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luvrxbunny · 6 months

Note

I need something borderline illegal. Like dark and twisted. Like I want to question my moral compass but read on.

Am I asking for dad’s best friend!Joel? pshhhhhh. Am I asking for bratty! reader?? Pshhhhhh. Am I asking for anything???

Am I asking for smutty smut?! Yes I am.

Ofc if you are uncomfortable with any of these don’t hesitate to ignore this and also no pressure ily ❤️

a/n: reader isn't bratty, im sorry! i forgot :((

sleep

pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!virgin!reader

summary: Joel can’t stay away from you any longer.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, alcohol, voyeurism/somnophilia + dub-con, dry humping, cum in pants

wc: 4.0k

a/n: i hope this is dark enough!! the only reason the ask is a ss instead of the actual thing is cus i formatted the whole story then realized i forgot to put it in the reply to the ask (loosely proofread)

It’s 2 am and Joel can’t stop thinking about you. How you’re sleeping soundly in his room, in his bed, in his shirt as pajamas because you had “forgotten to pack some”, something you both knew was a lie. He knows you’re toying with him, you started a bit before, but since you’ve turned 18? It's just been on rapid fire.

He pulls out his phone and scrolls through your text thread, scoffing at every other conversation. It was so apparent, in every text, how badly you want him.

Mon, Aug 16 at 4:41 AM

bbg: big man! text me when u wake up i have a joke

You: Why are you awake at this time?

bbg: wtf why are YOU awake 🤨

You: I have trouble sleeping, you know that.

bbg: aww poor joey 😢

You: Are you going to answer my question, darling?

bbg: im doing skincare and stuff

You: You have to wake up this early for that stuff?

bbg: can’t put a price on feeling bonita

You: Why are you speaking Spanish now?

bbg: nevermind lmao

bbg: so have u tried meditation

You: What?

bbg: for your sleeping troubles

You: I’m not that kind of guy.

bbg: what about getting off

You: Excuse me?

bbg: like masturbation n stuff

You: I know what you’re saying.

You: I don’t understand why you’re talking about this with me.

bbg: we haven’t even talked about it 😭

bbg: obviously we can end the convo if ur uncomfy but its a very good way to fall asleep

He remembers needing a pause after he read that text for the first time. It had only been four months since your birthday and you were already drastically different. Joel never expected it, he always thought your feelings had already reached their limit but it turns out you were holding back because you weren’t of age. Now that you are… He doesn’t know what he’s going to do. His morals may not be strong enough for the thought of “ his best friend's daughter” to hold him back. He’s already rationalized himself out of the “daughter's best friend” thought. You’re not even going to school together anymore. Sarah lives on campus so you guys never see each other and you barely ever text.

You: I have not.

bbg: what? literally how?

bbg: you should

bbg: it totally works

You: That’s good to know.

You: Get back to your skincare, honey. I’ll message you later.

Mon, Aug 16 at 5:03 AM

bbg: joel?

Mon, Aug 16 at 5:37 AM

bbg: are you masturbating?

You: Sweetheart. You can’t ask me things like that. It’s not right.

bbg: u didnt answer! i got curious

You: Still.

bbg: i dont see the problem we’re both adults 🫢

You: Barely.

bbg: dont be mean

You: Do you need something

You: I said I’d text you later

bbg: wow no punctuation?

You: Busy

bbg: getting off?

He remembers staring at your text, unbelieving that you’d send him something like that, so forward, so dirty. He remembers the thought that you were joking. Obviously, you don’t expect him to say yes, that’s why you asked in the first place. Maybe his perverted mind was interpreting your behavior as flirting but you’re just being yourself around him. All these thoughts were swirling in his head but the feeling of his hand flying over his cock, pretending it’s yours, that you're in his ear whispering to him... That thought was stronger, that feeling was stronger.

You: Yes.

bbg: good. have fun, joey

He gets up for his fourth beer, hoping to drown the impure thoughts, starring you, that plague his mind. It’d be so easy to have you, you’ve been throwing yourself at him since you turned 17. He’s been ignoring it, adamantly. It wasn’t right, despite the age difference, the fact that you’re his daughter’s best friend and his best friend’s daughter. On top of that, you only just turned 18.

You’ve been staying at Joel’s for a month. He takes the guest room because you say that his bed is better. You haven’t gone home because your dad is still working on your birthday present/room renovations and he doesn't want you to see it until it’s done. He offered up Joel’s house to keep you, knowing his best friend wouldn't mind, unknowing that his best friend was corrupt for his daughter.

Joel was trying to ignore the way his body was heating up, still scrolling through the texts. He remembers that conversation perfectly. He remembers the adrenaline that was coursing through him as he confessed. He remembers how hard he came at your response. When thinking about this conversation he also remembers the guilt, it’s the most vivid emotion he remembers, usually. But the alcohol seems to be drowning that part out, and Joel scrolls on.

He finds a patch of texts that he actively avoids, usually. It’s picture after picture of you in the most adorable outfits in the most suggestive positions. There are plenty of you lying on your back, some with your head turned to show off your perfectly curved, unmarked, un-bitten, neck. There are a few where you’re sitting down with the camera angled up, giving Joel too many situations his head can come up with. Then there’s the worst one, his favorite- he doesn’t even know how you took this one. You’re sitting on your knees, hands rested on your thighs and you’re looking up at the camera with a shy smile.

There are two things about this photo that really fuck him up.

First, your smile, the way it lets him know that you’re trying to fuck him up, you know what you’re doing with this pose, this positioning, you’re even embarrassed by it, a little nervous about it but you still felt the need to take the photo, for him.

Second, the height, and the way the camera is positioned shows him that these photos were specifically crafted for him because the height the camera is at is exactly how he’d see you if you were on your knees like that for him.

You made sure that he noticed because the very next day, you needed him to tie a bow in your hair and instead of waiting for him to get off the couch you placed yourself on the ground, between his legs, in this pose. He had to hide his erection until you left and then fight the urge to get himself off in your room for the rest of the night.

He glances at his room door, you’re sleeping so soundly in there.

She wouldn’t even notice if someone went in there right now. She definitely wouldn’t notice me… Hell, as if she’d mind either way… I mean- Would she?

The alcohol clouds his thoughts, gives him bad ideas, and then convinces him that they’re good- this one being one of them. He grabs his almost-finished beer and heads to the fridge to grab a fifth one, knowing he’ll be in there for a while.

He does this sometimes, you look so peaceful when you sleep… it’s the only time he can admire you without putting all his relationships at risk. He reaches the door and turns the knob slowly to avoid creaking. He enters the room, his socks padding his footsteps, and the darkness gives him no shadow. He moves one of your tops off of his desk chair and turns it to face your sleeping figure while placing his beers down. You’re already bringing a smile to his face. You’ve got your face shoved into one of his pillows, your arm tucked under it, and your leg is pulled up to your waist, sticking out from under his tan comforter. You’re wearing one of his hoodies for sleepwear—

Fuck.

and it doesn’t look like you have anything on your bottom half. It’s a little cold in his room so little goosebumps have bloomed over your exposed skin. He takes a swig of beer, finishing his fourth as he examines you. Your face twitches for a moment, your eyebrows furrow, and your nose twitches like a rabbit before calming back down. He opens the other beer and fills his mouth with it, hoping that the alcohol stops the fluttering in his stomach while he drinks it down.

You shiver a bit but your leg doesn’t move, the goosebumps just become more prominent. His hand is reaching out for you before he can think, rubbing your calf gently to soothe and warm you up a bit. You let out a relieved sigh at his contact and your leg presses further into his warmth. He has to take a deep breath as his mind runs wild, convincing him that this is some sort of sign, that even in you’re sleep you’re trying to be closer to him, that he should just give in.

No, she’s your best friend's daughter. Sure she’s her own person now, legally an adult, an’ can make decisions for herself… an’ yeah she’s not owned or controlled by anyone and just cause I’m friends with her father ain’t a fair reason to completely rule her out from being a potential partner… Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad… maybe it’s actually more fucked up for me to avoid her just cause of who birthed her. That’s totally not fair to her! I mean I know I wouldn't want anyone judging me based on who my parents are y’know? Maybe I should put myself in her shoes.

His breathing speeds up as he breaks through his last piece of resistance. Now he’s just trying to figure out how soon he can have you.

I’ll have to court her first, flirt with her a bit before asking her out to dinner, then maybe she’ll accept my offer to be my girlfriend by the third date… From there maybe she’ll have sex with me for the three-month anniversary… she might be a bit more timid than that but we’re looking at a four- five-month plan… That can work- I can definitely work with that.

You whine and stretch your body, your legs straighten and your arms spread out, you turn and rest one arm on top of your head before you lift your leg, bending it above your waist but with the other one this time. The new position leaves the blanket covering nothing but one of your inner thighs and to add insult to injury your raised arms lift his hoodie, revealing a beautiful sliver of your stomach.

Or I could have her now.

The thought is too powerful to stop, his opportunity is too perfect, Ellie is out with whatever girl she’s currently entertaining, and Sarah doesn’t live here anymore. Your father would never be awake at this time and Joel is hard, wanting, and so so ready for you. He’s crawling into bed beside you after downing half his beer for the nerves.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

He settles next to you and your leg presses into him again, searching for him and his warmth. You slowly turn to him as he stares at you, watching how sluggish your movements are in your sleep. You snuggle into the pillow in front of him and take a long inhale of its scent, a little smile resting on your lips while you breathe out. Your face is inches from his, and his hand is down his pants in an instant.

The relief is heavenly, he’s been throbbing for you since he read those texts. He can’t help the way he reacts to you. He can smell your toothpaste on your breath as you gently snore in front of him. He wraps his warm hand around his cock and his soft lips part into an ‘O’. His eyes roll back for a second but he immediately focuses them back on you. He’s tugging at himself violently, not even thinking about savoring this moment, just needing to cum for you. He’s trying to hold in his sounds but you look so pretty, just seeing your face while he’s touching himself makes everything better, somehow you’ve turned his sensitivity as high as it can go.

Little whines and whimpers slip into your dream state. You’re confused by the sound, the rustling that coming from—? In front of you? Your brows furrow as you try to open your eyes. “Fuck” You hear someone say. It sounds like…

You open your eyes just in time to see Joel yank his hand out of his sweatpants and scramble as far as he can get from you before falling off the bed. You’re still confused as you take his form in. His shirt has ridden up a bit, exposing the salt and pepper hairs on his tummy. His hair is sticking all over the place, he stinks of beer, and his eyes are wide, focused on you. “Joey?”

Despite the horrid situation he’s in, his cock is still leaking for you, pulsing at the nickname. He can’t answer, he has to bite back a moan as he feels himself leak into the fabric of his pants. “Joel? What—” Your eyes flutter, almost falling shut but you shake yourself out of it and— Fuck.

You move closer to him.

You’re too snuggly when you’re sleeping, too cute, and too dumb. You’re not even questioning why your father’s best friend was in bed with you while you were sleeping. You don't want to risk him leaving and you don’t mind in the first place, you actually thought you were dreaming at first. Your heart almost stopped when your fingers actually latched onto his shirt after reaching out for him. He’s stiff as a board, deterring your touch so you pull your hands into your chest and bury your face in his.

Joel is almost shaking in exertion as you press your soft little body against his. It’s just your upper half, leaning into him and finding wam solace in his chest. He can handle this, he thinks. He can calm down, and be with you like this. He’s supposed to court you first anyway, he can’t believe himself. Was he really going to just get off with you in the same bed? What kind of pervert would even try something like that?

You hike your leg up over his waist, half asleep, not realizing your motions.

All his perverted feelings return with a vengeance.

You wiggle around a bit, trying to get comfortable but his cock twitches, flicking into your soft lips for a moment. At first, you really didn’t know what it was, all you knew was that the sensation felt good. So of course you chased it. Your hips grind into his cock arrhythmically, trying to find that same angle again, not realizing that you’re basically fucking him through your clothes. His hands have to come to your hips, gripping painfully for your eyes to snap open and your hips to freeze.

Your eyes widen further when you finally process the situation, and even in all your teasing and sensuality, at the end of the day, you’re still just a virgin. You never had any real intention of acting on your desires, especially if Joel wasn’t the one initiating.

Oh fuck. What did I do? What do I do? He’s just staring at me… Maybe he didn’t notice, I didn’t! But it felt so good. Will he let me? Maybe if I—

Your hips tilt into his before you can process whether this is actually a good idea or not. His hand tense over yours, like another shock of clarity through your bones. You shut your eyes tight, not wanting to see the disgust or uncomfortable pity in his face. “I’m so sorry, Joel. I didn’t… I-”

You try not to let tears well in your eyes as you whimper and pull back from him. But he doesn’t let you. His arms tense, his muscles flexing as he keeps your body pressed against his. You open your eyes, a bit shocked at his refusal to let you go but still too scared to meet his eyes. Your gaze is on his stomach, the way his gray shirt rode up, exposing the way his belly keeps tensing with every breath. “I-” He manages to get out before letting out a shuddering sigh. You finally look at him.

His eyebrows are pulled taut in between his eyes, his gaze is something you’ve never seen before, and he almost looks angry. It’s desperate, but sorrowful, with the added haze from his intoxication. He keeps biting at his bottom lip, worrying it red as he tries to form a sentence for you. His hands tense over your hips again but this time they tilt you into him again. His face is a hard grimace as he slowly presses you into his raging bulge. You watch him fight with his expression, it keeps breaking into something weak before he goes back to his angry pout. You can’t help the way you press into him, you want to feel it again, that fire in the pit of your stomach that spreads to your soaking pussy the more he pulls you in. You watch his face contort into something heavenly. His brows pull up, almost shocked at how good you feel as his eyes roll back and shut. His entire body shakes as he melts into the pillow. He’s breathing deep and slowly, trying to regulate the pleasure he feels.

Now he’s focused on savoring the moment. He wants this to last as long as it possibly can. You’re making him feel incredible, he’s so sensitive, it’s like he’s been edging himself for you. You whimper, high-pitched and muffled but it’s so beautiful that he forces his eyes open. You have one hand gripping the bedsheet like it’s your lifeline and you have the other bitten between your teeth to hold your sounds in. Your hips are grinding into him at an uneven, unsteady, desperate pace and he’s mesmerized by the sight.

He knew you wanted him. He didn’t know you needed him. You’re fucking yourself against his cock like you’ve been waiting for it your whole life. Your hand comes up to grip his shoulder instead of the bedsheet. He grunts and tilts his hips further into yours, a sadistic smirk coming to his face at the sound of exclamation that shoots from your mouth once you’re able to grind your clit against his shaft. Your thrusts start to stutter at that, your body constantly wanting to fold in on itself from the assault of pleasure but you try and will yourself to keep going.

Unfortunately, your pace is ruined by your pleasure. Your sensitive body can’t handle how good his clothed cock is making you feel. You lose your pace and your pleasure becomes rocky and teasing. He watches as your face changes from pleasured to pouty. Little whimpers and whines of frustration slip from your lips, growing in volume and frequency the longer you’re unable to grind against him properly. Joel’s watching you through hooded eyes, fingers digging into your hips painfully at this point and all he wants is to not cum yet. He wants to make you cum first, he needs it, he needs to see it, to hear it.

He’s been telling himself it’s fine because you’re grinding against him, not the other way around. You’re choosing this, there’s no way he’s manipulating you, or swaying your decision if he stays completely indifferent. But you’re begging him now. You’re gripping desperately at his shirt, removing your hand from your mouth to grip him harder and pulling yourself closer, wrapping your arms around and moaning right against his chest. He shouldn’t. He can’t. But he does.

His eyes shut tight as his hands leave your hips. You almost climb on top of him in protest, whining a loud “N- Please.” into his chest as your leg hikes higher onto his waist. One of his hands cradles your head, pulling you further into his chest, muffling the moans you’re already letting out at his touch. His other hand goes to the small of your back, pressing you against him perfectly and guiding your rhythm as your hips start up again. He dares to speak. “S’this okay, baby?”

Your reaction to his voice is visceral. Your hands shoot up to his shoulder and hair, pulling yourself up a bit to bury in his neck, getting a new angle from his cock, now fucking him against your leaking hole. “So good, Joey. Thank- Thank you s’much. Thank you, thank you.” Your gratitude is like a searing knife through him. His entire body is set alight as he tries to regulate his breathing. He can feel goosebumps break out on his skin, his pleasure filling every molecule in his body, ready to overflow for you. Fuck. He’s definitely going to cum before you.

“Mm. Good, good girl. Just- Keep going, sweetness, take what— Shit. Take what you need, darlin’.” His breathing quickens and shudders as your hips increase their pace against him. He’s leaking continuously now, he’s getting in his head, trying to stop himself from cumming but every thought that pops into his mind just brings him closer to the edge. He can’t focus on anything but you. You’re moaning for him, grinding against him, this desperate for him.

The hand on your lower back migrates to the back of your neck, gripping you there, holding you in place as his hips begin to thrust into yours. “M’gonna cum, darlin’. Fuck, I wanted t- wanted to last for y- Mmm oh fuck.” His entire body starts to tremble as your nails dig into him so painfully he’s sure they drew blood. Your eyes are comically wide as your body tenses in his hold before breaking down into a shudder that overtakes your entire being. You’re cumming.

He explodes at the realization. In all his desperation, intoxication, and pure need… He was still able to make you cum first. He buries his face in your hair, huffing the scent as he floods his sweatpants. His eyes shut as tightly as they can as his orgasm tears through him. He’s been waiting so long for you to make him cum and now that it’s happening, it feels even better than he planned for. His low grunts turn into shocked moans when his orgasm doesn’t stop after shooting two ropes of cum against his sweats. You’re already coming down as he hits what feels like his second peak. You can feel his hands shaking over where they’re gripping you and you get an impulse that you act on without a second thought.

Your hand slides down from his shoulder quickly, over the sliver of stomach he’s showing off, and right down his pants. You don’t know what you’re doing so you just grip him, wrapping your hand around his shaft but it seems to do the trick. He lets out a sound that resembles someone getting kicked in the gut. His face is pulled from your hair as his head is thrown back. He arches into you a bit before his hips start thrusting into your fist, desperately prolonging his already overwhelming orgasm. It’s embarrassing; how long he was cumming for, the way his body was violently quivering for you, the ludicrously large dark spot spreading over his pants, showcasing how much he came for you.

He moans gently when he comes to. You’re stroking over his chest with a soft, sleepy, nervous smile. He pulls you in for a kiss before he can think about it. You guys haven’t discussed anything. Neither of you knows what this means for your relationship but you know that neither of you has felt more comfortable than when you’re in the arms of the other. So why question it now?

You fall into a deep sleep listening to Joel’s heavy snores, getting rocked to bed by the way his chest expands. It’s the best sleep of your life.

thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist!

psst psst. hey you!! i have a part 2 if u want 😏

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mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

Good Little Helper

Pairing: Season 5! Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader gets assigned to be Spencer’s personal assistant of sorts after he gets shot in the knee. Category: SMUT(18+) Content Warnings: fingering (female receiving), blowjob, praise kink, dirty talk, blink and you’ll miss it cumplay Word Count: 4.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: So, remember yesterday when I posted about how I wished new ideas would stop distracting me from everything I’m currently working on? Yeah. This wouldn’t leave me alone, and I couldn’t work on anything until I got it out of my head, so here! Have a fic! (It was supposed to be a blurb, but I got a little long-winded so now it’s too long to be a blurb oops 😙✌) Also, I apologize for any editing mistakes, I just wrote this out in one go, so hopefully it’s alright!

***

Being assigned to assist Dr. Reid with practically his every need after he was shot in the knee wasn't exactly how I expected to spend the past few months.

And that's, like... a huge understatement.

In fact, when Agent Hotchner came up to me in the break room and said he'd like me to do the job, I dropped my coffee and shattered a mug. I could tell he was a little impatient with me, even through his kind reassurances that it was quite all right as he helped me clean it up and waited for an answer.

In the end I'd said yes to the job, though the more I thought about it the more I wondered how much lust and naivete had clouded my judgement when I did.

Because there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to survive weeks, possibly months, as Spencer Reid's assistant. Not only because he was intimidatingly intelligent and there was almost nothing I could offer him in decent conversation, but also—and more prominently—the fact that I was pretty sure I was in love with him.

Maybe that was a stretch. I definitely had a stupid major crush on him that felt more like we were in middle school, but I could barely look at him without going warm all over. In fact, I think we had only ever made eye contact once and I averted my gaze immediately, afraid I'd give myself away. If I'd have held it any longer, I was positive I'd have burst into flames.

He'd tried talking to me once, a few months after I started working at the Bureau, and it was only to ask if I'd send some files over to their tech analyst, Penelope Garcia, but when I tried answering, I stumbled over my words and ended up only getting out a squeaked, "Uh huh," before taking the files from him and scurrying off.

I almost cried that day.

Basically every time I was in his presence, I was a total wreck. Even more so than I was on any other given day.

Being his assistant did get fairly easy pretty early on, though. I mostly just stayed out of his way while he worked, and if he need anything that he could've gotten himself if not for the injury, it was my job to get it for him. I worked on my own paperwork most of the time, and he was always busy working on geographical profiles and whatever else, we only ever really had to talk when he asked for something. And that only required a, "Sure," on my end, so I could just get up, get what he needed, and then go back to work.

Still, it didn't help that sometimes I'd get distracted.

He was very distracting.

I usually waited until I was sure he was so busy in work that I wouldn't get caught. And that's when I'd peek over my computer or hide behind a book and stare at him. I know that sounds creepier than it is, but if you had to spend almost every hour of the day with him, you'd have done the same. Even though for months he was put on rest from the field, he always showed up looking more like a college professor than an FBI agent. Which, I suppose suited him more anyway. Regardless, it was a damn fine look. His hair was decently long and extremely pretty, and when he got the cane?

I was a goner.

It was at that point, though, when I started to realize that he probably wouldn't need my help anymore. He'd been allowed back into the filed by then, and even when I went with them on cases it still felt like I was more out of place than usual. Sure, I'd picked up on some minor skills that aided in profiling and otherwise, but at the end of the day I was still only a desk clerk. Sooner or later, I knew there would be a time where Agent Hotchner would inevitably tell me that I'd done a good job and could return to my menial day job.

So, even though Dr. Reid and I had gotten into a pretty regular, non-awkward rhythm, I was being a little more squirrely than usual.

And of course, he noticed.

"Y/N, are you doing alright?" he asked, looking up from his stack of paperwork. That was another thing we'd ended up doing— late into the night after everyone had gone home, we stayed late in the conference room and quietly filled out paperwork.

I barely looked him in the eye when I answered. "O—Oh, mhm. I'm fine."

"Oh... You just seem... a little different today."

On any other day I would have freaked out on the inside like a teenager, excited that he'd noticed me at all enough to notice a difference in my behavior. But that was his job after all.

"Actually, you seem rather... sad."

I did look up at him this time, and the soft glow of the table lamp lit up his features— features that looked me over with concern. I could feel my face grow warmer with every second I looked at him, until I quickly looked back down at my paper and shook my head.

"N—No, I'm okay. Promise. Just a little tired, that's all."

Usually he would have left it at that, given we didn't ever really have longer conversations than that that didn't pertain to whatever case the BAU was working on. But he pushed further, and I swallowed.

"Are you sure? Because... You can tell me if there's something wrong. I'm a good listener..."

Did I dare tell him what was really plaguing me? That I was scared I wasn't going to be able to spend time with him every day, thus most likely giving away my crush? That is, if he hadn't already figured it out by this point... Truthfully it wouldn't have surprised me.

The thought made me go warm again, and still, I kept my head down.

"I'm sure..."

And then I did something I probably shouldn't have. I looked back up at him, just a quick glance, but under his intense gaze I crumbled, flitting my eyes back down and playing with my hands.

"Is it... because of me?"

Afraid suddenly that I'd made him feel bad, I straightened a little. "No! No, not at all I... Um... I—I guess I'm just... A little sad that I'm probably... not going to be of any help to you anymore. You know, now that you're healing up."

A small smile flashed over his face, and I inwardly melted.

"Oh... In that case I... I guess I'm sad, too."

"Really?" I asked softly, my heart jumping.

"Mhm," he answered back in earnest. His features were softer than they'd ever been, eyes wide and kind, smile inviting... "You've been a great help. And you're fun to be around."

I couldn't help but smile shyly at his confession, completely bewildered that he'd think of me as someone he'd enjoyed being around, though I'd offered just about nothing interesting to any conversation we'd had. "Y—You don't mean that..."

"I do."

"C'mon, really? I... I—mean... coming from you that's... that's too generous."

He laughed a little. "How do you mean?"

"I... Well, y—you're you... I mean, you're... smart, and nice, and cu— uh,... n—nice..." I stumbled hard on that last one, squeezing my eyes shut at the thought of almost calling him cute to his face... And then I realized I'd called him nice two times... in a row.

I hadn't even realized he'd gotten up and walked over to me until I felt his cane gently tap my leg. I jumped, looking up at him and almost crumbled again right then and there. He stood over me, tall and clearly amused, and I wanted to just curl up and hide where no one would ever find me.

I also didn't want to be craning my neck so far up to see him, so I stood up, sending my chair rolling back a foot or two. The added height was better, but he was still fiarly taller than me, and with the way were standing so close to each other?

Maybe I'd made a mistake...

"I—I'm sorry," I stammered.

Still amused, Spencer tilted his head a small amount. "What for?"

"I... I don't know, m—making this awkward?"

"It's not awkward."

"It... It's not?"

He shook his head, quiet for a few beats before he nearly whispered. "What were you going to say?"

I paused. "I... What?"

"Before... You said I was smart. And nice... And... What else?"

It sounded like he was trying to get me to confess something, and quite honestly I couldn't tell if it was for humiliation or amusement or clarification purposes. I mean, it was probably safe to assume he wouldn't go out of his way to humiliate me, but... it still made me nervous.

"I—I didn't... I..."

"Y/N... Tell me?"

I'd been cornered. Quite literally, too, as my lower back hit the edge of the table. My hands shook anxiously at my sides as I contemplated what to say. The truth? Embarrassing for me. A lie? I was no good at telling lies, and I'd still end up embarrassed, because he'd be able to tell.

So, after a very long silence in which he waited on me to answer, I blurted out, as quietly as possible, "Cute."

The word sounded juvenile coming from my mouth. Right now, standing under Dr. Reid's intense scrutiny, it didn't even feel like the right word to describe him. Not that it wasn't true... But it just wasn't an elegant enough descriptor for him.

And that alone probably proved just how different we were. How out of my league he was...

"That's what I thought you were going to say," he mused, slightly breaking me out of my self-deprecation.

I would have asked him something then, anything to keep myself from looking like even more of a fool with a childish schoolgirl crush, but all words escaped me entirely. All I could do was look up at him, slowly growing warm under the intensity of his eyes and praying he wouldn't think of me as silly.

Though, it wouldn't have mattered, because he kept talking anyway, his body taking up even more space around me as his arms came around to well and truly trap me against the table.

"You're right, you know... I'm almost completely healed, and pretty soon I think I won't need an assistant anymore."

I was scared that maybe I was wrong before, and he'd actually humiliate me now, though the look in his eyes suggested otherwise. I wasn't sure what to make of all of it. SO I just stood there, trying to breath steadily as Spencer studied my face.

"And I meant it... That makes me sad. You know why?"

I shook my head, afraid to make a sound.

His head dipped lower, close enough that I could feel his breath on my mouth as he spoke. "I probably won't get to see you every day."

"Y—you want to see me?" I couldn't help but ask.

He scanned my eyes, amusement and something else lingering there as he did. "Yes."

And then he kissed me.

It was a short distance, but it felt like we went far. And I hadn't even registered that I whimpered into his mouth until he returned it with a low groan that boiled my insides and absolutely melted me. I was helpless against him as he pressed himself further against me and used his hands to keep my back steady.

The whole time my mind was swimming with dizziness. It felt like my body was covered in butterflies from head to toe, particularly strong where his hands pressed into me and his cane rested firmly along the inside of my thigh.

I leaned forward when he pulled away, because I was afraid that he was saying goodbye. But one of his hands came up to my face and my eyes fluttered open, immediately taking notice of how messy his hair was now that I'd had my fingers in it.

I must have looked scared, because suddenly his eyes changed, and he removed his hands away from me altogether, putting distance in between us. "I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you without asking..."

The relief that rushed through my body must have gotten to my head, because I breathed out a demand I'd never have had the courage to get out before.

"Do it again."

One second I was staring at him, admittedly afraid that he'd regretted all of it, and the next I was seeing stars as he came forward and kissed me again. His hands cradled my face as he did so, coming on to me with gentle care while still maintaining that hunger that surprised and excited me.

I hadn't realized how much I missed his touch until he'd given it back to me, my body once again melting into him and allowing him to do whatever it is that pleased him.

Apparently that was lifting my leg off the ground and making me sit on the table.

My body went along with it easily, and I was glad for it because my brain was nothing but mush, unable to process fully how he'd decided that I was worth kissing. All I really knew was that I wanted him. Anything he wanted from me, I was willing to give. And that must have come across very clearly, because when he pulled away and spoke to me, I whimpered at his words.

"Y/N... You've been such a good girl, helping me with whatever I needed these past few months..." Meanwhile his hand danced along the hem of my skirt, the tiny brushes of his skin against mine sending me into a mess of shivers.

"I think it's about time I've thanked you for all your help, don't you think?"

The implications in his tone made me whine again, and I pressed my forehead into his, our noses brushing as I answered. "Please."

I was so taken by the way he groaned as his lips connected with mine once more that I almost didn't realize that his hand was now fully up my skirt, his fingers drawing gentle lines over my panties and practically making me melt again. His hungry kisses contradicted the softness he took to my clothed cunt, a fact that warmed me to my core and made me want him more than ever.

When he slipped the fabric aside and ran the pad of his finger through me, I whined hard against his mouth, something that must have excited him— He nipped at my bottom lip and took a deep breath.

"How long have you wanted this, Princess?"

If not for the kissing and the finger slowly sliding up through my arousal, the nickname would have done me in. By now I was an utter wreck, but I somehow still managed to answer, even through a little stammering. "F—Forever."

It was the best I could come up with.

He breathed a laugh as his finger circled my clit. "That's a long time..."

"Uh huh," was all I could manage in response. My body and my brain were too focused on the things his finger was doing to my body, involuntarily rolling my hips forward for more. I needed more.

Thankfully he picked up on my urgency and reciprocated with slipping his middle finger inside me, one knuckle, then two...

I cried out as my head lurched forward, connecting our mouths once again. My hands clutched around his neck and my fingers tugged at his hair to keep myself from falling, because the slow, searing pace at which he fingered me made me wonder how I'd still been able to breathe.

He added another finger soon enough, picking up the pace and rendering me practically useless in his embrace. Meanwhile I registered the sound of his own little whines, still deeper than mine but little enough to tip me off that he was enjoying this just as much as I was, and that alone helped get me further along in pleasure.

I pulled my mouth from his reluctantly, squeezing my eyes shut as I allowed my forehead to rest against his. "D—Doctor, I'm c... I'm so close."

"His honorific falling breathlessly from my mouth seemed to do something sinister to him, because his fingers sped up and his breathing got heavier.

"Yeah? You gonna come for me, Princess?"

My stomach tightened and I nodded as best as I could, relishing in the sounds coming from below us, wet and downright filthy.

"Go ahead...Be a good girl and come for me... You deserve it..."

Each little sentence was punctuated with a slightly faster pace, each one bringing me closer and closer until I squeaked into his mouth and shook violently around his fingers, my vision going white. My legs had been open wide since he'd started teasing under my skirt, but now they threatened to clamp shut from the intensity. But I wanted nothing more than to be good for him, to make this as easy as possible, so I held out and kept them open as wide as I could stand as my orgasm rocked through me.

Spencer whispered praises into my skin as his hand slowed and his mouth trailed down to my neck. And even though it was more than nice feeling him lick and bite over my skin, I felt rather sad when he removed his fingers from me.

That sadness didn't last long though, not when he pulled back and studied me for a moment, eyes lust-blown and purely ravenous before he brought his glistening fingers up to my mouth.

I didn't even have to think. I brought my tongue out and let him slip his fingers over it, closing my mouth around them and sighing as I sucked them clean. This only seemed to excite him more, his features displaying all sorts of desperation until he couldn't take it anymore.

He kissed me again, bringing both his hands to rest at my waist. And with his hands so low I wondered if maybe he'd take to ridding himself of his own pants, but it never happened. Rather, he pulled away after minutes of more kissing, and sighed quite sadly as his upper body pressed firmly into mine.

Something else pressed firmly against me as well—right along the inside of my thigh—and I gasped, mind running wild through all the possible outcomes of the night.

But Spencer only stood there, occasionally nudging his nose against mine while his hands gently kneaded my sides.

"D—Do you want to stop?" I asked softly, afraid he'd regret what we did.

He proved me wrong. "God, no... It's... It's just that I'm still not cleared enough for any... strenuous activity on my leg, and I don't..."

I didn't want to push him, obviously, but I thought I could make the mood a little lighter. "O—Oh, well on the bright side... I could stay your assistant for a while longer."

The laugh that rumbled in his throat made me smile, though from the way he stood there, I knew he wouldn't risk it.

"Um... Raincheck?" he whispered.

On the one hand, that meant he definitely wanted to see me again, and I was more than happy with that. But also, that meant our fun for the night was done...

Yet... Maybe not...

"Sure," I answered, pecking his lips once more. Then I brought my hand to his chest and slid it down until I reached his belt, and I leaned back to look him in the eye, a boldness I never imagined coming from me in a million years.

"But I can still help you..."

I watched the desperation and disappointment in his features slowly dissolve into a newfound hunger—and an amusement—that grew my confidence tenfold.

"Oh?" Spencer mused. "How do you suppose you can help me this time?"

He wanted me to say it. So, without second guessing myself anymore, I grazed my finger over his erection. "I'm very good with my mouth, Dr. Reid."

He grabbed me by the hand then, dragging me along to the chair I'd kicked back before and sat himself down, one of his hands still gripping the cane. Matched with the desire in his eyes and the swollenness of his lips and the tousled strands of his hair, the sight was truly something to behold. It was something that only ever existed in my dreams, nd now it was real.

Not wanting to waste any time, I sunk to my knees and nestled myself in between his legs. He reached out and caressed my cheek before lifting my chin with his middle finger.

"You like being my good little helper?" he drawled.

I tried to nod, but he clicked his tongue and held my chin in place. "Words, Princess."

"Yes. I—I'd do anything you asked. Anything you want, it's yours..."

He hummed then, removing his hand from my face and moving to undo his belt swiftly with only one hand. The action, the sound, everything... it was enough to make me wet again, and I subtly ground down onto the heel of my foot as I watched him pull himself free from the confines of his pants.

I didn't have time to marvel at him before I was drawn forward like a magnet, my hands crawling up his legs and my eyes batting up at him, ready and eager to please him however he wanted.

"Eager, are we?" he mused once more, gently stroking himself with his hand.

"Yes, Doctor," I breathed, inching closer and kissing the outside of his hand.

His movement stopped then, and it didn't take longer than a second for him to decide to let me work on my own.

"Then have at it, Princess..."

I started by kissing my way up the length of him, taking my time to gauge his reactions as I did so, occasionally darting my tongue out to taste him. Once I reached the tip, I sucked on it gently, using my tongue to swirl around it until I could taste the saltiness of his precum.

And then I started taking him slowly into my mouth, watching above me as Spencer's eyes started to shut, obviously debating whether or not to lay back and enjoy this or watch me intently.

Either way, I was more than happy to keep it up, finally getting him to the back of my throat. I flexed my tongue and held him there as long as I could, promptly gagging over him and blinking tears from my eyes as he let out a loudest sound I'd heard from him yet. His head flew back and his tongue quivered along his bottom lip as he cursed my name.

The act made me proud, so I retreated for air, sucked at his tip again for a few seconds, and then repeated it, taking him down my throat again and watching through teary eyes as he visibly swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're so... Such a good fucking girl..."

The praise caused my insides to burn hot, and I ground down onto my heel again, lifting my mouth to start bobbing up and down.

His eyes opened then, and he looked down at me, using his hand to brush stray hair from my face and the other to grip onto his cane for dear life. I looked up at him the whole time, making sure to convey through not only my actions but also my eyes that I loved this. I thrived off of his praise, I enjoyed the feel of his dick gliding over my tongue and hitting the back of my throat, and I longed to feel him coat the inside of my mouth with his release.

I was so entirely into him in every capacity, it wasn't even funny.

I was so glad he could tell, a smile grazing his features as his hand gently gripped some of my hair. "So eager to please, Princess... And so fucking good at delivering..."

I whined onto his dick as he held me down, rendering me immobile. The only thing I could do was look up at him and choke, and of course, I was more than happy to do it. In turn, I was met with a deep groan and a tug of the hair.

"Hold it, hold it... Atta girl..."

My cunt throbbed at his words, and my throat continued to burn, tears falling down my face at ten-speed until finally, he let up and pulled me off of him.

I coughed a little and blinked away tears as I caught my breath, Spencer's fingers combing hair from my face as he smiled proudly.

He didn't even need to say anything then. I wanted to give him more. So I leaned down again and took him in my mouth, quickly making work of his tip while my hand came up and stroked the rest of him.

"Fuck, Princess, just like that... Make me come just like that..."

Rather than just continuing, I offered him a high whine and a wide gaze, hoping to exceed expectations.

I guess it worked, because he came right then, his dick pulsing over my tongue and in my hand as his warm release shot down my throat and over my tongue. I hummed around him, fluttering my eyes closed at the taste and the feeling, probably enjoying the fact that I'd done this to him more than I should have.

It was worth it to see the look on his face, though, after he'd given me all he had and I purposely spit some of it out onto the tip of his dick so I could lick it up and give him just a little more stimulation after the fact. His mouth hung open, eyes heavy and unwilling to leave me, even as I finished and sat back to wipe the tears and saliva from my face with a satisfied smile.

Though, the longer he looked at me, the more shy I became. Funny when I'd just had his dick down my throat, but I'd never been good with people staring at me for long periods of time.

"Was that... Was that okay?" I asked, suddenly worried I hadn't done something to his standards. "I know I don't do this a lot, so I'm sorry if it wasn't that g—"

"Y/N..."

I blinked up at him, still on my knees and unwilling to move. Not that I wanted to, but I couldn't even if I had.

"That was fucking perfect... I meant it, you're... so good."

I knew he was capable of better words, but after having the life sucked out of you, I could imagine 'better words' were hard to come by. Still, I laughed a little, playing with the hem of my skirt. "Good. I'm... glad I could help."

He smiled at me, readjusting his pants and then moving to help me off the ground.

"Hey, uh... Even when you go back to your regular job after I get better, I... I hope you know you're always welcome to come visit me if we're not busy."

The words warmed me in a different way, my heart swelling as well. "You... You mean that?"

Spencer nodded, grabbing my hand and dragging his thumb over my wrist. "Of course. I mean, you're more than just a good helper, you know. You're also kind, and smart, and cute..."

I laughed at his emphasis on cute, heat warming my face. "Ha-ha..."

"I really mean it, though," he said softly, removing his hand from mind and bringing it up to lift my chin, so I'd meet his eyes. They were swimming with sincerity, the epitome of warmth and comfort and kindness— the kind that always drew me to him in the first place. "And... If you'd want to maybe ditch the paperwork one day and grab a coffee or something, maybe—"

"Yes," I interrupted without thinking. My heartbeat picked up upon seeing the look in his eyes when I agreed, a mixture of amusement and relief. "Y—Yes, I'd love to."

"Good. Then it's a date?"

"Definitely."

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gladerwolfstarkimagines · 4 years

Text

Zuko x female reader series: Part One

Imagine being General Zhao’s daughter and the rebellious childhood best friend of Prince Zuko. You haven’t seen him since he was banished but come across his ship at sea and are reunited. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen Zuko’s scar and he’s worried what you’ll think of it. Zuko’s particularly worried because despite being just friends your opinion matters a lot to him, because he’s just a bit (a lot) in love with you.

Part two here

Part three here

Part four here

Part Five here

Part Six here

Zuko’s POV

As soon as an admiral took over Zuko’s ship anger took over his body but then when he realised it was Zhao his anger faded. If Zhao was here that might mean you were too....with this in mind Zuko held his temper as Zhao swaned onto his ship and started giving his crew orders. Zuko searched all of Zhao’s crew mates but he couldn’t see you. He was barely listening to what Zhao was saying so eager to just see you, it’d been 3 long years and Zuko just wondered how you’d changed. When you didn’t appear Zuko sighed in defeat, he was itching to ask, to request to see you but he knew he couldn’t. Banishment forbid Zuko from contacting any one in any form, if he was to see you it’d have to be by chance and there was no way your father would let that happen. A fact made even more apparent as Zhao stood there smirking at the banished prince of the firenation, almost daring Zuko to dare mention your name. Iroh knew what Zuko wanted to ask, he’d seen his change in body language the second your father’s name was mentioned and he’d hoped you’d appear to lift his nephews spirits but you didn’t. He knew Zuko missed you but he also knew Zuko cared too much about you to risk dragging your name down with him. If it got out he’d been asking about you he could get you into trouble. So Zuko couldn’t ask about you but that didn’t mean Iroh couldn’t. “And where is your lovely daughter admiral? I heard she’s got a fleet just like yours”. Zuko tensed shocked and Zhao narrowed his eyes looking from Iroh to Zuko. Zuko’s eyes grew wide but he managed not to show any more emotion as held his breath, waiting for Zhao’s reply. “She’s not here” Zhao said smugly as he saw the prince’s posture slump, it was a micromovement but still Zhao noticed and smiled. “I sent her and her naval fleet to guard the fire nation borders”. “Aw that’s a shame” Iroh smiled sadly but he saw the look in Zhao’s eyes. The man was lying, you were here and he was going to buy Zuko some time with you. “How about a tour of your fleet Admiral?” he grinned at Zhao “one does not see a fleet as impressive as this every day”. Zhao smiled his ego stroked and nodded “of course, will the prince be joining us?”. Zuko glared and Iroh smiled “you stay here then, keep an eye on things” he smirked but his hint went right over Zuko’s head. The thought of seeing you had excited him but of course you weren’t here...nothing ever worked out for him. Zuko grunted and retreated to his room to sulk. Iroh scanned the horizon, he hoped you found Zuko and quickly, he would like to see his nephew smile again.

Your POV

You watched your father leave Zuko’s boat and smirked to only see Iroh with him, if you were a betting woman (and you were) you’d bet Zuko was still on the ship, probably sulking inside. You father tried to keep it a secret from you Zuko's boat was here but you had many eyes and ears throughout the fleet, mainly belonging to the workers who liked you because you didn’t threaten to burn them over any inconvenience unlike your father. The workers had whispered it to you and you discreetly made your way to the front of the fleet and boarded Zuko’s boat the second it was safe to. The crew apparently were expecting you, you suspected that was Iroh’s doing, and let you into Zuko’s quarters easily. You pushed open his door and smirked to see the familiar broad swords and belongings you’d forgotten about. Zuko was hunched over a desk in semi darkness and didn’t even look up when you entered. “I said I didn’t want to come on the tour uncle” he snapped and you smirked leaning against the door frame. “Well fine then guess I’ll go back to my own ship”. Zuko’s head snapped around so quickly you worried he’d get whip lash. “Y/n” he cried and rushed onto his feet. "The one and only" you smiled and walked forwards. It was weird neither of you were particularly sentimental but seeing each other again after 3 years you rushed to each other and just crumpled into one another. You only even hugged Zuko to embarass him but this was a serious hug. You clutched one another and held onto each other so tightly it hurt before seperating both grinning. "Zuko" you smiled and Zuko grinned back at you "it’s so good to see you but how...your father said you weren’t here". "So i figured" you rolled your eyes "now your reputation is questionable we wants to stop me associating with you, like him telling me that would stop me" you commented and Zuko’s grin got bigger. God you’d missed seeing that smile. "Still as headstrong as ever I see” Zuko smirked “the fire nation academy for girls hasn’t managed to change that?". You snorted "they tried but i’m pretty high ranking you know" you joked and Zuko laughed. You’d missed that laugh even more than the smile. Just happy to be in Zuko’s presence you just stared at him taking in everything detail of your best friend’s face before your eyes wandered to his scar. You hadn’t seen the scar before. You were away on a naval trip when Zuko was banished so this was the first time you’d seen it and you couldn’t help focusing on it. Zuko noticed you staring and went to turn that side of his face away self conscious and you winced “Zuko don’t!". Zuko paused and hesitated but obediently moved his head back so he was facing you, touching his scar awkwardly. "I forget you haven’t seen it before" he said quietly “that you weren’t there...”. You always felt guilty for not being there when Zuko was banished, you might’ve been able to stop it or atleast could’ve endured his punishment with him, so he didn’t have to face it alone. But you were at sea and didn’t even get back in time to say goodbye as your best friend was sent away for virtually forever. "What’s the verdict?” Zuko asked in an effort to fill the awkwardness “you were never one to lie to spare feelings so honestly how ugly does it look?". Zuko looked so sad, so beaten it broke you. Sure he’d never been particularly cheery but he’d never looked this sad before. An idea formed in your head and you smirked inwardly. "Honestly?" you asked wincing pretending to inspect his face and Zuko nodded staring at the ground. You smiled "well you were never a looker as a kid Zuko and i’m just saying that as your best friend okay! But you've grown up handsome scar and all" you grinned "if anything it makes you look dangerous, very attractive". Zuko blushed, grinned and looked away all at once. You smiled to see he no longer looked sad. "Shut up" Zuko managed to mutter and your smirk rose "i will not! I will tell everyone who will listen back at the palace how hot you’ve become". Zuko’s cheeks were almost as red as his scar as he put a hand infront of his face to hide it making you laugh. “I’ll be sure to say it infront of Mai in particular” you grinned bumping him with your elbow and Zuko’s blush grew. You took that to be because Zuko liked Mai but couldn’t be more wrong. Yes Zuko had been fond of Mai and he liked being around her but he always liked being around you more. When it became obvious you didn’t like him as anything more than a friend Zuko was heartbroken and started looking around for other options. Mai was one of those options and she was a good option, she was smart, beautiful, high ranking and they got along. Zuko had enjoyed dating her but it was never as good as it was just hanging out with you and that thought flooded back to Zuko the moment he saw you. He liked Mai but he was in love with you and nothing would ever change that. You took Zuko’s silence as him being shy and smiled grabbing onto his arm “awww look I made the prince blush”. “Stop it” Zuko said trying to get out of your grip but you only hugged him harder. “I will not! As your best friend it’s my job to tease you and I really am going to go tell Mai how ruggedly handsome you’ve grown, ponytail and all” you smirked twirling his hair with your fingers. Zuko managed to break out of your embrace and you laughed. “You see Mai often at the palace?” Zuko asked and you nodded flopping into one of his chairs. “Yeah we hang out some times” you explained and smiled to see Zuko’s shocked expression. “Suprisingly we get along rather well when you're not around, guess it’s cus we forget how gorgeous you are so can stop fighting over you for two minutes and talk" you said dramatically and Zuko blushed. Zuko remembered well the tension between you and Mai. Mai hadn’t trusted how close the two of you were, Mai thought Zuko liked you and she wasn’t wrong Zuko realised. Sure this banishment had made him realise how much he cared for you but it had always been there, he’d always cared about you more than anyone else since you were kids. "I forgot how embarassing you are" Zuko commented and you grinned at him. Zuko took the chance to examine your face and noticed all the ways it had changed in the years you’d been seperated. To Zuko’s eyes you’d only grown more beautiful but he knew that would be the case. Silence settled and Zuko’s face went all serious which you knew meant he wanted to tell you something. "It’s really good to see you” Zuko said into the floor “I’ve missed you a lot y/n" and you looked up at him suprised, Zuko never spoke about his emotions, atleast not so openly, you usually had to force them out of him. "Ive missed you too" you smiled taking his hand "when i got back and you were gone and when I heard your ridiculous mission...I worried I’d never see you again” you trailed off and tears filled your eyes. Zuko blinked shocked to see you so serious when you always had a smile or chip on your shoulder. But soon enough you shook your head and smiled again “so hurry up and capture the avatar so you can come home yeah?". Zuko laughed and nodded squeezing your hand “trust me I’m trying”. “Any way I can help, no matter how big, just tell me” you told him “I’ll do it and won’t tell a soul, I just need you back Zuko, you know I’m always thinking of you don’t you?”.”You haven’t forgotten me?” Zuko asked bashfully and you scoffed. “How could I forget my best friend! The person who made growing up in that hell hole bareable! The person who’d sneak me into the palace to get at the fancy food and then bail me out when I got caught. The person who gave me this scar” you smirked pointing to the large one on your arm “because he was so bad at sheathing his knives! Or the boy who gave me a turtle duck for my birthday when I was 8 because he knew I liked them but we didn’t have a pond”. Zuko smiled “you named it Jeremiah...how is he?”. “Good” you grinned “the point is i’ll never forget you, ever Zuko and soon enough you’ll be home again but until then I’ll keep your memory alive”. Zuko felt more emotion in these minutes then he’d felt in years. He knew he loved you, no matter all the times he’d tried to convince himself it wasn’t that serious, and was just overcome with the urge to tell you. He’d been terrified to admit his feelings to you for years but now he didn’t know if or when he’d next see you. What did he have to lose? “Y/n...” he started sitting forward “there’s something I’ve got to tell you...I’ve known for years but was too scared to....” when the door was thrown open. “Y/n” Zhao yelled storming into the room, Iroh close behind him “what are you doing in here?”. You rolled your eyes “seeing an old friend dad what does it look like?”. Your father looked furious but you were used to it now. “I told you to stay on your ship” your father glared and Zuko got angry at his tone. “It was my fault I asked her to come”. You shot Zuko a grin, he was always trying to cover for you but not this time. “No he didn’t, I found him, you had no buisness keeping this from me, Zuko’s my friend you know I’d do anything to see him”. Your father looked from you to Zuko and nodded, he had no doubt about that. He’d known the prince was in love with you for a while and back when he was an actual prince that had been good, now we was a rejected prince there was no way he’d encourage that. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you could get us in for this! You know you’re not allowed any contact with the traitor!” you dad yelled. You felt Zuko tense and stood infront of him blocking him from your father’s view. “Zuko’s not in the fire nation and neither are we, there’s no rule about avoiding him if our ships come close to one another and it’s not like I was here long”. “Still” Zhao glared “Ozai won’t like it! His punishment doesn’t include chats with friends”. You rolled your eyes “Zuko’s dad will never find out, who’s going to tell him?”. “I won’t” Iroh said helpfully and you nodded to your dad “see”. Your dad glared “fine but I want you out of here now! We are not risking falling out of favour just so you could see that excuse of a boy”.You rolled your eyes “whatever but let me say goodbye atleast”. Your dad went to object but you spun to face Zuko ignoring him. “Zuko i’m sorry whatever you had to say will have to wait till the next time I see you”. “whenever that is” Zuko muttered and you frowned. “Don’t talk like that” you commanded “I’ll see you again soon Zuko”. Zuko didn’t look convinced so you forced him to look at you closely. “Have I ever lied to you before? ever?”. “Many times” Zuko replied and you rolled your eyes “no about something as serious as this?”. “No” Zuko admitted and you smiled “see, so i’m telling the truth, i’ll see you soon enough, it won’t be that long, if anyone can do this mission it’s you, I know it!”. Zuko blushed and your father coughed “y/n now!”. “I’m coming” you snapped before you smiled at Zuko and hugged him tightly. Your father made an angry noise and Zuko blushed feeling his glares, he was hyper away many people were watching but hugged you back anyway. “I’ll miss you Zuko but nothing will ever stop you being my best friend”. Zuko blushed and nodded “I know”. “Y/n” your dad snapped and you nodded. “I love you Zuko” you smiled and his blush skyrocketed. He knew you didn’t mean it like he did but still hearing you say that... Zuko was aware of what a spectacle you were causing but it only made him smile more. You were always one to cause a scene, constantly over the top so he knew you were doing this to embarass him one last time before you left. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of winning so just replied honestly. ”I love you too” Zuko said and you grinned suprised he’d actually said it back as your father came and grabbed your arm “that’s enough”. You glared at him but squeezed Zuko’s hand “goodbye Zuko”. “Goodbye Y/n, i’ll be home soon, just you wait and see” and you grinned at him one last time before letting your father drag you out.

Zuko’s POV

Zuko watched you go ignoring the way his uncle was smirking at him or the way his chest now felt empty again. He would do everything and anything to capture the avatar so he could get back to the firenation. Not for his father, not for his reputation, not even to regain his honour but for you. Zuko would do anything necessary to get back to you, nothing not even an impossible mission would get in his way.

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fragilefangirl · 3 years

Text

Nomad (lost and found, what’s new?)

Read on AO3

When Xialing first ran away, she brought nothing but the things she wore on herself and the rolled up Dance-Dance Revolution carpet, slung on her shoulders.

It was a daring escape, considering their hilltop fortress of a home; there were many guards, many traps, many weapons ready to impale anybody going in or out unauthorized. Xialing spent months just mapping the inner-maze of the house, and some more learning the sewer system, since that was a sure path down below, somewhere with civilizations.

Gege definitely had it easier, she thought to herself as her nose wrinkled due to the smell, knees deep in murky and questionable water, at least he got a free ride out of this godforsaken mountain.

She knew she had to be quick, she had to be agile, she had to be unseen; Baba had eyes everywhere, had ears everywhere, had hands everywhere. Xialing didn’t want anything of hers reaching him.

(She wanted to, once upon a time; yearned for it, when she thought that his eyes could still be filled with brightness and his hands were still warm and his ears would still perk up at her voice. She wanted to be seen, to be heard, to be ruffled by the head the way it used to.

But 6 years passed, and it took Xialing that much time to realize that a dying man could only do so much, so little.)

When she finally reached somewhere that was not a forest, asking for a ride to the city from a passing truck, the driver asked what she could give him, eyeing the carpet on her shoulder. “Is that the 2007 DDR mat for PlayStation 2?” He asked. “I liked to play it in my cousin’s house back then—always wanted to get it.”

Xialing tightened her grip to the binding rope, nodding stiffly. “Yes.” She said, curtly. Then when they arrived at the nearest metropolitan, she unlatched her bracelet—pure gold and adorned with rare, beautiful green jade, one of the things Baba gave her on the birthdays after, in lieu of his affection—and gave it to him. “Sell this to a jeweller.” She said, giving the wide-eyed man the accessory. “The money from it should be enough for you to start a trucking company of your own.” She paused, “and even buy your own mat.”

The driver stuttered, but Xialing had already stepped down from the platform, running into the early dawn, blending herself among the crowd, finally, finally free.

***

“Meimei,”

Xialing looked up to see Gege, face obscured by the shadowy silhouette of the living room as he approached her. “What are you doing?” Asked her brother, tone careful.

She paused from unrolling the DDR mat and setting the TV, looking at Gege like he just asked something stupid. “It’s Saturday, Gege.” She said, matter-of-factly, “Family game night, remember?”

Because they all seemed to forget; Xialing had done this for weeks now, recharging the karaoke mic, setting the dance game, picking a movie. She’d waited on the sofa until she fell asleep and Saturday turned to Sunday and she was moved to her room instead of the sofa, but nobody showed up.

Nobody ever seemed to show up, these days—Gege was always training at some corner of the house since the ungodly hours of the morning until the ungodly hours of the night, and Baba…

…well, Xialing didn’t really know where Baba was.

Gege moved forward, and Xialing could see his face now; bruised, with blue and purple blooming here and there. There was a black circle over his eyes, and his lip was split—he looked like he was one of those fighters in the combat games he used to play in their PlayStation so much, the one he didn’t let her borrow.

She gasped, rising from her seat on the floor and reaching out to him, trying to examine him,

(the way mama used to—)

Xialing blinked, throat suddenly feeling suspiciously dry as her eyes grew suspiciously wet.

“Lingling,” Said Gege as he leaned over to her touch, eyes drooping somberly as he looked at her. “I don’t think we’re going to have family game nights tonight.”

Narrowing her eyes, Xialing frowned. “But it’s cus-to-ma-ry.” She said, struggling to say the last word. “Mama said that means we have to play it every weekend, unless we’re doing something even more fun!”

Gege gave her a pained smile, and tucked her under his right side, wincing a little as he did so. His eyes blinked a bit when Xialing mentioned the word ‘mama’, and his gaze drifted to the corner of the room, where there was a newly-built shrine with lightened incense and fresh tangerines. “A-Ling.” He said instead, tone weary and sad and did her older brother aged more than the years that passed through him? “Let’s just sleep, okay?” He looked down on her, offering her a tired smile. “It’s been a long day.”

For him, Xialing couldn’t help but to think, intrusive thoughts rebutting so quickly she was surprised herself. On her end, days blur to weeks on end, making her feel smaller every single time she wakes up unseen, unheard, unspoken.

“…okay.” She said, after mulling about it in a long silence. “Gege sleeps with me?”

This time, Gege’s smile was a little bit more genuine. “Sure, Meimei.” He said, ruffling her head. “You sleep on my right side, okay? My left side… hurts.” He winced just mentioning it, free hand tracing his torso.

Nodding, Xialing snuggled closer as they walked away from the living room, Gege’s longer hands barely able to reach the lightswitch to turn it off. Xialing herself had to use a chair just to get it every time. He paused as they were finally out in the hallway, turning to slowly close the sliding door.

“Gege.”

“Hm?”

“When…” Xialing hesitated. “When do you think we’ll play at family game night again?”

Her older brother paused, hands still holding the door handles. “…maybe not for a while.” He said, finally, back still facing her.

“Oh.” Xialing’s hopeful face fell. “Okay.”

Gege led her off, away from the living room, but he didn’t shut the sliding door completely, and from the gap Xialing could see mama’s shrine, lightened by the moonlight from the window.

She swore mama’s gaze looked so sad.

(The day after, Baba locked the Living Room.

A week later, they moved into the mountains.)

***

“Aiya, these beggars!”

Xialing arrived at Macau after three days of truck hopping and self-smuggling herself into unbelievable vehicles. It helped that she was on the smaller side and had nothing with her—but it also meant that she arrived with no destination and no place to live.

She arrived at a packed apartment complex in Iau Hon, paying the receptionist with some of the money she acquired from selling another bracelet of hers earlier in the Mainland, only to be told that there were no longer rooms for the night and she had to queue on the waiting list just to get a piss-poor excuse of a housing.

“Give my money back, then!” She protested, face red with anger.

The receptionist counted the bills, unblinking. “Sorry, no refund.”

She growled, “wáng bā dàn.”

The receptionist paused, glaring at Xialing. She knew she could take him out on a fight right then and there if he tested her further. “Careful with your words, now, girl—a child your age shouldn’t be cussing to their kind elders.”

“Fucker,” she muttered under her breath in English as she walked away, out of the complex. It was the last of her cash, too, after a series of expenses involving buying food, paying the smuggler who helped her through immigration, and compensating the truck drivers she rode with openly upfront and hidden on the back. She had to find another pawnshop to trade her remaining jewels if she wanted to acquire more money to survive. But it was nearing midnight, and all of the shops were closed.

So on her first night in, she lumped herself out with people on the back alleys, away from the main streets. There were homeless people there, huddled up together in worn carpets and makeshift tent. Macau was cold at night, and Xialing’s clothes were worn, too thin to block out the wind.

That night, she rolled out the DDR mat and slept on it; curled up like a cat because she was growing taller than the mat’s length, staving away the cold. She put herself at the back corner, near the trash can, so she wouldn’t be seen.

(Because she could not be seen—Xialing told herself that she needed to blend in, to disappear into the crowd, because Baba must be sending men out there, snooping, searching; he must be looking for her, the only child he had left, the last child he let slip through his fingers.

Baba must be looking for her.

Right?)

The tacky design of the mat was her only company, and she fell asleep tracing the arrows—left, left, right, up, down, left again—while humming on a long-forgotten song. She fell asleep trying to remember a warmer night and a warmer night. She fell asleep yearning to wake up to warm laughter.

“Mama, Gege,” she muttered, barely conscious, “Baba.”

The cold wind blew her hair, gentle and mournful.

***

“Mama.” Xialing said, fifteen and sitting at the shrine Baba had built in their new home, head leaning onto the altar. “I hate you so much.”

The smell of jasmine incense surrounded the room, and Xialing buried herself further into her own arms, warm in all the way except what mattered. She knew silence would greet her, and yet still she paused, hoping for some of the magic mama used to tell her back then would come back, would make their family whole again.

“I hate Gege too for leaving.” She said, one eye peeking into the picture of her mother, smiling behind the glass, forever immortalized on paper. “And I hate Baba for—“

She paused, unsure on what word should she use to describe that living husk of a man, more than eager to track down the lowly goons of his enemies but barely willing to look her in the eye during dinner. She shook her head, letting the silence complete the sentence.

“But I hate you for dying the most.” She whispered, a quiet confession. “I hate you because now Gege’s gone, and Baba’s never around, and I feel like—“ she choked up, clutching her chest as she gulped. “I feel like one of these days I’m gonna disappear too, with the way nobody here acknowledges my existence.”

The smoke from the incense danced, and Xialing sobbed, not for the first time and not for the last, a desperate attempt to be acknowledged by someone, by anyone—even the dead.

“Why didn’t you just hide in the room with us?” She asked, voice thick. “Why did you have to fucking fight those goons like a goddamn hero? Why didn’t you—I don’t know—wait for Baba to come home?”

Again, silence greeted her, and Xialing sighed out of frustration. “If you were still here, I’d still go to my old school and actually have friends and—and family game night would still exist.” She chuckled, darkly. “Gege wouldn’t leave me, and,” She said, “Baba would still look at me.”

The way he used to, when they were a heap of exhausted laughter after a particularly hard song to dance at. The way he used to, when Xialing whined because he kept repeating old opera songs none of them knew for the karaoke. The way he used to, when Saturday dinner was served and she and Gege fought over the last piece of guotie.

“My tutors said I should dream big,” She lamented to herself, “But how can I do that when I feel far smaller now than when I was four?”

The silence was suffocating her now, but it was better here than anywhere else in the house.

“Tell me what to do, mama.” She said, voice faltering and tired. “Please tell me what to do.”

The smoke from the incense rose up, up, up, carried by the wind into the windows, drifting away into the night, freed from the five walls surrounding the shrine.

***

Jiang Er-Gege—“Just Jon-Jon, please. Or Mister Manager,” he insisted for the umpteenth time, unrelenting in this clearly losing battle, “and am I not older than your actual brother?” But Xialing is nothing if not stubborn—whistled at her new apartment.

“Sweet!” He said, grinning, hair bobbing around as he turned at Xialing’s direction, who was still unwrapping her hand from the bindings, wincing a bit every once in a while due to the aftermath sting from tonight’s fights. “You got yourself a pretty nice crib, A-Ling!”

“Thanks.” She said, giving him a small smile as she discarded the wrappings to the waste bin and took off her shoes, finally coming in. “Not that bad, isn’t it?”

“For a seventeen-year-old street fighter? Psh. Not bad at all.” Er-Gege waved a hand, his hair—currently blue now, which reminded Xialing of the Sonic the Hedgehog poster hanging at her Gege’s old bedroom door, well, before—flowing and flailing with each of his enthusiastic movements. “Did it come fully furnished?”

“Yes.” She said, throwing herself to the sofa, closing her eyes. Dawn was breaking, and most people would rise from their beds, starting their day—but Xialing wasn’t most people, and all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and sleep. She was sure that if she insisted on taking a shower, she’d fall asleep under the streaming water, and that would just be wasteful.

(“And we can’t have that, Baobei,” a deep, gentle voice softly told her, as larger hands guided her on how to soap all the wet plates together first. “Water is scarce in many places in the world in this day and age, and we must show our gratitude by not wasting it so easily.” Xialing felt a light pat on her hair, a slight ruffle, “can you do that?”

She nodded, enthusiastic as she scrubbed the grimes a little harder, trying to detach the remnants of oil and spices from the porcelains so that the water would rinse the objects more thoroughly. “Mmhm!” She hummed, offering a bright toothy grin up, “Lingling will do as Ba—“)

“—Ling?”

She snapped awake, blinking rapidly to regain full consciousness. “Sorry, I was pretty out of it.” She said groggily as she straightened herself up—fix your posture, Baobei, don’t slouch—looking at Er-Gege with slowly focusing eyes. “You were saying?”

Er-Gege raised his eyebrows, but he shrugged and waved a hand at the direction of the TV. “That DDR Carpet looks a little… out, compared to your other furnitures.”

Xialing snorted, throwing Er-Gege a ‘tell-me-what-I-don’t-know’ look. “That’s vintage.” She said, cupping her face with her hands, leaning over to the coffee table.

“To whom?”

Sighing in annoyance, Xialing couldn’t help but to feel a little defensive about the old mat; it might be ragged and old, it might be worn and torn at its sides, nibbled by the sneaky rat at Xialing’s old loft, but, “It’s the thing I slept on, my first night here.” She said, “It’s a reminder.”

Er-Gege’s judgy expression softened, as he fully turned at her with his arms crossed. “A reminder?” he echoed, curiously inquiring. There was no malice in his tone, only an invitation to open up in a way that eerily reminded her of Gege, “of what?”

Xialing looked at the worn arrows and recalled laughter; scanned the tacky colors and remembered warmth; eyed the frayed edges and missed three pairs of eyes, looking at her like she was someone, her own person, not a walking remnant of someone else, not a ghost before she even died—

“Of good times.” She smiled, small and bitter and yearning.

Er-Gege nodded, glancing at her one last time before moving on, letting it go. He made a comment about her kitchen counter, how it was too Americanized and needed a revamp, but Xialing was very sleepy, suddenly.

(Baobei—

Meimei—)

She sighed, laying herself to the armrests of the sofa, and closed her eyes, dreaming of nothing.

When she woke up, it was noon, there was a steaming porridge on her coffee table, and there was Er-Gege, fumbling over her TV. “What—” she stretched, cracked her joints. “What time is it?”

Turning at her in surprise, Er-Gege grinned almost immediately. “Look who finally woke up.” He said, tone light and teasing. “I bought the porridge from that Auntie’s restaurant you like so much—go eat it first.”

Xialing straightened herself, gingerly taking her first spoonful, letting the warmth of the meal melt away the weariness in her bones. “Thanks,” she said, smiling at the bowl, feeling like she was truly her age for the first time in a very long while. “And what are you doing to my TV?”

“Oh, this?” he jabbed a finger to the screen, which was displaying the HDMI menu. “I’m plugging in a PS2.” he said, shrugging before he dove again, lifting a black bulku box that looked just like the one they used to have at home. “I got this baby at a second-hand electronic shop, and they apparently sold old DDR game disks!” He grinned, before returning the device and returned to his work, this time to the mat’s underside, seemingly searching for its wirings.

Xialing blinked, spoon suspended mid-way to her mouth, warm meals suddenly forgotten. “...why?” She asked, something simultaneously familiar and foreign slowly easing their way into her chest, squeezing it with something sharp but not painful.

Er-Gege watched her oddly, like she was asking something stupid. “To play, of course.” he said, as if the answer itself was obvious. “This bad boy seemed like it hadn’t been used to its purpose for years, and I’ve never seen you dance before.” He grinned mischievously.

Her throat constricted into something tight and heavy, and Xialing looked further down. “I—” she mumbled, “I don’t really remember how to.”

She heard a snort and looked up, nearly fearfully, to see Er-Gege looking at her with something akin to mirth. “So what? We can always re-learn!” He said, waving a hand at the carpet, “it literally has arrows to tell you where to go; if you can kick people’s ass ordinately, you can definitely play this.” He grinned.

It was true, but something about the familiarity of all this made Xialing feel like she should run away, like she should protect herself because what if she was happy and then it was taken from her again— “I don’t think we should,” she said, voice still so uncharacteristically small and vulnerable and fuck she missed Gege’s uncoordinated legs stepping into her and mama and she missed Baba cheating to win and she missed mama, she missed mama so much it hurt—

“Hey, Xu Xialing,” Er-Gege’s voice snapped her out of her spiral, softer tone breaking her reverie. “You said it reminds you of good times.” he rose from his squat, hand reaching out to touch her hair—always a perfect bob—and ruffle it lightly. “Far as I know, good times should be experienced, not just reminisced.”

She blinked, and for a split second she saw two other faces, grinning at her in a smile she’d yearned to see for so long.

“Okay.” She said, nodding slowly, “Okay.”

They ended up missing the night’s match, and the manager of the ring-fight yelled at Er-Gege for not bringing his best Champion to the arena, but as they laughed late into the night, teasing each other’s stiff moves and calling out their horrible attempts at cheating against each other, Xialing felt like she was home for the first in a very long time.

***

“Baba?”

She peeped at the door, loose hair falling, curtaining over her face. She was eleven now, spending her birthday with an array of nannies and tutors, gifted jewelleries and served the best dishes on an empty dinner table, singing happy birthday to herself.

Baba’s work room was always dark, only luminized by the reading lamps, and sometimes those damned rings. He didn’t look up from his papers, but Xialing had trained herself in reading the miniscule when she realized that she would never be given something visible again, and she saw how his shoulders stiffened, how his eyes blinked rapidly, how his ears perked, slightly.

He said nothing to acknowledge her existence, but he also didn’t shoo her away, so Xialing took what she could get. “It’s my birthday today.” She said, voice small, always feeling small, too small in this big room, this big house, “and I was wondering if—if we could spend it together? Just—” she shrugged, helplessly, already compromising her own wishes if it meant a nod from Baba, an affirmation, anything, “I don’t know, watch a movie or something…”

Her eyes glanced at their new living room behind her, barely inspiring those inside it to live; it was cold and spartan, so unlike the Living Room back Home, where everything was warm and alive. In her old home, everything was strewn haphazardly, dance mats kicked several meters away from the front of the TV and karaoke mics on the couch. Here, the TV was never on, and all the mics and mats and cassettes were locked into the top shelf, the unspoken instructions clear; do not touch. Do not take. Do not open.

Do not Relive.

Baba moved, straightening himself, and in the silence that passed Xialing blinked, letting her hopes go up—

“I’m quite busy right now, Xialing.” He said, tone detached and performative, not even looking up to her as he spoke. “Maybe later.”

Definitely never.

“Oh.” Xialing deflated, looking down, slowly retreating. “Okay.” she whispered, mostly to herself as she pulled the door close once more. “Goodnight, Baba.”

She was replied with only a hum, and she dared not to look up lest she saw him still focused on that damn paper, refusing to look at her, to see her even when it was her birthday because in his eyes she was not A-Ling anymore, not Baobei, not Meimei, just some personification of his fucking dead wife and—

Xialing fell asleep waiting for him on the couch anyway, despite everything, waiting for that later despite knowing that it was a lie.

She woke up in her room, alone, always alone.

It had been like this for a long while, now, but with Gege not returning home and her being the only child he had left in the compound, she had hoped—

Well. she had hoped.

That was her first mistake.

***

“You know, for a compound this big, I thought your dad would have more stuff.” Said Katy as the three of them cleaned up the main house. With Baba cremated and his ashes placed on the same altar as Mama, they only needed to clean his place.

Which apparently didn’t require that much effort, given how little of him existed there.

Somewhere deep within her, she recognized that it was heartbreaking to live like this, but that part was buried layers below anger and pettiness at how that exact way of life had sacrificed her.

“He’s so… spartan.” Commented Gege as he observed the high shelves, trying to find a more personal belonging to salvage. “There’s barely anything here.”

“You can use big words? Shocking.” Replied Xialing, tone flat and sarcastic as she took what she thought was valuable; the Lucky Cat figurine they brought from their old Home, family photos that were pushed into the far back, some sick-looking swords… “I thought the US’ horrible education system had stripped out all of your intelligence.”

“I liked you better when you were smaller and less sarcastic.” Grumbled Gege as he threw her a look. Xialing snorted.

“And I liked you better when you were smaller and not abandoning me,” jabbed Xialing, to which Gege replied by pinching her on her arm, not much to hurt so she knew it was in good nature. “Besides, you only do not like me because I’m cooler than you.”

“Now on that front, she’s definitely right.” Katy piped up, and Gege groaned, grumbling something about all the women in his life ganging up against him. “Face it, Shaun, you’re a little lame compared to the rest of your family.”

“I was laying low!” He protested to Katy, to which Xialing snorted. “And besides, you’re working in the same field as I am, receiving the same pay. If I’m lame, you’re lame too.”

“Oh, I know.” Katy said, not missing a beat. “But my family is a bunch of immigrant workers, not some thousand-year-old warlord and a magical guardian of the mystiques. I have excuses, Shaun—you don’t.”

“I can see why you keep her.” Xialing said, in-between her chuckles. “Keep it up, Jiejie.” She raised a thumb up to Katy with her free hand, and Katy—did Katy blush?

“Okay, back to cleaning up!” Gege’s bellowing voice cut the both of them, only slightly annoyed. “A-Ling, what did you get?” She showed him her reapings, to which ke gestured her to place it on the open suitcase at the couch.

“All these books were dusty, unopened from their wrappings…” Katy said as she scanned the bookshelves, “and is the TV wiring corroded? Shaun, did your father never watch TV?”

Xialing and Gege exchanged glances, shrugging. The image of Baba doing anything fun after mama had died was so … foreign to them. “I guess he’s too consumed by his work.” Gege said, though she knew he doubted his own words as much as she did, for the Ten Rings had barely done anything for the past ten years.

Katy shook her head in disbelief as she scanned more of the cupboards. “Books, jewels, antique swords—what are even these weapons?—oh! Here’s a fun rack!” Her steps stopped, “now there’s more personality; PS2, karaoke mic, a bunch of game discs, and—” she snorted, “A fucking DDR mat? Hey, Shaun, did your dad really play DDR?”

Xialing paused, head turning to Katy abruptly. “A DDR mat?” She echoed, straightening herself and walking to Katy’s side, interest piqued.

“Yeah!” Katy affirmed, pulling the rolled up mat down from the storage, unbinding it with one pull. “Looks old and worn, too.” She snorted, “What I really would give to see your scary dad dancing to this…”

But Xialing wasn’t listening. She felt like everything around her was buzzing.

“...Lingling?” Someone’s hand was on her shoulder, and she snapped, looking up to see Gege looking down on her, frowning as his grip on her tightened. “Meimei, you okay?”

Xialing wanted to say something, anything, because that wasn’t just some mat; she recognized it—had danced to it countless times when she was young, had brought it with her when she ran away, had slept on it on her first night in Macau, had—

“I threw that away.” She said, not quite recognizing her own voice as she reached to the frayed edges. “In Macau, when I moved to a better apartment—I threw that away.”

I had it with me, was unspoken, he wasn’t supposed to—

And suddenly she was reminded on that night in her Club, Baba standing in front of her and Gege, offering them his smile, and she thought she’d been dreaming then, a childish delusion resurfacing after seeing a familiar face for so long, but—

“I always know,” he had smiled, and there was something there, something not quite cold, not the way he usually was after, something akin to the expression Xialing saw at the mirror in the morning when she had a particularly bad day and all she wanted was Baba’s guotie and mama’s soup— “where my children are.”

***

CODA.

Opening her bedroom door with his elbow, Xu Wenwu made soft, careful movements so as to not wake his youngest from his arms.

She was deep in her sleep when he found her sprawled on the couch at the wee hours of midnight, leaning her head on one side of the armchairs. When he lifted her up, she felt like she weighed far lighter than she should have—he frowned, he’d have to talk with the chef about that—and she only grumbled lightly, before snuggling her face to the crook of his neck, seeking comfort.

Gently, he placed her onto the bed, adjusting the pillows and tucking in the blankets. She was eleven years old but she still looked like she was a baby when she was asleep like this—his baby, his Baobei.

Xialing harrumphed when he slowly released her, one hand unconsciously clutching to his white shirt. Wenwu paused, freezing, fearing that he’d got caught.

(Fearing what?

He didn’t know.)

Wenwu let her fingers clutch the fabric until they relaxed on its own, before slowly extricating her grip away from his clothing. He tucked her hand inside the blanket with the rest of her, and swpt her unruly bangs, looking at her face.

Like this, she looked just like Ying Li.

Something caught in his throat, heavy and shuddering, and Wenwu looked away. A thousand years, he thought bitterly, and his undoing is just some little girl’s face.

He shook his head, swallowing the emotions away, letting it be buried deep once more. He knew he had sinned, knew he wronged his children to a fault, but he just—

Not for the first time that night, he wished his wife was still here, telling him what to do, telling him she loved him, telling him how to love.

But she wasn’t, and their daughter was turning eleven, and he was sitting there at the edge of her bed, wishing more than anything for some magic to come and unbreak this broken family the way Ying Li had to his cold, greedy heart all those years ago in the forest.

Xialing—His A-Ling, his Baobei, his child—stirred in her sleep, and Wenwu could see tear tracks on her cheeks, crusty and fading.

He leaned over, forehead to hers, and whispered, softly, “Happy birthday, Baobei.”

Baba is sorry, he thought, hoping the unsaid would reach her anyways, even if he didn’t dare to say it out loud.

The night was clear, the windows closed, but the wind tousled his hair lightly, gentle and mournful.

#shang chi and the ten rings #shang chi #xu shang chi #xu shangqi #xialing #xu xialing #xu wenwu #wenwu #ying li #this movie made me sob two days after i saw it and i'll be DAMNED if i don't do it justice #Xialing deserves better baby!

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kidney9-9 · 3 years

Note

i have an idea where teen avenger! reader used to be a hydra experiment and has a lot of nightmares and bucky woke up one day to an alert from friday saying that she's in distress... and he goes to her room and finds her crying on her bed with wet sheets and he comforts her cus’ she's like his younger sister?

(sorry if this doesn't make sense)

Hi there anon! Thank you for sending this one in :) It’s so sweet! Hope you’re doing well. Please read the warnings! Masterlist is tagged in my bio and taglist will be in a reblog

(Set before the show!)

Teen Avenger!Reader x Bucky Barnes (Platonic) Warnings: Mentions of death, anxiety from a nightmare Word Count: 1k

It started with the sound of footsteps this time, and your eyes darted around the dark room, hoping for a sense of light or reassurance you were safe. There wasn’t any this time. You couldn’t pinch yourself, as you started to realize that the rest of your body was covered in the darkness, and the footsteps started to sound heavier, louder, as whoever it was came closer to you. The louder the footsteps were, the more anxious you felt as you tried to find an escape.

“My sweet bird… Always chirping in the morning. How frustrating is it to know you can’t see the sunlight? How tired do you feel away from everyone?” A voice spoke out, taunting you. The pause in the air made you sit up right, now realizing your breathing was too loud, almost in sync with the footsteps.

You pushed an arm out, hoping to protect yourself from anything and anyone. “What’s that? You’re quiet now. I already miss that sound. Reminds me of your old cellmate, Clarice, was it?” You let out a shudder, eyes shut tightly now, as memories poured into your mind of her. How long has it been since she died? If it were possible, would she ever forgive you?

“I can already smell what you’re thinking. Wanting to see her again? Would you really? After you did that… I suppose I understand. It was a life-or-death situation, and she chose death. I wonder if you would have chosen the same as she would if you knew what would happen to you.” The taunting became worse, and you started to shake your head, trying to focus on something else. Anything else around you to stop listening to him, it was only making you feel more distressed.

Outside your dream, your body shook with terror and sweat covered your bedsheets. Friday started to analyze your movement, and took your temperature, already being alerted of your fear. A second longer, Friday sent the message to Bucky.

When he woke up to the alarm, Bucky groaned in irritation. “What’s going on?” He asked, staring up at the wall, blinking the sleep off. He gazed back towards the clock by his bed, furrowing his eyebrows at the time. It was 3AM, way too early to do anything.

Friday started his report, “It appears Y/n is having a nightmare, or a night terror. Her heartrate is too high, and you’re on her immediate contact list. You need to go to her room. Would you like me to alert anyone else?” Bucky sat right up, instantly, shaking his head back to Friday’s voice.

“No, no it’s alright. I’ll go over there now.” The worry seeped into his voice and he panicked to put his slippers on, rushing to the door. Your room was a few doors down from him as he hurried over. He opened your door, quickly running in. When he saw you in your stressed state, he sighed, instantly sitting by the bed, and put his hand on top of one of yours. You clenched his hand hard, shivering as you started to cry more in your sleep.

Your pillows were soaked in your tears, and Bucky whispered, “Hey kid, wake up. You are safe.” His tone was soft, but there was a certain hardness to it which carried over his concern. You murmured something he couldn’t understand and turned in your sleep more.

“Clarice? Where are you? Clarice, I’m sorry, please!” You cried out, coughing as you felt even more scared. Bucky shook your shoulder with his other arm, shaking his head.

“No, it’s not Clarice. It’s Bucky. Hey, wake up.” He spoke louder this time, frowning even more at the mention of Clarice. He didn’t know the full story, but he understood Hydra had put the two of you together before. He remembered bits and parts before he left Hydra, of the new projects in the isolated bases, and you and Clarice were part of the first experiments. It made him sick seeing you like this, knowing it was all Hydra’s fault. He wished he could have stopped it somehow, he just wanted you to be happy.

You woke up with a gasp, coughing for more air, slowly realizing where you were. “Bucky?” You whispered, your voice cracking harshly. He moved closer next to the bed, squeezing your hand to comfort you.

“Yeah, I’m right here. I’ll always be here.” He reassured, wiping under your eyes as your breathing started to slow and relax again. You nodded back, letting out a long breath of air.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to let it happen again.” You responded after a few moments. Bucky shook his head, shrugging his shoulders as well.

“No, don’t say that. I know it’s hard. But you don’t have to feel sorry; you’re like family to me. I’ll always help you.” You tried to smile to him as you heard his reply, but you were too tired to. You leaned into his hand as you closed your eyes and nodded back silently.

Bucky shuffled closer, and held your head up softly, flipping the pillow to the other side. As he set your head back down against the clean and dry side of the pillow you sighed, feeling even more relaxed. He slowly stood up, replacing your blanket with one from his room that you’ve always liked.

He also brought back a pillow and a sheet for himself, wanting to stay in your room to make sure you were feeling okay the rest of the night. He slid down on the floor, next the bed and laid down, holding your hand again and squeezing every now and then so you knew you were safe at home with him.

When you woke up again that night to drink some water, you glanced down to him with a thankful smile. You noticed he didn’t have a warmer blanket and quickly took the one he gave you and laid it over him. It was always cold on the ground, you didn’t want him to feel sick in the morning, even though you knew it was probably impossible for him to get sick.

“Thank you, Bucky. You’re like family to me too.” You whispered, after drinking some water that you had on your nightstand. You quickly fell back to sleep after that, with no nightmares this time.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #avengers fanfiction

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bubbleteaa · 4 years

Text

Destroy her heart [Miya Atsumu x Reader]

Part I | Part II | Part III

destroy her heart;; pairing: miya atsumu x reader, slight sakusa kiyoomi x reader fandom: haikyuu!! warnings: angst. cursing. swearing. suggestive themes. some nsfw. word count: 5K

a/n: thank you so much guys! I never thought that the first part was really going to get that attention. I decided to make this as a three part-fic. Again, thank you so much! I want to clearify that my image of Atsumu it’s very different that the one that I show on this fic. He’s baby! Sorry if you have thought that I don’t like the character or that I want to gave him this “fuckboy” vibe. This is just a fic. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! Please stay safe <3 I love you.

Summary: He destroys your heart.

┅┅┅┅┅┅┅༻❁༺┅┅┅┅┅┅┅

“Who are you?” You turned slightly to find a pair of black eyes staring at the activity you were doing. You had just swept Atsumu's apartment and were mopping it. Your face was covered with a white mouth cap, your hair held in a ponytail, you had an apron and cleaning gloves.

The stranger awaited your answer, with his hands in his pockets and a mask covering his mouth.

"Uh, L/N. L/N Y/N” you replied softly before blinking a couple of times when the tall boy frowned a little “Are you looking for Tsumu?”

"You're his girlfriend?" he asked you. You shook your head "Why are you cleaning his apartment? Is he paying you to do it?" You denied again. Before you could answer, he asked you something again "What disinfectant do you use?"

“Uh, take it easy” You smiled a little behind the mask. The boy looked at you as you shook your head. “You ask a lot of questions. What is your name?"

“Sakusa” he snapped.

“Only Sakusa, huh? Okay” you agreed “I'm not his girlfriend. I clean his apartment because, apparently, he suffers from blindness, and he is not realizing that it is a disaster. And well, I also clean it better than him, so” you shrugged as you looked at him, his eyes kept inspecting your covered face “And the disinfectant I use ... well, the one I'm using now is that Tsumu had it at home, not very good. But the one I use in my apartment is the-”

“How often do you clean your apartment?” You blinked at the question.

"Uh... per week?"

"Per day" he said.

"Well... I don't clean it thoroughly every day, but I always try to sweep and mop when I get up and go to sleep. I don't like dust to accumulate”

You looked at how his eyes looked at you with a small sparkle, then averted his gaze and closed his eyes.

Sakusa moved his fingers inside his pocket, feeling strange tickles on his chest. It was strange, he hadn't met you before, he didn't know you existed until a few minutes ago. But your answers, how you cleaned, the care you had. Did it mean something? How had Ratsumu met someone who cleaned so well? Someone who knew how important hygiene was?

Unlike Atsumu, he did not join the college volleyball team immediately. He waited a semester to enter, because he wanted to survive the "fire test" of the first semester. If he did it, he would enter the volleyball team. The positive thing was that his grades were not as mediocre as in high school and he managed to survive the first period. Maybe that's why he didn't know you.

And he also didn't really know why you were cleaning Miya's apartment.

And it smelled good. It smelled good to be a bad disinfectant. He deduced that you had cleaned Atsumu's house once or twice before to know how to clean it.

“Kiyoomi” he said.

“Sorry?”

“Kiyoomi. Sakusa Kiyoomi. I will leave and return in an hour, is that enough? ” he asked you, as if he were longing for an answer “Tell Miya that I will see him in practice. See you later” he agreed before going out the door.

You smiled and nodded. You kept cleaning up thinking about what had just happened.

You thought you had made a new friend, for some reason.

"Learn from yesterday"

"This looks like a pigsty" you heard Sakusa's voice, instead of sounding upset, it sounded sad "How do you feel?" he asked, entering your room. You raised your face a little , which was previously hidden between the cushions of your bed, -the ones that still smelled of Miya Atsumu-colony , the strands of your hair h/c covered your face. You were sure it didn't look that bad, maybe there were books lying on the floor, just like your clothes, you were sure there were one or two bowls of ramen on the nightstand, but nothing more.

You wanted to answer, but your voice stagnated in your uvula. Before you could look at him again, Kiyoomi leaned in slightly so he could remove the hair that covered your forehead and your eyes. You felt the tears begin to flow almost spontaneously.

"You don't always have to answer all my questions" he clarified, before starting to carefully braid your hair "I'm going to prepare a bath for you and I'll clean your room, try to relax a little"

You started to sob, but you didn't hug him. It was enough that Kiyoomi touched your hair so lovingly and took his time to dedicate it to you.

"Sorry, Yoomi" you muttered between sobs, rubbing your wrists against your cheeks and eyes "I'm so sorry" you apologized, again. Sakusa pursed his lips a little, irritated that you were apologizing to him when you were not to blame for anything.

He didn't say anything to you as he continued to watch you keep breaking a little more in front of him. As you kept pushing the fact that you could be strong when you knew full well that you were no longer just broken, you were tearing yourself apart, inside and out.

Everything because of an idiot he thought.

Kiyoomi patted your head a few times, trying to calm you down. After a few minutes, you stopped crying. There were still a couple of sighs coming from your lips, which trembled whenever they parted. You already had a few weeks like that. Your teachers were worried about you, your classmates were worried about you, your friends, everyone.

Even Atsumu was worried about you, but he, unlike Kiyoomi, didn’t go to check on you. If you ate, if you were getting enough sleep, if you were giving a lot of thought to the whole thing.

But he have never entered your room before. He always stayed after practices, cleaned your apartment as he did with you before, prepared something for you to eat and left it at the door. You never opened immediately, you waited to hear his steps go away and you opened slightly, you took the plate, you ate and you left it exactly where he had left it before.

He cared about you, but he wasn't going to break into your personal space, not until that day. Not until after three weeks without seeing your face.

He just couldn't take it anymore.

He did not know everything that had happened, he found out from Atsumu himself.

“Oi, Miya. Where is her?”

“Where's who, Omi Omi?” He answered without looking at him, at that moment he was practicing his passes, Kiyoomi stared at him.

“Y/N”

“Ah” let out a small sigh before looking at him "Well ..., she must be in her apartment"

“Why haven't I seen her?”

“Because I made a mistake and broke her heart, I guess” he replied.

Everyone agreed that Miya did feel things for you. And everyone knew that you had feelings for Atsumu. Was that something so strong? Yes. It was so strong that you refused to accept that even being as you were, you still wanted to be with him. Even after knowing that you were only something for one night - and that everything they did together was to demonstrate something so stupid - you still wanted him.

Atsumu and Kiyoomi had not spoken either.

As he was leaving you for a few seconds, in order to prepare a bath, he thought about why he helped you in that way. Whenever he was next to you, his fingers itched, not in the sense that they were dirty, but that they sting as if they needed to be caressed. Once he tried to hold his own hand while being with you, and he realized that the feeling was not detached from him.

He wanted it to be your hand.

He wanted it to be you.

"Yoomi?" your voice got him out of his thoughts, you were on the edge of the door, your hair was still braided, he could notice now, thanks to the bathroom light, the dark bags under your eyes, your puffy eyelids, your pink nose. You were a mess. His fingers began to prick him immediately.

I want to hold you, I want to help you.

“The bath is ready. I'll go clean your room” he agreed, walking to the door, he stopped right in front of you “Call me if you need anything”

He walked to your room before you answered him.

❥•°❀°•༢

“Hey Tsumu” the Hyogo boy stopped reading your notes to turn around and smile at you. You were wearing his hoodie, your hair was held in a messy bun and your eyes seemed to close from exhaustion “Are you sure you want to sleep on the couch? You can sleep in my bed, you must be tired from practice”

“Nah, c'mere” he clicked his tongue and extended his arms towards you in a childish way “wanna cuddle right now”

“You are such a baby, I swear” even though you tried to sound annoyed, your smile didn't let you lie to him. You walked up to him and before you could sit down next to him, Atsumu had grabbed your wrist to lie down next to him, holding you tightly “Uhm, I see that someone is touch starving” you teased.

“Shut yer mouth” his voice was deep, hot breath against your ear “Why yer using my hoodie? Missed me?”

“No dumbass, I was doing the laundry and my hoodies are still wet. Plus, yours more" you paused suddenly, blushing and avoiding his gaze at all costs “yours is special I guess”

You are so cute he thought. A smiled creeped in his face as he lay on the couch and laid you on his chest. He carefully grasped the garter that held your hair and between your pouts, released the strands of your hair to caress them. Why are you so cute? He thought again, this time your hands were trying to push the setter away from your head, your eyes were shining with love and at the same time, they were drowning from sleep.

"You are cute when you yawned" he blurted out without much thought the moment you yawned again, your cheeks started turning pink from his words "You are really cute, Y/N-chan"

“Only for you, Sangwoo”

Atsumu wanted to take your face in his hands and kiss you, but he could not fall before your charms. He had fought for so long against his feelings for you, he was consenting to them, how could he not be? He always thought of you, he was almost always next to you, your apartment seemed more like their apartment.

It was as if you were a couple without really being one.

"Who the fuck is Sangwoo? Is he hot?" he laughed before pinching your cheeks.

“Maybe. But he is dead”.

"Are you trying to kill me or something?"

"Killing you with my cuteness, maybe" you pouted your lips before hiding in his hoodie. You felt his heart beating harder against you. One of your hands was playing with his dyed hair, the other one was holding his hand.

Please, please, just hold me. You wished.

Please, be this cute only for me. He wished.

❥•°❀°•༢

Memories.

In these moments, you lived on memories.

Memories of how you came to his apartment on Friday nights to watch cult movies, memories of how you went to his practices and games, memories of how he gave you his sweater and memories of when you two cooked together.

You hid your face in your hands, refreshing it with water. Immediately, you felt again as your lips began to tremble. You couldn't control it, but you were fed up. Tired of crying and not being able to control it.

You felt pathetic.

Not being with Atsumu was different, the silence was nothing compared to Atsumu's company, his tended to be overwhelming, there were always people murmuring when the boy walked by you, when he took your hand, when you sat in the cafe together and fed you with a smile. The whispers were always heard.

Now you knew why.

You forgave him, though. But you couldn't talk to him, every time you looked at his photos, memories of the night they spent together landed in your head. The way he kissed the complexion of your skin, the way his hands slid down your cheeks, the way they held your neck and hips, the words he whispered in your ear and against your skin.

Of course you couldn't look him in the eye. You had spent so much time idealizing the situation in your head, how good it would feel, how nice it was to make love with someone who corresponded your feelings, to be with Miya Atsumu.

It was a bucket of cold water that he told you later. And you needed time.

Would it hurt to see him again? Possibly. You weren't ready to do it. There were two years in which you dreamed of him, and your dreams were destroyed in minutes.

You plunged into the water, feeling how your braided hair began to moisten, feeling how your tears are drowning in the warm water.

You weren't ready to see him again.

Not in the eyes.

Not knowing what he had said that night. Not knowing what had happened between you.

You just couldn't.

❥•°❀°•༢

"Live for today"

Atsumu entered the classroom as usual, sat at his table and waited for the teacher to arrive. For the four weeks you hadn't been to class, the sit next to him remained empty. No one wanted to take your place, no one dared.

It was your place. At his side. Always by his side.

The truth was, he hadn't been with someone after he slept with you. He had done nothing more than take and stay two and even three more hours practicing. Trying to get you out of his head.

But it never worked.

When it was daytime, he thought about your smile, how good it felt to have his lips on yours, how his clothes ended up smelling of your perfume. How you were so small under him, how your eyes were filled with a different sparkle that night. He thought about your figure, your laugh, the “I love you”’s that you repeated not once, but several times while you moaned, while you kissed him.

And at night, he thought about how your tears rolled down your cheeks, he thought about how much you trembled. He thought about the damage he had done to you.

He couldn't forget it, not even with alcohol.

He hadn't spoken to many people since then either, he had had some issues, especially with his team after having sex with his libero's ex-girlfriend. It was resolved through discussion, but the tension was still there. The same with Kiyoomi.

But with Kiyoomi it was worse.

The countenance changed from that moment with the boy. You realized that Omi Omi had feelings for you.

“What?” Atsumu's voice boomed in the gym, he went back to practicing his serves while Sakusa looked at him from a distance “Do you want to stay to practice?”

“Y/N has not left her room” he said suddenly. Atsumu's eyes were fixed on the volley ball and he refused to look at the black-haired man again “She hasn't been going to school. I haven't seen her eat, I don't know if she's really eating. I don't know if she slept. I don't know how bad she is- ”

"How do you know all that?" Miya's voice sounded hoarse, different. Annoyance, anger, rage. Jealousy. Hatred. He squeezed the object in his hands. "Are you sleeping in her apartment or something?"

“I stay most of the time cleaning and doing chores. Unlike you, I care about her” he replied, moving closer to the blond “It's your fault that she is like this "

“How did you get into her apartment?” he stared at him. His gaze was dangerous.

"Spare key" he replied simply, looking him in the eye "How much are you interested? Anyway, I'm sure you haven't even taken the time to call her”

"Why the hell do you have a spare key?" his voice began to sound deeper and deeper. Atsumu dropped the ball and it bounced a few times.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

"Don't you-"

"Are you trying to take advantage of the situation? Are you waiting for her to open the door, wrapped in a sheet, crying, asking for your help? We both know you like Y/N. Do you think I haven't noticed how you look at her? What the hell did you think when you entered her home? Did you want to fuck her? You're a damn pig, Omi Omi. Do you think that playing with her feelings you can have her? She is mine-"

"You are the pig. You were the one who took advantage of her. You were the one who played with her feelings” the words made Atsumu stop dead in his tracks. He clenched his fists. “Yours? Y/N is not yours. She never was and I doubt that at some point she will be, not after this”

There was silence after that.

Weren't you from him?

Were you with Kiyoomi now?

Why washe thinking about that?

He scratched the back of his neck as he tried to push the thoughts out of his head. His gaze fell for a second at the entrance and he immediately veered away.

Only to return almost to the second.

There you were. With your bag hanging from your left shoulder, your hair was loose, you had on the glasses you used to read from time to time. Atsumu stared at you. You looked at him without even noticing.

Both of their hearts stopped for a few beats.

She/He looks fine. Like nothing happened.

You lowered your gaze a bit before walking to your sit next to him. At his side. Where you belonged

The moment you sat down, you took out the notes you had written in a separate notebook, all sent by some of your colleagues, most of whom you had helped in more technical classes. You didn't even look at Atsumu for a second.

He look immediately your hands. Then your hair, then your face in side profile.

I had missed you.

Were you always that beautiful?

Why don't you look at me?

Y/N.

Look at me.

Please.

Please Y/N.

I missed you.

I need you.

Talk to me.

“Do you want me to talk to you?” Atsumu blinked. He averted his gaze slightly before placing his cheek in the palm of his hand and resting his elbow on the bench. You took silence as his response “Hello, Atsumu”

“Why didn't you come?” he knew the answer. But he wanted to hear it with your words. He wanted you to humiliate him, to hate him, to give him a reason to beg your forgiveness. He wanted you, even out of courtesy, to answer him.

“I wasn't ready,” you replied simply, with a firm voice.

“Ready for what?”

“To treat you like always even when you broke my heart. I'm trying to fulfill what I promised you” you turned your face a little, without looking into his eyes “I'm sorry for failing you, I was missing a long time. I will try to catch up as quickly as possible”

“No” he said immediately, watching as you lightly squeezed the notebook in your hands, "No... don't worry about it, take the time you need. Uhm…” He was speechless when he looked up and observed the professor entering the auditorium.

“Thanks, Atsumu”

Why did you thank me? Thank you for breaking your heart?

You didn’t talk to him for the rest of the lecture.

Atsumu and you did not talk about what happened. You did not even approached to him in class for the next days. He was looking at you, hoping you started the conversation. Sometimes he gave you glances just to notice that your eyes were glued to the teacher at all time.

You were mad. Hurt. Broken.

And it was his fault.

Her legs were moving nervously. The last time you had properly talked, the only words that came out of his mouth were cruelty and lies. Since then, to forget his words, he drank more than usual. He went out more to the club. The hours in the practices were extended. He hit the ball with supernatural force.

He was upset. He was sad. Hewas broken.

And it was his fault.

When the class was over, he watched as you calmly took your things and got up from the desk you shared with him.

"Uh, L/N-san"

His ears focused on listening to your conversation with your Economy buddy while he kept his belongings.

“Yes?” Your voice sounded normal. It was not broken or trembling like when it broke your heart “Is something wrong?”

“We should organize ourselves to work in the workshop”

“Oh yeah!” Atsumu looked at you for a few seconds. You were smiling at him while you were looking for your cell phone in your bag “Do you have a free period? We can go to the university café”

Atsumu frowned slightly. Before the disaster, he hadn't paid attention to the guys around you. Or how they looked at you. Or how they addressed you.

Because he scared all the boys who tried to get close to you.

“No, but, we can see each other next Wednesday at the cafe after school” he smiled at you.

It was jealousy.

The boy was always quiet, but you had never complained about him. You were helping him where you could and the economics teacher had paired them that semester together. Actually, you had said that it was quite nice. It was difficult talking to him, after all, the boy was embarrassing.

He shook his head, trying not to pay attention to your conversation. Your hands landed on the desk .

“Do you want to go to the cafe?” Atsumu asked “If he couldn't, we can go together-"

To catch up. I really miss you .

“Y/N” both turned to the known voice. It was Sakusa. Atsumu furrowed his brow when he saw him enter the hall and up the stairs to where they were "Let’s go"

"Oh Yoomi" you smiled at the event "Actually, Atsumu asked me if I wanted to go to the cafe, I was about to answer him"

"I'll wait for you outside, then" Kiyoomi looked at the blonde and withdrew, at no time did he lower his mask and neither did he remove his hands from his pockets. He walked back to the door, not looking back.

Yoomi?

“Today I can't, Yoomi is going to help move some things from the apartment-"

“What?” he interrupted, opening his eyes a little “Are you going to move or something?”

"No. In fact, I am going to remodel? I need something different"

“The apartment looks good as it is” he whispered, somewhat uncomfortable. “Why would you change it?”

"Many memories, I suppose"

Oh.

That.

“Ah, okay… well, I guess you should go. You don't want Yoomi to be irritated.” He spat out the boy's name with some anger, but apparently you didn't notice it.

You smiled and nodded a little. “Yes, well. See you later, Atsumu "

“Fucking hell” he murmurs while watched you leave the room. You were leaving in front of him. I've needed to talk to you. To walk with you. To be with you.

He needed you.

But he didn't deserve you.

❥•°❀°•༢

He was drinking again.

“What do you prefer? Win a million dollars or find the love of your life?” Miya asked you while he ate the last onigiri.

“I would choose the million dollars”

“Uhm” you laughed lightly before taking a sip of your drink “And why would you choose that?” Her brown eyes looked at you curiously.

“Because money attracts people, duh” you replied before looking at him “And if he comes to me for money, then he is not the love of my life. I would know that he is the love of my life if he stays with me before and after winning the million” you shrugged your shoulders and you looked at him with a smike" As simple as that "

"You are so cheesy, did you know that?"

"I'm just honest, Tsumu~"

"I still don't understand why you don't have a boyfriend, Y/N" He avoided looking at you when he said it, his trunk-colored gaze stuck to the drink in front of him “Are the others guys blind or what?”

“Well, you scare all the guys that approach me” you didn't sound upset, to tell the truth, he could feel your smile between your answer "But I guess I'm still looking for the right one. Or knowing him. Or talking with him right now. Who knows"

Atsumu looked you in the eyes, a soft and sincere smile was adorning your face. Your eyes were fixed on his. There was a particular glow, something unusual in how you were looking at him at the time. Like you're confessing a big secret.

"So cheesy"

I missed you.

“What are you doing here?” his voice sounded agitated, you were in the frame of the door of the gym looking at him “Isn't it late?”

“That is why I am here, Tsumu. You must rest and the only way you rest is to get you out of this gym” you sighed looking at him.

"Ah" he laughed lightly before shaking his head "You care about me"

“Of course I care about you, apparently you don't care about yourself, fool” you defended yourself before frowning “Let's go, it's really late, Tsumu”

“Thank you” he said, smiling at you. “For worrying”

The taste of alcohol seemed like water to be high. It was not enough.

You were more than enough.

"Cheetos or Doritos?"

"They are both cardboard, Atsumu"

"What!?" He opened his eyes to drop the packages he was holding. You instantly burst out laughing "Really?"

"Yes Tsumu"

"Uhm ... I guess I like cardboard."

Your smile.

Your laughter.

"Can you come over, please?" He was not thinking when he called you. It was very late, and early in the morning. Your apartment and his were not far away " I need to talk to you about something"

"We can talk on the phone," you sounded sleepy.

"I... I really need you to come for a moment, please" he practically fought against his voice, he was so drunk that he didn't process his feelings well "Please, Y/N. I've missed you a lot”

You bit your lower lip before answering.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes”

❥•°❀°•༢

Why did you go?

Why?

You asked yourself the same thing over and over again while your lips were glued to Miya's hair. It was dawn when Atsumu stopped stroking your bare back

“I love you” he murmured. Your heart was still broken “I love you more than anything in this world” he squeezed you in his arms, hiding his face in the valley of your breasts. He left wet kisses against your skin “I missed you so much, I needed you so much” his voice broke, before beginning to touch you with need, hoping you were real “Look at me, please. You haven't looked at me in weeks. I need you to look at me” your eyes trembled with fear before looking him in the eyes, Atsumu kissed your lips immediately “I'm so sorry, Y/N "

You answered the kiss, between sobs. His hands began to squeeze the flesh on your hips, before gently biting down on your lower lip. Atsumu tasted like dry vodka, you tasted like cold tea. You moaned softly when he inserted his tongue into your oral cavity and his hands found the space between your legs.

“So wet, already?” he hissed in a hoarse voice, he lowered his kisses down your neck as he bit, licked, kissed and sucked your skin s/c, wanting to leave marks for everyone to see that you belonged to him “You are drenched” he lowered his kisses to your breasts, attacking them with licks while one of his hands caressed all your femininity.

"Tsumu" you moaned, squeezing your legs a little, trapping his hand in your pussy.

"You like this, don't ya?" he kissed you again “You like having me pleasuring you? Begging you to come here? Desiring you? Loving you? Missing you?” He gently pulled your jaw, thrusting his tongue in again, without closing his eyes. You moaned in the kiss and lightly denied "You are liar"

"Hope for the future"

“Don't you dare say that what happened last night was a mistake” you said without looking at him, squeezing your hands a little “Don't you dare say it, Atsumu”

“I'm sorry Y/N”

“Don't do it”

“Do you love me, Y/N ?” You were fighting against your feelings, against the truth. Atsumu looked at you with tired, sad eyes

“That is irrelevant now.”

“I love you” you assured

“No... it was the emotions of the moment. You got confused, who would love someone like me?”

“Don't do it. Don't try to manipulate me into making me feel horrible and tell you that I love you over and over again, only to be break me again. Don't do it, Tsumu”

“You and Kiyoomi have something?” he asked, pressing against him “Do you love him?”

“He is my friend, Atsumu”

“No, he does not want to be your friend” he took your face in his hands “He wants to have you against his body, just as we are now” you blinked confused, denying “He wants everything we have. He wants to take you away from me”

“Are you listening to what you say, Atsumu?”

Of course I'm listening to myself.

I do not want to lose you.

I can not lose you.

I must not lose you.

“Of course!” he screamed, hitting the pillow next to you, you froze “And it's your fault!”

"My fault?"

You felt something strange in your chest. It was rage.

Before he could go on, you opened your mouth.

“Do you know something, Tsumu? I wish I had never met you” those words stopped him “Then, I wouldn't be here, humiliating myself. Then, there would not need to cry over you, no need to want you, no need to miss you, no need to loving you” your voice started breaking “No need for forgotten promises, for lies. No need for touch starving hugs, no need of pain and tears, no need to fucking crying until I fall asleep. No need for nothing. Nothing” you shouted, crying “Do you even realize how broken I am? How stupid do I look? How pathetic I am? ”

You were lying. You are lying.

Don't lie to me.

No.

I shouldn't destroy her heart.

But I can't help it.

That words hurted.

I don't want to hurt you.

Please.

“You are right” he whispered “I wish I wouldn't met you either. You are so pathetic, so idiotic. I wish you fucking disappear or something, vanish” He was destroying you.“Get the fuck out of here” he said, coldly “And fuck with Omi Omi if you fucking want. Trash mean to be together, right?” He was not sober. Not at all. “You should fucking disappear for the whole existence; I don't give a single fuck”he stops touching you “Just fucking leave ”

The tears didn't come out in front of him. You grabbed your clothes and started dressing yourself.

“And, Y/N” you stopped, waiting for whatever he was supposed to say “Leave and close the damn door”

And that's what you did. You close the damn door.

Your heart.

688 notes · View notes

pedros-mustache-main · 3 years

Text

baby, it’s cold outside

summary: for too long you’ve been cooped up. perhaps they will be the ones to change that...

word count: 12k

warnings: mostly tropey-wintery goodness, however: accident related trauma and nightmares, language, innuendo, brief suggestive content, absolute timeline inaccuracy but i don’t care!!!!, could also be described as queen x reader but we’ll ignore that

a/n: this is a little different from my normal, but i hope you enjoy this slow and gentle fic as much as i do. happy holidays, dear ones!!

also thank you to @dancingdiscofloof for your help with this one! (if you aren’t reading rove’s deaky fic, you are sincerely missing out.)

december, 1981. montreux, switzerland.

day zero.

in the aftermath of the accident, the cabin in the alps has been your saving grace. though the home is overly large for just one person and a cat, you cannot imagine living anywhere other than here. it is a balm to your weary soul, having nursed your broken bones and shattered spirit better than any modern medicine. it is here you began again, rising like a phoenix from the ashes, and it is here you will remain—happily.

you cherish the cabin and all the memories etched within the handcrafted walls and sturdy pine beams. each morning as you make your tea and scratch behind marmalade’s ears, you hear the laughter of your childhood echoing through time and space to reach you in the here and now. each evening as you shut off the lights and secure the doors, you smell your grandfather’s pipe smoke, though the artifact is tucked away on the fireplace mantle, now cold with neglect.

your mother, father, grandfather—they’re all gone now. it’s just you and marmalade. you’re content, though, even as you crawl in bed and snuggle beneath the covers night after night and wake up morning after morning with the promise of another solitary day.

truly, the isolation does not bother you. after the accident, it’s people—crowds and gatherings and meetings—who have become the irritant. wherever people congregate, so too does danger. you’ve experienced your fair share of hazardous situations, so you prefer the quiet mountainside now. there’s less peril, less chance for heartache.

each year, after the last of autumn’s leaves have fallen and snow begins to blanket the alpine hills, you tuck yourself away in the cabin until the end of winter. the larder in your basement remains well-stocked with all the essentials—human, feline, or otherwise—and the weeks come and go without issue. you play your records in the afternoons to fill the silence and watch the television as you eat your suppers. marmalade makes for a good conversational partner when the loneliness creeps in—and it does on occasion. still, the orange tabby cat, fat with laziness and all the love you have to offer, tilts her head when you speak and meows softly when you lift your eyebrows in expectation of a response. she’s all you need, really; but the infrequent calls you have with your boss do make up for your lack of human interaction. editing manuscripts can be done anywhere, and, so long as you meet your deadlines, your boss doesn’t care where you get the work done.

early in december, on a dreary evening, the radio encourages all listeners to batten down the hatches in preparation for a nasty snowstorm due to sweep through the mountain and the valley overnight. you look away from your mug of steaming hot cocoa and shoot marmalade a grin.

“sounds fun, yeah?” you ask her, wiggling your eyebrows.

from her place on the yellow laminate tabletop, marmalade pauses her grooming session. her paw hangs midair, the tip of her tongue hanging over her small chin. she drops her paw as you move to curl your hand beneath her stomach and lift her to your hip.

“i know you like snowstorms just as much as i do,” you say.

leaving the kitchen in favor of the open living room, you nudge the overhead light off with your knuckle. it flickers before shutting off, but soon leaves the cabin illuminated solely by the lights of the christmas tree in the corner. the cocoa trembles along the lip of the mug, so you step gingerly. your socks snag against the faded carpet, but you make it to the sofa in one piece. marmalade hops from your arms and curls herself on the far side of the couch, her tail tucked snug around her body.

knees against your chest, you sip your cocoa and bounce your eyes between the christmas tree and the bay window overlooking montreux’s city-center at the base of the mountain. both the lights of the tree and the lights of the city twinkle in the darkness, rivaling any of the brightest stars. tree branches scrape against the roof, following the path of the wind, and, if you squint hard enough, the first of the snowstorm’s flakes are visible through the pale beam of the floodlight outside.

a sigh rattles your chest, and you smile.

it’s a quiet life. some might say a lonely one. but even if they’re right, you wouldn’t change it.

not for anything.

day one.

you wake up late.

normally, you rise with your alarm and keep to a consistent schedule. it helps with the monotony of your life and stops you from wasting time lounging in the comfort of your bed. some days, though, you allow yourself a few extra hours, and the morning after a snowstorm seems the perfect day to sleep in a tad longer.

it reminds you of childhood—the mornings you listened to the radio beneath your bed covers, fingers crossed your school would be announced as closed due to inclement weather. when the inevitable joy came, you would snuggle back in bed; though by then, the glee of a surprise day off of school was all too much too bear, and you were up and moving within moments.

you smile to yourself at the memory, at the way your mother made pancakes every snow day, without fail. you miss her pancakes.

when marmalade pounces onto the end of your bed, meowing sharply, you sit up. “what? are you hungry?” twisting, you glance at the analog clock across your bedroom. “it’s only nine, marmy.”

she presses your foot with her paw, meowing again.

“fine.”

slipping from bed, you cross to your dresser and drag a brush through your sleep-rustled hair. as always, a sliver of cold seeps in through the skylight overhead, and you lift your face, smiling at the sight of snow obscuring the heavens. your smile only widens as you hurry down the stairs, elbows fighting against the arms of your robe.

the world is drenched in snow. you trip to the bay window, press your hand against the cold glass, and grin. a layer of fluffy white powder clings to every nook and cranny of the mountainside. hints of evergreen peak through as the only spots of color in an otherwise white world. even the sky reflects the dazzling brilliance of the snow, and you have to blink rapidly to keep from going blind.

marmalade’s bell collar jingles as she makes her way down the stairs. she stretches at the bottom step, meowing again when she sees you.

“okay, okay, miss impatient.” you shake your head as you turn from the window. “we have the whole day, you know? ‘s not like there will be much else going on around here.”

you turn on the radio as you enter the kitchen. a soft melody—“merry christmas darling” by the carpenters—sets you to a gentle sway as you pour marmalade’s food and set about making your own breakfast.

karen’s warm voice distracts you from the first knock on your door.

keeping marmalade away from the bacon in the cast-iron skillets hinders you from answering the second.

the third, though—the third knock makes you scream.

it’s not so much of a knock as it is a hand slammed against the outside of the bay window, dark eyes peering into your sanctuary, winter cap pulled tight over any discernible features save a thick mustache. you screech, dropping the spatula in your hand to the floor. marmalade drives for the grease-covered utensil, and you trip over her in your haste to hide in the narrow closet beneath the stairs.

perhaps he hadn’t heard you? perhaps he hadn’t seen the streak of multi-colored fabric as you rushed across the living room in your purple robe and bright yellow socks?

who are you kidding? the bay window offers a glimpse into the majority of your home: the small living room, equally as small kitchen, stairs leading to the bedrooms on the second floor. he probably even saw you fling open the closet door and close it. if he did make it inside, he wouldn’t have to search for long in order to find you.

you press a hand over your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut, at the sound of another bang against the door.

this—this was why your aunt in sheffield had pleaded for you not to take the cabin after the accident. she was so afraid you’d be murdered by a crazed hiker or wayward bear. you’d laughed at the thought back then.

but here you are now, cowering in your closet between a hoover and a winter coat, preparing to make her worst fear a living reality. you only hope marmalade enjoyed the bacon grease as a parting gift.

a muffled voice drifts through the walls after a beat of silence. “for god’s sake, we know you’re in there!”

we? your heart rate triples at the simple, two-letter word. we!

drawing in a deep breath, you root around in the darkened closet for a makeshift weapon. this is your home; you will defend it. or at least do your best to scare off the intruders with whatever fake bravado you can muster.

finding nothing, you inch out of the closet and crawl on your hands and knees toward the kitchen. you pause long enough behind the sofa to peer over the arm. another man has his face pressed against the window, his eyes narrowed as he looks over the room. he looks to his right, long curls bobbing with the motion. his mouth moves, but only garbled sounds meet your ears. while he’s distracted, you crawl into the kitchen and grab the cast-iron skillet. it feels hefty in your palm, and you judge the weight with a turn of your wrist. it could do some serious damage if handled correctly. flicking the oven off and dumping the burnt bacon in the trash, you curl both hands around the handle of the skillet and slink toward the door.

no one stands before the window as you make your way through the living room. no one bangs against the door. yet you can feel their presence on the other side of the flimsy piece of wood separating you from them.

you swallow hard as you grasp the cold doorknob, twisting the lock to the side.

steeling yourself, you grit your jaw, and, in one quick motion, throw open the door, brandish the skillet overhead, and roar like a lioness.

“oh fuck!” one of the four men on your front porch stumbles backward in surprise. his arms pinwheel as he loses his balance and drops to his backside on the snowy ground.

the one with the cascading curls can only stare at you with wide eyes and parted lips, stunned to frozen. for his part, the one with the mustache shields himself behind the one with the curls, shouting for someone named deaky to get her to understand.

it is the one with the straight, grecian nose and storm cloud eyes—deaky, you surmise—who speaks to you first. he holds his arms out in defense, his long fingers splayed wide. he glances between the skillet over your head and your face.

“we’re not here to hurt you,” he says. his voice is even and calm, though more unique than you would have originally guessed. you thought all bad guys had deep voices. his voice is too pleasant, and it sets you further on edge.

you deepen your frown, drawing in another breath. “isn’t that what they all say?”

he frowns. “i don’t know who they are.”

“thieves. murderers. criminals!” you lift your skillet slightly higher, and he flinches backward, hands raising a fraction. “i’m not afraid to use this!”

“i don’t doubt it!” he shakes his head, and his eyelashes flutter when a wayward snowflake catches in his vision. “really, though, we just want to use your phone.”

“my… phone?”

with an exasperated sigh, the blond who’d fallen to his rump in the snow shoulders past deaky. “yes, your phone. you do have one, don’t you? we need to get down this godforsaken mountain before our tits freeze off!”

deaky twists and scowls at his friend, hissing, “roger!”

roger waves him off with a dark look. “deaky, i nearly broke my ass with that stunt she pulled. i’m cold, my trousers are wet, and i want to go home. you’ll have to forgive me if i’m a little terse, you twat.”

the one with long curls and sharp facial features gently moves roger out from under deaky’s increasingly cold stare. he places himself between the pair, towering over the other two. despite his height, he holds his shoulders in a noticeable hunch, as though attempting to make himself smaller. he offers you a wry grin.

“sorry for startling you,” he says. his voice is soft and decidedly unthreatening; your tight hold on the skillet goes slack. “i’m brian. these are my friends—roger, john, and freddie. we’re kind of in a bind, and we’d really appreciate it if you lent us your phone. just for a quick call. then we’ll be gone.”

you glance between the foursome. though roger’s face is still shadowed by frustration, they seem harmless enough. maybe a little cranky, but mostly harmless.

unless, of course, that’s what they want you to think.

your aunt’s warning that you trust too easily plays in the back of your mind, and you consider that she might be right. you bite your lower lip, prepared to turn them away, when marmalade jingles her way into the conversation. she curls around your ankle, head lifted to stare at the four men on her porch. the bell around her neck sounds as she turns from side to side around your leg.

“you didn’t say you had a cat!” the one with the mustache—freddie—coos in delight. he crouches, clicking his tongue to gain marmalade’s attention. after a beat of hesitation, she inches forward to sniff the proffered hand. you watch, and when marmalade nuzzles her nose against freddie’s palm, the tension in your shoulders dissipates.

you sigh with a conciliatory smile. “well, if she trusts you, i suppose i will too.” stepping to the side, you nod to the living room. “come in and warm up.”

the men mumble various forms of gratitude and shuffle past you, sure to stomp their snowy boots against the welcome mat outside the door. they crowd around the low fire in the fireplace, and you hurry to toss a few logs on the dying embers. deaky takes the fire poker from your hand when you grab it from its place nestled along the extra pile of wood. his fingertips skim your knuckles, and you’re struck by how warm he feelings despite the weather outside. you meet his gaze, your eyes wide as you wait for him to explain.

“i can do that,” he says. “maybe you can show brian the phone?”

now that he’s shed his overcoat, you note the way his pale blue sweater brings out the pale blue of his eyes. he really is quite handsome. they all are, and it’s been a long time since you were in the presence of a handsome man, let alone four. who can blame you for being a little tongue tied?

you blink when you realize you’ve stared a bit too long. heat rushes to your cheeks, and you turn away, scanning the small room for brian. “right, yes. the phone.”

you find brian stood between the living area and the kitchen, his hands in his pockets, stiff while his counterparts make themselves comfortable. roger lounges on the sofa, his legs spread toward the fire. freddie sits at the kitchen table, marmalade snuggled beneath his chin. and with the fire now flooding the cabin with warmth, deaky drops to the single armchair facing the kitchen.

you motion to brian’s wet coat. “would you like to take your coat off, brian? you look awfully damp.”

he shakes his head. “i’m alright.”

you decide not to press and instead point to the phone attached to the wall. “the phone’s just there. do you need a number? or do you have what you need?”

“actually, do you have a number for the gondola lift?”

“yeah, of course.”

you step past him to pull open a junk drawer. apart from a winding, perilous road, the gondola lift is the only way down the mountain for the few people who live mountainside year round. you’ve gotten to know the owner and operator—jimmy schmits—well after your several years living in the cabin. he or someone on his staff is only a phone call away should you need travel assistance, and you prefer the gondola ride to taking your beat-up car down the rocky, poorly paved road.

you hand brian a small, cardstock business card. “that’s the number there.”

he glances down then gives you a tight smile. “thanks.”

turning to allow him what privacy you can in the cramped space, you glance around the room at the three pairs of eyes staring back at you. the laugh that escapes from behind your lips is decidedly nervous, wavering and forced. “sorry. i just—this is a bit weird for me. i would have dressed the part had i known people were coming over.” you suck in a breath and nod to the refrigerator. “have any of you eaten?”

roger opens his mouth to say something, but deaky hurries to speak first, leaning forward in the armchair. “yes, thank you. we ate early this morning.”

roger’s face contorts to a frown, and, in what you assume is supposed to be a surreptitious move, deaky kicks his friend’s shin to silence any further protest. you look away when deaky’s eyes find yours again, his gaze apologetic.

“i’ll just make some tea, then,” you mumble.

the quiet in the room is thick, save for brian’s soft voice coming from the hall as he talks on the phone. you keep your back to the three men as you prepare a kettle for tea.

you spend much of winter in solitude, and truly, you like it that way. this sudden influx of company has you on edge, especially considering your less-than-becoming attire, bedhead, and sleepy eyes. you don’t know what to say to alleviate the discomfort in the room, aren’t really sure if it’s your job to make them feel comfortable.

really, you aren’t sure about anything this morning.

as you wait for the water to boil, you lean against the kitchen counter and cross your arms over your chest. the fuzzy neck of your robe rubs against your chin as you duck your head, and you study the worn tile floor beneath your long socks.

“what’s your cat’s name?”

you look up. it’s the one with the mustache—freddie. his brown eyes are warm, and he scratches beneath marmalade’s chin as he waits for your answer. for marmalade’s part, she purrs happily in his arms, seemingly more comfortable with your guests than yourself. “marmalade,” you say.

freddie grins, and you can’t help but find yourself smiling back. “perfect name. yet we seem to be missing one important thing…”

“what’s that?”

“your name. if we’re going to intrude upon your cabin and make you uncomfortable, i think we should know who to send the gift basket to once we’re rescued.”

your brow pinches slightly in confusion. freddie speaks with a certain air that you can’t quite place—one of regality, you think. you glance at deaky across the room, and he moves his eyes to the fire as he gnaws on his lower lip.

you look back at freddie, give him your name, then say, “and you’re not making me uncomfortable.”

“please,” freddie deadpans. “i know discomfort when i see it.” he lets marmalade go, who jumps to the floor, padding her way from the tiled kitchen to the carpeted living room. he stands from the table and points to the stove. “the kettle is ready, love.”

you hadn’t heard the sharp whistle, so engrossed were you in your own thoughts.

“oh!” spinning on your heel, you flip the stove-top off and remove the kettle, the whistle dying to a light trill. freddie arranges a ramshackle collection of mugs along the counter, pulled from the spinning rack in the corner. “thank you,” you whisper, as you divvy out the hot water and he drops the tea bags into the mugs.

freddie gathers the milk and sugar, making himself both useful and right at home, which you find you don’t mind too much, though it surprises you how he moves with such ease and command around a home not his own. he must be comfortable anywhere and with anyone, and you envy him that.

he carefully sets the tea tray on the low coffee table in the living room. “how do you take your tea, darling?” he asks you, bending over, his ass pointed near the fire, as he makes to prepare your cup.

you skirt into the living room, shaking your head. “oh, you don’t have to—”

he arches an eyebrow, and his voice is firm when he speaks. “how do you take your tea?”

with a small smile, you lower yourself beside roger on the couch, careful to keep a large space between you. “more sugar than milk, please.”

freddie prepares your cup then passes you the steaming mug. your smile widens in gratitude as you take the warm ceramic from his hands. he prepares his own tea before dropping to the brick ledge of the fireplace. he waves his hand in dismissal at roger and deaky.

“you two make your own,” he quips. “you’ve thoroughly pissed me off this morning.”

from behind the lip of your mug, you pull your mouth into an amused line. your eyes dart to deaky, who is bent forward, frozen as he reaches for a mug of tea. he skewers freddie with an unamused look.

“this isn’t my fault, fred,” he says.

from beside you, roger’s deliciously high voice pipes up. “nor mine!”

“no, of course it isn’t your fault, roger. we wouldn’t dare accuse you of—”

before freddie can finish his sentence, brian returns from the side hall. you shift, turning your head along with the others to hear what came of his conversation with the gondola lift owner.

brian rubs the back of his neck, his eyebrows tilted upward in apology. “well, the gondola is down today.”

“all day?” you speak a little too quickly, and you wince, dropping your eyes to the pale liquid in your mug.

brian nods. “yeah—at least until tomorrow. i guess a tree fell after we were dropped off this morning and struck a line on the lift. and the road isn’t clear, so… we’re stuck.” he glances between his friends, the hunch of his shoulders growing as the weight of their predicament sets in.

“well…” you start. you lean forward to place your tea on a worn coaster. “i certainly won’t turn you out with nowhere to go.” for what feels like the tenth time this morning, you draw in a deep breath through your teeth to steady yourself. “i suppose you lot can stay the night, then. that is, if you want to...”

there’s a beat, a moment of heavy silence, before brian says, “we couldn’t impose like that.”

you frown. “where else would you go?”

roger snorts. “brian would sleep beneath a tree if he thought it might make your life a little easier.”

you glance at roger, uncertain if his words are more jest than jab. the half-smile on his face fades under your questioning gaze, and he shifts. “i just mean,” he continues, “that brian is the most chivalrous out of all of us. not that we have any ugly intentions—”

“roger.” it’s deaky this time, and he sounds more than a little perturbed. “stop talking.”

you hesitate before explaining your offer further. “it’ll be a squeeze,” you say. “but we can make it work. i would rather you spend the night here then wander around in the cold and freeze to death. my closest neighbor is four kilometers off, and she doesn’t have electricity. you won’t be able to find her cabin if it gets dark.”

freddie shivers, though you’re sure his backside is nice and toasty from where he sits close to the fire. “oh good god,” he mutters, bringing his tea close to his mouth. “you people are insane.”

deaky catches your eye, and his brow arches. “if you’re sure…”

you nod. “i’m sure.”

“thank you. honestly, you’re a life-saver.” brian’s shoulders seem to straighten as a smile eases the lines on his forehead. he offers you his hand, which you shake, as he says, “and i’m sorry, but i didn’t catch your name while i was on the phone.”

you give him your name, and he grins, nodding to his friends. “in case you forgot: i’m brian may, and that’s roger taylor, john deacon, and freddie mercury.”

there’s something vaguely familiar about the names, particularly freddie’s, but you can’t quite put your finger on where you’ve heard that lineup before. frowning, you glance between the four men, who stare back at you with expectant sort of faces, as if they’re waiting for the lightbulb above your head to illuminate. you run through the rolodex of names in your brain, but come up short.

“are you performers or something? i swear i’ve heard your names before.”

“we’re in a band,” roger says.

you cringe in apology. “i’m afraid i don’t know bands very well. my radio—i only get one station up here, and it’s mostly yodeling. christmas is the only time of year i can pick up anything worthwhile. got any christmas songs?”

“no, and i’m not sure we will.”

“what band, then? maybe i’ve heard of you on the off chance, but don’t take it to heart if i haven’t.”

freddie leans forward in expectation. “we’re called queen. ring any bells?”

you consider before nodding. “i think so. there’s only one song that comes to mind, though. another one bites the… something? dust, maybe?”

with a laugh, freddie slaps his hand against deaky—john’s knee. “that’s deaky’s song!”

you find yourself smiling—and easily—for the first time since waking. “really? i like it!” shrugging your shoulders in time with the bassline, you do a poor imitation of the song’s opening. beside you, roger laughs, shoving john’s shoulder when a flush creeps up his cheeks. “it’s fun!”

john nods once, mumbling, “thanks.” he drops his cheek to his hand, eyes falling to the carpet, and your smile softens.

you look away, sparing him further embarrassment. “so, i’m in the presence of royalty, i guess, but all i have to offer you is my parent’s old bed, which can fit two, a trundle mattress in my bedroom, and a military cot in the basement.”

brian squeezes your arm in reassurance. “anything will suit us fine. we’re just glad we found you.”

“i’m glad i can help,” you say, and even if it were for this moment alone, you’re glad you never listened to your aunt in sheffield.

day two.

you wake the next morning with a gasp, panic shooting straight to your heart when you roll over and see a man lying on the floor next to your bed. your first instinct is to scream, to call for help, but then the fogginess of slumber lifts from your mind. you recognize the man on the floor, and your defenses drop in relief.

you’d forgotten.

the previous day’s events seem more like something out of a dream than reality. four men—four famous men—appearing on your doorstep? getting stuck in your cabin after a technological malfunction? challenging one another to a game of rock-paper-scissors in order to determine sleeping arrangements? surely you’d made that up, a dream produced by an overactive imagination and too much time alone.

but no—the presence of one john deacon, asleep on the trundle bed extended from beneath your mattress confirms your current reality. you run your eyes over his sleeping face and note the stillness with which he softly snores, one arm tucked behind his pillow. he looks peaceful.

you hope you didn’t disturb his sleep during the night. ever since the accident, nightmares tend to plague your dreams. at least twice a week, you shoot out of bed, drenched in sweat and crying out in the empty darkness of your room. you can’t remember if you’d dreamt at all last night, but you’d shrivel up and die of embarrassment if any of your frantic kicking or mumbling had woken him.

“do you always stare at people when they sleep?”

“shit!” you crash backwards against the wall in surprise at the sound of john’s sleepy voice. your head connects with the paneled wood behind you, and you curse again, rubbing the sore spot on your skull.

“do you always have such a dirty mouth too?” he’s propped up on his elbow now, eyes gleaming with a mischief you hadn’t seen yesterday. his curls lay askew on his head, and his shirt—a flannel pulled from the depths of your grandfather’s belongings—swallows his torso.

continuing to rub your head, you frown. “do you always insist on asking so many questions this early in the morning?”

“only when people stare at me while i sleep.”

you drop your hand, wrinkling your nose in embarrassment. “sorry.” although the tip of your nose is cold, your cheeks feel warm with a flush. “i didn’t think you were awake, and i was… thinking. i wasn’t really staring at you.”

half-truth. maybe a quarter-truth. your four guests are handsome—each of them in their own right—but john… he has the potential to make your knees go wobbly should he flash you one of his secretive and elusive grins.

but, in all truth, you were thinking of other things as you’d looked down at him: thinking about the day and your work and how soft his hair looked and the strength of his nose and—

john rolls off the trundle bed. when he stands, he swivels his arms back and forth, stretching his back muscles. “’s okay. i’m getting used to it.” before you can ask him what he means, he points to the skylight in the middle of your room. “i’ve got a feeling we’re in for a rude awakening.”

your gaze follows his extended finger, and you huff when you see the skylight entirely darkened by a heavy layer of snow. yesterday afternoon, you had still been able to make out the sun’s rays through the unmelted snow leftover from the recent storm. now, the skylight serves more as an extension of your stippled ceiling than an opportunity to glimpse the night sky.

“must have been another storm last night,” you say, slipping out of bed.

you don’t miss the way john’s eyes immediately flit to your legs and your exposed thighs. your nightshirt falls to the middle of your thighs, a long pair of socks pulled over your knees your only leg coverings. his eyebrows shoot up his forehead, his lips slightly parted, but he looks away when you shift uncomfortably with the hem of your shirt. damn your mother for passing on her penchant for hot sleeping!

he gathers his clothes from a chair in the corner and nods to the door. “i’ll just go… change downstairs.”

your nod is too enthusiastic to be anything but embarrassed. “yeah, okay. i’ll be down in a moment. help yourself to whatever you find in the kitchen.”

john, holding his clothes to his chest, leaves the room in a hurry, his head down and eyes averted. when the door shuts, the lock giving a soft click as it slides home, you drop to your bed with a groan.

it might be a long day.

after fixing your hair and pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and sweater, you make your way down the stairs and into the living room. a chill hangs in the air, one much deeper than the general winter cold. it goes straight to your bones and makes your teeth chatter in your skull. shivering, you circle your arms around your waist, prepared to go start a fresh fire in the hearth, but something in the corner of your eye stops you.

your guests—all four of them in a line, their mismatched heights on full display—staring out the bay window.

“what is it?” you ask, bending to lift marmalade from the floor when she jingles her way over from the kitchen. “did it really snow that much?”

roger looks over his shoulder, and the disappointment shadowing his face gives you pause. “come see for yourself.” he drops to the couch with a defeated groan, cradling his forehead in his hand.

holding marmalade against your shoulder, you tiptoe to the window, the floor beneath your feet unusually frigid. you exhale at the sight of the fresh snowfall, and your breath clouds the windowpane. a thick layer of white powder covers the mountainside. as far as your eye can see, there’s nothing but pure white. it’s blinding in the morning sun, and you blink against the glistening snowflakes.

“it’s got to be at least one meter,” brian whispers. “maybe more.”

freddie shakes his head back and forth, gesturing to the side. “i can’t even see the bloody porch steps. they’ve been swallowed!”

john shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “no power either.”

you twist to stare at him in shock. “what? no power?”

he gives you the briefest of glances then returns his gaze to the window. “i checked the breaker. it’s all out.”

from the couch, roger groans again. “which means we are stuck for the foreseeable future. brian called the gondola and they couldn’t even pick up, so that’s out of the question.” he slumps further down the couch cushions. “i had a fucking holiday party planned for next week.”

“now wait a minute.” brian turns from the window and reaches over to give roger’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “the snow will clear up before then. it’ll just be a few more days. that is”—his eyes slide to you—“if you’ll let us stay?”

you glance between your guests before laughing in indignation. “you didn’t really think i’d turn you out, did you?” marmalade hops from your arms when you plant your hands on your hips. “honestly, i might be somewhat of a recluse, but i’m not completely rude.”

freddie skirts around john to place both hands on your shoulders and steer you toward the kitchen. “no one thinks you’re rude, darling. we just didn’t want to assume.” he jerks his head toward john. “now, john will start the fire and we’ll all get cozy and perhaps play a game of scrabble. roger found the board downstairs last night. how does that sound?”

you meet john’s eyes over freddie’s shoulder, and he smiles—ever so slightly, but enough to drop your defensive stance. you nudge freddie with your arm and nod. “scrabble it is.”

after breakfast, you are quickly bested in the shortest game of scrabble you’ve ever played. it seems your guests are quite the experts, so you leave them to their fun in order to complete a series of edits on your latest manuscript. from the kitchen table, you can hear them bickering over whether or not freddie’s addition is a dictionary defined word or whether or not john can go twice in one turn because roger knocked his letters from the coffee table.

the gentle hum of conversation—of life—warms your chest. it’s been a long time since your home felt lived in. for so long you have simply subsisted, moving from room to room to change the scenery, leaving the mountain only when necessary, never truly engaging with the outside world. it’s easier to live alone—there’s less risk in it, less wondering if today could be the last day you interact with a loved one because fate has some cruel trick up its sleeve.

but, damn, if having roger and john and brian and freddie grace your living room doesn’t remind you of how irritatingly necessary other people are to living a truly fulfilled life.

brian asks if he can prepare a light lunch, and while he does, you gather your work and set it aside. you have a deadline—the first of the year—but for the moment, you’d rather engage with others instead of shoving your head deep within the made-up realms of your novelists.

with a dramatic stretch, you raise your arms above your head and groan as the muscles pop in your back.

“all done, then?” freddie asks.

“for now,” you say.

he pats the open spot of the couch between himself and john, and you squeeze between them, tilting your socked feet toward the roaring fire. you find yourself still shivering slightly, despite the extra layer beneath your sweater and warm wool socks. if you remember correctly, your father had complained of poor insulation in the attic. you wish, perhaps a bit selfishly, he’d gotten that fixed before his passing.

“here.” john shimmies one side of the blanket draped over his shoulders around yours. “we can share.”

“thanks,” you whisper, grabbing the corner he offers and pulling it around your back. the movement draws him closer, the outside of his thigh pressed tightly against yours. he feels warm, though, like your own little space heater, and you resist the urge to lean into him for further comfort. instead, you focus your attention on freddie, who explains how he and his bandmates came to be stranded on a swiss mountainside.

“so, really, it’s roger’s fault that we’re in this predicament,” freddie says. “he was the one who wanted to go skiing.”

you tilt your head to the side, confused as you glance toward the front door. “where is all your gear, then? you didn’t bring any in.”

john sighs with a shake of his head. “we forgot that in the hotel.”

“no one is brilliant at five am, dear. except for maybe brian, but even he failed to remind us that the first rule of skiing is you need skis.” freddie shrugs his shoulders. “oh well. it brought us to you, didn’t it?”

smiling, you nod. beside you, john shifts a little closer. his free hand rests on his leg, but his pinky finger extends outward, brushing along the outer seam of your jeans. your grin widens.

“yeah, i suppose it did.”

day three.

it’s just past midnight when you tumble from the depths of your nightmare.

the accident—replaying—over and over and over. the twist of the car over the edge of the ravine. you, powerless, helpless as you watch from the safety of your grandfather’s truck. the crunch of metal against rock and tree and—

—and the ultimate knowledge that there was no way your parents could survive such a fall settling over your heart like a three-ton brick.

you jerk awake with a barely-contained screech. clamping your hand over your mouth, you squeeze your eyes shut, willing away the images that flash through your mind like some sort of cruel slideshow. blood and guts and screams and—

a warm hand on your shoulder, soft voice in your ear saying your name, pulls you back to reality. “hey. hey, wake up.”

your eyes flutter open, sleeve of your shirt caught between your teeth where you bite down hard. in the dim light of the room, you can make out the angles of john’s face, the line of his nose, pout of his lips. a soft glow—from the nightlight in the corner, you think—shrouds the curls on his head, giving him the curve of a halo.

your ribs shudders as you exhale. he looks like an angel, an angel sent to save you perhaps. never in your lift have you so badly wanted to embrace someone in relief.

instead, you drop the hand from your mouth and lean closer to the wall at your side, away from him. “huh? wha—oh… john, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to wake you.”

his grip on your shoulder tightens, and he ignores your apology. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing. just a nightmare.”

“some nightmare.” john’s hand slips from your shoulder to your elbow, and he rubs his cheek with his opposite hand. “you hit me.”

“fuck, did i? oh hell, john.”

scrambling to your knees, you frown into the darkness, searching for a welt or bruise blossoming on his cheek. it’s too dark to see clearly, though, and you sigh in defeat, hanging your head. embarrassment swells in your stomach, wrenching it side to side, and you turn your face away, hoping against hope that he can’t see the evidence of your fluster.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper.

more than anything, more than the embarrassment roiling through your system and the nerves wracking your chest, you find yourself feeling frustrated. two day—two days with queen in the house, and two days you’ve felt a magnetic pull towards john. maybe you’re just lonely and maybe you’re just reading too much into the stolen glances and brushes of his hand against yours, but having him here in the house with you? tossing your sideways looks when freddie says something that makes you laugh and helping you pull the biscuit tin from its place on the top of the shelf? you’d thought that maybe—just maybe—he might see something worthwhile in you, too.

but no rockstar could put up with you. surely, he must see that plainly now. your fear of crowds and loud noises and your night terrors—that’s not made for the high life. he would go once he got the chance, forget about you and you cat in the cabin on the mountainside. why you ever considered for a moment he would do otherwise further stokes the shame threatening to consume you.

you fiddle with the sheets and blankets gathered around your knees. “you can sleep downstairs, if you like,” you say in a rush. your grip tightens on the quilt binding, and you rub your thumb back and forth across a frayed string. “i won’t mind.”

john remains still and quiet for so long you think he must’ve fallen back asleep. but then he stands, and he gently nudges your shoulder.

“scoot over,” he urges, and you find yourself inching closer to the wall without a second thought. john slides into bed next to you, his body warm and strong. “is this okay?”

you nod because, truly, yes, it is okay with you. very much okay.

“when i was little,” he starts, adjusting the quilts around his chest, his ankle brushing your leg. “i had this dog, and any time i had a nightmare, he would crawl into bed with me, help it all go away. i know i’m not as fluffy as a dog, but… well, i thought maybe we might see if this helps it go away.” he pauses for a breath and asks again, “is that okay?”

“yeah, yeah, it’s okay.” your voice is a puff of air, and if it were any colder, you’re sure your breath would crystalize.

“good.” he settles deeper into your shared pillow, and you catch a whiff of your shampoo in his hair. it makes your stomach clench, not from embarrassment, but an entirely different emotion. beneath the covers, one of his hands slips over the curve of your wrist, and his fingers tangle with yours. he gives your palm a squeeze. “go back to sleep.”

you do—easily.

john’s heartbeat is steady beneath your ear when your eyes flutter open for the second time. you’d rested without struggle for the first time in a long time. your shoulders feel loose, your eyes free from heavy circles.

and it’s all because of john.

your cheek is firm against his chest, and the fabric of your grandfather’s flannel still smells like his cigar smoke, but there’s something else, something distinctly john, and it’s all you can do to not turn your face further into his chest and snuggle closer to his side. he’s warm, and you’re still cold despite the heavy blankets cocooning you. his arm is slung over your back, drawing you tighter to his chest, his face turned to the side as he breathes softly in sleep.

you should get up, go downstairs, and find something to eat, check to see if the power has returned. you’d rather stay here, in this quiet, still moment, until the rest of the world fades away and you are left with him and him alone. your wish isn’t meant to be, it seems, because just as you are prepared to lean further into john’s warmth and return to sleep, freddie bursts through the door.

you jolt upwards at the sound of the door slamming against the wall. john is right behind you, and his arm instinctively tightens around your back.

the grin on freddie’s face is positively shit-eating, and he puts his hands on his hips as he looks between you and john with something between pride and amusement. “oh! well, well, well, what do we have here?!”

“fuck, fred.” john releases his hold on you, moving to run a hand down his face to cover his yawn. “damn near pissed myself.”

“yes, i’m sure.” freddie chuckles to himself then cocks his head toward the open door. “make yourselves presentable. we’ve got decorating to do.”

he exits without further explanation, leaving a ball of confusion and uncertainty in your stomach and a proverbial elephant in the room. you fiddle with the end of your sleeve, wondering if john thinks the silence is as thick as you do.

“you seem to have slept better,” he says at last.

you turn, and his face is so near yours you could kiss him. instead, you just nod and say, “yes, i did. thanks to you.”

he shrugs, shaking his head. “i’m a selfish guy. i didn’t want to get hit again. seemed the easiest way to spare me the pain.”

somehow you know he’s joking. you know he slept as well as you because of your body pressed against his. you know he feels the spark, and he’s waiting for the moment to light the flame.

perhaps it’s the crinkles around his eyes when he smiles, or the quick wink you nearly miss, that tell you you’re not crazy, that he feels it too. or maybe… maybe he’s the other half of the string that’s tied beneath your ribs. the string is no longer stretched and pulled taut, but relaxed, made light by fate and nature conspiring to bring you together.

or maybe you’re reading something that isn’t there again.

you look away first, but can’t keep the giddy smile from your face. he makes your heart feel weightless. and after being weighed down for so long, you feel as if you could do anything.

john gathers his clothes and changes downstairs while you get dressed for the day. by the time you make it to the living room, brian hands you a warm-ish glass of orange juice and a bowl of cereal while roger tends the fire and freddie sits on the floor, marmalade sniffing around the open boxes of christmas décor at his feet.

unbidden, tears spring to your eyes, and you tighten your hold on the glass in your hand.

three christmases you’ve been alone. three christmases you’ve avoided the tried and true rituals of your childhood. three years you’ve missed this, the warmth of friendship and togetherness.

your heart gives a painful lurch at the thought of all you’ve missed out on, all you’ve neglected in order to save yourself from pain. only, perhaps you’ve driven yourself to much more pain, shutting yourself away on the mountain as you have.

john appears at your side, and his hand comes to rest on the curve of your neck, his finger tracing the edge of your jaw. “what is it?” he whispers, low enough so only you can hear.

clearing your throat, you grin up at him. “i’m just happy.”

his eyes scan the room before he dips his head and presses his lips to your temple. his grip on the back of your neck tightens as he lingers against your skin. your eyes flutter shut, and you lean closer to him, warmth spreading from the crown of your head to the soles of your feet. he releases you after a moment, nudging you forward with a hand to the small of your back.

you drop to the carpet beside freddie and take a bite of your cereal. “where did you find all this? i didn’t know i’d kept it.”

“i found it, actually,” roger says from his place in the kitchen.

“and you found the scrabble board too… if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were snooping around my house.”

“so what if i am?” roger shrugs. “i’m bored as hell without the tellie. there’s loads of stuff downstairs just waiting for me to snoop through.” he finishing tacking something to the archway of the kitchen before stepping into the living room, hands in his pockets.

“roger, stop your griping and sit down.” brian nods to the open armchair. “we haven’t had this much time off in ages. enjoy it while you can.”

“really, why do you keep all this marvelous stuff downstairs?” freddie asks. he sifts his hands through the box on his lap, filled with tinsel and ribbons your mother collected over the years. “you have a tree, but that’s it. your entire cabin could be dripping with christmas cheer if you wanted.”

“it’s just me,” you say. as if understanding, marmalade gives a petulant meow. you smile and scratch behind her ears. “and marmy, i guess. there’s no reason to go above and beyond if it’s just me.”

brian’s brow furrows in concern. “your parents? siblings?”

“my parents died about five years ago, my grandfather shortly after. there’s no siblings. just me.” rising from your place on the floor, you gather your empty breakfast bowl and the leftover plate sitting adjacent.

it’s quiet as you deposit the dishes in the sink. the story of your parent’s tragic accident and grandfather’s health decline has never been a mood booster; this you well know. still, you feel obligated to tell your guests. no—not obligated. willing. you love your parents and your grandfather, but you’ve neglected their memory too long.

you turn from the sink. “why don’t we put the decorations up? in their memory.”

freddie’s smile is soft, affectionate. he nods resolutely. “a lovely idea.”

brian puts a christmas record on the turntable, and the house seems to sigh in relief as life, happiness, and festive cheer fills the rooms after so long. roger tosses handfuls of tinsel upon the sparsely decorated tree, his hips swaying to the beat of the music, and freddie directs brian in hanging garland over the mantelpiece and around the staircase banister. you sit beside john on the floor, stringing popcorn along a piece of string. your hands are salty and warm from the popcorn, and his shoulder brushes yours as you work.

“you know,” he says. “my dad died when i was young.”

you pause, an unpopped kernel between your fingers. “really? sorry—i don’t mean to sound so surprised. i just—you didn’t say anything, so…”

he brushes your hurried apology away with a shake of his head. “i was eleven. changed me forever. i don’t really remember much of my childhood, you know, ‘cause of that.”

“oh, john.” though your fingers are slick with salt and butter and grease, you cover his hand with yours. he looks up from the half-filled bowl, and leans closer, his shoulder pushing against yours. “i’m sorry. that—no child should have to lose their parent at a young age.”

“i don’t tell you to feel sorry for me.” he removes his hand from beneath yours and continues to string the popcorn, but there’s no malice or hostility in his words—just truth. “i’m just saying it because i know how it feels to lose a parent early. it’s… devastating.”

you nod, twisting your mouth to side and looking away from his searching gaze. “yes, it is.” drawing in a deep breath, you face him again. “i think i dwell too much on the sadness, though. there’s happiness in their memory, and i forget that. but you lot helped me remember. you helped me remember.”

john ducks his head on a shy grin, his cheeks pink with blush.

heart tripping in your chest, you stand and return to the kitchen to refill the popcorn bowl while he drapes the first completed string around the tree. as the popcorn pops, you tuck your face near your shoulder, smiling to yourself. three days ago, you’d gone to bed thinking you knew what christmas would look like this year: desolate and lonely, with only your cat by your side and work to fill your days. how could you have guessed? how could you have known what nature would bring your way?

when you turn, the freshly filled bowl cradled in the crook of your arm, you stop short. roger, a sideway grin on his face, stands in the doorway of the kitchen. he jerks his chin upwards, and you follow his eyeline to the sprig of faux mistletoe tacked to the ceiling.

you roll your eyes. “so, that’s what you were doing. you really are a trouble-maker, roger.”

“come on, it’s tradition, love. just one kiss?” he opens his arms slightly, beckoning with a wave of his fingers.

you huff with mock indignance, but your cheeks warm at the thought of roger taylor wanting to kiss you of all people. the little you know of queen and their stardom is knowledge enough to tell you that roger has kissed far worthier people. they all have, probably. you—you’re just a country bumpkin, hardly interesting or captivating enough for his—or any of their—attentions.

that, at least, is what you would have told yourself three days ago. today, the thoughts tumble through your head, but you push them aside with a newfound sense of confidence. it doesn’t mean anything, anyway. it’s just a mistletoe kiss. and you think you’d regret it forever if you turned him down.

before you can stop yourself, you step forward, and roger rightly takes the movement as an agreement. he kisses you soundly, one hand feather-light in the center of your back. you don’t let the connection linger too long for fear you will lose yourself to the moment. roger is kind and charming, but he’s not… well, he’s not john, and the thought of john and whatever it is he means to you makes you pull away after a few seconds.

from their place in the living room, freddie and brian cheer, clapping in response to the good-natured fun. you duck your head, but smile all the same and drop to your spot beside john. you hand him the bowl of popcorn, but he doesn’t start stringing the new line. he just looks at you, his eyes roaming your face, barely so much as a frown pulling his brow tight or downward tilt of his mouth wringing his lips in a scowl. he just… stares, openly, without pretense, and you suddenly wish you’d turned roger down. though the feeling of roger’s lips still lingers on yours and the kiss wasn’t unpleasant in the slightest, john’s arms around your waist while you sleep leaves much more of an imprint on your skin. his soft breath when he sleeps, the perfect rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear—it all is so much better than a silly mistletoe kiss with roger.

a muscle ticks in john’s jaw, the only evidence of possible frustration. you look away and continue stringing popcorn along the line.

“i wanted to be the one to kiss you.”

at the sound of john’s mumbled words, you trip over a mislaid shoe in the middle of your darkened room. he’d gone to bed earlier than everyone else, leaving you and the others to play another round of scrabble until well after the sun disappeared. you’d considered following him when he made his exit and explaining your kiss with roger, but you’d decided it against it.

neither roger nor john could stake any claim over you or your actions, and you’d wanted to kiss roger. not to piss john off, not to push him away, but purely because you’d wanted to. maybe you wouldn’t do it again, not after seeing the crestfallen look on john’s face. but you’d done it, and there was no shame in it.

you grip the edge of the bed frame, bent at the waist, frozen in the way you’d tripped. “what?” the word is a sharp exhale in the already tense room.

“you heard me: i wanted to be the one to kiss you.”

you aren’t sure what to say, so the first thing that comes to mind slips from your mouth. “well… you didn’t.”

john huffs and hops off his spot atop your bed. the snow covering your skylight has started to melt in the last day or so, allowing slim rays of moonlight to pierce the darkness of your room. the moonlight coupled with your nightlight illuminates only the sharpest features on john’s face, and while any other evening you might think the line of his jaw or definition of his nose might be alluring, tonight, coupled with the scowl on his brow, you wish you could see him clearly. he stands in the center of the room, hands on his hips, and you straighten, run your fingers through your rumpled hair.

“you could have,” you whisper. “but you didn’t.”

“beneath the mistletoe?” he scoffs like the mere implication is an offense. “no. that’s not what i meant.”

“what did you mean, then? you can’t just say you wanted to be the one to kiss me with no explanation. i’m not some plaything, john. you boys might be used to that, being famous or whatever, but—”

“no.” his voice is stern, commanding, resolute. you shut your mouth with a snap. “you drive me crazy, you know that?” he steps forward; you step back. “you think you’re so insignificant, that you’re not good enough for anybody.”

your frown and retreat another step when he advances. “i don’t know what you’re—”

he cuts you off as though your protest went in one ear and out the other. “you’re shy, sure, but you’re brave. i mean, dammit you live all the way up here by yourself, and you nearly fought us off with a fuckin’ frying pan.”

he sighs. but then his arm extends, his fingers hovering over your cheek. when you don’t flinch, don’t so much as move a muscle, he covers your cheek with his palm, his fingertips tracing the edges of your hair. “you’re a lot like me. we have a lot in common.”

your heart lurches—not out of pain or regret, but anticipation. a lump of excitement clogs your throat, and it’s hard to swallow, hard to think, hard to breathe, with john so near and his words so intoxicating.

“john…” your eyelids flutter shut, your head tilting into the warmth of his palm. “i—”

“i wanted to kiss you because i like you, not because you’re the only bird here, but because i like you and i think we have a lot—”

you surge forward on a burst of assertiveness. grabbing the edges of john’s night shirt, you drag him forward and slot your mouth over his. his lips are smooth, and once he registers what you’ve done, he responds with equal parts ferocity and tenderness. one hand bunches the fabric of your shirt at your waist, the other grips the back of your neck, holding you against him like you might be blown away by the wind at any moment.

after a moment, he pulls away, rolling his forehead over yours. “tell me to stop and i will.”

you kiss him again, chaste and fast enough to draw back and murmur, “don’t stop,” before losing your nerve.

john circles his arms around your back, then, resuming his careful but hungry attack on your mouth, your cheeks, your neck. you wind your arms around his shoulders, drawing him tight, and you don’t make it to the bed before collapsing to the floor in a heap of passion.

day four.

the power comes back on the next day, and by late evening, jimmy schmits from the gondola service calls to tell you everything will be back up and running by morning. your guests are pleased. they’re eager to get back to the comforts they’re accustomed to, and you don’t blame them. four days in an unheated cabin with rapidly spoiling food in the fridge is not typical rockstar accoutrement. still, they tell you they’ve thoroughly enjoyed their break from reality, and you respond in kind. it was as much as break for you as it was for them.

on that last evening, the lights are kept off for the final time. the fire in the hearth permeates the room with its light, though you don’t need its warmth as much now that the heater is back on. the christmas tree sparkles in the corner, and a few candles flicker in the kitchen and hallway. brian sits in the armchair, your father’s old acoustic on his lap. roger, of course, had found it buried in a spare closet, and he suggests brian play to close out the night.

you lean your back against john’s chest where he sits on the couch. his arm is draped around your body, his fingers running nonsensical patterns over your waist. the back of your head rests against his shoulder, and you feel like you could walk on water you’re so light. all the stress, the aches and pains you’ve carried for so long, have melted like the snow. john is to thank for that, as are the others, but mostly him. he’d pegged you quite right with his speech the night before: shy and unsure of yourself and entirely unconvinced of your own worth. but you’re on the mend, you think.

insignificant? you? no, not anymore. not when he looks at you and holds you close.

brian cringes when he gives an experimental strum of the guitar and something akin to a high-pitched whine hits the air. “oh wow. this hasn’t been played in a while.” he looks up, pulling his mouth to the side in a wry grin. “sorry,” he says when he meets your eyes. “i just have to tune it some.”

“go ahead,” you say. “do what you have to.”

brian adjusts the tuners at the top of the guitar before plucking and pulling the strings in time to a gentle rhythm. when he opens his mouth, he begins to sing. “have yourself a merry little christmas. let your heart be light.”

freddie joins him, scooting forward on the other side of the couch, marmalade snug in his lap. “from now on our troubles will be out of sight.”

when roger jumps in for the bridge, the trio’s voices mingle together in the air like pieces of a puzzle. each part is distinctive and unique, but no less important to creating the larger picture. you snuggle closer to john and feel the vibrations of his chest against your back as he hums, his finger tapping along your shoulder.

“once again, as in olden days, happy golden days of yore. faithful friends who are dear to us will be near to us once more.”

tears cloud your vision, and you tighten your grip on the arm draped over your stomach.

tomorrow your guests will return to their normal lives, lives of fantasy and extravagance. you will return to your hum-drum existence, and the holiday will come and go with little fanfare. but if this is the only gift you will receive this christmas—this time with the hodge-podge musicians that make up queen, this time with john—you will take it with no expectation for anything more.

you’d forgotten what it was like to live with joy and freedom, some semblance of your life prior to the accident. john, freddie, roger, brian—they’d helped you remember, and for that you are forever indebted to them.

clearing your throat, you twist slightly in john’s arms, enough to tilt your head back and let your eyes roam his face. he looks down at you, lips caught in a serene smile. you brush your fingers along the line of his jaw.

“merry christmas, john,” you whisper.

he hums in approval, grinning, before lowering his mouth to kiss you softly. “merry christmas, darling.”

six months later.

it’s hot out, the summer sun roasting you through the thick glass of the gondola. you could drive your car down the mountain, but you prefer the gondola. the gentle sway of the hanging car, the way the buildings in montreux slowly grow taller as you inch closer to the city—it’s all a part of the journey, and you enjoy it, find a comforting rhythm in the predictability.

today, you have an empty basket on your lap, your ankles tucked beneath the bench, as you make your way to the farmer’s market that pops up once a month. it’s a simple little thing, and you often only leave with a few ripe fruits and handful of fresh-cut flowers, but ever since your christmas with queen, you’ve been venturing out more. not enough to truly consider yourself a social butterfly, but you enjoy the odd afternoon at the farmer’s market or dinner in one of the pubs where you listen to the local bands play. you’ve made a friend—your first friend in ages—and heather only further helps to draw you out of your reclusive nature.

then, of course, there’s john. he helps too, always does.

when he’d left in december, he made no promises, and you didn’t expect him to. after all, you’ve only really been with him in person for four days; that’s hardly enough time to build a lasting sort of connection.

still, he calls when he can, and you catch up, but there’s no real agreement between you both. yet he continues you to encourage you to get out more, going so far as to ship you a bicycle you can ride the mountain trails on. he promises to come ride with you one day, but you won’t hold him to it. it’s the thought that counts.

for the first time in years, you’re happy, sincerely happy. you once thought that living by yourself, away from the world so you couldn’t be hurt, was enough to be content, and for a time, you were content. but then you’d been forced to remember, to remember how much you need others, and now that you can accept that, loneliness no longer pervades your home or your person. you walk with purpose; your smile comes naturally; your shoulders sway with ease.

it’s still a quiet life, but a much happier one.

you disembark the gondola with your eyes scanning the small list of items it would be worthwhile to buy—a new vase, a bouquet of flowers for the dinner party you’re hosting for heather and her siblings in two days, a necklace to replace the one marmalade broke—and you barely noticed when you bump shoulders with someone boarding the gondola car. you startle, though, when a hand wraps around your wrist and someone says your name.

you turn, lift your eyes, and gasp, your heart leaping to your throat. “john deacon!” it’s practically a squeal, and john shushes you with a fast hand over your mouth.

he glances around to see if anyone heard you or cares, and it seems the world is too busy with their own affairs to study john deacon and the girl he has pinned against his chest, his arm around her back and hand over her mouth. his eyes sparkle when he returns his gaze to you. “hush! don’t blow my cover!”

you swat his hand away, but don’t move out of his grasp. “what are you doing here?!”

he nods his head to the gondola car, now filled, the doors shut and prepared for departure. “i could ask you the same thing.”

you flush unwillingly and shrug your shoulders. “i actually leave the house now.”

“really?!” john releases his tight hold on your back, giving you breathing space, but doesn’t move his feet. when he speaks, his breath—recently freshened with a mint—fans your face. “i was actually on my way up to surprise you, but it looks like you’ve beaten me to the surprise.”

your heart, still lodged in your throat, skips a beat. “you were coming to see me?”

“’course i was.”

“i didn’t know you were in montreux.”

he nods. “we’re recording. should be here a month or two. just got here yesterday.”

you grin. your cheeks pinch in a slight ache, such unrestrained joy still uncustomary to your muscles. “and you were coming to see me?”

while you grin and reach forward to toy with the edge of john’s shirt, he frowns. “’course i was,” he repeats. “you say that like you’re surprised.”

“well, it was your intention to surprise me, right?”

“of course i would come see you if i was in town.” john nudges your shoulder with his hand then covers your bicep with his palm, squeezing lightly. “you’re my girl.”

you tilt your head to the side. “your girl?”

he nods, steps closer, and holds your other arm. “yeah,” he says, his voice gone deeper, gravely. “my girl.” this thumb brushes along the exposed skin of your shoulder, tanned by the sun. “i told you in december: i like you. the last six months have been… hectic, but i was always going to come back.”

tucking your lower lip between your teeth, you narrow your eyes as you wind your arms around his neck. the hair at the nape of his neck is soft as you play with it. “i would say really and not believe you. but i seem to remember someone telling me that i’m a lot more significant than i give myself credit for.”

john laughs, and the sound pierces your heart like cupid’s bow. “what genius said that?”

you shrug your shoulders, rolling your eyes. “i dunno, but i took it to heart.”

“did you? good. then maybe you’ll be more inclined to say yes when i ask you to come on tour with me, with all of us.”

“oh, you were going to ask that?”

“part of my surprise.”

leaning forward, you feather your lips over john’s. “ask me, then,” you whisper, grinning even further when you feel a shiver run down his back.

“come with us. come with me. let me take you around the world.”

the you of six months ago flares in your chest, telling you to say no, to stay home where it is safe. the you of six months ago tells you that john is just being nice, that he doesn’t see you as anything serious.

but the you of today…

the you of today just smiles and kisses john soundly. you move your mouth over his like he is your dance partner, like you were made for one another, and maybe you were. he tastes sweet, feels even sweeter against your body, and you wonder if this is what your parents felt like when they first fell in love. as your mother tells it, she thought your father had hung the stars in the sky, and when you pull back to look at john, the same thought comes to mind.

“so is that a yes?”

you nod. “i’d go anywhere with you, john deacon.” another thought pops to the forefront of your mind, and you fist your hand in john’s shirt with a frown. “but wait: who will watch marmalade?”

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #queen #queen fic #queen x reader #j writes

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

Note

May I send in a request if it’s not too much trouble? Maybe some mutual pining/yearning with Diego, and it’s just really fluffy? I know it’s not a lot plait wise, sorry, so you can kinda do whatever, as long as it’s fluffy(I love your angst but i am in desperate need of some fluffy with my #1 stubby husband) 💚💚💚💚

A/N: Hello darling! This is a fantastic trope! Thank you so much for your request. Hope it’s everything you were looking for 😊 Word Count: 1861

You had known Diego Hargreeves for years, shared laughs and tears and secrets with him and he had shared them with you. You had met his mother. You were confident in calling him your closest friend. So of course, like a romance movie cliché, somewhere between bickering over the last slice of pizza and trying to stay up long enough to watch every Star Wars movie in one sitting, you’d fallen in love with him. But, like any good protagonist, you were too stubborn to admit it, too sure that he was still in love with Eudora Patch and would never see you in that way and it would only ruin your friendship.

So you tried to move on, kissed frog after frog, hoping for one of them to be Prince Charming, even though you knew he was standing right beside you, ready to throw knives if any of them treated you wrong.

He also did things like warn you that it was dangerous being friends with him or try convince you that he wasn’t worth it, whatever ‘it’ was. Eventually you convinced him to stop that nonsense by agreeing to take some sort of self-defense class, which turned into him teaching you self-defense, and then basic self-defense and boxing.

And then you found yourself rearranging your entire schedule so that you could go down to the Fighting Lion and get your first lesson, and then maybe hang around to watch Diego’s match. But you definitely weren’t in love with him and had totally moved on. Absolutely.

“Didn’t you have a date tonight?” Diego asked, trying hard to play the question as an off-hand curiosity as he gave you a greeting hug. And if he held you a little tighter or for a few seconds longer than he had in the past, who would know.

“I, um. I cancelled,” you replied, not meeting his eye.

“Oh?” his brows shot up in surprise. You had been talking about this date for weeks, and sounded really into the guy.

“Yeah. I just, wasn’t really feeling it, you know?”

“What?” he laughed incredulously. “Two days ago you wouldn’t shut up about him.”

“Well, things change, alright?” you snapped. “Now are we going to sit around gossiping like old hens or are you going to teach me how to fight?”

He sighed, shaking his head ruefully. “Yeah, yeah. Go change and I’ll get set up.”

When you walked back out of the locker-room in your tight-fitted workout clothes a few minutes later, pausing to use the wall to help you stretch your limbs, Diego couldn’t help trailing his eyes over your form especially lingering on your ass and the way it filled out your shorts. He bit his lip, forcing himself to turn away before you noticed.

“Alright, Hargreeves,” you said, and he looked over at you, trying his best to pretend he had just noticed your return. “I’m all dressed up. What’s next?”

You flashed him a smile, the kind that he wished he could believe was specially reserved for him, but in fact was the same bright and enthusiastic one you gave the whole world.

“Wrap your hands and wrists for support,” he said, tossing you a roll of tape.

Fumbling a bit, you caught the tossed object and stared at it as if it was a snake threatening to bite.

Diego chuckled. “Do you need me to show you what to do?”

Biting your lip, Diego’s eyes flicking down to them at the motion, you shrugged. “That would probably be for the best.”

Almost immediately, you regretted agreeing to that as he walked over, taking one of your hands in both of his. You knew that it was just to keep you steady and still while he wrapped, but still it made your heart race and you could only hope that he didn’t notice. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, watching the intense focus on his face, hearing him speak but not the words he said as he explained how to do it so you could for yourself in the future. In your head, he was saying sweet nothings and holding your hand just to hold it, and you felt frustrated with how much you wanted that thought to be real.

“There,” he said, securing the end of the tape on your second hand with a pat and shaking you out of your dream-state. “You’re good.”

“Huh?” you frowned, mind slow to catch up to reality. “Oh, right. Thanks.”

From there, you did all you could stay focused, especially when he decided the best teaching method after the most basic information to keep you from hurting yourself was to just throw you into a fight against him and tell you to do your best. You were impressed with how you held your own, dodging more than striking sure, but he was meant to be a superhero and you had the reflexes to avoid his blows. (It at no point occurred to you that he might be going easy on you.)

“Come on, Y/N. You can’t win a fight if you don’t hit me,” he scolded, laughing.

“But I can’t lose it if I don’t get hit either,” you panted, struggling not to let your guard drop as you grew tired.

“Yes you can,” Diego stopped, dropping his hands and shifting into lecture mode. “Exhausting yourself is just as dangerous. If you’re trying to avoid a fight, which you should, get one good swing in to stun the other person and then run. Don’t just dodge and duck like you’re toying with them. Because you will screw up.”

You huffed. “Fine, I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” you snapped. “Any other tips?”

“Every time you dodge, you drop your left side, leaving yourself vulnerable.”

“Noted. Back to the fight now?”

“Are you actually going to fight or just keep dancing?” his eyes crinkled in a smile and your heart skipped a beat, again.

“If you want to see dancing, I can dance,” you suggested with a smirk. “But yes, I promise I’ll take your suggestions and use them to beat you, and actually do it this time.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and raised his hands back up, stance shifting. “Bring it then.”

“Sure you can handle that babe?” you taunted, darting in on a feint.

Only he froze at your teasing nickname, and your fist connected with a solid ‘crack!’ Diego stumbled backwards on the mats, hands coming up to cup his now bleeding nose.

“Ow!” he groaned.

“Shit! Oh god Diego, I’m so sorry!” you yelled, panicked, rushing over to him and placing your hands over his, trying to guide them down so you could inspect the damage you caused. “Is it broken? Do you need tissues? A doctor?”

“No, no it’s fine,” he assured you, shrugging you off, voice muffled and distorted by his hands and the rapid swelling of his face.

“What happened?” you snapped, voice still high with fear. “That was an easy shot to block!”

“I…I don’t know,” he muttered.

His eyes locked with yours and you stood there, staring at each other.

“I just…you called me babe…”

Your stomach lurched. You had, without thinking anything of it. It had been a joke, or maybe a subconscious slip of the tongue. Had it upset him? Or did you dare to hope…?

“That was an excellent hit,” he continued, finally bringing his hands down, checking to see if his nose was still bleeding and sniffing dramatically to clear the airway. “If you do that any time someone gives you a hard time, no one’s ever going to dare mess with you.”

You smiled weakly. “I don’t think most of my enemies would be so in love with me I could distract them so easily…”

“I wasn’t…I’m not…what are you talking about?” he scoffed.

“Relax, Di,” you sighed. “It was a joke.”

You both lapsed into a momentary silence.

“What if…I was?” he asked hesitantly a moment later, just as you were about to ask if the training session was over.

“What if you were what?” you countered, frowning and puzzled.

“…in love with you…” the confession was so low and mumbled that you wouldn’t have caught it at all if you hadn’t been so familiar with Diego and all of his moods.

You laughed nervously. “I must have hit you harder than I thought, cus you’re not making any sense.”

“I’m serious, Y/N.”

“You…what?” You blinked at him, dumb-founded. “You can’t be.”

You thought you must be dreaming, there was no way this conversation could possibly happening, so you settled firmly on denial, not wanting to fall for his prank or whatever this was. Because if he were telling the truth, then you had denied yourself and hurt yourself for years for no actual reason, and that wouldn’t be fair.

“Why can’t I be?” he asked, stepping closer, frowning.

“Well…because…” you cast about for any good reason why your best friend that you were in love with shouldn’t or couldn’t be in love with you right back.

“Y/N, you don’t have to make up excuses. I won’t be upset if you don’t feel the same, and I won’t let it ruin our friendship. It hasn’t so far.”

“How…how long?” you choked out, now fighting back tears.

He shrugged. “A year or two at least. I can’t really say when it happened.”

“Oh, Diego…why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged, unable to meet your eye. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem like the right time? And then you were dating other people.”

“Because I was trying to get over you!” you shouted, your frustration at the ridiculousness of it all spilling over. “I thought you were still in love with Patch or some dumb shit so I was dating other people. I thought if I found someone good enough, someone fine, I could make myself feel for them what I feel about you, you asshole!”

He stared at you, mouth agape. The horror of everything you just admitted hit you like a brick to the face and you felt the intense blush flood over your face and neck and like you were going to be sick; you wanted to actually vomit.

"W-what?"

The tears that had been stinging spilled down your cheeks. Rough, calloused fingers and tape wrapped palms reached up to brush away their wet tracks.

"Y/N…?"

"I've been in love with you for years, dammit. I just...never had the guts to tell you'" you admitted at a whisper.

And then his lips were on yours and it was...actually kind of awkward, wet with tears and tangy with the lingering salt-metallic taste of his blood and both your sweat. Pulling back to rest your forehead against his, you smiled softly.

"Not that I didn't appreciate it, because I have been wanting to kiss you for a long time now, but maybe we should clean up a little first?" You suggested.

He laughed. "Yeah, probably. And I have a fight later to drop out of."

"What? Drop out of? Why?"

"I've waited too long to take you on a date. I'm not waiting another minute."

#I love mutual pining! it's such a fun trope to play with #I had a lot of fun writing this #I'm not sure if it really ticks the box for 'fluff' but it is trope-y and adorable #Diego Hargreeves x reader #The Umbrella Academy fic

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years

Note

Onyx and MC find out that they're having Twins

Written by: @evoedbd

It was a usual peaceful day in the clinic. Sunlight shone through the windows, reflecting the off coloured white walls to bathe the room in a soft, bright light. The air was so light, light enough that one could forgive the beige linoleum floors and the sterile smell which betrayed the calm and gave a hospital vibe. Combatting the sterile nature was a large fish tank, illuminated with gentle blues through driftwood and aquarium plants. The plants waved gently in the currents, joyfully curling around the playful bubbles escaping an ornament amidst the driftwood. The fish danced around their environment, fins occasionally flaring before they dashed off, merrily oblivious to the incoming storm.

Standing guardian to the peaceful waiting room was a lone secretary, stationed behind her large corner desk. Immaculately dressed, as she had been every day for ten years on the job, her occasionally stern gaze held the rabble in line. Under her eye, even the most anxious of patients stayed quiet, perhaps mistaking her for harsh. She was not. These patients who came in were under her care until they met their doctors. For the lives they grew, the secretary owed them a moment of peace. A place to feel safe. Whether it was to hand them pamphlets from her desk with cliche titles such as “what to expect while expecting” or handing them pamphlets to support groups. Sometimes, a simple glass of water or some biscuits were what her patients needed, and she loyally provided, honoured by her small role in helping healthy babies be brought into the world. Though, there was a darker side to her observations. She had to pick out the women at risk, the women in tough circumstances. These women stayed with her, even long after they left her sight. The “unfortunate” accidents which could not be proven as anything but. The husbands and wives who looked just a little bit too angry at being there. The expecting mothers who were too twitchy. The noble secretary kept them all marked, a tiny yellow flag on their appointments.

She had known the moment miss Onyx Wren had come in all those years ago that something was horribly wrong. A lone, terrified young woman who had done her best to be bright and chirpy. She’d talked about her loving boyfriend, how he was so excited for her baby, how he was working extra hard and making her work harder to provide the best life for their coming child. It had come as no surprise when the clinic heard she had lost her baby in a training accident. When the following check-up was under the watchful eyes of her boyfriend. The way he had looked at Onyx still chilled the Secretary to the core, and when she had heard his line of questioning. All about physicality. All about when Onyx could have sex again. She knew. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had done something horrific, and that Onyx was too scared to speak, too trapped in denial to accept her reality.

Today, the scene had been something entirely different. Onyx had been quiet, terrified even, but she was not alone. With her was a little Asian woman, a hurricane barely restraining herself. The air had changed the moment they stepped in, the Asian woman holding the doors for Onyx, comforting her with amusing faces and gentle touches. The Asian woman hadn’t seemed to care how childish she seemed; her focus was devoted to Onyx. Over her shoulder, a bag containing several textbooks had bounced, textbooks the Secretary recognised as medical schoolbooks on pregnancy and reproduction. That had given her pause. For all the childish energy and wild excitement, the girl had shown, she was so clearly committed. So seriously dedicated to whatever role she was playing for the expectant mother. And Onyx? Onyx, for all her fright, seemed to gravitate to that energy, feeding off it until the two seamlessly worked together, as if they felt the other in their very soul. As if reading one another’s thoughts before they even occurred. It was sickeningly adorable. If only that Asian woman could keep her voice down, then the Secretary might have even been cooing over them.

“TWINS!” The gleeful cry cut through the peaceful din of the waiting room; the roar of a dragon across the countryside. Like the beating of wings, the faithful pounding of footsteps against the floor crescendoed, growing closer and closer. Occasionally, the sound of shoes squeaking from the friction against the floor broke the pattern, or a pause to the steps cued more joyous shouting.

The Secretary cringed, her dedicated typing coming to a halt as she braced herself for the human hurricane. The one she’d read as the emergency contact. Cali Meng Xi.

“Twins! Twins! Its twins! She’s having twins!” Cali continued to shout, leaping and whooping through the waiting room in a flurry of her tie-dyed hoodie and long, powerful legs. The bike mechanic danced, kicking her white high tops into the air with each leap and stride, reminiscent of a frolicking stallion amidst the spring grass. How could she stop? The excitement burning in her body was too powerful to contain, too pure to be tainted by something as cold as rational, mature behaviour or logic. Onyx was having babies. Plural. Not A baby. But BABIES. Twins! Two baby Onyx’s! Double the adorableness in the world. Double the miracles! Her heart was going to beat out of her chest; was going to explode into a shower of rainbow glitter and unicorns delivering bombs of happiness to all. Onyx! Babies!

Behind her, a melodic giggle twinkled. A sound of delight and embarrassment at the same time. Onyx followed at a far more sedate pace, reaching out in an effort to catch Cali’s arm whenever the mechanic was within reach. Of course, Cali didn’t stop bouncing around, her face split by the dopiest grin ever seen. Instead, she took Onyx’s hand, spinning the shorter woman as if they were in a ballroom instead of a waiting room.

“Cali, calm down. Just watching you is making me tired.” Onyx laughed; her voice filled with that undeniable note of happiness. Even as Cali’s behaviour embarrassed her a little, it also filled her with pride. It was evident in the healthy glow of her cheeks, the delighted, adoring twinkle in her oceanic emerald eyes. Her plea was heeded. Cali slowed, sweeping Onyx up into a loving embrace, only to spin her around once again. Onyx simply laughed, kicking her feet playfully before she was gently set down.

“The most beautiful woman in the world is having twins! I love you! I love you all, so, so much! I’m so excited, Onyx. I’m so happy I feel like I’m gonna explode if I don’t let it out!” Cali cried, fat tears of joy rolling down the curve of her cheeks. The truth of her words was evident. Standing still, Cali’s muscles twitched, all rebelling beneath her skin. She trembled, a tangle of energy with nowhere to go. Still, when she lifted her hands to Onyx’s cheeks, Cali was so very gentle. Even trembling, her fingers never became rough as they tucked strand after strand of golden hair behind Onyx’s delicate ear. For all her overwhelming energy, Cali’s hands were nothing but sweet again Onyx’s cheeks, as if cradling her world in her rugged palms. Gently, she lured Onyx into a kiss, the sweetest she could offer. Her lips caressed Onyx’s, pleading, writing her love into every romantic memory. A gesture of such vulnerability offered without fear or shame, unperturbed as to who witnessed such a moment.

The Secretary smiled, surrendering to her impulse to croon over the young women. Even from across the room, she could see the devotion in Cali’s dark eyes, could see how Onyx was her entire world. It was laced through every touch. The tenderness of her hands to Onyx’s barely showing stomach. The love in even the most chaste of kisses, in how Cali pressed them everywhere she could. This hurricane of excitement had no qualms about kneeling to Onyx, to pressing her lips to Onyx’s tummy. About sobbing with happiness. This woman was proud, without being prideful. Intense without becoming domineering. Cali Meng Xi was nothing like the boyfriend Onyx had tried to sell as loving. The longer The Secretary watched, the more apparent it became. Cali’s actions were all for Onyx. Cali wasn’t out to disturb the others, nor was she putting on a show for the crowds. This was her, raw and unbridled, unable to contain herself. She wasn’t trying to seize the stage, she was trying to share her happiness. She was blessing the waiting room with her genuine joy, gifting a glimpse of her soul as she worshipped a goddess in her own life. As she praised the lives growing.

“Six fucking pages.” The doctor whispered as he drew closer, bending down to slide the documentation to the Secretary and keep his words private.

“That woman took six pages of notes. If only all the expecting fathers were as dedicated.” He elaborated, earning a gentle chuckle from the Secretary. The woman gazed into the doctor's eyes for a moment, reading everything he hadn’t said. She watched, assessing for a few moments before accepting the files.

“Miss Wren better put a ring on that girl. They’re perfect together.” The Secretary commented, earning a sound of agreement from the doctor.

Quietly, she flipped to the page, pausing at the yellow sticky dot in the corner. The doctor simply nodded, confirming her thoughts with a smile so large it looked as if his aged face might split in two. The Secretary’s heart almost burst as she worked her nails beneath it, picking and plucking until the label came free. Nothing honored her as much as when she worked it into a nasty ball, then flicked it from her nails straight into the trash. Right where it belonged.

Onyx Wren wasn’t in danger any longer.

#Anonymous #lovestruck #lovestruck sin with me #sin with me #sin with me onyx #sin with me envy #onyx wren #onyx x mc #angst #fluffy angst #fluff #sfw #tw: past abuse #tw: abuse #tw: child loss #woeful wednesday

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amnesia-yourself · 4 years

Text

can i have you for the rest of my life? (4/4)

Kara flushes. She could swear the room’s temperature went up a hundred degrees in a millisecond. Lena stares up at her, expectant. She’s so, so beautiful. Without thinking, Kara presses their lips together.

Before, Kara used to fantasize of this moment. Their first kiss. How Lena would taste like chardonnay from a bottle that Kara buys her, and how Kara would wait 3 seconds before taking her upper lip in her mouth, another 3 before taking her lower lip, and then another 3 before introducing her tongue.

The reality is nothing like that. Lena tastes like an icebreaker and the odd mixture of cheeses they just had at the picnic, and at the first touch of their lips Kara’s head clouds over and she presses kiss over kiss over kiss, sloppy and nothing like the methodical, controlled way she’d imagined. Lena keeps making these weird soft hot noises like she can’t breathe, but every time Kara tries to pull back Lena’s fingers curl around the collar of her shirt, keeping her close.

Lena pulls on her shirt and Kara stumbles forward, all the way across the condo, until Lena’s knees hit the bed. Lena climbs in, pulling Kara along and on top of her, their lips never separated for a single moment.

“Lena,” Kara pants, moaning when Lena bites at her bottom lip. “Lena, really? Really?”

Lena nods, “You wanna have dirty sex out of wedlock?” she murmurs, husky in that way that makes Kara blush.

“Rao,” Kara groans, and leans back in, taking Lena in a rough, long kiss, pressing her down into the mattress. “What do you like?” she asks, lips moving down to her neck- god she can’t believe she’s kissing Lena’s neck. “Tell me what you like,” she begs.

“I like when you figure it out yourself,” Lena tells her.

Kara groans, teeth closing over her neck and biting. Lena moans, louder, and Kara looks up, surprised. One of her hands, previously clenched around the sheet either side of Lena’s head, moves to palm over her neck, touch at the pink blooming there, because of her, because of Kara’s mouth. She did that. Kara presses, light, and when Lena moans, she wraps her entire hand around her neck and squeezes with the ends of her fingers.

Lena moans again, and Kara does with her, so loud that Lena dissolves into giggles. “Oh my god, Kara, calm down,” Lena says in between laughter, her hand sneaking under Kara’s shirt and grasping at her muscles. “Fuck, your back.”

“Can’t,” Kara breathes out. “ You .”

Lena tries to take the lead, to direct Kara, but Kara only grows more fervent and relentless, barely separating their lips to tear Lena’s blouse off, and then her jeans. She suckles at her breasts, and then down to her tummy, and then back up to Lena’s mouth, her fingers swiping her underwear aside.

“You have no idea how much i’ve wanted this, Lena,” Kara puffs against her lips, “you have no idea, Rao, Lena.”

Kara presses one finger into her, slow and debilitating, and then, when Lena accepts it easily, another, curling and touching her everywhere inside.

“Right there,” Lena keens, tilting her head to the side only for Kara to follow her, chasing her lips, “right there, fuck Kara let me- let me breathe, fuck .”

Lena arches, jaw falling slack, Kara licking into her open mouth. Her walls clench around Kara’s fingers, drawing them in deeper, and then unfurling with a flood of wetness.

Kara’s kisses slow down, and the haze that had flooded her mind dissipates. She can finally focus, now that she’s seen Lena, felt her, made her feel good. And she wants to do it again.

They go another round, and then two, until Kara can’t avoid her aching any longer and grinds down onto Lena’s fingers, parting her and finishing her off with unnecessary skill.

“Can I sleep on you,” Kara mumbles, sweaty and more exhausted than she’s been after any fight.

“No,” Lena groans. “You’re crushing me.”

Kara rolls off, sprawling on her back, the sheets sticking to her thighs.

“Let’s take a shower,” Lena says, still panting, hand flopping over to appease her, “and then I’ll sleep on top of you, how’s that?”

Kara hums.

They go to Al’s bar for drinks before game night together. Lena wears Kara’s corduroy jacket again, her hair up in a bun and her jawline looking killer, and she lets Kara wrap her arm around her waist as they walk there.

“Lena’s my girlfriend now,” Kara announces to the table. “So. There. Suck it.”

“Nobody was rooting against you, Kara,” J’onn says.

“Also,” Lena says, swiping her arm away and slinking into the booth, “I’m not your girlfriend yet.” she turns to the table. “She has to talk to William first.”

“Well, that’s lucky,” Nia says, grinning, “‘cus he’s right there.”

“That is lucky,” Lena says with a pointed look.

Kara groans, puppy dog eyes and pouting, but Lena doesn’t relent. She shuffles over to the bar where William’s nursing a drink with a greeting that belies the news she’s about to give. She skirts around the subject for a while, glancing back at Lena pleadingly the whole time. “You know we’re not dating, right?” she finally asks.

William startles. “I wasn’t sure,” he says.

Kara tries to explain without backtracking for two straight minutes, stumbling over her words, until, finally, Lena appears by her side. Kara blinks at her, unsure, and Lena takes the helm, her hand slipping under Kara’s shirt to press against her stomach. “What’s taking so long?” she asks, head tilted up, and she looks exactly like she did before Kara kissed her and Kara can’t think of anything else. “Did the bartender ask for your ID again?” she asks with a smirk.

“No,” Kara says, affronted. Lena only taps at her stomach, hand retreating and extending towards William.

“Lena,” she says, “Kara’s girlfriend. I believe we’ve met.”

William shakes her hand, gaping the whole while. He rattles off some excuse without pause and rushes out the bar with his phone upside down against his ear.

“Couldn’t you have been less obvious?” Kara hisses, holding her face in her palm.

“You were taking so long!”

“It was only, like, two minutes! I was getting there!”

“Kara,” Lena says, “we’ve been watching you ramble for ten minutes straight. J’onn says he heard the words statue of liberty and cheesy icebreaker.”

“Ten minutes?” Kara winces. “Why didn’t you stop me earlier?”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Time to talk to Alex,” she says. “Listen carefully, this is exactly what you’re gonna say.”

They find Alex by the pool table. She leans on her stick, all her attention directed towards Kara. “It's possible…” Kara says, slowly, trying to stick with the script, “I was acting… a little more Kryptonian than human. I didn’t realize it, I'm sorry.”

Alex puts the pool stick down, looking at Kara in the softest way she has for months.

“I want you to see the place where I grew up,” Kara continues, veering a little off track from the script. She means it. She wants Alex there. Lena, too. “Would you come with me, next time?”

The stick falls to the ground. Alex tackles her in a hug. “I thought you’d never ask,” she says into her neck.

“And you know, the birthing matrix really would—”

Lena pulls her away faster than Alex can reach back for the stick.

“So,” she starts, leading them to a corner. She kisses Kara loudly. “When’s wedding season on Krypton?”

Every day is Lena day.

#the marriage au #supercorp fic #supercorp #that's it folks #thanks for reading #mine

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whumphoarder · 4 years

Text

Death by Waffles

Summary: When Tony decides to adopt a cat for Morgan, Peter is almost more excited about it than the six-year-old. He just failed to mention one minor issue before coming to visit at the lake house for the weekend.

Or, in which Peter is horrifically allergic to cats but JUST LOVES THEM SO MUCH.

Word count: 1,638

Genre: Fluff, slight whump, humor

A/N: Thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx & @sallyidss for beta reading and giving me ideas!

Link to read on Ao3

“I still think we should have called him Winston Furrchill,” Tony says with a shrug, watching Peter, who’s sitting cross legged on the living room floor, grinning ear-to-ear, stroking the long-haired cat’s fur.

“That’s so boorrring, Daddy,” Morgan complains. She grabs the little feather teaser and dangles it in front of the cat’s face. He lifts a paw lazily to bat at it. “All your ideas were so boring.”

“What are you talking about?” Tony balks at her, eliciting giggles from Peter and a dramatic groan from the six-year-old. “My ideas were gold. Mr. Meowgi. Bill Clawsby. Genghis Khat.”

Peter snaps once and shoots a finger gun Tony’s direction. “Luke Skywhisker!” he throws in, causing Morgan to groan. “Ooh! Call him Nick Furr-y!”

“No! His name is Waffles!” Morgan exclaims, throwing up her hands in exasperation and causing the kitty in question to dart across the room and dive into his favorite hiding place—the cardboard box that his brand new, untouched, three-hundred-dollar cat tree came in. Tony just rolls his eyes; it’s behavior like this that makes him almost regret spending the last four days in the workshop designing that damn feline an elaborate catwalk and perch system spanning every room of the lake house.

(Almost.)

Morgan sticks her lip out in a pout.

“Aw, Mo, we were just teasing,” Peter says, patting her arm with a kind smile. “Waffles is a great name—I love it.”

That seems to console her. She grins back at him. “It’s ‘cus when we brought him home, he was really scared the first day and he just wanted to hide under my bed. So Daddy said I could eat breakfast in my room with him so he’d feel safer, but then I had to go to the bathroom and when I was gone he stole my waffle,” she rambles.

Peter quirks an eyebrow. “Your cat ate a waffle?”

Morgan nods. “Uh-huh, and then he puked it up again on the carpet!” she explains cheerfully.

“Ah yes, fond memories…” Tony mutters.

“So I named him Waffles,” Morgan concludes. “But I almost called him Syrup, ‘cus he got that on his paws when he walked on the plate, and then he ran around everywhere and it was all sticky. Mommy says that’s why we got ants after.”

While Peter snorts out a laugh, Tony just runs a hand over his face and sighs. “It’s been a long week.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Peter laughs, rubbing a hand at his eyes. He uncrosses his legs and gets to his feet to walk over to the box where Morgan is trying to lure Waffles out again. “I always wanted a cat, but May never let me get one—said they were too much hassle.”

“They are,” Tony says emphatically.

“Are not,” Morgan disagrees. As Peter sits down by the box, she picks up the bag of kitty treats and starts shaking it, causing Waffles to poke his head out. She pours out three little treats onto her open palm. He sniffs them suspiciously, then turns his nose up and buries himself back in the box.

Morgan turns to Tony and shrugs. “I don’t think he likes chicken flavor anymore. You gotta get him the salmon ones, Daddy.”

“But you told me this morning that he doesn’t like salmon,” Tony argues. “He only eats the premium chicken with gravy.”

Morgan shakes her head. “No, no that’s his wet food. He only eats dry salmon, and wet chicken. And sometimes tuna, but only that one in the blue bag.”

“And waffles,” Peter throws in with a wry smile, sitting down to start stroking the cat inside the box. “Don’t forget the waffles, Mr. Stark.”

“At this rate, I’m thinking it’d be better to just install a cat flap and let him find his own mice for dinner,” Tony grumbles.

As if on cue, Waffles meows irritably and leaps out of the cardboard box, straight onto Peter’s lap. However in doing so, the cat’s fluffy tail tickles the kid’s nose. Peter sneezes twice—rather violently—startling the cat to the point that it shoots across the room and climbs halfway up the drapes.

“Waffles!” Morgan cries and races after him.

Sniffling a bit, Peter gives a sheepish smile. “Whoops.”

Tony rolls his eyes and extends a hand to help lever the kid up again. Peter rubs at his eyes again—which Tony notices are redder than usual. He raises an eyebrow suspiciously. “Are you sure ‘too much hassle’ was the only reason May was against you having cats?”

Something flashes across Peter’s face, but it’s gone just as soon as it appears. “Yeah, yeah of course. Well, that and she’s more of a dog person, really, but they’re not allowed in the apartment.”

“Hm.” Tony glances at his watch. “Alright, well it’s almost His Royal Highness’ dinner time.” He gestures to the kitchen. “Let’s go see if we can get him to choke down some caviar and truffles or something…”

Three hours later, Tony can’t ignore the signs any longer. After witnessing Peter’s third sneezing fit since dinner, he privately pulls the kid out into the kitchen. “Pete, c’mon,” he sighs. “Just admit it already.”

Taking a tissue from the box Tony holds out to him, Peter shrugs innocently. “Alright, you got me. Guess I’m coming down with a cold.” He wipes his nose.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “A cold that began ten minutes after entering our home and has only gotten progressively worse since?”

Peter chuckles a bit. “Yeah, go figure, right? Perfect timing for my weekend off. What does Doctor Banner call that again?” He tilts his head to the side in thought. “Starts with an L…”

“Pete…”

“Leisure sickness!” he recalls, his face lighting up. “That’s the word. Think I’ve got that.”

Rolling his eyes, Tony starts ticking each symptom off on his fingers. “Your nose is running, your eyes are watery, you’re sneezing—”

“Which is all from the cold,” Peter cuts him off. He coughs twice into his elbow. “See? Sick.”

Tony scoffs. “In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never once admitted to being sick unprompted.” He pauses a beat. “Including that time you were actively vomiting.”

Peter rubs a hand at the back of his neck and gives a sheepish grin. “So I'm really demonstrating growth, then, huh?”

Tony ignores him and soldiers on. “You’re itching,” he says, gesturing to the red welts emerging on Peter’s forearms and neck. “You’re getting a rash—”

Peter tugs his hoodie sleeves down to cover them. “I think that’s the new laundry soap I’ve been using...”

Tony blinks at him. “Your eyes are bright red, kid.”

Peter opens his mouth to retort something, but then closes it again. He drops his gaze to the floor and lets out a hard sigh. “Okay… okay you’re right,” he admits. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t wanna say it around Morgan.” He looks up and, with a totally straight expression, whispers, “I’ve been smoking weed, Mr. Stark. I’m actually tripping balls right now.”

“Peter, just admit that you’re allergic to cats!”

“Huh?” Morgan cries from the living room where she has her kitty on her lap while she watches Curious George. “Peter’s allergic to Waffles?!” The cat dives off her lap and out into the kitchen, hiding behind Peter’s leg.

Peter winces. Then his nose wrinkles up and he sneezes four times into his wad of tissues. When he draws in his next breath, it’s more of a wheeze.

Tony heaves out a sigh. “Alright, we’re done here.” He bends down and scoops the cat up. “Waffles is staying in Pep’s office for the remainder of this weekend.”

“What?” Morgan blurts.

“Yeah, what?” Peter echos, snatching the cat back from Tony’s arms. “You can’t do that!”

“Pete, he’s making you sick,” Tony points out as Peter sneezes yet again. “If you’re already this bad in three hours, how do you expect to breathe in a couple more days?”

Peter looks stricken. “But… But you don’t understand.” He hugs the cat a little tighter and Tony swears he can see fresh hives emerging on Peter’s neck. “I just love him so much, Mr. Stark,” he says earnestly. “I would honestly die for this cat.”

Tony sighs and pats his shoulder consolingly. “Yeah, and that’s looking more and more like it might become reality, kiddo...”

It takes some convincing—and a bit of bribery—but eventually he gets the kids to agree to his plan. In the end, Morgan and Peter settle for a six-foot-tall ‘Royal Castle Kitty Condo’ (complete with a litter moat) in exchange for Waffles’ temporary banishment. He then sends Peter to the guest room while he and Morgan transfer the cat’s most essential supplies into the office, grateful for once that Pepper’s staying downtown this weekend.

Waffles promptly makes himself at home on the very top of her bookshelf—after first knocking over two glass figurines and a meticulously ordered stack of papers, sending legal documents flying around the room.

(Tony wonders just what kind of royal castle equivalent he’s going to have to bribe Pepper with when she gets back.)

It’s 12:16 a.m. when Tony remembers that they forgot to give Waffles his anti-hairball paste that evening and comes grumbling out of bed to do so.

It’s 12:19 a.m. when Tony opens the office door to see Peter, sitting on the floor with that damn cat curled up in his lap, wheezing out a high-pitched chant of, “Who’s a good kitty? Who’s a good boy?” between puffs of his inhaler as he strokes Waffles’ fur.

It’s 12:21 a.m. when Tony just gives up trying to reason with the kid and goes raiding the bathroom cabinets for Benadryl.

Link to all my fics

If you liked this story, you might also like:

Beanimia

Morgan Stark, M.D.

Fevers, Bananas, & Math Lessons

#fluff #domestic fluff #irondad #irondad fic #morgan stark #Peter Parker & tony stark #cats #allergies #sick peter parker #peter parker whump #my fic #tony stark has a heart #peter parker is a little shit

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bubbyleh · 4 years

Text

A Series of Shockingly Close Calls (ch.1)

oh no I fan fic’d a fan fic. I got thinking about soft monster au Boomer moments and it made my brain go bbbbrrrrr so then this happened. I’m woozy as hell because nobody told me that the antacids they were putting me on would make me not able to absorb my thyroid meds so I’m both very hypo, very potsy (cus hypo makes my p.o.t.s. worse) and in withdrawal so there’s no blood in my brain and I’m wacked out which makes me get suuuuuper purple with my prose so sorry for all the “forthright"s and "moreovers”. I’m just a little creature I cannot help this. Written in one sitting and probably a lot of typos and I’m sorry if I accidenally used ‘he’ for bubs in there somewhere I was having trouble with that. Once again, I’m p deep in withdrawal rn so bear with me. Anyway let me know if this is acceptable to put on ao3 as a gift fic to your fic. (yes I do plan on their being more than one chapter. no I make no promises due to aforementioned medical issues)

crocs here! sorry to put this in the middle of your submission, but i thought it’d get lost at the end. this is amazing! fanfic of a fanfic? i love this so much and i’m going to cherish it forever, thank you!

you can post this to ao3, i would be so happy if you did! i hope you feel better soon, i know health problems can be sucks. and don’t worry if you called bubby “he”, i write them using he/they pronouns (i just default to “they” for simplicity).

also, i hope you don’t mind that i put a read more in! ________

Three months.

Three months into Harold Coomer’s acquaintanceship with his eccentric and eclectic(in both taste and physical composition) companion was the first time the homunculus had begun to feel, as they’d put it, ‘drained’.

Bubby had explained to an enraptured Coomer,on more than one occasion, the nature of their state of reanimation, far different from Coomer’s own. They were a man-made construct of flesh, artfully pieced together from pieces of different corpses, stitched into a singular being and imbued with life by the great and terrible force of the heavens, in the form of lightning.

Coomer said it reminded him of Prometheus, sculpting mankind from clay.

Bubby said it reminded them of a penny dreadful.

They existed in a state between life and death, though not quite undeath, either. Certainly each composite part of them, corpses as they had been, could be considered undead, but Bubby themself was a new creation that came into life for the first time upon the metal slab of their creators laboratory, never having ‘died’ and therefore not being themselves brought back from the dead, but nevertheless composed of reanimated parts.

They were sustained not by blood coursing through veins, but rather electricity, which was honestly a boon for Coomer. He was still fairly young, by vampire standards, anyway, and his self control could be…spotty at times, and it was nice to have a companion that he could sit beside and feel no desire to tear their throat out and drain them of their life juices. They could subsist without food or drink if they needed to, as well, which was also helpful, as it was often not possible for either of them to venture into civilization to obtain rations of any kind.

However, there were downsides to Bubby’s condition, as well, which began to make themselves apparent those three months in.

Bubby’s escape from the lab of their creation was as unplanned as it was unorthodox. The whole thing had apparently been pure chaos from beginning to end, and Bubby didn’t seem to enjoy talking about it very much. Certainly an angry mob was involved, at least some pitchforks and torches, and a massive inferno of less than fully explained origin(‘Fire good,’ Bubby had said with a shrug), the last of which providing a convenient distraction for Bubby to make their escape into the nearby woods, but they hadn’t exactly had ample time to plan or provision their flight. They couldn’t take any of the tools or resources their creator had with them when they fled. They had no idea what they would need, nor any idea of what to expect when they were away from that lab for any extended period of time

Three months after their escape, it began to become apparent.

Coomer noticed long before Bubby said anything, and, in fact, had to more or less force a confession out of them about it.

Bubby just began to…slow, the way one does when they’ve gone too long without proper sleep. They began to stumble more often, to take longer to think of words, and such. The difference was very slight, only so drastic as someone who had woken up an hour or so before they’d have liked to that morning, and generally only became noticeable when Bubby was themself tired, but sleep never seemed to completely chase away that fatigue and Coomer worried.

He especially worried when Bubby practically panicked at Coomer’s slight inquiry into the subject, insisting far too forcefully that nothing was wrong and changing the subject. Coomer was eventually able to wrestle(both metaphorically and literally) an answer from them.

Energy of any kind, is finite, and that included the energy that maintained Bubby’s state of ‘half life’. Without supplementing it, it would eventually run out. Bubby’s creator had a huge contraption of wire and steel that Bubby would be attached to via the bolts on their neck. When lightning struck the lightning rod atop the laboratory roof, it would travel down those wires into the bolts and, by extension, Bubby, ‘recharging’ them, as Bubby put it.

“Why on Earth didn’t you tell me?” Coomer demanded.

“Because I didn’t…Because it’s none of your business!” Bubby snapped. “I don’t go snooping into how you get your ‘fix’! When you disappear into a town for the night, I don’t pry into your sudden improvement in pallor. I don’t ask you about the screams!”

Coomer flinched. It was a low blow and he was immediately inclined to take the bait, but the look in their eyes gave him pause. It was a fearful glint like a trapped animal, lashing out in fear, not anger.

He huffed out a small, unnecessary breath and crossed his arms.

“What is this really about?” he asked, voice calm, but stern. “Why didn’t you…,” his voice wavered, ever so slightly, “Why didn’t you trust me?”

The anger in Bubby’s face drained in an instant, falling instead into a look of pain and remorse.

“No, it’s not like that!” they insisted. “I just…I didn’t…I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t…I didn’t want you to…”

“To what?”

Bubby sighed, deflating. They averted their eyes, not meeting Coomer’s gaze.

“I didn’t want you to leave me behind,” they admitted at last, voice barely above a whisper. “There’s never been anything else like me before. I don’t know exactly how I work or how to keep myself working. I was afraid if you realized that, if you thought I couldn’t take care of myself, you’d…decide I was too much trouble.”

Coomer burst out laughing.

Any meekness to Bubby’s expression vanished in an instant and their bolts sparked with indignation.

“Why is it every time I bare my soul to you you laugh?!” they spat.

Coomer wiped a tear from his eye.

“Forgive me, Bubby,” he said. “It just strikes me as so completely preposterous I can’t help but laugh!”

“That I don’t even know how I can exist?” Bubby snarled. “That I don’t have any idea how this…hodge podge of flesh I call a body can even hold itself together? That I could just stop working one day and have no idea why? You find that ‘preposterous’?” they again cast their eyes to the ground, a mixture of shame and rage on their face.

Coomer’s expression softened and he stepped towards Bubby to lay a hand gently on their cheek and guide their face up to meet his gaze.

“That you could think there was anything that would make me want to not be with you,” he said.

Bubby’s eyes went wide and his bolts sparked again, but with a softer sort of ‘hum’ of energy, rather than the earlier harsh zapping.

“You are one of a kind, Bubby,” he went on. “I’ve never even heard of something like you. I didn’t think something like you could even exist. It’s fascinating! You’re fascinating.”

Bubby’s mouth opened and closed like they wanted to speak, but couldn’t find any words.

“It’s easy, as an immortal, even one so relatively young as myself, to feel as though the world begins to stagnate.” Coomer continued. “That someday one will reach the point at which existence can yield nothing else but that with which one is already too well acquainted. But you…You’re something entirely new. Something unprecedented. There’s so much to learn from you. About you. I want to… understand you.”

Coomer dropped his hand from Bubby’s face to their shoulder, this time being the one to avert his gaze.

“Moreover, I want to…I want to see you experience this world, as new to you as you are to it,” he said. Had he not been long dead, a flush would have probably risen to his cheek. “There’s so much you haven’t seen, haven’t done. I want you to see them, to do them. And moreso, I want to show them to you, give them to you. The way your eyes light up at things I’ve lived in fear someday would hold for me only monotony and makes me feel as though I could never again find them mundane…I want to see that. I want…I want to never stop seeing it.”

He braved a glance back up at Bubby, who was agape with shock.

“Nothing so trivial as a lack of energy could possibly deter me,” he said, voice resolute. “Even if I have to build a tower of steel and wire myself, there’s nothing that would make me leave you. For as long as…as long as you’ll have me.”

Bubby’s hand clasped onto Coomer’s still resting on their shoulder, holding on like they expected him to disappear if their grip wavered.

“Forever!” they said, instantly, then seemed to panic at their own forthrightness. “I mean, for as…for as long as you’ll have me.”

Their bolts were crackling with electricity now, sending off small, glowing motes and arcs of energy.

Coomer smiled and reached out with his other hand to touch Bubby’s cheek again.

Many years later, when Coomer would become fully educated on the idea of a ‘circuit’ and the ramifications of completing one by placing one’s hands on either side of what was essentially an openly sparking power source, the resulting occurrence would be an interesting and enlightening memory.

As it stood in the moment, the resulting electrocution simply caused him to be rendered briefly unconscious and his hair to not lie flat for a week.

#hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #submission #hlvrai boomer #boomer #monster au #on a dark and dreary night #I ADORE THIS #YOU THOUGHT MORE ABOUT BUBBY'S ELECTRICITY THAN I HAVE

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kats-random-writing · 3 years

Text

Just a silly Crush

6,048 words

Warnings:

Contains major character deaths.

This is written in Ochako’s POV so the reader is Uraraka.

——————————————————————————

Just a silly Crush

“Okay listen up, Next week UA is hosting a Halloween festival.”

Cheers erupt as Aizawa addresses the class, until his glare silenced everyone. “This is basically an excuse for students to blow off steam” he sighed “the school will be decorated and the Main Street will be the main attraction, but each class has a private gym for their own use. That being said, you are all expected to take this seriously. In today’s society new heroes especially need to know how to impress people to get better ratings. You’ll all be expected to act respectfully, and dress for the occasion.” –

“SO, WE GET TO SEE ALL THE GIRLS IN SKIMPY HALLOWEEN COSTU~” Mineta’ s outburst is cut short by Aizawa’s capture weapon wrapping all around him.

“As I was trying to say,” he sighed “the school might just be using this for students to have fun, I expect you all to act respectfully and appropriately. Now you all already voted, so for your free time you will get a dance, present mic will DJ for you for 2 hours then you are free to do as you please.”

You raise your hand “Mr. Aizawa? Are we sure this is safe? I mean after all we’ve been through in this year alone! How do we know villains won’t attack? Thinking back over your career at UA, supposedly the top hero school it didn’t make sense how your class had been attacked so often, it almost seemed like the villain’s had an inside look at how UA operates.

“Uraraka, the school thinks this is a good idea for all of you, obviously there will be enhanced security procedures.” He sighed again “But the life of a hero is never safe, you always have to be ready to jump into action. If you want an easy job, then obviously the hero isn’t the right one for you” he gives you a pointed look as he climbs into his obnoxiously bright sleeping bag.

“Anyways that’s all I have for you today, you're all dismissed” and somehow, he’s asleep before anyone can pack up.

“Man, that was harsh!” you blush “I just want everyone to have a good time! I know hero work is hard”

“At least we get to dance again! You were all getting so good!” Mina jumps and throws her arms around you and the other girls who had gathered around you.

“I must say, this does sound like an excellent opportunity for us to grow. My first internship was all about making good impressions in the media” Momo chimed in, gathering a collection of agreements from the class until a loud voice took over “THAT’S RIGHT” you immediately recognize Iida’s booming voice “EVERYONE, WE MUST DO OUR BEST TO SHOW OUR SCHOOL SPIRIT AND ADVANCE OUR CAREERS AS HEROS!!!”

As Iida continues his surprisingly well-rehearsed speech Mina leans down and whispers in your ear “hey Ochako, this might be the perfect chance for you!!”

“Perfect chance for what?” you respond confused,

“For you to confess of course!”

“WHAT!” you shriek,

you swear you couldn’t blush any harder if you tried “Whatdoyoumeanwahtareyoutakingabout” you whisper again, panicked as you wait for what feels like forever for her response.

But it never comes.

“Uraraka?”

Instead, a new voice joins the conversation, “What’s going on are you okay?”

It’s only then that you see that all eyes are on you, thanks to your unexpected outburst.

You were wrong, you apparently could blush harder. Deku’s voice breaks through your shock, as he asks again, “are you okay?” you swear you could see a hint of pink dusting his freckled cheeks, as he stares into your eyes.

You’re never going to stop blushing at this point.

You stare intently back until you feel a sharp pain in your ribs, “Ouch” you cry rubbing the spot where Mina had elbowed you, bringing you back to reality. Oh yeah. The whole class was still staring at you. “I’M FINE, EVERYTHING'S FINE, NOTHING TO SEE HERE!” you say louder, and higher than you meant. Slowly everyone begins to go back to their conversations and leave the classroom. Snickering Mina links your arms together and leads the two of you to your next class, Hagakure joins you and links her arm around your free arm, ‘I agree with Mina, I think you should confess too,” she pauses before adding “Mina! Have you figured it out yet? Who do you think it is?”

Panic strikes again, “What are you talking about Toru? Figured who out?” You question as you fake a sense of nonchalance. “Who you have a crush on silly” Mina laughs back. “oh, ah that”

“I need to get a drink” you announce quickly, surprising both girls and wiggle your arms free despite their protests. You tell them you’ll see them in your next class and speed down the hallway, still hearing their speculations on who they think your “crush” is.

***

Mina’s words stuck with you for the rest of the day and it passed in a blur, it felt like no time had passed before you were sitting in the dorm common room with the rest of the girls doing your homework. Most of the boys had joined you too, the only ones missing were Bakugou, who never really hung out with anyone other than Kirishima, who was also missing. And Deku who you could see outside training in the fall air. You looked around at all the strong young heroes and thought about how each one inspired you towards your own goals, you thought hard about each of your supposed crushes;

Iida who was always confident in his decisions and sometimes good to a fault.

Bakugou, even though he appeared rough he had treated you like an equal during your fight at the sports festival and continued to stand up for you in your absence.

And Deku, Deku who had risked his life to save you before you even knew him, Deku who you secretly tried to help by giving your hero points after the UA entrance exam, Deku who had a heart of gold and worked harder than anyone to reach his goal of living up to the legacy of the number one hero, and you knew he could do it too, one day. And that scared you.

Leaning over to Mina who was sitting on the couch beside you, you whisper “You’re right. I’m going to do it. It’s time to confess”

***

Each passing day brought more excitement and anxiety, but you had made up your mind, you knew that you would last much longer, there was already suspicion and suspicion brought more eyes than you wanted on you. You had to solidify your plan, there was no room for error, with so many attempts behind you, you knew that this had to succeed.

You stared out the window as your mind raced, going over every aspect of the night ahead of you, and exactly what you wanted to say - “I’m sorry Uraraka, is this lesson boring you?” A deep voice asked.

Aizawa.

Oh yeah, you need to factor him in too. “NO! Of course not! I’m sorry! I… I was just…...thinking about tonight….” you confess to your teacher,

“Just pay attention please” Is all he responds to, as he turns back to the bored, and you finally clue into the lesson. It's on hero costumes??

You look up to see a crude drawing of Deku’s hero outfit with point’s to where he needs to improve aspects or where he succeeded. Did he go over everyones costumes and you just didn’t notice?

His voice interrupts your train of thought again, “I know everyone is excited about tonight, but remember that UA has a lot riding on this, there have been too many incidents this year and we don’t want UA’s name to look worse in the eye of the public” He sounds almost sarcastic, “Anywho~ that’s I have for you today. Your all dismissed.”

“Mr. Aizawa, we have a full half hour of scheduled class time left?!” Iida immediately questions. “Not to disrespect your authority sir, but should we not continue learning while in our scheduled homeroom class?” The rest of the class members agree and look up expectantly at Aizawa who is struggling to climb into his sleeping bag.

“I’m tired and have nothing else to teach today,” he pauses before adding “besides it seems like most of you are “too distracted” this afternoon.” Finally in his sleeping bag he curls up and closes his eyes. The class slowly begins to gather their things and leave, but apparently not fast enough as aizawa’s voice rings though the room again “ Go get ready for tonight, I’m sure you’ll look totally cu~…….” his voice raised an octave, before he paused to cleared his throat “I’m sure you all want to look your best.”

“And you’re all too loud…….. Leave…….now.”

You looked around at your class, and everyone was staring at your teacher with varied expressions of shock, confusion, and a few horror. “I’ve never known aizawa-sensei to stay awake so long after getting in his sleeping bag” Momo says to Jiro as they leave. Mineta, still horrified, looks up to Kamanari “Was it just me or did Aizawa…sorta sound like a girl!”

“You think EVERYTHING is a girl” Kamanari retorts, chuckling as he leaves the classroom.

The rest of the class leaves the room in a similar fashion. The rest of the school day passes like normal, except maybe for when Bakugou didn’t yell at Deku in the lunch line, but that probably was just Kirishima’s influence, the more time the two of them spent together, the better bakugou's attitude was, Kirishima’s grades seemed to keep rising too. Before you knew it you were sitting on Momo’s monster of a bed with the rest of the 1-A girls, the difference between your room and Momo’s room couldn’t be any more obvious. Jealousy stabbed thought you, you didn’t mean to really, but it’s hard when you see more money in Momo’s dorm bedroom then your family had in their bank accounts combined, and it stung. You didn’t blame Momo, she didn’t choose her rich life any more than you choose to be born to poor parents. All you could think about was the countless times you skipped meals, or “forgot” about school trips, and all the other things you did to save money for your parents. Of course when they found out they were shocked, but you just reassured them that there was nothing you wouldn’t do for your family.

“So have you decided what costume you want Ochako?” Your head snaps up as Momo’s voice interiors your train of thought, “OH! Um, I was thinking about…….well maybe going as a witch?” You admit shyly. “Adorable” croaked Sue, “Omg! You're going to look so cute” Mina chimes in, “Your mystery mans not going to know what hit him!” Hagakure ads.

You feel your face heat up, betraying you as you look over the girls, you know that after tonight everything will be out in the open and different, and you're thankful that they’ve been so supportive of you and your secrets. “Guys! Stop!” You squeak,

“Okay, one witch costume coming right up” Momo says as she begins forming a dark material from her abdomen, “Do you want a hat too?” She questions.

Before long you're all dressed in your costumes, you look around and see Momo as the bride of Frankenstein, she must have talked to Present Mic to get her hair to stay up like that, you think to yourself. Mina’s in the 1-A cheer outfit from the sports festival, Hagakure is going as a skeleton, at first she wanted to just have the bones attached directly to her to look more realistic and spooky, but we very quickly reminded her that Mineta would be around and that idea changed real fast. Now she wore a black bodysuit that you and the girls had painted to look like a skeleton. Sue is looking festive as a pumpkin and Jiro is rocking a suit and tie demon look! You looked down at the costume Momo had made for you, of course it was super stylish, the orange top highlighting the rest of the black dress, you had pulled your short hair back into a small bun, leaving you bangs loose and completing the look with black tights and the tradition witches hat.

***

As you walked the now decorated halls of UA, the festival was just beginning, and there were people everywhere. Not surprisingly everyone was in costume, making it a little difficult to tell who was who. As you continued to walk down to your designated gym you swear you recognized the purple scar-like...makeup? under someone’s mask leading down his neck, he stood almost a head taller than you, but was lost to the crowd as quickly as you spotted him in the first place. “People are really going all out aren’t they?” You say to no one in particular.

As the class enters the “gym”, if it could even be called a gym anymore, given the schools money and use of quirks to completely change its every aspect to fit its needs. The wide room was dimly lit and the floor was covered in a thick fog that wafted around your legs as you walked through it, the wall’s had spider webs, fairy lights, and some cheesy halloween decorations, and the whole space was surprisingly beautiful. The girls were the first in and Mina and Hagakure were already running around the whole room squealing loudly, drawing a few laughs from the rest of the girls. That is until Mina tripped and fell with a scream and was swallowed by the smoke! “Mina!” You cry out as you run across the hall to see what happened to your friend.

“Oh my god what happened” you say as you reach the disturbed smoke, you squint and see Mina still on the ground, she sits up on your approach, “That was super weird, something tripped me but I don’t see anything?”

Suddenly whatever Mina had tripped over was sitting up and right in your faces, next thing you know you're looking right into two dead eyes and a face wrapped in cloth.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH” YOU, MINA AND HAGAKURE ALL SCREAM IN UNISON!

As you’re still trying to catch your breath you hear laughing from behind you, while you were running to Mina’s aid, the rest of your class had come in just in time to see the three of you scream right in your teachers face. “Mr. Aizawa I didn’t know you were going to dress up too” Jiro chuckles, reaching down to help Mina up. You look back at the cause of your fright and now can clearly see your teacher, Mr. Aizawa sitting up staring expectantly at you, and dressed up in a halloween costume no less. “BAHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ROUND CHEEKS YOU SHOULD’VE SEEN YOUR FACE” you can still hear Bakugou howling in the background. Your face feels a million degrees hotter than it did two seconds ago, you look up and see a hand reaching down to help you up. It’s Deku.

You slowly reach for his hand, and he easily pulls you to your feet, “That looked like you were really surprised, are you okay?” he asked you earnestly, A blush dusting across his own face as he still holds your hand.

“God you're all so loud” Aizawa groans as he begins to stand up “but you're all here now, your individual class time is starting in two minuets, then after that you are all free to explore the festival.”

“Nice mummy costume Mr.Aizawa!” Denki calls after the retreating man, “wait, if he’s dressed up like a mummy, but he’s our class dad, what do we call him tonight?” you're not sure if he meant to say that out loud, but given the confused look on his face, when the class laughs and groans, you think that was supposed to stay a personal thought, not a public comment. Jiro Punches his shoulder, and only then do you notice that their costumes are matching, you look around the gym to finally look at everyone else, you see iida as some sort of patch work frankenstein, Todoroki is in a classic vampire costume, and looking like he just woke up, Bakugou surprisingly in a partnered costume, is a wolf. Kirishima looks to be his own twist on a little red riding hood, so he’s little Red Riot hood! And you finally look at the boy still holding your hand, And see he’s dressed up as a ghost.

“YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!! WHOS READY FOR SOME SPOOOOOKY FUN!!” a voice far too loud for the space invades your ears, and instinctively you scramble to cover them as your eyes search for the loud offender. You see Present Mic standing across the room from the group and an angry Aizawa behind him. “Sorry Listeners!” he sheepishly responds “ NOW FOR THE NEXT TWO HOURS YOUR CLASS IS GONNA DANCE, GROOVE AND HAVE A SCARY GOOD TIME! AIZAWA AND I ARE GOING TO BE MONITORING THE DANCE FLOOR AND DOOR TO KEEP ALL YOU LISTENERS SAFE!” recovering quickly the blond continued to go though the rules of the night, and soon there is music flowing through the room.

Like all school dances at first people just milled around, But Mina and Mic very quickly got almost everyone up and moving around the dance floor and having a great time. You all learn some new dance moves, play a few games and generally enjoy the night, before you know it the two hours is almost over. You’re taking a break for a drink of water, you turn around and see all the girls surrounding you. “Uh, hi guys” you say awkwardly “what’s going on?”

“What’s going on is there’s about half an hour left and it’s time.” Hagakure is the first to speak.

“She's right, Ochako” Says Sue.

“You’ve got this dude, nothing to be scared of”’ Jiro speaks next

“We’re here for you, and this is for your own good” it’s Momo’s turn to encourage you.

“Look, the next song is going to be a slow song! You are going to go out there grab that boy, dance, confess, kiss, and basically live happily ever after!” Mina says finally.

You stare at all of them for a second, then two. You know deep in your heart this is your last chance. In those few seconds you swear your whole life flashed before you. And you make your choice.

“Okay.”

“No need to sound so somber!” “no matter what we love you!” “don’t worry, it’s going to be okay” the girls all group in tight to all hug you, all while telling you things would be okay, and you hugged them all back like it was the last one you’d get. All while trying to believe the words they said.

Slowly they all make their way back to the dance floor as the current song seems to be slowing down. A knock at the door calls Aizawa to answer, seeing as him and Mic were keeping track of who could come in and out for student safety. You watch as Aizawa looks through the small window and waves an okay to Present Mic. So you turn your attention back to the task at hand.

Just as Mina had said, once the upbeat song ended, a much softer and slower song started. You scanned the room, paying no mind to the new people Aizawa had let in, and watched as your classmates coupled up. All the girls had assured you if they started dancing with who you needed to talk to they would understand and let you take their place. But that didn’t appear to be necessary. Momo was dancing with todoroki, Sue with Tokoyami, Mina was causing a scene by stealing Kirishima from Bakugou, saying it was a school dance tradition that they share a dance. Hagakure and Ojiro were dancing quietly, and Denki looked like he was trying to convince Jiro not to be embarrassed, and she looked about two seconds away from actually dancing with him.

Leaving you.

Your eyes wandered the croud one last time, finally locking on the green eyed, green haired boy who had been taking up space in your mind for so long. You crossed the dance floor feeling like all eyes where on you, cheeks as red as can be, “May I have this dance?’’ You barely manage to whisper. You watch as his face lights up and blushes beet red at the same time.

“What! Are you sure? Seriously! Of course” he still looks shocked as you reach out your hand, he takes it. You feel your confidence rising as the two of you begin to dance. It’s blissful and calm for a minute, your hearts both beating a mile a minute, you take a deep breath and lean your head against his shoulder, slowing the dance to barely swaying side to side. “Deku, there’s something I need to get off my chest.” you begin quietly.

And he can only nod his head in response, you can only assume this is his first dance with a girl before.

The song is starting to slow and you know the end is coming, it’s time and you know it.

“Deku…...I…~”

Before you can finish your thought, the walls erupt with bright blue fire! Screams erupt from all around you as your class all jump to the middle of the room, with their retreat the fire starts to follow and spread to the floor circling the class!

“Mr.Aizawa!” Someone screams for help “EVERYONE AWAY FROM THE WALLS” comes another. “IS THIS REAL! IS THIS REAL OR TRAINING?” you hear as you watch the fire getting closer and closer

“EVERYONE GRAB HOLD” you scream as you hold out your hands! Desperate to get your friends away from the flames as quickly as possible. You feel hands clasp your own and see that everyone has grabbed onto each other. “URARAKA NOW!!” it’s Deku’s voice that breaks through. You activate your quirk and groan with effort and soon your whole class is suspended in mid air, it’s not a great solution, but it’s the only one you have at the moment as the fire covers the ground you were on seconds before.

“AIZAWA WHAT’S GOING ON '' you hear screamed from behind you, and you look down to see your teacher standing on the ground, the fire leaving a bubble around him and Present Mic on the ground at his feet. Whether he’s alive or dead you can’t tell, you didn’t even hear him go down. As your classmates watch in horror, Aizawa begins to smile, then laugh. The laugh doesn't match him though. It’s too high, too light, and too crazy.

As he begins laughing harder his whole being begins to melt.

The harder he laughs the more of him drips away, until nothing is left of your teacher and a small, naked blonde girl stands in his place.

As soon as you could recognise her as Himiko Toga from the league of Villains, the rest of your class could too. And just as your actual teacher instructed you, anyone who could, jumped into action as the rest of the attack party took their places beside her.

Bakugou, Todoroki and Tokoyami had the lead, seeing as they could maneuver best in the air.

“Kurogiri,” a deep voice calls out lazily, and in an instant anyone acting on their own was surrounded by black and purple smoke. You watched as your classmates struggled against their captor.

“STOP!” you command.

The power in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed as your classmates pause and even the villains stop their approach.

“Well well, looks like someone’s got balls” Dabi dralls “Kurogiri! Bring her closer.”

Before you can even think the dark smoke is forming around you, and quickly you’re covered and once your vision is returned to you, you’re face to face with the villain. He looks you up and down, skeptical, “and why would we stop doll?” He asks feigning innocence.

“Where’s our teacher? What did you do to Mic! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM US!” your voice raises as you question the man. And he laughed, A deep low chuckle.

“Your teacher’s alive” the blonde, Toga replies still naked “ if that’s what you mean, he’ll probably be waking up any time now”

“God, cover up Crazy”

Dabi rolls his eyes, practically throwing his long coat at the girl.

“Too bad he won’t make it here in time” Dabi adds sinisterly. His eyes never leave yours, almost like he doesn't know what to make of you. “LET ME GO YOU SMOKY BASTARD” Bakugou screams, drawing your attention back to your class, he’s thrashing around and trying everything to escape and fight. You see the others, some struggling to move while weightless, other’s where still frozen.

“Let. Her. Go.”

It’s Deku. You meet his eyes, he’s managed to support himself midair and is aiming his hand ready to fire a powerful air blast directly at the villains. You quickly look at the rest of your class, no one else seems to be able to fight, they float aimlessly trying hard to just stay looking at you in the villain’s grasp.

“You want her?” Dabi laughs,

“Catch!” With that your still weightless body is thrown through the air directly at Deku, who barely has time to move to catch you. You land with a thud against his chest, immediately reaching your arms around his neck, “Are you okay?” he asks quickly, and you tighten your arms around him in response. “Why’d you throw her back?” whines Toga in the background, “She’s cute, I wanted to stab her” “Shut up Crazy, I wanna see something”

“Deku, Don’t fight back.” You whisper in his ear, Leaning away from him you look at the rest of the class all staring at you wide-eyed, “Everyone! Please don’t fight back!” you reach to cup the messy haired boy's cheeks, and he slowly starts to move lower to the ground under your touch…..

“There’s no use!” you continue, voice growing louder,

“You’ll never win.” You state plainly.

You turn your head to look back to Dabi, the flame villain, “Gimme some space.” you command. “Well I’ll be damned….” and just as requested the ground reappears beneath you, giving you just enough space on the singed ground for you to stand and Deku to lay, without being burned by the bright flames. You continue the motion, until Deku is flat on his stomach, letting him go, you stand straight and look over the people you once called your friends. “This is the only chance I can give you.” you begin, only to be quickly interrupted. “What are you talking about!” “Ochako what’s going on! What do you mean!” “NO!nonononononononono” and countless other things are all said at once by all your classmates. The other villains approach, until they are standing next to you. “Should I break the news to them?” Dabi asks sarcastically,

Ignoring the floating students you turn to face the taller man, “No it’s okay, besides I’m actually a little relieved they’re all so shocked”

“Hey, Ochako?” Toga piped in, turning your attention again, “What’s wrong with Izuku?”

She’s standing over the fallen hero-to-be. Poking him with her knife, not enough to actually stab him but beginning to draw blood from his exposed skin.

“He’s a threat if he can move, so I took care of it.” Silence. You realize, no one is talking, your classmates must finally understand the gravity of the situation.

“How Long?”

It’s Bakugou who breaks the silence, he must be thinking back to the training camp where he was kidnapped, it’s the only other time you’ve heard his voice so small. Ignoring them all you continue your well prepared speech. “As I was saying, This is the only chance I can give you.”

You state plainly, looking up at your stunned audience. “If you join us now and dedicate yourselves to Shigaraki, and bringing down our so-called hero society, I can spare you. Most of you have desirable quirks, and it would be a shame to lose them.”

“HOW FUCKING LONG”

You look up at Bakugou, pity in your eyes, the poor boy has been through so much, but you already knew he was one who would never give in, never submit to Shigaraki. “Since before I even enrolled in UA.” finally answering his question, you figure they deserve that much. “So yes I did know about the plan to kidnap you at our training camp, They tracked me, that's how they knew where we were. I even did my best to slow down your rescue party to make sure my team would succeed.” you see hatred in his eyes as you refer to the “villians” as your team.

“HOW COULD YOU!?” “THIS ISN’T REAL” “no…...it’s not true! IT CAN’T BE TRUE”

The whole class begins yelling their disbelief over each other. One voice in particular catches your attention, it’s only one word, barely more than a whisper. But it stabs through your heart nonetheless.

“Why?”

His eyes can only just reach yours, as Deku strains to move his head under the immense pressure holding him down, tears pouring as he repeats himself, “why?”

“I told you the first time you asked, don’t you remember Deku?” The rest of the class silences again to listen to every word you speak, still trying to wrap your heads around the fact that you are standing next the the “bad guys”

“Money, I need the money for my family. You’d think that in a world of Hero vs Villain, and with the abundance of collateral damage, a construction company would be able to afford a decent living. NO! My family had to suffer and struggle for years! no hero would help because we weren't being attacked, Banks wouldn’t do anything, NO ONE WOULD HELP US.” emotion filling your voice as you grow louder and louder. “No one. That is until I was contacted by someone who was willing to look under the surface of the “perfect” society and see what needed to change” sarcasm you’ve been hiding for so long finally breaches the surface, and as you press your hands together at your fingertips, all of your classmates begin to sink closer to the brilliant blue flames beneath them. “I actually have you to thank Deku. You see my employer kept a special eye on All Might, “the Number One Hero”, “The Symbol of Peace” Ugh” you groan in disgust, “We’ll my employer new All Might was getting older and weaker, so he would obviously be looking for a successor, and unlike my employer he didn’t start looking until the last minute, actually putting you in immense danger by the way.” laughing as you listen to the screams coming from your class as they get closer and closer to the flames.

“So when All Might started training a new successor for One for All, You all know about that right, Deku inherited All Might's power, that's why he was quirkless the rest of his life and why he kept breaking his bones. HE’S HAD A QUIRK FOR LESS THEN A YEAR AND HE’S ALREADY EITHER REACHED OR SUPPASSED MOST OF YOU! AND YOU’VE HAD YOUR QUIRKS FOR YOUR WHOLE LIVES!” letting your arms fall to your sides, as your classmates hover just over the fire.

“I’m getting off track, basically we knew we needed to shock this society to its core, and how better then to destroy its core. The prized hero school, the symbol of peace, the next generation.” you emphasize each word. “So I tried to make sure deku would get into UA, not that he needed my help, I also made sure he didn’t kill himself day one” you send a pointed look down at Deku and Bakugou. “I organized and planned from inside and made sure that my team had everything they needed to infiltrate UA. All while pushing my quirk and gaining control I couldn’t even imagine”

Coughing is all that comes from the students, the air too hot and filled with smoke. “Wanna wrap this up doll” Dabi points to the ceiling, the fire from the wall has almost completely covered the ceiling, the building is going to come down and you know it. “So how about it? Hero's” He sneers “Anyone going to take our generous offer?” Everyone is struggling now, no one wants this to be their end. But no one moves. Anyone who can just glares down, “Never.” “You’re not going to get away with this” “trator” they’ve all made their choices. Dabi turns to look at Shoto, who is still wrapped head to toe with Kurogiri’s smoke. “Really not even you, Baby brother?” Shoto’s eye’s widened in surprise. “You don’t want dear old dad to pay, pay for what he did to you,” he covers his left eye mimicking Shoto’s scar “ what he did to Touya?” gesturing to himself “What about what he did to our mother!” Shoto stays silent as ever, you turn to dabi “I think it's time to leave~” your cut off.

“Okay”

“What” you and Dabi say in unison, “I said okay” Shoto repeats “I’ll follow you, your right. Hero society does need to change.”

“Kurogiri bring him to us, doll go do your thing, crush him if he tries anything funny.” you walk over to where Shoto was being let down from Kurogiri’s grasp, reaching out to touch his face “like he said, try anything funny and your on the ground like roadkill” he nods in agreement and just next thing Shoto’s body was released from the fog, and true to his word. Shoto didn’t move. “Okay, I mean it this time, time to go. Kurogiri take us home.” the whooshing of Kurogiri’s warp gate behind you signals it's now or never. Ears finally fulling tuning in to the cries and coughs of your class, “Last chance” you say hopefully. “THEY’LL KNOW IT WAS YOU!” Mina, tears streaming down her face “YOUR BODY WON’T BE HERE! THEY’LL COME FOR YOU”

Tears welling up in your own eyes, as you say a silent goodbye, before composing yourself. “How will they tell, when all that's left is ash.” you say somberly “I told you, I’ve been doing this for a while, I won’t be caught so easily.” you sigh, this is turning out to be harder than you thought. You did care about all of your classmates, spending so much time getting to know them, you had hoped some of them would’ve seen your side of things, but you were out of time, Dabi’s brilliant blue flames now began to peak through the roof.

“Thank you though Mina, for convincing me it was time to confess.” you say half heartedly “I did really wish some of you would’ve joined”

As you stepped back, halfway through the warpgate you look back down into Izuku’s eye’s one last time and whisper “I’m sorry” before pressing your fingers together one last time and forcing everyone one to the ground, the warpgate closes around you and you can still hear their screaming ringing in your ears.

***

As you look around the unfamiliar bar, you see Shoto talking to Dabi looking the most engaged you’ve ever seen him. Kurogiri behind the bar standing, waiting. A few others milled around, and Toga came bounding up to you as you reached up to your face, wiping tears you didn’t know were falling. “You okay Ochako? I can call you that right? Now that you're officially here?!” She says excitedly. “God it’s so nice to have another girl here since we lost big sis mag”

Quickly wiping your eyes “I’ll be okay, don’t worry, it’s just a silly crush”

#my hero academia #bnha #bnha traitor #mha traitor #server collab #mha ochako #ochako POV

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