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your-bestamericangirl · 17 days

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Midnight Love || ch. 3 - white ferrari

Paige Bueckers x Uconnwbb!reader

previous: ch.2 - golden || next: .4 - april || masterlist

a/n: not proofread sorry baes <3

now playing: slow dancing in the dark by joji

She was sat on her bed, the passing clouds cast fleeting shadows over her room, enveloping her in a familiar wave of frustration. Throughout (Y/n)'s life, there had been countless instances where she wished she could freeze time, if only for a moment. In her experience, time never seemed to align in her favour; nothing ever happened at the 'right time,' and she often had to work tirelessly to make things happen. Unfortunately, her life hadn't witnessed any miracles yet, and there seemed to be no signs of any on the horizon to rescue her.

Currently, the clock displayed 5:47 PM.

A river of clothing continued to spill out of (Y/n)’s wardrobe, forming several piles scattered across her floor. Various textures and colours now adorned every crevice of her room. What started as simple 'yes,' 'no,' and 'maybe' piles quickly multiplied into categories like 'yes-if-the-weather-stays-nice' or 'maybe-but-it-would-look-better-if-my-hair-was-up'. Defeated, (Y/n) slumped from her bed to the floor. Choosing an outfit wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly in this context.

5:50 PM

Now would’ve been the perfect moment for her first miracle.

As she stared at the chaotic array of clothing before her, she couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping in. It wasn't just the prospect of selecting the right outfit; it was the nagging uncertainty about the evening itself, looming on the horizon like an unanswered question. After all, it wasn't like she was getting dressed up for media day, it was just the rest of the team. She found herself second-guessing the decision to go at all. With a heavy sigh, (Y/n) pushed herself off the floor, resolving to make a decision one way or another. As she stood there amidst the scattered clothes, (Y/n) tried to rack her brain for what had compelled her to agree to this outing in the first place.

***That morning

"And good Lord, right then and there, I wished I could’ve just gotten killed earlier on when I was in that shark tank because my mom appeared, mad as hell, and was ready to slap the shit outta me-”

Absentmindedly, (Y/n) hummed in agreement as her eyes scanned the fully stocked shelves. The aroma of freshly baked bread from the nearby bakery section wafted through the air, making (Y/n)'s stomach growl in protest at its emptiness. For the past four aisles, KK had been recounting her so-called horrifying dream from the night before, all from inside their shopping cart. While the first 30 seconds had been captivating, (Y/n) soon realized that KK was far from done. This dream had been so 'emotionally and mentally impactful' that KK felt compelled to act out her car chase scene, resulting in her abandoning the cart. After the fateful crash, the two found themselves with a worker trailing them from behind, ready to intervene with KK’s boisterous antics if needed.

The restock of the week was greatly needed. With the pantry, kitchen, and fruit bowl left with nothing but dust, both girls’ moods had increasingly deteriorated from the day before. As KK continued to recount her experience, (Y/n) was left with the task of finding what they needed. “Mhmm, sounds traumatic speaking of that. What else do we need?”

KK gave her a look. “Yeah, it was. Thank you for your consideration.”

“Always for you. But you didn’t answer my question—what else do we need?”

Realizing that KK couldn’t wring out any more sympathy from (Y/n), she shifted her focus from recounting her painful nightmare to recalling the items on the grocery list she conveniently left at home—a detail she kept from the older girl.

“Uh, okay damn. I think like… meat?”

The cart suddenly jerked to a halt, catching KK off guard. She lurched forward, instinctively steadying herself on the shopping cart. The harsh fluorescent lighting overhead felt too intense for the early morning, casting stark shadows across the aisles.

KK turned around to face her roommate, ready to berate her for the sudden maneuver. However, the words of distaste dissolved on her tongue as she beheld (Y/n)'s expression. The older girl stood before her, eyes closed, brows furrowed in the middle, teetering between disbelief and strained patience. KK would be grateful to come out of this conversation unscathed.

(Y/n)'s tone was short, “KK.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

With a deep inhale, (Y/n) gripped the shopping cart, her fingers tightening around the metal handle as she suppressed the urge to vent her frustration. Swallowing back all the profanities that came to mind, she managed a strained smile.

“What type of meat?”

“You know, like, bruschetta… maybe some bacon-”

“Maybe?” (Y/n) raised an eyebrow, her patience waning.

KK chuckled, the sound bouncing off the fluorescent-lit aisles. “Nah, just kidding. We definitely need bacon. And also… Oh shit… Ice?”

(Y/n) blinked, the abrupt shift in conversation catching her off guard. “...Ice? KK, are you good? Because last time I checked, you were the one who brought up meat in the first place.”

In response, KK stood up from her position in the shopping cart, the metal rattling as she shifted her weight. “No look, it’s Ice.”

Following KK’s gaze, she then spotted Ice Brady in the next aisle. The 6’3 forward struggled to fit numerous bags of chips into her shopping basket, her arms stretched to their limits.

With a resigned sigh, (Y/n) began to maneuver the cart containing KK towards Ice's location. The wheels squeaked in protest against the linoleum floor, the rhythmic sound echoing in the bustling store. Despite her being a D1 athlete, she found herself growing weary of playing the role of chauffeur for her friend. Yet, as she glanced at KK’s expectant expression, she knew there was no escaping it.

“Ice Brady," KK sang, her arms outstretched in a theatrical gesture as the cart rolled to a stop. The spectacle drew the attention of nearby shoppers, who paused to witness the unfolding scene, transfixed by the unexpected drama. "Would you care for some assistance today?"

Ice, caught off guard by the flamboyant greeting, turned her attention from the bags of chips to KK's infectious smile. Amusement danced in her eyes as she surveyed the scene before her. With a nod of acknowledgment to (Y/n), who was still navigating the cart into a suitable parking spot, Ice responded, "I mean, if you hopped out of the cart, I could put my stuff in, but I wouldn’t want to trouble your highness."

“Oh!” KK’s hands came together in childish glee, pleased by Ice’s answer, “How considerate of you, but it's alright, I’ve been feeling courteous today.”

“So now you’re feeling ‘courteous’?” (Y/n) deadpanned as she made her way around the shopping cart across from Ice. As KK made her stellar attempt to climb out of the cart gracefully, (Y/n) stood behind her to help lift her out, “I’ve literally been pushing you around all morning, babes.”

She then made her way over toward ice to give assistance with the various chip bags enough to feed a family for christmas dinner.

“So,” KK started her smile towards Ice, selectively choosing to ignore her roommate’s comment “what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“Y’know, working had to feed the kids, and all that. You guys sure eat a lot”

“Wait,” KK gaped, “This is all for us?”

“Have you checked the group chat?” Ice questioned. In fact, they had not. Though she had been added days prior, (Y/n) had decided to keep her distance from that group chat. The two girls turned to look at each other, proceeded by KK quickly checking her phone.

Soon enough, her eyes ignited from within. “Hell yeah, party time,” she sang.

“K, you’re being dramatic, it’s literally just the team,” Ice laughed.

“Theres a hangout tonight?” (Y/n) questioned, her stomach forming knots at the thought of being in a room with all of the UConn Women’s Basketball team.

“Yup, everyone, including you two, are coming over."

(Y/n) glanced between KK and Ice, her expression shifting to one of mild apprehension. "Do I have a choice?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of resignation.

Both KK and Ice exchanged a knowing look before simultaneously replying, "Nope."

6:15 pm

During her first official collegiate-level game freshman year, (Y/n) led her team to a resounding victory, later that night earning her the coveted title of 'The People’s Princess' of the NCAA.

Beneath the blaring lights of the stadium, (Y/n) was radiant. It was a moment she had long envisioned, the culmination of years of relentless dedication and unwavering determination. With her eyes gleaming and her words flowing with confidence, she effortlessly captivated the reporter and everyone in attendance. Her presence seemed to cast a spell over the crowd, drawing them in with her infectious smile and undeniable talent.

In the weeks that followed, (Y/n)'s reputation soared to new heights. However, amidst the high, a subtle unease began to gnaw at her. She quickly realized that the pedestal on which she had been placed came with its own set of challenges.

Despite her remarkable achievements on the court, she found herself confined by the weight of expectations. The public's perception of her became increasingly polarized, with praise often overshadowed by harsh criticism. She was both celebrated and scrutinized for her gentle demeanour, her commanding presence, and even her choice of attire.

The constant contrast between adoration and disdain left her feeling unsettled, she was constantly walking on a tightrope between two worlds. Over time, she became acutely aware of the need to separate her on-court persona from her everyday life, a process that had equally drained but benefited her.

Yet, as she immersed herself deeper into the complexities of her newfound fame, (Y/n) couldn't shake the nagging feeling that appearance had become everything. In a world where perception was predominant, she grappled with the notion that her worth was measured not by her character or accomplishments, but by the image she projected to the world.

All this to say that unfortunately, (Y/n) had been second-guessing tonight’s event over and over again. Only two individuals had truly seen beyond the facade she meticulously maintained: KK and, in a distant past, Paige.

As (Y/n)'s life flashed before her eyes, her gaze fixed on the door before her, its weathered surface worn by years of use. The soft hum of chatter from beyond the door drifted through the air, mingling with the faint scent of pizza and anticipation that hung in the hallway. Each groove in the wood seemed to whisper secrets, a silent witness to her inner turmoil.

She took a deep breath, her fingers tracing the edges of the doorframe. The cool touch of the wood against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, a tangible reminder of the reality awaiting her on the other side. What would they think of her? Did she look presentable enough? Doubts gnawed at her confidence, threatening to unravel the facade she had carefully constructed.

With a steadying exhale, (Y/n) pushed open the door, crossing the threshold into the unknown. The soft click of the latch echoed in her ears, signaling her descent into the realm of uncertainty.

The scene unfolded before her, intimate and genuine, a tapestry woven with the bonds of teammates. The UConn Women’s Basketball team occupied every corner of Ice’s condo, their laughter mingling with the warmth of the confined space. Despite the inviting atmosphere, (Y/n) couldn’t shake the feeling of being an intruder in this vibrant gathering.

With each step forward, (Y/n) sensed the weight of her decision. The events of this evening would undoubtedly shape her relationship with the team for the rest of the year.

Luckily, no one had noticed her entrance yet. As (Y/n) scanned the room, she searched for KK among the multitude of bodies, most of them towering over her. Despite her efforts, KK remained elusive. Frustration etched her features as uncertainty gnawed at her. She caught her reflection in a nearby mirror, regarding herself with unease.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Lost in her inner turmoil, (Y/n) failed to notice the door behind her slowly swinging open.

As the door swung shut, the breeze proceeded to cause a shift among her hair. Shoving away all distractions, (Y/n) straightened her back, took a deep breath and prepared for her next step further into the house.

“You gonna move? Or do you need help, princess?” Paige's voice cut through the air, shattering (Y/n)'s concentration. All prior thoughts dissolved from her mind at those words, her focus instantly shifting to the unexpected encounter with Paige.

Despite the familiarity of seeing Paige's face plastered on banners around UConn, the proximity still rattled her. She had thought she'd grown accustomed to it, but the reality of facing Paige in person was an entirely different experience.

She had an image to maintain, (Y/n) wouldn’t shy away at simple words anymore.

With a subtle steeling of her resolve, she turned to face the taller girl, meeting Paige's gaze head-on. Though she found herself looking up at Paige, she refused to give any ground in their exchange.

The tension between them crackled in the air, each word laden with unspoken history and unresolved emotions. (Y/n)'s jaw tightened, but she refused to let Paige see any hint of vulnerability. She squared her shoulders and held Paige's gaze with unwavering determination.

"No need for assistance, thanks," (Y/n) replied evenly, her voice betraying none of the turmoil swirling inside her. "I can handle myself just fine."

Paige chuckled, taking a step closer to her. "Of course you can, Your Highness," she quipped, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "But it wouldn't hurt to let someone lend a hand every now and then."

(Y/n) bristled at the implication but forced herself to remain composed. "I'll keep that in mind," she replied curtly, stepping aside to let Paige pass.

Paige's lips quirked into a knowing smirk, but she didn't press the issue further.

While Paige moved past her, (Y/n) couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that lingered in the air. Despite her best efforts to maintain her facade of confidence, there was a vulnerability in her interactions with Paige that she couldn't seem to shake.

As (Y/n) made her way further into the room, she found herself enveloped in a warm atmosphere. Smiles greeted her from every direction, genuine and welcoming, easing the tension that had knotted in her stomach.

“Damn, girl, I was just about to check if you had been kidnapped! What took you so long.” Exclaimed KK as she searched every inch of (Y/n). The younger girl’s gaze soon turned towards Paige suspiciously suddenly recounting the day prior, eyes snapping back and fourth. But then quieter KK added, “Hm, okay, I see, I see…”

A chorus of laughter bubbled up around them at KK’s dramatic statement, the sound infectious and light-hearted. (Y/n) couldn't help but smile in response, the weight of earlier uncertainties melting away in the warmth of their acceptance.

Any lingering tension between them dissipated in the face of the group's genuine warmth, replaced by a sense of belonging and shared purpose.

After making her rounds, (Y/n) went to sit by the couch, where a mini circle had formed as the team watched Azzi and Aubrey in their death match of Mario Cart. The room was filled with the rhythmic clicking of controllers and the occasional whoops and groans as players navigated their virtual karts through the colourful tracks. Azzi and Aubrey were locked in intense concentration, their eyes glued to the screen as they jostled for the lead. The competitive banter between them added to the lively atmosphere, punctuated by bursts of laughter and playful teasing from the rest of the team. (Y/n) leaned back, taking in the scene with a contented smile.

As the night progressed, (Y/n) found herself settling in, enjoying the easy connection of the team. Their genuine willingness to engage with her put her at ease, dispelling any lingering apprehension. After wrapping up a conversation with Ashlyn about her cats back at home, (Y/n) decided to take a brief respite. She excused herself and made her way to the kitchen, feeling a headache creeping in as result of the loud atmosphere.

The cool touch of the glass along her fingers was well welcomed as (Y/n) took a sip of water. From her position in the kitchen, she had a comforting view of the apartment. As her gaze swept from Azzi and Aubrey fighting about wins and losses, to KK and Aaliyah filming their third tiktok of the night, her eyes landed on Paige.

Obviously, people change as they grow up. Physically, Paige was taller. Her dark blond roots peaked out like a halo. But, the space between them seemed to grow as well.

With a sigh, she turned to grab another sip of water. The kitchen, bathed in the soft glow of overhead lights, hummed with activity. The tiled floor gleamed underfoot, a testament to the cleanliness maintained in the shared space.

Unfortunately, right as she turned, she bumped into the one and only Nika Muhl.

“Oh, shit,” (Y/n) jumped, the water in her glass sloshing dangerously close to the brim.

Before she could react, the collision resulted in the water spilling on Nika, the droplets now flowing from Nika’s shirt onto the tiles below. (Y/n)'s heart sank at the sight

“I’m so sorry, let me help you,” she stammered, scrambling for a nearby towel, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Nika waved off (Y/n)'s apology with a chuckle, her easygoing demeanour putting her at ease. "Don’t worry about it, (Y/n). Accidents happen." Nika took the towel she offered and dabbed at her shirt, trying to contain the spill.

(Y/n) winced, feeling guilty. "I didn't mean to, I was just lost in thought."

Nika leaned against the counter, a small smile playing on her lips. "No harm done. Do you want to talk about whatever was on your mind?"

(Y/n) hesitated, not wanting to burden Nika with her concerns. But Nika's warm gaze encouraged her to speak up. "Yeah, I'm just trying to find my place with the team, you know? Sometimes it feels like I'm still the new kid."

Nika nodded in understanding, crossing her arms casually. "I get that. But trust me, (Y/n), you fit right in. Everyone likes you."

(Y/n) felt a warmth spread through her chest at Nika's words, and she couldn't help but blush. "Thanks, Nika. That means a lot."

Nika chuckled, nudging (Y/n) playfully. "Hey, don't mention it. And you know what? Even Paige couldn't stop talking about how excited she was when she found out you were joining."

(Y/n)'s eyes widened in surprise at the mention of Paige. "Really?"

Nika nodded, a knowing smile on her face. "Yep, really. It seems you’re quite the People’s Princess, (Y/n)."

Feeling a mix of emotions, (Y/n) leaned against the counter beside Nika, both of them watching the group outside the kitchen enjoying themselves. The sounds of laughter and chatter filled the air, creating a comforting backdrop to their conversation.

However, (Y/n)'s attention was soon drawn to the sight of everyone getting up and preparing to leave. "Where is everyone going?" she asked, confusion evident in her voice.

Nika followed her gaze, her expression turning playful. "I guess it’s about that time now.” Nika then stood up to trail the team out of the apartment. “Team tradition."

Now playing: white ferrari by frank ocean

The night enveloped the surroundings in a tranquil embrace, casting a serene aura over the playground. The soft glow of the moon and stars illuminated the path ahead, casting gentle shadows on the playground equipment.

Amidst the laughter of her companions, (Y/n) found herself immersed in the peaceful ambiance of the night. As she followed behind the group, she couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over her. The cool night air brushed against her skin, carrying with it the faint scent of freshly cut grass and distant city lights.

With each step, (Y/n) felt a weight lifting from her shoulders, replaced by a quiet sense of serenity. She took in the sight of her newfound teammates friends ahead, their silhouettes dancing against the night sky, and allowed herself to be relax the moment, grateful for the new joys she would encounter with this team.

As they made their way onto the playground, the flash of red and blue metal bars pierced the air, bringing back memories of a time when playing D1 basketball was just a distant dream.

Following close behind, (Y/n) ended her destination at a swing set that shone silver and gold against the night sky. The chains groaned in response of her weight, their link rattling together, forming a melody long forgotten. As her world slowly swung on an axis, (Y/n) couldn’t help but finally be at ease.

As (Y/n) allowed herself to sink into the comforting rhythm of the swing, she became aware of a presence nearby. Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted Paige making her way towards the swing set, her silhouette cutting through the darkness like a shadow. Despite the tension that often lingered between them, there was something oddly comforting about Paige's proximity in that moment. With a silent invitation, (Y/n) watched as Paige settled onto the swing beside her, the chains creaking softly in protest under their combined weight.

For a moment, there was only the soft whip of the wind that passed by (Y/n)’s ears, occasionally broken by the rattling chains and the laughter that drifted from the playground. Though things between the two girls were complicated, (Y/n) missed their time together.

With a sigh, her eyes searched the distant lights above. Her mind filled in the blanks and connected the dots of the stars in the skies. Unbeknownst to (Y/n), Paige had been doing the same since she arrived.

“Ursa Major,” Paige murmured, the name of the constellation unintentionally slipping from her lips.

At the sudden break in the comforting silence, (Y/n) glanced over to her, giving her full attention.

"Is it still your favorite?" Paige asked, her voice soft with genuine curiosity, her gaze falling to the side to find (Y/n)’s surprised expression within the darkness.

“Yeah,” (Y/n) spoke softly, her mind filled with the countless nights they searched the sky together. An unexplainable wave of yearning and sadness washed over her senses, “it is.”

Paige then turned her attention back to the sky above, all while (Y/n) was still processing the fact that she remembered her favourite constellation.

“You still remember?” (Y/n) asked, the question slipping from her mind out to the world before she could stop herself.

Paige felt her blood rush scarlet. “Yeah, you know… how could I forget?”

Paige’s answer stunned her. She assumed that since they parted ways, Paige would’ve also tried to erase the memories from her mind. For (Y/n), it had been too much to remember.

Paige's response lingered in the air, the weight of its meaning hanging heavy between them.

Paige hesitated, her gaze searching (Y/n)'s face for any sign of recognition. "Do you ever miss it?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

(Y/n)'s heart skipped a beat at the question, her mind racing as she struggled to find the right words. "Miss what?" she replied, her voice barely audible over the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft glow of the stars.

Paige's gaze softened. "Us," she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

A whirlwind of emotions swept through (Y/n) at Paige's question. Her chest tightened, and her breath caught in her throat. The weight of their shared history pressed down on her, threatening to overwhelm her fragile composure.

Yet, amid the turmoil of conflicting emotions, a flicker of longing ignited within her.

Everyday.

She wanted to respond.

I’ve never stopped missing us.

She hadn’t expected such a question from Paige. Though she had been hoping, deep down, she knew that Paige might not have the same space for her in her world. After all, a sun doesn’t need a moon to survive.

Over time, their dynamic had shifted, revealing that (Y/n) relied more on Paige than the other way around. But those words brought into question whether (Y/n) had been wrong about them all along.

Her eyes swept to the side to meet Paige’s expectant gaze, her eyes reflecting the silver moonlight.

“Always.”

Neither Paige nor (Y/n) had been expecting the answer to be spoken. At the revelation, the corners of Paige’s lips curved into the slightest smile.

As soon as the conversation started, silence drifted between them, The two girls drifted back into their quiet comfort. Only now, they both shared the same information. Possibilities of the upcoming sprung up into (Y/n)’s mind. Things would be different then she expected, but maybe that was a good thing.

(Deleted scene)

“Nah, Paige is occupied at the moment,” KK laughed, her voice carrying over the chatter of the group. With a deft swing from the monkey bars, she landed next to Aaliyah, where her phone was propped up to capture their talents. As they continued their antics, the live chat exploded with questions about (Y/n) after the idea of getting Paige on the stream was quickly shut down.

“Damn,” Aaliyah murmured, her eyes scanning the flood of messages, “y’all really love her, don’t you?”

A chorus of affirmative responses flooded the chat. Meanwhile, Azzi's voice cut through the background noise, calling both Aaliyah and KK over to witness her latest feat on the monkey bars. With a shared grin, the two girls left their spot, drawn by Azzi's infectious energy.

In the darkness of the night, the bottom right corner of the screen was illuminated just enough to make ou two silhouettes together on a swing set. The descovery sparked a flurry of speculation in the chat. Messages scrolled rapidly as viewers attempted to decipher the identities of the mysterious figures. Within moments, messages began pouring out as Paige and (Y/n) were finally identified.

(Y/n) and Paige: Sparks Fly on Live Stream

Fans were treated to an unexpected sight during teammate KK Arnold's recent live stream, as basketball stars (Y/n) (L/n) and Paige Bueckers made a joint appearance. Their presence together immediately set social media abuzz, with fans reigniting dating rumors that have followed the pair for years. Despite both athletes maintaining silence on the matter, the resurgence of speculation has divided fans, with some eagerly shipping the duo while others advocate for their privacy. As (Y/n) and Paige continue to focus on their careers, fans remain captivated by the possibility of a romantic connection between the two athletes.

a/n: yuhh chapter two done! sorry for the wait, it's been a tough week lmao! anyways, im begging you PLEASE LISTEN TO WHITE FERRARI WHILE READING THE NIGHT SCENE ITS SO GOOD

anyways, thanks for all the love and support you guys are the best, loving all the comments <333

also for future chapters, does anyone live in seattle? cuz mc is gonna be from there and i need a highschool that was good at basketball or just one in general. LOVE YALL SO MUCH SEE YOU NEXT TIME

taglist: @kenzie-luvzz , @juphey , @h34rtsformilli , @pinkandlilacroses , @i-bribri-i , @thatonemarvelfan03 , @girlokwhatever , @ihrtthotdads , @kc88888888 , @nfleditsrjustbetteridk , @imsobabygiirl , @vi0lentb3rry , @sejus-wife , @katemlk , @littlelesbianinternujung , @ktaerssoi , @evangelinexo , @c999sh

#paige bueckers headcannon #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #wlw #uconn wbb #wlw fic #uconn huskies #x reader

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talesofesther · 1 year

Text

sweet calamity | ch 6

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: It was something people described as the sweetest pain, the feeling of when the soul that’s destined to find yours is closer to you. Wednesday saw it as a curse, promised herself she would hate whoever was chosen for her; but it’s easier said than done.

A/N: Enid loves playing matchmaker, even if she's not the best at it. Things are progressing interestingly. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 5 here

Wednesday is considering ripping her own heart out.

There's a Poinsettia in a pot in front of you. The incompetent botany teacher asked you to make it bloom, just so she could show everyone where the toxins come from and how they can be used.

You're two tables to the front, sitting beside Xavier while Wednesday has a staring contest with the back of your head.

She wants to rip out her heart and have a very serious talk with it, because it appears to be noticing your absence and making it her problem too. How tragic.

You wanted space and Wednesday gave it to you, she just wasn't anticipating that it would affect her this much.

"I can't decide if you have a crush on her or if you're planning her murder." Enid mused from beside the Addams girl, her chin propped up in her hand.

"The latter." Wednesday deadpanned.

Enid hummed, her eyes slowly moving from you to Wednesday, "you know I'd appreciate it if you didn't murder my friends though."

Wednesday kept quiet, in her hands she was picking apart a poor jasmine flower, its petals being discarded on top of her open notebook.

You'd be mad if you saw her do it.

Wednesday's eyebrows scrunched together in a frown. Why is she thinking about that?

"I haven't seen you two speaking these last couple of days," Enid tried to sound nonchalant, "did something happen?"

For a moment, Wednesday considered saying something, her old therapist did tell her it was healthy to talk about her emotions.

Yet she settled for; "nothing happened."

Enid rolled her eyes, she could see right through Wednesday's little lie because it wasn't the first nor the second time that she has caught her friend making heart eyes at you.

In fencing class, Wednesday keeps her eyes on you like a hawk stalking its prey.

If you're walking around the cafeteria with Andrew, Wednesday is crushing her soda can as if it personally offended her.

Whenever you're out working in the gardens, Wednesday is making up excuses to go check the bees outside.

Enid has never seen her best friend this taken with someone, and part of her thinks not even Wednesday has fully realized it yet. So, being the good friend she is, Enid has made up a plan to help her out.

"Wednesday," the werewolf said her friend's name in a singsong voice, scooting closer so she could lay her head on Wednesday's shoulder.

The raven-haired girl huffed, "Enid, your death wish is showing."

The empty threat was ignored with a grin, "me and the girls are going shopping for the Rave'n tomorrow, and since you're my bestie, I would really like you to tag along."

"While I appreciate your attempt at torture," Wednesday side-eyed her friend, "I'd rather dump my eyeballs in acid than spend an afternoon picking dresses for a frivolous party."

Enid picked at her colorful nails mindlessly. "Our resident flower girl is coming with us too," she said quietly, but her wolfish smirk was unmistakable.

Wednesday tensed, crushing in her hands the last bits of the jasmine flower she was still holding. Damn you, damn you, damn you.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth, "if you insist this much."

———

You're sitting on one of the benches just outside Nevermore, waiting for Enid so you can all leave for town together.

The sun's warmth isn't doing much nowadays, there's a permanent coldness to the air. You tightened your scarf around your neck, partly wishing you'd put on gloves as well before leaving.

Chatter reached your ears and you turned your head to see Enid coming to you, there was a bounce on her step and a contagious smile on her lips; Divina and Yoko walk beside her, holding hands.

"I hope you're ready for the best girl's trip ever," the werewolf exclaimed as she stopped in front of you, clasping her hands together.

"So much that I couldn't even sleep last night," you smiled back.

"Perfect," Enid's cheeks were pink from the cold, they shaped her smile adorably as she took hold of Yoko's arm, "we should hurry, the trolley is leaving, like, really soon."

Enid hurried towards the station, tugging Yoko with her and consequently Divina; their absence revealed Wednesday's presence.

You flinched when your eyes met her dark ones, your breathing getting momentarily stuck. You had not been expecting her to tag along at all.

"Uh hi," you stumbled out.

"Hello," she raised her chin in a way you're familiar with, her hands gripping the edge of her hoodie.

"I didn't know you were coming," you said awkwardly, not knowing what else you could possibly say.

You thought you saw Wednesday's posture deflate a little. She slowly blinked once, her gaze roaming over your features; "Enid has been begging me incessantly, she'd be devastated if I didn't come today."

You shifted your stance and glanced away from her, pursing your lips with a nod, "I see."

A beat passed, you could hear the wind, feel the cold of it on your bare hands. You really wished you had gloves on.

"You're not happy I'm here." Wednesday breathed. It was a statement, not a question.

You looked up at her, really looked, for the first time in forever, it feels. The black beanie she wore pushed her bangs down, she has to move the hair aside otherwise it'll cover her eyes; it was longer than it was the day you first met her. Her nose and the tip of her ears have a soft, barely there shade of pink to them, because of the cold or something else, you don't know. The outlines of her eyes and lips aren't as sharp as they used to be. It's different. She's different.

"Why do you say that?" You asked gently, because maybe gentle is what she needs right now.

"You wanted space. It's clear you don't enjoy my company anymore," Wednesday gulped, "and I'm breaking our agreement."

You shook your head softly, "it's not like I hate you, Wednesday."

Wednesday's lips parted, and she felt like a fawn in the middle of the road, paralyzed by the blinding lights of a speeding truck.

Your words cut deep. They shouldn't. But they do.

You raised an eyebrow at her, there's a smile playing on your lips but it doesn't hold much happiness; "I actually wanted space for the exact opposite reason."

Stop it. Wednesday wanted to say, words tangled in a lump in her throat. Please, stop making me feel-

"Guys, come on," Enid's voice captured both of your attentions, "we're gonna miss our ride."

—

It was the stuff of nightmares. No, worse. Not even in her worst nightmares, did Wednesday witness this.

She was drowning in a sea of satin. There was silk and velvet there too; overflowing pastel pink, baby blue, and luxurious white.

The store had endless rows of dresses to nauseate the Addams girl. The dark color of her attire stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of the fancy room.

Enid hurried in front of her, clutching close to her chest the dress she had chosen, "what about this one?"

"Disgraceful, just like the other six," Wednesday grunted.

"It's perfect, Enid," you were quick to interject, "you should definitely try it on."

The werewolf glared at Wednesday and gave you a thankful smile, before skipping over to the dressing room.

Wednesday crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back against the cream-colored wall to her right so she could lock eyes on you. "Aren't you gonna dive into this meaningless shopping as well?" She inquired.

You could see Yoko and Divina on the other side of the store, the vampire holding two dresses for her girl as she followed her around. It made you smile. You turned to look at Wednesday, biting on the inside of your cheek; "aren't you?"

"I'm not going," Wednesday said as if it was obvious, "even if I was, I already have an outfit. One is enough."

You're not sure why you felt a little disappointed by knowing she wouldn't be there. But you nodded anyway, turning your back to Wednesday so you could browse through the rack of dresses behind you. "No," you said to answer her previous question, "I actually already have my outfit for the party too."

There was a beat of silence, you could feel Wednesday's stare boring into your back.

"Who's taking you?" She asked then even though she knows the answer, telling herself she was just making conversation.

"Andrew," was your answer, taking a single glance behind to her.

The name makes Wednesday clench her jaw, "he's dull."

"He's nice to me," you said then, raising your eyebrows at her tone.

"He'll get you ashamed at some point, you can do better," she shrugged.

"He's my friend, Wednesday." You told her with a little more bite to your tone.

"You should tell him that." Wednesday's voice would always be harder than yours.

You chuckled, mumbling an okay.

Wednesday rolled her eyes. She doesn't care who you go with anyway. "Why are you here if you're not buying anything?"

"Same reason as you."

Wednesday tensed, getting ahead of herself and giving her own meaning to your words. She took a breath and held it in her lungs.

"Enid was very insistent I joined her," you explained further without looking at her, brushing your fingertips over the floral pattern of a dress. This one was indeed dreadful.

Wednesday released the air that was trapped.

You shrugged and turned back around, carefully closing the distance between you and her. The back of your head rests against the wall, your shoulder short of brushing Wednesday's.

"Honestly, I just wanted an excuse to get out a little."

Wednesday hummed, her fingers subconsciously tapping the mark on her wrist. "Maybe we should just leave then, let them lose their time trying out these obnoxious clothes while we do something actually entertaining," She suggested, a smile threatening to show on her lips.

You look at her with a grin of your own, eyes glinting with adoration at the suggestion, at her. "That would be thrilling wouldn't it?" You indulge her fantasy.

"They wouldn't know what happened, or where to possibly start searching," Wednesday met your gaze with her own, hyper-aware of how close you were; she could feel your warmth, count the specks of color in your eyes.

"Maybe even assume the worst," you said in a breath, eyes lazy as they focused on the burgundy lines of Wednesday's lips and then back on the mischief swimming in her gaze.

To Wednesday, every minute with you was torture. Sweet, blissful torture as you dangled something in front of her. Something she saw as unattainable. She saw herself captured in a haze, unaware that she was shifting closer, closer.

"You said I can do better," you hushed, so quiet you doubt she'd listen if she wasn't this close but you were afraid to break the spell of the moment. Your lips hovered before you kept going, "who's better?"

Wednesday felt the shape of your words with each breath you took, raising goosebumps on the back of her neck.

No one is good enough. Wednesday decided.

No one, except-

"I loved it!" Came Enid's sudden animated voice, successfully breaking the bubble you had created around each other.

It was like a slap to the face when Wednesday realized the position she found herself in. She had been totally taken by you, forgetting any and all types of rational thinking.

She blinked several times, running her tongue over her bottom lip because her mouth was suddenly dry.

What just happened?

When you awkwardly cleared your throat and kept your gaze on your sneakers, Wednesday knew it had been the same for you.

"Oh," Enid looked between both of you back and forth, "did I just interrupt something?"

You groaned, feeling heat creeping up on your neck and to your cheeks.

"Nothing to interrupt," Wednesday snapped, pushing herself away from the wall and briskly walking to the kid's section of the store.

You figured she just wanted to get away. You can't blame her.

Enid was exasperated. She slung her chosen dress over her shoulder, placing both hands on her waist, "okay, I am done with you two. What is going on?"

You pouted, sliding yourself down against the wall until your butt hit the cold floor. "It's really complicated, Enid."

"Yeah, no shit," the werewolf started, "I can see that, but-" she cut herself off when realization hit her. You saw it in the way she lit up like a Christmas tree, mouth hung open with the beginnings of a smile. You cursed under your breath.

"Wait," Enid breathed, having trouble containing her excitement, "ARE YOU THE-"

"Enid!"

She crouched down to your level after the halfhearted glare you gave her. "You are, aren't you? You're Wednesday's soulmate." She squealed, her hands clutching at her dress.

You leaned your head back against the wall, closing your eyes and that was answer enough for her.

"I knew it, I knew there was something going on between you."

"Enid, no," you reached forward and took one of her hands in your own, "there's nothing going on between us and please, keep it down."

Enid shook her head as if you were speaking a foreign language, "but this is the best thing, I mean, you've found each other, you found your-"

"You know as best as I do who we're talking about here." You insisted, your chest tightening with each word, "it's a delicate situation so please, keep it down. Don't tell it to anyone else, okay?"

That seemed to bring Enid back from her high, she sighed, holding your hand between both of her own, "no, you don't get it. She likes you."

You closed your eyes, "Enid…"

"I've never seen Wednesday act like this with anyone else before, okay?" She pressed, "and I've known her longer than you," she teased, raising a brow at you.

You want to believe her, you really do. But you don't allow yourself to. Her hands are warm against your cold ones, the blonde of her hair is getting a little blurred in your sight.

"Then I hope you're right," you smiled.

She squeezed your hands and got up, pulling you with her, "come on, get up, you look like a lost child."

After locating Wednesday and saving her from a chatty five-year-old, Enid wanted everyone to stop at the Weathervane for some coffee.

It was a nice, cloudy day outside so the prospect of a hot beverage was welcomed; you felt all warm and fuzzy on the insides, both from your drink and from sitting in a booth surrounded by friends who enjoyed your company.

Of course, Enid made sure that you and Wednesday sat side by side, your shoulder brushing hers each time you raised the mug to your lips.

Wednesday kept quiet most of the time, her eyes focused on the window beside her, watching as the people walked by on Jericho's streets; sometimes, she'd lean her weight just a tad more against you, personal space being a forgotten concept.

Maybe it was because there was little room on the booth, or maybe Enid's idea of Wednesday actually liking you wasn't too farfetched.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 7 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @simp4wanda26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @thenextdawn @trishatheotaku

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story

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00-hawkboi-00 · 2 months

Text

Forget-Me-Not

Part One

Pairing; Gaz x male!reader

WC; ~6.3k

Warnings; none? I don't think?? Lemme know if there are any I should tag

Summary; gaz is definitely an attraction-at-first-sight kinda man/ it's time to wake up from that coma bby <33

A/n; when I said 'fluffy' I meant no one was gettin tortured this time around . Also, yes, this is definitely a set up for a ton of angst content <3 (note the unfinished ch title) There's going to be a "missing scenes" feel to this one, that's intentional.

Edit- I forgot to mention, this takes place before the other two fics, during the mw2 campaign (tho I definitely spread out the events bc no way could this all take place in the span of a week)

---"this is how we began,"---

Kyle had just gotten back from almost a week of being tossed around like a damn ping-pong ball when he met them. Or, rather, met you.

Fresh out of the shower—yet he swore he could still smell that filthy water on himself—and bored out of his mind with nothing else to do.

It would take a bit of time before Laswell fed them some more actionable intel, and to Kyle's knowledge, the two other members of their team were already on the hunt in Mexico. So all there was to do was wait.

Well, Kyle figured he could probably use this time to catch up on some much needed rest—but where was the fun in that?

He couldn't sleep, not right now, not when Price had informed him of a new squad touching down at their base this afternoon. According to the captain, they—around five or so soldiers—were just here to provide support if needed.

Kyle didn't think it was necessary, but it's not like he had any say in the matter. Especially since, apparently, the squad would only be using their base as a rest stop between their own missions. So, again, he didn't see the point.

But, like any curious soldier would do—and any who were a bit skeptical about their newest comrades—, Kyle was already beelining his way to where he knew the newcomers would touch down.

Kyle had paid attention to the bare minimum information needed to avoid butting heads with the group, but never dug much further than that. Some American mercenaries under General Shepard's direct command and, as he'd mentioned before, here to provide support or something. Again, he hadn't paid much mind to the info thrown at him; honestly didn't think he'd end up meeting them anyhow.

Only when he finally gets out on the tarmac Kyle doesn't immediately rush to greet the new soldiers as he usually would. He comes to a full stop, previously resting heartbeat now running a marathon in his chest, gaze zeroed in on you.

Seeing you—your form lax and almost casual in comparison to your stiff-postured comrades, a certain air of confidence surrounding you—made Kyle wish he'd done a bit more research, asked a few more questions.

Dressed no differently from the rest, there was nothing particularly interesting about you. Nothing that should draw him in so wholly upon merely seeing you. He couldn't even see your face, for fuck's sake—nor could he see any of the rest of the squad's, but that's besides the point.

You hadn't even glanced his way and Kyle was acting like a schoolboy seeing his crush in the hall between classes.

“You're staring, Kyle.”

“Mh- Wha-?” He drags his attention away from you, wholly prepared to start spluttering out his defense when he recognizes the man who'd come to stand beside him. Noticing the barest hint of a smile pulling at his captain's mouth.

With a soft scoff Kyle looks away again, shaking his head a little. “Not at all, Cap’, just scoping out the newcomers. That's all.”

As anyone else would do, of course.

But they both know it's a lie.

Right before Price has the chance to open his mouth again—likely to playfully call Kyle out on his bullshit in that gruff way of his—the aforementioned group of newbies comes to a stop in front of them.

Two in front, three fanned out behind them. Five after all, it seemed. You and some guy in the front, the rest Kyle wasn't sure of, their identities far too obscure to tell.

“Cap-” The guy standing beside you starts to speak, only to be roughly—albeit probably playfully—nudged aside by your elbow, effectively cutting him off.

“Greetin’s Captain,” you say, amusement obvious in your tone, a slight wrinkling at the corners of your eyes betraying a hidden smile.

And Kyle would be lying if he said he wasn't completely enraptured as you spoke. Barely even registering the hand you held out to shake Price’s hand.

“Shadow 0-9, at your service,” though there's still a hint of humor in your voice, there's a certain air of professionalism to it too. Even as you retract your hand and raise it, fingers curled into a fist and thumb jutted out, to gesture to the soldiers around you.

Starting with the one beside you, then on to the three behind you, right to left. “Joined by Shadows 0-3, 1-4, 1-5, and 2-3.”

Then it's on to the actually serious stuff. “Commander Graves has sent us under the General's orders to stay here and provide assistance to your cause if need be. Though mostly we will be carrying out our own missions and using your base as a landing zone between operations.”

And again, amused—your flip-flopping emotions were going to give him whiplash at this rate.

This time clapping a heavy, gloved hand on 0-3’s shoulder, the slight crinkle around your eyes returning. “If y'all got any questions, feel free to ask me,” lightly jostling 0-3 now. “these imbeciles hardly got a clue what's goin' on half the time anyway.”

It's obvious the other four Shadows are used to your antics, as none of them even bat an eye at your, likely empty, insult to their intelligence.

Kyle zones out as Price goes over his own spiel, mind somehow blissfully blank as he stands beside his captain. Thumbs subconsciously slung through his belt loops in place of gripping his vest like he usually would, gaze focused on the group in front of him, giving all the impressions of some serious, gold-star sergeant attentively paying attention to his CO.

That couldn't be further from the truth.

The spell Kyle is under only breaks when Price directs his attention his way, drawing his focus when the man says, “-gent Garrick ‘ere will show you lot around. All the standard things; barracks, mess, rec and the works-”

He then proceeds to space out again when your gaze slips from Price and to Kyle instead, not a single thing out of place as you analyze him.

It feels like you've got a scalpel to his skin, peeling away layer after layer. Through the muscle and fatty tissue, and deeper still, until you've reached the bone, and you keep going.

It's not uncomfortable, the way you tear into him like a rabid hound gobbles up a raw steak. Or maybe not rabid, no, you're not feral. You’re cool and calculating and yet playful all the same. A working dog, a trained hound, then.

It's more.. Kyle doesn't think he harbors the vocabulary to put it into words how he feels about it; flayed alive under your watchful gaze. It's strange. But it's not.. bad.

It's been all of five seconds when your eyes flicks away from him. A quick scan, a once over, just as he had done to your squad, and then you're fixated on Price again.

Price who's still talking, saying things Kyle doesn't have the wherewithal to bring himself to care about. Not when he felt so viscerally raw and unbelievably vulnerable in his own damn base at the moment.

He has a few more seconds to compose himself before Price finishes up and all five of the collectives’ attention is on him, expectant.

And so Kyle plasters on a carefree expression, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile, and casually nudges Price with a loose fist. A mused, “thanks, Cap'” and such, then he's taking charge.

Voice level and strong, like any typical self-respecting Sergeant, as he turns and urges the group to follow.

The last thing Kyle expects is for you to fall into step beside him—with the impression of your personality he'd gathered, it shouldn't be a surprise—, only lagging a half-step behind, a grin obvious under your mask.

His brain short-circuits, but Kyle quickly recovers, keeping his focus locked straight ahead and decidedly not looking at you. Not for any reason in particular.

“Sergeant,” You drawl—and, fuck, it was just a rank, a title, several others held the same one. So why the hell did it feel so different when you said it?

“Got somethin’ on your mind-” Kyle begins casually, as if his heart wasn't doing literal jumping jacks in his ribcage right now. And it takes him a brief moment to remember what he was supposed to call you, wracking his brain for answers, before he finishes with a bland, “0-9?”

God, he hoped that was the right number. There were five of you, all these numbers were going to be a struggle to keep up with.

“Oh, none ‘a that.” You say with a soft chuckle, waving him off. “I know those digits can get a bit confusing. Call me Viper, that's what everyone else calls me anyway.”

Viper? Like a fucking snake? Not that Kyle had any room to judge; not when two of his teammates were a cleaning product and a Hot Topic employee.

Shite, that probably also meant you wanted him to extend the same damn olive branch. Kyle considered himself a pretty social man, he could hold his own in a group, could approach strangers with almost the same confidence he did with friends.

But there was something about you.

And Kyle wasn't sure if it was good or not.

“A’right, Viper,” Kyle doesn't remember swiping his keycard, but he does jump right back into his body when his hand curls around the handle, pulling the door open and letting you in first before letting your comrades struggle with the heavy door after him. Taking his place just that half a step in front of you once more. “They call me Gaz.”

“There a story behind that one?” You ask, not a single ounce of hesitation or delay.

“That depends, there one behind yours?” Kyle quips right back, not missing a beat.

Kyle's ears pick up the tiniest huff you let out, but nothing else. “That depends,” you mimic. “how much you wanna know?”

“Whatever you'll give me.” It was easy to lay the charm on thick, but it seemed almost like a competition between you two, as you quickly fired back.

“Desperate, are we, Sergeant?” Kyle could've swore you just, honest to God, purred when you said that. But he must've just been hearing things.

“Just curious.” You had asked first. How had this turned on him?

“Mm, think I'll just leave ya guessing.” You muse, closing that half-step distance to just barely brush your arm up against his, and then back to your place again. “It'll be more fun that way.”

Kyle nearly forgets there's four other people witnessing this conversation right then.

Finally alone again, and having gotten the new squad settled in properly, Kyle takes a moment for himself.

As of right now apparently his fellow sergeant and good ‘ol lieutenant were currently taking a tour around Mexico, and Price was out doing very important Captain-things, so Kyle was entirely on his own.

On his own to deal with whatever the fuck that dumpsterfire of a base tour that had been.

He'd been entirely sidetracked by you the whole time! It didn't make any sense, what did you have that the other soldiers didn't?

You all wore the same uniform, all bore the same random-ass numbers, all were just a bunch of trained killers- there was literally nothing to set you apart!

A lot of people were touchy by nature, especially in professions like this that were built on comradery, Soap certainly was, so there was no reason in the deepest parts of hell for why-

Kyle groans softly to himself, running a hand over his hair before pushing himself up and off his desk chair.

There was no rhyme or reason to it, to why he, in the most cheesy fucking way, honestly felt a goddamn spark when you touched him.

And it wasn't even in the realm of- of intimate. It was a simple brush against him here and there, made perfect sense too! You'd been standing so close the entire time- it was only expected that once and a while you two would graze each other now and again.

He's pacing now, wishing nothing more than to be able to pick up his phone and call the only man who'd be able to help him make sense of all these weird feelings. And also the only man who'd call him daft and his brother in the same sentence.

But he can't do that, so Kyle resigned to simply doing what he should've done in the first place after his furious scrub down in the shower; take a damn nap.

Kyle's first impression of your personality had been wildly off-mark.

If he was going off of how he'd first perceived you last week on the tarmac, he would say that you were easygoing, gave off a more.. laid back energy, maybe even a bit quick-witted.

But his current observations said everything but that.

Kyle had been trying to skirt past all the tired, bleary-eyed soldiers that passed him in the hall without being noticed by the more lively of the bunch; he didn't have the energy for that right now. The last few had nearly flown by him though, wide-eyed and clearly spooked.

Confused, Kyle had brushed it off and continued walking. Sometimes these men were like wild horses, alerted by the smallest mishaps.

Kyle becomes keenly aware of exactly why those last stragglers had appeared so frightened when he turns down the next corner, on his way to the rec room, when he spots you.

Or, more accurately, spots you tearing one of your own soldiers a new one in the empty corridor. The very self-explanatory as to why, isolated corridor.

He gets the gist of it fairly quickly, even as the words flying out of your mouth go in one ear and out the other without a hint of recognition.

The shorter man had obviously fucked something up, and was now hearing it in all the jumbled mix of curses and slang Kyle couldn't even begin to comprehend.

“An' if I eva’ ‘ear ya sayin' shit like that again I'll ‘ave ya scrapin’ shit out the muck from the break ‘a dawn ‘n ‘til the damn cows come home, ya hear?” You spit, masked face mere centimeters away from the other's. A gloved hand fisted in 1-5’s, if he remembered correctly, shirt collar, making him have to nearly raise to the toe of his boots in order to not be choked by the fabric.

There's a venomous flare in your eyes when you snap to look at him, a misstep on his part alerting you, and Kyle has never felt more conflicted in his life.

“Everything good here, Viper?” Obviously not, but what else was he supposed to say?

“Just peachy.” You grit out, fingers slowly unfurling from 1-5’s shirt. In turn the poor man is able to lower himself back onto the ground fully, letting out an obvious breath of relief when your hand pulls back completely, falling clenched at your side.

The brave soul who had somehow triggered the brunt of your aggression manages to stand there a little longer until you huff out a gruff, “dismissed.” And send 1-5 on his way.

Though not before barking out a, “And be sure ‘ta relay the message ‘ta Pierce!” As the man scurries away, a quick “yes, sir!” choked out over his shoulder.

“And if I asked what that was about?” Kyle asks when 1-5 is out of sight, raising a curious eyebrow.

“I'd say it ain't yer business, Garrick.” You snap, still obviously not having gotten the frustration out of your system. Kyle's first instinct is to throw another quip right back at you, extra sarcasm on top like it's sprinkles and he's making a damn sundae, and he almost does, but Kyle quickly slams his mouth back shut before the words escape.

Instead he sighs and relaxes his posture.

“Y’look like shit.”

That seems to put a halt to whatever was rampaging through your head, the rage clearing for a moment to make room for shock first, then confusion.

“..what?” Your clearly puzzled gaze—so expressive, even with the mask—would be humorous, if not for the truth to Kyle's words.

You did look like shit. Like someone had run a train on you—literally. A real one; honk honk, rattle rattle and all. Your hair ruffled, matted with some unknown substance and sticking up in every which direction. The black paint around your eyes was smudged away and exposed your true skin tone, well.. kinda. Now with the additional flavor of mud and debris.

Even with the limited access he had to your face, Kyle would say you looked.. tired. Run ragged—maybe that train wasn't all that metaphorical. Beneath the anger it was clear as day you were just exhausted; you looked nothing like that first day he'd met you, when he had shown you around base.

Hidden grin and playful banter replaced with a stiff posture and veiled limp—yeah, he definitely noticed that part. You weren't the only observant one here.

“I said you look like shit, mate.” Kyle says. His clarification doesn't, well, clear anything up for you, if anything just frustrating you further. Making your eyebrows furrow in a way that's almost cute.

You huff, posture straightening even though Kyle can see the way the new position puts a strain on your worn body- he doesn't mention it. It's not his place.

“Thanks.” You reply, voice flat.

“It was a compliment.” It wasn't.

Deadpan, “really?”

“Mhm.” But Kyle stays firm in his resolve.

“I aim to please.”

“Clearly.” And there it is. Kyle can't see it, obviously, but the small twitch of your features, the slightest crinkle at the corner of your eye, tells him he has succeeded. Even if it's not your usual smile—not that he would know what that looked like.

Another puff of air from you, closer to a sigh this time. “Did you need somethin', Gaz?”

The heat is gone, but Kyle can see the way the embers linger; ready to reignite at the first spark.

“How ‘bout we take a walk, mh?” He wasn't planning on a walk, really, but Kyle wasn't actively planning against one either. “Clear your head a bit?”

You look like you want to brush him off, hesitating like you want to say no and rush off just like your subordinate had. But you don't. “..sure.”

And that's all Kyle needs to tilt his head in the direction he came from before turning around.

Kyle doesn't have to look back to know you've taken your place the position on his left, half a step behind him. Just as you had that first day.

It becomes a sort of.. routine.. after that. And while Kyle hadn't seen much of you that first week, you make an appearance by his side—always on the left, always half a step behind—more often than not.

A little spark of some unidentifiable emotion lighting up in your eyes when you see him. Kyle isn't quite certain what it means, but if it meant he got to see you more often, he was fine with not knowing.

You were.. friends. Or as much as you could be in this situation, one Kyle knew was temporary. Which had the man trying to heed Ghost's advice for once and not get attached; there was no telling when either of you would be shipped out again, never to return.

“Gaz!” The sound of your voice is unmistakable when shouted over the noisy chatter of the cafeteria, and Kyle's heart definitely does not do a weird flip when he hears it. Definitely not.

Yeah, so he may or may not be struggling with the whole following Ghost's advice thing. Hey! He said he was trying, not that it was actively working.

“Viper.” Kyle greets when you take a seat in front of him. Usually he would have lunch with his dear captain, but Price was even more busy as of late—and reasonably so—and the lack of that familiar presence was really starting to wear on him. Made the lack of another pair of comrades much more prominent.

“Did you know your bellybutton is actually attached to your bladder-”

You filled in that empty space a little.

“What? I thought it was just cut off from everything else?”

Kyle never did find out what had you so down in the dumps, but it wasn't his place to know anyway. Everyone had their secrets.

“No! There's a lil' line that travels from your bellybutton down to your bladder. That's why it feels so damn weird when touched-”

You were a little spitfire. Reminded him of Soap, kinda. Except Soap didn't flip flop from fiery rage one moment to calm and collected the next, buttery smooth words dripping with innuendo.

And then there was right now, where you shared the strangest little factoids with Kyle.

“And don't even get me started on the dormant blood vessel in your liver-”

And that is where Kyle drew the line.

“Nope, nope, nope-” Kyle says, waving a fork in your general direction. Amused when you gasp in surprise, as if he's threatening you with something more substantial than this flimsy plastic. “I am eating. I don't wanna hear gross facts about my anatomy.”

“Would you prefer a physical demonstration on anatomy instead?”

And that was the weird innuendos he mentioned before. Sure, Soap and him shared a few playful taunts now and again, occasionally the rest of the team would chime in—and there was whatever the hell Soap and Ghost had going on, but Kyle didn't think those were all jokes. But this felt.. different.

“You are a menace, you know that?” Kyle huffs, twirling some bland mush around the fear-inspiring fork from before; now that he wasn't actively threatening you with it.

A dramatic gasp, and Kyle doesn't even have to look up to know you look just as dramatized as you sound.

“I am a damn saint, Gaz!”

“Rigghhhht, is that what we're calling this?” He does look up this time, and the slight widening of your eyes, the little glimmer of something hiding in those captivating hues, makes him glad he did. Pocketing that adorable priceless look on your face for safekeeping.

“I've got the body, the attitude,” you count with both hands, a finger for each listed item. Gaze on something vaguely to your right as you think. “And the charm! That's like- the fuckin' holy trinity. I'm a damn holy temple, I tell ya!”

“Sure you are, mate.” Kyle says, a small grin on his face that he couldn't get rid of even if he wanted to. It does make eating a little difficult though.

He tries not to linger on the fact that you never eat in front of him. But you always come to hang out with him anyway.

Things are good between you two, and Kyle feels warm and giddy every time you grace him with your, as you'd once put it, saintly presence. He doesn't ponder much as to the why he feels this way; not that it really matters, this was temporary and you'd be shipped off somewhere else eventually.

That space to his left feels cold when you're not there, empty, and even though he's never worked with you in the field, Kyle finds himself looking back, expecting you to be there when he crawls through tall grass and mud in that suffocating ghillie suit.

It's dumb and Kyle doesn't know why he does it, but he half expects you to chip in a word or two over his shoulder in the midst of his playful banter with Price and Laswell. When he is, once again, pushing through tall grass. Only this time he gets to snipe a few dozen unsuspecting soldiers from hundreds of meters away.

Things are going well, so damn well, almost too good to be true. And it is.

Kyle would have never expected to hear such raw panic in his captain's voice, accustomed to the man's usual gruff and composed behavior. It strikes fear right into Kyle's core, cutting through his chest and piercing directly into the sergeant's heart.

In the beginning, Kyle had been eager to get this over with and fly back to base with the expectation of seeing you again; now that idea was nothing but a passive thought as his mind was clouded with a worry mirroring Price's.

Kyle's entire torso feels like it's been ripped to shreds when they touch down on base again, every step shooting sparks of pain through his nerves and reminding him why he hates heights so damn much. But at least they managed to get Laswell back before anything could go terribly wrong. They had Farah and her soldiers to thank for that.

Wanting nothing more than to soak himself in a tub of scalding hot water, and knowing he'll have to settle for a lukewarm shower instead, then sleep the pain away, Kyle's path is interrupted by the sight of you marching down the corridor.

“Gaz! Shit- there you are!” You call when a few paces away from him, a sort of relief obvious in your breathy tone. You come to an abrupt halt right in front of him, blocking Kyle's way and causing him to come to a sudden stop lest he accidentally crash into you.

Your eyes are analytical and Kyle is far too exhausted to decipher the several layers of emotion that flash through your gaze.

In the end you seem to come to some sort of conclusion, stating a flat, “Y’look like shit.”

“Yeah,” Kyle huffs out a surprised laugh; the phrase reminiscent of when he'd caught you chewing out one of your soldiers. “Falling out of a helicopter doesn't usually make for a pretty sight.”

“Fuckin'- pardon!?” Your eyes go wide, and Kyle would bet your mouth was hanging open right now too. “How the hell did that even happen?”

Kyle couldn't reveal too much of their little rendezvous in Urzikstan, but he could tell you the gist of it. Namely how the fuck he got tossed out of Nikolai's helicopter like a damn ragdoll.

“Was helping out a friend,” car hopping and trying not to get shot at in the process. “Got a bit tossed around, you know how it is- RPG, couldn't deploy countermeasures in time..”

“Luckily I got the rope latched in time, shit hurt the most when the rope ran out.” Kyle's hip bones ache at the memory, and he knows for certain his body will be one giant bruise in the morning.

“Are- are you okay-?” You stammer, gaze no longer on him and now flicking over his dirtied uniform. Never lingering on one spot.

“I'll bounce back soon eno-” Your hands reach out then, as if wanting to touch him and make sure for yourself. Kyle cuts off mid sentence, eyes widening by a fraction and body going stiff.

As if just realizing what you were doing, your hands pause where they are, hovering awkwardly between the two of you. Your gloves and his own gear serve as a thick barrier between your bodies, but Kyle swears there is an energy buzzing there; an electric static thriving in the air between you both, the tension near suffocating.

“I'm just gonna..” it takes Kyle a second to realize you've fully retracted your hands by now, a stale awkwardness lingering between you two.

Kyle isn't sure whether to feel disappointed or be appalled by how much he wished you had touched him. Between the fluctuating altitudes he'd endured and the full body ache he was currently experiencing, Kyle comes to the conclusion that it must just be the exhaustion finally kicking in. Yes, of course. That is why he was mourning the loss of something that hadn't even happened. There was no other possible reason.

Clearing his throat with a stilted cough, Kyle nods. “Y-yeah, definitely. And I should take that shower..”

“Of course, yeah-” Your gaze is downcast now, arms tucked behind your back and Kyle notes the nervous shift of your weight from one foot to the other. “You- you do that.”

“Yeah.” And then Kyle hightails his ass out of there, it's a little awkward—who is he kidding, it's beyond awkward. And how many times was he going to say awkward, would any other synonyms suffice? You had been standing in front of him, so Kyle has to do a weird little hop to the side to get around you- which then triggers you into motion. And you step to the side to get out of his way.

Only the direction your subconscious chooses is once again right in his path and Kyle stumbles over his own feet, barely avoiding colliding with you but pulling on his sore muscles in a way that has him digging his teeth into his lip to avoid letting out a sharp yelp.

When Kyle regains his balance, the hallway is empty and you're nowhere to be found. With a deep sigh, and a heavier weight on his shoulders than before, Kyle straightens back up and continues on his way to his initial destination.

There better be some warm water left when he gets there.

As it turned out, falling out of a helicopter and just barely surviving by sheer luck did actually have its drawbacks and one couldn't just walk away with a few scrapes and expect to be a-okay in the ol’ nob up top.

For Kyle that meant various scenes playing out in his dreams of what could have happened, not what did. Ranging from him not having clipped the hook onto his gear right, to the rope just snapping in half the minute Kyle reached the end of the line. Even some where he just straight up splat into the back of one of the many trucks that had been flying by. The worst had to be when the helo was hit dead on and Kyle wasn't even given the chance to make things right, bleeding out and dying right then and there in the cabin of Nikolai's helicopter.

Waking up drenched in a cold sweat wasn't anything new to the sergeant, but waking up alone, as of late, was. Usually he was bunked up with Soap, and when not on base, or stationed on another, he was grouped up with other soldiers.

Being forced into the waking world with his heart lodged in his throat and beating so fast it was practically trying to escape, with the aches and bruises that made the nightmares all that more real, and being stuck inside a dark, empty room? Now that just wasn't pleasant at all.

Pushing through the stabbing aches radiating throughout his body, Kyle forces himself to stand, haphazardly throws on an old hoodie and decides right then and there he needs a cup of tea. Extra steamy.

The walk to the common room, and subsequently the kitchenette beyond that, is short and Kyle doesn't have to think about it when he places one foot in front of the other. His legs easily carried him to his destination without the need for any extra brainpower.

Kyle doesn't notice the looming figure in the dark, obscured by shadow in the corner of the rec room, until he's already got a burning hot mug between his hands. Passing back through now that he's got his tea, he's graciously welcomed back by a lamp in the corner flicking on.

He blames the high-pitched squeal that rips from his throat on his exhaustion and not that he'd been spooked by a fucking light of all things.

“Viper- shit,” He breathes, the hand not currently cradling the mug flying up to clutch at his heart.

“Sorry.” You murmur, sounding a bit sheepish. Your voice is a little deeper than usual and Kyle assumes you must've also woken up recently. He opts to ignore the small flutters that erupt in his stomach at the sound. “Couldn't sleep. Didn't think anyone else would be out ‘ere, wasn't tryna startle ya.”

Kyle moves to wave off your concern, only to wince at the strain it puts on his sore muscles, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth.

You, ever the observant bastard, immediately zero in on his discomfort, one of your eyebrows quirking upward as you study him.

“Alright?”

Not trusting his voice, Kyle hums a noncommittal sound, and, trying to appear at least a little put together, straightens his posture and steps forward.

But the pain is worse now and he nearly spills his tea, instinctively tightening his grip around the steamy mug.

Fuck, Kyle had known it would hurt—Christ’s sake, he had literally fallen out of a damn helicopter—but he had obviously severely underestimated how bad it would be. Now, he was used to pain, you didn't get very far in this line of work without at the very least some tolerance for the aches and burns.

But this? This was a pain that went from an average sort of soreness in the muscles of his thighs, to sharp stabbing pains in his hips and a near debilitating throbbing ache that spanned over practically his entire torso.

Everything hurts. Laying down hurts. Standing hurts. Sitting hurts. Everything. Unless he stayed completely still, Kyle's entire body felt like one giant bruise. Any little twitch of a muscle sent a stabbing shock straight to his nervous system.

You're on your feet and standing in front of him before Kyle even has a chance to right himself again. When had his breathing become so labored?

There's no hesitation this time around, no awkwardness when your hands shoot out. Grasping his shoulders, your hold gentle yet firm, and stabilizing Kyle where he stood.

Kyle isn't quite sure when it had happened, but the warmth of his mug was gone. Replaced by the heat of your own body from where his hands rested—really, more or less hanging on for dear life; he'd be ashamed if he had the wherewithal to do so—on your waist. Fingers curled tight, twisted and snagged into the fabric of your shirt.

If Kyle hadn't been so out of it from the sheer amount of pain he was in, he would've noticed your lack of uniform. More dressed down than he'd ever seen you—though a mask still firmly in place, he would've noticed if it were otherwise.

“Did anyone check you out when you came back?” Kyle has to actively work to zone back in on the rough timber of your voice, his mind sluggish as it works through each word and syllable.

“Y- kinda? I wasn't bleeding out or nothing.”

“Oh, fuck's sake-” you let out a heavy exhale, and Kyle, though as disorientated as he currently is, can here the unsaid you’re a goddamn idiot clear as day in that singular breath.

“Alright. You're comin' with me.”

“Wh- huh?”

“With me. No questions, Garrick.” You hold no authority over him, if anything, this being his base, and not yours, Kyle had a bit more of a say in matters than you did. And yet, when you release your hold and untangle yourself from his, Kyle follows.

There is nothing stopping you from touching him now. Not since last night.

Kyle can still feel your hands, strong and yet so, so unbelievably delicate, running across his skin. Scouring his abdomen for anything that would clue you in on whether he had internal bleeding or not, pressing down on his bruised rib cage, checking for breaks in the fragile bone.

Thankfully, you find nothing but the bruising painted clearly on his skin, and Kyle can't get the picture, the feel, of your hands brushing over his stomach. Up his sides and down to his hips, further still to his aching thighs. The latter had been over his clothes, but the heat of your palms had been more than enough.

The following day, and practically every waking second now, Kyle's mind and eyes were on you. If he couldn't see you, he was thinking about you. And if he could see you, you were usually at his side. A hand on his shoulder, an elbow nudging his arm.

Kyle now found himself in an odd state of yearning. His body craved your touch in a way it never had for any other's. His heart skipped a couple beats every time he even caught sight of you.

And when you touched him? Shit, Kyle had to hope and pray the blush he could feel warming his cheeks wasn't as visible as it felt.

Kyle wasn't quite sure why he reacted to you the way he did. And, honestly, he wasn't quite sure he wanted to. He was perfectly content not knowing—was he? Or was he just burying what he didn't want to acknowledge?

He didn't ruminate on the fact that Soap had a tendency to touch him similarly—but, shit, it was different, wasn't it?—, and never had Kyle once responded to it the way he did with you.

If Price had noticed—which he likely hadn't with what was going on halfway around the globe. Soap and Ghost stuck somewhere in Mexico, and of course the constant planning on what their next move would be. The captain didn't mention it.

If Soap was here, he'd probably call Kyle out on his bullshit. But he wasn't, and Kyle was perfectly alright with continuing to ignore the, definitely one-hundred percent platonic, convoluted emotions he felt towards you.

Things were good; the last thing Kyle wanted was to accidentally rock this delicate sailboat when he currently had unlimited access to your bubbling laugher, sarcastic quips, and crinkling eyes.

A Viper, that's what you were nicknamed after, and, with that fiery attitude of yours, Kyle was starting to understand why.

Masterlist | Next

@cptg00s3 @ruthgrimxiao @20nerd04-blog @mikahrh @in-down @hauntedapplefarm @mello-life69 @unkn0wnd3ad @tayaisback @starre-eyes @gabbvr-dog @suhmie @lazyrel @spiritzofthedead @yeonpm @its-ares @k1ssesofdeath @ravagerdogz

If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments!

(also if you change ur user and still wanna be a part of the list, let me know pls)

#i had a lot of trouble when tranfering this one from my google docs #hopfully nothin is off abt jt..#call of duty #cod x male reader #male reader #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x reader #reader insert #gay #gaz x male reader #gaz call of duty #gaz cod

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slaymitchabernathy · 8 days

Text

Play Nice

“You are an absolute brat and I loathe you,” Coriolanus grits out, covered in sweat, scratches and a little bit of blood as he wrangles her down to the tiled bathroom floor, “I wish I never let you move in with me.”

All that he gets in reply is a hiss and a frustrated yowl.

“Is everything alright in there?” Soarynn calls from the bedroom.

Coriolanus glances at his reflection in the floor length mirror. He looks absolutely pitiful like this. Soaked with bath water, his curls sticking to his forehead, his hands scratched up as he attempts to pin down an eleven pound cat to the ground.

“Perfectly fine darling,” he calls back.

Petunia lets out a loud meow, so loud that you’d think he was strangling her which is fucking impossible the way she’s wiggling around. “This is only going to serve as a momentary lapse in our relationship,” he gasps as he finally manages to get her to hold still, “all that’s left is drying you off and clipping your nails.”

Easier said than done.

Ever so carefully, he reaches for the towel he left on the floor, wrapping it around her until she looks like some sort of puffed pastry. Petunia does not look happy but Coriolanus can’t find it in him to care about that right now. “You’re an absolute diva,” he tells her, shooting the feline a small glare, “you had me fooled in that pet shop all those years ago.”

Coriolanus had gotten Petunia as a gift for Soarynn, as means to give his girlfriend some company while he was away at work. He hadn’t expected the cat to become a tyrant in his own home, prancing around with ribbons on her neck, batting at his ankles and sleeping right in between them.

And she stole his socks. Some things were just unforgivable to him.

She looks a bit like a wet rat right now. Soaked to the bone but he is too. Her normally fluffy, white fur is smoothed down making her appear much smaller than she usually does. Petunia is a ball of fluff, if only her attitude could say the same.

“Do you need help Coryo?”

His eyes widen at his girlfriend’s question and he’s quick to shoot it down. “We’re fine! Just rest darling.”

Normally, Soarynn took on the brunt of Petunia’s personal hygiene. She brushed the cat at least ten times a day and cats are quite clean overall so it was rare for Petunia to be bathed. Usually, they handed that task over to their trusted veterinarian but the vet was closed today and while Soarynn could bathe Petunia with no problem, she wasn’t feeling well. Menstrual cramps seemed to be a constant issue where Coriolanus was concerned. He hated them. Hated how they made the love of his life feel, how helpless she became, how she whimpered in pain as she curled up in a tight ball.

So on the day she had planned to give Petunia a bath, he bravely stepped up to the task. How hard could it be? Petunia was always so well behaved when Soarynn bathed her. Coriolanus even had a photo of Soarynn holding up a swaddled Petunia in her arms, almost like a child with a big smile on her face.

Petunia however, seemed to be dead set on making him regret his selfless decision as she attempted to free her paw to swat at him. “Save your tears for someone who cares about them,” he tells the cat as he ruffles the towel and attempts to dry her off. He glances at the hair dryer that sits on his girlfriend’s side of the bathroom counter but that’s too risky. Water and electricity are a terrible match and with his luck, he’d electrocute both of them.

He’ll just stick with the towel.

꧁ ꧂

By the time he’s finished with the battle of drying and clipping the cats fur and nails, Coriolanus feels as if he’s lost a good two years of his life.

It’s damn near ironic how she happily prances out into the bedroom once he opens the bathroom doors, gasping for air. Petunia runs over to the bed, effortlessly jumping onto it and immediately seeks out Soarynn for comfort.

He can’t see his girlfriend all that clearly with the amount of pillows and blankets she’s got covering her but he hears her chuckle at his attempt of a ribbon around Petunia’s neck. “Oh, you gave him a run for his money, didn’t you my darling?”

Coriolanus scoffs and smooths his hair back as he walks around to her side of the bed and finds her curled up with her heating pad. Petunia is already lying down, her stomach on full display as Soarynn gives her belly rubs. “If our children are anything like her then we’ll need to hire a full-time nanny,” Coriolanus decides right there and then.

Soarynn smirks as she slowly attempts to sit up but he gently pushes her back down. She needs to rest, that’s why he so stupidly agreed to do this suicidal task in the first place. “You know, I do have to move at some point,” she softly reminds him. Coriolanus nods, he knows that Soarynn can’t lie here forever but he’s set on keeping her here as long as possible. Where she’s safe and warm and loved.

Petunia meows, seemingly upset that the attention is no longer on her. “I think if we gave you to Dr. Gaul she’d send you right back,” he says, not at all impressed with the innocent display Petunia is putting on. She hisses at him and tries to swipe at his hand when he reaches for Soarynn.

Soarynn rolls her eyes and scratches the cat between her ears, “Play nice you two.”

Easy for her to say. The cat is obsessed with Soarynn, wants to follow her everywhere, be with her while she showers and brushes her teeth.

Which is unfortunate because Coriolanus is also obsessed with Soarynn and wants to follow her everywhere, and be with her while she showers and brushes her teeth.

If he knew he was in for some competition then he would have gotten her a fish.

“She refuses to share you with me,” he grumbles as he carefully sits on the edge of the bed, his hip next to Soarynn’s head. Soarynn gives him a small smile, “Sounds like someone I know.” He ignores her teasing and runs a loving hand through her soft blonde hair, “Well, that someone clearly adores you with all his heart and made a great sacrifice today by bathing that cat.”

Soarynn giggles and presses a kiss to Petunia’s head, “He also replaced the silk ribbon I normally tie around her neck for a necktie.” Well, now he’s embarrassed. And the tie looks rather sharp in his opinion and Petunia clearly doesn’t mind as she bats at it with her paws. “He was a man with few resources who was trapped with a deadly beast,” he tells her somberly, “be glad he made it out alive.”

Soarynn looks up at him and he nearly melts right then and there at how beautiful she looks.

She’d deny it if he told her how perfect she looks right now. She’d claim that she hasn’t showered yet and that her hair isn’t properly styled and that she hasn’t eaten a decent meal since yesterday afternoon but he doesn’t care. He’s sure he’ll see all sorts of sides of her as their relationship grows and matures. He’s going to hold her hand when she pushes their child into the world and Coriolanus doesn’t doubt that she’ll look absolutely beautiful when she does it.

“Thank you for giving her a bath,” she says. And suddenly all is forgiven. The headache he has is now vaporized. The cuts on his hand healed. His damp curls dry and styled to perfection. Everything seems to be alright with her by his side.

“You’re very welcome my darling,” he replies before leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. He feels a soft sensation on his cheek and in his peripheral vision he can see Petunia rubbing her head against his cheek. Soarynn lets out a breathy laugh, “Looks like all has been forgiven then.”

Coriolanus smiles to himself as Petunia crawls onto Soarynn’s lap and curiously observes the heating pad.

Petunia can be a real pain in the ass. But when he sees how happy she makes Soarynn, how much more Soarynn laughs and smiles because of that cat, it all seems worth it in the end. After all, these are the two most important women in his life. He ought to take care of them.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

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netherfeildren · 1 year

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FEAR OF GOD : Chapter II : Although a monster [Joel] could be charming in company

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Content Warnings: Angst, possessive behavior, unprotected sex (there are no condoms in the apocalypse, only vibes), oral sex (f!receiving), squirting, brief non-graphic descriptions of medical procedures / illness, brief discussion of avoiding meals (no reference to any sort of ED), stupid! Joel ™️

Summary: Joel gets a little stupid and a little jealous.

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: I wanted to mention that that I've altered the timeline a smidge to benefit my own whims. So the Joel we find here is about 50-51 and our reader is in her mid to late 20's (cw: age gap 🤓) Everything else in the timeline is the same up until Joel and Ellie return to Jackson.

Another thing, I hella make shit up in this chapter. I talk about a surgical device and there’s discussions of like mechanical/electrical engineering? which I know fuck all about. So if it reads as nonsense I sincerely apologize. There’s a fair bit of character/world building in this ch. so I hope you all can bear with me for a smidge. There is the gift of porn at the end though >:)

Chapter title is from Anne Carson’s Autobiography of Red (my favorite book in the whole world which everyone should read). Art is Intimacy by Angelica Alzona

Word count: a whopping 9.6k (I'm so sorry 😭)

Read on AO3

CHAPTER II: Although a monster [Joel] could be charming in company

What it looked like?

Like fucking the forest for once birdless, beastless.

Like measuring the distance between all that’s lost

and everything else that, even now, waved at

hard enough sometimes,

will sometimes wave back.

But it felt like swallowing the sea–

being forced to, ships and all.

Then a silence as vast as it was particular.

The like holding a mirror up to Apollo

and expecting his face there, when Apollo’s always been

faceless, obviously, being a god.

And the hand still holding the mirror up anyway.

And the face not showing.

-Carl Phillips, Star Map with Action Figures

“I mean, yeah, I’d fuckin’ like to think so. I’m not sure. She told me –”

“Ellie, you’re overthinking the hell out of it.”

“I am not,” she grumbles.

“You’re a dumbass,” you deadpan.

That riles her up. “Me?! You!”

“What’ve I done? It’s pretty obvious what’s happening here – Dina wants you to ask her out – you’re too chicken shit to step up.”

“Okay, genius. Y’don’t know what you’re talking about, first of all.” The sass on this girl, honestly. The two of you sit together at the picnic tables that’d been set out in the town center for the monthly barbecue. “You think you’re so damn smart. Well lemme just ask you this, what’s going on with Joel? You two’ve been weird as fuck lately.” That shuts you up quick.

“Don’t even start with that. The answer is nothing.”

She gives you that knowing look of hers, but let’s it go. Silently says: I know this hurts, so I won’t push. Out loud: “You started it, motherfucker.” You yank on her bangs, and she swats you away. “Maybe I should call you a fatherfucker instead,” she cackles.

“Oh my god, I actually hate you.” You try and swat her back, yank on her bangs again.

“What’re you two schemin’ about?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.

“Speak’a the devil,” she says under her breath, starting to gather up her empty plate.“Nothing–” She shoots up, and brushes past, “Gotta go. We’ll talk later,” not even sparing him a glance. You look between the two of them wishing there was anything you could do to help them bridge this cold distance between them. She turns before walking off, gives you the finger behind his back.

“Ellie, hold on a sec,” you call after her, but she’s off.

“It’s fine,” Joel says. “Leave it.”

“I’m sorry,” shielding your eyes from the bright sun, you look up into his serious face.

He shakes his head. “Nothin’ for you to be sorry about. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.” And that stings. Off-handedly as it’s said, it stings that he thinks their rift doesn’t affect you, make you hurt for the two of them.

How could he ever think that after everything he’d told you about Sarah – a night that’d made you feel closer to him than ever before, while you two lay in bed, still damp and trembling – that you’d not worry about his relationship now with Ellie? Who you knew he loved like a daughter, even if he was incapable of saying it out loud. How could he think it had nothing to do with you now? After what he’d told you about himself in the aftermath of Sarah. That moment, his confession, could sustain you for a lifetime of this push and pull if necessary. With trust like that, what else mattered? Very little, you thought.

“You get everything done you needed to?” he threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of your neck, and bends to press a soft kiss to your temple.

You sigh, basking in this small tenderness he offers you after his casual hurt. “Yeah, we finished.” Sometimes you wonder if there’s something wrong with you, taking all this in stride. Luxuriating in his offerings of tenderness and vulnerability one second, swallowing the way he casually brushes you off another. Surely there must be something wrong with you. Especially because, when it comes down to it, you don’t really care as much as you think you should .

“How’d it go?” You’d had to debride some areas from Mr. Schwartz’s diabetic foot this morning – super fun for the both of you . The foot was famous in Jackson. A great source of shrieks and giggles when the old man decided to pull it out in front of the kids as his so-called ‘party trick’. We all gotta bring something fun to the table, honey, he’d tell you when you tried to put on your false tone of admonishment with him.

“Long – I had to take more than I’d initially thought I’d need to.”

“He alright?”

“Resting now… Just means it’ll be harder for him later on – take longer to recover, as best he can, in any case. And ideally, what he really needs is a boot – which we have – one… but it’s not in great condition. I don’t even know if it’ll fit him – or a wheelchair, and both of them are being used right now. So, seems my only other option is to order him into bed until I can figure something else out. And of course Connie’s all, this is on you, honey. I trust your judgment, honey. ” You deepen your tone and scrunch your brow trying to inflect Connie’s baritone. “As if that’s helpful.”

He grips your chin, forcing you to take a breath, brushes his thumb across your bottom lip, and your eyes flutter shut, pressing a tiny kiss to the pad of his thumb. He hums a little, and you catch the flare of heat in his eyes. “You’ll worry yourself half to death, little bird. Take a breath.” You huff a small laugh. He was right about that, worry was heavy on your mind recently. About lots of different things.

“I fixed you a plate,” you divert.

“You didn’t have to do that, sweetheart. Thank you.” He swings his long leg over the bench to sit astride it, legs open to pull you between his thighs.

“S’alright. I was getting Connie’s anyway.” He digs in, and you card your fingers through his thick hair – overly long now, it brushes the collar of his shirt in the back, you’ll need to cut it for him soon – and watch the thick column of his throat ripple as he swallows. You press your thighs together – the sun is so strong today. You think it might be making you a little delirious.

“You’re not eating.” It isn’t a question, posed more like an admonishment, paired with the severe crook of his brow.

“Nah, I’m alright. Can’t have anything just yet after staring at that foot all morning,” you joke.

“You telling me you’re not as entertained by it as the kids are?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Shocking, I know.”

He turns to give you an assessing glance now, “You sure you’re alright?”

“Just tired.” You lay your head in the cool, dark crook of his neck, breathe him in. “Birdie …” voice laced with concern – he tries to gently tug you back by your ponytail, but you burrow in further – press your lips to the pulsing vein in his neck. “I’m fine, Joel. Just tired, really.” He huffs. Grouchy man.

“Hi, honey,” Connie shuffles up to the table. “Joel–” he nods, “You two alright ? That go a long time with Mr. Shwartz?” he asks.

You’re grateful for the distraction from Joel’s fifth degree. “It was fine. Our handy dandy Bovie is so good.” You’d done your best recently to fashion an electrocautery device, like the ones they’d used before in surgery. The two of you had gathered the different parts over time and much voracious scavenging, to put the system together. “You’ve gotta try it next. We should be real proud of that.”

“You should be proud. You’ve got a nice mechanical mind in you, as well. You know, Joel, the body is just a machine of flesh and blood.” Connie turns his blue eyes, gone slightly milky now, on Joel, ready to impart his slice of wisdom – part lecture, part proud tirade for your benefit, as the younger man continues to work through his plate of barbecue. “She looks at the two the same way; it’s very impressive.”

Joel finishes chewing: “Our girl is nothin’ if not impressive,” he says, giving you an impish little smirk. You pinch the inside of his thigh over the thick denim, not imparting nearly enough punishment as you’d like to.

“Shut up,” you grouch at him. “Anyways, the lines were pretty sharp, the cauterization clean. A bit slow, though. I felt a bit held back – but not too bad, considering.”

“Considering…” Connie muses. He starts to eat as well, and the sight of the slick, sauce covered meat is slightly revolting. The sun is way too hot with the change of season into fall just on the cusp, and after staring at poor Mr. Schwartz’s mangled foot all day… “I’m thinking with a little more juice it’ll be perfect. We just have to find a way to feed it more power without frying the whole system.”

“Yes… it’s delicate,” he says slowly.”You should ask Noah for advice.” Joel is silent beside you, but you feel the tensing of his thigh beneath your palm at the mention of Noah’s name. “He’s always been very keen to help us in any way we need.”

“Oh, has he?” Joel drawls, in that monotone he loves to use when cutting people down. He can’t fucking stand Noah; it’s quite funny to you, actually. You nudge his knee with your own, still cradled between his spread legs, and drag your nails slowly up and down his thigh, only responding with a non-committal hum. He shifts his jaw in that way he’s wont to do when he’s especially aggravated, cocks his eyebrow at you. You give him a tiny little mocking tilt of your head. You’re sure he can see the laughter at his expense in your eyes.

“Yes,” Connie continues, completely oblivious to the silent conversation going on between the two of you, “He’s very adept at anything electrical or mechanical. Although, you are, as well, Joel. Perhaps you could advise us too. Any help would be greatly appreciated.”

“I wouldn’t say that, but I can take a look. Offer what I can.”

You change the subject: “Teddy’s been in again this week.” One of the single mother’s in Jackson, Susanna’s son, Teddy, had been continuously ill the past few months. Coming down with different, seemingly unrelated afflictions on and off. His mother was beside herself with worry, and you and Connie were reaching your limits on what you could do to help him. Much less actually provide a clear answer as to a diagnosis.

“Yes, I spoke to his mother last night. Some sort of ague again, undoubtedly.”

You roll your eyes at him affectionately. Connie loved to condemn undiagnosable patients with ‘the ague’. “Connie, the ague is absolutely not a valid form of diagnosis,” you laugh. That launches him into a tirade about the conundrum the boys posed to the both of you these past few weeks. And ague is a perfectly valid explanation, honey. Neither of you are certain what’s causing his bouts of illness. Though you’re reluctantly leaning towards something that won’t pose anything good for any of you; you’re trying to remain optimistic, but the uncertainty is taking a toll on the both of you, as well as his mother.

As Connie goes on, there’s a hazy buzz rumbling around in your brain. Your temples throb, and you press the tender spot into the hard mass of Joel’s shoulder. He’s finished eating now, and you nuzzle into him, breathe in the warm scent of his skin and sweat, grip the hard swell of his bicep – the thick muscle has the most inappropriate arousal pooling low in your belly, but your stomach churns at the same time, and the sun is so damn bright. Too many opposing sensations going on within you all at once, you’re sure you’re on the verge of sun poisoning – dramatic – and it’s making you needy. Infecting you with ideas of crawling into his lap and having him cradle you. He stiffens beneath your attentions suddenly. The soothing large palm he’d been dragging up and down your spine goes still, pausing with his fingertips tucked just below the waistband of your jeans – as if he’s just now realizing how openly affectionate the two of you are being – his muscles go rigid at your display, and then that’s it. He’s pulling away.

Your gut twists again, your head is really spinning now – you straighten in your seat, scoot back and out of the cradle of his thighs, as far as the bench allows you. Always fucking pulling away. He’s stiff and uncomfortable, but at your retreat he clicks his tongue at you, frowns a little, and you want to snap at his subtle admonishment – you started it, what are you frowning at me for?

Connie is still going on about Teddy. “You sure you’re alright, dear?” he interrupts himself. “You look a bit peaky.”

“I’m fine.” You stand abruptly, “I’ve got to head back, actually.” Joel turns to reach for you, but you step back and away from his fingers. The heat is definitely making you grouchy, sick; you’re not acting yourself. “I promised Mr. Schwartz I’d be back to check on him within the hour.” You don’t want to look at Joel anymore – you’re used to his sudden bouts of tension – discomfort – but something is setting you on edge today.

“You should eat something before you go, honey,” Connie says – looking up at you with concern.

“I had something before I came. I’m okay.” You turn to look at Joel now, as the lie passes your lips, a provocation held in your eyes and tone.

He frowns, “You said –”

“I’ll see you two later.”

“Birdie –” But you’ve turned from him before he can continue, walking away quickly. Your head is spinning, gut cramping and turning over on itself. The sun feels like it’s two feet away from you, bearing down on the crown of your head, and you know you’re about to be sick. Always fucking pulling away, always. It embarrasses you a little that you still chafe at it, the back of your eyes pinching and saliva pooling heavy on your tongue. You know the way he is.

You make it back to the clinic just in time to vomit behind the bushes on the side of the house.

Jesus.

Susanna brings Teddy into the clinic late in the evening. You’ve just finished writing up your operative note for the ‘famous foot’ (Mr. Schwartz’s words, not yours) when she flies in, frantic, with the listless child in her arms. She tells you he’d been lethargic and without an appetite all day, but she’d chalked it up to fatigue and melancholy from being ill and bedridden so often, recently. His fever had crept up out of nowhere, and now Teddy was almost unconscious, burning hot and delirious – words slurring, eyes glassy.

It’d been hours since then. Teddy was now resting quietly with cool compresses and ice bags tucked under his arms and against his neck which seemed to be helping. Susanna had retired to the back of the house to rest for a bit, and you now sat between Mr. Schwartz and the boy, quietly reading over a text both you and Connie had already gone over multiple times – hoping to find anything that’d inspire an explanation. Most concerningly of all, you’d noticed a smattering of purple-yellowish, sickly looking bruises along Teddy’s spine. It pushed you in the direction your mind had previously taken concerning what could potentially be the cause of all of this. And even though it was the first you’d seen of any bruising on him, it didn’t reassure you at all.

“Joel’s here,” Nancy, the nurse that worked with you and Connie, says quietly from the doorway. You stand from your bedside vigil, sighing. It’s late, and you don’t want to do this now. A little embarrassed from your earlier fit. A lot tired from the long day and throwing up and the heat.

“Can you come out and get me in two minutes, please? Interrupt us.”

She gives you an assessing look. “Sure.”

You walk out to the office to find him leaning against your cluttered desk, bulging arms crossed against his chest, straining the sleeves of his button down. There’s a far off look in his eyes, scowl marring his brow, but when he looks up at you all the tightness in his countenance seems to melt away at the sight of you. “You alright?” His gaze is assessing – sweeping up and down your frame, taking everything in like always. The man sees entirely too much.

“I’m fine. I need to stay here tonight, though.” You jerk your thumb back towards the exam room. “They need me.”

“You said you were tired.”

“It passed – just the sun.” He looks at you like he doesn’t really believe you.

“About earlier—”

“It’s fine, Joel.” You feel too tired, too strung out, to give him an out by pretending to ignore that he’d hurt you, pissed you off. Let it be what it was – you had a sick child to care for – couldn’t think about all the distance that would seemingly exist forever between the two of you, not right now, at least.

“You lied about eating.”

Oh, now he wanted to be fucking honest. You roll your eyes at him, watch his jaw clench. “What?” Tone bratty and antagonistic, “No I didn’t – you misunderstood.”

“You told me you didn’t want to eat, and then you told Connie, not fifteen minutes later, that you’d already eaten.”

“Well then I misspoke – that’s not what I meant.” You turn away from him towards the desk, busy your hands with the papers littered across its surface to avoid his eyes. You feel like fighting – like baring your teeth at him, and you hate it. You don’t want to fight with him, ever. You want, need, things to be okay between the two of you. “Why are we arguing about this? I have to get back.” The bite in your voice startles you for a second, and your hands pause their shuffling. Turning back to face him, wide eyed and shocked at the way you practically spit the words at him, but, fuck it, you decide to just go with it.

He doesn’t let you, though – doesn’t take your bait. You watch the muscle in his jaw feather rapidly as he grinds his teeth, fists curled into knots at his sides like he’s trying to restrain himself from throttling you – and you think you’d kind of like him to do it. You’ve gotta be PMSing or something because where is all this sudden desire for violence coming from? You definitely need to sleep soon.

He exhales a slow breath through his nose. “Not try’na argue, baby… just figure out what’s wrong.” Your heart twists painfully, the back of your eyes pinching and hot, and you will not cry right now. His words make you even more angry because if he cares so much about such seemingly small things like this, why can’t he just let everything else fall into place between you as well?

Nancy pops her head through the open door, calling your name, “Need you when you’ve got a second.”

“Be right there, Nance.” You throw her a grateful look.

Turning back to Joel you rub your forehead, trying to press the ache that’s taking root in your brain out with your fingertips. “Nothing… nothing’s wrong. I’m just…” you sigh, suddenly very sad, very tired. You take in his weathered face, his brow pulled down into a scowl anyone who knew him less would take for anger, but you see it for what it is: concern, discomfort, frustration at the tension that’s held constant between the two of you all day. The both of you pulling away and then yanking each other back. You can see he wants to move past this, avoid whatever fight is brewing – too much for him to handle. You know he hates it when you’re angry and annoyed with him, and doesn’t that have to mean something? Please, please it must mean something more. But you’re too tired for this now, your body overwrought from its brief bout of sickness earlier, from your long day. You’d like to go to bed with him and not wake up for a year. Lay on his chest and feel the movement of his breathing rock you to sleep, count the spaces between his ribs, make a home for yourself within them. A great jealousy for his heart, the organ itself, writhes in you, that it gets to live inside him. You’re feeling melancholy and exhausted and overly emotional . Sad that even when he’s the source of your turmoil, your hurt, he’s still the only one you want to go to for comfort. You clear your throat, “I’m fine, Joel. Really.” You try and give him a small smile. “I was in a mood earlier, but I’m okay now.”

“I need us to be okay, Birdie. I– I know…” he looks away, hisses through his teeth in frustration. “I know I don’t always act like it, but–”

You hold up a hand to stop him. You don’t want to, can’t, listen to him try and make excuses. Explain to you things you’ve always understood about what this thing is between the two of you. “We don’t need to do this. I promise everything’s fine. I need to get back.” You step forward to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, to appease the both of you, but also if only because you can’t help but touch him when he’s near, hands snaking up his belly and chest to fist in the collar of his shirt. He hums low in his throat and grips the back of your neck, other hand low on your back to press you to him, and everything inside you goes liquid hot and wanting, just at the feel of him, the scent of him.

“Try and rest.” He breathes you in at the crown of your head, and you nod against his chest.

“I will. Don’t worry.” But you know he’ll do that anyways, and that alone is a comfort.

Connie meanders in about midnight, nocturnal creature that he is, to check on you all. You’d pulled the armchair from the office into the corner of the infirmary while you read in the corner. An all night vigil wasn’t exactly necessary – Teddy’s fever had broken about an hour ago, his vitals were stable, and Mr. Schwartz had been snoring the night away for hours. Nancy lived on the second floor of the house, and was always near and available if necessary, but you were peaceful here. Tucked away in your corner with your book and a throw draped over your folded knees. The anxiety you’d carried heavy in your belly all day had dissipated. Thoughts of Joel settled now, compared to the frenzied hysterical swarm they’d been all day. Sometimes this need for him scared you. That your mood, your physical self, could so easily be altered by him, by his own mood, his words, his touch. The tether he held you by was so strong, it felt unbreakable, permanent. It scared you to think what would become of you if one day he decided to break it.

Connie passes a hand over the boy’s forehead, murmuring to himself as he examines him, pops his stethoscope in to take a listen. His movements are slow and practiced, methodical. You’d always loved watching him work. You’ve passed so far into the realms of exhaustion, you’re a little delirious now, your mind and vision hazy, and you rest your head against the wingback and watch. “He’s settled now. Vitals are steady.” You hum in agreement.

He turns to look at you then, his gaze contemplative as he takes a seat on the bench along the end of the bed directly in front of you. His tired groan makes you smile a little, old man. The fondness for him squeezes your heart. He has something to say, you can tell. “I know your father was an exacting man,” he starts. You nod, still quiet. You know that now is a time for listening. “I think of him often. I know I never met him, but he wanders into my mind quite frequently. I think of the things you’ve told me about him, about your mother and sister–” When you’d first become close, it’d been hard for you to speak of your family, of Beth and her death, but eventually you’d forced yourself to. For no other reason than that the thought of you being the only person left in the world that remembered their names, that knew their stories, wrought a grief in you so profound, it was impossible to keep it all inside. You were scared if you didn’t share, if you carried all that alone, you’d lose yourself in their memories forever. “I think that after all that, after living their deaths in such a gruesome way, it could have been very easy for you to lose yourself in all that. Do you agree?” Another small tilt of your chin. The precision with which he’d always read you, understood you, was the greatest comfort in the world. That sometimes it wasn’t even necessary to tell him out loud what it was you were feeling or needed for him to pick up on it.

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” you finally say.

“No…” his eyes take on the thoughtful look he gets, the one that makes you wish you could read his mind sometimes, read the wonderings of that brilliant mind like one of your textbooks. “Instead, you became a splendid and thoughtful physician. A seemingly impossible thing, no? Now, with the state of the world for you to have pieced together a vocation such as this…” his milky blue eyes glint with humor, pride, “Well, it’s all very impressive, my dear.”

“Thank you,” you acknowledge.

“And even more impressive, considering the fact, that had you been given a choice in the matter, you would never have chosen this for yourself… had the world been different, normal.” And there it is again, that keen sense of knowing.

“Yes.” There is nothing more to say. It is, after all, your most painful, most honest, most shameful truth. Painful, not in the sense that you carried any regret now, when you cared for your patients, when you put the knowledge your father and Connie had given you into practice. But painful in the sense that it chafed at your skin, that desire for other . That small seed that had the great potential of growth within you, to spread like ivy around a house, and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, until all you were left with were thoughts of what could have been.

“But like I said… your father was an exacting man, and this is what he chose for you. And then, perhaps, even I played a part in that same theft of choice from you.” You try to interrupt him then, to vehemently deny it, but he continues unheeded. “You got here and you seemed to be a sort of benediction to me. A vessel for all the knowledge I could impart on you. A shepherd I could leave this flock to.” He slips his glasses off the bridge of his nose and wipes them slowly with the hem of his sweater. “I know you’ll take good care of them when I’m no longer here. That they could not have ended up in better, more caring hands.” You hate when he talks about his dying, fills you with a premonitory dread you don’t know how you’ll cope with when it becomes actuality. “But alas, you did what was set upon you, took it all in stride.” He pauses, as if contemplating what he’s about to say next, and you know the point of all this has arrived. You even know where it is he’s going with this.

“I say all this, my dear, not to dredge up old painful memories, or reminders of what could have been… But because I would not like to see your choices taken from you once again.” And there it is. He levels his gaze at you, quiet for several moments, and it’s like he is here in the room with you now, his presence, his unsaid name heavy and poignant.

“Joel’s a good man, honey, but he’s a hurt man. Hurt in a way I don’t think even you could cure.”

Your instinct to defend him is immediate. “He’s not— he’s not a hurt man.” You shake your head, brow furrowed, “He’s been hurt before, but it doesn’t define him, Connie. It’s not the sole contributor to who he is.” And that’s true, you know it is. Believe it to your very core. You, who knows Joel better than few others, you know the pains of his past don’t define him. Perhaps before, they did. A pain so acute it molded him into a creature focused only on survival, or perhaps, he let it get the better of him at times. But he is so much more than all that. Has the strength and the will to set it aside when he so chooses to. Ellie being the perfect example of that.

Choices, choices, those were the things that defined a person.

“Isn’t it? You can’t live off the potential you see in someone forever.”

“I hate it when you say that.” You sit up, let your feet drop to the floor, and lean forward to stress your point. “What are we all, if not vessels of untapped potential? We’re all just walking around with the possibility of something more inside of us. Of course, of course I value the potential I see in him! I know he has the possibility of so, so much inside of him – that’s what makes me… That’s why I –” You cut yourself off before you can make that confession, a choked sound leaving your throat. You look out the nearby window at the dark street, press your thumb hard into the center of your forehead, will the tension and frustration out of the skin and bone.

“I know… I know,” he says gently, offering you his hands, palms up – a sign of concession. “But it’s not enough to hang all your hopes and dreams on just that. I want more for you than just that . I want you to have choices. To be able to have what you truly want, what you truly need. I would not like to know that something unfulfilling has been forced upon you once again by the circumstances of this world.” And he says it so sadly, with a look of such tenderness in his eyes, it makes embarrassment burn hot and red in your cheeks. The back of your eyes pinch. What must they all think of me when they see us together? The part that perhaps does, or should, make you the most embarrassed, is that you don’t really care at all. Not in any substantial way that would make a real difference, make you act differently. “I’m not unfulfilled, Connie. I love what we do here,” you say softly.

“I know that, I know. But still…I just–”

You rest your aching head in your cupped palms, bent elbows propped on your knees. You’re so fucking tired. “Connie, please, I know…” you whisper. “Just, please, no more tonight… I’m exhausted. You can tell me all this another time – tomorrow. Just no more tonight.”

“Alright, alright, dear. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to give you grief.” He stands, comes towards you to rest a gentle palm on your shoulder.

“I know… and you’re not… It’s me.”

“I only want good things for you, darling girl.” You press your hand over his on your shoulder, give a short nod.

“Go home – you need rest. Nancy will stay with them.”

“I can sit for a few more hours. Teddy likes to know I’m here.”

“No, no,” his voice takes on that stern fatherly tone he likes to whip you into shape with sometimes. “Enough for tonight. They’ll both be fine. You’ll see them tomorrow.”

You scrunch your nose at him, “Bossy.” But you stand to go, draping the blanket over the back of the chair. He pulls you in for a hug then, envelops you in the comfort and steadiness he’s always offered you, from the very start. He always smells faintly of peppermint and mothballs and old paper. “It’ll all work itself out, my dear. You’ll find a way. You always do. I’m not worried about that.”

Joel watches you leave the clinic from his spot in the shadows across the road. He’s been posted here, obstinate and pissed off with himself, for hours. Especially because he’s certain this must be a new low for him, sulking in the dark, watching for you like a creep. But he just wanted to be close to you. He knows you lied to put him off earlier. Your conversation had left him unsatisfied, restless. He knows you’re pulling away because he’s pulling away. Because he’s putting you off, and he tells himself he’ll give you space, tells himself that’s what’s best, but knows it’s a lie as he thinks it.

The thing is, despite his obstinance, Joel was not a man who lacked self awareness. He was, in fact, very good at recognizing a thing within himself, and yet still able to make a conscious decision to feign ignorance towards it to the outside world. This set up worked well for him – sometimes … on occasion… But this was different, and he knew it. Feigning ignorance would not work between the two of you for much longer. You were getting tired and sad and frustrated with him and he could see it and hated himself for being the cause of it. And if he was being honest with himself, which in this moment, he was trying to be, he was getting tired of it too, tired of himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in this position with a woman. On the verge of … something. Something he couldn’t confess, even to himself, yet. But to allow himself that, to allow himself the simple act of even admitting what he knew was the truth of his feelings for you – there was a part of him, a very broken part that had not been used in a long, long time, that couldn’t even imagine it. To allow himself that sort of vulnerability. To allow himself the truth of there existing another person in this world, in what this world had become, a partner – a woman he cared for, needed . It was too vulnerable, too precious a thing to allow himself. Perhaps before, perhaps in a world not overrun by death and disease and violence – by loss.

But what did that even look like anymore? A world bereft of monstrousness? Wiped clean of the beasts that had overtaken it, human or infected. Could Joel even remember such a thing – even imagine it, if only in his dreams? He couldn’t even discern which of the two was worse anymore. Part of him knew it didn’t really matter. Not in the end. It was all conjecture when it came down to losing your life – losing the person you loved. Whether it was fungus or a bullet – dead was dead.

Sometimes he didn't even feel like a person anymore. Just this thing that existed at the periphery of the world. In the moments when he pushed you away, when he turned from the loving look in your face, forced himself to brush off your words and your affection, to hold you at arms length – to protect the vulnerable, scarred mass of his heart – those were the moments in which he was most like a creature, least like a man.

He thought of a world where he felt safe enough to go to the woman he loved, his Birdie, hold you in his arms and say: here is everything I have for you, I’m begging you, please take it .

Such a world didn’t exist in Joel’s mind. Couldn’t fit. He’d been stripped of the ability. To have something so vulnerable and new. A type of fragile he’d not held since his twelve year old daughter lay bleeding and broken in his arms, and have the ability to say I am strong enough to endure the possible loss of this. I need you this badly. So badly I am willing to risk even my own heart.

It looked like trying to swallow the sea.

He follows you home in the darkness.

“You get that fixed alright?” Joel’s voice barks from the mouth of the garage. You startle, your knee slamming into the underside of the workbench. Deciding to follow through on Connie’s suggestion from yesterday, you’d come to see Noah, knocking on his door bright and early this morning, Bovie clutched in your hands. He’d been more than happy to give it a look for you. The two of you had been sitting here for about an hour now, and in that time you’d seen Joel’s form stalk by at least three times, from out of the corner of your eye. Absurd man that he was, you knew he’d been psyching himself up to barge in here and interrupt the two of you. Seemed he’d brought his attitude with him.

“Jesus, man–” Noah’s hand grips your smarting knee, rubbing it gently, “We didn’t hear you come up.” Joel’s left eye twitches at the we, his gaze zeroed in on the hand on your knee, his teeth bared in the perpetuation of a ridiculous growl as he takes a threatening step forward. You lift your brows at him – all your fire and fight from yesterday put to rest now after some much needed sleep. He cocks his brow back at you, shifts his jaw side to side in annoyance.

“Absorbed in your work?” he drawls sardonically.

“We’ve made some good progress actually! Come see,” Noah says, completely missing Joel’s mocking tone, the poor thing. He gives your knee another gentle pat, and you think you might just see steam come out of Joel’s ears. He steps up behind you, chest pressed close to your back and passes a hand over your hair, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. This fucking guy. Now he feels like getting handsy. You scrunch your nose at him, turning back to face Noah and the Bovie, your shoulder pressing into Joel’s belly. Noah takes in your positions, the possessive hand now curled around your neck – looks back down at the knee he’d just grabbed and then back to Joel’s broad intimidating form and scowling face. You see a slow swallow move through his throat. As he starts to explain the changes the two of you had made to the electrocautery generator, you consider the differences between the two of them. The contrast is stark. Noah isn’t small by any means, average height, a nice build – but there’s something about Joel. Some sort of warning in the air around him, in the space he takes up in a room, that makes him larger than life – something that says don’t fuck with me or mine. Heat pools low in your belly and you press your thighs together tightly. Fucked up, you’re fucked up – you try to brush his hand off your neck – suddenly feeling overwhelmed, your skin overly sensitized. “Quit –” he says low in your ear and you almost whimper. He’s jealous, and it’s turning you on. There’s definitely something wrong with you.

You try to shake him off again,“ Let go.”

“No.” His voice is steel. Noah is heedlessly going on about the Bovie, about how it only took a slight rewiring from the generator into the hand-piece without overwhelming the system; giving it the little bump of power it was missing. Joel’s thumb brushes a slow, warning path up and down your neck. Down, down, to the top notch of your vertebrae, slowly kneading the fine muscles surrounding the prominence of your bone and then up and pushing into the base of your skull. His hands are warm and dry – the rough calluses abrading your sensitive skin. You feel the flush in your cheeks traveling down over your chest, the tips of your breasts tightening to painful points. You see Joel’s eyes flicker down, taking you in, and he gives a contemplative hum low in his throat.

“I’m so glad you let me help,” Noah says with a warm smile. He’s sweet and so genuine and as you take him in, how completely unaware he is of the silent struggle going on between you and Joel right in front of him, you’re struck by how easy loving a man like that would be. And how unfulfilling for a woman like you. What is it about some people, that they can’t appreciate a good thing unless it hurts a little?

“Connie and I are real grateful that you could help. You let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.” Joel gives him a short nod as you leave.

And then, soft and threatening into the shell of your ear as the two of you walk away from the nice, sweet, uncomplicated boy: we’re goin’ home, and I’m gonna lick that cunt until you’re cryin’, little bird.

Your steps speed up, trying to outrun the clutch of his hands on your skin, trying to escape – even if just a little.

You never stood a chance of that.

He follows, menacingly on your heels, as you dart into your house. A rabbit trying to outrun the big bad wolf. You make for the stairs and you feel the tips of his fingers ghost lightly in the ends of your long hair, one foot on the first step, but then his finger is catching in your belt loop, yanking you hard into his chest. Your back thumps against him with a small oof and then his hands are skating along your curves, big palms squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples through the cotton of your t-shirt..

“Bad Birdie, try’na run from me.” He nuzzles, gentle, gentle into the nape of your neck, the line of your hair, presses his mouth to the top notch of your spine. You feel his hot, wet tongue slide over the jut of your vertebrae, small peppered kisses to your nape and your entire body flushes hot – arousal pulling low and tight in your belly. Your clit throbs in time with his panting breath in your ear. His soft mouth is totally at odds with the tension he’s holding himself with right now, the harsh way he presses his fingers into the skin of your hips.

You can feel the thick length of him pressing into your ass; he’s hard as stone and throbbing – turned on by the chase. You moan, deep and wanton, slick pooling in your panties, ready for him now , just at the feel of his hands on you. “You want it, baby?”

“Y– yes,” you stutter, pressing yourself harder into him.

“Want me to fuck that needy little cunt?”

His voice is so deep you feel it vibrate through his chest and into your back, down, down your body all the way to the tips of your toes. “Please, Joel,” you whimper. You try to turn in his arms, but he clicks his tongue at you, wrapping his arms more tightly around your waist, half dragging, half carrying you up the stairs to your bedroom.

“I always give my Birdie what she needs, don’t I?”

“Settle now. Stay still so I can eat you how I like.” He hitches his hands higher up the backs of your thighs, beneath your knees – spreads you further apart, up and back to press into your breasts, making more space for the broad valley of his naked shoulders. He’d gotten you naked and into bed, quick as a viper. His desperation, evident in the wild look in his eyes. He was unsettled, either by the tension between the two of you yesterday or you around another man, but he was trying to prove some unspoken point to the two of you in the ferocity of his grip on your skin.

He settles his face deep into your sex now and eats. “Who’s all this wet for, huh? Were you thinkin’ about me while that boy tried to get in your good graces?”

“It’s too much. Please, please, please,” you sob. Tears making a slow, steady journey back into your hairline, dripping into your ears. You yank hard on his hair, try to direct his movements. You can’t tell if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer.

“Want me to stop?” He laps at your clit.

“I– I dont– I don’t know–” It felt like he’d been at this for hours. “I–”

“It’s okay.” Soft, whispered kisses to the puffy lips of your sex, your slippery inner thighs. You’re so wet, and you’d have burns from his beard and bruises from his teeth tomorrow. “I know, I know you’re just a little bird,” his teeth sharp and mean to the softest part of you, then the broad flat of his tongue to soothe – a sharp, quick suck to your swollen clit. His volley between rough and tender on your vulnerable sex setting you further on edge than anything else he was doing. “But you can take it for me.You can be so, so good for me. My good girl.”

Your cunt pulls tight – throbs like a wound. Hurts in a way you’re desperate for. You love him, you love him, you love him. Goddamn the things he does to you, makes you feel. You need him so much and he gives it all to you exactly in the way that’s the most perfect, just for you. You feel fucking delirious, on the brink of insanity.

He pushes two thick fingers into you, cunt spasming and clinging. He scissors the digits inside of you, stretches your hole. The squelch is lewd and obscene and messy. You can feel your cheeks burning red and hot, and you throw an arm over your eyes as you feel your slick leak down between your ass to pool on the sheets beneath you – hiding yourself from your own obscenity.

“Pussy s’fuckin’ good, baby. Tastes like candy.” He pulls out his fingers, slaps your cunt, twice, quick and sharp. The sound you let out shames you, high pitched and whining. “Fuckin’ red ‘nd gaping for me. God, Birdie –” he moans so deep it makes your heart race, brings his mouth back to you – licks a broad stripe from hole to clit with the flat of his tongue. His mouth latches to the aching swollen bud and sucks. “You need me so much dont you? Fuckin’ come in my mouth – wanna taste it.” And he’s right, he’s right, you do, you need him so much. In that instant, you feel so grateful that he knows it.

Your back arches, everything liquid within you pooling low in your pelvis, pulling tight, and it feels like the world is about to end around you; a catastrophe even greater than anything the cordyceps could have ever wrought. This is what he brings out of you with his mouth and his fingers and his words, and you gush onto his face. He almost fucking whines at the splash of your orgasm on his tongue – slurping down everything you have to give him, you feel your wetness cover his face and beard. This is what you give to each other.

He gentles his fingers and tongue. Letting your orgasm coast along into echoes and throbs. You try to push him away with your foot on the thick mass of his shoulder, on the brink of overstimulation, but quick as a viper, he circles his entire large palm around the fine bones of your ankle and squeezes. Quit – presses a tiny kiss to the protrusion of your bone there.

“ Mine,” he growls. “Mine, no one touches you but me–” His hands open you wider for him, fileting you for his eyes only. You feel hot and flush, your skin tight, to the point of bursting, like an overripe plum in the sun. Skin fragile and thin, insides viscous, ready to spill your flesh for him, blood burning hot as it churns in your veins. “Not fuckin’ done yet, Birdie. Not done with this perfect pussy.” Tears make a slow path down your temples, your fingers tangled in his hair, wanting to hurt– just a little. Like the delicious hurt of holding him within yourself. The way it feels like an old aching bruise inside of you when he stuffs you full of his cock. And then he’s up, up, up – quick as a whip – his fingers shoving into the tangle of your hair at the nape of your neck, captured in a tight fist like prey in a snare, and he’s shoving your own taste deep into you with his tongue. The kiss, open and savage – he’s fucking your mouth like he was just fucking your pussy. Your heart pushes against the bones of your chest, and you desperately clutch at his shoulders for some sort of countenance. He unmoors you . You have been unmoored by this man. And you want – need – more.

He kneels between your open legs, thick thighs anchoring you wider and fists his cock, the head gleaming and painfully red. He pulls your thighs over his own thicker ones, and presses the fat tip hard to your sensitive clit, making you jolt and whimper pathetically. “Cock drunk, that’s what you are.” All you can do is nod dumbly, eyes glassy and wet. His voice is so deep. He drags the head down to your entrance, presses just a little, only the fat tip held inside you. He fucks you short and shallow like that, his hips moving in tiny, slow jerks.

“Please,” you sigh, your eyes fluttering shut at the subtle pressure, at the promise of what’s about to come, “Please, Joel.”

“Please what? Please what?” he mocks, just a little mean, and then he’s surging inside in one brutal thrust. Fucking into you without warning and he’s huge — almost too much to take, even after your orgasms. “Fucking tight,” he grits out. He hoists you up, arms wrapped around your waist and starts fucking up and into you, hard. Not giving you a moment to adjust. Letting go of the restraint he’d held while he ate you out. Cock battering into something deep and sensitive inside you, all you can do is take it. Let him have you as he pleases.

He can feel your slick pooling at the base of his cock and sliding down his balls. He wraps his hand around the fine bones of your jaw, “Who’s pussy is this?” he growls over the wet slap, “Wanna hear it out loud.”

Yours, yours, yours.

Your face is flushed and sweaty, cheeks red as an apple, eyes glazed, dark, wet lashes clumped together. The fucked out look in your eyes doing more for him than anything else. This is what he does to you, only him . He picks up the pace of his hips, fucks you harder, harder and your tits bounce against his chest. He slaps one of them gently, appreciating the soft jiggle it gives, the small gasp you let out. His other hand snakes low on your tummy and presses down into your pelvis so he can feel the battering of his cock inside of your cunt and shit he’s gonna come soon. Gonna come with his hand feeling himself fuck you from the outside. “Too much, too much, Joel ,” you whine. “Oh god, I– I’m gonna–” You’re soaked, sweat and slick sliding between your two bodies, and clutching him hot and tight as a fist. He can’t get deep enough, can’t give it to you hard enough. He never wants to stop, will never be able to stop.

“You’re taking my cock so good, so fucking good. Jesus fuck, I can’t, I can’t–” He slates his mouth over your open panting one, licks into the sweet, red gleam of you. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he drags his teeth along your full bottom lip, lets it go with a little wet pop. You moan, head falling back on your neck, beyond words. He bends his head, hand wrapped around the fullness of your tit to bring it to his mouth, bites gently down on the tight, aching bud, laves his tongue around it and sucks it into his mouth. Then he’s pushing you back, letting you fall and bounce onto the mattress, legs splayed. When he pulls out abruptly you whimper – he can’t let himself come yet, not yet, just a little more – and he leaves a hot trail of open mouth kisses down your neck, over your shoulder, sucking the peak of your breast into his mouth again, over the swell of your belly, until he’s between your thighs again and bends his head to devour your slick. His tongue licking deep inside where his cock just was. He’s frantic. There’s no reason to the sense of urgency he feels, the urgency he’s taking you with right now. It’s something subconscious – something primal telling him to mark you, lay his claim.

He can’t stop taking and taking, always taking.

He pulls up again from between your legs, the abruptness of his movements confusing you, leaving you to deliriously allow him to do with you what he will. “Taste us,” he says as he licks into your mouth, fucking his aching cock back into your spent cunt, so fucking tight always. “One more, baby. Gimme one more, lemme feel you milk me.” And like his own personal little marionette on a string, you do. Pussy fluttering and then pulling tight, a little furl of a knot, squeezing his own orgasm out of him. He feels his balls pull up tight and he’s painting you inside, teeth latched tightly to the delicate muscle that connects your neck and shoulder. The sound from your throat is high and keening, supplicant. He licks the hurt he’s just left. Grinds his spitting cock deep, right into the mouth of your womb.

Mine, mine, fucking mine. It is a mantra of reassurance for the both of you.

He cradles you in his embrace afterwards, his body wrapped around you as if he were a vine grown from your very heart. He sighs, the sound deep from his chest, and you want to tell yourself you can hear a yearning desperate enough to match your own in the cadence of it. His head drops to your shoulder, nuzzles the vulnerable space beneath your jaw, now riddled with his bites and bruises. You know you’ll enjoy inspecting them in the mirror tomorrow, feeling the warm pull of your belly at the reminder. And the moment is so achingly tender, even more intimate in a way, than your sex. The feel of him surrounding you, soft and quiet. Your eyes feel hot, pinching threateningly.

“I have to go,” he murmurs, spent cock still buried inside of you. He presses kisses to your hair, your lips, over your closed eyelids. He can’t stop, God, he’s tried – is trying – but he can’t go, can’t part from you. Fighting is so fucking hard when you’ve got no will behind it. When what you’re trying to fight against is the thing you’ve wanted more than anything else in your whole life, and the only thing standing in your way is yourself, your own inadequacy. Perhaps he could endure the agony, the filth of life, the loss, the loss, the loss, with you held in his arms like this.

His patrol shift started almost an hour ago. The guys were going to ream the hell out of him, he’d been here with you for hours, and still, still he couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull himself away. His lack of will, lack of restraint, of self control – his body and heart’s inability to do what his mind told him to, makes him so angry. At himself, and maybe – not at you, never you – but perhaps, at what you represented. All he wanted but couldn’t let himself have in full. He needed to go. He had responsibilities. He had truths to confess to himself.

He was in love with you. He was. He was.

Joel was an obstinate man, but he did not lack self awareness. Now was the moment for this truth, if only confessed to himself. So, angry, and in love with you, and tremendously sorry, he turns away. Pulls out of your tight wet clutch with a wince, your breathy gasp making his cock twitch slightly, even so soon after he’s just come. You roll over, burrow into the pillows, and he grips the swell of your ass, pulls you apart to feast on the sight of his come leaking out of you. Obscene. Wet and messy and swollen, marked by his spend. He wants to bend for a taste but knows if he does, he won’t stop, will be likely to start all over again. “I gotta go, Birdie. M’already late.” He bends to nip a gentle bite to your ass cheek, one small last taste, then the press of a kiss. He hopes you can feel all he cannot say with that touch. The soft sound of acquiescence you hum as you burrow further into the sheets has his teeth clenching as he reaches for his clothes, heart turning over in his chest. He’s sure every sound out of you has a direct connection to his cock at this point.

He won’t shower, won’t wash your drying come from his body. He’ll take you with him, wear you on his skin. Anyways, what did it matter, really, when he already wore you on his heart, his soul? What was one more conquering of his self? Perhaps this was, ultimately, what swallowing the sea looked like.

Chapter III

Netherfeildren Masterlist

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #FOG fic

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smartycvnt · 10 months

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The Right One

Title: The Right One Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x Reader Prompt: 11. "Holy shit, I'm in love with you." "About damn time." R WC: 986

Y/n didn't think that she had ever run so fast in her entire life before. All it had taken was one call from Tara that something had happened at the office and JJ was in the hospital. Y/n had raced from her office to the hospital. She didn't care that her relationship with most of her former co-workers was rocky since she had left the BAU. All that mattered to Y/n was that she got there in time to see JJ and make sure the woman was okay. There were a lot of things that had gone wrong whenever she had worked there, but luckily none of it had really happened to JJ. They hadn't exactly made up since Y/n decided to leave the BAU, but she was hopeful that JJ's anger towards her had simmered down a bit.

"Where is she?" Y/n was panting as she entered the waiting area. Luke and Rossi looked up at her, conflicted looks on both of their faces. Tara was the only one who got up to greet Y/n, but she was the only one who knew what JJ really meant to Y/n. "Tara, where is she?"

"She's in surgery. It should be done soon, just sit down and try to relax," Tara said. Y/n nodded and took a seat a little ways away from her former coworkers. Tara felt them all staring as she took a seat next to Y/n. The two of them hadn't seemed very close whenever Y/n left, but maybe that was why it was so easy for Tara to forgive Y/n for leaving. "Have you thought about telling her?"

"There's nothing to tell her Tara, and even if there was, she wouldn't want to hear it," Y/n muttered angrily. Tara could tell that it would take a long to convince Y/n to let JJ know how she felt. Tara didn't blame Y/n for her apprehensiveness when it came to talking about her feelings, especially with the group who had rejected her the moment the stress of the job became too much. "Bad things happen to people I love."

"Only when you had this job. What happened today with JJ, it's not life threatening. It was an accident, she'll wake up in a few hours and you can go in and tell her that you love her before she goes home. The team, they can't keep you from her," Tara promised. Y/n sighed as she mulled over what Tara was telling her. It would have been easy enough to go in there and tell JJ that she loved her, but at the same time, it would be the hardest thing she had ever done. JJ could have rejected her, just like she'd rejected every single one of Y/n's calls for the past few months. Y/n didn't know if she could handle that sort of rejection anymore, it was getting to be too much. She was ready to settle for what she could have rather than what she wanted. Love could be learned, and Y/n was willing to learn to love someone new.

The hours ticked by in the waiting room as everybody waited for the doctor to come and tell them JJ could have visitors. Nobody else from the BAU tried to talk to her or get any closer to her as they all waited. Y/n respected their obvious wishes for distance and stayed in her corner waiting for any sort of news. There was nothing really going on, and as boredom washed over Y/n, she tried to think of ways to curb it. She had noticed quite a few things as she waited, but the one that stuck out the most to her was that Will and the boys weren't there. Y/n knew that Will and JJ had been having some troubles with their marriage, but it had never really been enough for Y/n to feel like she could ask JJ out or anything.

"Is there a Y/n Y/l/n here?" Y/n stood up as the doctor called her name. "Ms. Jareau would like to see you. Right this way."

"Of course." Y/n was trying to hide her nervousness, but the moment she got into the room, JJ would be able to see right through it. Still, JJ greeted her with a tired smile, even as her arm was wrapped up and in a sling. "Hey, I'm glad you're okay. What happened?"

"Just a little accident chasing an unsub. Didn't they tell you?" JJ asked. Y/n shook her head as she sat down in the chair across from JJ's hospital bed.

"Nobody's been talking to me other than Tara, they're all still upset. Honestly, I thought you were too," Y/n said. JJ moved her hand over Y/n's to hold it, a small gesture that had Y/n's heart pounding in her chest.

"What were you doing out there while you were waiting then?" Y/n knew she shouldn't have been surprised by all the questions, but everything about tonight had been catching her off guard.

"Thinking. I came to a pretty big realization out there. It was kind of a 'holy shit, I'm in love with you' type thing."

"About damn time," JJ said as she caressed Y/n's cheek. "Since you love me and all, do you think it'd be okay if I kissed you?"

"Absolutely," Y/n nodded. JJ smiled into the kiss, which was short and sweet. There wouldn't have been enough time in the world for either woman to explain things to the rest of the team if they walked in and JJ had Y/n's lipstick smeared all over her lips. "When you get out of here, we should do something. Just the two of us."

"I'd really like that."

#my writing #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

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s7-evermore · 7 months

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Ch. 3 - Terms and Conditions

This is The Boyfriend Contract series, Chapter 3. Inspired by The Love Hypothesis and The Business Proposal. Azul Ashengrotto x fem! Yuu (reader). You can view this on ao3.

Ch. 2 | Next chapter

Terms and conditions, in contracts, refer to the contractual rights and obligations of a party to any contract. Also known as that long list of word vomit you skip when downloading a new game or app— but when it comes to Azul Ashengrotto, one must lay down some sort of groundwork.

A lot of unexpected things happen in Yuu’s life. A good example is suddenly waking up in a new world after accidentally falling into a nearby river upon seeing a carriage pop up behind her.

Not a fun story.

Aside from that, one of the most unexpected things she had done her whole life was what she was doing right now.

Standing in front of Azul’s office.

Floyd willingly escorted her there but left as soon as they reached the door. He gave her a toothy grin, wishing her luck before leaving her alone. Weirdo. But then again, that word alone wasn’t enough to describe Floyd Leech.

(As a magicless student, Yuu was at the very very bottom of the chain. This made her a consistent target of whoever felt like messing with her, fellow freshmen or upperclassmen. Today, however, people seemed too intimidated to do or say shit to her face, and she was sure that it was thanks to a certain rumor that spread like wildfire throughout the school.

During a joint class with a second-year class in Potionology, some students stopped stealing her vials and ingredients when she wasn’t looking, and none of them tried to put the chemicals she needed on higher, unreachable, shelves (which was a common prank they liked to pull on her, all thanks to her five-foot-three ass).

In Gym class, when one of her classmates accidentally hit her with a soccer ball, he apologized so profusely that Yuu almost felt guilty for getting hit.

In Sam’s store during a free period, when she wanted to get the last pack of her favorite Gummy worms, the student who took it from right under her nose had generously given it to her when he realized who she was.

And during lunch, no one dared to cut in front of her when she lined up, they wouldn’t touch Grim or her friends either.

“Damn, seems like being friends with a housewarden’s girlfriend comes with some perks,” Ace grinned as he took a bite of his lunch. He managed to snag one of the good items on the menu before they sold out, all because those in the line with them were too afraid to mess with Yuu.

“Guess Yuu dating Azul isn’t so bad after all,” the ginger boy added.

She felt a little guilty exploiting a huge misunderstanding, but this was Night Raven College. She will take what she could get.

And maybe… just maybe… this would help her out.)

She took a deep breath and flexed her fingers before knocking on the door.

“Who is it?” Azul’s voice, muffled by the door, called out.

“Um, it’s me. Are you busy?”

She heard a little bit of shuffling from the other side before hearing him say: “No, not too much. Come in.”

She took another breath before twisting the doorknob. He was seated behind his desk, and from the looks of it, he must have been working on some documents. He had a small stack of them on his left, indicating that they were done with, and on his right was a sheaf of papers.

“Take a seat,” he gestured to one of the couches before standing up to sit in front of her. “I take it you came here to talk about last time?”

Straight to the point, but then again, she wasn’t planning on stalling either.

“Uh, yeah. I thought about it for a bit, and…and it might actually be a good idea.”

For several reasons, the contract would get a lot of people off her back, persistent admirers, and bullies. Her friends didn’t seem to be as strongly against it as they had been during the weekend, and if they had their suspicions, they kept it to themselves.

Whatever happened during the weekend, Ace simply said that he and the others were willing to accept whatever she had with Azul as long as he wasn’t holding her hostage with a contract. They didn’t press for an explanation either, only saying that she could tell them and the others when she felt ready.

They may be troublemakers in their own right, but she loved these boys to death.

Azul had a small smile on his face, very professional, but it had a little something in it that Yuu couldn’t pinpoint, “Very well. Shall we get to the details?”

He stood up momentarily to pick up a sheaf of papers from his desk before settling back into his seat. He placed a piece of paper in front of her— the first page of their contract.

“I’ve written down the basic terms and conditions of our agreement after you left,” he said.

She tilted her head, “Did you already expect me to say yes?”

“To be honest, not really. But my foresight allows me to be prepared for any eventuality,” his face had its usual modest expression, it was as if he wouldn’t care at all if she decided to discard the whole fake dating idea.

To be fair, since it was Azul she was dealing with, she was sure he would have found another way to get the deal he wanted one way or another.

She picked up the paper and read it carefully. After dealing with his contract in the past, she learned to read all her contracts properly despite how long they might be. She made sure to look for fine prints that she might miss, just to be safe.

Once she was sure that the conditions were written correctly with no elaborate wording that may cause misunderstandings, she nodded and placed the paper back down.

“Is it sufficient for you?” He asked, “If you wish to add more to our terms, you may do so, but keep in mind that I might have to make some changes of my own as well, you know, to keep the balance.”

“The conditions are fine, and… actually, I would like to set some ground rules, my own terms, if you will.”

There was a hint of a smirk on his face, “You seem to have thought this through more than I expected you to. And here I was thinking you would thoughtlessly sign this one.”

She shrugged, “it’s standard protocol when it comes to fake-dating relationships.”

He raised a brow, “standard protocol?”

“Mhm.”

“Have you done something like this before?”

“The contracts or the fake-dating?”

“The latter.”

“Nope. I just know the trope.”

He blinked, “The what..?”

She ignored his confusion and shook her head, “Okay, first of all, you will not use our agreement as an incentive to lure my friends into a contract.”

He sighed, “I suppose I expected that. You’re strangely attached to those boys.”

“You’d know how it feels if you had people you consider precious to you, outside of business that is,” she said, waving his remark off. That seemed to shut him up. “Anyway. Second, before making any relationship-related decisions, you will always, and I mean always tell me first before deciding anything. Ask for my consent, and I’ll ask you for yours.”

“Deal.”

“Third rule,” it was going to be weird, but it was necessary. She braced herself, “No sex.”

His eyes widened as he stared at her with parted lips. He didn’t move, not even a single inch save for the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. His reaction made her heart sink to her stomach, was he… was he expecting to…with her… at some point…? Was it…? Did he…?

Panic rose in her heart as she tried to stand up, “Um, I’m sorry, if you were expecting us to, uh, do that, then I’m afraid I can’t—“

“No!” Life returned to him in an instant, “No, no it’s nothing like that. I was just... surprised. I didn’t think it would be important enough to bring it up.”

Oh… then maybe she was the weirdo here.

“S-Sorry… I was just—“

He shook his head, “No, it’s alright. You’re straightforward. I wouldn’t want to do anything that made you uncomfortable. Terms like that are important for setting up mutual agreements after all…” he coughed into a gloved fist. “My apologies.”

His awkward movements weren’t hard to miss, the professional persona he had built up in front of her crumbled, and all that was left was an awkward teenage boy.

He then nodded firmly, “Okay, no sex.”

And, well, it is awkward, because she’s sitting in his office alone with him, talking about sex. Of all things.

“Yes, no sex,” she repeated.

Okay. Don’t think about it. Back to the rules.

“Anyway, uh fourth rule— or whatever. It’s not really a rule, but you can hold me accountable for it: during the duration of our agreement, I won’t date anyone else. Like real real dating. You know, to make it believable. I don’t do real dating anyway.”

He simply stared at her.

“Uh! But you can date others if you’d like!” She hastily added, “Just— just not on campus or anywhere anyone can see. It’ll look…kind of stupid.” I’ll look kind of stupid.

He shook his head, “No, it’s fine. I won’t.”

“Awesome! And if ever you do end up dating someone else, then—”

“I won’t date anyone else either.”

…Oh.

“Oh,” she said, rather dumbly. Well, what did she expect, honestly? If Azul was interested in someone else, he wouldn’t be asking her to fake-date him for a potential business contract. “Okay…cool, cool.”

“Anything else?”

“One last rule,” and the most important one.

He nodded, staying silent to let her continue.

“We must never fall in love with each other.”

Something changed within Azul when she said that. She couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was, but even though the only thing that changed outwardly was the way his eyes widened a fraction, something with his aura, his being, wavered.

It’s like the way the music changes-- when the vibe of the song changes the atmosphere. It’s the way the air shifts when you realize it’s going to rain soon. It’s… well, it’s the way the look in his eyes changed into something she couldn’t comprehend.

It’s weird, but it’s there.

“Pardon?” He finally spoke.

“I know it sounds weird, but… well, I feel like it’s necessary to say it, as unlikely as it is to happen,” she replied.

It wasn’t as though Azul was unattractive, the complete opposite actually. He was handsome, intelligent, talented, ambitious— he’s probably a lot of other girls’ dream boy. Maybe in the future, he’d find someone for him, but they weren’t there yet. They were right here, right now.

Right now isn’t the time for her to fall in love, not when she has to go home, to the world where she belongs.

Right here isn’t the time for him to fall in love. No… he was ambitious, and she knew that he knew the time wasn’t right for him yet. Not when he’s chasing too much.

Right here, right now, isn’t the time for the both of them.

“Don’t fall in love with me, and I won’t fall in love with you,” she continued. “If any of us starts feeling anything similar to love for each other, we must terminate the contract immediately.”

“Understandable,” he said, pushing up his glasses. They reflected the light well enough that she couldn’t see his eyes for a moment. “No falling in love.”

“No falling in love,” she nodded.

“Are those all?” He asked.

“Yup! All five of my terms. Well, if you can even call them that… uh, is there anything else you want to add?”

“No. I’ve already put down what I wanted, which is everything you’ve initially read.”

“And you’ll consider my terms?”

“There’s no consideration needed. Your terms are reasonable, so I must comply.”

“You’re…weirdly compliant with this.”

“It’s a mutual contract, is it not?” He said questioningly, “While I don’t need to use my signature spell, a contract is a contract.”

And he stays true to them…

“Alright! Then I must keep up my end of the bargain. So how should we go about this? Should we start getting coffee together or something?”

“Coffee? Like coffee dates?” He asked.

“Oh? So you’re familiar with them? Have you ever had a coffee date, Azul?” She asked teasingly.

He frowned, “You know full well I haven’t.”

“I know. I was kidding,” she giggled, “it’s nothing to be ashamed of either. Well, unless you were me on my first date.”

He raised a brow, looking rather interested, “Oh? Sounds like a nice conversation topic--" he smirked, "--for a date."

“Well too bad, there are other more interesting topics,” she rolled her eyes, “when are you free? Since you’re a housewarden, your mornings must be packed.”

“We can have coffee and breakfast together in the cafeteria on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Occasionally Fridays too, but I will have to contact you on that every now and then,” he explained.

“Tuesdays and Thursdays then,” she said with a smile, "And maybe Fridays."

“Is that a deal?” He extended his hand.

With a deep breath, Yuu took his hand. His fingers wrapped around hers like tendrils, and he shook them, firmly and gently.

She noticed they were warm, big, and...... gloveless.

“It’s a deal.”

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst yuu #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #twst azul #azul ashengrotto #The Boyfriend Contract - TWST fanfic

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zablife · 2 years

Text

Party Trick

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female reader

Summary: You're on a first date with Hangman with little to say until you swap party tricks.

Author's Note: Requested by a lovely anon who wanted to see Hangman on a date with a shy reader.

You'd been sitting in silence for what seemed like hours, although in reality it was probably only a few moments. You cursed your shy nature, wishing the alcohol would kick in and make you more talkative. No matter how hard you tried to think of something to say, the words wouldn't come out. You were intimidated by the handsome older pilot in front of you and his wolfish grin did nothing to ease your fear of disappointing him whenever you thought of opening your mouth. Suddenly you wondered why Penny had thought you two would make a good match.

Jake was trying to be patient. He'd asked questions about school and made a few jokes to break the ice. Nothing seemed to be working though and you could see the light dimming in his green eyes. You noticed his gaze wander to the pool table and you worried he'd rather be playing a game with his buddies than sitting here trying to coax a few words from you.

You took another sip of your beer, watching him as he pulled a toothpick from his pocket and placed it between his teeth. It seesawed back and forth between his lips before he did something completely unexpected. He rotated it vertically against the roof of his mouth, using his tongue to flip it back out again. You raised your eyebrows at him and giggled, "Aren't you afraid you're going to poke a hole in the roof your mouth doing that?"

His eyes flashed with light once more as he said, "What? This?" Then he maneuvered the toothpick once more, slowly this time for you to get a better look. Your heart skipped a beat as he stared into your eyes as his tongue flipped the toothpick once more.

"Mmmm-hmm," you said.

"Just a little party trick, darlin'. Everybody's got one. Don't tell me you haven't picked up one or two," he said leaning his elbows onto the table.

"Well...there's one thing I can do," you said, cheeks flushing bright red as soon as you remembered. Jake sat up in his seat, eager to hear what it was.

"Now you gotta tell me. What kinda trick makes you blush like that, sweetheart?" he asked in an amused voice.

You bit your lower lip and rolled your eyes to the floor. Were you going to show him? It was so silly! But he had asked so you held up a finger and told him you would return. You trotted to the bar and asked Penny for a few cherries and she complied with a shrug.

Heading back to the table Jake watched you intently as you popped a cherry into your mouth stem and all. You chewed for a bit and then your mouth set to work. You rolled your tongue inside your jaw and Jake watched mesmerized as you held his gaze confidently. You'd done this a million times at summer camp, never thinking it would come in handy one day. He cocked an eyebrow at you wondering what you were up to until you extended your tongue proudly a few seconds later and plucked a knotted stem from your mouth.

"Well I'll be damned!" he said examining it carefully. "You did that?"

"I did!" you said proudly.

"You know, I think our talents might be wasted sitting here talking, darlin'. Why don't we go for a drive?" he said suggestively.

"I'd like that," you agreed. Then Jake took you by the hand and led you out the door.

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

Tag list:

@rikki-b-lake

@alanadetigy

@writeroutoftime

@deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

@peakyrogers

@justalonelyslytherin

@lovemissyhoneybee

@wandawiccan60

@l1-l4

@luckyladycreator2

@kmhappybunny240

@shanimallina87

@hey-its-kayla-claire

@can-this-be-a-fanfic

@blue-aconite

@littlebadariell

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@sweetlittlegingy

#Top Gun Maverick fanfic #Top Gun Maverick imagine #Jake Seresin fanfic #Jake Seresin imagine #Jake Hangman Seresin #Hangman fanfic #Hangman imagine #Jake Seresin x reader #Jake Seresin x y/n #Jake Seresin x you #Hangman x reader #Hangman x y/n #Hangman x you

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7waystreet · 1 year

Text

legacies | ch.1

synopsis — a fiery (y/n) newly enters a university campus dominated by the three trust fund brats. she’s not going to take their shit and they’re not going to let her off so easily either. will this rivalry evolve into friendship, lust or love?

genre — college drama, angst, slow burn

disclaimer — 18+ ; strong language and sexual content

chapter index:

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | coming soon

ch.1

Tongue smugly rolling in his cheek like he's got the biggest cock in the world, his doe eyes scan the lecture hall for his next victim the second he has stepped inside dripping in utmost arrogance. Tucking both of his thumbs into the leather belt on his crisp, black trousers, he pulls them up in an attempt to openly adjust his balls, a proud smile curling up on his thin lips at the sight of everyone lowering their gaze into their desk to avoid his intimidating one. Every student except for you, of course. He chuckles to himself when your eyes lock in with one another, as if you have just called on a death wish he's so happy to carry out for you, his long legs now strutting in your direction past several rows of seats with a pep in his step.

You're fascinated by his appearance despite his vain outward projection, which usually is a huge turnoff for you, but the satisfying balance between his visibly muscular body and childlike face somehow holds of much interest to you. His jet black hair's longer in the back, a soft twirl to the tips of his bangs parted in the center up front, which he's already messily pushed back with a run of his fingers a few times on his way over to you. The equally black and slim backpack he's carrying is loosely strapped onto one shoulder, almost ready to fall off any second, but it doesn't even look like he cares about losing it anyways.

"Get lost, you ugly fuck" he spits his vicious venom at the innocent guy sitting next to you, the poor kid jumping out of his seat right after hearing the boy's command like a lizard that's gotten its tail cut off. And just like that, you've instantly lost your growing interest in him, the way he's just needlessly treated his peer with such malice the cause of your undeniable irritation. The boy with the round eyes sinks down and occupies the newly emptied chair, his body then bossily turning to the side towards you, but before he can say a word, the sound of the metal doors slamming shut indicates someone's just entered the room.

"What's Jeon Jungkook done today?" your music composition professor routinely muses out loud, clearly having gaged the chilling silence definitely means something's off. His kitten shaped eyes hone in on none other than the pretty boy reclining back in his chair next to you, who's now stretching his legs out with a bored yawn before shamelessly lifting his polished black shoes up and resting them criss cross on top of the desk.

"I was just welcoming the new girl with open arms, Mr. Min" Jungkook shouts across the classroom while extending his arm out, the soft material of his white button up shirt grazing your shoulder as he snakes his arm around you, his palm vigorously squeezing the edge of your collarbone to unnecessarily assert his dominance. You internally cringe at this superfluous act of toxic masculinity, the need to want to instantly push him off bursting through you like a flame, but you hold yourself back from making a scene right then and there, not really wanting to start trouble on your first day at university. He breaks his eye contact with professor Min, now turning his head to the side in your direction again, a cocky smirk forming on the edge of his mouth as he flickers his gaze between your bemused eyes down to your frowning lips.

"My legs are open for you anytime too... if you want" Jungkook slyly whispers, barely audible this time so only your ears are met with his lewd comment, his disgusting nature now ticking you off beyond your own damn control.

"No thanks. I'd rather die."

The cast in his bambi eyes flips a dramatic switch at your instant blazing refusal to fall as his pitiful prey, a bruised anger firing up in them with each passing second while his jaw begins to clench. He lets out an offended sigh when you pick your hand up off of your thigh and smack it down on top of his, which is still assertively grasping at your collarbone. Your fingers then forcefully peel his grip off of you before you savagely throw his arm away, making it fall and pathetically hang in the air behind your chair.

"You're gonna pay for this, you bitch" he threatens between gritted teeth, the simple poker face you reply back with clearly catching him off-guard, as if you're the only person who's displayed an indifference towards his threats, like you're the only one not affected by the risk of being stifled by him. You've interacted with plenty of assholes like him before though, making him absolutely no special than the rest of them.

"Ahem right... well... uh, let's keep all of our body parts to ourselves then. Welcome to my class (y/n)! Feel free to reach out to me if you need any assistance — and get your feet off the desk, Jeon. NOW!"

Whipping your gaze away from Jungkook in a roaring flash, you smile and nod at the awkward little professor standing by the front board with respect, burying your head into your books right after while the insolent boy next to you curses and lowers his legs back down onto the ground. You're trying to follow along as Mr. Min goes over musical note formation and the theoretical approach to composition, but Jungkook keeps distracting you with the way he's incessantly typing out text messages on his phone under the desk, not paying any attention to the lecture whatsoever. He's getting nonstop replies back indicated by the constant buzzing of the phone on his lap, a soft slap of his palm on the desk top making you look up at his obviously stunning side profile, which you secretly hate to admit. "Finally."

Just as Jungkook's finished murmuring the word, the metal doors of the lecture hall fly open with a boom, two rather handsome yet unknown boys in their uniforms casually strolling in with ease as if they own the building. The one walking up front is slightly shorter than the lean boy lingering behind, the leader's tiny fingers running through his silky blonde hair with style before he slaps down a piece of paper on professor Min's table.

"A note from dean Kim. A new teacher's just joined the staff. You've to go greet her, Min."

You're shocked by how the boy speaks so informally with the professor, not even an ounce of respect in his tone of speech while he keeps boring into Mr. Min's eyes with an unusual powerful intimidation. You catch yourself wondering if all the boys at this university are so haughty and full of themselves, a rather discouraging feeling before you've even fully began your new experience here. The professor slowly looks down at the folded note, his pale veiny hands picking it up and opening it before cautiously reading each and every word, his gaze then turning up to the two boys still towering over him before he sternly mutters to the blonde one through pursed lips.

"Watch your attitude, Park Jimin."

"And you watch your paycheck. My dad might just cut you off if I slip in the word... See ya."

Your head immediately tilts towards Jungkook as his sadistic chuckle breaks the deep silence that's hollowed out the classroom after Jimin's nasty snap back at the professor. Quickly standing up in his seat, Jungkook looks down and throws daggers at you with one last mean look, then swaggering his way over to the front of the lecture hall just as Mr. Min begins timidly gathering his things in defeat.

"Who are these guys...?" you mumble to the classmate sitting on your other side, your chest rising up with an outrage after watching Mr. Min quietly exit the room in the most helpless looking way possible. The three boys unite and giggle together in a circle like the ridiculous jerks they are, the tallest one affectionately putting his arm around Jungkook's neck in a headlock as Jungkook high fives Jimin and starts gossiping with the both of them.

"Jimin and Taehyung are seniors, and Jungkook always hangs around them despite being our age. They're all legacies, you know? The rich kids who's families fund the university. No one dares to cross them... not even the professors. I'd stay away from them if I were yo—"

Your classmate's already hushed voice cuts to total silence when all three boys suddenly spin on their heels and turn around to face you, your eyes now widening with a tinge of uneasiness when Jungkook extends his arm up and points directly at you with his index finger.

"Hey! New girl! Come here!" Jimin loudly exclaims with a clap of his hands, his demeanor unnervingly off with how his plump lips crack into the prettiest smile all of sudden. His puppy eyes are practically shimmering with happiness as he keeps dreamily gazing into yours, his palm now excitedly waving at you and ushering you to start walking towards him.

"You're fucked..." is the last thing you hear your classmate mumble before you confidently stand up, both of your feet slowly creeping up towards the tall boys who are patiently waiting for you just up ahead.

The closer you inch in their direction, the more you get to observe the minute details of their facial features, their visuals sickeningly perfect like a timeless beauty, no doubt. Taehyung's got a straight nose and a set of almond shapes eyes, piercing into you with his steely gaze, although a softness lurks underneath his threat, that softness absolutely lacking in Jungkook's big terrorizing eyes that are ready to stab you anytime with their cold look. Jimin appears somewhat balanced with the most approachable body language out of the three of them, his overall stature less intimidating with his prettier spirit, a small smile now forming on your lips to mimic Jimin's when you finally stand in front of him with a slight nervousness settling in your throat, which you don't even really know why you're feeling.

"What's your name? I'm Jimin, this is Taehyung, and that's Jungkook! It's very nice to meet you" he kindly grins down at you, your eyes following his index finger as he points out his closest companions to you. Taehyung gives you a nod of acknowledgement with a faint hint of a smile, but Jungkook merely scoffs while rolling his eyes at you in pure disgust. Your palm begins to feel an increasing itch and desire to slap him hard across that soft little face of his, but you get distracted by how Jimin extends his arm out to you for a handshake.

"I'm (y/n). Thanks! It's nice to meet you too."

"Oooh that's a pretty watch! Is it new?" Jimin curiously questions as his eyes trail down to your wrist, his fluffy palm still holding onto yours even though you're done shaking hands. You're flattered by his sweet compliment, your heart fluttering against your own will by how he's not letting go of your hand, his effortless charm breaking your daze and making you fall into the trap of answering him with a buzz.

"It was actually my grandma's watch! She gave it to me as a keepsake before she passed away."

"Awww can I see it?"

You can't help but be stupidly whipped by Jimin's charisma, your enchanted brain unable to even register that in the moment, your set of fingers now swiftly curling around the band of your watch before you start unhooking it, your eyes still meeting Jimin's cute smiley ones. He smoothly lets your palm slip out of his clasp, taking the watch you're now handing to him with an eerie calmness to his actions, really observing the details on the vintage piece, which holds an incredible value in your heart.

"You wanna take a look at it too, Jungkookie? Oh shit... oops!" Jimin gasps in a big jolt when the watch falls out of his grip and hits the tiles with a clink, his body halfway turned back towards Jungkook since he was attempting to pass your item to the youngest one. What happens next leaves you in a state of wild trauma, your breath painfully halting in your chest after your eyes are met with the horrifying scene in front of you.

"Told you I'd make you pay" Jungkook loathingly hisses at you, his foot raising up and stomping out your watch with a crushing force, shattering your prized possession into tiny little pieces at once. The several sharp gasps from the students sitting behind you ground you back into reality after the terrible blow to your heart, a wetness starting to form on the rim of your eyelashes, although you're fighting your very best to hold back the brimming tears. You simply cannot allow the boys to win the satisfaction of getting to you, your insides shaking with a raging fury, although your outward composure remains as calm as you can physically maintain in the moment. Hold your honor high. Don't stoop to their dirty level.

"You shouldn't have done that, Jungkookie."

Your attention from your own thoughts fiercely diverts from Jungkook's menacing face to Taehyung's concerned look as he speaks out against the cruel boy, much to your surprise, but both Jungkook and Jimin ignore his words as if they didn't even hear him speaking. Taehyung's expressions turn dark while he sternly grits his teeth and lets out a deep sigh, bending down to rest his knees on the floor in order to help pick up the salvageable remains of your watch. You're beyond confused by this act, your mind not knowing whether to be warmed by Taehyung's touch of kindness or be suspicious of him even more, but regardless, you take a step forward to join him in the cleanup process. Jimin doesn't let you though, proceeding to stop you dead in your tracks by treading up and blocking your path with his wide chest shoving in your face.

"If you cross any one of us ever again, you'll be dealing with a worse fate."

Your skin crawls with goosebumps witnessing Jimin's personality switch from the oozing bubbly appeal to the mortifying death stare he's now threatening you with, your consciousness actually making you question his level of sanity. With one last look at your downcast lips, Jimin coldly snaps his head around and prances out of the lecture hall, his nose mightily pointing up to the ceiling while his boots obnoxiously clank onto the floor with each loud step. Taehyung's still delicately gathering the pieces of your watch scattered everywhere while Jungkook begins to foolishly giggle and wander in your direction, a smug smirk plastered on his face as he folds his arms across his chest and hovers in front of you exuding an annoying aura of pompousness.

"Maybe if you behave going forward, I might just pity you and buy you a new watch. A much classier one than that piece of shit you were weari—"

It all happens in a brisk flash, the deafening sound of your palm intensely slapping Jungkook's cheek echoing in the lecture hall like the crack of a whip, a dead silence following right after as Jimin stops walking and pauses by the metal doors. You can practically taste the tenseness encompassing the air in your mouth, all of the students now clenching to hold onto their breaths for dear life, an overwhelming amount of eyes strictly glued onto you and Jungkook.

Jungkook physically convulses from the anger surging up to his reddening face, his gaze peeling off of the floor and his head glowering up to stare into your eyes with the desire to kill you in that very moment embedded in those round orbs. Fully coming to terms with what you'd just brashly done, you instantly wish to escape out of this bumbling nightmare, your legs thinking for themselves even though your brain's numbing out, your body tumbling its way over to the door to exit out of the classroom without any additional confrontation with anyone. Catching a quick glance at Taehyung while you leave in a hurry, he throws you off completely with the gentle grin forming on his lips, his beaming eyes looking up at you and then at Jungkook with a thrill, as if he'd just enjoyed seeing the boy get a taste of his own medicine.

"Where do you think you're going, you bitch?! Come back here! This isn't over!"

Jungkook's screams can be heard even outside of the lecture hall, your shoulder brushing against Jimin's before you depart with full force, your petrified eyes only focused on the big long hallway up ahead of you instead of what you're leaving behind. You're not even sure where you're headed, your feet scurrying around in a frenzy as you try hard to increase the distance between you and the three boys as much as possible, now quite frankly lost in the humongous student campus. You think your mind's playing a trick on you when you suddenly hear a familiar voice yell out your name, your teeth digging into your bottom lip with the regret of being caught when you realize who it is by the sound of his soft raspy tone.

"Hey (y/n)! Wait up! Please."

Taehyung appears slightly breathless as he swiftly catches up to you, his long legs striding down the hallways in half the amount of time it took for you to reach here. He's got your backpack securely strapped onto one shoulder while his hands remain cupped, like he's holding onto something quite dearly. It isn't until he finally reaches all the way up to you that you realize he's got the leftover shattered pieces of your grandma's watch in his palms, a kind boxy smile gushing on his face as he extends his arms out to give you your belongings, leaving you in an utterly perplexed state of mind.

"Cheer up (y/n). This type of shit always happens around here. Now, come with me."

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justagalwhowrites · 10 months

Text

Beskar Doll - Ch. 17: Distance

In which Din and Doll try to figure out how to navigate feelings in their own, emotionally stunted ways. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-16 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: None! Whole fic is violent and smutty, minors DNI 18+ only. No use of Y/N

Length: 6.3k

Your body was still pleasantly loose when you woke up, a sweet soreness between your thighs as you more drifted back into consciousness instead of shocking into it as you usually did. You were wrapped in the Mandalorian’s cloak and the sun was fully up. It took you a moment to remember just what had happened the night before as you slowly blinked against the brightness and you found yourself alone in the grass.

“Fuck,” you groaned quietly. You’d made a damn fool of yourself, acting like an out of control teenager as Din touched you. And then you’d passed out before returning the favor. And you think you even cried a little. “Dammit.”

You sat up, feeling almost hungover despite the fact that you could tell that you’d slept well. Your whole body was relaxed and you didn’t feel worn or tired. But the knot that was settling in your stomach was sour. What had you done? What if you’d ruined it all again?

But he’s the one who started it. He’d touched you, controlled your body, gave you commands you’d been happy to bow to as he expertly pulled pleasure from you over and over. Why would he have done that if he hadn’t wanted to? Maybe just to prove that he could? And where the hell was he, anyway?

You ran your fingers through your tangled hair, trying to tame the knots as you tightened the cloak around yourself. You pressed your face into it. It smelled a little like him, though not as much as you’d have hoped. But then, the armor was always there, keeping the most intimate things about him hidden away, even his smell. Meanwhile, it felt like you were always exposed and he knew exactly where to look and how to read you.

You got up slowly, cracking your neck and you looked around, about to call out to try to find him when he came down the ramp to the Razor Crest, the child in hand.

“Well if I could trust you to stay out of trouble,” he was saying, the kid gazing up at him adoringly. He stopped when he saw you standing there, his cloak drawn tightly around you.

“Hey,” you said, trying to stand up straight and not look vulnerable or embarrassed. You weren’t sure if you were pulling it off. You unwound the cloak and held it out to him. “Thanks. For this.”

“Sure,” he said, closing the distance between you and setting the baby in the grass before taking it from you. “I hope you slept well.”

“Yeah,” you said, part of you wishing the ground would just open and swallow you whole because it would be better than feeling this uncomfortably exposed. “You?”

“You’re the one who’s starting training today,” he replied, putting the cloak on and crossing his arms. “How I slept doesn’t really matter. Eat something, we’ll get going.”

“We?” You frowned. He started for the part of the Razor Crest he’d been working on the day before and you followed.

“Yes,” he replied, not looking at you, just pulling a panel off the side of the ship. “You’re still recovering. You can train but I’m supervising. You’ll push yourself too hard and fry the cybernetics if someone doesn’t rein you in.”

“I know how to train, Mando,” you narrowed your eyes at him. “I did it for years.”

“Not starting from scratch you didn’t,” he replied. “And not after recovering from an injury like that. You almost died, Doll, almost lost the use of most of your body. You need help. Accept it.”

“No.”

“That’s unfortunate,” he replied, reaching into the panel. “Because you can either accept me helping you or try to train while watching your back because I’ll be tracking you the whole time to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. Those are your options, pick one.”

“Do you try to be infuriating or does that happen on accident?”

He shrugged.

“Fine,” you snapped. “It can be ‘we.’ But you have to keep your mouth shut about how incapable I am right now.”

“I’m not going to make fun of you, Doll.”

He said it earnestly, an openness to his tone you weren’t really used to.

“Good,” you said, your voice not quite as sharp. “I’ll just… go get ready then.”

You took a few steps and turned back to him.

“Are we just not going to talk about…”

“Yeah,” he cut you off. You nodded once.

“OK.”

You went into the ship and grabbed some of the meat from the night before and a handful of berries. At least this time hadn’t seemed to break everything. It was just going to return to business as usual. Honestly, a slightly nicer version of business as usual. You could live with that. It’d be hard to pretend like the Mandalorian hadn’t just made you cum until your body was basically a pile of plasma and you couldn’t move but you could do that. You were willing to do quite a bit, you realized, to have him tolerate you.

“Well that bodes well,” you muttered to yourself, chugging some water before braiding your hair tightly against your skull and getting changed, happy the clothes you’d bought on Garqi were made for physical work. It wasn’t as good as the few things you had left from Naboo, they didn’t move with you the same way, but they fit and were a lot better than the alternatives.

When you came down the ramp again, carrying water and your knife tucked in your pocket, the Mandalorian had closed the panel on the ship again and strapped the kid to his back with the backpack. The baby squealed happily when he saw you, clapping his little hands together in glee.

“Well hi there,” you smiled, coming up and poking his little nose. He was level with your head from his spot on the Mandalorian’s back and he frowned a little, inspecting your hair. You drew his eyes to yours. He was confused.

“It’s all still there,” you said, turning your head to show him the rest. “It’s just back.”

“What are you two doing back there?” Mando asked, looking over his shoulder.

“He doesn’t understand how hair works,” you replied, still smiling at the kid. You pulled your braid forward and held the end of it out to him. He took it, his fingers exploring the end of it before putting it in his mouth. You tried to not laugh when he frowned and took it out again. “He’s around you too much. I don’t think he understands that it can change shape and size quite a bit, he’s puzzling it out.”

Din snorted and you smiled. The kid’s eyes met yours. Still curious but more satisfied and content now. You gave his little forehead a kiss before going to stand next to the Mandalorian.

“So,” you glanced up at him, arms crossed. “You’re the drill sergeant. Do you want to tell me what to do or am I allowed to decide for myself?”

“What do you usually start with?” He asked, looking down at you.

“When I was at my peak condition?” You asked. He nodded. “I’d run at least five clicks a day to start, sometimes up to 15, do some strength training, some hand-to-hand with someone if I could or at the very least do some staff or knife work. Target shoot a few times a week. Regular obstacle work.”

He nodded once.

“Why don’t we see how you do running one click,” he said. “We can go from there.”

You nodded once, an anxious ball settling in you. You were out of practice and your body was still recovering. This could easily be a shit show. You stretched a bit and jumped in place, warming up your limbs.

“Ready?” He asked. Actually asked. That was disorienting. You nodded. “Let’s go. You set the pace.”

You started off, heading toward the woods, taking it at a pace that felt almost exceedingly slow but you could already feel in your body. Your lungs were working harder than they had in a while. You could feel the blood in your limbs, the rush of it through your veins as your heart picked up. The woods were cool, morning dew still on the air where it had been protected by the shade of the trees. It smelled clean, a bit like home on Naboo or the woods on Alderaan where you’d played as a girl, the feeling of racing through trees and running for the sake of moving your body instead of out of fear or necessity comforting. It had been a long time since you’d moved like this but it was like coming home.

“How are you feeling?” The Mandalorian didn’t even sound winded. Show off.

“Good,” you said over your shoulder, panting a bit.

“OK,” he said, “Let’s go for two.”

You smiled. You hadn’t realized you’d gone one click already. Maybe this wasn’t going to be a total loss then. You picked up the pace a bit, pushing yourself a bit harder, watching for roots along the forest floor. It didn’t feel like you’d been going for very long, your lungs burning, when he spoke again.

“Turn back, Doll,” he said. “Don’t push it.”

You considered fighting with him - you felt like you could go further - but decided against it. He was being uncommonly nice. Why spoil it?

You found a tree that looked like it made sense to loop around and you did, the beskar-clad man following close behind. The baby caught a glimpse of you as you went past and he smiled, his arms up, his eyes meeting yours. Pure joy. You smiled.

You decided to push yourself harder the second half, your heart thudding in your chest, lungs filling almost painfully with every breath. You centered yourself for a moment before digging in and launching yourself forward, going faster, your legs burning.

“Doll,” he cautioned behind you. You ignored him, pumping your legs and arms faster and harder, racing along the ground, the scent of the forest filling you, the sound of your blood in your ears and the life of the planet around you. Trees whipped past you, the forest blurring fiercely, the brightness of the field ahead breaking through the trees.

You burst into the sunlight, squinting against it as you focused and pushed your body to sprint to the Razor Crest, the ground flying away beneath your feet. It felt reckless, a bit out of control, like you knew if you tripped you’d go flying with no hope of slowing yourself down first but you didn’t care. It felt too good to slow down. You almost skidded to a stop at the Crest before flopping on the ground, arms spread wide in the cool, soft grass. Din came to a stop beside you, looking down with his head cocked to the side. He was breathing heavily and you couldn’t help but smile a bit. At least you’d gotten his heart rate up.

“Have fun?” He asked, hands on his hips.

“Yeah,” you panted.

“Good,” he said. “Ready to strength train?”

You nodded and he held a hand out to you and you took it, pulling you to your feet. He turned you around in front of him and you frowned.

“I need to check your implants first,” he said. Your face got hot, remembering the night before. You shook your head once, sharply. You were pretending that hadn’t happened. His hand appeared over your shoulder, bare, holding a glove. You stared at it for a moment, trying to not gape at his naked skin. Golden tan, smooth, you wanted to run your fingers over him, lace them with his, press your lips into his palm.

“Hold that,” he said. You obeyed, taking the glove and using the opportunity to have your fingers brush his. It was like you’d been hit with the damn electrostaff again, a shock running through you where you skin touched. He didn’t seem to notice.

He raised your shirt and ran his fingers up your spine, stopping in the middle and pressing in further.

“Does that hurt?” He asked. His voice was dark, heavy.

“No,” you swallowed. His fingers ran further up your back, between your shoulder blades and back down before he took his hand back.

“Good,” he said, tone more normal. “The implants are a bit warm but nothing alarming. If it starts to hurt, Doll, stop.”

“OK,” you said. You didn’t sound as normal as him. His hand appeared over your shoulder again. You remember how it had felt on your breasts, your mouth, your hair… you swallowed hard and gave him the glove. You turned back to face him, crossing your arms over your chest as though that would make a damn difference. “Anything off limits on the strength training? Or are you just going to snap at me if I cross an imaginary line?”

He pulled the glove back on, shaking his head a bit at you.

“Do what you think will work for you,” he said. His voice was totally normal. How could he just act normal after last night? Why were you the only one stuck hauling feelings around? “I’ll check in periodically but stay out if your way.”

You stretched a bit, trying to pretend six-something-feet of armor wasn’t watching you like you were a quarry he was hunting, and tried to fall into a lighter version of what you used to do. You had to cut almost everything short, not able to do as many push ups or pull ups as you remembered doing before, eventually collapsing on the ground, dripping in sweat. You stayed there for a minute, panting for breath, when the Mandalorian appeared over you, blotting out the sun.

“I feel like you’re enjoying this,” you glared at him. He shrugged. “Is it because you want something to hold against me or because you like saying ‘I told you so.’”

“More the latter.”

“Great.”

“We’ll skip the fighting today,” he said, offering you a hand up. You took it, not bothering to protest the change in plans. You’d lose to Din in seconds in your current state. “But you can still shoot.”

He pulled you up and you nodded.

“That I can.”

***

He had to hand it to you, he was impressed. He’d never had a chance to see you work like this before - though he had an idea that you practiced when he wasn’t around when you’d been aboard the Razor Crest years earlier. You were still stronger than you looked - though you got progressively more frustrated the longer you worked - and you were clearly comfortable pushing your body. He suggested shooting almost as much to slow you down and keep you from getting hurt without upsetting you as it was because he wanted you to learn.

He left you leaning against the ship, drinking water while he put the kid in the pod and slung his rifle on his arm. He managed to make it down the ramp without catching your attention, your eyes closed as you leaned your head back against the ship, breathing deeply. His eyes drifted to your breasts, remembering how the felt in his hands as your back arched into him. He ground his teeth. He needed to stop this.

“Come on,” he said. “We’re going up.”

You followed obediently behind him - still odd, having you actually listen - to the ladder to the top of the Crest.

“You first,” he said, jerking his head up. He waited to need to boost you to grab the first rung of the ladder, but you jumped and caught it, smoothly pulling yourself up and climbing easily to the top of the ship. He followed, trying to not look up to see just how well your pants cupped you on the way up.

On top of the ship, he left the kid in the pod and handed him the silver ball he’d become so obsessed with, his little face lighting up. He watched him play with it for a moment, totally absorbed, before going to the edge of the ship that faced the forest. You were standing there, your face turned to the sun, smiling in it. Looked like you still liked to be up high. You sensed him beside you, opening your eyes and looking at him.

“Know anything about distance shooting?” He asked.

“No,” you shook your head. “250 meters is about my limit.”

He slung the rifle down and held it up.

“With the right tools, it’ll be better,” he said. “This is an Amban sniper rifle.”

You frowned.

“Aren’t disrupters illegal?”

He shrugged.

“It works so I don’t really care,” he said. “We’ll get you a more acceptable one if you handle this one well. One that doesn’t disintegrate.”

“Appreciate that.”

“Since you’re already good with a blaster, you’re a step ahead,” he said. “Your fundamentals have to be solid when you’re shooting 1000 meters away. Small errors that wouldn’t do much at close range will ruin your shot here. You need to be still when shooting, your breathing has to be right and you have to be in the right firing position otherwise your shot will be fucked.”

He nodded to the ship.

“Get on your stomach.”

You obeyed and he got down next to you, rifle in hand.

“When you line up, your back needs to be straight out behind the rifle,” he said. You frowned at him. “What?”

“Am I going to have time to think about all this if I need to be shooting this far out?” Your eyebrows scrunched together. “I’m kind of a ‘shoot the biggest threat and keep going’ kind of person, I’ve never been able to set anything up like that…”

“If you’re giving me long distance cover, it will be part of a plan, Doll,” he said. “You’ll have plenty of time to get set.” You looked skeptical but you were back to listening. “You’re small, having the right position is good. This rifle has some kick, if you’re squared up it will exit your legs equally and your movement will be minimal.”

You adjusted how you were laying and he looked down at you before nodding once.

“This rifle is mine, so it won’t fit you well,” he said, handing it over to you. “But it will work for now. Set it so you can pull the trigger without disturbing the sights.”

You took it, lining it up with your body, testing it out. He liked watching you with his rifle. It was obvious that you knew your way around a weapon, already treating it like an extension of yourself, feeling how it fit into your body.

“I think I have it,” you said, glancing over to him.

“Nearly,” he said, moving in closer to you, his body pressing lightly into yours. He gently nudged your head until your cheek was pressed against the rifle. “You’ll need to be that close to it.”

“OK,” you said, sounding a little breathless.

“Take a few deep breaths,” he said, trying to ignore just how close you were to him and failing. “Find your natural point of aim. Then set your sights. At this distance, there will be some bolt drop, too much for you to eyeball. The scope will help. Aim for that tree, the shorter one, at the tree line straight out.”

You nodded once, cautiously making adjustments to the scope.

“Got it?”

“Yeah.”

He adjusted his helmet, sighting the tree.

“When you’re ready.”

You took a deep breath in and slowly let it out before pulling the trigger. He watched as the bolt glanced off the side of the tree, charring the edge.

“Shit,” you muttered.

“No, you did well,” he said, switching back to regular sights to watch you. “Try it again.”

You nodded once before breathing in and out a few times and pulling the trigger. You hit the tree this time, but far from at its center.

“You’re not at your natural point of aim,” he said. “You’re moving a bit, just before you fire. Close your eyes, breathe deep and relax. Then open them and resight.”

You nodded slightly before obeying. He watched you, your eyes closed, your jaw tight at first, but you gradually relaxed. It spread through your body, your shoulders dropping a bit, your face softening. He resisted the urge to touch you. You opened your eyes and adjusted the sight before taking the shot. It hit, dead center.

“Hell yeah,” you smiled.

“Good,” he said. “Now do it again. Another shot, within an inch.”

You repeated the process and hit in the same spot.

“Again.”

You obeyed, even faster this time.

“Tree to the left.”

You adjusted the rifle and shot, hitting the target just off center.

“Hit it right, Doll.”

You shot him a glare before you adjusted and fired again. Dead center this time.

“Next tree left.”

You adjusted and hit it right in the middle.

“Again.”

You got the shot off in record time this time, clustering it right beside the last one. Din nodded once.

“Tree to the right of the first.”

You threw him another glare but adjusted the rifle quickly, hitting to the side again.

“Dank farrik,” you muttered. Din was about to tell you to try again but you cut him off. “Again, I know.”

You adjusted your shot quickly, hitting dead on this time.

“Next right.”

He put you through your paces. He’d been right. You were an incredibly quick study, the fact that you’d been training almost your entire life obvious.

You were more like him than he really wanted to admit. You’d both dedicated your lives to something as children, studied and worked and fought for things you’d been dropped into believing. He’d been brought up to be a warrior, you’d spent your life expecting to die for someone else. But war was over, his people were decimated and you had survived. What were either of you supposed to do now.

After hitting another tree dead center on the first try, he looked over at you.

“Good work,” he said. You gave him an almost smug half smile. “What?”

“You were impressed,” you said, sitting up and handing him his rifle.

“I didn’t say that,” he replied.

“But you were.”

He sighed. “I was.”

You smirked.

“Knew it.”

He shook his head, getting up and slinging the rifle over his back and heading for the ladder down, looking back to you.

“I’m going to stay up here for a bit,” you shrugged. “I haven’t been able to climb in a while… I’ve missed it.”

Din hesitated for a moment before giving you a nod and descending the ladder, the kid’s pod floating beside him. He was strangely anxious, leaving you where he couldn’t easily see you. Not that there was much trouble to be found on this planet and he knew exactly where you were, but he had a nervous energy all the same.

He was still trying to figure out what the hell to do with you. He decided to clean his weapons, give himself something to do with his hands, to distract him. For a long time, he thought that, if he ever saw you again, it would be easier.

There was a space you occupied in his mind that would get better if you were close, he’d thought. That, as it turned out, wasn’t the case. Yes, he wasn’t wondering where you were or what you were doing anymore, that was true. But instead of focusing on something - anything - besides you, he shifted to trying to read you. Understand you, learn you, untangle your concerns. Truly, really know you. And there was the part of him that seemed to want to do nothing but picture you naked.

The kid tapped the ball on his pod, making Din look up from his work. He squeaked, looking up, pouting a bit.

“We’re giving her space,” he said. He tapped the ball again, looking frustrated. Din sighed. “No.” Tap, tap, tap. “Kid, she’s not going to be with us forever. She can’t be. Don’t get too attached.”

His ears drooped and he flopped back in his pod. Din sighed again. He needed to take his own damn advice. He straightened himself, almost subconsciously, like it would strengthen his resolve. He was not going to touch you again. He was going to find some distance, break out of your orbit. He had to.

To your credit, you picked up on it quickly. He hated watching it happen, seeing you retreat into yourself. He made a point to not be cruel, just cold. It only took the rest of the day for you to pull back, too. You slept inside the ship that night.

The next day, you told him you were going to train, waiting only a second to see if he would stop you or try to come. He shrugged, continuing work on the Razor Crest. But he noted your path to the forest with his helmet, ready to track you if you weren’t back when he expected. You borrowed his rifle in the afternoon to practice shooting. He watched from the ground as you hit almost every target, your speed and accuracy increasing.

After a few days of near silence, you approached him after your run.

“I need combat practice,” you said bluntly. You were still breathing heavily and his eyes kept drifting to your breasts, remembering how you felt. “Spar with me.”

He was silent for a moment.

“No.”

“What?” You demanded. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he replied, going back to working on the ship. You scoffed.

“You should be more worried about me hurting you.”

“Trust me, Doll,” he looked back to you. “That’s the least of my concerns.”

“Well, I know you won’t hurt me,” you crossed your arms and planted your feet. “So let’s go. I’ve never fought a Mandalorian. I’m curious.”

“I’m not going to throw a punch at you,” he replied.

“Trust me, you’d miss,” you rolled your eyes. He glared at you and he could tell you felt it. “Look, I want to be ready for when we leave here, OK? I can either practice with you or end up in a fight when I haven’t done much in years and find out then how little I still know. What sounds better to you.”

He sighed, dropping his tools.

“Fine,” he said. “No weapons. And if I say stop, we stop. Immediately.”

“If you’re that worried I’m going to kick your ass…”

“I’m serious, Doll,” he snapped.

“Fine,” you held your hands up in mock surrender and rolled your eyes.

“Tonight,” he said. “After the kid’s in bed.”

You frowned.

“Why?”

“Because,” he said. “He sees us fighting, he might not understand it’s fake. I don’t want him hurting you.” You raised your eyebrows. “It’s happened before.”

You sighed.

“Fine. Tonight, once the kid is down.”

He went back to work, feeling your eyes on him for another moment before you stalked off again. He hated letting you leave. But he had to get used to it.

The kid fell asleep on you after the sun set, something he’d been doing more often than not it seemed. You seemed happy to keep a hand on his back, your thumb lightly stroking the back of his head until he passed out against you.

“You owe me a brawl, Mando,” you said, looking over to him, your hand still on the baby.

“You’re sure,” he said, hoping that stalling would have given you time to change your mind. You just nodded. He sighed. “Fine, let me put him inside. I meant what I said…”

“I know,” you cut him off. “If you say stop, we stop.”

He carefully lifted the kid off of you and put him in his pod before bringing him aboard the ship. You were stretching when he came back out, still hoping you’d have given up on the idea. But you were stuck on it. He sighed and started removing his beskar.

“What are you doing?” You were frowning, frozen mid stretch.

“If you hit the armor, you’re going to hurt yourself,” he replied.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you dropped your arm and put your hands on your hips. “Put the damn armor back on, Din.”

“No,” he said, removing it piece by piece. “I can take a punch, Doll. You’re not breaking your fingers on my beskar.”

You ground your teeth.

“You can always back out,” he shrugged, setting a pauldron on the ground.

“Stop trying to talk me out of it,” you snapped. “I need to get better and I’m asking for your help. I’d ask someone else but my options here are limited. So please, Mando, let me practice fighting you so I don’t get my ass kicked by some bail jumper, OK?”

He set the last piece of beskar on the ground, leaving him in just the flight suit and helmet. Your eyes ran over him, up and down, slowly. It somehow made him feel more exposed than taking off the armor had, your gaze more dangerous than anything hitting him could be.

Din stepped away from the fire and the ship, into more open space and you followed, watching him cautiously. He set himself into a fighting stance, his fists raised.

“If I hurt you,” he said. “Say something. Don’t try to tough it out.”

“I can take a hit, Mando,” you rolled your eyes, stopping a few feet away from him and raising your hands, too.

“You’re the one who wants to spar, Doll,” he said. “So you have to start this.”

You narrowed your eyes and your stance changed ever so slightly, analyzing him for a moment before you came for him. You were smart, feigning going for his head. When he moved to block you, you side stepped it, going low and ducking below his arm, bringing your body into his and slamming your knee into his stomach. He grabbed your torso but you’d wrapped your arm around his side already, ramming into him with your elbow before bringing the leg you’d hit his stomach with down and around his ankle, yanking it out from below him and using your weight to knock him off balance, sending him down onto his back, forcing him into the ground with a grunt.

“You have to actually try, Mando,” you griped, pushing off the ground and getting to your feet.

“I don’t think you need to worry about bail jumpers, Doll,” he said.

“I will need to worry about people who will actually try to hit me,” you said, positioning yourself again. “So do it.”

He looked you up and down, trying to look at you like he would an opponent. It felt unnatural, looking for where you were weakest. Your size would be the first thing he should leverage. You were smaller and weaker, overpowering you should be simple. You didn’t have the muscle he did to protect your kidneys or liver, hits there would do solid damage.

He considered asking if you were ready but decided against it, just coming for you. He swung for you and you sidestepped him, grabbing his fist and trying to twist his arm. It was a move he imagined had worked for you in the past, but you didn’t have the strength or the weight to pull it off now. Instead, it exposed your torso and he swung, landing a pulled punch at your side with his other hand, just below your ribs. You grunted at the hit, some of the air getting knocked out of you. But instead of stopping or slowing, you used the hold you had on his arm to swing yourself down and back, going behind him. He spun to follow you but not before you landed a hit to his kidney at his back. He caught your next punch, twisting your arm back and you head butted him in the stomach, just below his rib cage. Din caught your head with his other arm, holding your face to his chest and knocking your feet out from under you, bringing you down to the ground on your stomach, leaving you panting for breath.

Watching you fight was oddly beautiful. He wanted to just admire it, admire you. The confidence and knowledge in the way you moved, the way your mind and body worked in perfect harmony to do what was necessary. It was art, especially to a Mandalorian. If he wasn’t perpetually worried about your safety, he’d want to watch you work, see what you would do with an enemy as your canvas.

“You OK?” He asked, his hands still on you.

“Fine,” you said. He released you and you rolled onto your back before he helped you up. “Let’s go again.”

“No,” he shook his head, walking back toward the ship.

“You said you would,” you protested, following close behind him, still breathing heavily. “I’ve had way worse than that, come on Mando, let’s go again.

“I know you have,” he snapped, turning to face you. “And I don’t want to hit you, so we’re done.”

“I need to know that I can protect your kid, Din,” you said, voice calm. “He’s vulnerable. Imps are after him. Even if I were just watching him on the ship, I need to know I can keep him safe. He’s too important.”

He searched your face, the cool detachment you usually wore missing. You were afraid. Of not being able to keep up, to save someone who needed saving.

“Please,” you said again, voice so soft he could barely hear it over the crackle of the fire.

“Fine,” he said, stalking back to the open space. You followed.

“Don’t pull your punches this time,” you said, raising your fists. “Push as fast and hard as you would if I were a quarry. It’s OK if it hurts.”

“Doll…”

“I fucking mean it, Mando,” you snapped. “Hit me.”

He ground his teeth before going for you.

You’d started to learn his movements, could read what was coming next. You dodged him, his blows glancing off you instead of fully catching, your counter punches finding their targets at first before he learned your movements, too. Things devolved, just blocking each other’s shots, adjusting, trying moves that were dirtier to see what would land.

Eventually, he caught you just enough off guard to knock you down. Before he had the chance to ask if you were OK, you swept his legs out from underneath him, sending him down, his helmet smacking into the ground.

“You’re good,” you were panting for breath, your head turned to face him. “If you were armored, I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“You did well, Doll,” he said, letting himself relax into the ground for a moment. “The kid will be in good hands with you.”

“Good,” you smiled a little, the movement changing the light on your face just enough that the firelight caught the glistening scrape on your cheek. Din rolled onto his side, yanking his glove off and reaching for your face, touching your cheek delicately.

“I hurt you,” he said softly, his thumb stroking your cheek.

“It’s just a scratch,” you rolled your eyes. “Nothing to worry about.”

It took him a moment to realize what he’d done. He’d hurt you and there was proof of it. And he was touching you. His skin was against yours, you were warm and soft beneath him, so close he could pull you against him in a second. His armor was gone, he’d be able to feel you more this way…

You picked up his hand from your face, setting it back against him.

“I can’t do this with you Din,” you said softly.

“Doll,” he breathed, but you cut him off.

“I can’t,” you said. “I don’t think you understand what the last five years - hell, the last few months - has been for me. I survived a war I never thought I’d live through but I lost everything. I’m trying to navigate a life I never planned to have. I lost my home, my brothers, my friends, my identity, my purpose - all to the Empire. I tried to start over and I lost that, too. I lost my parents. I tried to start over again and the only person I knew there, the person who was supposed to help me survive it tried to kill me and now he’s dead, too.

“There is one person in this entire fucking galaxy who knows who I am, that I’m alive at all, and he can’t seem to decide if he wants to fuck me or keep me as far away as he possibly can. I can’t do it, I can’t handle you touching me and holding me and making me feel something one minute and ignoring me the next. I’d rather you hate me, Din, because that’s something. I can’t handle the indifference from you. I can’t be invisible, not to you. Please don’t make me.”

It was like there was something screaming inside him, something fighting to burst out of him, to tell you everything, to pull you against him and hold you there, touch you, feel you.

He didn’t do any of those things.

“Thanks for the practice,” you smiled tightly, sadly. “I’m going to bed.”

You got up and went to the ship and Din rolled onto his back as the firelight dimmed, trying to convince himself that he was doing the right thing.

#fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #enemies to friends to lovers #din djarin #slow burn #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

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gabriel-xander · 6 months

Text

I Wish You Died Instead Ch. 4

[Scaramouce x Fem!Reader]

A/N: I started writing this before all of his lore came out/Before the last Sumeru Archon quest, so there will be a handful of inconsistency later on. My advice to you? Just go with it!

{Also on Quotev, Ao3, and Wattpad under Gabriel Xander}

Chapter 4: You are an Embarrassment

The trip was a bit awkward in your opinion. Not once have you had to endure Scaramouche's company alone. Never had he allowed an expedition with less than five subordinates (NOT including yourself) with him, let alone just you.

You two matched in terms of immediate attire: long, thick coats that reached to your calves, the seams lined with thick fur. Neither of you had your hoods up, in your boss' case, it was because he was wearing his big ass hat. Your fatui mask was getting uncomfortably cold against your face.

It was silent the entire trip, minus the few, quiet swears from the cold, and frustrated grumbling from you as you took this time to review new reports.

The budget from a recent mission you had was smaller than you expected, so you were trying to do the math quietly. You were trying to determine how much of a percentage raise you'd need to include for next time. Your usual deployment was a consistency of five different Skirmishers and two Mirror Maidens.

Including yourself, that's eight mouths to feed, eight wardrobes to prepare, eight bodies to equip weapons to, eight people to provide efficient funds to-

"Oh!"

You cheer suddenly as you scribble on the paper with lead. It's a material that had originated from Fontaine: a thin, wooden stink with black graphite in the center. It was a lot more convenient than inks and brushes.

You hope you're actually writing though, night had just arrived so it was hard to see what you're writing.

You continue to babble out loud without realizing: "I just need to add 13%, then an additional 20% for the send-off fee-"

"-Shut up."

"You shut up."

…

Wait.

FUCK!

The materials from your hands disappear into the aether as you frantically wave your hands in defense, stepping away from the pissed off Scaramouche.

"WH-I-I DIDN'T MEAN IT! I-I AM SO SORRY, MY LORD! I-IT'S A HORRIBLE HABIT I HAVE WITH MY COMRA-"

"-You're dead."

"I'M SORRRYYYYY."

You don't waste a fucking second before you're running the fuck away. Lucky for you, you've done more traveling in Snezhnaya than Scaramouche has. Running in the thick snow was a breeze for you as you had learned the hard way on how to tread these lands.

Scaramouche on the other hand…

"Get back here right now!"

The poor dude was stumbling in the cold with uneven footing that helped the winds push him around. You think you can fire not too far-

"OW!!"

Hot, white pain shoots up your spine, causing you to drop to your knees. You look back at the Balladeer with so much judgement in your eyes.

"DID YOU JUST FUCKING ZAP ME!?!?"

"Get the fuck over here!"

"Not until you calm down!!"

You scramble back to your feet only to get fucking tackled by the damn Harbinger. Unfortunately, neither you nor Scaramouche realized that you were right by a cliff; you both fell over and rolled down the snow.

Instinctively wanting to protect the Harbinger at all cost (despite the fact he wants to kill you), you hug him tightly to your body while forcing your shoulders back into the snow. The friction does little good to slow you down, but it keeps you two from rolling like dumb-asses.

And all too sudden, your body hits a particularly sharp rock. It does manage to stop you and Scaramouche, but you also feel it pierce through your thick coat.

You survived, but at what cost?

You won the battle, but lost the war.

Your entire backside is unbearably cold, and you think you can feel blood beginning to seep from where the rock is jabbing.

You relax your arms from Scaramouche, panic that he's not moving (but he is breathing slightly fast). You noticed his hat had fallen off, but it was okay since you could see it slowly slide down the hill, bumping against your feet.

Shit. Your mask is gone too.

But first things first…

You awkwardly tap his arm, "Are you oka-"

"-Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

You tilt your head back into the snow to see who the fuck it was. It was 3 men with heavy coats. There was a brunette with blue eyes with a bandanna covering the lower half of his face.

The other two had black hair and looked almost identical, most likely twins. The only difference was their eyes: one had light green eyes, the other had a heterochromia of light green, and medium brown.

You chuckle nervously, "Ah-ha, hi there. Um… we kind of… fell."

"We saw." The heterochromia eyed man grins, "Funny shit."

"Well… that's just embarrassing, huh?" Scaramouche chuckles weakly.

You wince when he pushes himself off you, a small smile gracing his features. You know that face and tone: it's "nice" Scaramouche. The facade he uses around those who are not to know you're Fatui.

As you sit up, you check Scaramouche for any injuries. It amuses you how he tenses up at the attention, he has to keep the act up and not pimp slap you in front of these people. You sigh in relief when nothing seems to be wrong, already brushing the snow off the Harbinger

"At least it's just these nice folks, and not some stupid hilichurls." You said softly, noting the Balladeer's fists are clenched on his lap.

"The hell are you two doing out here?" The brunette furrows his eyebrows, "The nearest town isn't for miles, and I doubt you're dumb enough to take a romantic stroll in this weather."

"Actually, we-ACHOO!!"

Oh so violently, you sneeze into the crook of your elbow. You groan quietly as you and Scaramouche stand up from the snow.

"Ugh, excuse me," You chuckle humorlessly.

Scaramouche takes a few steps away to take his hat that's getting buried in the snow.

"We should get going now," Scaramouche says, "You're going to get sick at this rate, and I-"

"-Well, why don't you two rest with us for tonight?" The twin with green eyes offer with a smile, "There's actually going to be a rough storm in-"

As if the Gods themselves were timing it, lightning strikes in the far distance. A light drizzle begins to settle.

"-Right now, actually." The man continues, "I'd feel really guilty if we just let you continue like this when you're getting sick."

You tense up and shake your head, "Oh, no! That's not-I-I mean, I don't want to impose! Plus, your friends might not-"

"-It's fine," The brunette shakes his head, "It's just until the storm clears up."

The twins nod simultaneously.

"It's not a problem at all."

"It's no problem."

"Hm… Okay," Scaramouche sighs, "Sorry for the intrusion."

"Sorry f-ACHOO!!"

Damn, you're embarrassing yourself.

"Oh!" The twin with green eyes pipes up with a grin as he gestures towards himself, "My name is Ivan, and this is my brother Isaac!"

You all look at the brunette with blue eyes who had the bandana still covering half his face.

"...I'm Noah."

You laugh lightly as you begin walking first, "It's nice to meet you all! You can call me [Y/n]!"

Scaramouche refrains the urge to frown, "Call me Kunikuzushi."

Kunikuzushi? How did he come up with that name so quickly? And you noticed the way he presented that name: he was talking to ALL of you. Letting you know that you're supposed to call him that, as well.

"Kunikuzushi?" Noah scoffs under his breath as he leads you to their camp, "That doesn't sound like a local name."

"I'm a vagrant from Inazuma," The Harbinger flawlessly lies, "It's certainly colder here, that's for sure."

"So," You scrunch up your nose as you feel another sneeze coming, your voice quickly rising in pitch as you talk faster with every passing word, "What are you aLL DOING OUTINTHISWEATH-ACHOO!!"

Smooth.

Ivan laughs at your misery, "We're just traveling. When we noticed the storm, we decided to stop for tonight."

You smile in gratitude, "Well, thank you for the hospitality."

----

"My Lord."

"What."

"I am… so sorry."

Ivan, Isaac, and Noah are inside their huge ass tent to get you and Scaramouche thicker blankets, something hot for you to eat, and medicine. You and the Balladeer were sitting by the fire that was quickly dying out.

Well, if it weren't for Scaramouche that is. He was tending to it with a watchful eye on a log close to the fire. Occasionally, he'd zap the wood with his mysterious Electro ability, that he's capable of using without a Vision, to keep it hot. But there was a metal rod stuck in there, he mainly used that to tend the fire.

"Whatever. You're bound to say "shut up" by reflex now since you work for me." Scaramouche shrugs.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, "Huh? No, I'm not sorry for that."

The Harbinger snaps, "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry for getting-ACHOO!... Sick." You groan, completely ignoring his previous offense, "And for um… getting us knocked down that hill."

Scaramouche doesn't bother correcting you that it was actually HIM who knocked you both over.

"Gods, and I lost my mask. It's so unprofessional."

Scaramouche almost wants to say it's not a bad thing, that your face is a sight for sore eyes. But fuck that noise.

"On the bright side," You continue after sneezing again, "Noah is a good name. He's a member of the Treasure Hoarders we're after. I don't know about Ivan and Isaac, though."

Scaramouche stays silent for a while, so you assume the conversation is done.

You sink into the log you're sitting on, sighing into the thick fur coat you were given. It smells… like something. Maybe it's one of those guys' scent? Can't say you hate it, though. It's… it's actually pretty good and comforting.

"[L/n]."

"Hm?"

You haven't realized you closed your eyes, but you ain't about to open them. You're just basking in the coat.

Ah, you might fall asleep, you feel so tired and weak. Maybe it's because you failed to inform anyone of the wound on your side. You don't think it's bleeding anymore, but it's not even cleaned or wrapped.

"[L/n]."

"Yes, My Lord?" You repeat yourself.

"Sit back up," You can hear the eye-roll Scaramouche gives you, "You can rest after those morons come back with your food and crap."

You reluctantly open your eyes and sway in your spot, "Yes, sir."

"And don't call me that now. If they overhear you, it'll be hard explaining yourself."

"Yes, si-erm, Kunikuzushi."

"..."

"I just told you not to fall asleep."

Oh shit, you didn't realize you closed your eyes again.

"But I'm tiredddddd," You whine childishly, "And this coat is so warm and it smells good."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

You open your eyes to see Noah walking up to you, eyes colored in amusement. Noah still had that bandana covering his mouth, but you just know he's fucking smirking. He has a small blue bottle, spoon, bandages, gauze, and a large white bottle sitting all on top of a folded blanket.

"Ugh, please ignore that. That's so embarrassing," You sink in the coat to hide half your face, "I just-you know, I'm sick. I don't know what I'm talking about."

Noah shakes his head, "It's fine. I won't tease anymore. Move over, won't you?"

You do as you're asked, looking at Scaramouche with a pointed look. Keep an eye on Noah.

Noah places the blanket down on the ground near the fire. He then looks at you and tugs lightly at your coat.

"Take this off, let's clean that wound on your rib." He instructs.

"You… How do you know-"

"-I saw you bleed through your coat," Noah explains, "It wouldn't do anyone good if you died or got infected. And I wouldn't be able to sleep at night without a clear conscience."

You sigh through your nose and begin taking off the coat. You fold it onto the log on your side. You begin to unbutton the coat you had on previous, only for Noah to stop your hands with his.

"Uh, maybe wait until I leave," Noah clears his throat nervously, "Your boyfriend looks like he'll kill me. He can clean you up since your wound is pretty… uh… yeah."

Boyfriend??

Very nervously and very hesitantly, you look over to Scaramouche. He was fucking glaring at Noah for no reason. He was leaned over and everything, being very obvious with his glare.

You're about to deny that Scaramouche was anyone close to you, but you never get the chance to.

"Exactly, just give me 10 minutes," Scaramouche stands up and slowly stalks over, "You're not touching her."

… Hah?

Noah nods and gets up, waving before he walks over to the tent where Isaac and Ivan were in.

You blink owlishly, "Was… that necessary, Kunikuzushi?"

"You said so yourself that Noah is someone we have to watch out for." Scaramouche frowns, "As if I'd let my best ass-kisser get poisoned carelessly."

You roll your eyes, "Fine, okay. I'd prefer addressing my own wounds, anyway."

Scaramouche throws his head back, "HA! As if! Move over, I'll do it. I already said I would anyway."

"I-... O-Okay…" You resume stripping your coat with reluctance, "But… was going along as my boyfriend necessary, too?"

He deadpans at you as he sits next to you.

You shake your head: "Never mind. It's-really not important."

"No," Scaramouche mutters, "it's not."

#fanfiction #reader insert #original character #female reader #genshin x reader #geshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact wanderer #genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #wanderer x reader #wanderer #short story #IWYDI Fanfiction #No Childe mention this time #sadge #Anyway I should probably clarify now that there's gonna be a LOT of time skips in this story #it's not meant to be something eleborate

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saintobio · 1 month

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hello babe!!!

howre you? i wish you a lot happiness!!!!

anyways, i wanted to say that i understand how yn has her heart sickness, because everytime i think about sn&sy, my own heart hurts a lot, even more so after the last chapter. ch 9 was so heavy and angsty that i cried and i don’t cry that much because my emotions have been numb. what’d you do? how can a normal person write that? i take multiple breaks reading these chapters and sometimes even my absolute addiction and temptation is unable to make me read them all at once.

it’s just so appreciable how you write so beautifully. i love reading your fics not just because of how well they’re written, but also because it makes me feel an intense pain, and i love that pain, i want that pain. that’s not me saying that i don’t want yn to be happy; because idc about gojo as much as i want yn’s happiness. she’s done some ‘not-so-good-things’, but she’s also been through such agonising times and she just deserves happiness at this point of life and for someone to choose her, to love her despite her flaws. and as much as i want gojoyn to be an endgame. it’s fine if they aren’t, because they’re both mature people and deserve happiness. i hate how gojo has treated yn in the past, but i’m also kinda impressed by how far he’s come. i understand him going for akemi, as much as i hate how he chose yn’s bff, but that’s understandable, (i’ve s family member who had a similar accident and after that brain damage, he’s not been the same person, and coming from that, i think satoru went for the person who took care of him the most.) i’m suicidal on behalf of my sweetheart yn. i just want her to be happy, and cared for in love. and i want someone to pick her. and on this heartbreaking journey towards a happy ending for them, i’m in for all the heart-wrenching angst and rarely heartwarming moments!

it pisses me off how akemi went for her bff’s ex husband and istg i hardly care about how she fell in love(?) with him, because babe your bff had a life and death situation because of that man, how can you approach him??? it doesn’t matter that she’s moved on, you still do not go for your bffs ex, that’s a girl code. she may be a good person (questionably so, but hey, im not a pious hermit either to be judging her.) but she’s a real bad friend. her guilt is questionable when she she asks for a family from satoru right after she feels bad about betraying yn. like at least give time for that guilt to fester. i’m sorry i’m ranting. these are my personal feelings. and i love for writing akemi. she’s a well written character, much more than many other characters that i’ve come across.

sera. my baby. my queen. i do not stand by what she did in sn, but goddamnit, i’ve always loved her and her dedication and her aspirations. she wasn’t always bad, and i’m sure had the fic from her pov, we would have liked her more. because shes hardworking, and headstrong and FUNNY. and i love how she stood by yn, and her character development has been so beautiful. she deserves sukuna so much. they’re both my babies. i love that she could get this in her life.

there will be a lot of errors in this ask, and please forgive me for them. i’m extremely tired. exhausted even.

till next time, babygirl!

💌🫶🏻

thank you sooo much, i’m kinda glad you can feel the pain through my writing bc i guess that means it’s effective ? :’D i write way too much angst to the point where i just can’t tell how angsty something is bc i’m alr so numb lol T-T

but aaaaaa ur description of sy!yn hits hard while i’m writing sy10. idek if a person can realistically have this much anguish in her life but i do share ur sentiment of wanting her to just be happy, even if it means she won’t end up with gojo in the end 🥹 it’s the idea of acceptance and letting go that just hurts so damn good. tysm, it’s such a good perspective to read!

#🖤: letters to saint #series: sincerely yours #tw.suicide

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muniimyg · 1 year

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22 | maybe

series m.list

note: hi 🥹 it’s been a while :o how are you guys? sorry this update took so long 🤡 i was on vacation and jus got home yesterday... trying to catch up with my personal life and resetting my room in time for school has been tiring! but ,, i’m back and will be updating again soon <3 here is the promised fluff and “angst” if you’re a CRYBABY 🫵 thank u for being so patient and wishing me a nice break ✨ i can’t wait for more of this story to unfold because as you know… we are near the end 🫣💓 ps: this ch is unedited 😤 i jus wanted to post it nd get it OUT so we can carry on gawd daYuMmm..

taglist request: send a request with the title of this fic “your universe” // please DO NOT comment here or on the masterlist . it gets confusing and i prefer answering and tagging through asks !!!

taglist: @yukiehyukie @tarahardcore @bbsantc @jeonqkooks-main @whoa-jo @ellesalazar @exhibitachol @pamzn @floweryjeons @boraength @4ksj @joonsjuice @taegijns @avtrns @taegix94 @bloopkook @jihopesjoint @firesighgirl @vantxx95 @damn-u-min-yoongi @yoongukie-ff @hopeworldjimin @thisisaburnphone @pb-n-juju @xjiminsthighsx @miss-rainy-days @percyjacksonlovesannabethchase @whitefoxgirl @slutforheeseung

No one ever talks about how difficult it is to unlearn feelings of rejection.

To begin with, the entire concept is so ridiculous! it practically comes off as insincere, stupid, and careless. Yet, it’s so rare to experience. Usually, rejection is rejection. No means no. So how could it be shocking for you to be struggling right now? From being someone who was so familiar with rejection to now struggling to accept the love you deserve; it’s hard.

But Yoongi makes it easy.

Ever since the talk between you two, he has shown over and over again that he heard you, he respects you, and most importantly he understands you. Every day, every handhold and tight hug was a step closer to loving again. Obviously easier said than done, you’re thankful that the time between you two makes things better.

Time with him.

With Yoongi, time seems to heal.

While you’re grateful for the effort and complete change in atmosphere between you and Yoongi, you know deep down that his actions would have meant nothing if he wasn’t constantly in motion investing his time with you. Texting you, calling when he can, showing up early, and leaving late… They all play such a huge part in convincing you that he cares. He’s here now and he’ll want you for as long as you’ll have him.

To have him the way you do now… Well, it simply doesn’t feel real.

Every minute spent with him, every smile he dedicates to you, and every laugh shared in between—it creates a stronger bond between you two. As of now, time spent with Yoongi has evolved to be routine and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tuesday is your busiest and earliest day.

It begins with an early 7:30AM class and a schedule packed with the class until 5:30PM, then you attend practicum and club meetings that run as late as 9:45PM. Apart from that, it’s also your laundry day and usually the time your favourite shows release new episodes.

It’s always just been like this.

Yoongi, for some reason, has recently taken it upon himself to be a part of your busy Tuesdays. He knows how easily grumpy you become when you feel overwhelmed. You aren’t too sure exactly why, when, or how he began to show up outside of your 7:30AM lecture building with a cup of freshly brewed coffee; he just did.

How could you complain?

Even if his place is right in front of your lecture, waking up to meet with you for a few minutes is such an inconvenience and a waste of good sleep. The fact that he makes an effort to get up, brew you coffee, and sleepily meet with you… It makes your heart glow.

It’s safe to say that the coffee he brings you does more than wake you up. It wakes your feelings up and serves as a constant reminder of his care. Sleepily, he would hold the cup of coffee above your head and pucker up his lips. Cheekily and sleepily, Yoongi is always ready to tease you.

It’s funny because his eyes would be closed half of the time. Regardless, you would lean in and let his soft lips kiss your puffy morning cheeks. After he gives you a kiss and your coffee, he’ll hold the door open for you to head in. Waving him goodbye, Yoongi continues with his day and looks forward to catching up with you later.

However, this Tuesday is different.

Tuesday Morning Lecture: Class Cancellation.

Good morning students! This email was meant to be sent last night but unfortunately was scheduled inaccurately. My apologies!

Notes will be provided for the module and extra time will be set aside next week for review and questions.

Best regards!

You squeal.

Your classes never get canceled! You also slept later than usual last night so this is truly a blessing. Pulling your covers above your head, you drift back to sleep and completely forget to text Yoongi about the change of plans.

As you continue sleeping, Yoongi drags himself out of bed.

He gets himself ready and brews your coffee. Then, he heads out the door and stands outside in the cold spring air waiting for you. He waits.

And waits.

And waits even more.

Yoongi waits until you’re officially late.

Yoongi waits until you don’t show up.

A few days ago, you two talked about your feelings regarding his efforts. Everything since that talk has been going great! You two were communicating better and are even a little closer than before. Therefore, it confuses Yoongi as to why you aren’t here right now with no notice. He goes back home and sets your coffee on his kitchen counter. Taking out his phone, he doesn’t even bother to text you.

He calls you right away.

Half awake, you pick up.

“H-hello?”

Yoongi feels relieved you answered but can’t help but feel protective and entitled to your whereabouts. “Are you sick?”

“... W-what?”

“Are you mad at me?” Yoongi paces back and forth, feeling a little nervous. He runs back to his last few encounters with you and struggles to pinpoint where he could have fucked up.

“Huh?”

“Are you avoiding me?”

Once you register it’s Yoongi’s voice and the worrisome tone attached to his words, you force yourself to sit up from your bed. Checking the time, you gasp as you connect the dots.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry, aki… I fell asleep after I read my class cancelation notice and forgot to text you.”

Yoongi sighs.

“Okay.”

You groan. “Aki…”

“Mhmm?”

“I’m really sorry… I should’ve remembered. I was just so tired and it slipped my mind.” Feeling guilty, you can’t help but feel upset with yourself. Yoongi didn’t deserve this!

“Okay.”

“Don’t be mad,” you beg him. “Please..”

“I’m not mad. Who said I’m mad?” Yoongi huffs. His words are sharp and his tone feels so superficial. It’s like he’s just saying things for the sake of saying them and not because it’s what he truly feels.

In all honesty, he’s not mad.

Why should he be? He feels a little disappointed but that’s it. It’s just an innocent misunderstanding and it would be unfair to you if he blamed it all on you. It’s not that deep…

You sigh, taking his word for it. “I have the morning off.. Do you want to study?”

He bites his tongue.

He doesn’t want to study. He wants to spend time with you for no reason even if you practically just stood him up.

“I don’t want to study.”

“That’s fair. Oh, wait! Never mind, don’t you have class in an hour or so? Just rest up until then. I’ll call you again when I’m more awake… Sorry, aki.”

Yoongi nods out of habit.

He can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Seeing you all sleepy and cold, needy for his coffee and hugs… Well, it was something he looked forward to every morning. Despite all these arising feelings, he manages to mumble, “you better,” as a response. You laugh sweetly and thank him.

“Have a good day, aki.” You sing sweetly.

“Ace?”

“Mhmm?”

Yoongi feels a lump in his throat form. He swallows it away and shyly reaches for reassurance.

“Call me later?”

“I will, silly. Goodnight,” you promise. “Sorry again.”

“It’s okay,” he tells you. “... And good morning, ace. I miss you.”

“Good morning, aki,” you yawn before ending the call. “I miss you too.”

Yoongi bumps into you on his way out of his 2PM lecture.

You’re laughing alongside some of the swimmers that tried to bid on you. He glares at the sight of them crowding over you and the way that Jungkook is standing on the sideline, shoving his face with a bag of cotton candy.

He approaches Jungkook first.

“What the fuck is that?” Yoongi growls.

With a mouth full of blue cotton candy, Jungkook smiles. “Swimmers gave me cotton candy for bringing ___ to our practice today.”

Yoongi hisses at Jungkook. “Thanks for trading our friendship for cotton candy.”

It’s not like he saw this coming. Jungkook is an easy guy to win over. Loyalty isn’t his strongest forum…

Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“As if she’d ever get over you. You can’t possibly be this insecure! Actually, I take that back. Let me see your abs right now so I can accurately measure how insecure you should be—”

Then, Jungkook reaches for the hem of Yoongi’s crewneck and tries to lift it up. Yoongi shoves the blue sugar-stained hands away and glares at Jungkook angrier than ever. Yoongi’s darting eyes make Jungkook feel uneasy.

It totally ruins his happy vibe.

“Geez… What crawled up your ass today?” Jungkook asks, disliking Yoongi’s attitude.

Yoongi has always been grumpy and shy but he has never been so moody and lost. It’s like he’s a puppy that just got kicked.. Jungkook feels bad for him.

Yoongi’s eyebrows knit together in confusion and ignores his friend’s question. He watches you nod politely at the swimmers. You look so pretty today. He should’ve seen you first—not them.

“She has class until 5:30PM on Tuesdays.. What’s she doing here with you?”

“A few of the education department profs have a conference a few cities away. Her entire Tuesday and Wednesday classes are empty this week! Except for her 7:30AM one today but apparently that got canceled. Didn’t she tell you?” Jungkook asks Yoongi rather dumbfounded. “Stop looking at me like you want to kill me.. I’m not the one that’s flirting with your girlfriend—”

“I’ll kill you, you little brat—”

“Yoongi!”

Your voice calling his name makes him gulp. He turns and sees you breaking through the crowd of swimmers and practically running to him. You giggle as you crash into him and greet him with a hug.

He wraps his arms around you and hugs you tight. Yoongi wishes for this moment to last forever.

When you pull away, you smile at him brightly. “I was about to surprise and meet you at your lecture but I bumped into Jungkook and he asked me to watch his practice—”

“Your classes are canceled until Wednesday?”

“Oh? Yeah. I mentioned it a few days ago,” you tell him. “... I think?”

“You think?”

“I let Jungkook know!” you defend, knowing he’ll be a little upset. Honestly, these past few days have been so hectic… It’s not surprising that this slipped your mind too.

Yoongi pouts. “But you didn’t let me know.”

Your heart aches. You feel so bad.

“I’m sorry,” you hold his hand and squeeze them. “I should have left his practice earlier to catch up with you. I promised a friend a late lunch today so I’m going to meet up with her now.. I was just on my way. I’ll call you later though.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

With that, Yoongi feels empty when you let go of his hand and wave goodbye. You walk in the opposite direction and soon enough, he’s left alone with Jungkook.

“___ looks pretty today,” Jungkook comments.

“I know,” Yoongi groans. He turns to see the other swimmers watching you walk away as well. He instantly feels annoyed. “I fucking hate this.”

Later that night, you forget to call.

The day just went by so fast and by the time you get home, you knock out. It’s a little funny since you spent the morning sleeping in and now you’re asleep before 9PM.

Yoongi stays awake until 2:30AM waiting for your call.

He falls asleep feeling more and more anxious and annoyed.. It doesn’t last long though because he remembers how pretty you were as you ran to him this afternoon. How brightly you smiled and how tight you hugged him. It’s okay if you break a few promises… As long as were his… Everything should be okay.

And then it hits him.

You aren’t his yet.

The next day, you wake up to a bunch of texts from Yoongi. All updating you about his day and random thoughts that had popped up. You find it touching how he’s truly trying to be more communicative and feel like a complete asshole for falling short since yesterday.

Today, you hope to do better.

Today, you will do better.

You begin today with calling him. He answers after the third ring.

“Yoongi…”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “You forgot to call. You’re sorry. It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

You sigh and take a deep breath. “I liked your texts… They were really cute. Thanks for sending them.”

Yoongi can’t help but half-smile. He’s getting dressed for the day and your call surely made him feel relief from his overwhelming thoughts last night.

“It’s whatever. You never replied by the way…”

“I’m on a call with you right now,” you snicker, finding his sulking attitude to be quite cute. “Wow, I never knew you were this needy! To think you come off as a bad boy? Crazy…”

Your realization hits you hard. He’s always been a softie deep down, of course, you knew that… But this… This is a whole other level.

However, he ignores your comment and decides to prioritize his pride. Yes, he was needy and clingy when it comes to you… But if you already know, there’s no need to re-establish it.

“I know you’re probably busy today too so I’ll let you go… And I only updated you because I know you’d like it.”

“Awh,” you whine at his goodbye. “Don’t go. Don’t sulk. Don’t act like you don’t miss me.”

“I do miss you,” he confesses.

Your heart skips a beat.

“Where are you right now?” you ask him, recalling on your own that he should be free today.

“Home.. But I’m probably going to head to the gym. Jungkook’s been commenting on my abs lately and now I’m starting to be a little self-conscious.” A forced laugh escapes Yoongi’s lips. “Anyways, bye. Have a good day. Don’t call me… Maybe you’ll remember to do things you’re not supposed to do.”

In response, you gasp. “Stop it! Stay home. I’m coming over.”

“Why?”

“I miss you, duh.”

This time, Yoongi’s heart skips a beat.

“That so?”

“Yes, it is so. Don’t leave, okay? I’m coming over,” you practically nag. “… And fuck Jungkook.”

“No thanks.”

“Oh, it’s you... What do you want?” he crosses his arms and leans against his door. Downplaying his excitement is the best solution he’s found for this interaction. His greeting is his way of masking his pain.

He feels like he hasn’t seen you in forever when the truth is; it’s only been a day or two.

You roll your eyes and push past him, carrying a bag of groceries and your books. You set them on his kitchen island and begin to unpack.

“I brought over some of my lesson plan prep for next week. I think my kids will love our upcoming themes! Like, my partner and I planned a Disney theme at first but she suggested we do something like—”

Your words are cut off by Yoongi resting his chin on your shoulders and wrapping his arms around you. Hugging you from behind, he takes in the scent of your just-washed hair and nuzzles into your neck.

“Missed you.”

You like the way his body feels against yours. Heavy and comforting, you feel so safe and happy to be with him. You let him hold you and stay silent for a moment.

“Are you upset with me? I really didn’t mean to be such a lousy friend—”

“Girlfriend.”

“What?” you laugh as he breaks away from you.

He nods, holding your hands together and kissing them. With puppy eyes, he begs. “You need to make it up to me. Do you know how much sleep I’ve lost because of you? How sick to my stomach I’ve been without you? How neglected I’ve been feeling? Ugh, this is the least you can do.”

Yoongi never fails to amuse you. You lean back, playing along to his mood. “Oh my! How could I do such a thing to this sweet angel kitty face,” you tease, reaching for his cheeks and squishing them together. “How can I make it up to you?”

“Let me be your boyfriend,” he says through pucker lips. Your eyes widen and he takes your surprised reaction as a good sign. In a way, you look excited. It’s like he can feel your heart beating fast.

Before he continues, he gives you a minute to compose yourself. Yoongi then tilts his head at you and pouts. “___, I’m asking and confessing to you for the second time. This is it. I want to be yours. I want to miscommunicate, get upset, makeup, and be happy with you.”

Yoongi feels like every part of him is on fire. He’s so nervous and yet so foolishly confident. Time away from you made things so clear. He can’t do it! He can’t be away from you. He needs you. He wants you. He likes you so much… What else could he do but ask for you to his?

“Maybe.”

His mouth drops. “Maybe?”

“It’s not a no,” you laugh, pushing away from him and continuing to unpack as if he didn’t just cash in his second try. As if… As if he didn’t just put his heart out on the line again.

“It’s not exactly a yes either,” he counterpoints, shifting to face you. “___, be serious. What’s your answer?”

You look at him lovingly, knowing damn well that the answer isn’t what he wants to hear right now. You want to say yes. You want to give in so badly and just be happy together… But a part of you feels like it’s too early and too easy. Yoongi’s rejections made you go through so much and even if this isn’t about revenge—it’s a good lesson and journey to go through.

At the end of the day, Min Yoongi has always been dreamy.

To have him the way you do now… It’s a dream you don’t want to wake up from. So, you stay sleepy.

You press snooze.

#yoongi fic #yoongi fluff #suga fluff #bts suga fic #bts fic #bts smau #yoongi smua #yoongi scenario #yoongi x yn

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violetmina · 9 months

Text

Chokehold - Ch. 9

Chokehold Masterlist

Accepting taglist requests!

Taglist: @roundroald @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @sexytholland @scraftsku35 @avastrasposts @missihart23 @ladyvillainous @elementress44 @haibara-ai-tsii @123passwort @sanscas @lulzbrokenbyfantasy @icantevenchoose @marksassybanana @a-rogue-tiddy-bot @itsyellow @lmarina2000 @d3adite666 @casualfansoul @missrandomheart @cvstle

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,787

Warning: Swearing, adult themes, mentions of assault, drugs, blood, and good ol’ Butcher himself.

A/N: A slightly shorter chapter for once. But hoping it's still a good one. Enjoy!

For the first time in weeks, you don't dream of Butcher. You don't dream at all, solely because you can't sleep. You're wired, a captive in your bed, bound restlessly by unresolved lust, feelings you don't dare yet name, curiosity, and one that suspiciously resembles the most dangerous of them all - hope.

You blame Butcher's kiss for that one. If it had been a heated thing, a biting, bruising contact that you would expect from someone as rough and ragged as him, then you'd probably feel a bit different. You just hadn't expected him to be soft. You weren't prepared for the tenderness, for the contrast of the scruff of his whiskers to the plush of his lips, like a warm ghost resting at your mouth.

With the possibility of hope comes a more familiar feeling. Fear. Just a little, coiled beneath your sternum with potential to grow. It's familiarity is not comforting and you twist in your sheets as you try not to taste it, or seek any trace of Butcher left on your lips.

You may not dream in slumber but you still daydream. Another reason you can't sleep. Because you keep wondering all the ways he meant when he had said those three little words; we ain't done. You keep wondering, half-hoping that he'll call, letting you know all that had been found at the hospital. Or even for him to show up at your door immediately after, that brusque knock to sound at any moment. You wonder, despite trying not to, just how deep his well of tenderness could go.

A press of your fingers and you check the time on your phone. One AM. You sigh against the pillow. Also against your better judgment, you keep wondering just how different your night would be right now if Frenchie hadn't forgotten his damn key. Which afterwards you realized wouldn't have mattered much anyway since MM still had called only moments after he and Kimiko had left. And that annoying little voice had been right; you wanted more than just a short string of one night stands with Butcher. Nonetheless, lust warms between your hips like warm coals again at the possibilities.

If they hadn't shown up, if you had given in, do you think he would have ignored that call?, it whispers. Or do you think he'd shush you while he kept you writhing on-?

"Christ, calm down!," you hiss into the dark. With an irritated huff, you throw back your covers and sit up in bed. You then pad to your bathroom, wrenching on the faucet to splash cool water on your face. After patting your face dry with a towel, you sigh in defeat and head out to your kitchen.

Sleep is too evasive tonight, so you fill your kettle to lure it with some tea. As the water begins to heat, you glance over your texts. MM's about the gala that you'd shown Hughie nags at you, reminding you that you should get in contact with Annie somehow. And still nothing from Butcher.

Rather than torturing yourself further, you put your personal phone aside and dig out your burner. You thumb through the pictures of the Persuasion files, skimming for anything you might have missed. Some little clue that would shift all this in your favor.

The devil is in the details, you remind yourself. So let's exorcize it. What are our details?

The kettle begins to softly squeal its displeasure and you pause long enough to prepare your tea. The little domestic task does nothing to distract you from the growing unease you feel along your spine, and after a quick scalding sip you start digging again. All the information is still there; the tests, the notes, the ambiguity of the subjects left both nameless and faceless. A single line of text nibbles at your interest; alternative demographics in market.

The unease seeps into tension across your shoulders and the back of your neck. What could that mean? What demographic or market did Vought not already have their greedy, controlling fingers in? And how is Walsh involved?

Then another thought, suddenly, What if it's not about Vought? What if it's now for somebody else?

You lean back against the kitchen counter. What if it was for Vought and isn't anymore? What if the company was right, that it was stolen…they just didn't realize Walsh was the thief? You tap your fingers against your mug as the ideas continue on. It still left the riddle. Vought had all the means of making Persuasion into something, it was for their supes. So…

"What do you gain, James," you whispered into your tea, "by crossing Vought and staying on their payroll? Why do you avoid their resources?"

The symptoms for both supes and non-supes of the study stare back at you from the screen, giving you no answers. All that uncertainty, the pain they suffered, and the scientific callousness only pushes your unease further. You finally jam the burner back in its hiding place, defeated again. You can't hardly think with all the hairs standing on the back of your neck-!

You swallow a mouthful of tea, slowly looking about your shadowed apartment. It's very much like hours ago, back at the office, and a pesky little spark of excitement rises up. With cautious steps you begin surveying your home, peering around corners.

"Butcher?," you softly inquire the silence. After a pause, moving in the direction of your living room, you try again. "Billy?"

You knew he had a reputation for sneaking - or rather breaking - in and out of wherever he pleased. You wouldn't put it past him to attempt another jump on you. But as you step into the living room, the hairs on your arms also raise, the spark sputters out. This feels different. This feels wrong. You swear you feel eyes on you, intense enough that you make a rapid mental sweep of any and all weapons in your home.

You hold your breath for a moment, ears straining for any sound out of place. There is nothing. With ginger fingers you creep up to your window, turning so your back is to the wall and not the room, and just barely part the curtains to peep. Your eyes scan the scenery, craning to the street, glaring into windows for a chance of someone glaring back. Still nothing out of place. But the feeling of being watched persists.

Just as your eyes rise up to the rooftops across from your apartment, there's a disturbance high in the atmosphere. You suck in a breath as you step back from the curtains, not daring to look up into the sky. Then shake your head, stumbling back to the kitchen to pound the rest of the tea.

You crawl back into bed, unnerved even though the feeling of being watched has receded. Closing your eyes, you try to encourage sleep to take over again.

You didn't see anything, you try to soothe yourself. It was probably just cop lights reflecting off the building. And a plane overhead. He doesn't know you even exist. He wasn't there.

But when you eventually drift off, the briefest blur of red, white, and blue on the roof, just that fraction of a second, still plays on a relentless loop in your mind.

^^^

Are you okay?

It's one of the few things you recognize in Kimiko's sign language, and it's one of the first things said to you when you walk through the door the next morning. She cocks her head to the side as she looks you over, an air of concern in her frame. As you slough off your coat at your desk with a sigh you nod, hoping your smile is reassuring.

"You look like you need an espresso IV," MM calls as he lines up a stack of papers on his desk just so. "Did you not sleep last night?"

"A little," you shrug, slipping into your chair as Frenchie props his boots up on his own desk. "Just so excited to be working with you guys," you half-joke.

"What? No frisky rendezvous for you last night? What with you and all your 'plans'?," Frenchie grins with a waggle of his brows.

You can't help the scalding look you throw at him. No thanks to you!, you think. But you instantly remind yourself that it's not really his fault and it was probably for the best anyway. Instead, after Kimiko generously hands you a cup of coffee and a small serving of donuts, you thank her and reply to him, "Not in the cards for me right now. I'm sorry I didn't really get to those files. I know it wasn't exactly professional just throwing my bag in the door last night. Was in a rush."

"All good. We moved it last night, we were here for just a moment," Frenchie says. "Besides, we have some things for you before we deal with your new cases."

"Such as?"

"Butcher and I followed up on a lead last night," MM cuts in. "A young woman was dumped at the ER over at Bellevue. She checked off the symptoms."

"What did you find?"

MM pulls over a chair to sit on the other side of your desk. He shakes his head as he settles into the seat. "Not anything good. She was out of it. Eyes more glazed than these goddamn donuts. She seemed one of the lucky ones that didn't have a bad trip coming down."

"Did she tell you what happened to her?, " Frenchie asks.

"Not much. From what we could make out, she went to a party with her friends. Having a good time. From what she can remember, they were approached by a few guys, offering to buy them drinks. And then she woke up in the hospital."

"Assault?," you ask quietly.

"It looks like there was an attempt. She had defensive markings. Thankfully, the medical staff who examined her says that there were no signs of sexual assault. Working theory right now is whoever gave her the drug tried to get her to a second location, and with a fight she was able to get away."

"Who dropped her off then?," Frenchie asks with a shrug. "If we know where the party was, perhaps we can find out who slipped her this shit in her drink."

"That's where it gets weird," MM replies with a wave. "She didn't drink. All her tests came back clean of everything, even alcohol. Just Persuasion. She said she's usually the mom friend, so she was staying sober to keep an eye on them."

"So they didn't administer it orally. Sounds like she needed a mom friend this time," you muttered. You glance about the office, wiping glaze crumbs from your mouth before asking, "Speaking of friends, where's Butcher? It's not like him to dodge new cases."

"Butcher left right after the ER to track down the party venue, see if we could get eyes on security footage."

You blink as a little anxiety stirs at his words. "He's not back yet?"

"Haven't seen him this morning," Frenchie answers with a mouthful. When you turn to Kimiko she only shakes her head.

"Has anybody called to see where he's at?," you ask, trying to keep the edge from creeping into your voice. "Check to see if he's found anything?"

"Relax. Butcher's a grown ass man. He can handle himself and whatever bullshit finds him just fine," MM answers. His eyes narrow as he peers into your face. "What's got you on edge?"

"I'm not on edge," you counter. "I'm more concerned about his ability to find bullshit where there wasn't any to begin with."

Frenchie snorts as he swings his feet off the desk with a thud. "You can say that again."

MM gives a slow nod. "Mmhm…" He shifts, leaning towards you. If anybody had better interrogation skills than Butcher, your money would be on the imposing man before you. You feel like you're under a microscope. After a beat he continues, "That reminds me of the other thing we needed to talk about before we go any further."

"Oh?"

"Don't get me wrong. I'm kinda glad to see you getting back with all of us in the gang. Hell, we all are. Except maybe the kid, of course."

"But…?," you press with a wave of your hand.

"But we all got fairly common ground on this. Either Vought took someone from us, or some precious part of our lives we can't get back. We got skin in the game. And as far as we know, you don't." He taps the desk for emphasis. "So before we catapult you back into the trenches with us, we gotta know - Why? Why you wanna be in all this so bad?"

All eyes on you, MM's in particular, you shift in your chair. You take a long sip of coffee as you gather your thoughts as coherently as possible. Finally, you answer, "I was just helping an old friend at first. But not long after that first favor, Butcher said something that I couldn't get out of my head. It made me want to try to fix things."

"And what, pray tell, did that sly bastard say?" A touch of disdain colors MM's tone.

"He said…that Ryan had asked Mallory if he could still have piano lessons."

There's a long beat. You could hear a pin drop as all their faces go blank at the unexpected response. Kimiko makes a sign that you're not certain of, but you suspect is equivalent to “The fuck?”.

"I, uh, I don't -" Frenchie shakes his head. "I don't understand."

"Ryan was taking piano lessons," you say firmly. "He and Becca were in that compound. And he had piano lessons. Somebody was in there giving him lessons."

After a second of letting it sink in you press forward. "They had neighbors. They had a garbage truck that came by everyday for almost eight years. Someone drove that truck. Somebody cut his hair. And Becca's hair. I don't know if there was a faux grocery store. But somebody made sure there were groceries for all of them."

You take another sip of coffee, watching the slow realization fill the room. "Vought built an entire compound and filled it with people, like some petting zoo. All for that kid. But they don't see him as a kid, do they? They see a reboot of Homelander. Growing him up like a cash crop. And maybe all those people were just part of the company. But I can't help but wonder…what if they weren't? What if they were all thrown in there to keep other secrets under the rug, like poor Becca?"

You look at each of them with a frown. "Do we know? After Becca and Ryan escaped, do we know what happened to them? I mean especially since Homelander found out! Did Vought just let them go, abandoned that hellsite? Or did Homelander massacre them all for playing along, for hiding his son?"

You turn to MM with a shrug. "Has anybody even bothered to ask? Or do we only care about the casualties when we know them personally?"

Each of them sit up straight, as if you had jabbed them. Before they can say anything you say quietly, "I'm not judging. I know we can't save everybody. What I'm trying to say is…Vought shouldn't have that much power. They shouldn't be able to fuck with so many lives on that kind of scale. It's wrong. And we…I need to do something. I mean I can't drive a tank, or dodge bullets, or sway crooked politicians. But what you guys are doing, as crazy and suicidal as it is, feels like a pretty good place to start."

After a beat, and their eyes on you making you feel self-conscious, you snort, "Besides, somebody's gotta keep Hughie outta trouble!"

A soft smile appears on Frenchie's face as he stands to approach. "Really? You think you can keep petite Hughie out of trouble? With Monsieur Charcuterie around?" He gives you a playful pat on the shoulder. "Now that's some bullshit."

"Grade-A bullshit," MM snickers. He gives you a smile as well before it morphs back to a hint of curiosity, "Wait…Butcher talks to you about Ryan?"

"Umm…Occasionally?"

He only gives another slow nod in response. Then proceeds to wipe his hands clean before standing, the chair creaking in relief. "Alright. That's enough of the interview. You should get out while you can. But that's on you. Now…how about we start prepping for that damn party?"

^^^

You ride a slow seesaw of relief and nervousness when you finally step out of the flatiron to head home that night. It felt good to be back in the loop with the crew, a plan fleshing out for the upcoming mission. You'd poured over the schematics of the gala venue, a more modern setting with a maze of backrooms, elevators, stairways and hallways tangled around the main ballroom area. Part of you was glad that you would be up front instead of navigating that mess, aside from an exit strategy that is.

The gala would be on the top floor, fifteen stories above the street, in the biggest open floor plan the building had to offer. MM and Frenchie had made it a point to have you locate and memorize every possible exit, as well as the general areas they would be infiltrating with Kimiko. It was still being decided who would take which floors, however, the idea was simple; the three of them would start at the top floor and work down to the basement and loading areas under the building in search of Walsh's operations.

As already assigned, you'd work the ballroom and its adjoining balcony. Essentially, you'd be a watchdog for Walsh's activity and any of his potential associates and clients. If you picked up on any clues, you'd pass them on to the trio. Hughie and Butcher would be surveillance in the van at street level, within the general vicinity of the gala, ready to relay whatever you couldn't see on the floors below you.

The exact equipment was still to be determined, but you'd be wired with audio and video feed for Butcher and Hughie. Which meant you needed to get your evening attire sorted out straight away, an endeavor that Hughie seemed to have sensed not long after you and the trio had finally delved into Neuman's newest casework. You reread the coded text he had sent that afternoon as you continued home.

Annie is up for that girl’s night out the evening after next! She's pretty slammed with her job after that, so make it count. Come by my apartment at 4pm to get the pregame going.

Troubleshooting the dress code for self-defense was still not something you were looking forward to. Hopefully Hughie was right in that Annie would know how to pick a dress you could wear while performing murder yoga on potential assailants. Despite Butcher's insistent mistrust of her, you didn't mind the opportunity to spend time with her.

Here the emotional seesaw tilted away from relief. Still minding your steps and your surroundings as you entered your building, you backed out of Hughie's message and scrolled to find your conversations with Butcher. The message you had sent him safely out of MM's line of sight that afternoon had remained the same - unanswered. Not even left on read.

You let out a sigh between pursed lips as you ride the elevator to your floor. As the numbers light up in ascension, you do your best to ease your unsettled nerves. You know MM is right. Butcher had gone radio silent for days on a few occasions in the time you've known him, this was nothing new. In due time, he would swagger through the door with little to no event. And he was one of the most capable among you, the most to adapt and overcome in shitty situations. But you weren't wholly deflecting when you had mentioned his ability to find trouble.

The doors to the elevator open and you approach your apartment door thumbing through your keys. In moments you're home safe and sound. Door shut and secured behind you, you shuffle in, heel-toeing out of your shoes as you still try to ease your nerves.

He's probably just following that lead still. Hitting the pavement, doing what he does. He's fine.

Are you more worried about what mess he'll dive head first into?, the little voice chitters. Or are you more worried that he may have changed his mind? That he just might be avoiding you?

That makes you sluggish in hanging up your coat. You hadn't wanted to admit it aal day, even to yourself. But it was true. Yes, you were worried if Butcher was OK. But you couldn't help but wonder in the back of your mind if he was avoiding you again, wonder if he would rescind that moment of tenderness he'd given. And you'd go tumbling back into the awful, awkward sphere of wondering where you stood in Butcher's complicated world. Or where he stood in yours for that matter.

I hope it's standing next to him. And him with me.

You can't help a bitter chuckle at the thought, breezing into your bedroom. "You sap," you mutter to yourself under your breath. Pausing at the foot of your bed with a stretch, you contemplate how to spend the rest of the night before sleep. As tired as you are, practice drills sound nothing but exhausting. The idea of takeout and a hot shower before succumbing to the siren call of your mattress sounds pure genius at this point.

In a matter of moments, you place an order for pizza on your phone, the lure of hot water on aching muscles too tempting to hold off beforehand. A confirmation text pings on your screen as you slip open your bathroom door. Satisfied you look up-

And choke back a scream with an airy curse. Your phone clatters on the floor as you stare wide-eyed at Butcher leaning over your sink. His head snaps up at your sound of shock. He blinks at you, a furrow in his brow forming as he seems to take a slow second to register that it's you in the doorway.

"Evening, love. You…weren't s'pose be home yet."

Perhaps the low drawl wrapped around his words would have been charming on any other night. But not tonight. Not now. Not with blood dripping thick along one side of his face, down one arm. Painting the porcelain basin red.

#billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #the boys fanfic

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