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thistle-whistle-ffxiv · 1 year

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The Things We Do For Coin Chapter 10

With the Bazaar safe for the time being, Azami and friends return to the city. Only to be sent out immediately, this time to help the stationmaster find a wayward girl.

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Birds had never struck Azami as particularly stinky animals. But then, she hadn't spent much time close enough to birds to notice a smell one way or the other. Usually her contact with creatures of the avian variety was limited to watching them as they flew high overhead. So maybe all birds stank like shit stewed in sweat and broken dreams.

Shiro's advice to not breathe too deeply had been kinder than she had realized.

Azami dismounted the horrid creature next to Pink and sent it on its way. The chocobo let out a friendly 'kweh!' before running back towards the Bazaar.

"That was horrible." she said.

"You did pretty good at riding it though!" Pink said, "I was worried you were gonna fall off."

"I have excellent balance, thank you." Azami said, not having shared Pink's concerns ever at any point in her entire life.

"Rabta, don't you have something you need to do?" Shiro gently prodded Pink, who suddenly stood up very straight.

"Right! I gotta go talk to my guildmasters! I'll meet up with you guys at the Quicksand, okay? I wanna be there when we deliver Kikipu's letter! Don't do it without me!"

"We won't. Get out of here." Azami promised, giving Pink a gentle shove towards the city gates. Pink hustled up the stairs, pausing only long enough at the top to turn around and wave back down at them.

"Don't give Miss Momodi the letter without me!" she reminded them before sprinting off.

"I wonder why she's so fixated on that." Azami mumbled to herself. It seemed like an odd thing to be so fussed over. It would probably be a long and awkward process, if Momodi and Kikipu were as good of friends as they seemed. Momodi might even have an emotion about it. Azami had never been any good at handling that sort of thing. What if she cried?

"Some people enjoy sentiment." Shiro smirked at her.

"Well, feel free not to wait to deliver the letter on my account." Azami sighed, "I should probably report in to Master Hamon before he sneaks off to the tavern."

"Ah... I've heard... things about that guy."

"He's... not all bad." Azami paused, wondering for a moment if she truly meant that. He was a lech and a drunk, and had an ego that seemed too large to fit through the door to the guild, but his instruction seemed sound enough. At least as far as Azami could tell. Although inexperienced as she was it wasn't like her opinion on such matters counted for much.

"Well, I'll wait on the stairs leading up to the Quicksand for Rabta. And you, if you decide to turn up."

"If I feel like it." Azami shrugged, heading up to face her own fate. She hoped Master Hamon wouldn't be cross with her for taking so long to report in. That was probably something she should have considered before taking on so many jobs, but Master Hamon didn't seem the type to care about such things. More than likely he had gone to a tavern and forgotten about the earth sprites entirely.

"So you've given the earth sprites what for? Well done, Azami! By smiting stone and earth, you've forged unyielding weapons of your fists!" Master Hamon beamed at her. For a moment, Azami almost felt proud of herself. Being praised for her hard work wasn't the worst thing in the world. Even if it was a little embarrassing.

"You've a nigh endless fount of vigor, Azami. Aye, just like myself in my younger days."

And there it was. Master Hamon's ego couldn't let him go too long without talking about his glory days, or else he would crumble into dust. Chuchuko wandered over, clearly wanting to give Azami proper praise.

"You've been showing a lot of promise." she assured Azami, "Even if you are still a bit stage shy."

"Well, of course she's promising- she's training under Hamooooon HOLYFIST!"

Chuchuro giggled at her Master's antics. The two of them seemed awfully close. Perhaps Chuchuta had been studying under him for a long time? Most of the annoying things he said she would shrug off with a laugh and a, "That's our Master Hamon!"

As if sensing Azami's unspoken question, Master Hamon began to explain.

"Chuchuto joined the guild soon after I was made its master. She's my very first student, as a matter of fact. Well, there was one other, to be sure, but..." Master Hamon trailed off, as though whatever he had been about to say was too painful to even think about. Azami almost wanted to ask, but it wasn't any of her business. Who was she, Pink? Hanging around with her really had been affecting Azami, it seemed.

"Let's not dwell on the past, Master. It was Azami's bright future we were discussing." Chuchuto interrupted while Azami tried once more to commit her name to memory, "Which reminds me, did you collect my gil from her? My gear is rather worn down, and I do need the money for repairs..."

Azami blinked in confusion for a long moment at the question. The gil? It took a moment before she remembered her morning exercises. Before the disastrous attempt to showcase her skills, Master Hamon had sent her on a mission to hunt down small sacks of gil he had stashed around the city for her to find. He said that she had managed to find them all, but neglected to mention who it was that had leant it to him. Azami probably would have worked a little harder if she had known it was Chuchuto who had been footing that particular bill. And returned the money to Chuchuto directly.

So much had happened since then, Azami had completely forgotten about it.

"A-Ahem! Yes, Azami's future with us is bright indeed!" Master Hamon quickly changed the subject. Chuchuto did not seem fooled, but shrugged as though there was nothing to be done for it. Judging by the smell of him, Azami assumed it had gone straight into the drink. She couldn't help but feel a little bad for Chuchuto. Master Hamon smiled brightly and continued heedless of the judgmental stares of his two pupils, "If she keeps up her efforts, she may well become the next Holyfist!"

"Will I have to shout my own name at every available opportunity if I do?" Azami asked before she could think better of it. Fortunately for her, Master Hamon let out another one of his croaky laughs. It seemed as though she had not crossed into offensively disrespectful territory. Just playfully so.

"Train hard, young one, and grow strong. When the time's ripe, I'll have another little lesson for you."

Azami bid her teachers farewell and made her way back to the Quicksand. With any luck, Shiro and Pink would have dealt with delivering the letter without her. That small hope was dashed when she saw Shiro sitting on the stairs leading up to the tavern. She sighed and walked over to join him, taking a seat on a lower step.

"Pink's not here yet." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Not yet." Shiro said, "I've heard the guildmasters over at the Thaumaturgy Guild can be a little wordy, so it might be a few more minutes."

"You don't think she's in trouble for dallying do you?" Azami asked. Not that she cared. She just didn't want to have to listen to Pink whine about it if she were.

"We've still got another few minutes of daylight." Shiro said, looking up at the twilight sky, "I'm sure she made it."

They fell into a somewhat uneasy silence, watching the streets for any sign of their wayward companion. She knew the way back to the Quicksand well enough that Azami didn't think she had gotten lost. But... the streets weren't always safe. And even with her magic, Pink didn't exactly cut an imposing figure. Not to mention how oblivious she was to the world around her most of the time. Anything could have happened to her when she was all alone.

"So how did you and Rabta end up travelling together?" Shiro asked, distracting Azami from her catastrophizing.

"Oh? Uh..." Azami huffed, trying to refocus her thoughts, "See that gate over there?"

"The Gate of Nald, yes."

"Sure. Well, I walked through that gate, and Pink ran over to me and never left."

"Well, thanks for watching out for her." Shiro said.

"I didn't really have another choice."

"Sure you did. You could have gutted her with that knife you keep hidden in your boot."

Azami glanced down to the boot in question. She had thought the small kaiken she had stashed in it had been rather well hidden. It was a simple thing, a plain wooden handle and a blade no longer than her hand. A parting gift from a dear friend, just in case. So small and light and rarely used that Azami had almost forgotten she had it at all.

"How did you..."

"You'll learn to pick up on these things with more experience."

"I see."

Shiro let out a soft his, as though he were in pain. Azami turned to look at him. Had he gotten some sort of injury during the fight that he had hidden? He didn't seem to be clutching at any hidden wounds. Instead he just sat there, unmoving. It was difficult to tell with his helmet in the way, but Azami felt as though he weren't really looking at her but through her. It was an uncomfortable sensation.

And just as suddenly as it had started it stopped. Shiro seemed perfectly normal, scanning the street for any sign of his sister.

"Everything alright?" Azami ventured.

"What? Oh, yeah. Just a headache." Shiro said.

"Oh. I have some butterbur root in my bag if you-"

"No, no. It's passed. Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure? I really don't mind." Azami fished around in her pack for the roots in question. She had often gone searching for such things back home once the days work was finished. Willow bark and butterbur root. Dong quai and honeysuckle. Small things that the older folks in the village needed to ease the pains in their joints or treat fevers. It earned her a little extra money or a jar of Granny Kaede's pickled radishes if she was really lucky.

"Look, it's fine." Shiro said, even as Azami shoved the small bundle of roots into his hand.

"Just take it, alright? Carrying it around is inconvenient anyway. You're doing me a favor."

"Keep your stupid root! You're so stubborn!"

"You're one to talk. Just fucking take it or I'll sic Pink on you about it."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

They glared at each other for a long moment before Shiro finally relented. He shrugged as though he weren't especially bothered by this turn of events at all, even though he lost.

"What am I supposed to do with this anyway?" he asked.

"Usually you grind it into a powder, but I've seen some of the elders in my village chew it in a pinch."

"Well, thank you."

The silence returned, Azami shifted back to watch the street. She found herself suddenly hyper-aware of the blade she had thought well hidden pressing against her scales. It carried with it a nostalgic feeling. It missed those days in the bamboo thicket as much as she did. When her biggest concerns had been sneaking back before her father had noticed her missing and the next day's chores, not doing battle with thugs hired by people who wanted a second or third mansion and poorly hidden blades.

Was it just that Shiro was exceptionally observant, or was it that Azami wasn't half as clever as she thought she was? If she had ever noticed it, Pink had never said anything. But that was hardly a reliable indicator one way or the other. How many people had noticed it? It wasn't as though it would be strange to be armed in a place like this. Half the people who passed in and out of the Quicksand wore some sort of weapon on their belts. And more than a few probably kept one or two stashed away.

It was fine. Everything was fine. Nobody thought she was strange, because what she was doing was completely normal.

"Do you know how to use it?" Shiro asked after a long pause.

"Yeah I just told you. Do you need me to help you grind it up or something?" Azami asked. She hadn't considered that when she had foisted the roots upon him. Well, it wasn't especially difficult. Azami was sure she could find something they could use if they really needed to.

"No, I mean the knife in your boot."

"As I understand it, they aren't terribly complicated to operate."

"You know what I'm asking."

Azami sighed, "I'm no trained shinobi, but I can hold my own if it comes down to it."

"Mhig! Azami! Did you do it? Did you do it?" A blur of Pink and enthusiasm came charging over to where they had been waiting on the stairs. It seemed any further discussion would need to wait.

"No. We were waiting for you." Azami assured her, "Just as we said we would."

Pink cheered and did a little twirl before throwing herself up the steps three at a time. She bounced impatiently at the top for a single heartbeat before bounding in without them.

"I guess she wants to do it now." Shiro shrugged, pushing himself up to his feet. He held an armored hand out for Azami to take. Azami huffed. She was perfectly capable of standing on her own. Which she did. Using the railing and her own power. The helmet hid his expression, but somehow Azami thought Shiro was smirking at her.

Begrudgingly, she followed him into the tavern just in time to hear Pink's voice.

"Miss Momodi! Miss Momodi! We have a present for you!"

"What's all this, then? You got somethin' for me?" the woman in question asked from behind her bar. Shiro retrieved the letter they had been given and handed it over.

"Hm? A letter? Now who would think to- Kikipu! Haven't heard a word from that ol' gal in ages! How's the dear doin'?"

"Better now. We hope." Shiro said.

Momodi tore the letter open and began to read. Occasionally she would let out a Mmm-hmm or a small laugh. Once she finished she beamed up at the three of them, "That's Kikipu, all right. Time was I used to call in at the Silver Bazaar quite often. This was back when it was still the busiest hub in Thanalan, mind you. Ol' Kikipu and I used to stay up till dawn talkin' 'bout... well, whatever girls do."

"What do girls talk about?" Shiro asked.

"Sweets." Azami said.

"Knives." Pink nodded sagely.

"Good to know."

Momodi flashed them a good natured smile before continuing, "Kikipu's the very heart and soul of that place. Hells, even most folk here in the city still remember her name. Breaks my bloody heart to hear her and them good folk were nearly forced from their land. Dirty business, that."

"Ah. That reminds me. We apparently have a new enemy for life." Azami pointed out.

"Who, Kenrick? I'm not to the point of worryin' just yet." Momodi assured her. Azami nodded. Momodi knew the people around her better than Azami ever would. It made sense to defer to her judgement rather than panic about what might or might not be.

"I'd wager gil to goobbue poop the Silver Bazaar'll be rallyin' back to its former glory 'fore long. In any case, I thank the Twelve you were there to help them." Momodi continued, she reached under the bar to pull out a small sack of gil. She slid it over to Shiro, "Here, for you- on behalf of Kikipu and the Bazaar."

"Thank you." Shiro said. He tossed the sack to Azami who caught it with startled hands. She shoved it into her pocket. They would divide their earnings properly later. Doing it right in front of Momodi seemed like it would be bad form.

"So, what's the plan now?" Azami asked.

"I'm pretty sleepy after all the adventuring we did today. We should probably head back to the alley if we want to find a good spot to sleep." Pink suggested.

"Actually, if you aren't too tired, I have a rather urgent request that just came in." Momodi interrupted. Azami took stock of herself. She was also tired after her long day at the Bazaar, and finding a nice warm spot to huddle in the bitter cold of the desert night was a priority. But-

"If it pays I'm interested." she said.

"Go down to the Dispatch Yard and talk to a bloke named Papashan. He'll fill you in on the particulars once you get there." Momodi said. Azami frowned. She hadn't heard of the Dispatch Yard before. There hadn't seemed to be anything like that in the Western territories they had spent the day exploring. Momodi continued seeming to understand Azami's concern, "The Dispatch Yard's over in central Thanalan, just head out the door across the hall and you'll see the Gate of Nald staring right back at you. Pass through that and head east. You'll come upon it 'fore long."

"Thank you." Azami said. She turned on her heel and made to leave before Momodi's voice stopped her once more.

"There's dangers beyond the wall, though. More than I'd care ot count. Nothin' too terrible, mind you, but feisty enough to attack you if you draw near. Don't say nobody cared enough to warn you."

"I'll be careful." Azami promised.

"And we'll go too!" Pink said, latching on to Azami's arm.

"Weren't you just talking about how tired you are?" Azami sighed.

"We're always awake enough to go to the Dispatch Yard." Shiro said, clapping Azami on the back as he passed her by.

"Why? Is something exciting there?" Azami asked, dragging Pink along with her.

"Not a thing."

"I see."

Azami stepped through the Gates of Nald for the first time since she had passed through them that first day in Ul'dah. Somehow, despite it only having passed through it a short time ago, Azami felt as though the scenery was entirely new to her. Perhaps she hadn't been paying as much attention to her surroundings as she had thought back then.

In the distance, she spotted a massive tree. The trunk was easily larger than most of the houses in her village. How did it survive in the harsh desert climate? Azami pointed to it and looked at Pink.

"That's the Sultantree!" Pink supplied helpfully, "It's a really special place for the royal family! You can tell because it's named after them."

"There are all sorts of legends about it. If you're interested I can tell you some once we've finished our errands at the Dispatch yard." Shiro offered.

"That... sounds like fun." Azami hoped she sounded convincing.

Shiro led the way to the Dispatch Yard. Apparently he had been by once or twice. As they approached, they saw an elderly lalafellen man on the platform pouring over a map and looking as though the sky would fall down upon him at any moment. Clearly, this was the man they had been sent to see. Azami gave Pink a little shove towards him. Astoundingly, Pink took the hint.

"Hello!" she shouted, bounding up to the lalafell who looked like he was twelve seconds away from being flattened by the weight of his own anxiety, "My name's U'rabta! We're looking for Mister Papashan!"

"Well, you've found him." the elderly lalafell said, a bemused smile not quite making it to his eyes. It was understandable. Pink could be rather a lot. He continued, "You lot certainly look the part of adventurers, my friends. Might you be the good souls Momodi advised me to expect, hm?"

"That's us!" Pink said, "I'm U'rabta! That's my big brother U'mhig! And that's our friend Azami!"

"I am Papashan, stationmaster of this humble Dispatch Yard."

"Wow! You're in charge of the whole station yard? That's amazing! Is it fun? Is it hard? I bet it's a real hard job!"

"An empty title, I assure you. I truly am no more than a tired old lalafell passing his final years in quiet and solitude." Papashan cut in, disrupting Pink's babbling, "Twelve know there have been plenty of both these last five years since the Calamity struck. The devastation... was vast. Yet now true Ul'dahns work together, doing all in our power to rebuild what was laid to ruin. By the sweat of our brows and the love of our home, we have rebuilt Ul'dah to the grandeur and majesty that you see today. The railways which run through this Dispatch Yard, too, were born of the noble efforts of a great many souls. But there is still much work to be done. The wounds left by the Calamity run deep. Isolated areas beyond our lines of supply remain, and there are places yet wanting for relief and restoration. Ul'dah needs the aid of you and your bretheren, friend. In fact, never has our need been more dire."

"You are really trying to sell us on whatever this mystery job of yours is, huh?" Azami said. She had had more than enough long speeches about the power of togetherness for one day. For a lifetime, if she were being honest with herself. Where did these people find the time to write them? Or were they all improvised in the moment?

"My apologies. Let me get to the point, then. I do believe I may have some work suited to one of your ability." Papashan smiled at her. A more genuine smile, it seemed. Azami didn't think she had said anything particularly amusing, but if that was what it took to get the ball rolling on their mystery assignment.

"It just so happens a number of sentries have been sent to guard the area. A dispatch to the Dispatch Yard, as it were." Papashan explained, "They have long been away from the shade and featherbeds of the city. The hot days and cold nights can play hells on the mind and body out here. It isn't much, but go and give them these twilight pretzels, would you? I find comfort food always helps when I feel like killing myself."

"So you called for adventurers to help deliver snacks?" Pink asked.

"Well, they are many, and I cannot risk leaving my post long enough to do it myself. I apologize if-"

"As long as you're paying me I don't care what menial tasks you need me to complete. Whereabouts are these sentries?"

"There are three who have not yet returned from their patrols." Papashan said, gesturing towards a small map of Thanalan he had stretched out on a table. He pointed at three spots, "Their patrols are in these areas here."

"I see. Three of them, three of us. I'll take this guy." Azami said, picking one of the spots at random.

"Then I want this one!" Pink said, pointing to another.

"I guess that leaves me with him." Shiro said. Having picked their destinations, the three quickly split up.

Azami looked around her area carefully, trying not to get too distracted by the strange new greenery that she saw growing all around. Azami had been under the impression that deserts were desolate places, with very few plants. But Thanalan seemed to be mostly teeming with all sorts of strange plants. Azami wondered if any of them could be used for medicinal purposes? If they could, Azami could probably earn a little extra money gathering some for older folks like she had been able to back home. But now wasn't the time to think about such things.

Her gaze lifted skyward, and she spotted a man in a white and blue uniform that she had seen in Ul'dah at the top of a cliff. She recognized the uniform as that of the sultansworn. But what business did they have out in the desert? Azami usually saw Sultansworn guarding the palace. Perhaps some sort of noble was going to be passing through the area? It probably had something to do with that fancy party Azami had been hearing so much about.

Azami followed the edge of the cliff as it sloped gently downwards. Eventually she was able to climb up onto it herself, and began her approach. She barely got within three yalms of the man before he rounded on her sword in hand. In a loud voice he commanded her, "Halt! Madam, I'm going to have to ask you to put the basket on the ground and place your hands above your head!"

Azami shrugged and complied. While he was actively threatening her with a sword, Azami didn't think that this man was actually planning on hurting her. Instead, she thought that maybe he was just hoping she would be frightened off so he could return to whatever it was he was looking for. What a weird day she was having.

"State your name and business!"

"Azami and delivery. From Papashan. He asked me to bring you some pretzels."

"A twilight pretzels from Papashan? By the gods, forgive me! You could say this new post has my nerves in a... twist." The tension seemed to leave the man as he returned his sword to its sheath. Azami wasn't sure whether to laugh or groan at his dumb joke.

"May I put my hands down?" she asked.

"Yes... of course. I'm... I'm terribly sorry for that. Ahem, yes, well, you may rest assured that the Dispatch Yard is safe so long as I stand watch." the sultansworn said, "Please give Papashan my thanks, and tell him that I only wish I could repay the favor..."

"Well, I'm sure you'll have ample opportunity." Azami said, turning her back on the man. She headed back to the camp. As she approached she noticed Pink and Shiro had already returned. She jogged over to join them.

"You've returned- and with a deal fewer pretzels, I see!" Papashan beamed at them, his gaze full of a hope that Azami couldn't help but feel they were about to dash, "Tell me, how fare our Sultansworn sentries? Did they have anything to report, anything at all?"

"Nothing from mine." Azami admitted.

"Me either!" Pink announced. Shiro shook his head as well.

"What? Nothing? Are you sure? I... oh, oh dear." the old man was beginning to fret. He reminded Azami of a woman in her village long ago. A time that Azami would rather forget. She watched as Papashan took a breath and collected himself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins to hand to each of them, "Take this for your troubles, then. And stay a moment- there is more I would ask of you."

Pink and Shiro shoved their coins into Azami's hands. She sighed and slipped them into the pouch Momodi had given them earlier. It seemed that somehow Azami had been made their little party's treasurer. Well, she was the one who was the most concerned with it. The job may as well fall to her.

"I have just this moment- No! No, the time for concealment is past! The truth is, even before I had you deliver the pretzels, I was privy to some most unsettling news!" Papashan said, "Which is the real reason I sent you to meet those Sultansworn. A young noblewoman from a very prestigious family has run away from home, and I have been ordered to see her safe return. The Sultansworn you met earlier are assisting with the search. Alas, it seems they have found no trace of her."

"Oh no! That sounds terrible!" Pink said.

"How long ago did she go missing?" Shiro asked, "Do you have any idea where she might be headed?"

Clearly worry had destroyed Papashan's ability to reason. Why would he trust three random adventurers with such knowledge? Any one of them could decide to use it for nefarious means. Ransoming a noble brat could earn them a lot of money. It was a terrible risk he was taking with them, but it seemed as though he had little other choice. Azami couldn't help but pity him.

"I apologize for not being frank with you from the start, but we must proceed with caution- should word of her disappearance spread, I fear others with less honorable motives may join the hunt." Papashan admitted. Well, at least he understood the position he was in.

"We know the sentries have found no sign of her," Azami said, gesturing towards the map, "Pink you try looking in this area, Shiro can you take over here? I'll look in this area. Meet back here in two bells."

"Sounds good to me." Shiro had barely finished speaking before Pink had started sprinting off towards her assigned area.

"Praise the Twelve. I knew I could count on you!" Papashan called after her. Shiro tilted his head at Azami when he noticed she hadn't also sprung right into action.

"It might be prudent to get a physical description of our missing noble before running off?" she suggested.

"That is... a fair point." Shiro said.

"Oh, yes. Of course. She's a young lalafellen woman by the name of Lady Lilira. Pink of hair, about this tall. I'm told that she borrowed clothes from one of the family servants before sneaking out."

"Well at least she isn't making herself too obvious." Shiro said, "Although that means she might be trying to hide. Do you know of any reason she might have run off? Trouble at home? Being forced into a convenient marriage that she doesn't want? That sort of thing?"

"No, no. Nothing like that." Papashan assured him.

"Can you go after Pink and tell her what Papashan told us?" Azami asked. Shiro tilted his head once more, but chose not to ask the question that clearly burned at him.

"I'll be right behind you, alright?" She promised. Shiro seemed to take that as an answer for now, but somehow Azami felt he would press the issue once this Lilira girl was safely in her mansion. Azami watched him until she was certain he was out of earshot.

"Please. Should we allow her to come to any harm, not even a hundred beheadings would be punishment enough... This cannot happen, Azami. It must not!" It was embarrassing to watch the man plead. Azami took a breath and decided to put him out of both of their misery.

"I'm about to ask a question that's going to seem a little odd." she said, "And... I'm going to need you to promise that you won't speak to anyone of this conversation. Can you swear that?"

Papashan looked at her for a long moment, considering. Wondering what it could possibly be that she was about to ask, no doubt. Finally he said, "I'm afraid that I don't understand what you mean."

"I mean that this is life or death. Not a soul can know about this conversation you and I are having right now. Can you promise me that?" Azami tried to will him to understand the importance of her request. If it weren't kept secret... How many times would Azami repeat her mistakes before she learned?

"I swear it." Papashan assured her. Azami chose to believe him. He was, after all, in as difficult a position as she was.

"Do you have an object belonging to this Lilira?" she asked, "It can be anything. A sock, hair ribbon. Anything that she considers to be hers?"

"What..." Papashan seemed to be at a loss.

"I know how it sounds, but I can use it to find her. So long as it considers itself to be hers." Azami tried her best to explain, but somehow her explanations never felt like they were enough. But she had said too much already. If she was wrong about this man...

"I don't understand, but... Will this do?" Papashan asked, holding up a small square of silk, "It is a handkerchief that she once gave to me."

Azami slipped her hand free from her glove and took the kerchief. The link was weak, but Azami thought she might be able to trace it if she focused. She shut her eyes, tried to shut out the world and focus on Lilira. She saw it, distant and hazy, but present. To the south. If she focused just a little bit harder... she could almost make out some rock formations. Lilira was heading towards that big tree. There was a desperation in her steps.

"This never happened." Azami reminded him, handkerchief still clutched in her fist as she ran off to follow the tether.

The closer she got the stronger her connection felt. It had been a long time since she had used her gift in this way. Not since... Azami shook her head. She couldn't think about that right now. Papashan needed her to find Lilira. In the distance, Azami spotted one of the rock formations she had watched Lilira stomp past. She was going in the right direction. It wouldn't be much longer before she spotted her.

Just up the hill, barely a quarter of a malm away now. Azami spotted the young woman dressed in a frumpy pink robe not unlike those she saw some of the trainees over at the Thaumaturgey Guild and a pink turban. That was the girl, Azami knew her as well as she knew her own face at this point. She slipped her hand back into her glove, and jogged after the girl. Closing the distance quickly, even as the girl turned in fright at the stranger running up to her.

"You have caused a lot of trouble, young lady." Azami scolded the girl almost out of reflex as she got closer, "Do you have any idea how worried Papashan is right now? The poor old man is beside himself."

"I-I don't... I..." the girl sputtered, clearly not used to being given the scoldings that she so richly deserves. Azami sighed, recentering herself. Perhaps she had spent too long with the tether. Some of Papashan's anxiety must have crept in while she was searching. That was probably it. "How dare you speak to me thus?"

"Oh, I think you'll find that I'm just very daring." Azami said, "Especially when it comes to spoilt little brats who leave with nary a word to those who care about them and walk off into the desert."

"Sp-spoilt?"

"Yes. Spoilt. And inconsiderate! Do you really not know how much trouble you've caused? The Sultansworn are at their wits end. And Papashan has been reduced to calling in random adventurers to come help. Most of us were hoping to get a chance to eat dinner or sleep tonight, but instead we're out here searching for your dumbass."

"I... I am sorry. I never intended to cause such trouble." the girl said, looking appropriately contrite.

"Whatever." Azami huffed, walking past the girl towards the tree, "The sooner we finish up here the sooner we can get you back."

"What?"

"You needed to go to the Sultantree, didn't you?"

"Yes, but..."

"Well, we can go do it now, or I can throw you over my shoulder and haul your ass back to Papashan like a sack of popotos, and you can sneak out and try it again tomorrow. Which is it gonna be?"

"I... Thank you. I shan't be long." the girl promised. Azami nodded and they began to head towards the tree together. There didn't seem to be anything in the immediate area that Azami was particularly concerned about. The marmots and hornets seemed to mostly be leaving them alone. But still there was an uncomfortable feeling in the air. A kind of tickle in the back of her throat.

"A word of advice?" Azami decided to try and make conversation, if only to take her mind off the odd feeling just under her skin, "If you're going to pretend to be a common person you should try not going into public wearing earrings that look like they're worth more money than a regular working family would make in an entire year."

The girl's hands reflexively went up to the gems in question. Glittering diamonds dangling from ornately carved cuffs. She quickly removed the offending jewelry, "I hadn't realized I still had them in."

"No, I imagine not." Azami said, "So what brings you out here?"

"I can't say." Lilira answered. Azami shrugged.

"It's not like they're paying me enough to care." she admitted, "Shiro's got this mad idea that you're being forced into some loveless marriage and are running away to marry your true love. Or some shit."

Lilira giggled, "And what, pray tell, was your theory?"

"Didn't really have one." Azami admitted, "Like I said. I'm not being paid enough to care."

"I see. Have you been in Ul'dah long?"

"Couple days now."

"You speak of money as if you had been born here."

"I get that a lot." Azami admitted. The sultantree grew ever larger as they approached, looming over them in a way that wasn't wholly uncomfortable. Even if something still tickled just under Azami's skin and set her teeth on edge, "So what's with the tree? Is it some sort of kami or...?"

"Kami?" the girl tilted her head at the unfamiliar word.

"Oh... right. You worship The Twelve here. Kami are... like that. But also not at all." Azami tried to explain, "I'm not really sure how to explain it."

"I'm not certain if it is a kami." Lilira said, "But... It is very important to Ul'dah. The sultanate, in particular."

"Yes, I can tell because it's named after them."

Lilira gave her a disapproving frown, but continued nonetheless, "The souls of previous sultans and sultanas are said to reside in the tree, so that they may ever watch over their beloved city."

"Is that why it has grown so large?"

"According to the legends."

"And you are here to ask for their help? For reasons you're not allowed to tell me?"

"Yes. Now, kindly go keep watch over there while I pray."

Azami nodded and stood quietly to the side, keeping her eyes out for any monsters, or any sign of her fellow searchers.

"O Sultantree..." Lilira's voice wavered. She took a breath and tried again, "O Sultantree, hallowed spirit of my line, forgive my weakness. My failings have cost us dear..."

Azami was suddenly assaulted by the feeling of unseen eyes on her. Reflexively, she moved to hide Lilira from view, placing herself between her client and whatever stranger had come. Lilira had sensed it too, and stopped her prayers. She stood and in a more commanding tone than a little brat like her had any right to use said, "Show yourself!"

"As you command, O Lilira." a hyur with white hair and strange markings on his neck stepped into view. He was clad in black, and quite a bit taller than Azami was. He more or less ignored her, keeping his attention on the young noblewoman behind her, "Forgive my selfish desire to assure your welfare."

"Friend of yours?" Azami asked, eying the man warily. He held a sword at his hip, but his movements looked incongruous with a blade that size. He seemed more similar to a shinobi than a gladiator. His apparent talent for hiding his presence didn't help matters. Azami had the feeling that she hadn't noticed him until the exact moment he had wanted to be noticed. Just how long had he been watching them?

"Hardly." Lilira scoffed. The man took a moment to look affronted.

"I think you've gone and hurt his wee little feelings." Azami said.

"You really are just a bitch to everyone you meet, huh?" Lilira asked. Now it was Azami's turn to look affronted. She clasped a hand to her chest as though Lilira's insult had struck her right in the heart.

"And now you've gone and hurt mine."

"Quiet you." Lilira hissed. She turned her attention back to the interloper. Using her spoilt little noble voice she tried to shoo him off, "I don't recall requesting an escort! Simply pretend we never met and continue on your way."

"We both know I can do no such thing. It isn't safe for you here alone."

"Hey." Azami huffed. She was standing right there.

"It isn't safe for anyone- not with this aetheric disturbance... It's as though the dead are watching us... And I'd prefer not to join them, if it's all the same to you."

Loathe as she was to admit it, he wasn't wrong. The gross feeling in the air had only been intensifying. Azami decided that this stranger probably wasn't planning on stabbing her the moment she turned back, so she turned to face Lilira, "He's right. Something is wrong. Finish quickly and let's get back."

"Fine. Just give me a moment." Lilira said, kneeling back down before the tree. Azami took her place once more, this time joined by an irritating stranger.

"Ah, you must be the one Papashan mentioned. Congratulations on finding our elusive young charge." He said. Azami mostly ignored him as he continued rambling, "You'll have to forgive Her Impetuousness. What she lacks in discipline, she makes up for in stubbornness. You should return with us. The stationmaster will be eager to thank Lady Lilira's protector in person."

"With 'us', huh." Azami said, "I don't recall inviting you along."

"You wound me, madam."

"Azami."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't know if I have that sort of authority, but I'll be sure to put in a good word for you." Azami flashed a harsh glare his way, "My name. It's Azami. Don't fucking call me madam."

"My... apologies." the stranger said, clearly uncertain how to proceed with the conversation.

He was saved from any further awkwardness by the sound of heavy wings overhead. The creature they belonged to was unlike any bird Azami had ever seen. It was humanoid, with long spindly limbs and a wickedly pointed beak. Thick black scales coated the thing's hide like armored plating. Azami wondered if she would be able to punch her way through it? Or would she simply break her hands in the attempt?

Well, no matter. She would simply figure something out.

"Alas, it seems proper introductions will have to wait." the man said, stepping forward and drawing his blade, "Dear Lilira, for my sake please stay out of harm's way. As for you, dear friend- for Lilira's sake- please stay in harm's way!"

Azami took a moment to make sure Lilira had hidden herself among the thick roots of the Sultantree before joining the fray. As she feared, her fists didn't seem to so much as bother the creature. It raked its claws in her direction. Azami jumped back, just out of its reach. Her new companion didn't seem to be faring any better, his blade bouncing harmlessly off of its armored scales.

"This isn't working." Azami huffed.

"I'll hold it's attention. Take Lilira and run back to the station." the man said.

"Sure. Just one small problem with that." Azami said, "There are more approaching from the west."

"Lovely, it brought friends!" the man growled as he ducked under a brutal swing of the creature's claws, "Leave the big one to me! You handle the rest!"

"On it!" Azami said, wondering if the smaller ones would be any easier for her to damage. She charged forwards, ramming her shoulder into the first one. It squawked as she made contact. The creature landed hard on the ground. Azami didn't think it would stay down, but she was already busy dealing with its friends, ducking under one claw and talon to drive her fist into where she assumed its vital organs might be. Azami felt the scales give under the force of her blow.

"No!" a shockingly familiar voice called out. Azami scarcely had time to turn before she heard wood shatter and Pink cry out in pain. Azami threw herself in Pink's direction, fully tackling the creature that had harmed her. She landed on top of the damned thing, holding it fast to the ground by its throat as she savagely beat it with her other fist. She didn't stop until she heard a sickening crack, and the creature fell limp beneath her.

"Rabta, are you alright?" Shiro asked. Azami noticed the other creature she had been fighting laying dead behind him. The ruined remains of the cheap wooden shield lay scattered on the ground, red blood soaking into the sand.

"I'm alright." Pink said through gritted teeth. Azami looked at the wound, and saw a white flash of bone from under her tattered flesh.

"There's more coming." She informed Shiro.

"Fine. I'll hold them off. Get Rabta somewhere safe." He said, taking a position between them and the creatures. Azami helped Pink to her feet, all but carrying the girl back towards the sultantree. She noticed that the stranger's battle with the creature seemed to be at a standstill, but he was already beginning to slow. If it went on much longer he would miss a step and...

Azami couldn't think about that just then. First she needed to treat Pink's wounds.

Once they were safely under the roots of the Sultantree, Azami set Pink down. The girl was trying her best to put on a brave face, but Azami could tell she was only barely holding back tears. Azami pulled an old shirt from her pack, using it as a makeshift bandage to try and staunch the bleeding.

"Do you have any more of those potions?" she asked. Pink shook her head. Azami scoffed, "Bet you regret wasting that one on me now."

"It wasn't a waste." Pink squeaked out. Her genuine and inexplicable affection for Azami never ceased to confuse and irritate her.

"You're so annoying." she huffed, "Lilira come hold pressure on this wound."

"What? I- I can't-" the girl looked frazzled, almost as if she had never seen a wound up close before. Perhaps she hadn't.

"Lilira look at me." Azami commanded. Once she had the girl's attention, "You can do this. Just hold the pressure."

"I can do this." The girl repeated. And for an instant, Azami almost thought she believed it. With a shaky nod, the girl placed her trembling hands where Azami showed her. Azami reached into her boot and retrieved the kaiken that she had hidden there. It wasn't much, but perhaps it would be enough to pierce through these things scales. She stood to rejoin the fight. Shiro and that annoying stranger were going to need the help.

"Hold it just like that until we get back." Azami told Lilira.

"Wait." Pink said, "I saw that creature in one of the books my guildmasters asked me to read. It's... going to keep calling more until you kill the big one."

"Right. Any idea how to do that?"

"The armor is weakest near the wings."

"Got it. Stay out of trouble until I get back."

Azami rushed back into the fray. Several of the creatures were swarming Shiro now, but he didn't seem to be terribly injured. Between his shield and his armor, their claws seemed unable to find their mark. But even that wouldn't hold out forever. Azami was going to need to finish things now. Luckily, the stranger had managed to turn the creature just so that its back was exposed to Azami. She took a running leap, grabbing onto one of its wings with one hand, Azami wrapped her legs tightly around the creature so it wouldn't throw her off as she stabbed her blade into the joint where its wing met its back.

The creature let out an unholy shriek of pain and rage and tried to swipe at her. Azami ignored the pain as its claws raked glancing blows against her legs. Nothing so bad as what Pink was enduring, Azami was certain. She grit her teeth and persisted. Pulling the blade free from its flesh only to drive it back in. Over and over. The stabs got progressively meatier sounding until with a sickening tear, the wing came free. Azami toppled to the ground with it.

She quickly scrambled to her knees, readying her knife for a go at the other wing, but the creature lay still, its harsh gurgling breaths slowing to a stop even as it tried weakly to claw at her once more. Azami's own breaths were harsh and ragged. She watched it for what felt like an eternity before she was satisfied that it wouldn't rise once more.

"Shit." She swore, turning her attention back to Shiro. He was still surrounded by the creatures. Five or six of them. Azami was far too frazzled to count. She hurled herself back into the fray, their strange new ally right at her heels. He might have made some sort of smartass comment, but all Azami could hear was the sound of her own heart pounding as she took down the closest creature.

Something burning hot shot past Azami, the heat of one of Pink's fireballs almost comforting as it slammed into another one of the creatures.

"Lay back down, you idiot!" Azami shouted back to her. Stupid girl was only going to make her wounds worse that way. But fire continued to rain down on the creatures from afar, regardless of Azami's protests.

Between the four of them the battle was ended swiftly. Once the final creature breathed its last, Shiro rushed past Azami to check on Pink. Azami wiped the viscous black fluid that seemed to be the creatures’ blood on her sleeve before tucking her kaiken back into her boot.

"Are you alright?" The stranger asked. Azami took a moment to take stock of herself. There were cuts down her shins where the big one had caught her in its flailing attempts to get her off of its back, but they were shallow. Nothing a few bandages and a good night's rest wouldn't fix. Otherwise, she seemed mostly unharmed.

"Fine." she answered.

Thanks to Pink. Something dark and terrible stabbed at Azami's heart. It was her fault. She had gotten careless and now Pink was in so much pain. It had cut her straight to the bone. Who knew what kind of damage that would do to her arm? Would she ever be able to hold a shield again? Even if the wound itself and the bleeding didn't kill her, there were still infections. They lived in a dirty alleyway. Hardly the most sanitary place to nurse a wound. What if it got gangrenous? What if Pink bled out before they could get her to a proper healer?

This was all Azami’s fault.

"Let's go check on her." the stranger said, gently guiding Azami to where she had left Lilira to tend to Pink. His smile was gentle and knowing, like he understood exactly what she was thinking. Azami didn't even have the energy to be mad at him for it. Instead she nodded and followed along.

As they passed by the corpse of the big one, something odd caught Azami's eye. A strange blue crystal was laying in the pool of black blood leaking from the creature. The faces were smooth and shining, and it certainly hadn't been there moments ago. Azami wasn't sure why, but something about it seemed familiar. Like a part of herself that she hadn't realized was missing.

Azami stopped to examine it further. The stranger kept walking without her, but Azami didn't care about him just then. She reached out to pick the crystal up.

As soon as her fingers brushed the surface she was somewhere else. In a void, similar to the one that she sometimes visited in her dreams. Beneath her feet was a strange sigil, with several empty circles surrounding her. The blue crystal in her hands flashed, and took its place in one of the empty circles. In the distance Azami could hear that familiar voice.

"Hear... feel... think..."

For once the voice deigned to show itself. A massive blue crystal floating in the distance. Somehow Azami knew that that was what was speaking. It was no stranger than anything else in the void she found herself in, she supposed.

"Crystal bearer. I am Hydaelyn. All made one." it said.

"Cool for you." Azami did not have time for this nonsense, "What the hell is going on?"

"A Light there once was that shone throughout this realm... yet it hath since grown dim. And as it hath faltered, so hath Darkness risen up in its stead, presaging an end to Life. For the sake of all, I beseech thee. Deliver us from this fate!"

"And what do you expect me to do about it? I could barely take one of those flying things just now."

"The power to banish the Darkness dwellest in the Crystals of Light. Journey forth and lay claim to them. By thy deeds, shall the crystals reveal themselves to thee. Only believe, for the Light liveth in thy heart."

"You've got the wrong girl! I'm not... Pick somebody else!"

Azami saw others, dozens of others. People floating freely around the crystal. They seemed to be having a much better time than Azami. Any one of them could have been the hero Hydaelyn wanted. Why did she think Azami would be better suited for the task? Azami was the last person who wanted to be a hero. All she wanted was to get the money she needed and go home!

"Go now, my child, and shine thy Light on all creation."

"No! I’m not a hero! You have to pick somebody else!"

But her protests fell on deaf ears.

#ffxiv #fanfic #twdfc #my writing

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 3 years

Text

HER

I was rollin' around and in my mind it occurred. What if God was a HER?

Quick lil one-shot. Erik is onstage at a poetry night.

The words Urban Fever flashed neon above the familiar stage that Erik had seen countless nights through Open Mics and jazzy blues. Erik took the stage for the former, a first time poet created by the woes of heartbreak. He'd been through a lifetime in under a year.

A packed house sat before him as he adjusted the mic making it taller from the last poet who was 5'6 in her clunky platforms. Lights blinded him from the faces of the crowd and he squinted as the liquor in his system along with the vibe of the room made his mind run backward with reminiscing. His tongue was loose recounting his too brief time with.. Her.

"I swear I lost my train of thought when I passed her, fro godly like a pastor, skin like brown alabaster.

Astral choirs sing jagged edge cause shorty done walked right out of heaven a vision fulfledged."

NINE MONTHS BACK

"E, What you doing," Diamond's irritation cut into his sinful and lustful thoughts. For a minute he forgot he was in a relationship. He couldn't say he was in love but neither could most people. Diamond was down for him at least, he knew that for sure. "E!!"

"Hm?" His mind blanked so bad he missed the turn to take Diamond to work which meant he'd be late meeting his other bitch once he dropped her off. She sighed throwing her arms.

"Really E?" Diamond cut with a look that could kill. She was visibly sick of his shit but still there.. "You gone check this bitch out right in front of me when I'm in the car? Beside you?" She pushed the wheel causing the car to drift slightly into the left lane nearly hitting the car there before he righted it. "You that bold?"

He took a low look at her from the side of his eye as he kept driving. He'd passed the girl because Diamond made him gas the car so not to get hit.

"You trippin."

"Don't do that," she groaned. "Don't LIE. You want the bitch, go get the bitch." Impulsively she grabbed for the wheel again but he blocked her. "Let me out."

"You extra right now, chill out."

"Don't tell me to chill," she grit pushing the side of his head. He gave her another side eye as he contemplated pulling over.

"Just let me turn around.. Okay?"

She groaned as her head hit back on the headrest. "I don't know why I fuck with you, you ain't shit, never gonna be shit, make me feel like shit over your shit. It's just shit."

"So leave then Diamond! I don't need to hear that shit."

"I really should.. I'm not dumb, I know you cheating! I don't know why I stay with you when I know better."

"You know why."

Eight thick inches explained exactly why. He purposely missed the next turn hoping to find that girl walking again before she disappeared.

"I swear to-," she jumped suddenly, "LET ME OUT. I'M DONE, LET ME OUT!"

"Aye, chill. I'm a get you to work."

"NO. FUCK YOU," she pointed popping her door open before the car could make a full stop. He didn't stop and she either had to roll out or shut the door. She slammed it. She was finna be late as hell.. Meanwhile he was circling the area tryna go back to find that mystery woman he'd spotted before. Diamond wasn't dumb. She was shaking with anger, talking to herself.

The tall drink of hot chocolate with the god tier afro stood gracefully at the crosswalk looking like she'd flewn right out of heaven and into Stockton. Erik didn't know what the hell he was thinking.. he wasn't.. but he was damn near leaning on Diamond while steering the car closer to the sidewalk, rolling at a crawl to match this new woman's pace as his current sat fuming in the seat, shoving him off of her.

This new woman was divine. There were diamonds dusted in her skin like he'd never seen on a woman who wasn't on a TV screen. When she walked down the sidewalk, the world became chopped and screwed. That's how fixated he was. Not even Diamond slapping at him or shoving him could break his focus on that woman and her walk as he cruised beside her as though the surrounding traffic didn't exist.

"LET ME OUT," Diamond yelled smacking his face. She'd been trying the break the passenger door handle.. like he wouldn't make her pay for it. He finally stopped the car to let her noisy ass walk.

"Bye," he muttered pulling off to catch up with the fro'd up goddess.

"DON'T TALK TO HIM, HE'S TRASH," Diamond yelled from afar, her voice carrying faster than she could physically catch up. Erik wasn't bothered or embarrassed.

He had to think carefully of what to say. How could he impress this girl without her thinking he was a creep? Following her probably wasn't helping. Luckily she dropped something. It looked like money. Seizing his opportunity, he quickly parked in a no parking zone and dashed to snatch up what he discovered to be a twenty dollar bill.

"AYE.." he called ahead to no avail. He had to jog to catch up and when he reached her side, he noticed she had in earbuds. He waved for her attention and she fixed her eyes cautiously. Her almond eyes lined in jet black were just as black. She gritted on him hard. Even her disgusted face attracted him. She turned her nose up until she saw the twenty in his hand folded the same way the one in her pocket had been. He had her. "You dropped this.."

His hand smoothly ghosted hers as she took it. She felt like velvet to the touch.

"Thanks.."

She gave him a second look and he bit his lip as he met her eyes wondering how to make his next move.

"Ok.. so that's it?"

Her question caught him off guard.

"You do all that, follow me for damn near three blocks and now you've got nothing to say? That was anticlimactic."

Erik's jaw dropped slightly before he caught it.

"Wanna ride?"

She turned her nose up and he presented his key fob watching her deliberate on whether or not to trust him.

"Might as well.. before you get towed. Goofy ass," she mumbled with humor. There was something about her voice that was familiar and calming, the deep timbre. He rushed to retrieve the car. His face said it all as he opened the car door for her. It wasn't something he'd been in a habit of doing.

"Why thank you," she smirked.

"Of course... Why walk when you can be chauffeured," he commented when he was in.

"I like my woman black as the heart of an Aryan. Black as the back of a diabetic's neck. Black as coffee with no cream. My girl looks like 2 AM in a blackout."

Erik glanced wistfully to his memories ignorant to the soulful groans, snaps, and hums from the crowd. Of course his woman was no more, but he carried her still regardless..

Erik was stuck. He couldn't be away from his peace especially in the quiet moments when neither of them had anywhere they'd rather be than side by side doing whatever. Nail shop? He was in the pedicure massage chair right beside her with a drink and his feet up. Bank? They'd hit the BB&T and the SunTrust in one trip. They paid bills together.

"E, hand me my debit."

"You tryna pay it?"

"Yeah, I gotta pay today."

"I already did that."

"You paid mine?"

She seemed pleasantly shocked which was what Erik wanted.. to make her happy. Especially considering the pushback she got for their relationship. There were a lot of hating ass bitches.

"I heard you talked to Bianca.." He watched for any sign that she was omitting details to spare him. He didn't need to be spared. She took a deep breath and he knew without her speaking that some choice words had been exchanged. Afterall, he was playing Bianca with a whole girlfriend before leaving them both for this new flame. Bianca hadn't reacted well when she found out. "What she say," he inquired with faux calm. He had every intention of cussing out all his exes.. every one of them who had a problem with him moving on. It was the side effect of dating crazy bitches. They were too passionate. They couldn't just let shit rock, they had to harass him and his girl.

"I ain't worried about her, she can try me if she wants.. I'll knock her ass out that's for sure."

"Aight then," Erik smirked. He still planned to say something. "What she say though," he pressed.

"Same shit. She can't comment on anything but my skin because she knows I look better then her."

Erik was disappointed every time he thought of the fact that he'd unknowingly fucked a self hating colorist. He hadn't seen it before but now that he was serious about this new girl, true colors were showing.. and it wasn't just Bianca.

In a moment of fuck it after a sweaty quickie in the post office parking lot, Erik uploaded a chest-up pic of him and his cutie glowing from within with smiles white enough to rival the purest coke. She clung to him, laughing from the gut with crinkled eyes about something they'd both previously witnessed and he was grinning full force. That was the shot. Very pure. It'd brought him joy just looking at it, but others ain't feel what he felt and they had words about it. He cut off a childhood friend over a conversation where the guy'd said something casually insulting.

"How you ain't mean it when it came outta your mouth," Erik challenged. His friend was a damn coon.

Even worse was witnessing the treatment of her when it wasn't immediately clear they were together. She stood firm and held her own with class and dignity but it was work she didn't deserve to have to do. He couldn't be there for it all and even before he'd entered her life these problems were there.. but still..

"You know you perfect?" Erik asked this question at least once every other day to uplift his woman.

"Erik I need you to pick me up from work today," she said one day and when he asked why, she stated that her tire was flat. There was a nail in it. He sighed rubbing roughly through the fuzzy growout at the base of his locs. It had Evil Ex written all over it.

"I'll take take of it," he ensured. "I'll meet you for lunch too, wait for me."

His dedication knew no bounds. His loyalty had never before existed. His feelings for this woman were like nothing he'd ever felt.

Five months in.. he felt the same way. He'd never lived with a woman.. He'd never been faithful in his life, but then he'd never been in love.

Eight months.. she was still perfection through the good and bad and he'd do anything. He saw it all. The attitude, the dookie braids, the subtle insecurities, the slight messiness around the house, the flaws.. and all he could think of was that... he had his eye on a ring.. one with diamonds that matched the diamonds he saw in her soft rich deep brown skin.

"I'm casting all my game hoping she bite. Told her ass: You got that air that I like. Derriere sky high bite down I like to hit it from the bike. She say she love when daddy cum and fill it up just right."

The ring was still in Erik's pocket. It flipped absentmindedly through his fingers as he spoke. Unfortunately she'd never gotten it.

26 DAYS PRIOR

Erik gave backshots through the hour of 5 PM. Both he and his girl had arrived home around the same time and it was on sight.

"Hey.. Bae.. Get up and fix me something to eat," he whispered in her ear as she was laid out and half asleep. He was laid out as well with little energy after emptying himself of everything. He nudged her and she groaned but sat up.

"You can't fix it? I don't wanna move," she snickered.

"Pleaaaase," he begged watching her give in as she stretched. He smacked her ass as she rose. Then he rolled over and closed his eyes, hungry but ready to sleep. He inhaled her fresh scent left over on the pillow. It reminded him of oceans.

The doorbell rang.

He figured it was a package, something else she'd ordered. The closet was full. He drifted off.

When a half hour passed he opened his eyes and she still hadn't returned, she had to be cooking something. The thought hit him to surprise her in the kitchen by taking her as she cooked. It would be sexy..

When he walked out to the kitchen, he immediately entered a state of shock. Not only was she not cooking or coming back.. She had left a note that amounted to this:

Erik.. I'm leaving you for my ex.

Apparently her ex had showed which meant they'd been in contact... she even let him in.

Turned out he'd been a rebound all along.

"I should've known better..," Erik's head dropped in dark humor as his story came to a close. "When a goddess says her name is Karma that means misery. Better run if you got a history. I guess if she's God then God's testing me. Cuz she sure left with the best of me."

@soufcakmistress @itsiesha @ju5tp34chy @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @blackpantherimagines @blackpinup22 @muse-of-mbaku @goddessofthundathighs @panthergoddessbast @thadelightfulone @misspooh @marvelmaree @youreadthatright @forbeautyandlife @theunsweetenedtruth @bidibidibombaclaat @myboyfriendgiriboy @dameshaemonique @hidden-treasures21 @mysidefanting @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @syndrlla97 @winteroflife @thotyana-in-this-hoe @texasbama @gingerylimonte @princessstevens @magic-madness-heavensin @wawakanda-btch @wakanda-inspired @blackgirloneshots @thegucciwaffle @thiccdaddy-mbaku @purplehairgawdess @indigoxsummers @dynastylnoire @iamrheaspeaks @blowmymbackout @they-call-me-le @theblulife @raysunshine78 @sheisexcellent-blog

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik stevens au #black panther killmonger #black panther fanfiction #her

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early20sfailingplenty · 3 years

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Your life with Bo / general / meet-cute / fat/chubby reader

TW; I think Bo is his own warning?, mentions of reader being uncomfortable in their clothes but it’s EXPLICITLY STATED within the narrative to be due to the HEAT and NOT because of insecurity or anything like that (putting this here because it could be interpreted that way), could be read as a bit stockholm-y, manipulation tactics (canon compliant and like I said, Bo is his own warning), canon compliant darkness, unhealthy relationship, etc. Slow burn as FUCK (see word count). Reader is VERY morally grey/reprehensible (I do love writing readers who are just as bad🥰💜). SOME sensual cuddles/soft NSFW but it’s mostly chaste as fuck. Gotta give ya’ some lovin’.😉 Possessive language from Bo (”my Y/N” etc.), jealousy elements towards the very end of the piece.

(If you think I’ve missed anything which you want to be a warning, let me know!💖)

Final note: As far as I’m aware, there’s no coded language used!!! I’ve used “you” and “Y/N” to refer to the reader, and literally everything else is kept really really vague so I can be as inclusive as I possibly can! If you catch anything I didn’t or if there’s a way I can improve, let me know and I’m happy to listen to suggestions!!🌸

Word count: 5, 062.

In the decade or so it had been since Trudy had died and the brothers had inherited Ambrose (taking over the family business, for lack of a better term), the Sinclair twins had had many a tourist enter the town. Of those, most died in the infamous House of Wax or in the middle of the many roads which criss-crossed Ambrose. Only the special ones were dragged kicking and screaming to stay under Bo’s garage (and, oh, he loved the ones which put up a fight. It made breaking them so much sweeter). Fewer still made it to the boundaries of the town during an attempted escape, and of those, none survived. The brothers were always so quick to snuff out any light which entered Ambrose.

The tourists which were brutally murdered were of any age (though there was a strict no-child policy which was mutually agreed between the twins, and Lester was never to offer a ride to Ambrose to anyone who had a child with them) and of any shape. The brothers were not entirely picky with who was to join their town forevermore. Wax was wax, and it was only the end product they cared about. It was a sick and twisted sense of art, but it was an art form nonetheless and you, dearest Y/N... were the most radiant of them all.

You had been travelling alone and Lester had picked you up with a weary sigh. You knew not the cause, but he had muttered the words, “it’s always the damn fanbelt” before he started the engine of his truck and that perhaps should have been your ultimate red flag to get. yourself. out. You had ignored, against your better judgement, all of the ones which Lester had presented to you (whether he knew it or not, difficult was he to read) during the ride to Ambrose, so what was one more? Your fate had been sealed from the moment Lester had pulled up to offer you assistance and a ride to a mechanic called Bo in the next town over, though you hadn’t known it at the time. People never did until it was far too late.

As you walked up the road, waving kindly to Lester with a tight smile on your face (and, oh, but you could feel hands closing in on you, your throat tightening, your stomach cramping, but you kept walking despite yourself. Where else could you go?), he phoned Bo, his sweet brown eyes fixated on the back of you.

“They’re on the way in. This one was nice to me, and sweet. I like ‘em.” Lester cut the call before Bo had the chance to say anything. He didn’t want to be yelled at anymore than he already was. With a sickened feeling in his stomach about what lay ahead of you, but feeling proud that he had done his part to help his brothers maintain the family business, he drove up and down those washed out roads, picking up roadkill and saving the best and most salvageable ones for his dinner tonight. In another world, perhaps you could’ve joined him. Lester likes to think you would’ve accepted his invitation, though he shook those thoughts off. He couldn’t afford to think like that, not when he had just driven you to your death under the pretence of taking you to someone better equipped to help you.

Across town, Bo was hurriedly switching on all the audio loops, lights and other such things to entice you further into town, turning on the pet shop and neighbour animatronics at the control panel before walking quickly, almost jogging, to get to the church, adopting a solemn look on his face before kneeling in front of the open casket. “Jus’ come’ta pay my respects, momma.” Bo gave his mother’s body a genuine look; one of fondness, love, grief. There was no one around to see him, hear him, so what did it matter? Quiet sobs and the organ began to play and he could almost feel himself slipping back into that time of his life when his mother had really died. Almost. He knew this plan, this act, like the backs of his strong hands, soaked in the blood of many. He shook himself out of it, Lester’s words ringing in his mind. Nice... Sweet... Bo knew that Lester liked most people, he was just personable like that, but sweet? Perhaps the heat or the smell of dead things had finally gone to Lester’s head. But Bo could consider himself coloured intrigued, in any case.

With the garage open but no one in attendance and all signs leading you to the church, it wouldn’t be long before you arrived, and Bo’s thumbs rubbed across the seams of his Dickies, twitching. The trap was set, the illusion of safety and help had been created, the prey was near, the predator was waiting.

Just down the road, apprehension had fully set in. There was no denying that the town had a creepy vibe to it. Everything was open, vast, expansive, and faintly could you hear the hustle and bustle of town life despite the overwhelming lack of anyone around. It was like a ghost town and you almost expected to see tumbleweeds or closed signs draped across every shop front. You wore clothes which kept you cool, but parts of what you were wearing was clinging to places you really didn’t want them to, and you tugged at them while you walked along the trail Lester had told you to follow (telling you emphatically that “if ya’ think you’re at a dead end on the road, you’re not. Keep walkin’. Bo’s gonna find ya’ no matter where ya’ are in Ambrose”... you still didn’t know why that sentence had sent a cold chill up your back, despite the weather), trying to make yourself feel more comfortable in the blistering heat. It was to no avail, however, so you huffed and just kept walking, mindlessly tugging at your clothes.

You saw the garage station which Lester had mentioned, but you couldn’t see Bo or any other signs of life. Still, there was a church up ahead and you could faintly hear what sounded like a funeral procession. Surely the family wouldn’t mind you waiting outside for them to finish...

After thirty minutes passed and you hadn’t entered the church yet, despite Bo being able to hear the crunch of gravel beneath your feet, he huffed and stood up, curious. Most tourists ‘crashed the funeral’ so that Bo could play the part of an annoyed person who, despite the tourists’ rudeness, would help them out because he was a Southern Gentleman™. It was rare for someone to wait outside, and Lester’s words rung once more in his head until Bo felt compelled to physically shake his head, as if by doing so he could dispel the thoughts. At a slow but controlled pace did Bo walk down the aisle, cracking open the door after hitting the button on the wall which would lower the casket to make it look like the funeral was ending; the pretense was well and truly underfoot now.

When he stepped over the threshold, making sure that you could see the casket lowering and hear the (recorded) sobbing before he shut the door behind him, you were sat on the steps facing the church, your knees tucked up underneath you. It couldn’t have been a comfortable position and by the looks of those deep red marks on the sides of your legs, you had changed positions several times. Had you been waiting the entire time? Bo hadn’t ever had to wait for a tourist; usually they intruded and he took what they didn’t know they were offering just by being in the town until it was too late. Most of them were dead before they knew who killed them or why. Sometimes there was no why... sometimes Bo did awful things because that was just who he was. Sometimes he had a reason, like if someone insulted one of his brothers. That always put someone at the top of his hit list. Anyone who called Lester a rude name near Bo ended up dying the most brutal death delivered to that particular tourist group. Vincent could hold his own, but Bo would still be harsher to those who misspoke of his twin. No one spoke badly of Bo’s family. No one.

Bo was slightly caught off guard but he composed himself, his thumbs rubbing along the seams of his sleeves as he cleared his throat and said, “Can I help ya’?”

You stood up from the stairs, revealing all of yourself, and Bo’s throat went dry. Oh. Oh, ho-ly shit. He had seen some real fuckin’ attractive ones come through these parts, but you? Oh, Y/N, you were somethin’ real fuckin’ special. Bo’s plans did a total 180° and he immediately wondered how best to tell Vincent to not kill you. Scare you? Sure, whatever. There wasn’t much to do in Ambrose anyway and it would make for some decent entertainment. But hurt or kill you? No. Perhaps Bo could find something for you to do ‘round here...

Bo walked a few paces from you before you could answer him and pulled a battered phone out of his pocket, shooting Vincent a quick text. Got one; came alone. Don’t touch ‘em. Mine. Scare ‘em if ya’ want but no wax. That would have to do; Vincent knew Bo just as well as he knew himself and it was rare that the twins couldn’t come to some kind of understanding. They walked through life together, for better or for worse. They bickered, they fought, some days the town seemed too small for the both of them, but they loved each other and Bo refused to consider even the possibility of having to face life without Vincent. Vincent was much the same; he would always defend his brother when he had to. Even against himself. Lester, for the most part, kept out of the way, but when it truly counted, the twins were there for their younger brother. Once a Sinclair, always a Sinclair. Ambrose was just big enough for the three, though Lester lived a ways off to make his job a bit easier on him.

“Uh, I - my car broke down. Lester drove me down here, said someone named Bo would help me? I think it’s the fanbelt... Lester took a look for me and said it’d snapped. He was really helpful to get me down here.”

Physically attractive? Check. Polite? Check. Nice to Lester? Check.

“Fanbelt, huh?” Bo looked around the town, running a hand over the lower portion of his face as he heard Lester’s words in his mind again. What was it with you? “I reckon I can take a look at it. I got some fanbelts up at the house, see if we can’t find one for ya’.”

There was another red flag - what kind of mechanic kept work supplies in his own home? Even with the possibility of getting deliveries for ease of organising stock, it was still a bit... strange. Still, you were desperate, so you readily agreed and followed Bo up to the house. Normally did he take people straight to the garage, but there was just somethin’ about you that Bo wanted more of. Oh, he was gonna take his time with you.

You hadn’t been planning to go anywhere, you had just been driving down some isolated roads. No one knew you were here, no one knew you had left... you were totally alone. This day would be thought of with mixed emotions in the very near future. What if you had turned right instead of left? What if you had learned how to replace car parts yourself? What if you had refused Lester’s help? What if, what if, what if? Thinking like that never did anyone any good, but it was a day you would often examine closely in the future, wondering if any different decision would have led to a different outcome...Ambrose in and of itself was a tragedy, and even though you had physically survived it... the emotional and mental costs of staying were just too great. But you didn’t know that yet. You didn’t, you didn’t, you didn’t.

That day, Bo had taken you up to his house and he had gotten you the fanbelt you needed, and he had fixed your car for you. But, oh, wait, you needed a new valve job, and your radiator wasn’t working right, and, oh, would ya’ look at that, Bo needs to order in some new deliveries and it could take a few weeks for the parts your car needs to arrive, Y/N. You have nowhere to stay? Well, that’s okay, darlin’, because Vincent can clear you a spare room and while you’re here, why don’t’cha cook and clean to earn your keep?

You knew what Bo was doing while he was doing it. You could smell his manipulation tactics, you knew he was vandalising your car with deft wrist flicks when you weren’t looking, but you had nowhere to go, and, truthfully, you didn’t want to go. Bo was looking at you in such a way that that cold chill up your back was accompanied with a warming of your face as you flushed and you weren’t sure which of the two sensations was stronger. You knew what Bo was doing, you knew, and yet... you let yourself fall into it. You could have run, you could have left, but you didn’t, you stayed. You chose Ambrose, you chose Bo out of every other option which was available to you, limited such as they were, and in the end, you signed your own fate just as surely as Lester had when he first dropped you off.

As the days passed, you seemed to fit into the life at Ambrose as if you had always been there. You helped Bo out around town or kept him company in the garage while he worked. You took him and Vincent meals and made sure that if you could help them out, you did. You cleaned up the house as much as you could, with any supplies you needed being fetched by Lester. You showered, slept, ate with the brothers, but most especially with Bo. Maybe it was because he was your first introduction into the town or maybe it was all the time you had spent with him, but Bo was the one you missed when he was gone for long hours, Bo was the one you preferred to spend time with. Bo was the one you thought of when you woke up and he became, over the weeks (had it been that long already?), the reason you fell asleep with a smile, too. Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome, for you were smart enough to know that you were, for all intents and purposes, trapped in the town with Bo controlling when - if - you left, but maybe, just maybe... it was a genuine connection. Had you found your forever home after a lifetime of feeling out of place? Had Bo found a fifth Sinclair? (Four if one didn’t count Jonesy, but that was just rude because Bo loved the little shit.)

Weeks passed, too, and before any of you knew it, you had been in Ambrose for several months. Your car was just fine, you could have left if you wanted to, but you never mentioned it, and neither did Bo. After about a week had you stopped thinking of leaving. What was the point? You were wanted here, needed here. You had seen, by now, Bo at his best. You had seen his worst. You had seen him and time and time again had you stayed. You had stepped over broken glass to get to him when he was lost in his rage and even Vincent was staying out of Bo’s way. You had gotten him in the shower when he was caked in grease, oil and other such substances which he really shouldn’t ingest even a minute trace of. You had fed him and his brothers, done the household’s laundry, left your bedroom door cracked open when you had been awoken at 3 AM by muffled screaming coming from somewhere inside the house, sensing that Bo would come to you. Even if he only lingered outside the door, Bo knew that you knew he was there, and that was somehow his every comfort. Some nights he came in... some nights he didn’t. The first night he had come in, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. It had been the closest you’d ever been to him physically and you didn’t know if he wanted to be touched or not. But then Bo had curled into your body so suddenly that it was like there was nowhere else he’d rather be, mumbled something about how soft you were, and with your heart in your throat and stars in your eyes had you closed your eyes and let yourself be held as tightly as you were holding him.

You were without a doubt the most attractive person Bo had ever seen. Out of all the people who had entered Ambrose, you were the most memorable, the one Bo wanted to grab a hold of and never let go. He wasn’t one for sentiment, he definitely wasn’t one for emotional displays, but goddamn you had come to mean as much to Bo as the town, his brothers and Jonesy. You were in all but legality a Sinclair. You were the sweetest fuckin’ thing Bo had seen in these parts for a long time. Everything was going swimmingly for a few months... until more visitors came to the town, and the longest standing illusion cast by the brothers, all of whom willing and knowing participants, finally, finally, crashed down around you.

You didn’t go near Bo for days. The very sight of him sickened you to your very core after you found out about the truth of Ambrose, the reality of what was encased within the wax sculptures which Vincent worked so diligently at. To say that you were morally conflicted was an understatement, but you were trapped. You had nowhere to go, no way of escape. Bo wouldn’t have wrecked your car to prevent your escape, but he wouldn’t have made it easy for you to get to it, either, and you knew by now what should have happened to you that day you arrived at Ambrose. For some reason, though, you had been spared... you pondered, for days, on what could possibly have kept you alive that day. Undoubtedly, it still kept you alive. Bo had tried to get you to even look at him, but you only looked through him and, oh, how it was haunting to see your usually kind and affectionate visage look so much like... well, so much like him. The glare on your face during the rare times you allowed Vincent to make you food (you struggled to look at him, too, but Vincent was adamant that you would eat. He wouldn’t have you dying needlessly, after all. If anyone was going to kill you, it would be a Sinclair. Not starvation) was very much like the look Vincent saw on Bo’s face much of the time, and it unsettled the younger twin to see how much of an effect they had had on you in the short time you had been in Ambrose.

In the end, Lester was once again the person who stepped in to help. In a moment of desperation had Bo phoned him, almost crying into the phone. He told Lester of what you knew, what you had been doing, what you weren’t doing, of how soft you were, of how your body was just perfect and how much Bo needed you, and Lester’s response was a simple understatement: “Well, shit. I’ll be right on over, Bo. Just sit tight, ya’ hear me?” He sounded calm, but the tightness in every brother’s chest was well contained.

It had to be.

The knock at your door had you instantly on guard, but you softened somewhat to see that it was Lester, who poked his head in with a sweet smile on his face before he let himself in. You caught a flash of long dark hair and a baseball cap peeking out from behind the alcove close to your bedroom and you barely avoided rolling your eyes. For all their cold and calculative plans, it all went to shit when it concerned one of their own. The Sinclairs were humans, you realised, for better or for worse, and you were sure they had their own reasons for maintaining the family business... twisted, depraved and sick as those reasons were. You realised, too, that Lester was just as bad as the twins were, for even if he did no physical harm to visitors to the town, he still led them to the twins. Either they were all bad or none of them were; you couldn’t have a grey shade in this situation. But... what did that say about you? You, who had seen every red flag, every manipulation tactic, every rage... and stayed?

“Ya’ gotta eat, sweetpea,” Lester mumbled, one hand on the plate Vincent had thrust into his chest and the other rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly.

You shrugged, “Yeah, I know.” You were cold, guarded, and Lester’s stomach dropped a little. Shit, this was bad. You couldn’t leave, you both knew that, but Lester knew his brothers weren’t above murdering their loved ones. Something about his father’s death had always seemed fishy to Lester...

You saw how hard Lester was trying, so you threw him a bone, taking the plate from him with a slightly tight smile. You took one half of the sandwich and offered him the other by holding the plate back out. “Join me? If you leave now, Bo’ll just kick you back through the door.”

Lester’s smile as he took the sandwich from you faded as quickly as it had come at the mention of his eldest brother’s name. “He’s in a right state. I’ve never seen ‘im like this before.”

“Like what?”

You and Lester were sat cross legged facing each other on your bed, sandwiches in hand and a candid conversation blossoming between you. Even fully aware of the twins outside the door listening in, you felt safe with Lester. Briefly did you wonder of who you were. You didn’t recognise yourself, but that was okay. What was life, if not a constant journey of self-discovery? Stagnancy was a dangerous thing.

“All... beat up inside,” Lester’s accent was a heavy one, but you understood him just fine. Bo’s accent, too, became thicker when he was emotional. “He phoned me up to get me to come down here. Worried, is all. Upset and not right,” Lester shook his head and took a definitive bite of his sandwich, chewing messily. A deep breath did he take before he said, “You’ve been ‘ere all this time, Y/N. Ya’ made ya’self a home ‘ere. Got nowhere to go and I reckon ya’ don’t wanna leave or ya’ would’ve already. My brother misses ya’ real bad, Y/N. Never seen ‘im like this. Vin was already quiet ‘cept now s’even worse.”

“What about you, Lester? What are you like?”

A toothy grin and a joyful, “m’here, aren’t I?” was your only response before Lester went back to finishing off his sandwich, but that was all he needed to say.

Lester had such a wonderful way of putting things into perspective and several things fell into place for you. All of your reasoning, all of your excuses, all of your thinking, and it came down to one simple fact: you couldn’t leave Ambrose. Emotionally, physically, spiritually, you could not leave. You were not allowed to leave. But when you thought on it some more, you realised this, too: even if you could, you didn’t want to. That would mean leaving Bo, and he was... oh, help you, he was everything. But even so...

“Lester, I don’t... have a choice, do I?”

“Tha’s up to you, darlin’. But I wouldn’t wanna say so, no. We both know that what Bo wants, Bo gets.”

“What does Bo want?”

Lester fixed you with a level stare, his eyes solemn, hypnotic, and everything dropped inside you like a stone in water. “If ya’ have to ask that, sweetpea, then there ain’t no hope for ya’. Not in these parts.” He excused himself, then, and you heard whispering in the hallway before Lester put his head back into the open doorframe, a question written across his face.

You nodded, ran a hand over your face, and sat and waited in your cross-legged position. Your heart was pounding, you felt sick but complete, somehow. Your life had been decided for you from the moment Lester had pulled up beside your broken down car, and since then had you just been delaying the inevitable. Even with all of this, though, you truly did love Bo. Today was the beginning of the end, and, oh, what a story that would be.

Nothing with Bo was ever simple or easy. It was a fact known by all in Ambrose, but as he trudged in, his steps heavy, his shoulders weighted, you felt your heart break to see Bo like this. No matter what he had done, no matter who he was, you knew, you fully believed with every fibre of your being, that he deserved love. More than that, oh, more than that, he deserved love. His sharp baby blues took you in for all that you were, his eyes straying to your collar bones, your hips, your thighs... he swallowed thickly and compelled were you to set the plate left behind by Lester onto the bedside table and lay down, turning your back to the door, turning your back on Bo,

I trust you. I chose you. I do choose you.

Bo received your message loud and fuckin’ clear, a deep inhale from him as he got onto the bed behind you and pressed his body to yours. An arm slung around your waist, a hand dug under your head and wriggled into the forceful space created between you and the pillow until his arm was your pillow. Bo tugged himself into you as much as he pulled you to him, and the hand which had been on your hip traversed your body. Never had you been so intimate with one another, though this was just a chaste cuddle. A silent apology, and the best one Bo knew how to give in this moment. Kisses were pressed to your clothed shoulders, the back of your neck, anywhere and everywhere Bo could reach had kisses, tender and almost reverent, bestowed. He was almost desperate and this time was it you hearing him loud and clear.

I missed you. I need you. I need you.

“Your body is so fuckin’ perfect, Y/N. All your curves - “ fingers squeezing at your hips, digging into the dimples at the base of your spine, “Made for me, weren’t’cha? Never had nowhere to go because you were waitin’ for me, huh? You’re all mine, darlin’. Ain’t never leavin’ Ambrose. Gonna keep you with me. Ya’ a Sinclair now, and we stick together.” Bo was barely thinking about what he was saying. It was a stream of consciousness, and yet it was everything you needed to hear.

You turned in Bo’s arms so that you were facing him and threw your arms around his neck as you pulled him impossibly closer until there was no telling where he began and where you ended. You just wanted Bo.

For once, for once, Bo wanted to give you what you wanted, if only because it also just so happened to be what he wanted, too. You may as well have signed a marriage certificate right alongside your death certificate, Y/N. It took several days of similar affectionate displays before things cooled off between you and Bo, though the love was very much there and the both of you were painfully aware of this. You were Bo’s now, his Y/N, and he was gonna take real good care o’ya. S’only right.

Whenever visitors came into town, you stayed well out of the way, knowing now what was happening and how. It never failed to turn your stomach, but the age old question of am I just as bad for knowing about this and staying? was always in your mind and you hated it. You hated the way you loved Bo, the way you had been given multiple opportunities to leave but never took them. The way Ambrose was your home. But you loved it as much as you hated it, and, really, Bo and Lester and Vincent had all been right... you needed them, you loved them, just as much as they loved and needed you. It wasn’t an easy life, it wasn’t a right life, but it was yours and you didn’t want it or them any other way.

You never really helped out, preferring to keep well away, but you liked to keep Bo company in the garage while he worked. He would always introduce you as his partner, running his hands all over you and making it known that you were out of bounds should anyone cast you more than a cursory glance. With his lips pressed to your cheek would he murmur a, “so fuckin’ beautiful, Y/N,” and his hands, oh... they were positively dripping in sinful sensuality as much as the blood of innocents he shed without a care, without remorse or afterthought. And should someone make a comment about your size? They’d be dead before they hit the ground, and they never saw it coming. Especially brutal deaths were reserved for those who dared, who were stupid enough to insult a Sinclair, and as the months passed and turned into years, that came to include you, Y/N. Bo’s one and fuckin’ only. You were fuckin’ gorgeous, darlin’, and he could never get enough of ya’. Even when you were right there.

#erika's plain text #bo sinclair x reader #slasher x reader

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collecting-stories · 3 years

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Flowers on the Grave - c. 10 - JJ Maybank

Summary: Everything finally comes to a head.

A/N: So...massive thanks for following this series all the way through to the end. Seriously, means so much to me cause I was so unsure of this when I started it.

You Are Ok Masterlist | Outer Banks Masterlist

✞ I was on the verge of breaking down when you came around ✞

The phone rang, shrill in your ear, and you felt like a weight had settled on your chest as you waited for someone to answer.

Timothy was talking about the same three things that he had overwhelmed you with at the Wreck. Getting his pilot’s license, becoming a missionary, and his strength in the Lord. When he said it you could almost feel your father’s gaze burning into you, your own strength barely a register on the scale.

He had questioned you further the night before, after he had sent everyone home you had spent nearly the entire night sitting at the kitchen table with the two of them, demanding a repentance for your sins as you tried not to tell them everything that you had done to betray them. If they knew half of it...if only there were nunneries for Baptists. Your eyes had stayed on the clock, watching minutes turn to hours and knowing that JJ was waiting for you. That you wouldn’t make it.

Now you sat in the living room, watching those same minutes tick away, an escape plan the only thing on your mind as you listened to all the voices around you mingling. All you could imagine was yourself with JJ in Charleston and you desperately wanted to be there, wished you could transport yourself there.

You excused yourself from the couch beside Timothy, walking into the kitchen under the guise of needing something to drink. In actuality you just needed the moment to breathe. Everyone in the living room seemed fixated on the impending nuptials, regardless of the fact that Timothy had yet to propose to you. It didn’t seem to bother anyone, Timothy’s mom and your’s gushing about what sort of dress you would wear and your flowers. Every second spent with them felt like you were sinking further beneath the waves, unable to get your bearings, you imagined yourself drowning in all of this.

You glanced over your shoulder to make sure no one was watching you before sneaking out the kitchen door, pulling it closed behind you so that it didn’t make any noise. The back patio had been cleaned off and all the kids were around the front of the house, playing between the church and the front porch.

“Ace,” the familiar voice came from your left and you almost burst into tears at the sight of JJ stepping onto the patio, careful to stay out of view of the window.

“JJ...I-”

“It’s okay,” he said, cutting you off. His eyes looked bloodshot, more so than when he smoked too much and you realized that he looked like he had been crying. “It’s okay...I know your family is inside and all, I just wanted to stop by to, uh, to see you...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“What, I don’t-”

“I understand, I swear. I knew that you might not come, that wasn’t like...I get it.” He insisted.

“No, JJ...” you shook your head. Careful not to draw attention to yourself as you slipped passed the window to meet him at the edge of the patio, you placed your hands on either side of his face, heartbreaking at the way he turned his eyes away, “my parents found your vape pen in the house. I...my dad like freaked out on me, I’ve never seen him like that. I couldn’t come to see you, I wanted to, so badly...I still want to.” You swore. “I love you.”

The words processed a little slowly, giving you the opportunity to watch JJ’s face as realisation sunk in. You hadn’t left him waiting at the Phantom because you were choosing what your family wanted, you hadn’t been able to get there. “Seriously?”

“Yes, I swear. I told you I was coming and I was. I just-”

“Hey, it’s alright, I get it.” He promised. He knew how dependent on your family you felt. How dependent they made you feel.

“Is it too late?” You asked, looking back to the screen door as if someone would walk through. The bruise on your arm was still there, stinging under the sleeve of your dress but somehow it didn’t feel as harsh as before, as much like a shackle as it had last night, “is it too late to leave?”

JJ looked surprised, “you still want to?”

“Yes. But we have to go now.” You knew there was no way you could go back inside that house.

The renewed sense of optimism that gripped JJ was not without understanding that your window oy opportunity was limited. Leave now and you still had the chance to make it to Charleston before dark, wait and there was a chance someone would step outside and see you.

“Okay.”

Your absence was becoming increasingly noticeable until finally your mother stood up, promising that she would be back in just a moment, she needed to find you first. “She has a tendency to wander off, probably playing with the children.” She explained as she walked into the kitchen, positive that she had just heard the screen door creak shut.

Stepping out onto the porch, she looked quickly around the yard, a survey of the area within the trees, looking for you by the clothesline or the church or the old swings that had been set up nearly five children ago. You weren’t there though, the yard was empty. She pushed the door open again, walking back into the kitchen and catching sight of the refrigerator. A note, scrawled on the grocery pad that was kept by the door, had been tacked to the front of the fridge along with a delicate gold cross hanging from a chain.

Mom + Dad,

Sorry, I told dad I wouldn’t marry Timmy and I meant it. Call you when I can.

Ace

Your mother screamed so loud it was a wonder that you didn’t hear it, running through the trees with JJ, your hand in his. Once the woods parted to make way for the closest drive-way you saw JJ’s dirt bike. There were plenty of times that you had almost taken him up on the offer of riding on the back of the bike with him but you always backed out at the last second, far too terrified of falling off or getting hurt. Today you hardly thought twice of it, climbing on the rungs and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You leaned forward, kissing JJ’s cheek before he kicked up the stand and took off, “I love you.”

“Love you.” JJ replied quickly before taking off, grinning at the feeling of your grip on his shoulders tightening.

The middle of the afternoon was far different from midnight and Heyward’s was open, Pope and Kiara coming out when they heard the sound of the dirt bike, as if they’d been waiting. The moment you each dismounted Kiara was pulling you into a hug, swearing that she ‘knew it’, knew you weren’t standing him up. She passed you over to Pope, who hugged you and whispered in your ear that he was glad you came, knowing without having to tell you that you understood just how much this relationship meant to JJ.

“Come on,” JJ grabbed your hand, pulling you away from them. “We gotta go.”

“You can take ten seconds to give me a hug JJ,” Kiara said, already pulling him into a hug.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, hugging her back and lifting her a little off the ground before letting her go, “we need to leave, I love you guys, I’ll see ya soon.”

“See ya man,” Pope hugged him, “call us.”

JJ was guiding you away from them again, over to where he had docked the Phantom. He had taken your duffel bag the day before and it was still sitting there under the bench along with his backpack. The last time you had been on a boat with JJ had been out on the Pogue, in the Marsh. This was a lot different, the outlet to the ocean just beyond your vision but getting closer as JJ steered the Phantom. Kiara and Pope shouted their goodbyes from the jetty and you waved, suddenly feeling like that weight that settled on your chest was gone.

“Are you freaking out?” JJ asked, catching your attention.

You got up from the bench, careful as you walked over to him. “No but I'm sure my mom is.” You replied, laughing a little when JJ wrapped his arm around your waist and guided you in front of him, putting you between him and the wheel. You turned your head, tilting back to kiss him.

A police car rushed past Kiara and Pope as they stood outside of Heyward’s, heading in the direction of the church and your house. When Shoupe pulled in, the yard was quiet. Your siblings and their families were all inside, your oldest sister trying to do damage control with Timothy’s family while your mom and dad stood outside, your mom clutching the letter and the necklace.

The cross was something that your mom had given you on your thirteenth birthday, a symbol of your devotion and love for the Lord, now it was tucked in her hand as she tried not to absolutely fall apart. Timothy’s mother was simply upset that you had seemingly skipped out on her son but your mom was dealing with the reality that you were gone and she had no idea where you would even go.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Shoupe asked, skeptical as he took down your information. You were 18, according to your parents, 18-year-olds didn’t need permission to leave home without telling anyone. So far, he was unconvinced of a crime.

“Hardly an hour ago.” Your mom replied, thrusting the note into his hand, “she left this...I know that boy she was sneaking around with put her up to it.”

“Do you know this boy’s name?” he asked, looking over the vague note you had left.

“JJ Maybank.” Your father said.

Shoupe frowned, if there was any name that immediately sparked his interest it was JJ’s. It didn’t matter whether JJ was guilty of something or not, nine times out of ten Shoupe was positive that any misconduct on the island could be traced back to JJ and his friends. “Look, usually in cases like this I would tell you that, your kid is 18, if you haven’t heard from her in 24 hours then I’ll file a missing persons. But I know that Maybank kid...I’ll talk to his friends, see if anyone knows anything. You hear from your daughter, you let me know.”

“Thank you, deputy.” Your father said, his arms around your mom as she continued to cry. You were gone and he wasn’t sure if he was angrier that you had walked out on your family’s expectations of you or that you were embarrassing them in front of a potential future husband. Either way, the thought that something they did contributed to your disappearance never occured to them.

Charleston wasn’t half-way between North Carolina and Florida. There wasn’t anything special about the place and even Pope had asked why JJ didn’t just take the Phantom down to Georgia for a stopover. JJ’s only explanation was that he knew a guy in Charleston and, technically, he did. When Luke had served an 18-month sentence for a petty misdemeanor his cellmate had been an in-the-process-of-reforming drug addict who took himself down to South Carolina to work in a program for recovering addicts. He kept in touch with JJ, making sure that Luke was treating the boy right and JJ always lied through his teeth that everything was great.

“Nothing to worry about.”

But he’d called a few weeks before with an odd favor. One that Luke’s cellmate readily agreed to, no questions asked, but a strange request all the same. “Meet me at the courthouse in Charleston.”

Now you stood outside, scuffing the toe of your converse against the pavement, JJ’s cellphone held in a vice grip against your ear. Independence didn’t exist in your family, at least not for you. You belonged to your father until you belonged to a husband and there was no other way around it. JJ was sitting on the hood of his friend’s car, talking about heading down to Flordia, watching you as you stood a few feet away, fiddling with the strings that tied the dress he’d bought you in Chapel Hill. You’d dug it out of a drawer in your mom’s room and wore it now, a small symbol of freedom.

“Hello?” Your mother’s voice came through the phone, a little grainy.

“Mom?”

Suddenly she was shouting for your father and you could practically hear her switching the phone over to speaker so he could hear you too. His footsteps were heavy in the background and when you were sure he was in earshot you spoke again, not ready to hear whatever bible verse he had earmarked for this very specific occasion.

“I just wanted you to know I’m okay, JJ and I are heading down south. We’ll be staying with a cousin of his until we can get our own place.” You told them, “but we’re safe. Kiara told me you called the police; you can tell them you made a mistake...I left on my own.”

JJ stood up, walking over to where you stood, nodding to you as if silently asking you to put the phone on speaker. You held it away from your ear and tapped the button on the screen, your father’s reprimanding voice pouring through the phone.

“Stop, stop,” your mother insisted, cutting into the conversation with the only thing you knew she cared about. “What am I supposed to tell Timothy’s parents?”

“Tell ‘em she’s already married.” JJ answered for you, winking at you when you smiled. Charleston wasn’t anything special, expect they let you get married the same day you applied for a license and you knew it was the only thing your parents would listen to. When you had told JJ he’d been more than onboard with the idea. Surprisingly okay, eager even.

“What?” Your father practically shouted through the phone. He had sat up the night, waiting for the call you promised them only for it to come through early in the afternoon the next day with this, news that you had married this kid.

“Ace-” your mom seemed like there was something more she wanted to say, something that she couldn’t say with your father hovering beside her.

“I’ll be in touch, love you.” You said, ending the call and realizing, as JJ pulled you into a hug, that you were crying. “I really hate them sometimes but I don’t...want them to hate me.”

“Trust me,” JJ reassured, “I know all about it.”

Your shoes sat abandoned on the small front lawn, socks stuffed inside as you stood a few feet away, ankles deep in a plastic kiddie pool that was slowly filling with hose water. You still had your uniform on, a short sleeved, short-hemmed, yellow waitress dress that buttoned up the front. Balanced on your hip, your arms around her, was JJ’s cousin’s daughter, his niece for the sake of simplifying things. She wore a white bathing suit with rainbow flowers all over it, a frilly skirt around the waist. Her Elmo submarine bobbed in the water as it got higher.

“Look, Daisy,” you cooed, drawing her attention to you and then pointing to the object of your interest. An older model Ford truck pulled into the driveway, JJ behind the wheel. “Whose that?”

“JJ!” Daisy clapped her hands with each syllable, thrilled at the sight of him.

The car door slammed behind him, standing there with his coverall’s tied at his waist, white wife-beater dirty from work. His cousin had gotten him the job at the autobody shop that he’d been promised and JJ was enjoying it more than he thought he would. The smile on his face when he saw you was infectious.

“Where’s Brett?” He asked, looking around the small yard of the trailer. It was nothing terribly special, a double-wide trailer that JJ’s cousin Brett had bought after his girlfriend got pregnant. Now he lent out the room that Daisy had been sleeping in to you and JJ, asking only that you pay for groceries every other week and babysit whenever need be.

“Went to meet April for lunch.” You replied, “you’re early.”

“Don’t act so excited.” He teased, getting close enough that you could kiss him, Daisy reaching out for him and calling his name again. “As soon as I change Dais,” he promised, kissing the baby’s head.

“Kiara called, asked if we’ll be up for Pope’s birthday?” You mentioned, setting Daisy down in the kiddie pool and getting out to shut off the hose. “I said yes.”

“Yeah, definitely.” He nodded, pausing at the steps as if he wasn’t quite sure what he had intended to do next, finally turning to look back at you as you kneeled down on the outside of the pool in hopes of keeping your uniform clean. “You okay with going back for a weekend?”

“Now that I’ve fallen into like, total debauchery, definitely.” You joked, “my parents probably won’t even recognize me if I don’t, you know, get stuck down by lightening just walking onto the property.”

JJ snorted, “slow your roll there Cheech, you still can’t smoke and you definitely can’t handle your liquor.”

“Go get changed so I can...Brett basically handed me Daisy, threw a shirt on and left. I didn’t even get to change.” You mentioned, pointing to the dress, “I know it’s some weird turn-on for you but I’d like to put a bathing suit on.”

“Hey, I’m happy to oblige,” he called, the screen door clambering behind him as he disappeared into the trailer.

You had tried to imagine a few times, what you would’ve been doing right now if you had stayed in the Outer Banks, if JJ had never asked you out to begin with. Probably packing for Tennessee, signing off on a life-sentence with someone who thought your greatest contribution to his life would be in how many children you could give him and how well you kept his house. Certainly not living in a trailer in a small town, saving dollars in a jar, with a future ahead of you that was as much yours to decide as JJ’s.

“Alright, get your ass in there and change.” JJ said, coming out of the trailer. He’d left the white tank on but changed into an old pair of swim shorts, climbing into the kiddie pool as if it was intended solely for him.

You stood up, brushing grass off your knees and leaning over to kiss JJ one more time, “be right back. Don’t have fun without me.”

“Oh we’re gonna have all the fun!” He called as the door shut behind you.

As you passed the mirror on the door you stopped to look at your reflection. You looked the same as you had when you left for Florida four months ago but there was something there, something so different that you couldn’t recognize yourself sometimes. A good different though, the kind that settled over you like a warm sun in the summer, the kind that blossomed up in your chest and let you know that all these decisions that led to right now had been the right ones.

Taglist: @outrbanks @mendesmaybank @thehomeiknow @minnie-bby @katiaw2 @2kayla64 @stevie-buck @bijleegiregi @vitaminekabc @minigranger @teamnick @just-smile-darling @obxsummer @damonsalvawhore27 @isqbella @tomzfrog @fangirlvoice @phantompogues @98starkeys @ilovejjmaybank @lemur46 @khiaraaa-in-spacee @babygal-babygal @niya-savage @divvrx @princess-of-the-fandoms @thecaptainsgingersnap @jenjie @yourprincess-maybe @wowmaybankk @goldeng1rl8 @heavenlymama @vindictive-hearts @alexa-playafricabytoto @dontjinx-it @randomficsandshit @niamhobrien @strangerthanfanfiction713 @tovvaa @freckled-and-daydreaming @harleylynn @bibliophilewednesday @dpaccione @bolaurel @poguestyleskye @beautyandthebleh @under-a-canyon-moon @outerbankspreferences

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lovely-josuke · 4 years

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❝chapter fourteen: countdown complete❞

Iwaizumi tapped his foot against the floor, waiting outside of the classroom while other students went around him. You had made the mistake of being on your phone throughout class, forgetting to pack your things up. The ace exhaled, looking uninterested as Oikawa came up.

“Iwa—chan!” He said, “You waited for me!”

“Why would I wait for you?” He raised an eyebrow, head leaning into the door way to see you finally scurrying towards him. “Dumbass. I told you we can’t waste any time!”

“Sheesh calm down. I’m doing my best.” You peacefully said, now turning your attention to the setter. “Hey Oikawa.” The setter gave a smirk.

“Hi (L/N). What are you and Iwa—chan up to that you can’t waste any time?” He put his hands into his pockets, leaning his figure down to make eye contact with you. “Or is it “Talk Shit Five” exclusive?” He did air quotes around the group name.

Iwaizumi’s head nodded to the side, telling you to get a move on. You scrunched your nose, linking your arm with Oikawa’s as the three of you marched down the hallway to get towards the entrance.

You explained you had no idea what was going on, only that Kuroo said he had a surprise for you. Oikawa kept coming up with conclusions, maybe that Kuroo was finally taking you on a date. You mentally facepalmed, remembering you hadn’t told Oikawa about talking to Ushiwaka.

Oikawa parted ways with you two, waving as he rushed down another road. He was going to go see his nephew today. Iwaizumi and you began going to the train station, orders from Kuroo apparently.

“I wish I could go home and change.” You muttered, holding onto Iwaizumi’s arm now.

“No shit.” He looked uninterested. He made the mistake of wearing his school uniform instead of the volleyball’s tracksuit. “Let’s just hope we get there in time.” He said, checking the time on his phone. He started calculating things out loud, barely audible to you.

On the train ride, you two messed around with each other, hoping it would make time go faster.

“How big is this surprise? Are you guys finally going to stop being mean to me?” You lace your hands together, a bright smile on your face that reflected on Iwaizumi’s face as well.

“No, but nice try.” He closed his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. “If I’m being honest, this was all Kuroo’s idea. I’m only escorting you.” He said.

“Maybe Tanaka will spill if I tell him I’ll put him on with Kiyoko.” You whipped your head to your phone, causing the volleyball player to chuckle.

“What ever happened to being patient?” Iwaizumi kicked his legs out, crossing his left over his right. His neck craned to look behind him. “We’re almost at the station and then we only have to walk a little.”

When the train’s brakes came screeching and fully stopped, people began huddling for the doors to open. One by one, they stepped off the platform. Iwaizumi gripped your hand, hauling you behind him so you wouldn’t get stuck. You patted off your school skirt, eyes scanning to find Kuroo’s head lowered who also wore his school uniform. He was fixated on his phone, snorting at whatever was playing.

“There’s Kuroo.” You pointed. Iwaizumi was already making his way to his friend, hand still holding yours. Kuroo heard the clicking of shoes coming in his direction, lifting his head up at the right moment. His grin formed on his lips, locking his phone.

“About time you made it.” He said. “I thought it would be you guys waiting for me.”

“Someone here took forever to put their things away.” Iwaizumi glared, letting go of your hand. “Do we still have time?”

Kuroo nodded.

“Yeah. We just have to hurry.” Kuroo turned on his heel, heading to leave the station.

“Kuroo!” You dragged out his name. He gave you a ‘what’ in the same tone. “Where are we going?”

“If I tell you then it’s not a surprise anymore.” He stated once you three were walking side by side. “And then, your reaction will be a fake one.”

“So stop whining.” Iwaizumi rubbed his temple, “It’s enough dealing with Oikawa during practice and Kuroo in the chat room.” Kuroo and Iwaizumi started arguing, each insult making your stomach hurt from how hard you were laughing. A little while later, you three met up with Tanaka and Tsukishima.

“Wait, is Suna not coming?” You asked Kuroo. You two were walking in front of Tsukishima, Tanaka, and Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi currently had Tanaka in a headlock. Kuroo raised his eyebrows before dropping them back down.

“Kind of.” Kuroo scratched the back of his neck. “You’ll see.” The roads began to seem familiar, you’d walked down this path a few times. Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to remember where this road took you.

Until the kanji embedded in metal read, Shiratorizawa. You stopped dead in your tracks, the three behind following in pursuit. You glanced at Kuroo. His face had a mischievous smirk, knowing he was up to something.

“What? Backing out now?” Tsukishima bumped your shoulder as he walked around you. Kuroo’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, trying to drag you along but your feet stood planted on the cement.

“(Y/N) come on!” He urged. “It’s nothing bad, I promise!”

“You brought me to Shiratorizawa! Where Wakatoshi goes! You’re probably trying to embarrass me!”

“You’re an embarrassment as much as it is,” Tsukishima rolled his eyes, “No point in doing that.” Your jaw dropped at his words.

“That’s gotta hurt.” Tanaka said, coming up behind you to push you. “We didn’t plan this for two weeks just for you to act like this last minute.” With Tanaka pushing you and Kuroo pulling you, it was enough force to bring you to the gym.

Standing outside of the metal doors, Kuroo slid it open. The sounds of volleyballs being hit, the net jangling after being touched, and small chit chat on the sidelines. You began feeling nervous, heart beating against your chest. The white ‘1’ on a muscular back faced the five of you.

“I don’t think Iranizaki is here yet.” Kuroo stepped on the wooden floor, signaling the rest to join him as well. There were a few girls cheering on for the Shiratorizawa boys currently practicing. “Taichi!” Kuroo whispered loud enough for the boy to hear. Taichi’s head turned to your group.

“Up there.” He pointed to a free spot on the balcony, not before leaving to talk to Ushijima. Tanaka took the lead, rushing to get to the balcony and place his things down. With shaky legs, you followed, praying that Ushijima wouldn’t notice you were here just yet.

Making it on the free spot, Tanaka and Iwaizumi sat down, backs pressed against the wall and relaxing. Tsukishima squated down, rummaging through his bag. Kuroo, gripping the bars holding him from falling, flailed his arms like it was a signal. From the bottom, Semi’s nonchalant eyes shot open when catching Kuroo.

Kuroo sent a thumbs up, the silver haired boy sauntering to Taichi and Ushijima. Kuroo checked to see if you were still standing beside him, kicking Tsukishima who kept trying to untie your shoes.

“Kuroo, switch spots with me.” You tapped the captain on his shoulder. That didn’t grab his attention, focused on something else. This led you to examining what he was looking at. Semi, the third year setter, speaking with Ushijima and pointed towards your direction. Ushijima’s head turned upwards, olive eyes meeting yours.

You could see his rare smile, hand waving to say he knew you were here. In return, you did the same thing. His hand dropped back to his side, smile disappearing and focusing once again on getting done with the warm up.

“You like him.” Kuroo said in sing song voice in your ear.

“Shut up stupid.”

❝You send 17 asterisks to your friends about the guy you’d date before Kuroo Tetsurou. They try and figure out who it is and once they do, all hell breaks loose.❞

TAGLIST IS NOW CLOSED!

Taglist: @kokogxddess @cherryblosom111 @mariachiii @it-me-trash @z-llama @differentballooncollection @solarisjae @simpywara @princessmidas @ohashley101 @anejuuuuoy @toaster-stick @izexftheworld @haikyuufairy @yikerb @ratatostada @irenevyas @just-snog-already @doublekrecs @xsmutbucket @not-today-19 @ushi-please @leinnah @moonlightsof @cutepet09 @vinaios @cloudykarasuno @hartbeat-art @svtbitch @sushijima @kageyamasbabygorl @katherine1920 @animatedrapture @anhphunnnn @kiyoojima @michelepiekenma @a-moon-fairy @moremilkforkags @lollyzen @toobsessedsstuff

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out-of-this-dimension · 2 years

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Snippets -- Legacies Never Die, Chapter 2: A Beacon in the Dark

AO3 Link

It's been a year since the Lylat Wars and Fox decides to undertake a seemingly impossible task-- cleaning out the Great Fox. Having taken up his father's mantle, he had left most of his dad's belongings intact. But when he starts to dig into the lesser used sections of the mothership, he uncovers a recording left by his father detailing the first generation's adventures.

We all liked hanging out in the bridge together. With the three of us, it was somewhere between quiet and pleasantly loud. Pigma had a knack for gaming so he hooked up some systems for us to tinker with while we had down time. We had fun but we always had to keep nearby the radar in case something came up. Pigma didn’t have a huge collection of games back then—that was something he picked up as time went on. But he had this racing game we all liked. You could play as various critters and you could ride around on monsters. It was as over-the-top stupid silly as it got but hey, it was better than staring out at space waitin’ for life to hit us all with the next thing to do.

We were in the middle of a race when our scanners picked something up. Pigma was in the lead but we were gaining on him. I think he was sweating bullets when the game got paused so someone could check the radar. Peppy volunteered to go look and I leaned back, stretching.

“Y’know, we should really get a bot for somethin’ like this,” Pigma said. I could tell he was eyeing Peppy’s controller. Maybe thinking about unpausing the game to give himself a bit of a boost in lead.

“They make bots for monitoring ships like this?” I asked, not too familiar with the subject myself.

“Yeah, it’s the new trendy thing, James. Haven’t ya been on the internet? People’re freakin’ that everyone’s gonna lose their jobs to the androids,” Pigma retorted. “But hell with it, I say. If it means we don’t gotta worry about making sure the Great Fox isn’t about to crash every few minutes, it’s worth it to me.”

“Not a bad idea,” I commented. “Dunno how to build one though.”

“Oh it’s easy,” Pigma said with the wave of his hand. “Most of ‘em come with kits and instructions anyways.”

“Heh, just like one of them… oh, what’re they called…” I scratched my chin. “Easy Breezy Ovens? Y’know, those pink things that bake the little cookies.”

“Ha!” Pigma snorted. “Could use one of those in the lounge too while we’re at it. I’d make use of it.”

“What’s the word, Pep?” I asked, looking at where the hare was fixated upon the radar. He was rubbing at his jawline, thick brows furrowed in confusion. That was when I knew we were in for something different that day.

“Pep?”

“Saw something for a second. Weak signal. Ah, wait, there it is again! Coming from Sector Beta.”

“Sector Beta?” I asked.

“Yeah! It’s… oh gosh, it’s an SOS signal. Looks like someone ran into engine trouble or something.”

“We got extra fuel cells?” I asked Pigma as I glanced at him.

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go help ‘em out.”

#queue'd #star fox fanfiction #james mccloud #pigma dengar #full chapter hopefully soon!#peppy hare #star fox gen 1 #starfox #star fox

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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

Note

prompt - casual touches/pda bc we don’t see much in the show!

<3 <3 ty so much for the prompt anon! this ask was sent in before the most recent ep (where we were fed ALL of the casual intimacy!) but i wanted to write a little something to maybe hopefully comfort some lingering discontent about the whole non-monogamy thing– so here is a communicative one-shot of ian and mickey discussing their boundaries and processing s5 traumas before 11x07! (w lots of soft touches😌)

It was one of those casual, routine evenings at the Gallagher house when Ian brought it up again, a couple of long weeks after that first conversation on the front porch under the streetlights. They were all lounging in the living room during the slow, undefined hours after dinner, when Carl and usually Ian and Mickey would sit hunched around the TV, passively watching some movie or cartoon while they scrolled through their phones.

That night, Debbie and Sandy were having some sort of erratic spat in the kitchen, and the shrieks back and forth were making it hard to hear the crashing and blaring of the action movie that Mickey had picked out coming from the TV’s speakers— after a couple minutes of trying to make out the movie’s dialogue, Carl stood up with a huff and flicked off the TV with the remote that had been shoved between the cushions of the chair in the corner, stretching and standing up to head down to the basement.

“Night, guys.”

“Night Carl,” Ian replied, and then kept looking down at the Instagram feed he’d been circling through for a good hour while trying to tune out Debbie once again shouting at Sandy for “traumatizing” her by keeping secrets. They’d had the same fight almost every night for the past few weeks since Debbie had discovered that Sandy was living in her car, and had been married to some random guy when she was a teenager or some shit like that— Ian honestly wasn’t even going to ask, but he’d heard the conversation enough times to be uninterested enough to drown it out.

Franny was sitting with splayed knees on the living room carpet, playing some elaborate game with Liam’s truck toys and little Lego construction workers, that had been stowed in the cabinet but Franny had somehow dug out a few weeks ago, causing yet another one of Debbie’s conniptions— and finally the voices in the kitchen trailed off, like they always did once Debbie ran out of steam and got tired of victimizing herself.

“Time for bed, Fran.”

Debbie came into the room and scooped Franny up from where she was sitting, trudging up the stairs with Franny in tow and Sandy trailing close behind—

And then suddenly it was just he and Mickey in the living room, pressed thigh-to-thigh and knee-to-knee beside each other on the couch, resting in the rare but comforting weight of the silence.

Mickey was slouched back on the couch, his chin practically touching his chest, playing some game that involved him turning his phone sideways and lazily shooting pixelated zombies. Ian looked over at him for a moment, taking in Mickey’s relaxed face and the solid press of Mickey’s body against his side…

And he had to fucking do it.

It wasn’t like Ian wanted to bring up the conversation again, about monogamy and boundaries and fuck-knows-what-else; but these past few weeks had been hard, like something cavernous was cracking and splintering between them. Their banter had slowly turned less and less humorous, and more pointed and jagged, about who was the breadwinner and who was the “man”; and even though they’d patched it up and built small bridges between them, and had hung off of each other’s bodies at Lip’s apartment the night Ian had brought up the monogamy conversation for the first time, Ian couldn’t help but feel the weight of the things unsaid wriggling and rustling inside him, like a germinating seed about to bloom.

Ian totally understood why, the moment he had mentioned “fucking other people” during that conversation on the porch, he had immediately felt Mickey’s knee stiffen where his palm had been resting on it. There was so much shit they hadn’t talked about—so it made sense that Mickey had immediately bristled when Ian had brought this all up the way that he did, and had put himself on high-alert and fled the scene the moment Carl came through the gate.

It would be so easy to just… not bring it up again. But Ian knew they needed to talk it out, and needed to let out all of the questions that were hanging on the edge of his lips like a ticking time bomb. If there was one thing that Ian knew, it was that Mickey was sensitive about this shit; the last thing that Ian wanted to do was crack and fall through the thin ice he was walking on and accidentally push Mickey away if he made some comment about another guy being hot, or if he reciprocated some dude checking him out at Kev’s gym— if Mickey had gotten upset at the fact that he only had 87% of Ian’s heart, some stupid comment that came out of Ian’s mouth before his brain could really process how he knew Mickey would feel about it, then how was Ian supposed to know what was and what wasn’t okay?

The problem was, talking about all of this shit so explicitly with Mickey felt like trying to walk upstream; things with he and Mickey had always just kind of… flowed, and had never been spelled out or agreed upon or set in stone, at least until he was leaving Mickey in prison and they kind of had to strongarm themselves into talking about what they wanted to future to hold. Even with the proposal and the marriage shit, they had just sort of stumbled their way into it, without explicitly needing to sit down and spell it all out. If he was being honest, Ian fucking loved that; he loved that he and Mickey’s relationship was a roller coaster, a high-speed train ride that they didn’t know the stops of. Things with Mickey just happened the way they were supposed to, in a way they never had with anyone else that Ian had ever been with. He remembered Trevor’s goading about boundaries and sex positivity and communication, and how at first it felt like Ian had marbles rolling around in his mouth as he tried to stumble over words like “ethical non-monogamy” and “compersion” and “polyamory”; it felt like he was speaking a foreign fucking language, like he was talking about things he couldn’t quite grasp— and he didn’t want to push Mickey into feeling that way. But as much as he hated it, he knew they had to at least talk about it; there were too many things left unsaid, too many holes they needed to patch up before slipping through one them.

So that’s why, with a gentle creeping of his fingertips from his own lap to rest on Mickey’s upper thigh, Ian said the words into the soft silence of the living room:

“Mick, we’ve gotta talk about the whole monogamy thing again.”

Instantly, in a sensation that was fully reminiscent of that night a few weeks ago, Ian felt Mickey’s torso stiffen beneath him.

Mickey sniffed, then hesitantly pressed his thumb up to his phone screen to pause the game he was playing mid-level. Mickey’s body was still slumped and leaning on the couch, but now there was a new rigidity to the way he was sitting, like he was bracing himself for something. He clicked off his phone and shoved it into his pocket, then looked down at his hands.

“Don’t know why you think we gotta talk about all this shit, man. We already did your thing with the paper and you said you didn’t wanna fuck other people.”

Ian let out a breath, then snaked an arm across the back of the couch so it was just barely touching where Mickey’s shoulders were leaning, just to where he could feel the heat radiating up from Mickey’s body. If he was going to fucking do this, he needed Mickey to be close to him—he needed their bodies to be pressed together a little more than they already were.

“Yeah, but I guess… I never really got a chance to hear how you feel.”

Mickey’s body tensed up again; Ian could feel his shoulders clenching beneath his where his arm was limply strewn across the back of the couch.

“I don’t know, man.”

Ian swallowed down the sudden wave of resentment he started to feel that Mickey wouldn’t just say what he was feeling, and took a deep breath. Sometimes Mickey just didn’t know how, and he needed to sit there and acclimate to the airwaves that were bouncing between them before Ian could pull something out of him, or before Mickey could pull something out of himself. Ian let them just sit there, and let himself fixate his eyes on the rise and fall of Mickey’s chest under his tattered t-shirt; and after a moment, he decided to give a gentle nudge, to at least get the ball rolling towards the depths of wherever Mickey’s head was at.

“So do you… wanna fuck other people?”

Mickey made an airy popping sound by smacking his lips together— like he was trying to do anything with his mouth except let words rest inside it, like he was trying to puncture the blanket of silence with a sharp sound. Ian waited.

“Or is it— that you think I want to fuck other people?” He could hear how cautious his own voice sounded, like he was tiptoeing onto uncertain territory, gently coursing into rough and uncharted waters.

Ian felt an almost imperceptible slump work its way back into Mickey’s rigid shoulders. Oh.

He leaned himself closer towards Mickey’s warm body, wrapping his arm down off the back of the couch and directly onto Mickey’s shoulders, feeling the soft bristles of Mickey’s hair pressing up against the crook of his elbow.

“Hey.” Ian tried to keep his voice soft, soft. “I know it fucking sucks, but we’ve gotta talk about this. I don’t ever wanna do shit you aren't okay with.”

Mickey raised his chin, leaning back onto Ian’s arm, and flickered his eyes to meet his gaze.

“You really don’t wanna fuck other people?”

It was the same question Mickey had asked the other night on the porch, the first time they'd had this conversation— but this time there was no bravado to it, no directness or volume like the way Mickey had asked that night with his eyebrows raised. This time he asked in a low voice, a voice that was husky and soft around the edges. Ian squeezed Mickey’s shoulder.

“Mickey, I got married to you. I don’t really know what you thought that meant— but for me, it pretty much means fucking you til the day I die.”

Mickey hesitantly rolled his eyes, blowing a puff of air out of his mouth. “But, like— fucking only me?”

Ian took a deep breath and steeled himself for the messier part of conversations like this, the part where he tried to get Mickey to split himself open. “You’ve gotta give me more than that, Mick. What’re you asking?”

Mickey looked down at his hands again, running his fingertips over a loose thread at the bottom of his shirt. “I don’t know, man. Guys are always droolin’ over you. Just don’t want to hold you back.” Ian felt the rise of Mickey’s shoulders, the breath of air being let into his lungs. “I just don’t wanna not be enough for you, or whatever. Don’t want you to regret shit a couple of years down the line.”

Not be enough for me? If this didn’t feel like a serious and slightly terrifying, fragile conversation to have, Ian could have laughed in Mickey’s face— how could Mickey think that he wasn’t enough for him, when he was the fucking focal point, at the center of everything? Ian didn’t know what words could radiate that out of him, could make Mickey get it— he opted for another squeeze of Mickey’s shoulders, and then migrated his hand under Mickey’s chin and forced their eyes to meet.

“Mick.” He tried to ooze every ounce of certainty, every ounce of resolve that he was feeling, into his voice. “You’re more than enough for me, are you fucking kidding? You’re all I ever think about— if you weren’t enough for me, I wouldn’t have married you. I know what that means, I always have.”

Even saying the words aloud, Ian quickly flashed back to it’s just a piece of paper, to back when Mickey smelled of cheap cologne and bitter smoke in an oversized tux— even then, Ian knew what marriage meant, knew the weight of it, and that’s why Mickey getting married that day tore him apart. Ian wouldn’t have done this, wouldn’t have said “I do” if he wasn’t ready for all of that— so why did Mickey think that he wasn’t?

The tension was creeping back in between Mickey’s shoulder blades. “Took you a while to decide to do that, though.”

Ian paused. They’d rehashed this shit enough times, but it still always stung to think back to when he was too wrapped up in his own shit to think outside of his own spirals of self-doubt, and left Mickey bleeding at the altar in the process. He didn’t know how to put it into words; Mickey had just always been everything, had always been a solid presence inside him, tugging at his heartstrings so tangibly that it made him ache; Ian had a bullshit complex about marriage, but not one about his iron-heavy commitment. Mickey had to understand that by now— but it seemed like there were scars there that still hadn’t been healed.

Which made Ian wonder— where else was this coming from?

Ian cupped his hand below Mickey’s chin again, raising his other hand from his lap and reaching up to push Mickey’s hair out of his face—a gentle touch, a touch to root him and give him something to hold on to more than anything else.

“Hey. Look at me.” Mickey’s eyes met his. “S’there anything else you’ve been holding in about this monogamy stuff?”

Mickey’s eyes flickered downward— and there it was, Mickey’s defenses were being raised, just like they always were at first. But Ian knew how to breach them, knew how to wait it out. He reached his hand downward, intertwining it with Mickey’s limp fingers and giving his hand a squeeze. Mickey dryly cleared his throat.

“You remember that night, before you, uh. You left with Yev or whatever. And you did the porno with that guy.”

Ian felt an ache of awareness rip through his solar plexus, as the words continued to tumble out of Mickey’s mouth.

“It fucking gutted me, man. That and… all the shit with you running off. Not coming to visit me in prison. And I know we’ve talked about it, and I know we’re over it, and I know wasn’t your fault; but I can’t stop feeling like this”—he paused, eyes flickering down at their clasped hands, their pair of silver rings— “that this might be too good to be true.”

Ian felt something hollow ache in his chest. He couldn’t believe they’d never really talked about all of this, never dug this deep, even in the endless blank calendar squares of their days and months in prison together— sure, Mickey had called out Ian’s shit about leaving him over and over again, but he’d never really said the words out loud, never pinpricked Ian’s actions so specifically.

He’d left Mickey, hadn’t he? Even when he didn't mean to, even when it wasn't his fault— that wasn't just going to go away.

A nauseating awareness started to drip through Ian’s veins. He sat frozen on the couch, planted there— not really sure what to say, not sure what words could patch the holes in something solid that he didn’t even realize were there all these years later. While his mind was whirring, Mickey spoke again— he met Ian’s eyes, and this time the iron shutters in his eyes betrayed a trace of pain, just sharp enough for Ian to barely see it.

“Can we go to bed? And talk about all this shit in the morning?”

Ian felt an indecipherable lump in his throat— and he nodded.

Mickey had climbed the stairs slowly, and Ian had trailed behind— and now Ian was laying flat in the bed, all changed into a worn tank top and boxers while Mickey brushed his teeth down the hall. Ian propped his upper back on a pillow he had shoved next to the wall, trying to sift through all the emotions that were swirling and buzzing in his head, threatening to pull him under. How was he supposed to fix this?

Mickey turned the corner into the room, lingered in the doorway. He looked deflated, and tired— and instantly, Ian needed to bridge the gap between them, need to feel Mickey warming the empty sheets beside him.

“C’mere.”

Mickey almost comically collapsed onto the bed like a ragdoll— between the conversation downstairs and the few moments they took apart in separate spaces, something small had dissipated, something had turned less brittle and was starting to bend. Ian instantly shifted to his side and wrapped his arms around Mickey, locking his fingers behind Mickey’s head, overtaking his sight line and holding him close in the bed. Mickey gave a half smile— an acknowledgement.

“Hey.” He heard the note of thickness in his own voice. “I’m so fucking sorry. For… everything. Fuck.”

Mickey coiled an arm around Ian’s waist, laying a palm on the small of his back, soaking him in.

“I know. Just gotta give me some time. And we've got all the time in the world, Gallagher.”

Ian breathed out. “Fuck. Yeah.”

He pulled Mickey closer, until Mickey was almost on top of his chest, his face pressed into the crook of Ian’s neck. He listened to Mickey’s steady breath, feeling the curls of it tickle his chin. Ian reached over to switch off the lamp on the bedside table, then pulled Mickey in closer, slotting a leg between his.

After a moment, he broke the silence.

“So. Monogamy?”

He felt Mickey’s chest vibrate with a breathy laugh. “I don’t know, man. What do you think?”

Ian grinned, feeling something fizzle out of him. He prodded Mickey in the side. “Come on, Mick. What do you want? Actually?”

Ian felt Mickey’s ribcage expand and retract from where he was pressed against him. “I don’t wanna fuck anyone else, man.” Ian breathed out; and he was about to let out a gust of see, that wasn’t that hard, was it— when Mickey spoke up again.

“But I guess… we could talk about doing stuff. Together?”

Holy shit.

Mickey’s words kept flowing, his breath running hot against Ian’s neck as his words floated through the dark room. “I don’t wanna be with any guy that isn’t you. But it might be kinda fun to like— I don’t know, try that shit some day? Like those hot fuckin’ pornos or whatever.” He breathed out a laugh. “Never thought I’d get to try that shit, and probably never will— but it’d be fun... to try? If you ever wanna.” Mickey paused. “But that’s where I draw the fucking line, man.”

Ian barked out a laugh—and instantly felt a weird, warm sense of pride welling up in his chest. This was Mickey asking for what he wanted—this was Mickey letting Ian in, letting him have all of it, and showing that he trusted him despite all the high and lows they’d both muddled through. This was miles beyond what he would have guessed Mickey would’ve been comfortable with, with all of his Terry-inflicted internalized homophobia still thawing somewhere deep inside him— but he was in. It honestly sounded... fucking hot, all the more because Mickey was so into the idea.

Ian was so fucking glad that they were talking about this— if this was what Mickey wanted, at some point down the line, he would give it to him. He would give him everything.

Ian pressed a kiss to the curve of Mickey’s jaw, just below his earlobe. “God, Mick.”

Mickey just wriggled closer to Ian, almost like he was nervous. “Yeah?”

“If it makes you excited to do shit with other guys together—only together—than we can totally fucking do that. But only if you want to. I don’t need anything else, Mick— you’re all I need. You’ve gotta know that.”

For the first time in what felt like hours, the ice had thawed from behind Mickey’s eyes when he pulled back to meet Ian’s gaze— Ian could make out the glint of light in the darkness. “I know.”

And as he pulled Mickey’s close and pressed the pulse of their lips together, he was sure of one thing: that Mickey belonged to him, and he belonged to Mickey.

Whatever they tried (or didn’t try)—they would do it together.

#ill have more soft lil casual touches later in the POV fic!#lip is up next #ian’s other <3 best friend <3 #also i have realized that i love writing gap fillers shameless writers would never write about healthy communication #bc they are COWARDS #we don’t see this on screen enough!!!#lmk if u enjoyed this got a lil more angsty than i intended lmao #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ian and mickey #ixm #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Text

someday, i’ll breathe again

prompted by @mimierose, idea by @theworld-is-out-there. thanks guys, so sorry it took me so long to write! i hope you both like it!

A shout from above grabs their attention, followed by the pounding of feet coming down the stairs towards them. TK’s able to shove Mateo out of the way, but the guy forcefully collides with him as he goes past, his momentum knocking TK off balance and sending him tumbling down the stairs to the landing below.

He lands hard, stars exploding in his vision, the pain in his head masking the sharp sting in his arm.

ao3 | 2.1k | warning for references to needles and past addiction - this is not a relapse fic

The ambulance arrives at the scene just behind the truck, and TK grins when he climbs out, spotting Carlos already deep in conversation with his dad. Nancy hits him as she walks past, any initial reservations she’d had about him joining their team long since forgotten.

“Head out of the bedroom, Strand,” she says, rolling her eyes at his show of offence.

“I’ll have you know my head wasn’t even close to the bedroom,” he protests, following her to the back of the ambulance. It’s not even a lie; he’d actually just been thinking about how much he was looking forward to their movie night later. They haven’t spent much time together properly in a while, shifts rarely lining up, both of them too tired to do much more than sleep when they do.

Becoming a paramedic has meant that some of the danger has gone out of TK’s job, but the workload has increased more than he realised it would. Medical get far more calls than fire in a day, and much as TK loves it, he can’t deny the bone-deep exhaustion at the end of most shifts.

He wouldn’t trade it, though, not for the world.

Nancy sends him a withering look, but she doesn’t get a chance to respond before Tommy’s striding back over to them, having consulted with his dad.

“What are we looking at, Cap?” he asks.

“PD needs some help clearing the building,” she responds. “It’s due to be demolished in a couple of weeks, but there have been some reports of squatters, gangs, local kids, hanging around. They want to make sure everyone’s out, and they want medical on standby just in case. Ordinarily, we’d wait out here, as you know, but Captain Strand and I have agreed that it would be more efficient and useful to have you inside. There might be people in there who don’t have the time to wait to be carried out.”

TK grimaces, hearing Tommy’s implications loud and clear. Her gaze flicks over to him, but she doesn’t comment, and TK tries to pull himself together as she continues laying out the plan.

“We’ll be going in in teams of three - two firefighters, one paramedic. TK, you’re with Judd and Mateo; Nancy, you’re with Marjan and Paul. Captain Strand and I will be waiting out here - keep us updated.”

“Yes, Cap.”

He and Nancy nod, turning to gather supplies into their medical bags. They work silently and efficiently; TK had been surprised by how easy it was to fall into a natural rhythm with his new team, but it feels normal now, like he’s been doing it forever.

Tommy takes his arm before they join the others, pulling him to one side. “You good to do this, Strand?” she asks, voice firm but caring. TK appreciates the thought - he’d told her about his history during his interview in case she wanted to think twice about hiring him - but he knows that he can do this.

He nods, adjusting the strap on his bag. “Yes. I’m good, Cap.”

She smiles. “Good. Now, go, and both of you be safe.”

TK jogs over to the others, arriving just in time to hear Nancy bemoaning him and his distinct lack of driving skill to Marjan.

“That’s so rude, Gillian,” he protests. “I’ll have you know I used to navigate New York traffic and never once got in an accident.”

“And yet you can’t take the ambulance more than five yards without threatening to crash it.”

“I’m surprised he can get it that far,” Judd puts in, which TK thinks is wholly unnecessary. It’s not his fault that the firetruck is totally unmaneuverable, or that the ambulance is only barely better.

He opens his mouth to tell Judd this, but his dad chooses this moment to call them to attention, so he’s forced to settle for a glare directed at the back of Judd’s head.

“You’ll take alternating floors,” Owen tells them. “Judd, Mateo, TK - start on the ground, work your way up through the even numbered levels. Paul, Marjan, Nancy - the same, starting on one and doing the odd floors. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Cap.”

“Good.” Owen looks round at them all, eyes seeming to linger on TK for the briefest second longer. “The structure seems stable, but stay alert. We don’t know what you’re gonna find in there, and I’d like to avoid any injuries. Police will be around for back up if you need them. Good luck.”

They spring into action, heading towards the building as a unit, and TK has to admit that he’s missed this. Doing rescues with the team, adrenaline pumping through his veins, never quite sure what’s going to happen from one moment to the next.

He sticks to the back of their little group, letting Judd and Mateo go ahead of him as they sweep the ground floor. There’s no-one there so they move onto the next level, TK’s nose wrinkling as the smell gets worse the higher up they go. They work without speaking, for the most part, though judging by the numerous backward glances Mateo keeps sending him, TK suspects that it won’t last.

Sure enough, as they’re moving from the fourth floor to the sixth - their last but one target - Mateo falls into step with him.

“It’s been weird since you became a paramedic.”

Ahead of them, Judd groans. “Here we go again.”

“What?” Mateo protests. “It has.”

TK looks between them, curious. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just weird that you’re not on call with us anymore,” he says, shrugging.

“I am literally on call with you right now, Mateo.”

“Yeah, but not with us,” Mateo sighs. “And it’s not like you’re at every call, and you don’t do rescues, and you ride in the ambulance now. I know that this is what you want to do, and that’s really cool, seriously, but it’s just -”

“Weird,” TK finishes, laughing a little. He nudges Mateo with his shoulder. “I get it. It’s been weird for me, too.”

“Really?” He seems surprised, looking over at TK with wide eyes. TK sends him a wry smile.

“Really,” he says. “But -”

A shout from above grabs their attention, followed by the pounding of feet coming down the stairs towards them. The guy - a squatter, more than likely - freezes when he catches sight of them, but only briefly, before continuing to barrel down to them. TK’s able to shove Mateo out of the way, but the guy forcefully collides with him as he goes past, his momentum knocking TK off balance and sending him tumbling down the stairs to the landing below.

He groans, vision swimming as he attempts to push himself upright. His bag is lying a couple of feet away, contents spilling everywhere, and the thought crosses his mind that Captain Vega’s going to be pissed if he loses anything. He tries to get to his feet to collect it all, but the pounding in his head quickly informs him that’s not happening any time soon.

Judd and Mateo’s faces appear in front of him, their mouths moving but no words coming out. Or… That’s not right. TK focuses as best he can, trying to blink some of the haziness from his mind.

Eventually, their voices reach him, as though underwater. “You with us, brother?” Judd asks, worry evident in his tone.

TK nods, then instantly regrets it as another wave of dizziness washes over him. Hands grasp his shoulders, pulling him up to rest against the wall, and it’s then that he notices a sharp sting in his right arm. He must have cut it on something, which isn’t ideal, given how dirty everything is here.

“Alright,” Judd says, his voice clearer this time. “I’m gonna need you to focus up for me, okay? You’re the paramedic here; you’ve gotta tell us what to do.”

TK huffs a small laugh, closing his eyes and taking a moment to clear the fuzz in his brain. “Definitely have a concussion,” he mutters. “Must have hit my head on the way down.”

He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but he can feel Judd’s eye roll. “Yeah, no shit. It don’t look too bad, though; you’ve got a bit of a scrape on your cheek, but it seems fine. Hurt anywhere else?”

TK hums, doing a mental check. His entire body aches in some capacity, and he’s probably going to be bruised as hell tomorrow, but his cut is the only other injury he can detect. “Arm,” he says. “Think I cut it on something. Glass, maybe?”

Judd pushes his sleeve up, then sucks in a sharp breath. “Aw, shit, kid,” he murmurs, and TK gets the distinct impression he wasn’t meant to hear that. “Probie, let the captains know? Then go join the others; tell them they’ll have to finish the rest of the building themselves.”

TK frowns, forcing his eyes open. Mateo’s moved too far away for him to hear whatever he’s radioing in, so he turns to Judd instead, panic flaring at the pained look in his eyes. “What? What’s going on?”

Judd hesitates. “That wasn’t, um. That wasn’t glass you landed on, kid.” He shifts, carefully picking something up from the floor, pursing his lips before holding it up for TK to see.

A needle.

All the air feels like it’s sucked out of the room, a band tightening around his chest as his eyes blow wide, fixating on the object in front of him. His heart is racing and his thoughts are scrambled in a way that has nothing to do with the concussion because he just landed on a needle, oh god.

And TK had never been one for any of that stuff, not like some of his friends at the time were, but sober is sober, and he can’t lose that, he can’t, he won’t -

“You haven’t, okay? Just breathe, brother, that’s it. Breathe.”

Judd’s words reach him from far away. TK wants to comply, but his body doesn’t feel like his own, and his shaking fingers scrabble frantically at his uniform collar, the choking sensation only getting worse. A distant noise lets him know that Judd is still talking, and TK tries to latch onto that, leaning into the solid and grounding presence at his side.

Slowly, the panic starts to subside. He still feels on edge, weak and shaky, but he can breathe again, which counts for something.

“Sorry,” he gasps out when he’s able.

Judd’s mouth twists into a grimace. “None of that, now. You okay?”

TK nods, though he doubts it’s very convincing. “I will be,” he amends. “Give me a minute.”

At that moment, Judd’s radio crackles to life. “Ryder, what’s your status?” his dad’s voice says, very carefully professional.

Judd looks over to him. “Think you can stand?”

At TK’s nod, he grasps his radio. “Me and TK are on our way out, Cap,” he reports. “Be with you in a few.”

“Copy that.”

TK groans, taking a shaking breath before planting his hands on the floor, attempting to heave himself upright. He makes it to a half-crouch before his balance gives out, and it’s only Judd’s reflexes that save him from face planting the ground again.

“Jesus, TK,” Judd sighs. “Let me help you.”

His tone leaves no room for argument - not that TK could put up much of a fight at the moment if he tried. He leans his weight on Judd, letting him do most of the work to get them down the stairs and out of the building.

“Sorry for freaking out on you,” he murmurs. “I just…”

“I know, kid,” Judd says softly. “You’re alright, though.”

TK doesn’t say anything, not entirely convinced that Judd is right, but comforted by the sentiment anyway. It’s not until they’re nearing the ground floor that he realises something else, and it’s almost enough to make him want to turn back.

“This is going to be so embarrassing.”

Judd frowns. “What?”

He points between his head and his arm with his good hand. “I’m going to have to go to hospital to get these checked out.” He sighs. “A paramedic needing a ride in his own ambulance. I’m never going to live this down.”

Judd laughs, long and loud, and it’s enough to make a smile tug at TK’s own lips. “You’re something else, kid,” he says, gently ruffling TK’s hair.

TK grumbles and bats him away, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s never been more thankful for Judd, truth be told, and he knows he can trust him to understand. And as they head outside, TK starts to believe that maybe Judd was right after all.

They’ll be alright, in the end.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #lone star #911ls #tk strand #judd ryder #mateo chavez #nancy gillian #tommy vega #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #userjillian #tuserjamie #userkimmy #tuserpaige #tuserjenny #reyeslonestartag

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lebritneeey · 3 years

Text

Second Chance (3/??)

inspired by don’t wanna cry, lie again and second life & a little idea from reply 1997 and 1988.

genre: romance. fluff, angst, love rivals etc lmao

pairing: y/n x ??? (svt)

a/n: hi guys! so my imagination started running after listening to dwc, lie again and second life on repeat lmao. i’ve always love reading angsty fics and so i came up with this series based on these three songs! disclaimer!! if there’s any similarity with other fics, it is coincidental, everything written here is based on my idea! no to plagiarism!! also, pics and gifs here are NOT mine! hope you guys enjoy this series i might be posting this on aff too so don’t be alarm if you come across it on aff! enjoy!

SERIES MASTERLIST

What if you could get a second chance at love? What if it was the wrong time but the right person all along? Would you take it? This second chance?

Meet y/n, a 25 year old girl who had to revisit the city she once loved, Seoul. It was a city filled with both good and bad memories for her. When she left, she swore never to return. But here she is, back in Seoul, hoping to not run into a certain old flame that might reopen old wounds and remind her of how broken hearted she was back then.

chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

chapter 3: she’s back?

nov 2020, seoul, 1:39pm (KST)

Y/n’s eyes widened as she froze. Choyi and Hana gasped as they stared at the three familiar faces in front of them.

Seventeen Dino, Mingyu and Jeonghan were picking up their coffee orders for the rest of the group.

“Oh! Noona!” Dino and Mingyu chimed as they greeted her excitedly. They turned to Hana and Choyi, waving at them as well.

Jeonghan’s eyes was fixated on Y/n, his gaze turning soft.

“Hi, Y/n.. long time no see.”

////

The members sat down with the girls as they waited for their orders. Jeonghan took a seat opposite Y/n who anxiously drank her coffee while silence filled the air.

“..long time no see noonas!” Dino broke the silence. Mingyu joined in, “yeah, it’s been a few years!” Hana broke into a smile, nodding. “Yes, it’s been a while.. Heard Seventeen has been getting first place recently! Congratulations!” Choyi agreed, “This year is really you guys’ year! Congrats!”

While the four of them chatted away, Jeonghan constantly fixed his gaze onto Y/n. He gently asked, “how have you been?” Y/n looked up from her drink as she forced a smile. “I’m.. good. You?”

Jeonghan chuckled, “well you know, busy as always. We’re preparing for our upcoming tour.” Y/n nodded, taking a sip of her drink again.

“You still looked the same from the last time I saw you. Beautiful always.” Y/n blinked in surprise, cheeks turning slightly red at the statement. She said nothing and continued looking at her coffee. Silence filled the air once more.

////

“Ah, lunch time is over, we gotta go now.” Hana said as the girls stood up to leave. “Aw, that’s sad. But we had fun catching up noona!” Dino chirped as he waved them goodbye with Mingyu beside him doing the same. Just as Y/n was about to follow them out, Jeonghan gently grabbed her wrist. “Y/n!” She turned and stared at him, brows raising.

He let go and rubbed his neck awkwardly. “Um.. how long are you going to be in Korea for? We should all catch up soon, the rest of the guys missed you and they would be delighted to see you again.”

Y/n pursed her lips together, hesitating. “If I’m free.” She gave the three guys a small smile before leaving the cafe.

Jeonghan sighed as he watched her leave. Damn it, I never thought I would miss her this much.

////

“Hyung.. should we tell the rest that we saw y/n again?” Dino asked in their van. The three were on the way back to the company with their coffee orders in their hands.

“I don’t know.. We need to prepare for the tour soon, y/n’s return might affect some of them.” Jeonghan rubbed his face, feeling a tad stressed.

“I think we should tell them. What if they bumped into y/n on the streets again like today?” Mingyu chipped in. “Aigoo hyung, Seoul isn’t that small you know.” Dino shooked his head as he replied Mingyu who pouted and continued texting on his phone.

Jeonghan stared outside the window as he sighed once more. If fate allows it, then we will all meet again. He thought as the car ride continued in silence all the way back to the company.

////

Flashback to march 2017, 3:53pm, PLEDIS building

Choyi, Hana and Y/n looked around in awe as they walked around the building of PLEDIS Entertainment, home to Seventeen, NU’EST and After School. Hana’s boyfriend had invited the girls over for lunch as he’s busy helping SVT prepare for their album comeback.

“Never in my life would I expect myself to be in freaking PLEDIS building where it’s the home to Seventeen!!!!!” Choyi whispered excitedly as she did a little dance while they were finding the practice room that Joohyeon was in. “Please calm down Choyi or else we’re gonna get kicked out for disturbance!” Hana shooked her head, Y/n chuckled as she follow the pair behind.

“Room 3.. room 3.. ah here it is,” Hana pointed at the practice room they found. The girls peeked through the windows.

Seventeen members were in formation while Joohyeon was in front showing them what seemed to be a choreography for their next title song. “Can’t believe I’m getting the very first look at the upcoming comeback dance..” Choyi sighed with pleasure as she fixated her eyes through the window panels.

“Okay, let’s take ten boys!” Joohyeon announced as he spotted Choyi’s face planted against the window. He walked over to the door and welcomed the girls. “Hi oppa” Hana gave him a hug while Y/n and Choyi waved at the members.

“Oh, hello, nice to see you all again!” Dokyeom waved as the rest of the members followed suit while they grabbed some towels and water bottles.

“Sorry to disturb but we brought some lunch for all of you!” Hana announced as Joohyeon took the bags she was carrying. “YES WE HAVE FREE FOOOOOD” Dino and Hosni jumped up and down pumping their fists with excitement. Y/n beamed, feeling a little surprised by their energy even after what seemed like hours of dance practice.

Jun ran up to Y/n after seeing her with two big bags of lunchboxes, “here let me help you with that!” Y/n gave him an appreciative smile and thanked him. “We didn’t speak much backstage that day but nice to meet you, I’m Jun! Are you a Korean by the way?”

Y/n shooked her head, “I’m from Singapore.” Jun nodded, mouth forming an ‘o’. “Wow but your Korean is good! Wait.. so does this mean you can speak chinese?”

“Yup, 我可以说中文 (I can speak chinese)“ Jun got even more excited and started conversing in chinese with Y/n as they sat down on the floor with the others as they took out the lunchboxes.

“Are.. those two speaking in Chinese?” Seungcheol asked The8 as he glanced at the pair. The8 looked over and nodded, “Y/n’s from Singapore I think so she’s able to speak chinese if I’m not wrong”

Seungcheol tilted his head as he watched Y/n laughing at something Jun was saying. Wonder what they’re talking about that is so funny.. He pouted slightly as he started eating.

“Yah Jihoon ah, where’s your Polaroid camera! This calls for some fun picture taking!” Jeonghan asked. Woozi walked over to his bag and took out the camera. Y/n noticed the Polaroid model, “oh is that the latest model?” Woozi turned to her and nodded. Y/n stood up and walked over looking at it. “Can I see it? I’ve been saving up for one cause my previous polaroid broke!” Woozi handed his camera over with a small smile.

Y/n clapped her hands enthusiastically as she gently held the camera. “Can I test it out?” Woozi chuckled as he gave her the go ahead. What Y/n did next was unexpected to the boy — she pointed the camera in front of him and snapped a pic, “say cheese!” Woozi stared blankly at the camera with surprised as he frozed. Did she just.. took a picture of me? Suddenly?

When the polaroid picture started developing, Y/n giggled as she showed Woozi. “What’s with the blank look!” Woozi stared at Y/n, feeling captivated by her adorable action. He blushed as he rubbed his neck sheepishly, “I was just surprised that’s all..” Y/n grinned as she return the camera to him. “I think I’ll get this model, thank you Jihoon!” Woozi blushed even more as she calls him by his actual name.

“Hyung, I can help us take a few pics!” Mingyu walked over, taking the camera from the flustered boy. “Woah, why are your ears so red?” Woozi shooked his head and passed the camera to Mingyu before returning to his food, “nothing, here ya go. Don’t drop it or else I’ll come after you.”

Mingyu sighed as he went around taking pictures of the entire gang. “Say kimchi everyone!!!!”

///

Nov 2020, choyi’s apartment, 4:19pm (KST)

Y/n dropped her bag onto the sofa as she plopped on it. Choyi walked to the fridge to get a bottle of soju. Y/n looked on quizzedly, “isn’t it a bit too early for alcohol?”

Choyi took two soju glasses and sat on the sofa beside Y/n. “it’s for you.” Y/n raised an eyebrow, looking at the soju, “for what?”

“In case you wanna talk about what happened out there just now?” Choyi poured the soju into the glasses and handed one to Y/n, who took it begrudgingly. “There’s no need for any talk Cho.”

“It’s been what.. two years? I just thought seeing them might you know, sparked some past memories again” Choyi shrugs as she downs her glass. “I’m okay. It’s in the past and I’ve moved on. Really, I’m fine Cho” Y/n gave a tight smile as she refilled her glass.

“Besides, I won’t be staying in Korea for long anyway. I’m just here for work and work only, after which I’m gonna head home.” Y/n took a shot of soju as she let the bitterness taste linger around her throat hoping she would let it distract her from the heavy feeling around her chest.

“... Do you still have his number saved?” Y/n blinked a few times at Choyi’s question. She would be lying if she say she has already deleted them. The truth is, she still has it. After all these years, she still has it saved onto her phone, she just couldn’t bear to delete it. All she did was renamed it to “Ignore” just in case he calls again, but he never did.

“… nope I deleted it the day I left.” Silence filled the air as Y/n took another shot of her drink.

“You know.. the guys were shocked and sad when they heard you left without saying goodbye” Choyi added as she refilled their glasses.

“I heard.. that he was upset too” Choyi continued a she took a shot.

Y/n paused as she reached for her glass. He was upset? What right did he have to be upset?

40 notes · View notes

sweetyyhippyy · 3 years

Text

Part of You. Spencer Reid x OC! Character. Chapter 4.

Chapter 4: 864 days

(Not my gif.)

Summary: Bridgett brings a date to a party at Rossi’s house. Spencer gets extremely jealous and angry. While working a case with Bridgett, he says some words he doesn’t mean. He goes to Bridgett’s apartment to apologize, and those 3 little words are finally said.

Pairing: Season 5 Spencer Reid x OC! Plus size character, Bridgett Mendez

TW: Alcohol mentions, Spencer being mean, language, I think that’s all!

Word Count: 4k

A.N.: This is season 5 Spencer, like tail end of season 5. Please reblog! Italicized words are inner thoughts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So Rossi needs a headcount for how many people are coming over tonight. He said he hasn’t heard back from only you, Bridge.”

JJ says, joining Bridgett and Garcia gossiping at Bridgett’s desk.

“Oh yeah sorry, I was kinda waiting to hear from… this guy I’m bringing along tonight.”

Both of the girls eyes get wide, staring at Bridgett.

“You’re bringing someone? Who is he?! I need to know everything, now.” Penelope squeals, leaning back in her chair.

Bridgett laughs, knowing that this was going to be the hot topic of the day.

“It’s this guy I’ve been dating for like 2 weeks. His name is Angel.”

“Okay, okay, Angel. Angel and Bridgett… Bridgett and Angel. Doesn’t necessarily roll off the tongue but keep going.” Penelope says.

“I met him at the coffee shop by my apartment. It was that one morning Hotch needed us to come in at like 6am so I grabbed some coffee and they were getting a delivery while I was waiting and the delivery guy noticed me, I noticed him after the third time he passed me by. So I smiled at him and he stopped to talk to me on my way out. We've gone on a few dates and he’s really nice.”

“Just nice? Are you not completely into him?” JJ questions.

“I don’t know, he’s nice, and he is cute. But I don’t know it’s weird, I know you’re both going to say I’m selling myself short but he’s out of my league. Our connection is good when we’re together but I can’t help but think that maybe he’s just putting a front on. It’s all probably just in my head… right?”

“If it’s only been a few dates this is all still new. The both of you are trying to figure each other out. I wouldn’t discredit him just yet, sweetheart.” Penelope interjects, rubbing her shoulder in comfort.

JJ’s phone rings from her pocket, her groaning and leaving out the door to the elevator.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to bring another guy tonight? I’m not judging, I just don’t think that there’s *someone you didn’t think about.”

Bridgett knew who she was talking about as soon as she said it, and she was right, Bridgett didn’t think about Spencer.

“You don’t know for sure if Spence likes me, Penelope.”

“Um, Earth to madam profiler! Bridgy, the boy is beyond in love with you. You don’t see what everyone else in this office sees when you talk to him, or when someone talks about you.”

Bridgett sighs, rubbing her temple with her fingers lightly.

“What am I supposed to do? I’m genuinely asking I’m not trying to be a bitch but, am I supposed to wait, god knows how long, for him to make the first move? I don’t make the first move. Ever. That’s not me and it makes me want to physically puke even thinking about it. What if he never does it? Then what?”

“I know, beautiful, and I didn’t mean to make you question dating other people, but I just want you to think about it.”

***

Bridgett felt off the rest of the day after her talk with Garcia. She almost wanted to just call Angel and tell him that there had been a change of plans and she wasn’t going to the party anymore. But he had told her on the phone a few nights ago he had gotten a special outfit for the night.

Bridgett sits on the couch, her hair flowing down her back, makeup fresh on her face, and a dark maroon dress clinging to her body, the dress ending mid thigh. While she was staring at her phone deciding on whether or not she was going to call Angel and cancel, it starts ringing, his name appearing on screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey you, I’m on my way to come get you. I’ll be there in about 5 minutes.”

Her stomach turns, but in a good way.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting. See you in a bit.”

She slips her heels on, leaving them for the last minute knowing they were going to kill her feet by the end of the night. She paced back and forth, double and triple checking she had everything in her clutch. there’s a knock at the door in a rhythmic pattern, one that Angel frequented when he came over to pick her up. Bridgett walks to answer the door, opening it with a smile. He smiles back, handing her a single red rose.

“For you.” He smiles, kissing her cheek. Bridgett’s cheeks get warm, a nervous laugh coming from her mouth.

“Thank you. You look very handsome.”

He looked so incredibly handsome in the dark brown button up tucked into black dress pants he was wearing, everything head to toe was on point and it made her swoon a little bit.

“Are you ready to go? I’m definitely going to need directions to your coworker’s house.”

***

“This is going to sound very shallow, but how much money do FBI agents make? This house is huge.” Angel whispers to Bridgett, walking up to Rossi’s house.

“He used to work for the FBI back in the day, he retired and wrote a couple of books and he started doing book tours and signing, lectures. So he always hosts parties because this is his house. He’s a great guy, you’ll like him.”

Bridgett was beyond nervous for everyone to meet this new guy. Especially since he was so new in her life. And since the conversation she had with Penelope, she was nervous if she was right how Spencer would react.

She rings the doorbell to the large house, waiting for someone to answer the door. Derek opens the door, a surprising look on his face.

“Hey Bridge. Come on in.” Derek studies Angel up and down.

“Derek, this is Angel. Angel this is Derek. He and I work together at the Buerau. He’s our resident badass and big brother.”

The front of the house fills with the rest of the team members; Emily, JJ, Penelope, Hotch, Rossi, but no Spencer. She introduces everyone to Angel , Rossi handing both of them a drink after the introductions are done.

***

The mood was light while everyone was inside sitting around a large table, everyone talking and laughing.

“I gotta use the restroom. I’ll be back, if I’m not back in 10 send a search party.” Angel jokes, making Bridgett laugh.

“Hey pretty boy made it!” Derek calls out, everyone’s attention turning to Spencer. He smiles and waves awkwardly, coming to join everyone else. He had a nice plum colored button up on with a skinny solid black tie, and of course his converse on. He looked really handsome. Bridgett waves at him from her seat, Spencer walking over and sitting on the opposite side of her.

“You’re late. What took you so long?” Bridgett teases.

“The subway. It randomly broke down right before I was supposed to get off for 15 minutes.”

“Well hey, don’t worry about taking the subway home, I’ll just take you. I’m sticking to one glass tonight, I’m not going to be drunk.”

Spencer smiles at her, nodding his head as he takes a drink from his glass, “Yeah that would be great thanks Bridge.”

Bridgett feels the chair on her other side slide back, Angel touching her bare shoulder as he sits back down. Spencer’s eyes fixate on the stranger, his eyes flickering back and forth between him and Bridgett.

“Who’s this?” Spencer questions.

“Oh I’m Angel, I’m Bridgett’s date.”

The room fell quiet, everyone watching the exchange. Spencer’s jaw clenched, taking a longer swig of his drink.

“Date huh? Nice.” He says under his breath.

Bridgett’s cheeks getting hot, getting through this dinner was going to be interesting.

Spencer was beyond fuming, but in the back of his mind he knew he had no true right to feel this angry. But seeing that the girl he’s in love with be touched and goggled over made him seethe with rage.

If you weren’t such a goddamn wimp, maybe Bridgett and you could have gone together as a date, but no you have to be afraid of fucking everything.

Spencer knocks the glass of wine back, asking Rossi if he had anything stronger., to which he offered him his best scotch and Spencer took. He quickly shoots that one down, instantly regretting it once he feels the fire in his throat.

Bridgett watches him cough after hearing him swallow the shot, in the few years she’s know Spencer, he’s had maybe half a sip of champagne, and again… it was half a sip. “Woah, slowdown, I can’t carry you out of here.” Bridgett comments, laughing slightly.

Spencer pours another shot full, keeping his eyes on hers the whole time while he slowly sips, finishing yet another glass.

“Slow enough for you?”

***

Spencer didn’t speak one word while everyone was eating , anytime Bridgett spoke to him, Spencer wouldn’t look at her, he just nodded his head and take a heavy drink. He got more and more angry throughout the night, nobody else could tell if it was the alcohol or Angel.

Not too long after dinner was over some of the team started to leave. Angel wraps his arm around Bridgett’s waist, kissing her cheek.

“What do you say we get out of here?” Angel whispers in her ear. Bridgett giggles, smiling at him.

“Okay. I told my friend Spencer I would take him home, so I need to drop him off before I get home. Let me go find him.”

Bridgett walks to the backyard to try to find Spencer, not finding him with the rest of the team that was still here. She walks back inside, finding Derek and Penelope before they leave.

“Hey, have you seen Spence? I was supposed to give him a ride home.”

Derek sighs, throwing his jacket on. Penelope stares at Derek then back at Bridgett.

“He uhh… got a call from his mom’s care facility. He left like 10 minutes ago.”

“Oh my god is she okay?”

“He didn’t say. He was… upset.” Derek states, rubbing her shoulder in comfort. “I’ll see you Monday morning, mama.”

Bridgett walks to Rossi and Emily chatting with Angel, her coat in his hands.

“Hey, Spence took off because of a family emergency. So if you still want to head out, we can.”

Angel nods his head, helping Bridgett put her coat on and saying his goodbyes to the pair before walking hand and hand out with Bridgett back to her car.

***

Bridgett walks through the elevator, pulling the door open to the dugout. She spots Spencer at his desk, not expecting him to be at work this morning.

“Hey, you’re here. How’s your mom?”

Spencer barely turns his head to give Bridgett a dirty look, going back to scribbling something in his notebook.

“Fine.” He says plainly.

“Garcia said that you left Rossi’s party the other night because you got a call from your mom’s care facility that something happened. And you didn’t answer my phone calls all weekend. I was worried about you.”

Spencer gets up from his desk with a sigh, whizzing past her toward the conference room. Bridgett stands there, completely confused why he wasn’t speaking to her.

“Hey mama, we have a local case, Hotch said a briefing in 5.” Derek says, passing by her quickly.

Bridgett sets her bag at her desk, taking her notebook and pen with her to the conference room, sitting in her usual spot next to Spencer.

“Hey, are you okay?” She asks quietly.

Spencer visibly rolls his eyes, fidgeting with his pen between his fingers.

“Yup. Just fine.”

Bridgett opens her mouth to ask him another question but everyone grabs their seat as JJ begins briefing everyone on their case.

***

Hotch had Bridgett and Spencer partner up to examine the crime scene and Spencer was beyond annoyed. Bridgett could feel the anger and tension between both of them the car ride to the crime scene. She wanted to ask what his deal was but she didn’t want there to be more anger in the air when they got to their destination.

While they were examining the crime scene and talking with the town sheriff, Spencer undermined every single thing she asked, said, or thought and it was pissing her off.

After a few hours they were ready to head back to headquarters and Bridgett was furious.

“Hey, Spencer, could you have me a tissue please?” Bridgett asks, motioning to the glove compartment. Spencer sighs loudly, opening the drawer and slamming the door closed hard. That was it.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Bridgett yells. “Why are you being such a fucking dick? What did I do to you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Bridgett bites her cheek, putting her turn signal on and pulling off to the side of the road.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asks, raising his voice.

“No, what are you doing?! I don’t know why you’re pissed off at me, but you making me look like I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about when we’re working is not okay. This attitude you’ve had with me all morning is starting to piss me off and I’m over it! What did I do?”

Spencer sits quietly, gathering his thoughts.

“I don’t want to talk to you about it.”

Bridgett was about 2 seconds away from screaming in anger, her hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles white.

“So instead of being a fucking adult you’re choosing to act like a child and not tell me why you’re angry with me? Real mature Spencer. You know, for a genius, you can be real dumb sometimes.” She fires off at him.

“Nice to know that’s what you think of me.” Spencer says quietly, grabbing his satchel, opening the car door and walking away from the car.

Bridgett sits dumbfounded. She gets out of the car, running after him. “Spencer! What are you doing?!”

He has his back turned to her, his cell phone pressed to his ear.

“Spencer, Spencer, Spencer, Spencer.” Bridgett repeats his name over and over again, getting under his skin.

Once he hangs the phone up he begins walking away again.

“Goddamn it! Where are you going?” She shouts, Spencer stopping in his tracks.

“Going back to work. I’m not riding with you back. I called a cab”

“Why are you being like this? What did I do Spencer?!” She was pissed, getting upset, and tired.

“You’re being a shitty friend!” Spencer yells, visibly taken back at what he even just yelled.

Bridgett stares at him, tears clouding her vision. “I’m not a shitty friend.” She says with a light voice. “You really think I’m a shitty friend? All the nights I spent on the phone with you because you were having bad nightmares, the time I went to your house at 3:30am because you called me inconsolable, was there for you because you got a call that your mom was having a bad day and you felt guilty for putting her in a mental hospital. All of that I was there for you and you still have the audacity to call me a shitty friend? Really?”

Spencer doesn’t make eye contact with her, his feet kicking the pavement under him. Bridgett walks back to the car, tears flowing down her cheeks at his words. She sits in the car, watching Spencer sit on the sidewalk, waiting for his cab, his head turning every so often to see the car still parked several feet away. Bridgett openly sobbed in the car, she was sensitive enough as it was, but having her best friend call her a shitty friend broke her. She waits in the car until she sees a yellow cab pull up next to Spencer and him get in it. Even though he just pissed her off, she didn’t want him to be by himself in the middle of nowhere. Once she sees him get in she drives off toward the office, still sniffling and the occasional tear rolling down her cheek.

Once she pulls into the parking spot back at the office, she slowly walks inside, trying to get her mind together before having to go back and face the rest of the team. She walks through the doors, throwing the case file on her desk and grabbing her bag to go home.

“Hey, where’s Spence?” Derek asks, popping up behind her.

“Fuck if I know.” Bridgett mumbles, turning to walk out for the day.

“Wait! Where are you going? What happened? Are you crying?” Derek rattles his questions off one after the other.

Bridgett continues walking out, ignoring Derek talking to her. She presses the elevator down button, waiting for it to come. She feels someone next to her, Derek. She sighs, folding her arms over her chest. The doors open, both of them walking in.

“What’s wrong?”

Bridgett clears her throat, choking back a sob.

“Spencer and I got into it… he got out of the car on the way back and called a cab to come get him because we were yelling at each other. He called me a shitty friend.”

“He’s going to kill me for saying this, but the reason he left on Saturday was because he was angry that you brought that kid with you to the party. He sort of has a thing for you.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that, you, Garcia, but he hasn’t made a move on me. I’m not going to wait for him to do it. I know that sounds mean but I can’t wait forever.”

Derek nods his head. “I know. I’ve been trying to tell him. And I told him the other night too. I’ve never seen him so mad. It definitely didn’t help that he was drinking everything in sight. But I can tell you that you’re not a shitty friend. Spencer just says what’s on his mind when he’s mad.”

“So that means he has it in his head that I’m shitty to him.”

Derek shakes his head, giving her a tight hug.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. Let me talk to him. See if I can get him to calm down. Go home, I’ll tell Hotch you got sick on the job and take the rest of the day to make yourself feel better, alright?”

Bridgett nods, giving him a hug.

***

Bridgett grabs the plate of her favorite comfort meal, breakfast food drenched in hot sauce, and takes it over to the couch, flipping through the tv channels to find something to watch for the night. Her favorite movie was already loaded into her DVD player from the last time she watched it, and that was probably what she was going to settle for. As she takes a huge mouthful of eggs there’s a soft knock at the door. She groans, quickly chewing her food, opening the door quickly. Spencer is standing there, his head down, fidgeting with the leather strap across his chest.

“Hi.” He says quietly.

“Hello.” Bridgett responds, a hint of attitude in her tone, still a little bitter at him for his earlier outburst.

Spencer bites his bottom lip, awkwardly fixing her doormat with his foot to straighten it out.

“I was wondering if I could talk… if we could talk.”

“What about?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest, still not letting him inside.

“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” Finally looking into Bridgett’s eyes.

“Oh really? Okay well I’m listening.”

Spencer sighs, tapping his fingers on his bag.

“Derek told me that you went back to work crying… about what I said to you and I didn’t mea-“

Bridgett interrupts, just to get under his skin. “What did you say to me? I forgot.” She questions, her voice thick with sarcasm.

Well she isn’t going to make this easy.

“I… I called you a shitty friend. And I didn’t mean it, Bridge. I was angry and I should have never said it because it’s far from the truth. You’re the only true friend I’ve ever had, and I feel like such a dick for saying it to you. I probably can’t ever apologize enough to make up for it, but my apology is genuine.”

Bridgett continues to stare at him for a few seconds, she could tell he really was sorry for his harsh words, and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t be mad at him.

“Come in.” She moves from the middle of the doorway, letting Spencer in. He walks in, following her to the couch.

“I want you to be honest with me, because I already know the answer to the question.”

Spencer nods his head, playing with a loose string on her throw pillows.

“Do you have romantic feelings for me?”

Spencer’s eyes grow wide, almost in a cartoonish way. He drops eye contact with Bridgett, his heart beating a million miles per hour.

Tell her. Tell her now. She already knows. Tell. Her.

“Yeah.” He says, no sound coming out of his mouth, his vocal chords frozen. He clears his throat, “Yeah, I have feelings for you. I have for a while now.”

“How long is a while?” Bridgett questions, feeling a bit of relief that he finally admits it.

“476 days. Since the night at the hotel… in Idaho. Well actually 388 days before that, it’s kinda why what happened in Idaho… happened. So 864 days total.”

Bridgett nods her head, trying to hide the smirk on her face, remembering very fondly of what happened in Idaho.

“And why did you feel the need to hide the fact you had feelings for me that weren’t just sexual feelings? Why do you think that you couldn’t tell me you liked me in a romantic way?”

“I don’t know. I was scared that you were going to laugh in my face when I told you that I fell in lo-.” He stops himself before he says the word.

“Fell in love with me?” Bridgett asks, finishing his sentence.

He nods his head, afraid to say the words.

“I wouldn’t laugh at you. And to be honest with you, I would be lying to myself if I said I didn’t like you too. I haven’t been in love with you for 800 days, but I do love you.”

Spencer stays quiet, smiling to himself. “864 days.”

Bridgett rolls her eyes and elbows his arm playfully.

“Oh, so sorry 864 days. Since we’re talking about how many days we’ve been in love with each other, I've been in love with you for about…” Bridgett pauses as she does the math in her head, not anywhere close to how fast Spencer’s brain worked. “730 days.”

“Really?”

Bridgett nods her head, “Yeah, it’s kinda hard not to love you. You know what solidified my love for you? Do you remember when we were flying back from Seattle, and you were exhausted, we were sitting together, we had barely been in the air for 20 minutes and I felt your head rest on my shoulder. I looked over at you and you were passed out. I put my head on yours and I fell asleep too. When I woke up, Emily had a picture on her phone she had taken of us and I knew that I loved you.”

Spencer touched Bridgett’s cheek with his thumb softly, staring at her deep brown eyes. He takes Bridgett’s hand in his, holding them close to his chest.

“I love you Bridgett, and I really want to make you happy.”

She lets go of his hands and places both of them on each side of his face, giving him a smile.

“I forgive you.” She says softly, kissing his lips. “And I love you too.”

“So does this mean you’re my… girlfriend?”

Bridgett kisses his lips softly, smiling at him lovingly.

“Yes, yes it does mean I’m your girlfriend. You good with that?”

“Very. I’m very good with that.”

#Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid smut #Spencer Reid fan fic #Spencer Reid fluff #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds #spencer reid x oc character #plus size character #matthew gray gubler fluff #matthew gray gubler fan fiction #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler fan fic #Matthew Gray Gubler #part of you can fic

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themuseic · 3 years

Text

Only Fools (Chapter 10)

(Art Credit: @clumsycopy)

Fic Summary: Sent to Boone County, West Virginia on an assignment, you find yourself engulfed your work. How could you possibly find time for anything else? Even if “anything else” includes the tall, kind, and handsome bartender from down the road?

Word Count: 2.4k

Read Chapter 9 here.

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: Couples Argument, Self Sabotage, Negative Feelings, Swearing, the angst has begun.

A/N: This chapter is a bit of a sad one, take care of yourselves and please mind that and the warnings!

You were starting to realize just how long you had been in Boone County.

You had lived through Boone’s shift from fall to winter, and you were beginning to feel the air change as it steadily approached spring. When you had arrived, you thought it was only going to be a few weeks. This was much longer than you thought.

It wasn’t as if you were itching to leave. The Logan clan had become fast friends of yours, and Clyde was much more than that. The trailer was comfortable with him and the data that you were pulling from the West Virginia forests was far more informative than you had hoped for.

But you just couldn’t seem to shake the idea that leaving was inevitable because well… it was.

~~~

It was late January, not too long after you and Clyde had created your own little piece of forever with a trail cam, that you noticed that you had become comfortable.

And that just wouldn’t do.

It was unconscious, how you dealt with that realization. But you found yourself slowly starting to distance yourself from Clyde. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you knew that if you kept on the way you had been acting, it was going to be that much harder to leave, to deal with the inevitable finality of your relationship.

You stopped doing your work at The Duck Tape first. Truthfully, it was probably better for your productivity to not find yourself at the bar every night, but that in and of itself was the first step in setting your distance with Clyde. The first time you told him that you’d stay at the trailer that night, he pouted, as was his signature move, but he didn’t complain. “Whatever y’need darlin’,” he drawled. “Duck Tape’ll be there for y’ whenever your work’s done.” With that assurance, he was out the door, and you were left alone on the trailer couch.

You never made it to the Duck Tape that night.

You started to make excuses when he wanted to have a date night. There was always more work to be done or you weren’t feeling well enough to go out.

And you especially made sure to remind him that you had to leave when he would plan for the future. He would start talking about “next winter” the two of you would go on a sleigh ride, or how “at the next summer barbeque” he would show you how he, Jimmy, and Joe figured out just how high they could shoot off the biggest fireworks in Boone County. It was sweet really, but every prediction for the future tugged at your heart. With a laugh and a smile, you would remind him softly, “Of course, if I’m around.”

The only thing he wouldn’t budge on was accompanying you out on the trail. No matter how often you insisted that you would be alright and that it was just a quick hike out, he wouldn’t relent. He was by your side every hike, ready to pull down the cameras and pass you snacks whenever you needed. It was sweet, and it made your efforts to drive a rift in your relationship that much harder.

But you did try.

~~~

The arrival of February meant the snow began to let up. Well, at least let up a little. The massive storm that had rolled in over three days left the tips of the mountains and trees blanketed in a thick layer of snow. The whole expanse of the land was so white, it was nearly glowing. The light flakes drifted from the sky steadily and swirled, danced even, outside the window at the head of the bed in the trailer.

You were reclined on the plush pillows just underneath the window, your head tilted back and your arms straining how you held your phone above you, scrolling mindlessly. Silly videos and updates from distant friends flew past your eyes as you flew through the newsfeed that never seemed to have an end.

Clyde putzed around the room, messing with stacks of books and tossing out of place socks into the hamper as if he was playing a game of basketball with himself. He had taken the night off to take care of some errands around the trailer, Jimmy so graciously covering the bar. Out of the corner of your eye, you spied him grab the hem of the curtains on the window of the bedroom and pull them out to get a good view of the pattern.

“Think these curtains are due for an upgrade. What d’you think?” Clyde pondered, his head tilting to the side as he took in the fabric he grasped in his hand.

You shrugged noncommittally, barely looking up from your phone. “Not really.”

Clyde pouted lightly. “Nah really, you got any curtains you might like?”

“Clyde, it’s your house. I don’t want you to change things on my account.” Clyde waved his hand.

“Now that’s alright sweetheart, it’s your home too. I want you to feel comfortable here, make it yours a bit.”

You shrugged. “Well, it’s not like I’ll be here much longer anyway.”

A few beats passed before you realized that Clyde was frozen in place. You could see the tension that splintered through his muscles from where you lay. His knuckles were white against the fabric he clenched in his hand. You lifted your head from the pillow and clicked your phone shut. “I’m just being honest-”

He cut you off. “Why do you always have to do that?” Clyde muttered under his breath, his gaze fixated on the curtain. His back was mostly to you, but he was just so slightly turned and his hair tumbled around his face in thick, messy strands. Beneath the surface of his voice simmered confusion and hurt so thick, it was nearly tangible. You could hear how it tinted his voice with an accidental venom you had never heard from Clyde before.

You stopped, cautious to approach or push him further. You dug the heel of your palm into the bed to sit up and lean towards him. Was he shaking? Or were you?

“Clyde, what are you talking about?” you whispered.

Even though he was turned from you, you could see how deep his pout had split his face. He dropped the fabric from his hand and his arm fell to his side, clenched in a fist. He exhaled low. “You always gotta remind me that you’re leaving,” he muttered, shaking his head ever so slightly.

You chewed your lip. “Well… I mean, I am.”

Clyde huffed in indignation and scoffed. Your brow knit together and your mouth fell open in confusion. “Clyde, I mean… I just don’t want you to get too comfortable with me being here,” you sputtered, trying to explain your point without hurting him more. From the way he swung around, face red and muscles tensed, you knew you had failed spectacularly.

“Why can’t we just be happy? While you’re here?” Clyde shouted, whipping his hair around with his face. His chest heaved as he took in another furious breath. “You always have t’ tell me you’re leavin’ soon, that you don’t want to be comfortable.” He unflexed and clenched his fist. “Can’t you just let yourself be happy for once?” Clyde remained planted in place, but his arms flailed in question.

You were so far past stunned. You were floored. You had never heard Clyde speak like this, to you or anyone else.

What hurt you worse was that he had never even mentioned that your candid honesty upset him so much. You gaped your mouth like a dying fish, attempting to grasp and wrangle the words to respond that just would not come.

“Well?” he shrugged, waiting for some kind of response. Any response.

You sputtered. “Clyde, I am happy! I just don’t want to get comfortable! Why make it harder than it has to be when I have to leave?” you explained as your eyes darted around the room, trying to make sense of the argument.

He laughed, the noise hollow and empty. “Doesn’t mean you can’t just let yourself be here, be in the moment.” He shook his head and reached his hand up to card through his hair.

“But I don’t have to live with my head in the clouds and ignore the future.” Your breath caught. You regretted the words the minute they left your lips. “I don’t mean-” you started. Clyde cut you off.

“I do everything for you! And you can’t even give a little?”

You stilled immediately. You cleared your throat. “Clyde. Are you fucking joking?” you seethed, seeing red. Your fists were tight balls at your side, and there was a telltale tightness in your chest that you tried to breathe through.

“Well, it’s the truth,” he spat, his fists tensing themselves.

“You knew what the deal was. That this was temporary. I told you not to expect anything.”

Clyde huffed. “That was months ago, and y’know that. You said weeks. S’been months.” He shook his head and stared at the floor. “Pardon me for thinkin’ somethin’ must’ve changed,” he spat, growled even. His twang thickened the angrier he became.

“Clyde, I can’t stay here forever. I have a job, a life-”

“And I don’t?” Clyde stared you down, his mouth gaped open. His jaw clenched shut and he rolled his tongue around his teeth, his eyebrows raised high as he looked down his nose at the ground.

“You know I didn’t mean that.”

“I don’t know, I think y’did.” Clyde looked at you through the part of his thick black hair that tumbled around his face. He ran his hand down the length of his face, dragging his skin down and a groan from his chest. He shook his head, almost as if he was clearing his thoughts.

“Did y’forget that when you leave, I don’t? I’m gonna hurt either way. Y’get to go run off, doin’ god knows what, and you just get to cut ties with me. You’re protecting yourself. What about me?” Clyde’s voice was soft, but his words were deafening.

You could feel your heart trying to leap out of your chest. Your hands shook and you exhaled long and low. The trembling in your lip was overwhelming, but you pushed past it to spit your next words out.

“You know what Clyde? Fuck you. Don’t worry about coming tomorrow.”

“Don’t be fuckin’ ridiculous, I’m not lettin’ you go out alone,” he scoffed at you. He shook his head.

“No,” you spat, your lips wet with tears. “I’m serious.”

Clyde groaned. “Fine. Do whatever y’want.” He turned on his heel and left the room, leaving you sitting on the bed, alone.

You sat in place for a minute, unsure of what had happened. Your body was numb, your thoughts were a jumbled mess that you couldn’t make heads or tails of. Threads of composure held you together, and you knew you were going to fall apart any minute. You knew you couldn’t stay any longer.

Tears streaming down your face, you lept from the bed and began to stuff your clothes into your canvas bag, zipping it shut immediately to stalk towards the door. A part of you hoped Clyde would stop you, that he would protest your leaving.

The protest never came.

You flew out of the trailer in a whirlwind of breath, motion, and fury, and snapped the flimsy screen door back against the wall. You barely processed the chill of the air as it whipped around your face, and the blinders of your rage kept you from being able to appreciate the white blanket of snow that dusted the bushes in the front yard. The mechanical noises of the car unlocking rang through the otherwise silent expanse of the woods surrounding Clyde’s home.

You flung your belongings into the passenger seat as you slid behind the wheel and threw the car into drive. Foot slammed against the brake, you frantically tried to wipe at the rearview mirror, the view out of it cloudy and blurry. No matter how hard you swiped at the surface, nothing changed. Exasperated, you blinked your eyes hard and pushed the stalled drops of water over your lash line. Your vision cleared.

You dragged your arm across your eyes and flicked the water into the endless expanse of your car, immediately throwing the car into reverse as soon as you could see. The gravel flew in different directions as the wheels of the car picked them up, desperate to put distance between the trailer and yourself. No sound came from the trailer behind you. No indication that Clyde had followed you out. It didn’t matter. You wouldn’t look back to check.

The trailer disappeared from the rearview mirror the moment you turned onto the main highway. But you hadn't looked at it since you had driven away.

~~~

The hotel near the Duck Tape was in the same state as you had last seen it. With creaking doors and dripping faucets, not much had changed since your last stay there. The lady at the front counter barely looked at you as she handed you your room key, but you wouldn’t have known either way. Your vision was still clouded with tears that wouldn’t fall anymore, no matter how hard you tried to make them vacate your eyes.

You flung the door open with little regard for how hard it slammed back, and you jiggled the lock shut. The dusty air of the hotel room was freezing. You didn’t care. Peeling off your clothing, you slipped into the cold, hard bed and shimmied the scratchy vellux blanket up to your chin.

The cracked and peeling ceiling had never been so interesting to you before. You stared up at it, unblinking. You had hoped you would be unfeeling as well, but you were overwhelmed with a pain that you had never felt before. It was a sharp, invisible strain that shot through your fingers, toes, and heart. Your eyes squeezed shut, forcing the small droplets that lingered in your eyes down your face to collect in your ears and you pulled a rattling, shuddering breath into your lungs as you sniffed quietly into the darkness.

Your stare broke from the ceiling as you turned onto your side and stared out the window. The familiar red glow from the Duck Tape’s sign lit the sky up through the sheer curtain, and you sighed. In an effort to seek enough dark to fall asleep, you pulled the linens up and over your head. It was colder than you remembered it being. You closed your eyes as your breath began to even out and the crinkled lines of your forehead smoothed.

Sleep found you eventually.

~~~

A/N (Part 2!!): SORRY I HOPE THE VALENTINES FESTIVITIES PERK YOU UP LOVE YALL

Taglist: @mind-p0llution @thedivinemissm @clydesducktape @finn-ray-nal-beads @ladygrey03 @desiraypark @1800-fight-me @aloneandsleepless @hopeamarsu @kkysolo @clumsycopy @mylifeisactuallyamess @daydreamsofren @mariesackler (Comment or message me to be added or removed!)

#clyde logan x reader #clyde logan x you #only fools #logan lucky #my writing

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