his family, his adventures, everything he had worked for, blah blah blah.

Then the contract is revealed, and her stomach drops to somewhere around her knees. If they don’t find a way out soon, Scrooge will have to either sign his life away or they all die, and frankly, neither option sound particularly appealing.

It’s only when Bradford sacrifices his own agents that the desperateness of the situation really sinks in. It’s one thing to talk about murder, it’s entirely another to actually do it. And if Bradford is willing to throw away his own agents, Della can’t imagine what he would be willing to do to her family if Scrooge doesn’t sign.

He tries to buy some time. Della can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he tries to figure out how to get out of this one. She huffs out a half-hearted laugh at the sharp quip about the fine-print. He’d figure something out, he always does. Not to mention the kids are bound to have found a way out by now, they’d pick up the rest of their allies and be on their way to disrupt the whole evil plan.

It’s just a matter of-

“Ugh! Enough stalling!”

Never mind.

“You need some incentive.”

Della does not like where this is going.

“Perhaps the life of your most trusted ally?”

The three of them snap their heads forward as Bradford stalks towards them, sword dragging on the concrete threateningly. As the screeching rings in Della’s ears, the only thought racing through her mind is ‘not Donnie, not Donnie, please, don’t take my brother.’

Her heart almost stops when he scoops Donald up by his collar, his cry echoing in her ears.

“Donald!” Three voices scream.

She can barely breathe, crippling panic bubbling up inside. All she wants to do is close her eyes and scream, break these chains and drag him back to safety, but she can’t move, she can’t take her eyes off her twin as he’s dangled over the edge.

“What will it be Scrooge? Adventure? Or your Family?”

‘Just do what he wants!’ She’s not ashamed of the thought. They’ll figure out a way to reverse the contract, there’s always a way, always a loophole. Just do it so she can see her brother safely on solid ground.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

She can’t say she’s surprised at how quickly he gives in.

“No! Don’t!” Donald screams, “find a way out! You can beat him!”

The pen is already in his hand. “It’s not worth the risk lad.”

They can only watch in horror at the golden glow that circles around him, lifting him up and binding him with unbreakable chains that drag him to the ground.

“I did it!” Bradford crows triumphantly. “The great Scrooge McDuck, now only a poor old man!”

Della’s heart breaks just a little at the look of absolute misery on her old uncle’s face, but she doesn’t have time to mourn properly, because Bradford is talking. Again.

“Normally I wouldn’t indulge in such petty villainy,” he says, his gaze turning back to Donald, still dangling over the edge, with a glint in his eye that makes Della’s blood run cold. “But since this is a special occasion.”

He lets go.

Della’s eyes meet Donald’s for an agonising second, and then he’s gone.

There’s a flash of red, and someone is screaming.

She doesn’t even realise it’s her until a rough hand knocks her back.

“Shut it! Or it’ll be you next!”

Hot tears stream down her beak and she presses her forehead into the cold concrete, not even bothering to choke back a sob. Over the pounding of her own taunting heartbeat in her ears, she hears the sound of the machine powering down (‘Too late’ her traitorous mind provides), of her kids voices yelling something, and Scrooge shouting for them to be careful.

And Bradford, confused and angry as her family finally, finally step in to save the day.

His voice sets off something inside that she hadn’t felt since the day Lunaris betrayed her. A raging anger that burns through her, overwhelming any other emotion and completely taking over her mind.

The chains are no longer an obstacle, and even Beakley can’t stop her from launching herself at the buzzard. They tumble down the stairs, fists flying and feet kicking. Everything blurs after that, which may or may not be a side effect of a rather painful bump on the head as they hit the ground at the bottom of the staircase. She’s kicked off, then it’s just a cloud of lights and bodies and a strong arm holding her back from doing anything overly-reckless and potentially stupid.

The kids, her (their) beautiful, wonderful kids, figure out the loophole and the ever-binding contract disintegrates.

It’s done.

The maniacal villain is defeated once more. The world has returned to rights and the sounds of celebration fill the air.

But Della can only stand and watch, her hands trembling and eyes burning. Beakley stands behind her, hands hovering just behind her shoulders, ready to give comfort if needed.

He’s gone.

Her brother, the other half of her soul; just… gone.

And… oh.

Her knees buckle, a wrecked sob forcing its way from her throat. Beakley catches her with a arm round the shoulders and a hand under her elbow, lowering her gently to the ground as she crumples into a ball. She presses her hands to her eyes in a hopeless attempt to stem the tears as everything comes crashing down.

“It’s okay, let it out dear.”

He shouldn’t have been here. He should’ve been on that amazing adventure with Daisy, sailing together on that old houseboat. After everything life had thrown at him, after all the madness they’d been through, he’d finally caught a break, finally found that amazing person who loved him as fiercely as he loved her.

Then Della had come along, crying about lost time and not being ready. She hadn’t wanted to him to leave, even on a stupid vacation that he would very clearly be coming back from.

Now he wouldn’t even get the chance to go.

And it’s all her fault.

“Mom?”

The obvious confusion and concern in Huey’s voice is enough to send her tumbling over the edge all over again, fresh tears springing up at the thought of having to explain what happened to her- to his kids.

Scrooge hurries them away, and she tries not to listen to the hushed explanation, the startled gasps, and she has to cover her ears for the rest. She can’t stand it.

It’s all her fault.

“DELLA!”

‘What?’

There’s no mistaking that voice.

Her head snaps up so fast she’s half sure she’s given herself whiplash. Even through blurred eyesight, she knows that silhouette, that outfit, that stupid hat. She blinks, sniffing and scrubbing at her face with her sleeve, hardly daring to believe.

It shouldn’t be possible, there’s no way it’s possible. She saw it, she saw him fall, saw the flash of lightning, the empty space where he had been only moments before. She watched her own brother die. So how was he standing ten feet in front of her, laughing as he’s tackled by several small and colourful blurs?

A hand appears in front of her face and she looks up into the stunned face of her uncle. He looks almost as much of a mess as she feels, tearstains tracking down his cheeks and spotting on his coat.

“I think it might be best if we just don’t question it,” he says, helping her to her feet.

His hands are shaking as he holds hers tightly, but she doesn’t comment; it can’t be any worse than her own trembling limbs. They turn back to Donald, who’s ended up sat on the floor under the collective weight of the kids. He’s got a tearful Louie on his shoulder and several kids wrapped around his torso as he struggles to his feet, and Della can see him mouthing a headcount as he takes them all in.

“I swear every time we see you, you have more children.”

She hadn’t even noticed Panchito and José just beside him, grins wide and eyes twinkling with amusement and, in José’s case, something else that she can’t quite place. Donald just laughs at Panchito’s observation, the sound sweet as honey and causing even more tears to well up all round. The pure relief that sweeps through her is almost enough to make her knees give way again, but Scrooge’s hand gripping hers and Beakley’s arm still around her shoulders is just enough to keep her grounded.

Then he catches her eye.

“Hey Dells.”

The kids must see something in her face, cause they have to good sense to dart out of the way just moments before Della hurls herself at her brother. They almost topple backwards, but Donald is able to keep them just about upright while Della just focuses on wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. His arms circle her waist, holding her just as tightly. The tears are streaming freely now, but she’s beyond caring. He can yell at her about ruining his shirt later and she’ll just take it with a grin.

“You idiot!” she yells, her voice muffled by his shoulder, “I thought you were dead!”

“For a minute, so did I,” he says into her hair, “how about we just call it even?”

The soft jibe only makes her laugh, and she holds him just that little bit tighter.

Miracles do happen, and in the end all that matters is love, family and adventure.

But if he thinks she’s going to let him go galivanting off on some adventure without her now, then he’d better think again.

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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Tom Felton - Baby on the Brain

A/N - First request! I hope this is what you wanted, I really like this idea. I don’t know Tom, nor do I claim to, and the other characters are fictional figments. To celebrate 100 followers, I'm uploading this early. Thank you!

Warnings - overloads of fluff, mentions of baby sick, mild language, slight angst, hints to a breeding kink whoops, lightly implied smut.

Summary - Visiting Tom’s brother and his new baby should be a walk in the park, really, but some unwitting truths come to ahead that you can’t refute. You’ve always wanted a family, but does Tom? (Request for Tom Felton: you guys meet his brother's new baby and then decide to have your own.)

Tom’s bruised knuckles rap thrice against the oak wood of his brother's front door, squeezing your smaller, trembling hand in his, running his fingers over the band of the ring in pride of place. Taking a deep breath in sync with yours, he turns his twinkling blue eyes towards you, lending you a twitch of a reassuring smile.

“Why are you so nervous? It’s only my brother,” he says, his voice gruff following the cigarette he smoked in the car.

“It’s the baby I wanna see,” you breathe, “less nervous, more jittery.”

“Maybe you should’ve gone for tea this morning instead of a double shot coffee.”

You nudge his ribs with your elbow, and then his overly sensitive hip bone with yours, coaxing a gentle chuckle from his lips, “Maybe I wouldn’t have needed it if you hadn’t kept me up so late.”

The devilish, shit-eating grin creeping onto his lips tells you that he feels no remorse, but then again, you’d take tiredness and a night like that over anything. His fingers twine tighter around yours as footsteps begin to shuffle behind the door, followed by an ear-piercing, blood-curdling screech, absolutely unholy.

“See he’s having fun with the kid, then?” you begin to whisper, but your words trail off as Tom’s very exhausted looking brother appears in the doorway, feeding bottle in hand, burping rag over his shoulder, deep purple bags beneath his eyes.

“Alright mate?” Tom greets, stepping one loafer-clad foot over the threshold, offering his brother a man hug.

“Tired, yeah. How you doing, man?” he responds warmly, patting Tom’s back.

“I’m good, I’m good, Jon.” Tom says, though you can feel him almost imperceptibly tense beside you.

Turning ever so slightly, all eyes are cast on you. Naturally, you offer Tom’s brother your warmest smile, teeth and all, sympathy welling both in your eyes and your heart. Kids must be tough if he looks like this with a three-week old.

“And who’s this?” Jonathan asks, sweetly, inquisitive more than anything, though he does look at you a bit peculiarly, scrutinising you, perhaps your outfit, the mom jeans you paired with a cropped cardigan perhaps not his style.

“This is my fiancée, Y/N.” Tom says, his words holding an inflection or pride perhaps, but whatever it is, it sends a pang of excitement shooting down your spine, a smirk creeping its way onto your lips, one you have to bite back, “I’m sorry I haven’t bought her over before, but you know what it’s like.”

“Yeah, course. Nice to meet you.”

“And you! Where’s the baby?”

Tom chuckles softly, and he curls his arm around your body, hip to hip. “She loves kids.”

Jonathan stands aside, a welcoming hand to beckon you into his home, the laminate floors covered in baby commodities, pastel blankets strewn everywhere, but other than, surprisingly clean considering Tom mentioned his brother was a hoarder and was always the most untidy of the bunch all throughout their youth. Considering how bad Tom is and how often you’re stuck cleaning away his dirty dishes and putting his laundry on, you were expecting far worse, but maybe Tom was the worst of them all along.

He tickles between your ribs as you wander through the halls, greeted in the back room by a tiny blonde headed baby, cradled in two arms of a just as exhausted looking lady donning a kind smile, stars dancing in her eyes as she stares down at her temporarily placated child. Tufts of blonde hair pair with enamoured hazel eyes to compliment the soft yellow of their clothes and the rosiness of their chubby cheeks. The hair, the nose, the tiny dimples; this baby looks just like Tom - and all his brothers - did when they were little dots themselves. The same little treasures. You, however, were an unattractive baby compared to this ball of sunshine.

“This is Ainsley.” Tom’s sister in law says lazily, her words falling off as she gapes in adoration at the gurgling blob of joy in her embrace. “And I’m Zara.”

“I’m Y/N.” you smile widely.

Should he not know better, Tom would quite possibly think you’re going to either collapse of hyperventilate, judging by the flush of your cheeks, your elevated pulse, heart beating out of your chest, the tiny, delightful, desperate whimpering noises from the back of your throat, elicited from a single glance into the babies eyes.

Said baby begins to make some indistinguishable noises and flails its arms around faintly, feebly, in your general direction. You’d be lying if your heart didn’t do a somersault in your chest.

“M- may I hold Ainsley?” you stammer out, extending your covered arms in a similar cradle to that of Ainsley’s mother.

“God, you’d be doing me a right favour,” she retorts, her accent broad, Geordie.

She shuffles softly down the pale green sofa, so perfectly complimenting the oak floors, to make a room for you that you take gratefully, and position yourself astutely against the back of the sofa. Before retrieving the baby, though, Tom grasps for a muslin cloth and affectionately drapes it over you, affectionate in the manner that he does it with such care, grazing his thumbs over your collarbones as he goes, ever so gently, barely even a touch, but enough to let you know he’s there. He holds your gaze for a moment, his lips twitching into a smile. This alone sends butterflies to your stomach and sets a sheen of fog about your head, taking you even more by surprise when the baby is laid in your arms, writhing and smiling and blinking so sweetly.

“Hiya darling,” you coo, “aren’t you just the most precious thing.”

“Gender neutral name and clothing...” Tom interjects, sidling up on the arm of the sofa beside you, “may I ask their sex and the pronouns you’re using?”

“Male, but we’re trying to be as gender neutral as possible so they can grow up not feeling pressured.”

You can’t wipe the beam from your face, or prevent the small ‘awwh!’ from escaping under your breath, curling the cloth slightly around the child, “That’s a wonderful attitude. Tommy, would you fetch my bag from the car, please?”

In a second, he’s bouncing up, his hand thrust deep in his chinos to fish for the car key. “You asked me to grab it before we got out as well, sorry sweetheart. Back in a minute.” With a nod to his brother, he’s racing out the door, his footsteps thundering through the house. Your attention, however, remains glued to the baby.

“Would you like me to set them down for tummy time afterwards, or is he going back to sleep?” You ponder aloud, eyes glued to the wry tufts of hair so soft and silky between your fingers.

“If he falls asleep in your arms, that’s fab. We’re just livin’ minute by minute.”

You release a small laugh, “Fair enough.”

Jon sits beside you tentatively, between yourself and his wife, his arm wrapping around her as she leans her body weight against him, her hair--held in a bun before, now just kind of flopping into her eyeline--tickling her shoulder and causing him to wince a little.

“How do you know so much about babies?”

The sigh you don’t mean to release is wistful at best, plain pining at worst--and probably most obvious. “I’ve always wanted them, kids, but Tommy’s the first guy I’ve settled down with, but despite being engaged, we’re still taking things slowly.”-- You shrug, as best as you can with the baby in hold, and cock your head to the side to peer down better at every tiny freckle on Ainsley’s skin.--“I love him to bits, but he wants to wait, and I’m still young, a good chunk younger than he is.”

“If it helps,” he starts, “I’ve never seen Tom as in love with someone as he is you. He’s besotted. You say the word, he’ll do it.”

“I know. I just don’t want to make him do anything unless he’s 100% sure.”

“And that’s what makes you his perfect girl.”

Your heart swells. There’s a beat, a pause of silence, filled only with the zapping of the car outside, no more than a couple of seconds before Jon’s wife speaks again.

“Enough of that. Show us the ring!”

If they’re all this excitable at something as simple as your engagement ring, perhaps you’ll fit in with his family better than you anticipated. ** Certainly, if their amiable gasps are anything to go by as you display your hand to them, your ring finger held out, supporting Ainsley’s head in the crook of your elbow as they gawk at the diamond glistening in the sunlight streaming in from their floor-to-ceiling patio doors. You have to admit it’s a pretty damn beautiful ring, the one you always dreamed of. An oval cut 0.5ct diamond held in place by a delicate split-shank 18ct gold band. It glows ethereally in whatever light there is, but most spectacularly in Tom’s eyes.

“It’s the most gorgeous ring,” she gushes, “apart from mine.”

A smile creeps its way in. You’re not entirely sure what the hell you’ve done right in your life to deserve this incredible, expensive ring, or even Tom for that reason. This is the life you’ve always dreamed of, the one that Tom’s brother has, and if you’re even half as happy as they are after being married for 5 years then you’ll consider your life to be a great success. You always wanted the quiet family life in the suburbs, with a lovely house and a nice garden and a couple of kids, working a part time job that pays well and allows you time for your children and your husband… then you fell in love with him. Loving Tom, though, that’s the true gift in your life, and you’d take him over that life any day. He’s the best, truly.

Speak of the devil and he shall arrive, since Tom comes puffing into the room, his heavy footsteps coming to a halt in the doorway as he hands over your abnormally large handbag.

“Here,” he gasps, but turns his gaze upon your hand, witnessing their marvelling at the rock he put there, “it is a pretty boss ring, isn’t it? Worth every penny.”

He bends down to ghost a kiss over your lips, his slightly long dark-blonde hair tickling your cheeks, smiling warmly down at you before deciding to sidle up next to you in the small gap between you and the arm of the sofa. However, half way down, his hip bones are digging in, and he winces up like he’s just been shocked. You know how sensitive his hip bones are, a fat you use against him incredibly often for all the best reasons, but today, he’s been so good, and you shan’t make him sit uncomfortably.

Keeping your hold on Ainsley--who’s almost asleep already, quieter than he was before with only faint gurgles escaping, their eyes droopy--steady, you begin to stand, and shuffle yourself up a bit, allowing Tom to take your previous seat, before placing yourself back down with as little ‘umph’ as you can manage, hooking your thigh over tom’s in the process. He knows what to do, it’s always been your calling card at home or at a party: as soon as you sling your leg over his, he pulls you into his lap eerie time, and today is no different. Well, perhaps it is, as he furrows his dark eyebrows inquisitively, gazing adoringly at you and the child in your arms, waiting for your nod okay before he hitches his arms around your waist and tugs you, as gently as he possibly can with his delicate grip, into his lap, giving you both ample space.

“Babe,” you whisper, “can you fetch the gift out of my bag?”

He’s instantly ferreting around until he finds the presents you neatly wrapped in polka dot paper, and hands them to Jonathan. Eagerly, they're unwrapped, and it seems that your many arguments over what to get Tom’s niece or nephew were worth it, considering the fact their eyes begin to brim with tears.

A soft grey elephant plush, holding a yellow heart, embellished with ‘Ainsley Felton, love Uncle Tom’, and a Peter Rabbit china crockery set for when they’re older.

“Thank you,” Zara exclaims, the way only a mother can, in gracious relief, “they’re adorable, so perfect.”

And before you know it, both you and Tom are being embraced wholeheartedly, as though you’re already their family. It’s been a life since anyone besides Tom hugged you, but this, this is nice.

“Well, lunch?”

Said lunch is a tumultuous affair, with a delivery pizza being ordered from the local dominoes, but with Ainsley so comfortable and calm in your arms, it was an elected decision not to move him, and instead, Tom fed you your pizza. It isn’t the first time, his love language seems to be feeding you things, but normally it's strawberries or chocolate truffles. Never before have you covered an entire medium pizza being fed to you while trying to avoid dropping any toppings or tomato sauce onto a peaceful baby, but that is just an indicator for the rest of the afternoon, Tom’s hands or eyes never once leaving you.

Completely accidentally, Jonathan and his wife drift off to sleep. You smile sadly at the sight, unable to blame them, they must be knackered, the problem simply lies in the fact that Ainsley begins to stir just as they drift off.

“See if there’s any milk in the fridge, please, I think they’re using formula.” you hiss to Tom, standing up cautiously.

Aghast, he grapples for words, “I-I’m sorry, what?!”

“Forget it,” you sigh, “take the baby and change him, please.”

“Change him?!” Again, that same tone of staggered surprise. “I don’t know how!”

“You have four nieces and nephews already, yes you do. He’s going to start screaming in a minute and wake your very tired, very groggy brother. Change the baby.”

When your eyes begin to thin, nostrils flaring, eyebrows raising, he knows not to mess with you, so he swallows thickly, his throat bobbing up and down, and scoops a crying Ainsley from your arms. As he treads upstairs, you find your way back into the kitchen, and find on the counter the bottles done with their sterilisation. This is okay, this is great, you know how to do this, and years of babysitting taught you exactly how to do this. It’s almost like that scene from Outnumbered, assembling the bottle with your eyes closed, muscle memory taking over from your brain. When your eyes flutter open, you almost let out a little squeal at your achievement. If only you could learn this all over again, have this life with a little child of your own, with Tom being as good a dad as he’s acting right now. When you handed him the baby, though, you couldn’t help but notice the fear that flashed over his face, paling him a shade, his pupils dilating to erase the blue. You wish he wasn’t so scared…

A few minutes later, with the kettle boiled and the formula made, you appear in the front room where Tom is swaddling Ainsley, holding the bean against his beating heart, making only the very slightest movements to entertain them.

“Give him a bit of tummy time while the milk cools, do you want to feed him?” you offer, stepping over the threshold .

“N-no,” he exhales slowly, “I think you’d best do that. Can I just put them down?”

“I’ll grab the mat from the corner”--you spied it as you walked in, a colourful crinkle mat rolled up and tucked away from view against the cream walls, behind the flat-screen on its grand stand--“and then yeah.”

Even as he puts Ainsley down, stomach first, onto the playmat, he looks petrified. Taking a seat on the floor to watch over them, you tug on Tom’s tan trouser leg. Indecisiveness gnaws at him, tugging him away from you, but he concedes to your widened puppy eyes, and tumbles onto the shag pile rug next to you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders like its second nature.

“You okay?” you whisper.

“Yeah, course. You?”

“Yeah.”

You let your head fall to his arm, a blissful smile creeping its way onto your lips when Ainsley looks you dead in the eye, hazel orbs twinkling, full of hope.

“I love you.”

“I know,” he hums, “I love you too.”

“Then why are you being so… prickly with me today?”

He shifts away from you the most miniscule amount, “I’m not.”

“We’ve been together for years, Tom. I know when you’re bloody lying.” you lower your voice for the final words, “now tell me why you’re being such a pouty puss.”

You mimic his frown, knowing full well that he hates it when you do so. He hates seeing you sad, even if it's just pretend, so makes a swooping move to kiss the frown away.

“Would you leave me if I said I didn’t want kids?” his voice breaks on the final word, little more than a whisper, but his next move is so animated that it almost startles you with the bottle in hand. “I mean, you know I want them. I love kids, I want us to have a family, but…”

“Nothing would ever make me leave you, Tom. You couldn’t do anything that’d cause me to fall out of love with you.”

The pain in your statement sends a shock through you, singing your heart, poisoning your mind, sending a sour bile running up your throat. No matter how many daggers shoot at your heart, it remains to be true. You’d do anything for him. If, tomorrow, he turned around and said he wanted the two of you to stay together but never marry and never have children, you wouldn’t back down without a fight, but you’d accept it. Despite all your lifelong hopes, nothing trumps Tom.

“I’m gonna feed Ainsley now.”

Picking the baby up from the rug, you put a bib around his neck, and throw another cloth around you, taking a seat in the corner chair to feed him.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” he says, and walks out, shoulders slumped.

You watch him wistfully as he leaves the room, and even when he returns--refusing to look at you--your gaze is still trained on his every move, slumping into the shag pile rug to watch the TV on a low volume. You can feel his eyes on you, that burning pair of eyes that follow you everywhere, your every movement, his ears honed, trained to your every shift and whisper. The second you turn upon him though, he’s looking away.

“I’ll put Ainsley down now,” you announce after burping him, “we need to leave soon if we want to make it home before dark.”

He doesn’t even bat an eye as you sashay past him, Ainsley’s cries muffled by a dummy, but the second he hears your footsteps heading back downstairs, his own begin to thunder, pounding against the stairs to meet you halfway.

“Wait,” he whispers, “come on, sit down, talk to me. I love you.”

A sigh heaves your chest, “I love you too. Talk about what?”

“You’re being arsey with me.”

“Because you said you don’t want kids!”

“Well I didn’t mean it, I’m just”--he pinches the bridge of his nose, and ushers you up on the stairs, your calves hitting the carpet--“there’s a lot to think about. We just met the kid, and I saw how your face lit up when you held him.”

“You know I want kids, Tom.”

“I know, but can we not talk about kids for a second? I want to talk about you. You’re my fiancée, I want to make you my wife. I’m just scared.”

“What of? You have nothing to be scared of. I’ll be here no matter what.”

“That’s why I’m scared!” he exasperates, flailing his arms about, “I don’t want you to senselessly follow me and love me if I can’t give you what you want. I’m scared of fucking this up, fucking you up. I’m scared of this going wrong, with children or marriage or saying something wrong, because I can’t lose you.”

“Tom,” you murmur.

Your hand flies up to cup his jaw, grazing your thumb over the stubble growing there, the faintest shadow.

“I love you. I- I need you. Y/N, sweetheart, please. I just wanna stay how we are, just stay this way for a bit, slow down because the world is moving too fast, and I’m gonna fall, but I can’t drag you down with me.” he croaks, cradling your neck with trembling, callused hands. “Can we stay how we are? Just us? Just you and me?”

“Babe you aren’t gonna lose me. Everything else off the table, we’ve got this, we’ve got us. We can stop the world and get off if that's what you want. Nothing is immediate, everything can wait.” you promise, your eyes boring into his.

All at once, his lips come crashing down onto yours, swallowing any inhibitions with his lavishing tongue, his hot breath slanting and fanning over your lips, leaving innocent adoration in their wake. Until a piercing scream resounds.

“Except maybe that.”

You duck from his grip skilfully, and slip into Ainsley’s room, two fingers reaching out to tickle their stomach, causing the scream to hiccup in their throat momentarily. Then, as if wondering what to do next, he just stares up at you imploringly, questioningly.

“Come on Ainsley, I just set you down to sleep. Be good and let mummy and daddy sleep too, okay?” you coo, tucking his blanket back up to his neck, slipping his cuddly toy closer, “go back to sleep.”

This child is already one with an attitude, you can tell that by the vehemence with which he yells out. You don’t even have to think twice before you’re stooping into the cot, swathing him in blankets, and lifting him to your bosom, where his screams fall to mere gurgles.

“Do you think he’s sleeping in the bed with them?” you ask Tom, keeping your voice at a steady whisper even with the slight bounces you’re offering the baby, “because I think that causes parental problems above all else because they’re being kicked in the back all night. Still, decreases the risk of SIDS. Why do they have a cot up if they are? He can’t sleep without contact…”

You don’t even realise you’re thinking aloud until Tom presses his thumbs into your shoulders, buckling your whole body. It’s the instant tension reliever, truly, and your shoulders do seem tighter today, perhaps from all the baby wrangling.

“Lets just sit, shall we?”

You do, taking up refuge in the front room once again, with an extra blanket of his, as well as a supply of cuddly toys, rattles, and dummies. Tom watches you with fascination for the rest of the afternoon, everything you do drawing his full attention; enticing, entrapping. His heart swells at the sight of you bouncing Ainsley around to make him laugh, cooing and giggling with him to coax a smile back after a wail that you hushed down, holding him so closely as he sleeps. He’s finally seeing it, after all these years, you, in your true home habitat, caring for a child, so kindly, so motherly, so naturally. Everything you do instantly seems to set the infant at ease. He knows it should be him, Ainsley is his nephew, but… you’re just better.

In fact, before he even realises it, he’s craving what he doesn’t have. Not that he can’t have it -- you’ve been together for a long time, you’ve discussed a future with children more times than he can count, and of course he wants it. Tom, he’s always wanted to be a dad, to read his kids books and sing them lullabies and show them what daddy did for work… but it's always been a pipe dream. Your wishes of a family have never come to fruition, and all because of his selfish fears.

The world can’t stop turning just because he’s getting cold feet and wants to climb off for a minute to catch his breath. That’s not how life works. If you want something, you’ve gotta grab it by the balls, because the opportunity will be gone before you know it. And with Tom? He won’t lose you because he won’t take a chance to make you happy and give you what you want. If anything, seeing the crestfallen look that settles between your brows when you actually have to give Ainsley back to their parents just further instils and confirms the idea in his head. There’s his future, in his mind's eye, as clear as day. This is what he needs to do, but better still, this is what he wants.

The drive back to your home is spent in relative silence, and a pensive one at that. You know like instinct that Tom is replaying your final conversation with Jonathan and his wife the same way you are. After all, the simple words did put a dampener on your reconciliation. Your hand is on the gearstick the whole way, though, your fingers entwined with his, the simple contact enough for you. You were right at lunch: all day it's been his hands or his eyes on you: you like it when it's both simultaneously, the way it was when you said your goodbyes.

Tom’s hands settled on your hips, his chin atop your head, and you just fell into his enveloping warmth, smiling lazily at the couple you rescued for the afternoon.

“Thanks so much, we owe you one.” Jonathan said, giving Tom another one of those manly hugs as you stand in the dusk-darkened wooden porch.

“Really,” Zara chimed in, her feet shuffling on the tiled floor as she held her husband's hand, “you’re welcome to have him any time. That is, of course, if you don’t have a little one of your own by the time you’ve recovered from that blighter.”

You forced a dry chuckle at her words, an awkward sound, but you seemed to recover well enough, “Well Ainsley’s been a pleasure, and I’m glad we could give you some respite. Take care.”

“And you. Drive safe.”

“We will,” Tom said, offering them a smile, flashing his keys, keeping his grip on you resolute, “thanks for having us.”

Their words still loom over you like a dark cloud. It was a throwaway comment, one they’d have thought nothing of, and most people, and even you on a good day, but you’d had that… spat earlier on that changed everything. Dredging it up would just put an even further dampener on your mood, though, and with a drive home in the semi-darkness already hanging over you like a massive impending storm cloud of fear, that’s definitely not ideal.

“Nice baby, Ainsley,” Tom mentions, turning his indicator on to pull off the dual carriageway.

“Yeah, and he’s cute.”

“Nice eyes.”

And a couple more comments like those are the only conversation you share as the journey goes by, but soon enough, you’re on the home stretch, and your street rolls into view. With your head comfortably rolled back against the headrest, your eyes shut from a tiring day of exertion and childminding , you don’t notice Tom stepping out the car and unravelling his grip from you. Only does it become apparent when he opens your door and unclips your seat belt, kissing your lips tenderly, the chapped skin arising you from whatever zoned out, thoughtful state you were in before.

“Come on, let's get you inside sweetheart.” he murmurs, taking your hands in his as he helps you out the car, His chivalry never fails to astound you--he even carries your bag.

“Thanks darlin’.”

You follow him inside, kicking off your shoes routinely, shrugging off your coat to hang on the peg with your name etched above it. What happens next, though, is what shocks you the most: this isn’t part of your normal ‘returning home’ routine, not if you’ve had a day as tiring as this one. You’re neither complaining nor disappointed, though. How can you be when Tom’s lips latch onto your pulse point and he has you writhing in seconds, only his arm around the small of your back there to support you.

In one fell swoop, he has you spun around and pinned to the wall, his figure with lust-blown eyes hovering above you, every line in his face so loving, even the subtle part of his lips. They only do that when he’s so desperate to kiss you he can barely breathe, when he’s so eager to confess his love again and again that all other words are inconsequential. This is your Tom.

“Let’s try for a baby.” he says, completely resolutely, no trace of hesitation anywhere in his perfectly, delectably gruff tone. “I want one, I want us, and I don’t wanna wait to build a family with you.”

You can feel tears begin to form in the corners of your shock-widened eyes. This… this is- What changed his mind? Just hours ago, he was hell bent against the idea, but now? His cheeks are glowing at the mere prospect. Courtesy and patience be damned, that is if you can get the words out with how choked up you are…

“Really? Y-you mean it?”

His faint smile widens into a full blown grin, one that confirms everything for you. This is it, this is the Tom you agreed to marry, the happy Tom, the smiley Tom, the one who can barely contain his excitement even as he nods, a stray lock of dark blonde hair falling into his eyes as he does so.

Reasonably, you can’t be expected to hold back, and when his hair gets long enough that it falls into his eyeline? That’s your main weakness, so who can blame you when you catapult yourself up onto him, your legs joining around his wait, your arms settling around his neck. He holds you right back, catches you like he was already waiting, and pins you against the wall again. Perhaps the serotonin is too much as you both grin into a searing kiss, the every press of his lips against yours holding more passion than you can fathom a cohesive thought about. He’s… incredible.

And besides, with this enthusiasm, his kiss alone leaving you gasping and clutching onto his hair for some kind of grounding, perhaps it’ll be the first time lucky…

#tf #draco malfoy #dracotok #tom felton #tom felton x y/n #tom felton imagine #british toms #felton #tom felton fluff #tom felton angst #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x reader #tom x reader #tom felton x reader #dad tom

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vanillann · 3 years

Text

the third rule debacle (emily prentiss x fem!reader)

a/n: this request spark something in me. also my wlw are always so soft omg it’s so cute

word count: 1.9k

warning: swearing and sexual innuendos

emily prentiss masterlist

Emily Prentiss had three rules that she followed in her life, she normally didn’t like these types of rules but these three were important.

Rule one was never to let her mother know too much. She learned that the hard way after she told her mother about this boy she liked or thought she liked, and she invited his entire family to dinner to talk about it.

Rule two was never let Penelope say she’d be DD for a night out. She never actually stayed sober, she loved pretty drinks with umbrellas in them, and Emily didn’t mind being sober most nights.

Rule three was don’t ever date a coworker, which is something Emily was known for at FBI Headquarters. She just thought it made things messy and complex for no good reasons, close friends were great but anything more was a bad idea.

Until they got a new teammate from the CIA, who asked to work closely with fewer international crimes, who sat across from Emily with a sticky sweet smile that made Emily have a sweet tooth.

She hated rule three so much it was giving her stomach aches because she sat there like a goddess and Emily wondered why she even made this rule anyways. She was starting to look dumb every time she’d wink from the other side of the bullpen at her or when she told Morgan he “wasn’t her type” then turned to look at her.

“Come on Em, you’d look so hot together!” Pen moved her glass on the table, her word somewhat slurred and Emily was confused about how she was already wasted.

“I think I’m on Pen's side this time,” JJ tilted her head to Pen but never lost eye contact with Em. JJ was getting annoyed at the pinning, so annoyed she started ranting to Henry about it.

“I don’t date coworkers,” Emily played with the glass of water in front of her, playing with the droplets as they fell down to distract her from her own problem. Could it be easily solved? Yes. Would it be? Probably not.

“But what if she is your exception,” JJ spoke sincerely, so sincerely it scared Emily shitless.

Pen slammed her fist into the table, her mouth wide open as she sang “you are my only exception” and Emily recognized the song quickly. It was Hayley Williams for crying out loud.

“Who’s an exception?” Em looked over her shoulder at an overly confident Morgan and normally she would have loved to see him but it made her feel worse. Morgan was supposed to pick up (Y/N) which meant she was now here and Emily would be left pining for her all night.

“(Y/N),” JJ spoke softly, looking around Morgan to try and find the girl in question.

“She’s getting a drink over there.”

Emily looked to where Morgan’s finger pointed, smiling lightly when she spotted the girl leaned against the bar with a little smile on her face. Even under the rough bar lights over her head, she looked like something you’d rip from the magazine just to tap it to your wall.

She looked like everything Emily wanted in someone, minus working together.

“Just drop the silly rule,” Morgan dramatically rolled his eyes, watching Emily come back down to Earth.

“It’s not a silly rule, it’s serious!” Emily looked between her friends, hoping at least one would back her up but she was left empty-handed. She knew they were right, it wasn’t that serious but it felt serious. What if it ended in flames?

She already came to the team late, would they kick her off over this? Yeah, okay, maybe she was overthinking it but to Emily, this was the biggest reason she didn’t date coworkers.

“Ladies!”

(Y/N) came around the corner like a fast-moving bullet, her arms wrapping around JJ’s shoulder in a hurry. Her excitement bounced off her to Emily quickly, like it always did.

“(Y/N)! We were just talking about you!” Pen reached for the former CIA agent, her hand flying over her mouth as sound as she realized what she said.

“Glad to know I’m a topic of conversation,” she smiled slightly at Pen, squeezing her hand before she spun and spotted Emily watching her. A smile was quick grace on both of their lips, which just made the rest of the team's points made.

“How could we not talk about you,” Emily did her best for the comment not to come off too flirty but by JJ’s smirk she failed miserably.

“Well I hope it’s dirty like my martini,” the girl winked, smiling when the taller dude from the bar brought the drink over with a smile to the girl's energy. Emily shook her head and smiled to herself.

How couldn’t you adore that?

“So, is Spencer coming or-” she trailed off, looking to her other teammates to find her answers about the sweeter boy.

“He’s flying out to see his mom tonight,” Morgan nodded, his smile flatter slightly but he bounced back quickly.

“Man, I was hoping he’d be here so I could see him dance!”

The conversation was easy there like it always had been. (Y/N) was a great fit for the team, had everyone wrapped under her finger in seconds without trying. Emily knew she had imprinted the team forever, she had imprinted her forever.

“(Y/N), look at this baby panda!” Garcia reached across JJ, her pink blinged phone glittered under the lights of the bar. Without much thought, Pen pushed her phone father until her knuckles pushed the martini from the hardwood table into (Y/N) lap.

Her face was one of shock, looking down at her lap as the liquor pooled in her lap. Then a little smile painted across her cheeks and suddenly she was laughing, like throw your head back and make the room stop laughing.

“Better not let my PO find me,” she joked, smiling when JJ took the few napkins from the table and tried to clean up the little mess that was made. Pen continued to apologize, her eyes welling up with tears before (Y/N) reached for her hand.

“Pen, it was just an old Green Day shirt. Don’t worry sweets, as long as it wasn’t the Chemical Romance we’re clear,” she smiled at Pen, which made the blonde release drunk giggles.

“I’m gonna go clean up,” she waved off the table, taking a few of the napkins JJ had with her as she pushed back everyone until she found where she was looked for. Emily watched her back until she could no more, her eyes suddenly trained on the door.

“Go talk to her, I’m begging you,” JJ reached across the table, her hands clapped together with pleading eyes.

“Rules were made to be broken Em,” Morgan shrugged, his body already moving so Emily could slide out the small wooden booth.

“Says the FBI agent,” Emily smirked and Morgan slid out the booth anyways. She knew they were right, it was clear as day she needed to confess something. She knew (Y/N) felt somewhat the same, she at least hoped.

Her boots were moving over the sticky floor of the bar before she registered that she left the table. Her mind followed the same route (Y/N) did seconds ago. An older man reached out to catch her attention but she walked right around him. No soul could get in the way of her right now, because she finally was ready to break rule three.

Fuck rule three, rule three was made for the scared girl who didn’t know what she felt like, but she was going to find out.

Her hand lightly pushed open the door to the bathroom, smiling when she spotted her standing in front of the mirror with the paper towels in her hand. She looked up from her shirt, smiling at Emily in the mirror than looking back at the mess.

“Gotta piss?”

“Oh god no,” Emily let out a little laugh, she didn’t say anything funny but she knew she couldn’t stay serious if this was going to go her way.

“Good, I wasn’t giving my bathroom,” she smiled under her breath, something Emily never found that attractive before she did it.

Emily finally walked into the bathroom, letting the door lightly shut behind her. She realized how harsh the red tank top as a leather jacket was against the white tiled of the bathroom, but standing next to the girl, woman, in the Green Day tee with a stain down the front and the most acidic washed jeans she’d seen, she felt right where she belonged.

“Can we talk?”

“Of course Em,” she spoke without looking up, her hand moving to the tap to turn on the water.

“Are you free Sunday?”

Her hand stopped on the cold water knob, her eyes slowly moving from the tee to her own eyes. She couldn’t believe she had said it that smoothly too. She didn’t stutter or try to fight it. She didn’t wanna fight now she felt anymore.

“Why?”

“I was thinking dinner,” Emily leaned on the wall beside the sink, her finger coming up to her mouth as she bit her fingernails, cursing Spencer for bringing it up as her nervous habit, now she can’t stop.

“Like date dinner?”

“Hopefully.”

Emily gave her best smile, hoping that would make her more inclined to say yes, although she was hoping she liked her more to just say it to start with.

“I thought you didn’t date coworkers,” (Y/N) turned so her side was leaning against the sink, her body now facing Emily’s right on. That just made her more intimidated.

Emily didn’t really know what to say at first. Does she give her the long version about how she thinks they’d be good? Does she just tell her things have changed? As her brain wrapped around something to say, her brain went back to Pen singing the Paramore song and she couldn’t stop the smile that split her face in two.

“You’re my exception,” Emily spoke the words casually, shrugging as if she didn’t think over her words over words forever.

But it was worth it as (Y/N) smiled, pushing off the sink and reaching out from Emily. Her hand curled at the back of her neck, her face pulling closer to her own as their lips collided. Emily could feel her lip gloss running off her own lips onto her own, and nothing made her smile more than knowing she had proof now.

She was kissing her and her lips were as soft as frosting and Emily was so thankful for her sweet tooth. She was her sugar high she’d never come down from. As their kiss became the ghost of one, the world filled back in. She remembered she was in a dingy bar bathroom while her liquor ran into her shirt more and more.

“I’m actually completely free this Sunday,” (Y/N) licked her lips, smiling to herself as she looked up at Emily with the most innocent look in her eye.

“Never pictured you tasting like strawberries.”

Emily smirked, leaning in for another because she needed a taste of what breaking rules felt like.

“You thought about how I’d taste.”

“Oh all the time,” she rolled her eyes and smirked but leaned in herself because while she was her sugar, Emily Prentiss was her spice and she wasn’t going to stop reminding them both.

Emily smiled a little harder as she exited the bathroom because she both ruled three for the girl she’d break the law for.

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